#reidersdigest

On Spencer’s desk, right beside his government issued monitor and an aggressively neat stack of files, is a silver picture frame. Inside the frame is a photo of you and him.

It’s the one Garcia took a few weeks ago. Both of you at Rossi’s barbecue, laughing at something Morgan said, Spencer mid smile, you leaning into him without even realizing it.

Your breath catches.

You have never seen anything personal on Spencer’s desk. Not once. Not in all the months you have worked together. No family photos. No souvenirs. Nothing that was not strictly federal.

But there you are, on his desk. You’d only been dating for a few weeks, after trying to hide your feelings for one another for what felt like a lifetime. Your heart swelled.

JJ walks in moments later, spots it, and stops in her tracks. “Oh wow. That’s new.”

Morgan appears behind her, eyebrows lifting so high they almost leave his face. “Pretty bold move for pretty boy.”

Spencer, who has been pretending very hard not to notice the chaos building around him, finally looks up. “Is something happening?”

Morgan points dramatically. “Oh, we are acknowledging it, because that is a statement.”

Spencer adjusts his glasses, cheeks flushing.

“It is just a photo.”

JJ smiles softly. “It’s the first personal thing you have ever put on your desk.”

Garcia comes barreling in like she was summoned by emotional disturbance. One glance and she’s gone. “Spencer Reid, you are a romantic icon.”

Spencer sinks a little lower in his chair. “I do not… it is not…”

You stand slowly, heart pounding, and walk over to him. You lean down, voice quiet enough for only him. “You put that here?” Spencer swallows, eyes flicking up to yours. “Yeah.”

“Why?” You hadn’t discussed putting labels on your relationship yet, but this in itself stood for so much, was this his way of telling you what you meant to him?

He hesitates for a moment, then answers quietly. “Because having you right here all the time makes the day feel less heavy.”

Your chest goes warm and full all at once. Before you can respond, Morgan whistles. “Man just dropped a love poem in the middle of the FBI.”

Spencer clears his throat, flustered. “I can take it down if it makes you uncomfortable.” You shake your head immediately. “No. I love it.”

A blush rises high on his cheeks, soft and relieved and completely undone.

You press a quick kiss to his temple, forgetting entirely that you are at work, and the bullpen explodes into sound. They were still getting used to the two of you dating.

Garcia squeals. Emily claps. Morgan looks like he is about to faint from joy. Rossi strolls in just in time to witness the madness and mutters, “Ah, young love,” like he is narrating a documentary.

Spencer hides his face in his hands. “This is a lot.” You sit on the edge of his desk, bumping your knee against his. “Tell you what.”

He peeks up, wary. “What?”

“If you are going to have a framed photo of us on your desk…” You smile. “…then I want one on mine.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “Really?” You nod. “Really.”

The next morning, you walk into work and find a matching frame waiting on your desk. Same photo, same silver border, placed neatly beside your files.

You look over at Spencer and he is already watching you, that small shy smile pulling at his mouth. You tap the frame once and smile back.

The words hung in the air, unplanned, unguarded. His eyes widened a fraction, like he’d only just realized what he’d said. His mouth opened—probably to backtrack, to stumble through some kind of explanation. But you didn’t let him. “Spencer,” you whispered, your heart racing in the best way, “I love you too.”

The tension melted from his shoulders all at once, replaced by the most relieved, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen. He looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe it, like he’d been waiting for this moment and never dared to imagine it would actually come.

He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead, lingering there as if committing the moment to memory. “Good,” he breathed, his voice trembling just a little. “Because I don’t think I could stop, even if I tried.”

So he kept going. And you listened — not because you were trying to keep up, but because every fact, every statistic, every spark of enthusiasm was just… him.

An hour later, you were in the planetarium — reclining in the dim light as constellations shimmered across the dome ceiling. The narrator’s calm voice filled the space, talking about distant galaxies and dying stars.

You could feel Spencer’s arm brush against yours. He wasn’t watching the show anymore — he was watching you. When you turned to meet his gaze, he looked momentarily startled, like he’d been caught studying something far more fascinating than astronomy.

“What?” you whispered, smiling. “Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head, a soft pink rising in his cheeks. “I just… you look beautiful in starlight.” You bit your lip to hide the grin tugging at your mouth. “That’s smooth, Dr. Reid.” “I’m not trying to be smooth,” he said quietly. “Just stating facts.” You nuzzled closer into his side, as Spencer pressed a gentle kiss on top of your head.

The two of you moved through the art gallery next, hand in hand. He stopped in front of a painting — a quiet moonlit landscape. “I like this one,” he said softly. “It feels… calm. Like the kind of silence that exists between two people who don’t need to fill it.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Like us?” He looked down at you, and his expression melted into something so tender it made your chest ache. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Exactly like us.”

By the time you stepped outside, dusk had painted the city in gold and pink. You stood near the steps, sunlight catching in his hair, your heart feeling full — of him, of the way his words made the world seem bigger, brighter, alive.

“Thank you for today,” you said softly. Spencer tilted his head, “For what?” — “For everything, for being you”.

Before he could reply, you cupped his face in both hands and kissed him — deep and slow, until you felt him breathe against you, arms winding around your waist.

This had been happening for a week now. Each morning when you came in, a new note was waiting: sometimes trivia, sometimes riddles, sometimes something… softer. And it was quickly becoming your favorite part of the day.

You scribbled a quick response on the back of the note—“Are you saying I’m as old as a 3,000-year-old jar of honey, Dr. Reid?”—and dropped it on his desk as you walked past to the copier. You didn’t even stop, just let it flutter down and kept going.

By the time you came back, there was another note waiting at your desk. “Not old. Timeless.”You bit your lip to stop the grin spreading across your face. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Morgan appeared behind you.

“What’s got you smiling like that, y/n?” he asked, leaning over your shoulder to peek at your desk. You scrambled to cover the sticky with a file, your heart lurching. “Nothing! Just—uh—thinking about a case.” Morgan raised a brow, smirking. “Right. Thinking about a case makes you blush now?”

Across the room, Spencer was frozen, wide-eyed, as if Morgan had just uncovered a crime scene. You shot him a tiny look—half warning, half amusement—and he ducked his head so fast you thought his neck might snap. Morgan didn’t push, thankfully. He just chuckled, muttered something about “secrets in this office,” and walked off.

You turned to see Spencer approaching with a stack of files, stopping mid-step when he saw what Morgan was holding. His face went from confused to mortified in seconds. “I—I don’t think we’re the cutest couple,” he stammered, pushing his hair back nervously. “Statistically, there are probably—” Garcia cut in, “Oh no, statistics aren’t saving you now, Doctor Love.”

Laughter rippled through the bullpen. JJ tried to hide her smile behind a coffee cup, Rossi was shaking his head in amusement, and even Hotch’s mouth twitched just slightly — which, by BAU standards, was practically hysterical laughter. You shot Spencer an apologetic grin and mouthed, sorry.

But later that day, when the laughter had died down and the paperwork piles had grown, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. Spencer was sipping coffee. You raised a brow. “You’re using it?” He glanced up at you, cheeks slightly pink. “Well… it was a gift. It would be rude not to.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “You’re kind of adorable, you know that?” He tilted his head, “You think so?”. You reached for your own matching mug and tapped it gently against his. “Guess we’re official now. The mugs don’t lie.”

He chuckled softly — that shy, breathy kind of laugh that made your heart ache. “You know, I did some reading about rituals that reinforce romantic bonds—” “Spencer,” you interrupted, laughing. “If you tell me coffee mugs increase relationship longevity, I swear—” He smirked, that rare flash of confidence shining through. “Actually… they might.”

And just like that, the teasing didn’t matter anymore. The mugs sat proudly on your desks from that day forward — little reminders in a world full of chaos that maybe, just maybe, you were allowed something soft.

Morgan can’t help but poke fun at the now suddenly quiet Spencer. “I think pretty boy’s brain just short circuited.” JJ and Emily softly smirk, also entertained at what they’re witnessing. They’d never seen anyone able to stop Spencer dead in his tracks, mid ramble, as fast as you could.

He tries to recover, clearing his throat, and glancing briefly at the cluttered board, and then right back at you again, like he can’t help himself. There’s no hiding how undone he is; not from them, and especially not from you.

“I…umm…thank you,” he says softly. You just return to your seat, completely composed, like you didn’t just melt him to liquid.

Rossi leans toward Morgan. “He won’t remember a word he said for the rest of the briefing.” “Yeah,” Morgan smirks, “She’s cooked him.”

You look up from your file and meet Spencer’s eyes again across the table. Slow. Calm. Casual. Then you give him the tiniest smile; warm, confident, intentional. The kind of smile that says: “Yes, I know exactly what I did, and Ioved every second of it”.

Spencer can’t help but get lost in your gaze, even if just for the briefest moment. He returns a gentle half smile, still trying to keep his cool . He finally rallies, but the data in front of him might as well be static, because every time that curl shifts like it’s about to fall again, he glances at you…like he’s waiting for you to fix it again.

Inside, neatly tabbed and highlighted, were sections that could rival any Bureau training manual:

• Doctor Contacts: OB/GYN, nurse line, and emergency numbers, typed in triplicate and laminated.

• Dietary Notes: Cravings (pickles, sour candy, lemon water) and aversions (coffee smell, garlic). Each note had small sublists: acceptable substitutes, safe snacks, preferred brands.

• Emergency Protocols: Step-by-step instructions on what to do if contractions started early, complete with annotated maps of the fastest routes from your apartment and Quantico HQ to three different hospitals.

• Comfort List: Methods for soothing nausea, headaches, or anxiety. One note read: She likes when I read aloud to her. Dr. Seuss works surprisingly well.

Morgan nearly fell out of his chair laughing. “You made a comfort strategy section? Spencer bristled. “It’s important! Lavender tea helps when she’s nauseous, and lying on her left side reduces pressure on the vena cava…” JJ covered her mouth, grinning. “Spence, this is adorable.” Emily flipped through a page. “Wait—you even wrote down snack brands? Down to the flavor of gummies?” Spencer straightened, defensive. “She prefers watermelon sour gummies. The cherry ones upset her stomach.” Hotch and Rossi chuckled, shaking their heads.

Meanwhile, you were curled up on Garcia’s couch sipping tea and reading over case files. Penelope peeked at you over her tablet, eyes sparkling. “Do you know,” she said, “your husband handed me a whole encyclopedia before we even took off? It’s like ‘The Official Reid Handbook to Y/N + the baby.’ With color tabs.” You groaned, covering your face. “Oh God. He didn’t.”

“You said yes?” His voice was quiet but sharp, the edge of disbelief slicing through his normally gentle tone.

You blinked at him. “What?” “That cop—” he tilted his head toward the officer now across the room, “—you agreed to go on a date with him?”

Heat flushed your cheeks. “Why do you care, Spencer?” you asked, a little more defensively than you meant to.

He pushed his hands into his pockets, restless. “Because… because I don’t understand why you’d say yes when you clearly didn’t want to.” His eyes finally met yours, a storm of frustration and something else, something rawer. “You were frowning while you answered him.”

You swallowed hard. “So what if I didn’t want to? It’s not like I have… anyone else asking.”“That’s not true.” The words tumbled out of him, rushed, almost desperate.

You crossed your arms. “Then who, Reid? Who exactly is lining up for me?” Spencer stepped closer, lowering his voice, his usual hesitancy cracking under the weight of his jealousy. “Me.”

Your heart stopped. He blinked, realizing what he’d just admitted, but instead of backtracking, he pressed forward. “I didn’t want you to go out with him because I wanted to ask you myself. And I didn’t think you’d ever… that you’d ever even consider me that way, but then you said yes to him and I—”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, breathless, “you think I don’t feel the same? I only said yes because I thought you would never like me as more than a friend.”

Silence fell, thick with everything unspoken. Then slowly, as if testing fate, his hand brushed against yours. “Can I—” his voice cracked softly, “—can I take you out instead?” You nodded, smiling for real this time. “Please.”

His relief was palpable, his grin boyish and awkward and perfect. And before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and kissed him. It was soft & gentle, enough to make both of you forget about the case files, the busy precinct, the officer you’d just turned down in your heart.