#fadee

I love sweetheart reader x Spencer so much.

—————

Sweet girls bite

|| sweetheart reader protecting Spencer against one of his high school bullies.

༝༚༝༚

w.c 2k

Warnings: none

~~~~~

The first time Spencer Reid met you, he thought you were too soft for the BAU. Not weak. Never weak.

You smiled at everyone. You remembered Garcia’s complicated coffee order after hearing it once. You brought JJ’s boys little dinosaur stickers from airport gift shops. You cried over injured children in case files and apologized to bugs before scooping them into cups and releasing them outside Quantico.

Morgan once watched you spend 25 minutes trying to save a bunny trapped in a fence on a case.

And Spencer

Spencer had fallen in love with you so quietly he almost didn’t notice it himself.

It was in the small things.

The way you’d sit beside him during flights because you knew he hated turbulence more than he admitted. The way you listened when he rambled. Really listened. Not politely or patiently. Enthusiastically. Like every fact coming out of his mouth mattered.

You touched him carefully, too.

Never suddenly. Never in ways that made him tense. A hand on his sleeve. Fingers brushing his wrist. Your shoulder against his during late nights in the bullpen.

The team called you their sunshine.

Spencer privately thought that was inaccurate.

Sunshine could burn people.

You never did.

Until Cincinnati.

The case itself was awful enough already- a series of murders tied to a private high school where students were being targeted one by one. The unsub had a fixation on “punishing cruelty,” according to the profile.

Which was how they ended up interviewing the teachers of the victims.

Including Todd Mercer.

The moment the man walked into the police station conference room, Spencer went still beside you. Not visibly, maybe. Nobody else noticed.

But you did.

You always did.

His shoulders locked.

His breathing changed.

And when Todd laid his eyes on him, he grinned. Actually grinned.

Spencer looked down at the table like he was 15 again instead of a twenty something FBI agent with three PhDs.

Todd Mercer was broad-shouldered and expensive-looking in the sleazy way certain men were. Perfect teeth. Overwhelming cologne. The kind of guy who peaked at 17 and built an entire personality around it.

“Well, what do we have here,” Todd said, staring at Spencer. “Reid?”

Spencer adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Mercer.”

Todd barked out a laugh. “Still talking like a robot, huh?”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed instantly.

You looked between them carefully.

Todd leaned back in the chair officers had set up for him. “Damn. Haven’t seen you since high school. You look…” He paused dramatically. “Less pitiful.” Like it was a compliment.

Spencer smiled tightly.

The kind of smile that wasn’t a smile at all.

“We’re here to discuss the case.”

“Right, right.” Todd snorted. “You were always such a freakin’ narc.”

Heat prickled up your neck.

You glanced at Hotch, expecting him to intervene, but he was watching Spencer carefully- gauging whether Spencer wanted help or not.

Spencer kept his voice even. “Did you know the victims well?”

Todd shrugged. “Some of them.” Then he smirked again. “Funny though, it’s crazy seeing you act confident after spending four years terrified of eye contact.”

“Okay that's enough.” You cut him off “You’re here for a case, so please Mr Mercer, be focused”

Todd looked at you then.

His eyes lingered.

“Oh,” he said knowingly. “No way.”

You raised a brow.

He pointed between you and Spencer. “You two together?”

Spencer immediately said, “That’s irrelevant.”

Todd burst out laughing.

Actually laughing.

“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Reid pulled a girl like that? Jesus Christ, miracles are real.”

Morgan physically shifted forward.

Emily muttered, “what a dick.”

But Todd wasn’t done.

He looked directly at you.

“You know this guy used to get shoved into lockers almost daily?”

Spencer went rigid beside you.

“Todd,” he warned quietly.

“No, seriously,” Todd continued. “Kid was weird as hell. Used to cry when people touched his books.” He laughed again. “Still does, don’t you Einstein?”

Your chest tightened painfully.

Spencer stared at the table.

Not speaking. Not even defending himself.

And something inside you cracked.

Because Spencer Reid- the kindest man you had ever known, the gentlest, brightest person in every room- was sitting there letting this man reduce him to a frightened teenager again.

Todd shook his head. “Can’t believe you bagged such a gorgeous girl. What’d you do, read her a dictionary?”

The room went silent.

Spencer inhaled softly beside you. Like he was preparing himself to endure this.

Endure.

Not fight back.

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

Everyone froze.

Including Spencer.

Todd blinked at you. “Excuse me?”

“No, actually, I’m serious,” you snapped. “Shut. Up.”

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up so fast they practically disappeared into his hairline.

Emily looked delighted.

Todd gave an incredulous laugh. “Whoa. Claws out.”

“You think tormenting a teenager makes you impressive?” you shot back. “You’re a grown man bragging about bullying someone in high school like it’s an achievement.”

Todd’s smile faltered slightly.

You stepped forward.

Spencer immediately grabbed your wrist gently.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

Your voice shook with anger.

Not fear.

Pure fury.

“You made his life miserable for fun.”

Todd scoffed. “Oh my God, it was high school—”

“And?” you cut him off sharply. “Do you think that magically erases it?”

Spencer moved with you, trying to calm you. “Honey- ”

“No, Spencer, absolutely not.”

The entire team stared.

Because you didn’t get angry.

Ever.

Todd leaned back with a smug expression that made you want to throw the table at him.

“He survived, didn’t he?”

You lunged forward before you even realized you were moving.

“YOU- ”

Strong arms wrapped around your waist instantly. Spencer physically hauled you backward against his chest.

“Come on sweetheart-“ Spencer mumbled as he tried to calm you. You on the other hand were struggling against his grasp.

Not really trying to get free- just furious enough that your whole body vibrated.

“You think this is funny?” you snapped, struggling against Spencer’s grip as he held you against his chest. “You think treating people like garbage makes you important?”

Todd opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“No, because let me tell you something.” Your voice shook now- not with fear, but fury so deep it hurt. “You don’t get to stand there and laugh about making someone’s life miserable like it was some stupid joke.”

Spencer’s arms slowly eased around you seeing you talk more calmly.

“Honey”

“You don’t get to act like it didn’t matter,” you continued, eyes locked on Todd’s. “Because maybe for you it was just high school. Maybe for you it was funny. But for him?” Your voice cracked slightly. “You made his life miserable just because you were an insecure little asshole.”

The room had gone completely silent.

Todd’s smug smile started slipping.

Good.

“You mocked him for being smart. For being quiet. For not fitting into whatever pathetic little box you thought people should fit into.” You took a sharp breath. “And now he spends every single day saving people who are terrified and grieving and broken, while you’re still acting like a 17 year old who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.”

Todd shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, wow, somebody’s dramatic- ”

“Dramatic?” you repeated incredulously. Your voice raising and stepping closer to him made Spencers arm back on your waist, pulling you backwards.

“You humiliated a kid for years and you’re calling me dramatic?”

Spencer looked genuinely alarmed now because your voice kept getting louder.

“You know what the worst part is?” you said. “He’s still polite to you. He still sat there and treated you with respect after everything you did to him, because that’s the kind of person he is.”

Todd looked away first.

“Coward” you muttered under your breath

“And you know what kind of person you are?” you whispered harshly. “The kind that only feels big when somebody else feels small.”

You lurched forward again before you could stop yourself.

Spencer physically hauled you backward this time, one arm locked around your waist.

“Honey,” he said weakly, somewhere between horrified and stunned, “please do not commit felony assault in front of the local police department.”

“He deserves it!”

“You are threatening a civilian.”

“He spent years taunting you!”

The words ripped out of you so fast your own eyes stung afterward.

Because that was the real issue.

Not the insults now.

The fact that Spencer had looked down at the table the second Todd walked in.

Like some part of him was still that lonely 16 year old boy expecting people to laugh at him.

Todd looked unsettled now. Actually unsettled.

Possibly because the sweetest person any of them had ever met looked genuinely ready to claw his eyes out for Spencer Reid

“You know what?” you snapped at Todd. “I hope every time you try to sleep at night you remember exactly the kind of person you were. A fucking scumbag.”

The room fell silent.

Todd looked away first.

Hotch finally stepped in smoothly. “I think this interview is over.”

Todd muttered something under his breath and stood quickly, escorted out by a uniformed officer.

The second the door shut behind him, the room exploded.

Morgan doubled over laughing.

JJ looked stunned. “I have never seen you yell before.”

“I didn’t know she could yell,” Rossi admitted.

You were still breathing hard, face burning with leftover anger while Spencer slowly loosened his grip around you.

Then realization hit.

Oh shit.

You had just nearly attacked someone in an interrogation room.

In front of your boss.

You turned toward Spencer immediately, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

And somehow that made him look even more shocked.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have- I just- he was awful to you and I- ”

Before you could finish, Spencer kissed you. The entire room went dead silent again.

Spencer Reid was not usually a public affection kind of man. But he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he’d been wanting to do it since the moment you stood up for him.

The rest of the team slowly left the room to Continue asking Todd the questions, leaving you and Spencer alone.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were pink.

“You were going to attack him for me,” he said softly.

You frowned immediately. “Of course I was.”

Like it was obvious.

Because to you, it was.

Spencer stared at you for a long second with this unbearably tender expression.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

“He was being a dick, I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let him” you said, still upset about it.

You looked appropriately ashamed for approximately three seconds.

Then you muttered, “He deserved worse.”

Spencer made a startled choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Later, after the case wrapped and they finally made it back to the hotel, Spencer found you sitting cross-legged on the bed still stewing quietly.

The second he walked in, you said, “I hate him.”

Spencer shut the door behind him carefully.

“I gathered.”

“He hurt you.”

The softness in your voice now nearly undid him more than the yelling had.

Spencer sat beside you slowly.

“I’m okay.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to be.”

God.

You looked genuinely heartbroken over something that had happened to him years ago.

Spencer touched your hand carefully. “You know, statistically speaking, most people wouldn’t threaten bodily harm over high school bullying.”

You glared at him instantly. “Don’t use statistics right now.”

He smiled.

A real one this time.

“I’ve spent most of my life being the person people protect last,” he admitted quietly.

Your expression softened immediately.

“And then there’s you.”

You leaned into him without hesitation, arms wrapping carefully around his waist.

“Always,” you mumbled against his chest.

Spencer closed his eyes.

He thought about high school him.

Awkward. isolated. hurting.

If someone had told that boy one day a girl this kind would love him so fiercely she’d nearly throw hands in an interrogation room for his sake?

He never would’ve believed it.

Spencer pressed a kiss into your hair.

“You know,” he murmured, “for someone who ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ you’re terrifying when motivated.”

You pulled back just enough to look offended.

“I still wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

A pause.

“Todd Mercer, however-”

Spencer laughed so hard he had to hide his face in your shoulder.

——————-

|| spencer reid x jack hotchners babysitter

~…………………………….~

The BAU bullpen was, by most standards, not an appropriate place for a four-year-old.

Jack Hotchner, however, had never been consulted on that opinion. Today though, spencer and JJ were tasked to look after the toddler while his father was in a meeting until his babysitter came and took him home. JJ and Spencer loved Jack, he was a kind and smart toddler. So to say they were shocked at how he was acting today was an understatement.

Jack was sat on top of Spencer’s desk with his legs swinging — on it, not at it, because the chair was too big and he’d declared it “boring” — with his arms folded tight across his chest and his bottom lip pushed out far enough to cast a shadow. In front of him, spencers hand held a paper towel with genuine optimism, and on said paper towel, several offerings: half a granola bar, half a banana, and a neat pile of red apple slices that Spencer was still holding out at arm’s length like a peace treaty.

“Jack,” JJ tried, using the warm voice she reserved for Henry when he was being particularly unreasonable. “Buddy. They’re apple slices. You like apple slices.”

Jack looked at the apple slices.

Then he looked at JJ.

Then he stuck his tongue out at her.

JJ straightened up and looked at Spencer. Spencer looked back at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“I have a PhD,” Spencer said, mostly to himself. “Three of them.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.”

Spencer crouched down slightly to be at eye level with Jack, tilting his head with the careful, methodical energy of someone approaching a problem they genuinely intended to solve. “Okay, Jack, did you know that apples contain something called quercetin? It’s an antioxidant that actually supports—”

Jack blew an m&m directly into Spencer’s face.

JJ covered her mouth. Spencer stood back up very slowly, blinking.

“I’m going to get him a juice box,” JJ announced, and she was absolutely laughing as she walked away.

Spencer sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and held the apple slices out again gamely. “Alright. New approach. What if—”

The elevator doors opened.

Jack’s entire demeanor transformed in under a second — the folded arms dropped, the pout dissolved, and he launched himself off the desk with the full confidence of someone who had never once considered the possibility of falling.

“Hey!”

Spencer looked down at the little toddler running towards the elevators, then he looked at what Jack was after.

You started babysitting Jack when he was only a year old, so Jack quickly bonded to you since he spent most of his time with you because his dad was too busy working, not that he minded it, Jack loved you, and you adored the little gremlin. You met Aaron Hotchner when you were serving him at a diner you worked at, that diner? worst place. Your manager was a sexist asshole who payed you less than the guys working there. You heard Aaron talking about how he needed to take jack with him to work since his babysitter canceled again. So when he called you over asking for some water, you couldn’t help but intrude a little. “Are you looking for a babysitter?”. And then that was that. Of course he didnt hire you right away, he sat u done on the chair infront of him and started asking questions. You told him you were in college, you lived on campus not far from here, youve loved babies and that youve babysat before. Even then he told you he wasnt sure yet and that hed call you back. It was only till after he made Garcia do a backround check on you that he called you back.

You caught him on instinct, one arm hooking under him as he collided with you, the other steadying his weight as he scrambled up onto your hip like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had. You laughed, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head.

“Hey, you,” you said warmly. “You ready to—”

“They were so mean to me.”

You pulled back to look at his face. He was devastated. Genuinely, completely, dramatically devastated, both small hands fisted in the front of your jacket, his expression the particular flavor of betrayal usually reserved for Greek tragedy.

“Who was mean to you sweet boy?” you asked.

He pointed.

You followed the direction of his finger to find a blonde returning from the break room with a juice box, and a tall man — lanky, cardigan, slightly bewildered expression, still holding a paper towel of apple slices — standing by the desk. Your gaze settled on him for just a moment, the way you might clock a new variable in a familiar equation.

Spencer Reid, for his part, forgot how to do anything.

He was aware, distantly, that this was an embarrassing response to a person simply existing in his vicinity, but his brain, which usually had plenty to say about everything, went abruptly and completely offline. You were standing there with Jack on your hip and a slightly frowning look aimed in his direction and he could not locate a single word in any of the six languages he spoke. You looked breathtaking. This was your first time at the bau, yes, hed heard about you from jack and aaron but hed never actually seen you. It was clear you’d came from class, hence the books peaking out of your bag zipper.

You looked back at Jack, then at Spencer and JJ again, and the small frown deepened with theatrical suspicion. Slowly, you walked over to them,

“Were you two being mean to my favorite boy?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly, before the two even had a chance to reply.

“We were trying to feed him,” the girl said, with the weariness of someone who had been through a minor military campaign. “He won’t eat anything.” You soon recognized her from the pictures in Aarons living room, this was JJ.

“They were gonna poison me,” Jack stage-whispered to you, as though this were classified.

“They were—” You blinked. Then you looked at JJ. Then at the tall, still-silent man beside her. He was wearing a thick brown sweater with designs all over it, god he looked cute. This was Spencer.

JJ glanced at Spencer, who appeared to be experiencing some kind of internal systems error, and made the executive decision to speak for both of them. “We gave him the apple slices from the break room. He’s been up on that desk for twenty-five minutes refusing everything we offer him and making faces at us.”

“I made one face,” Jack said primly.

You looked at him. He had the grace to amend: “Two faces.”

JJ shook her head with a small smile, glancing toward her own desk where papers waited. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said diplomatically, and retreated with the grace of someone who recognized a handoff when they saw one.

Which left you, and Jack, and Spencer, who was still holding the apple slices.

You looked at what was in his hand. Then you looked at Jack, hiking him a little higher on your hip so you were face to face with him, eyebrows raised.

“Jack. Honey.” You kept your voice gentle, even as the corner of your mouth twitched. “Red apples are your favorite. Why won’t you eat them?”

“Because they’ll poison me,” Jack repeated, with total sincerity.

“Sweetheart, they won’t poison you. They’ve been washed. They’re very clean.”

“No!” He shook his head, with the gravity of someone correcting a fundamental misunderstanding. “I’m not talking about the apples.” He pointed again at Spencer. “I’m talking about him. And JJ. They’re gonna poison me. That’s what I’m saying.”

You stared at him. “…You think they’re going to poison you.”

“Uncle Morgan said,” Jack said, with complete confidence, “that JJ and Spencer are aliens and they electrocute people who touch them.”

The silence lasted approximately one and a half seconds before you couldn’t hold it anymore.

The laugh came out startled and genuine, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. Jack watched you with a very serious expression, clearly not understanding what was funny about the very serious threat he’d just described.

You got yourself together. Mostly.

“Jack,” you managed. “Baby. Uncle Morgan was playing with you. I promise — I promise — they are not going to hurt you. They’re not aliens.”

“Yes they are.”

“They’re not.”

“They’re gonna electrocute me.”

“They’re—” You looked up at Spencer, who was watching this exchange with an expression you couldn’t quite read — somewhere between charmed and completely overwhelmed — and made a decision.

You reached out and poked him on the arm. The arm not holding the apple slices. Firmly, squarely, two fingers against the sleeve of his cardigan covering his bicep.

“See?” you told Jack, turning back to him. “I touched him. I’m okay.”

Jack looked at your arm. At Spencer’s arm. At you.

“That’s his sleeve,” Jack said, with devastating four-year-old logic. “You didn’t touch his skin. It’s the skin.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He had a point.

You were aware, in some peripheral way, that what you did next was perhaps slightly beyond the normal bounds of meeting someone for the first time. You were also aware that you were being out-argued by a toddler in front of a stranger and that Jack would not eat his apple slices until this was resolved to his satisfaction.

You reached over and took Spencer’s hand.

Not his sleeve. His hand. You wrapped your fingers around his, spencers hand gripped yours and his thumb went to your knuckles, you held up his hand, clearly, visibly, between the three of you, and looked at Jack with raised eyebrows.

Spencer stopped breathing.

“See, baby?” Your voice was easy, unbothered, warm. “He’s not hurting me. Look. I’m holding his hand and I’m perfectly fine.”

Jack studied this with the intense scrutiny of a small scientist reviewing data. He looked at your joined hands. At Spencer’s face. At your face. Back at the apple slices.

And then, slowly, with the air of someone making a significant concession, he leaned forward and took an apple slice from Spencer’s paper towel.

You exhaled in quiet triumph.

Jack chewed. Reached for another slice. Then stopped.

“You have to keep holding it..” he announced.

“Jack—”

“Or he’ll electrocute me!”

You looked at Spencer. Spencer looked at you. Something almost like a smile was happening at the corner of his mouth — hesitant, a little undone — and up close his eyes were a very particular shade of brown that your brain filed away without your permission.

“Okay,” you said, and kept holding his hand while Jack methodically worked through the rest of the apple slices, unhurried, occasionally swinging his feet and humming something that might have been a cartoon theme song.

Spencer Reid stood very still and said nothing and was genuinely unsure if his heart was beating at a normal rate.

When the last slice was gone, Jack wiped his hands on his jeans with great satisfaction and announced, “Okay. I want to go home now.”

You laughed, shifting him back to a more secure position on your hip, and let go of Spencer’s hand. “What do you say Jack?” you nudged him, “Thank you!” jack beamed. You looked up at him, and there was something warm and a little amused in your expression.

“Sorry about him,” you said. “And — sorry about the, um.” A small gesture between the two of you. “I don’t usually just grab strangers’ hands. I’m—” you told him your name.

Spencer’s mouth opened. A sound came out that was not, technically, a word.

“Spencer,” he said, finally. Just his name. That was all he managed.

But you smiled at him like that was enough, and it kind of felt like it was.

“Bye Spencer” Your voice was like honey saying his name. You kissed Jacks cheek and told him to say bye.

“Bye, Spencer,” Jack said, pointing at him seriously. “Don’t electrocute anyone.”

“I’ll — do my best,” Spencer said.

You were still smiling as you turned toward the elevator, shifting Jack against your side, the two of you already deep in some murmured conversation about what he wanted for dinner. Spencer watched the elevator doors close.

“Looks like pretty boy found pretty girl.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know who that was.

Derek Morgan materialized at his shoulder with the energy of someone who had been watching this entire interaction from a safe distance and enjoying every second of it. He was grinning the way he grinned when he had something very good and intended to make it last.

“Couldn’t speak, huh.”

“I spoke,” Spencer said.

“You said your own name, man.”

“That’s — speaking.”

“Hotch’s kid’s babysitter.” Morgan shook his head slowly, savoring it. “You gonna be weird about this for a while, or—”

“I’m not going to be weird about anything. I don’t know her. I met her for four minutes.” Spencer quickly came to his own defense.

“She held your hand.”

“For Jack. She held my hand for Jack, it was a child-management strategy—”

“You watched her walk to the elevator.”

“I was just—”

“Spencer.”

“I don’t know her,” Spencer repeated, with slightly less conviction than the first time.

Morgan looked at him for a long moment with the particular expression of a man who had just filed something away for future use, extensive future use, possibly for years. Then he clapped Spencer on the shoulder and walked away, still grinning.

Spencer stood where he was.

The bullpen hummed around him — keyboards, phones, Garcia’s distant laugh from the break room, maybe she was talking to Emily. Normal. All completely normal.

He looked down at his hand.

The paper towel was still in it, empty now, but that wasn’t what he was looking at. He was looking at the other hand. He turned it over once, a slow, slightly disbelieving motion, the way you might look at something that had been briefly, unexpectedly extraordinary and was now just ordinary again.

His hand, which was also just his hand.

He stood there looking at it for probably too long.

At the store

|| popular reader gets takes spencer on a drive

warnings : none

w.c 1.4k

~~~~~

The next day, Spencer walked into chemistry ten minutes early.

Not because he was eager for class.

Because he always arrived early.

Routine mattered. Predictability mattered. It reduced variables and minimized unnecessary social interaction and—

“Hi, Spencer.”

He nearly dropped his textbook.

You slid into the seat beside him with an easy smile, setting your notebook down like you hadn’t just short-circuited his entire nervous system by greeting him first. “Uh,” he said intelligently. “Hello.” You grinned a little at his tone before your eyes drifted to his face. Then immediately narrowed.

“…your glasses have tape on them.”

His hand reflexively came up to touch the bridge of them. A strip of clear tape sat across the center where the crack had worsened. “The glue didn’t hold?” you asked. “It did temporarily,” he said. “But the structural integrity was already compromised and therefore—” “So,” you interrupted gently, “the glue didn’t hold.” He exhaled through his nose. “…correct.” You frowned slightly. “Spence.” His eyes flicked up at the nickname.

It had slipped out naturally.

You didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “They’re functional.” The word functional did a lot of heavy lifting there. Before you could answer, the teacher started class, forcing you both to turn toward the front. Spencer tried to focus on the lesson. Really, he did. But he could feel you beside him. Feel the occasional glance you sent his way. Feel his own pulse behaving strangely every time your shoulder brushed his accidentally when either of you moved. It was deeply inconvenient. Then, twenty minutes into class—

The tape gave up.

It happened suddenly.

One second the glasses sat on his face.

The next—

The tape peeled loose and one lens tilted sideways.

A few kids snickered.

Spencer’s stomach dropped.

Without a word, he removed the glasses entirely and folded them carefully, placing them beside his notebook like maybe if he acted calm enough, nobody would notice. You stared at him. “…can you see without them?” “Yes,” he answered immediately. “Of course.”

You squinted at him.

He kept his eyes firmly on the board.

For approximately three minutes.

Then—

“What does that say?”

You looked over.

“The equation?”

“…yes.”

“It says 20.49 divided by 18.3.”

“Right,” he said quickly. “That’s what I thought.”

Two minutes later

“And that number underneath?”

You tried not to smile.

“…Spencer.”

“What?”

“You can’t see.”

“I can see,” he insisted.

You raised a brow.

A beat passed.

“…not clearly,” he admitted quietly.

Your chest squeezed.

You looked at the broken glasses sitting uselessly beside him, then at the way he kept trying to pretend everything was fine instead of asking for help.

Decision made.

The second the bell rang, you packed your bag in record time. Spencer was halfway through stacking his papers when suddenly— Your hand grabbed his. His entire brain stopped functioning. “Come with me,” you said. “What?” “Come on.”

You tugged him gently toward the door. Spencer stumbled after you, nearly dropping his notebook. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” “You’re being alarmingly vague.”

The hallway outside chemistry was mostly empty since everyone else was still filtering out of classrooms. Your hand stayed wrapped around his wrist as you hurried down the corridor, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Spencer could barely think. You were holding his hand. Well—not technically hand. Wrist-adjacent. But still.

That counted.

Probably.

Statistically.

“Wait,” he said as you pushed through the school doors. “We still have three classes left.”

“I know.”

“…the school day is not over.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can’t just leave school grounds.”

You glanced back at him with a smile. “Watch me.”

His anxiety immediately tripled.

By the time you reached your car, Spencer looked moments away from combusting.

You opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

“What are you doing?”

“Spencer.”

“We’re committing truancy.”

“We’re leaving campus for like an hour, not joining the mafia.”

“That is still a violation of school policy.”

You leaned against the car door. “Do you trust me?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“…that feels like a dangerous question! I barely know you!” He didnt think mentioning the fact that hes seen you in classes and hallways and thought about talking to you for the past 3 years relevant

You laughed softly. “Just get in the car.” Against every instinct in his body, he did. The drive started in silence.

Well.

Your silence.

Spencer’s brain was making enough noise for both of you. “We’re going to get caught,” he said after about thirty seconds. “We won’t.” “You sound remarkably confident.”

“I’ll text abby to cover for us.”

“…who is abby?”

“My friend from yearbook. She can literally forge attendance sheets.”

Spencer stared at you in horror. You grinned. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

That did not help.

He watched nervously as you drove through town, fingers twisting together in his lap. Then the car slowed.

You parked.

Spencer glanced out the window. And stilled. He saw an eyeglasses store.

He turned toward you immediately. “What are we doing here?”

You blinked at him. “Getting you new glasses.” His face went blank. “…what?”

“You can’t see without them.”

“No.”

“No… you can’t see? Or no… you don’t want glasses?” “No,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “Absolutely not.”You frowned. “Why?” “Because glasses are expensive.”

Ah.

There it was.

The immediate panic. The immediate refusal before you’d even properly explained. You softened a little.

“Spencer—”

“I can’t afford it.” “Then ill get them for you” his pupils widened at that “no way. I cant pay you back”

“You’re not paying me back.”

“That’s worse.”

You stared at him.

He looked genuinely distressed now, shoulders tight with embarrassment. “My mother already spends enough money and I don’t— I can manage without them temporarily.” “You literally couldn’t read the board.”

“I can sit closer.”

“You were in the second row.”

“…I can sit closer emotionally.”

You snorted despite yourself.

Then your expression gentled again.

“Spence,” you said quietly, “we’re already here. You need glasses.”

“I can’t let you buy them for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because normal people don’t just spend money on random people.”

You looked at him for a second before reaching over and unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Good thing I’m apparently not normal.”

Before he could protest again, you climbed out of the car. Spencer sat there for a moment in complete disbelief before scrambling after you. Inside the shop, he hovered awkwardly near the entrance while you spoke to the employee. He looked deeply uncomfortable. Like he was waiting for someone to laugh and reveal this whole thing was a prank. You noticed immediately. So you walked back over and lightly nudged his arm.

“Hey.”

He looked down at you.

“Try some on for me?”

“…for you?”

“Mhm.”

Something about the wording seemed to lower his defenses just a little. Still hesitant, Spencer reached for a pair.

Then another.

You watched him test frames with increasing uncertainty while the employee adjusted sizes and explained lens options.

And slowly—very slowly—

He started participating.

Actually participating.

“This prescription strength would reduce distance blur significantly,” he murmured, adjusting a pair. “Ooh, those look nice,” you said immediately. He blinked. “Really?” “Yeah, theyre cute.”

A tiny flush crept up his neck.

Eventually, after far too much convincing, Spencer settled on a pair of simple dark frames. When you paid, he looked like he physically pained him. The entire drive back to school was quiet.

All until

“You don’t have to do this.” You glanced over. “I know.” “I mean it.” His voice was softer now. “I’m not your charity case.” The words hit you like a punch. You frowned immediately. “What?” He stared down at his hands. “You don’t need to feel bad for me.” “Oh my god, Spencer.”

“No, I’m serious. People do this sometimes because they pity—”

“I did not pity you.” He stopped talking. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel slightly before looking over at him again. “I didn’t even think of it like that.” “…then what?” Your expression softened.

“I saw my friend needed help,” you said quietly. “And I could help.”

Friend.

The word settled over him carefully. Gently. You smiled a little. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Spencer looked at you for a long moment. And for maybe the first time in a very long time—

someone’s kindness didn’t feel conditional.

“…right,” he said softly.

Then after a beat

“You really skipped school to buy me prescription eyewear.” You grinned.

“Yeah.”

“Then, very quietly—

“…thank you.”

And the smile you gave him after that stayed in his head for the rest of the week.

Prev part

————

the odds

|| spencer reid sees reader again 4 years after he left her sobbing in her room.

warnings none

w.c 1.8k

~~~~~

The soft clicking of keyboards and shuffling papers surrounded you as you kept your eyes locked on the file infront of you. After yale, you’d went to training to become an agent and landed a position at vicap, while you were going through the file you had spread out infront of you, a sudden ringtone took your focus off of it, you glanced an the caller ID seeing it was your friend meghan. You met her at a party while you were both in college, quickly becoming great friends. Her voice was frantic on the phone, something about needing you at the bau.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m coming,” you’d assured her, already grabbing your jacket before she’d even finished explaining.

Now you were pushing through the glass doors of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, your heart racing. A kidnapping. Meghan had been drugged at a bar, held for six hours before being found. The BAU had her in one of their conference rooms for questioning.

Your entire focus was on getting to Meghan, on seeing her face and making sure she was actually okay. You were halfway across the bullpen when someone stopped you, a tall guy with broad shoulders. “Hey excuse me, are you looking for someone, im SSA Derek Morgan. Can i offer any help?”

“Uh hi yes im looking for my friend- Meghan, she called me asking for me, where is she? is she okay?”

“Meghans okay, shes in questioning right now you can talk to her once she comes out” you smiled slightlyand nodded along, glad that your friend was doing okay.

You were turning around to go and sit down somewhere when you saw the face of the boy who you thought youd soend the rest of your life with.

And time did that weird thing where it both froze and accelerated at once.

Spencer Reid stood by a desk, a file forgotten in his hands, staring at you like you were a ghost. Except ghosts didn’t have your face, your eyes, the same way you were staring back at him.

Four years. Four years since he’d sat at your desk saying the words that were dreaded, Four years since you were sobbing on your bedroom floor because he’d broken up with you before graduation, before anything could get messy—and told you that you deserved better than him. That he was too much, that you had your whole life ahead of you, that he didn’t want to hold you back.

“Hi,” you said, because what else do you say to someone who’d been your entire world once?

“Hi,” he managed back, and his voice had that same careful precision it always did, like every word had to be measured and perfect. “You’re… you’re here.”

“My friend Meghan—she’s—” You gestured vaguely at the conference room, unable to finish because you were too busy cataloging the changes in him. He was taller somehow, or maybe he just carried himself differently now. His hair was longer. There was a confidence in his posture that hadn’t been there before. He looked like a man instead of the brilliant, anxious boy you’d loved.

“Meghan shouldnt be too long,” Emily said, appearing at your elbow with knowing eyes. The next second she was introducing herself, warm and professional, and then the others were gathering, a blonde girl who youd guessed to be a mother by the stain on her shirt, an older guy who you recognized from bookshop windows passing by, and a very colorful woman who was really kind. Last one to introduce himself was Aaron hotchner, the chief. You shook hands,introduced yourself also. The moment youd said your name, most of the team had shared a knowing look, you ignored it and answered questions about Meghan, about how you knew her, all while hyperaware of Spencer standing a few feet away, pretending to work but definitely not working. You could feel him looking at you every few seconds. Feel it like a touch.

He couldnt help it, 3 years, 165 days, 14 hours since he last saw you. You looked a bit thinner, your cheek bones were more prominent, you wore heeled boots, with a jean skirt. That was always your favorite. You had your necklace on that your mom had given you for your birthday when you turned 15, you never took it off. Your hair was shorter and lighter.

Your hand reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear when something caught the sunlight dipping into the room, his heart dropped to his knees. The huge diamond rock sat on your ring finger on your right hand, it looked like it cost more than spencers yearly paycheck. The realization hit him like a physical blow. You were engaged. And in that moment, all spencer could do was breathe and swallow the lump that was growing in his throat.

The door to the bullpen opened again, an older guy walked in like he owned the place. Tall, blonde, effortlessly handsome in the way that old money and confidence made you. Your fiancé. Your very successful, very wealthy fiancé who’d swept into your life two years ago and convinced you that you were allowed to be happy again.

He headed straight for you, hand already reaching for your arm.

“There you are,” Mark said, his eyes sharing a glance with hotch and the others. “I came as soon as you called. How’s meghan?” He put his arm around you, pulling you into him.

“Still being questioned,” you said, turning into his embrace automatically. “She was really shaken up.”

“Of course. We’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” He kissed your temple,

“this is Mark,” you said, feeling the shift in the room’s energy while you threaded your fingers through his. “My fiance. Mark, this is the team. They’re helping with Meghan’s case.” Mark was nice, he shook everyones hand with respect.

Mark extended his hand to Spencer with a small smile. You knew what was going to follow, Spencer winced as he looked at Marks stretched hand, hesitantly, he took it. “Dr. Spencer Reid”

A quick look of recognition spread across your fiances face “Ah, you’re spencer”

You watched Spencer’s confusion flicker across his face before he shook Mark’s hand. “I… yes. How did you—”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Mark said smoothly, and there was something in his tone that made your skin prickle.

A few minutes of small talk that felt like standing on a tightrope, and then Mark turned to you. “Can we talk for a minute? In private?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the conference room where Meghan was waiting for you, but Mark’s expression was insistent in that polite way that left no room for argument.

“Sure,” you said. “Uhm, can we—”

“Of course,” Emily said quickly, already gesturing toward an empty room off the side of the bullpen. A small room with a window and a closed door.

You didn’t know that window was two-way. Didn’t know that the moment you and Mark stepped inside, Emily would be guiding everyone else—despite Spencer’s quiet protest of “This isn’t right”—into the observation room on the other side.

“This is completely inappropriate,” Spencer was saying, but JJ had already linked her arm through his. “This is the love of your life, Reid. Let us have this.”

Inside the other room, Mark closed the door and immediately his expression shifted. The charm drained away, replaced with something tighter.

“I have to leave,” he said. “There’s a meeting I can’t miss.”

You blinked. “Okay.. A meeting? Mark, you’ve been to a hundred meetings. Why are you—” And then it hit you. “Is this about Spencer?”

“Of course it’s about Spencer,” Mark said, and there was an edge to his voice you’d rarely heard directed at you. “I thought that by now, by the time I actually met him, he’d have moved on. That he’d have someone else.”

Your chest went tight. “What does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t expect him to still be…” Mark’s jaw worked. “Alone. Still available.”

“Mark, what are you talking about?” You were genuinely confused, watching his face flush slightly with frustration.

“I didn’t think that when I finally met your great love, he’d still be waiting for you like some—some charity case.” The words came out harsh, and you felt them like a slap.

“Excuse me? What youre scared to leave me alone with him because you think im gonna run to him professing my dire need for him? Thats how low you think of me?” Your voice had gone very quiet. The dangerous kind of quiet.

“Don’t play dumb. The way you talk about him, the way your whole face changes when he comes up—I thought by now you’d have… I don’t know, gotten over it. Moved on completely. Not still be playing the role of his savior.”

You leaned off the table. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that. That was never what I was to him. Ever.”

“This is exactly what i mean!” Mark said, and his voice rose slightly. “You’re defending him! Your ex! That you claim to have completely moved on from!”

name

“Are you serious- Of course I’m defending him Mark,” you said, and you could feel anger rolling through you in waves. “He hasn’t done anything to you. He doesn’t even know you! Why are you being such an asshole to someone you’ve never even met?”

“I know him from how much you talk about him,” Mark shot back. “Do you hear yourself when you say his name? Do you have any idea what your face looks like?”

“So what, you’re jealous? Is that what this is?” You shook your head, already moving toward the door. “You know what, I’m not doing this right now. Meghan is hurt and she needs me. You need to go cool off. We’ll talk about this tonight when I get home.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You just opened the door and walked out, your heart hammering, heading straight back toward the conference room where Meghan needed you.

Behind you, Mark stood in the observation room—the room he didn’t know wasn’t private—for another ten seconds before he grabbed his jacket and left, the door slamming behind him.

On the other side of the two-way mirror, there was complete silence.

Spencer was staring at the empty space where you’d been, his expression shellshocked. His hands were clenched at his sides.

JJ slowly reached for his arm.

“Well,” Morgan said after a moment. “That was—”

“Don’t,” Spencer said quietly. His voice sounded scraped raw. “Please don’t.”

Emily exchanged a look with penelope, who looked almost sympathetic.

“Reid,” JJ started gently.

“I said don’t.” Spencer turned away from the mirror, and his eyes were too bright. “She’s engaged. That’s what matters. She’s happy. That’s what I wanted. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But the way he said it sounded like a lie even he didn’t believe.

——————

room 2, heart 1

║ spencer reid seeing you cry for the first time and comforting you after a bad day.

˗ˏˋ │ ˎˊ˗ early season 1 spencer so hes around 23, made up university, readers kind of a genius.

w.c 2.3k

warnings: none just crying

fluff with comfort!

~~~~~

The soft click of the front door pulled you back to reality.

Spencer was home.

He’d been away on a case for five days now, and you hadn’t expected him back tonight. He’d texted earlier saying they probably wouldn’t land until tomorrow morning, which was exactly why your guard had been completely down as you sat crying in the bathroom.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, though it only resulted in another embarrassing stuffy sound instead of the breath you’d intended. Wincing, you quickly wiped at your cheeks, praying Spencer hadn’t heard you.

You glanced up at yourself in the mirror.

You didn’t look bad, necessarily.

Just… exhausted.

Your hair sat messily around your shoulders, slightly tangled from repeatedly running your hands through it. Your nose was flushed redder than the blush you usually wore, your eyes glossy, lashes damp enough that they clumped together when you blinked.

Still manageable, you decided.

Hopefully.

“Y/N?”

Spencer’s voice echoed from the kitchen.

Of course he knew you were awake. It wasn’t late enough for you to be asleep yet. Spencer had memorized your sleeping habits months ago — strictly for “practical reasons,” according to him. Apparently knowing when to enter quietly after cases was important.

You’d rolled your eyes the first time he admitted that.

The two of you had a tradition.

Whenever Spencer came home from a case and you were still awake, you’d eat something together and watch a movie — assuming neither of you passed out halfway through. It started around seven months ago after a particularly rough case left Spencer quieter than usual. You’d offered him leftover pasta over a random romcom, and somehow it became routine after that.

Funny enough, eight months ago, you’d been complete strangers.

—————-

His mother had suggested it.

After Spencer casually mentioned over the phone one night that his apartment always felt eerily quiet whenever he came home from a case, Diana immediately told him he should get a roommate. Someone to keep him company. Someone who could maybe help around the apartment.

She’d also made sure to comment that maybe having another person around would encourage him to gain some “much needed weight” if they cooked actual meals instead of him surviving off coffee and stale cereal.

Spencer had brushed the idea off immediately.

A roommate wasn’t really his thing.

He liked things organized a certain way. The dishes had their places. His spices were arranged alphabetically. Most drawers were organized using systems only he understood, all designed to help him find things faster.

Another person would disrupt that.

At least, that’s what made sense to him.

But a few weeks later, after a particularly brutal case, the idea didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.

He unlocked the apartment door late that night and stepped inside, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders.

The silence hit him instantly.

No television in the background.

No movement.

No voice.

Just quiet. Too quiet.

And after spending days surrounded by death, grief, and his own thoughts, the silence suddenly felt unbearable.

So maybe, for once, his mother had been right.

The next morning — thankfully a Saturday — Spencer woke up unusually early with an actual plan in mind. He spent nearly an hour at the library carefully typing up a roommate flyer.

ROOMMATE WANTED

2 bed / 2 bath apartment

Ages 18–27 preferred, but flexible

Must be an adult

Rent: $$$/month

Call *** for details

Simple.

Straightforward.

He printed three copies and taped them around the neighborhood:

one near a bar down the street, another on a community board inside the library, and the last near a café students frequented.

Then all he could do was wait.

By that evening, he’d gotten five calls.

By the next morning, he already regretted everything.

The first potential roommate arrived at exactly 9:03 a.m.

“Mike Montgomery,” the man introduced himself confidently as Spencer opened the door. Twenty-three, recently graduated, worked at the bar down the street.

At first, Spencer thought he’d gotten lucky.Mike seemed relatively normal.

Then he opened his mouth.“And it’s cool if my girlfriend comes over, right?”Spencer nodded politely. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Perfect,” Mike grinned, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll tell her to start bringing her stuff over.”

Spencer blinked.

“I’m sorry— what?”

“My girlfriend. We’d both be moving in.”

Spencer stared at him for a moment.

“Both of you?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Mike added quickly. “We’d share the room and bathroom.”

That was the end of that.

Spencer’s apartment was small enough with one extra person. Three would’ve been unbearable.

The other interviews somehow went worse.

One guy showed up smelling strongly of alcohol at eleven in the morning. Another talked nonstop for nearly forty minutes without taking a breath. One woman criticized Spencer’s furniture arrangement before even sitting down.

By Monday morning, Spencer was exhausted.

“Pretty boy,” Derek Morgan called as Spencer stepped off the elevator at the BAU, “what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“I didn’t sleep well,” Spencer muttered, already reaching for coffee.

And before Morgan could throw a comment on him,“Leave him alone,” Emily Prentiss called from across the room without even looking up from her paperwork.

Spencer had barely sat down when his phone rang.

He pulled out his phone from his satchel and looked at the caller ID.

Unknown number.

He answered quietly, stepping away from his desk.“Hi,” a girl’s voice said nervously. “I was calling about the apartment flyer? If the room’s still available and not taken yet.”

Spencer straightened slightly. “Yes— I mean, no, it’s not taken yet.”

Smooth Spencer, good going.

He grimaced at himself.

“Would tonight at seven work for you to come over?”“Seven’s perfect,” she replied. “I just have class beforehand.”

Class.

Interesting.

“I’ll see you then.”

The call ended before he could overthink it further.

By the time seven rolled around, Spencer had only been home for around fifteen minutes. He’d barely set his satchel down and took his shoes off when the doorbell rang.

He opened the door and immediately forgot the sentence he’d been about to say.

Standing in front of him was a girl around his age wearing an off-the-shoulder white top with a denim skirt and boots, several books balanced awkwardly against her chest alongside a laptop bag slipping down her shoulder.

She smiled warmly.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I came about the apartment, and I’m really sorry if I’m late. My professor kept us after class.”

Spencer realized he’d been staring approximately two seconds too long.

“Right. Yes. Hi. I’m Spencer.” He stepped aside quickly. “You’re not late.”

“Thank you.”The first thing you noticed upon stepping inside was how clean everything was.Not normal clean.

Spencer clean.

Every book aligned perfectly. Shoes neatly arranged beside the door. Nothing out of place.

You glanced down instinctively at Spencer’s sock-covered feet before quietly slipping off your own boots beside the shoe rack.

Spencer noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

He was a profiler.

Something about the gesture softened him a little.

He guided you toward the couch while he took the chair across from you.

You started talking before he could ask anything.“Okay, um— I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I just turned twenty, and I’m currently getting my master’s in psychology at State university. I graduated kinda early, so…” You laughed awkwardly.

“I also write part-time? Well, more like professionally, enough to get paid sometimes.”

Spencer listened carefully.

“I’m clean,” you continued quickly. “Like, very clean. I cannot live with unhygienic people, I actually think I’d die. I’m not nosy, I’m not loud, and I promise I won’t invite random people over constantly or anything. I don’t mind splitting chores or cooking sometimes, but I also don’t wanna be the only person doing everything.”

You paused finally to breathe.

“Sorry. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

To Spencer’s surprise, he found himself smiling slightly.“It’s alright.”

And strangely enough, it was.“Will writing be enough to cover rent?” he asked gently

“Probably not entirely,” you admitted honestly. “But I got hired at this diner down the street. I start training on Wednesday.”

Responsible.

Honest.

Self-aware.

Promising.

“That’s good,” Spencer nodded. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes please.”

He stood, wiping slightly sweaty palms against his slacks before heading toward the kitchen.

Then—

“Woah.”

Spencer turned immediately.You were staring directly at the gun he’d stupidly left near the counter after getting home from work.He internally cursed himself.

“Uh…” You pointed carefully. “Do you just carry that around casually, or are you secretly in the mafia?”

Spencer blinked.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed quietly.

“No. Not the mafia.”You relaxed instantly at the sound.

“It’s for work.”

“What do you do?”

“I work for the FBI,” he answered carefully.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widened.“Wait, seriously?”Spencer nodded, suddenly bracing himself for discomfort. Most people got nervous after hearing that.

Instead, your entire face lit up.“That’s so cool.”

That was not the response he expected.“You think so?”

“Are you kidding?” You sat forward excitedly. “That’s literally the kind of stuff I write about.”

Now Spencer was intrigued.“What exactly do you write?”

“The psychology behind violent behavior mostly,” you explained. “Why people do horrible things, what pushes someone to that point, how trauma affects behavior… stuff like that.

”Spencer found himself fully invested now.

“And you’re getting your master’s at twenty?”You nodded sheepishly.

“I graduated high school at sixteen. My teachers wanted me to skip more grades earlier, but my parents didn’t want me growing up too fast.”Spencer walked back over with your glass of water,

handing it to you carefully.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

For the first time in weeks, Spencer realized his apartment didn’t feel quite so empty anymore.

——————

Spencer didn’t notice it at first.

Not really.

He noticed the silence before anything else — how it felt heavier than usual, like the apartment itself was holding its breath.

Then he saw you.

And everything else stopped.

You were standing in the dim light of the bathroom doorway, shoulders slightly hunched inward like you were trying to take up less space in the world. Your face was turned down, but it didn’t matter — he could already see enough.

Red-rimmed eyes. Wet lashes. The uneven rise and fall of your chest like you were trying too hard to stay steady.

Spencer’s brain did what it always did first: observe.

Swollen eyes. Facial flushing. Slight tremor in hands. Interrupted breathing pattern.

But then something else cut through the analysis.

You were crying.

And he realized, with a strange jolt in his chest, that he had never seen you like this before.

Not once.

You were always composed around him — talkative when nervous, a little chaotic, sometimes overly expressive, but never… this.

Never broken in front of him.

His feet moved before he consciously told them to.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Your head lifted slightly at the sound of his voice, like you hadn’t even realized he was there until that moment.

That made something in him tighten.

Because you always noticed him.

“Hey,” he repeated, slower this time, like lowering his voice could make the world less sharp around you. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Just a broken inhale that fell apart halfway through.

Spencer’s throat went dry.

This wasn’t like you.

His mind started filling in possibilities automatically — panic, emotional overload, exhaustion, maybe something said at school or work, maybe something building up for days that he hadn’t noticed—

No. Focus on her.

Not on analyzing her.

Not the patterns.

Her.

He stepped closer, carefully, like sudden movement might make everything worse.

Your hands were shaking now. You tried to wipe your face again, embarrassed, but your fingers hesitated halfway like even that small action was too much effort.

That did it.

Spencer stopped overthinking.

“Hey,” he said again, quieter, gentler. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And then, like something finally gave way in you, your expression collapsed.

The first sound you made wasn’t even words — just a small, broken breath that turned into a sob you tried to swallow back.

Spencer felt it in his chest immediately.

Sharp. Unfamiliar. Uncomfortable in the way that meant it mattered.

Without thinking, he opened his arms slightly.

Not forcing. Just offering.

And after a second — like you were deciding whether you were allowed to fall apart — you stepped forward.

The moment you hit his chest, everything broke.

You grabbed onto his cardigan like it was the only stable thing in the room, and the sound that came out of you was quiet but devastating in its honesty.

Spencer froze for half a second.

Then he adjusted immediately, arms wrapping around you properly — one hand at the back of your head, the other securing your shoulders like he was anchoring you in place.

His mind was still trying to process it.

This is real.

I’ve never seen her cry before.

And then, softer:

Why does it feel like I failed to notice something important?

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he just held you.

Letting you shake against him while your breathing came in uneven, broken waves.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his chest, voice muffled and wrecked. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want you to see me like this—”

Spencer shook his head immediately, even though you couldn’t see it.

“No,” he said firmly, but still gentle. “No. Don’t apologize.”

His hand moved slowly through your hair — grounding, repetitive, steady.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he added after a beat. “You just… don’t have to do this alone.”

That was the part that got you again.

A fresh wave of tears hit, and your grip tightened like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go.

Spencer swallowed hard.

He wasn’t used to this.

Not the intensity. Not the closeness. Not the way your pain felt like it had weight he could physically feel.

But he stayed.

He didn’t move away.

Didn’t try to fix it immediately.

Just stayed there in the dim bathroom light, holding you like it was the only thing he was certain he could do right.

And for the first time in his life—

Spencer Reid didn’t feel like an observer.

He felt like someone who was needed.

————————

guys first post kinda nerv, this was lowks kinda rushed so bare with me for some mistakes!

Between the pages

|| spencer and popular!readers first kiss

warnings: none

w.c 1.7k

~~~~~

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall library windows, casting long golden streaks across the worn wooden tables. You adjusted your skirt as you walked toward the back section where Spencer always studied, your heart doing an annoying little flutter in your chest.

You spotted him on your usual couch in the back corner near the science section. Spencer sat hunched over his books, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he concentrated, one long finger tracing a line of text. He was wearing that forest green sweater again—the one that made his hazel eyes look impossibly deep. Your chest constricted.

He looked up as you approached, his expression shifting from focused intensity to something softer. “Hey what are you doing here?,” he said, stating the obvious but making it sound like something profound. “I thought you had cheerleading practice on Thursdays.”

“I skipped,” you said simply, dropping onto the empty space beside him.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “You skipped practice? But you’re… you never skip. The team needs you. You’re their best flyer, and at regionals next month—”

“I wanted to see you more,” you interrupted, watching as a blush crept up his neck and colored his cheeks a deep crimson. “Also, I hate regionals prep. Ellie can cover for me.”

“Oh.” Spencer looked down at the book in front of him, a volume on Renaissance history that you were certain had nothing to do with any of his classes. “I’m… that’s… I mean, I’m glad. That you came.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his stammering. After three months of hanging out constantly, he still got flustered around you. It was endearing in a way that made your stomach flip.

“What are you reading?” you asked, leaning over to look at his book.

“This? Oh, it’s just… I’ve been interested in the Medici family lately. Florence in the 14th and 15th centuries represents a fascinating intersection of art, politics, mathematics, and economics. Did you know that the Medici bank essentially invented modern accounting? They developed the double-entry bookkeeping system, which revolutionized—” He stopped himself, glancing at you sheepishly. “I’m doing it again, Im sorry-.”

“No don’t apologize, I like when you do that,” you said, and you meant it. You reached over and gently pushed the hair back from his forehead. Spencer froze, his entire body going rigid. “You get this look on your face. Like the whole world is fascinating and you want to share it with me.”

His voice came out barely above a whisper. “You pay attention to my face?”

Heat bloomed across your own cheeks now. “Of course I do, Reid, I always have.”

He’d been Spencer at first, the awkward genius who sat alone in the library at lunch and wore cardigans in the spring. But somewhere along the way, he’d become Spencer Reid, your Spencer Reid, the boy who made you feel like your brain was worth something, like you didn’t have to be just the pretty cheerleader who smiled and looked cute in a uniform.

The library around you suddenly felt very small and very quiet. The librarian was at the front desk, shelving returns. There were only a couple of other people scattered throughout the space, heads bent over books. It was late afternoon on a Thursday, that strange pocket of time when school felt like it was already winding down for the day.

“I brought you something,” Spencer said suddenly, reaching into his messenger bag. He pulled out a worn paperback copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde. “I know you mentioned wanting to read more classics, and this is one of my favorites. The prose is really beautiful, and Wilde’s wit is incredible. Plus, there’s this quote about beauty and truth that I thought you might like, and—”

You took the book from his hands, carefully so you wouldn’t drop it, your fingers brushing against his. He didn’t pull away this time. Instead, he let your touch linger, his eyes searching yours.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “This is really thoughtful, Spencer.”

“You’re really thoughtful,” he blurted out, then immediately looked away, mortified. “I mean… I didn’t mean to sound so… I just meant that you’re kind. You’re kind to everyone, but especially to me, and I don’t really deserve—”

“You deserve everything spence,” you interrupted, setting the book down on the coffee table infront of you. “You deserve people who appreciate how smart you are and how funny you are when you’re not so worried about saying the wrong thing.“

Spencer looked at you, actually looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, searching your face as if he was trying to determine if you were being truthful. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said quietly. “All the time. You were beautiful the when I saw you in Mr Pattersons class first day of junior year, and you’re beautiful right now, and I spend a lot of time thinking about how beautiful you are, which is probably weird and inappropriate, and I’m sorry—”

His hands in his lap were shaking slightly. You reached over and placed your hand over his, stopping the nervous ramble. “It’s not weird. I like that you think I’m beautiful. I like that you see me.”

The library seemed to hold its breath with you both. One of the fluorescent lights above hummed softly. A book cart squeaked somewhere in the distance. But here, in this small corner of the world, it was just you and Spencer, and the strange, wonderful thing that had been growing between you for months.

“I’ve never… I mean, I don’t have much experience with…” Spencer started, his face now nearly the color of a fire engine.

“Neither do I,” you confessed. “Not really. The popular kids I’ve dated before were never really… I wasn’t really myself with them.”

“Are you yourself with me?” he asked, and it was such a genuine, open question that it made your heart ache.

“Completely,” you said. “You make me want to be exactly who I am.”

He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were warm, gentle, careful—like he was afraid you might break if he touched you too roughly. His hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, each word careful and deliberate. You reached one of your hands up to the back of his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “If that’s okay. Can i kiss you? Please? I’ve read extensively on the subject, and I understand the general mechanics, but I’m certain I won’t be very good at it because I’m not good at things involving physical coordination, and I might accidentally hit your teeth or put my nose in a weird place, and—”

You laughed, a soft sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and then you closed the distance between you.

His lips were soft, warm, hesitant. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if he was processing what was happening. Then, slowly, he pressed forward gently, carefully, like he was still terrified he’d somehow get it wrong. His hand on your face steadied, became more confident, and his other hand reached for your other cheek, cradling you like you were something infinitely precious.

It wasn’t a dramatic kiss, full of passion and fireworks like the ones you’d seen in movies. It was better than that. It was intimate and real and completely, entirely Spencer—thoughtful and slightly awkward and absolutely perfect.

When you pulled back, Spencer’s eyes stayed closed for a moment longer, his lips still slightly parted. When he opened them, he looked at you with such wonder that you felt your breath catch.

“Was that… okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “More than okay.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face—the kind that made him look so young and so happy that you felt a rush of protective tenderness toward him. He was extraordinary, this shy, brilliant boy who’d never quite fit in, who didn’t understand why he was worth loving until someone like you came along.

“We should probably do it again,” he said, with a hint of a scholar’s logic that made you smile. “You know, to ensure I’m improving my technique.”

“That’s an excellent point,” you agreed, and kissed him again, slower this time, letting your eyes close as you savored the softness of his mouth and the gentle way his hands held you.

When you finally broke apart, the sun was hanging lower in the sky, painting the library in shades of amber and gold. Spencer rested his forehead against yours, and you could feel him trembling slightly.

“I really like you,” he whispered.

“I really like you too,” you whispered back.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his hazel eyes bright with joy and something else—something that looked a lot like love in its earliest, most hopeful stage.

“Does this mean I can hold your hand in the hallway?” he asked. “Because I’ve wanted to do that since December, and it seemed statistically unlikely that you’d ever want to be associated with me publicly given your social standing, but if you’re willing, I would very much like to—”

You silenced him with a quick kiss, tasting his smile against your lips. “Yes,” you said. “You can hold my hand. You can hold my hand everywhere.”

As you sat together in the library, your fingers intertwined with his, your heart felt so full you thought it might burst. Spencer had already picked his book back up, reading now with one hand, his other remaining clasped firmly around yours—like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You weren’t going anywhere. For the first time, you’d found someone who saw all of you—the cheerleader and the nice girl underneath, the beautiful outside and the thoughtful inside. And he’d found someone who loved not just his brilliant mind, but the shy, sweet boy inside, the one who brought you books and got excited about history and kissed you so tenderly it felt like coming home.

Your first kiss with Spencer Reid had been in the library, surrounded by stories of love and loss and everything in between. But your story was just beginning, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

——————

Partnered

|| spencer reid and sweetheart cheerleader! readers first interaction

･ﾟﾟ･｡♡｡･ﾟﾟ･ nerdy shy spencer reid x sweetheart popular reader, high school au

Wanrning: none

w.c 2.2k

~~~~~

Everyone at Rosewood High knew the rules.

Don’t be late to Mr. Langford’s class unless you wanted detention.

Don’t eat the grilled cheese on Wednesdays unless you wanted to find a mystery hair in your mouth.

Don’t mess with football captain Jake Campbell unless you wanted the remaining years of your high school life turned into a living hell.

And if Jake decided you already had a “bully-able face”?

You were completely screwed.

Then there was the final rule — the only good one.

If you needed help with anything, ask Y/N L/N.

Cheer captain, honor student, unofficial guidance counselor, professional problem-solver.

Now, in any cliché rom-com, people would expect Jake and Y/N to be together. They were both popular, both captains of their respective teams, both attractive enough to make underclassmen walk into walls staring at them.

But no.

Because while Jake Campbell had definitely imagined dating Y/N —asking her out over a dozen times, he was always met with the same answer. “No Jake.” — Y/N openly, passionately, unapologetically disliked him.

She hated the way he treated people.

She hated the way he chewed with his mouth open.

She hated the fact that he smelled permanently of Axe body spray and bad decisions.

Y/N L/N was Rosewood’s sweetheart.

She talked to teachers and janitors like they mattered because to her, they did matter. She asked about weekends and actually listened to the answers instead of pretending to care for better grades or cleaned desks.

She helped freshmen find their classes during the first week of school because Rosewood was ridiculously huge and confusing. She stayed after school tutoring sophomores failing biology. She got to class early to guide transfer students around campus without complaining once.

And she did all of it smiling.

On top of that, she was near the top of every AP class she took, falling just behind the school’s resident genius:

Spencer Reid.

Y/N knew of him, of course.

The quiet kid with messy hair and cardigans who read college-level textbooks in the library during lunch and somehow made teachers nervous whenever they explained something incorrectly.

Not that she’d ever really talked to him.

It wasn’t because she wasn’t interested — because she absolutely was.

There was something intriguing about him. Something soft and distant and different from everyone else at Rosewood.

But Y/N barely had time to breathe most days.

Between cheer practice, AP homework, family dinners, babysitting her neighbor’s kid after school, and trying to maintain a social life, there wasn’t much room left for new people.

And when you thought of Y/N, you thought of her people too.

Ellie Winters.

Noelle Ashford.

Caleb Bennett.

Zach Collins.

Her little orbit.

She’d known Ellie since second grade, and with both of them on the cheer team, they were practically attached at the hip. Noelle and Caleb were cousins she’d met five years ago at summer camp, and somehow Zach had just… appeared one day and never left.

No one questioned it anymore.

The loud slam of a locker pulled you from your thoughts.

“And I seriously don’t know why he won’t stop being a pussy and just ask me out already,” Ellie groaned dramatically.

“Listen,” Noelle said, leaning against the locker beside her, “I know we technically share blood, so I’m supposed to defend him, but Ellie, you should not date him. He’s a manwhore.”

Ellie gasped.

Noelle ignored her. “Last week he was literally trying to get into Y/N’s pants.”

“Ew,” you said immediately. “Do not phrase it like that. He asked if I wanted pizza. Since when is pizza code for sleeping together?”

Noelle snorted. “With my cousin? Since birth.”

“And no, y/n set her eyes on someone already” ellie smirked

Yourolled her eyes, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“But seriously,” Ellie continued, nudging her shoulder, “when are you gonna stop pretending you hate him? We all know Jake’s obsessed with you.”

“And we all know you’re lowkey obsessed with him,” Noelle added with a smirk.

You looked horrified.

“Over my dead body.”

“Oh, please—”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself as they started walking down the hallway. “I genuinely don’t like him. He’s an ass.”

“Who’s an ass?”

Zach suddenly appeared beside them, slinging an arm around Noelle’s shoulders. The two of them weren’t officially dating, but they’d been dancing around whatever they were for months now.

“Jake,” you answered.

Zach clicked his tongue. “Oh, come on. He’s not that bad. That’s my guy.”

“If your guy enjoys ruining people’s lives for fun, then yeah,” you replied dryly.

“Whose life is he ruining exactly, L/N?”

“Mine.”

You spun around as you reached your classroom door.

“And tell ‘your guy’ to stop following me around. It’s getting creepy.”

Before Zach could answer, the bell rang.

Everyone split off toward their classes, yelling quick goodbyes over their shoulders.

You stepped into chemistry and smiled at Mrs. Jacobs.

“Morning, sweetheart,” the teacher greeted.

“Morning mrs!”

The chemistry lab had paired tables, meaning every experiment came with a permanent partner. Since none of your friends were in this class, you slid into an empty desk near the back and waved at Sarah Martinez on the way.

Sarah waved back shyly.

You pulled out your notebook just as Mrs. Jacobs began writing on the chalkboard.

“Alright, everyone, open your textbooks to Chapter Four, Section Two. Today we’re starting thermochemistry.”

The room filled with rustling pages.

You had just written the date in neat handwriting when the classroom door suddenly burst open.

“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Jacobs.”

The voice was soft. Nervous.

Spencer Reid stood in the doorway slightly out of breath, hair messy like he’d run all the way there. His satchel hung awkwardly off one shoulder while his eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

Mrs. Jacobs smiled gently.

“It’s alright, Spencer. Just take a seat.”

You glanced up briefly before looking back down—

And immediately noticed him scanning the room.

Then stopping on your.

Not in a creepy way. More like he’d accidentally looked directly at the sun and didn’t know what to do about it.

A second later, he was walking toward your table.

“Do you- uh- do you mind if I sit here?” he asked quietly. “Everywhere else is taken.”

His fingers fidgeted nervously with the strap of his bag while his eyes darted literally everywhere except your face.

Y/N blinked.

Up close, his eyes were ridiculously pretty. Warm brown, wide and thoughtful.

“Oh— yeah. Of course. I mean— no, I don’t mind. Yes, you can sit.”

Great. Smooth.

You internally cringed at herself.

Spencer paused for a second, almost surprised she’d said yes at all.

“Thank you.”

Then he sat down carefully, immediately unpacking his books with precise movements like he was trying not to take up too much space.

He didn’t smile.

You felt someone tap your shoulder, you turned around and were met with a grinned out face, Adam, Jakes best friend.

“Careful y/n, dont sit too close to him or jake wont be too happy” he let out.

You rolled your eyes at his comment and ignored hjm, turning your attention back onto the board.

But you noticed the faint pink creeping up spencers neck.

The next forty minutes passed slowly.

Mrs. Jacobs lectured. Students took notes. Someone in the front almost set their worksheet on fire with a Bunsen burner somehow.

Normal chemistry class things.

There were about fifteen minutes left when Mrs. Jacobs clapped her hands together.

“Oh, and before I forget,” she announced, “whoever you’re sitting with today will be your assigned lab partner for the semester.”

The room erupted.

“What?” “You’re kidding!” “No way—”

“And before any of you ask,” she continued over the complaints, “no, I will not switch partners later. So don’t bother.”

More groaning followed.

You ignored all of it.

Instead, you quietly tore a sheet of paper from your notebook and wrote:

Y/N L/N — Senior

Then signed your name at the bottom before sliding the paper toward Spencer with a small smile.

For a second, he just stared at it.

Then at you.

Like nobody had ever willingly chosen him first before.

“I— are you sure you’re okay with partnering together?” Spencer asked hesitantly, his pencil pausing midway over the paper. “It’s for the whole semester.”

His voice was quiet enough that you almost missed it under the noise of everyone complaining around them.

“I could talk to Mrs. Jacobs,” he continued quickly, already sounding apologetic. “Maybe she’d let us switch. I’m sure she’d understa—”

“Don’t be silly,” you cut in softly.

Spencer looked up for the first time since sitting down beside you.

“I don’t mind at all,” you said with a small smile. “And besides, when Mrs. Jacobs decides something, literally no one can change her mind.”

For a second he just stared at you.

Then a quiet breath escaped him.

Not quite a laugh.

More like relief.

You pretended not to notice how his shoulders loosened slightly afterward.

Spencer nodded once before quickly signing the paper, almost like he thought you’d change your mind if he waited too long.

You tried not to find that strangely endearing.

The bell rang a few minutes later, and the classroom immediately erupted into movement. Chairs scraped against the floor, backpacks zipped shut, conversations overlapping loudly.

You were halfway through packing your notebook into your bag when—

“YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED— OH. MY. GOD, Y/N!”

Every head in the room turned.

Including Spencer’s.

Noelle came barreling through the classroom doors like she’d just escaped a burning building, curls bouncing wildly as she nearly crashed into a desk.

You blinked. “What?! What happened?”

Noelle grabbed the edge of the table dramatically, completely out of breath.

“Okay,” she gasped, “so apparently— apparently—”

“You’re being insanely vague right now.”

“Its gossip!”

“That narrows it down absolutely none.”

Noelle leaned forward, lowering her voice despite clearly wanting everyone to hear.

“Jake Campbell got suspended from practice this morning.”

“What?”

“Coach caught him fighting with some guy from Westbrook in the parking lot before school,” Noelle whispered excitedly. “Like actual punching. Caleb said Jake looked ready to kill him.”

You frowned immediately. “Jake got into a fight?”

“That’s not even the best part,” Noelle said, eyes widening. “People are saying the fight started because the guy made a comment about you.”

You stared at her.

“…What?”

“Apparently he said something gross about you during the game Friday night and Jake heard it.”

For some reason, that made your stomach twist strangely.

“That sounds fake.”

“No, listen!” Noelle insisted. “Zach heard it from one of the football guys, and apparently Jake completely lost it. Like full psycho mode.”

You shook her head, trying to ignore the weird warmth creeping into your face.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Why would he do that when all i do is hate on him.”

Noelle gave you a look.

“Babe. That man has been in love with you since sophomore year.”

You rolled your eyes instantly. “Please.”

But before Noelle could argue further, her attention suddenly shifted over your shoulder.

“Ooooh.”

You frowned. “What?”

Noelle’s smirk widened slowly.

“Nothing,” Noelle sang. “Just noticing your new lab partner.”

You turned so fast you nearly smacked yourself in the face with your own ponytail.

Spencer had already packed up all his things.

And judging by the bright pink flush spreading across his neck and ears, he had definitely overheard at least part of the conversation.

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath.

The second Spencer noticed both girls looking at him, his eyes widened slightly.

Then, without saying a single word, he quickly swung his satchel on his shoulder and practically rushed out of the classroom. He didn't even say goodbye.

You watched the door swing shut behind him, feeling oddly guilty for some reason.

Noelle slowly turned toward you.

“…You’re partnering with Spencer Reid?”

You blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

Noelle looked genuinely confused now.

“Like— for the whole semester?”

“That’s usually how semester partners work, yes.”

Noelle lowered her voice dramatically. “Y/N… are you sure you wanna be seen with him?”

You frowned immediately.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Noelle said, leaning against the desk. “You know how people are here. Spencer’s like… social suicide.”

Your expression hardened a little.

“He’s just quiet.”

“He’s weird,” Noelle corrected carefully. “People make fun of him all the time.”

You zipped your bag shut harder than necessary.

“And?”

“And,” Noelle continued, “you’re literally cheer captain. People are gonna talk.”

You shrugged one shoulder.

“People already talk.”

“Not like this.” Noelle tilted her head. “And Jake’s definitely gonna say something.”

At that, You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

“Jake Campbell can cry about it for all I care.”

Noelle studied you for a second before smirking slightly.

“…You defended him kinda fast.”

“I’m defending basic human decency.”

“Mhm.”

You pointed a warning finger at her.

“Do not make this into something weird.”

Noelle raised both hands innocently, though the grin on her face never disappeared.

“I’m just saying,” she teased as they started toward the door, “quiet smart boys are dangerous. One cardigan and suddenly your entire future changes.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“You’re insane.”

But as you walked into the hallway, you still caught yourself glancing down the crowded corridor Spencer disappeared into.

next part

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