rafe is such a softy (he just doesn’t know it yet)
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you loved the cold more than anything, and rafe knew that from your constant babbles in bed as he tried to sleep. you’d go on and on and on about things, but this past week as christmas is coming up, about snow.
you shimmied up onto rafes chest, and sat down, clad in only his large t shirt and your pretty pink panties you bought, (with rafes money, duh).
“rafey you don’t understand,” you whined tapping his firm arm that covered his eyes in attempt to ignore you and fall asleep.
“snow and ice and the c-“
“just go to fucking sleep.” rafe nudged you off his chest and wrapped his arms around you till you relaxed with a whine.
”shut up about the damn snow and cold shit.” he mumbled, extremely tired.
you mumbled about how you weren’t finished with your rant, but succumbed to sleep as well.
little did you know that two days later you’d be in washington after the longest flight, where you’d slept on rafes arm the whole time.
you looked out on the large cabin window with your six times too fluffy coat you begged and begged rafe to get you, even though he said it was not practical at all.
you heard rafe sigh as he walked out in only a polo sweater and clean dark trousers.
you gasped, “rafe!”
he walked closer to you, tucking a thick strangled of hair behind the fluffy hat that came with.
“what?”
you pushed past him making him sigh again as you ran inside to the shared room of the cabin, shuffling through your suitcase to find the matching brown scarf and hat you got him without him knowing.
you just had to get him one as well! you couldn’t let him feel left out when you got a fun and pretty coat and he didn’t get at least something fun.
while you didn’t even try to get him a coat like yours.
you ran back out to the porch where rafe still stood, leaning outer the wooden railing, watching the tiniest snowflakes drop from the pine trees.
as you flung the brown scarf over his neck and situated the hat on his buzzed head, all while the brightest smile known to men shown on your face and rafe didn’t move a muscle other than to look at you. used to your antics and not even attempting to say no to you in this moment.
when you finally got it perfect on him, he stood straight, looking down at you with a stolid face.
“what the fuck is this?” he didn’t even bare to look down at the scarf, scared of seeing the atrocity of what you placed on him like he was your personal doll.
“a scarf!” you said enthusiastically, a more content and calm look shown on your face. “i didn’t want you to be cold.”
rafe opened his mouth to say how he packed almost a dozen sweaters and jackets for the trip, and that this was a waste.
but the lovely look in your eyes as you looked up at him, wrapped in fur like a baby polar bear.
he pursed his lips, “thank you baby.”
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how about spencer x badass reader and they are wearing couple or similar clothes intentionally or unintentionally?? I think that would be cutee
tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader
"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks, sounding like a kid in a candy store, a crisp twenty in his back pocket.
Emily follows his line of sight and feels her cheeks apple unbidden, a delighted smile on her painted lips. "Oh, my god."
"Yeah, Garcia?" Derek asks, phone to his ear, Penelope first on his speed dial. "You need to come and see this. Like, right now. Don't worry, baby, just come and see it for yourself."
"I don't even know what to say." Emily stares at you.
You usually dress in line with the other women in this profession: pants that aren't too tight so you can run in if needed, a simple blouse, and a blazer if you're feeling formal.
Today, you've opted for something softer. It was a slow change, one day you were wearing a cashmere sweater, thin and fitted to your form. Another day, you chose to layer your shirt with a cardigan of a similar colour.
Right now? You're all Spencer. Your slacks remain unchanged but your blouse has been swapped for a shirt with a stiff starched collar and layered under what can only be described as a grandpa sweater. It's not quite ugly, but it's almost identical to Spencer's.
What's more, you've swapped your boots for converse.
Spencer holds the door for you. He's chosen to wear a tie at least, clinging to that last strand of professional business attire. He has two coffees, one in each hand, while you carry a box. He's all elbows as he talks to you, and you, ever his fan, follow every word with a fond smile.
"Hey, are you guys sharing a wardrobe now?" Derek asks, absolutely unwilling to hold back.
Emily piles on, "It's cute! You're totally an old married couple, you look like my grandparents."
"What happened to your boots, lovergirl?" Derek asks, nodding at your cons, arms crossed over the back of his chair casually. "Don't get me wrong, I'm loving the sneakers."
"You guys totally match," Emily coos. "You could be on a Christmas card."
You smile —you smile, Emily might just call the news— and walk past them to your desk. Hotch has moved you away from Spencer knowing you'll encourage his endless chattering, which places you on a different island of desks next to Anderson and Agent Camille.
Spencer put his coffee down on his desk, taking off his messenger bag. "Nice going, guys. She brought you donuts. You know, to apologise for calling you both antagonistic losers yesterday," he says, smiling at the mutual horror that crops up on their faces. "The fancy kind, too. She knew your favourite flavours without asking."
From her desk, Emily can see you've opened the box and offered them to your desk mates, your expression unperturbed. "Just don't touch the chocolate sprinkle ones, they're for Spencer," you say.
No matter what they say, how sorry they sound, you give out the donuts to anyone who'll take one until they're all gone. When Garcia arrives, she finds you sitting in your desk chair with your head leaning against Spencer's stomach, taking alternate bites of the same sprinkle-covered donut like it isn't the most domestic, coupley thing you could be doing.
Unlike Emily and Derek, Penelope genuinely thinks you look cute. "You guys are like Brangelina," she breathes, eyes wide, her smile infectious.
Spencer fails to hide a grin, his hand on your shoulder. You're better at controlling your emotion, sliding a small parcelled package across the desk toward her.
"Thank you, Pen," you say. "I like the shoes. They're comfy. And the sweater was a gift." Spencer nods enthusiastically.
That explains why you'd taken such an offence. Anything to do with Spencer raises your hackles. If you felt someone was making fun of his present to you, you'd defend him with your last dying breath, or, in this instance, punish your coworkers in his honour.
"I'm sorry," Derek apologises again, "I was kidding! What do you want me to do, you want me to wear a sweater vest too? I can do that."
You reach back to touch Spencer's side, levelling Derek with an impartial look. Not mad, not sad. Totally indifferent. "That could be a good start."
Spencer hums. "I think so. You wanna borrow one of mine?"
The barest hint of a smile plays on your lips. "That's generous, Spence. You're a philanthropist."
"I am." He strokes the slope of your sweater-clad shoulder proudly. "You know me, I love sharing my wardrobe."
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