Fit for Purpose

Summary: You’re helping your boyfriend prepare for his annual fit test, but you may have an ulterior motive. Unsurprisingly, your genius boyfriend has figured you out.

A/N: it’s been such a while! I’ve been so snowed under with work recently but I desperately wanted to post something today! I hope this is okay, please let me know what you think!

MasterlistIRequests

The morning was filled with a fresh breeze, the wonderfully warming sunshine, and the increasingly distant panting of your boyfriend.

When the uneven, if still repetitive, noise of his struggle faded into obscurity beneath the subtle sound of wind rustling between the trees, you stopped your light jog. With a puff of air, you briefly raised your face to the sun before turning back to face Spencer.

“You okay back there?”

He didn’t reply, not that he seemed able to between his heaving breaths, but he gradually reached you. His lips parted as though to speak but all that managed to leave him was another struggled heave of breath as he collapsed forwards. Bent at the hips, hands on his knees, he very slowly caught his breath.

Wryly, you smiled down at him and raised a hand to rub his back. When he had regained at least some of himself you offered some water. He took the offered drink gratefully before heaving another breath and asking with a dramatic groan, “how much further?”

Twisting your lips, you decided to go easy on him. “We were gonna go another mile that way, but… we can head back now?” He nodded eagerly, eyes screwed shut in struggle, but made no move to follow your suggestion. “You need a minute?”

“Yeah,” he told you - almost deflating in relief, “yes, oh god.”

You tried not to giggle as he complained, gesturing instead for him to take a seat on a nearby park bench. Heavily he sat down, head falling back as his body all but went limp. You perched beside him, feet perching on the wood and knees hugging into your chest. Watching him, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

Itwas true that the fit tests could no longer be waived away, new policies coming in and demanding protocol be followed, but it was a slight exaggeration that Spencer had to work this hard to train to run a mile. You had every confidence that a week and a half would have been enough time to train him up to the distance and the time. However, you had a vested interest in him doing exceptionallywell.

Somehow, it had fallen that both Spencer’s and Garcia’s fit tests fell at the exact same time; a coincidence that you and Morgan had more than taken advantage of. You would do your best to train Spencer, Morgan would do his best to train Garcia, and whichever of them managed the fastest time were the winner. What did they win? Nothing. What would you win if Spencer was quicker than Garcia? A hundred bucks. It was a friendly competition and nothing more, except neither Spencer nor Garcia were actually aware of the arrangement.

In an effort to assuage your guilt over the whole clandestine affair, you spent your winnings on Spencer without fail. After all, he had earned the money and, truthfully, three straight years of Morgan’s abject confusion and frustration at how fast you could make Spencer run was prize enough.

Spencer’s breaths were beginning to slow beside you and so you turned to watch him. “It must be getting easier?” You asked lightly when he seemed coherent enough to respond.

Finally regaining the ability to speak in full sentences, he looked to you as he shook his head. “You would think so.” You expected him to say something else alongside that; some long-winded list of statistics regarding stamina, cardiovascular fitness, or whatever else, but he remained silent.

Concern filled you; Spencer had a lot to say, you didn’t like it when he was quiet. Lightly, you bumped shoulders with him, “you okay? You’re… kinda quiet.”

All of a sudden, he looked incredibly bashful. His head dropped, hair falling around him as though to hide from your view, and he shook his head. The red flush creeping up his neck made you smile. “What?” You pushed, affectionately soothing a hand through his hair.

When you had first ventured on this relationship Spencer likely would have kept his eyes down and struggled through an explanation. Now with the familiar comfort of you beside him, he lifted his gaze to yours, and smirked through his reply; “I was thinking about how much fun our mornings used to be.”

A light blush dusting your cheeks at the suggestive memories he was referring to, you smiled. Teasing lightly, you told him, “that counts as exercise too you know.”

The laugh he gave shook his shoulders even as he verbally disagreed; “well, actually,” you rested your head upon his shoulder, eyes caught on a small bird darting through swaying branches, “on average a man’s heart rate barely rises above one-thirty during sexual intercourse,” you hummed a small noise of interest, “so, really it can only be classified as light to moderate exercise.”

With a sigh, you lifted your head. “That’s a shame.” After a moment of pondering, you turned to him with a creased brow, “is that true even when it’s particularly,” your fingers walked up his thigh as you waggled your brows, “vigorous?”

You felt a surge of delicious victory as he shifted in place and his hand came to grip yours, preventing your fingers from travelling higher. “Even then, unfortunately.”

With a groan, you rose to your feet and pulled an unenthusiastic Spencer up beside you. “One more week, sweetheart.” You reassured, pulling him softly into an easy jog beside you, “then we can have our mornings back.“

He nodded with a sigh and a smile, excitement shining in his eyes, but made no response as his breath was already beginning to struggle from him.

———————————————————————

Getting back to your shared apartment you had quickly excused yourself to jump in the shower. You assumed, by the tiredness pulling at his every movement alongside the way he all but collapsed onto the sofa, that Spencer needed a minute to recuperate anyway.

Now, feeling freshened and squeaky clean, you emerged with a soft towel wrapped around you. Spencer had managed to extract himself from the sofa in the time you had taken, now laying sprawled on the bed looking almost asleep. Giggling at the sight of him, you moved to him and trailed light fingers through his hair. You smiled as he cracked open an eye to watch you.

As he returned the gesture with a smile of his own, a hand tugging playfully at your towel, he looked thoughtful for a moment before he murmured a defunct question at you. “You know I’m a genius, right?”

Eyebrows creasing, taken by surprise, you stuttered out an amused scoff. “How could I forget?”

With a groan of effort he sat upright, looking up at you as his hands lightly skittered over your hips. “For the past three years,” he began, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the cotton towel, “after every fitness test, you have bought me a present.”

Getting tongue tied, unsure where he was going with this but intent on playing it cool, you shrugged. “Well…” you struggled immediately, “I- you deserve a treat after… all that effort.”

“All the gifts have cost a hundred dollars,” you didn’t say anything, so he specified, “exactly a hundred.” Hands upon his shoulders, you steadied yourself.

“Erm…” was all you could think to give. You felt a little settled by the fact that he was still smiling up at you and still delicately massaging circles into your skin.

“Is that a coincidence?”

You bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes in a sudden burst of embarrassment. “…no…” you admitted with a grimace.

A laugh escaped him, “I knew it.”

Puzzled, expecting him to be at least a little agitated by you treating him like a horse to bet on, you couldn’t help but quietly query. “You’re not mad?”

Pulling you lightly, settling you on his lap with your thighs spread around him as your towel struggled to retain your dignity, he shook his head. “Well, I have to pass this test anyway,” his voice had dropped an octave, his finger tracing the path of a water droplet over the curve of your collarbone, “this way we both win.”

A low hum, almost a purr, escaped you and you cocked your head. Hands clasping behind his neck and eyebrow raised, you asked; “how long have you known?”

Eyes catching yours, even as his hands effortlessly relieved you of your towel, he smirked. Eventually, he gave his vague reply. “A while.”

Rolling your eyes, even as you leaned into the large hands that smoothed over your skin, you rasped out a teasing response. “So mysterious.”

A laugh shook his figure lightly as he pulled your hips closer to his with a commanding hand on your waist, the other hand falling between your thighs.

You gave a whine, eyes closing as you basked in the familiar but still enticing feel of his touch, but an errant thought sent a chuckle past your lips.

An answering laugh of his own framed his next question, “what is it?”

Hands framing his face, you ghosted your lips over his before murmuring your response. “I was thinking we should try to get your heart rate over 130 this time.”

Couch Cushions

Summary: You and Spencer have been dating for a while now and, on a rainy afternoon, you ask him if he wants you the same way you want him.

A/n: this is very much written with early seasons Spencer in mind which I think comes across! Please let me know what you think! ❤️

MasterlistIRequests

The afternoon had progressed wonderfully, in your opinion. You and Spencer had retreated to your apartment after sharing a hearty lunch, barging through the door together and sharing a laugh over the rain now dripping from the pair of you. And now, you were lounging on the couch together.

The strains of the creepy orchestral music from one of Spencer’s favourite classic horror movies were lulling through the room and the warmth of his figure beside you was chasing away the cold sting of the rain.

You couldn’t lie to yourself, you certainly had an ulterior motive in convincing him back to your apartment. You were certainlyhoping this evening would end in a… particular way. However, it had already been a fun day and you wouldn’t really complain if you didn’t get your salacious wish.

Youwere starting to get a little concerned with his general lack of response to your continued and less than subtle attempts at seduction, however. Other than outright asking him what the problem was, all you could really do was try again.

Sinking a little further into the sofa, nodding along to the excitable tinge of his voice as he explained the obscure literary reference one of the characters had just made, you sidled closer to him. Taking a settling breath, you pushed even closer, your head resting on his chest and one arm slung over him.

Alongside his obvious verbal stumble, you could hear his heart pick up in its now unsteady rhythm. Laying more heavily against him, allowing him time to relax before you made your next move, you asked a distracting follow-up question. “So,” you murmured against his still thrumming heartbeat, “this is based off that book?”

“Uh-“ he stammered, one arm quite bravely curling to wrap around you. “Very loosely, yes.”

Intrigued by such a short response from your usually wordy boyfriend, you raised your eyebrows and craned your neck to look up at him. Immediately, your gaze pulled his caramel eyes to your features. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “What?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You gave a smile, he really was delectable, before leaning up to kiss him. To hell with working up to this slowly, you thoughthazily, affection and attraction pushing you to act hastily. To begin with, the kiss was slow, saccharine, and sweet in a heady sort of way. Spencer had this wonderful ability to make you feel lazy, in a wonderful kind of way; with him you felt as though you had all the time in the world.

That slow, lazy feeling didn’t stop you from almost shamelessly attempting to deepen the kiss, however. One hand curling into his still damp hair and another smoothing beneath the collar of his shirt, you opened your lips beneath his. As your tongue swept over his bottom lip a small, soft, and entirely enticing noise of satisfaction fell from him.

In a quest to pull more noises from him, maybe a few that were louder and maybe a few that sounded like your name, you moved both hands behind his neck and tugged. You managed to sling one leg over his hips, and even succeeded in sliding fully beneath him, before he pulled back from you. This was as far as you had ever succeeded in getting; you were making progress at least.

But,really, it was time to ask.

Spencer babbled out a quick excuse for pulling from you, eyes not managing to meet your heated gaze and fidgeting hands awkwardly pushing his hair back into place. “D-do you want something to drink?”

You managed, just barely, to repress the laugh that bubbled through you in response to that; what an adorably strange question to ask after you had just tried so hard to get beneath him. “Sure,” you told him, pushing up into a seated position as he left the sofa entirely.

Resting your chin upon the back of the couch you watched him potter frenetically about your kitchen. “Spencer,” you called when his movements became a little less stiff, “can I ask you something?”

You watched the back of his head bob up and down in a nod, your cupboard open before him as he searched for a glass. “Of course,” he assented, clearly not realising the line of questioning he was opening himself up for.

“Do you want to…” trailing off with pursed lips, your mind searched for a way to phrase your question in a way that was less crass than ‘do you want to fuck me?’. Eventually, you finished; “do you want to sleep with me?”

A horrendous clatter sounded from him, luckily it didn’t seem as though anything actually smashed, before he turned back to face you with wide eyes. “W-what?”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly reiterated; “do you want to have sex with me? Like,” you shrugged in a show of faux carelessness, “at some point?”

Lips parting a few times, a plethora of stuttering half-finished responses clamoured to escape him. You quickly cut off this incoherent wave of noise. “Spencer, I’m just looking for a yes or a no here.” You paired those words with a smile, hopeful that something in the gesture would settle him. “Because if the answer is no… maybe we should talk about that, y’know?”

“No!” He let out quickly, hands raising in some kind of panicked clamour, before shaking his head. “I mean yes! I do want to…” he trailed off, struggling to get the sentiment out, instead he settled for “I do.”

Slowly, you nodded along to this response. Raising a brow, feeling somewhat devilish, you asked for clarification. “You do want to talk about it or you do want to have sex with me?” You were fairly confident he had meant the latter but you were desperate to hear him say it.

The red flush of his neck had reached his face at this point. “I do want to…” he made a strange gesture with his hands before giving up and quietly verbalising what he wanted, “to sleep with you.”

You grinned with a light giggle, thrilled by the prospect that Spencer really did want you in that way. Voice a little lighter with this reassurance, you let out another question. “Can I ask a follow up question?”

With great trepidation overtaking his features, he gave a single nod.

“Why haven’t you yet?“ At his answering silence, you clarified, “had sex with me, I mean. I’ve… more than given you the opportunity.” You giggled slightly at the memory of all those failed attempts.

Spencer stammered before you. “Well, I just- I…” you dramatically took a deep breath, hand raising and falling in time with the breath; he took your silent suggestion and breathed deeply alongside you. More relaxed, if only he slightly, he was able to get out; “I’m not… as experienced as you.”

Raising your brows at that, you lifted from the couch with a laugh and moved over to him. “What makes you so sure of that?”

A laugh escaped him, a short little chuckle as though he knew something you didn’t. Hands raising to generally wave over you, he told you; “because you’re… you.”

In a show that this was not a sufficient answer you cocked your head with raised brows. “And?” You prompted.

“And… you’re beautifulandcharming and kind and and…” he trailed off, seemingly frustrated with himself and his lack of eloquence in the face of awkwardness.

“Okay,” you gave, cheeks warming in response to that list of wonderful adjectives, “and you’re you.” You cupped his cheeks to find his gaze. “You’re smart - crazy smart - and handsome and kind and loving…” his lips quirked up at this list even as his eyes found his shoes, and you punctuated the words with a light kiss to his cheek. “So, I don’t really know what the problem is.”

He remained silent but seemed a little more confident, his hands now rising to rest on your upper arms in a light kind of embrace.

Taking your time to look over his features, feeling affection fill you, you lowered your tone into reassurance. “Sweetheart,” you all but cooed, “ I know this seems like a really really uncomfortable conversation that you don’t wanna have.” He nodded his immediate agreement with that sentiment, but his eyes rose to yours. “But,” you continued, “it’s not, okay? I really like you, Spencer.” The word wasn’t strong enough, and you knew it, but you weren’t ready for that admission quite yet. “So, this is just a conversation, okay?”

Finally, he nodded - his shoulders seeming to drop from their once hunched position. “Okay,” he let out, “I’m - I’m nervous that…” his voice wavered as he struggled with the words, “that you won’t… enjoy it.”

You giggled at that but very quickly explained your reaction when he seemed to sink into himself a little more. “The mere fact that you’re that concerned about my enjoyment puts you ahead of like ninety percent of other guys.”

His lips quirked up but he gave no response.

Looking over this nervous expression of his that your words could not seem to shift, you decided it was time to give him an out. “Look, Spencer, how about this?” Eyes narrowing at you, he nodded for you to continue. Smoothing your hands over his chest, you smiled. “So, option A; we sit back on the couch, forget this conversation, keep watching movies and you keep telling me all those interesting facts and you keep translating all those Russian parts for me.” He gave a relieved sort of laugh at the suggestion and, so, you doubled down. “Which would be fun and perfect and wonderful because I love being with you - no matter what we do - right?”

“Right,” he agreed, before curiosity got the better of him. “W-what’s option B?”

Smirking, you ducked your head to look up at him with doe eyes and answered. “Well, in option B you sit on the couch…” lowering your voice to a whisper, your gaze dropped to where his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I take this dress off,” you pulled open the first few buttons of the garment as though in demonstration, “and then I sit on top of you,” with a wicked smirk you added, in a thoughtful tone; “or kneel in front of you…” you made a show of shrugging, “wherever you want me.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded - a strange strained sound becoming caught in his throat. It seemed that his mind was busy thinking about something else and so he forgot to verbalise his answer.

“What’s it gonna be, doc?” You whispered close to his ear.

“Uh-“ he stuttered, hands a little tighter upon your arms than before, “um- B- definitely option B.”

Entirely thrilled by his choice, you gripped his collar to pull him along with you as you backed the pair of you back towards the couch.

Extra Credit

Summary: Reader visits Spencer at his office and inadvertently discovers that some of his students are interested in more than his seminars.

A/n: Please let me know what you think! Thanks so much for all the follows recently ❤️

MasterlistIRequests

The receptionist had been incredibly helpful, directing you to your destination succinctly and perfectly. You had allowed yourself an extra ten minutes, wanting to be on time but doubting your own ability to navigate an unfamiliar environment. The building, at least the parts of it you saw on your journey to Spencer’s office, was grandiose in a strangely cosy kind of way. Although, you thought distantly, the patter of rain upon thick windows always inspired a cosy feeling.

The corridors were rapidly emptying as you wandered against the flow of quickly exiting students. Wistfully, you remembered these days; rushing from the building on a Friday night to ignore your impending assignments in favour of some disappointing party that ended in you throwing up in your dorm room. And now, here you were all these years later, on a Friday night rushing to meet your husband.

Time really is a funny thing.

Your existential musings paused as you reached his door. The sight of his name on the door made you smile as you tapped your knuckles against the door. Spencer answered quickly. An affection softened his gaze as he recognised you and quickly ushered you inside. Behind the privacy of a closed door you smoothed your hands over his chest and raised precariously onto your tiptoes to peck his lips.

“Hi,” he gave when you dropped down to your heels, his hands lightly placed over the curve of your hips.

“I missed you,” you responded with a smile.

It was true; you had missed him terribly. Now that his presence on a case was not an inevitability that you could count on, you struggled through each day away from him with nothing but his voice on the phone to keep you company. You honestly could not understand how JJ had managed all these years.

Spencer ducked his head to kiss you, confirmation enough that he had missed you too. “How was it?” He asked quietly.

You shrugged with a sigh. He knew as well as you that your cases were never able to be summarised in a selection of light-hearted footnotes. “It was…heavy.”

He nodded his understanding, lips pursing in concern as he sent a sweeping gaze over your figure. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him, because you were; despite the purple-green bruise flowering over your ribs that he could not see beneath your shirt.

The air felt heavy, your reunion weighed down by the still unshared details of this last case. You tried to lighten the mood, change the topic; the case and all it’s paperwork were not going anywhere and would still be awaiting you Monday morning. “Are you not gonna give me a tour, Professor?” You asked, a teasing smile leaving you, as you sent a brief gaze over your surroundings.

Spencer laughed with a nod, stepping back from you as he looked over the space. “Sure,” he prefaced, moving to gesture at his desk. “This is my desk,” he told you, obviously.

Hiding your giggle behind the back of your hand, you moved to the chair tucked behind the desk. With the most puzzled expression you could muster, you pointed to it and asked; “What isthis?”

Lips twisting, he played along. “That is a chair.”

Tutting, you gave the chair a light push and absently watched it spin. “Aren’t you supposed to stand up more at work or something? Sitting is the new smoking, right?”

“Actually,” you smiled to yourself as you looked up to watch the lengthy explanation you were sure to receive. “Despite numerous studies into that claim, no link between sitting at work and poor overall health have ever been made.” You nodded, watching and waiting for more as you dropped into his chair. “It’s actually widely considered to be socioeconomic factors linked to when, why and how often individuals-“

An almost timid knock upon his door interrupted his spiel of impressive, if not obscure, knowledge. A little disgruntled at this interruption, you peered at the door. “Sorry,” he told you, as though the interruption were somehow his fault, moving to open the door.

Just before the door clicked open, you gave a reassuring, “it’s okay.”

From your position seated at the desk you could not see who was standing on the other side of the threshold. You ignored their conservation, attention roving instead over the finer details of his office. Books were piled on almost every available flat surface, their spines pointed towards you with names you couldn’t hope to decipher. On his desk there was a picture of the pair of you; it was almost funny, in a sweet kind of way, that he even thought to include that. Could Spencer not merely close his eyes and conjure the perfect image of you?

You were in the middle of making a mental note to ask him about that when your ears caught upon the conversation still happening in the doorway.

Spencer, strangely, sounded confused. “From what I understand, your grades are perfectly fine.”

“But,” came an oddly lowered voice, “extra-credit couldn’t hurt, right?”

Your eyes widened and mouth dropped open as you wondered if this were really happening right now. Surely, you were placing intentions on the girl’s words that were not actually there. Surely.

If Spencer had come to the same conclusion as you, he very kindly pretended that he hadn’t and offered her a way out. “I don’t think you’re actually in my class.” The way he phrased it was strangely thoughtful. He most certainly would remember if she was in his class but his act of uncertainty may save her from embarrassment. Well, you thought wryly, more embarrassment.

She did not take the offered escape route. Voice dropping even lower, sounding now as though she had a substantial cough rather than the seduction she had likely hoped for, she pushed further. “Oh, but surely there’s something I can do for you?”

Something in the way she said it made it impossible to stifle your laughter. A cough escaped you as you struggled against your fit of giggles. Realising that the conversation at the door had entirely stalled in response to your laughter, you slapped a hand over your mouth - still quietly giggling.

The girl’s voice sounded again, significantly higher in pitch. “Who’s that?” You could almost imagine the deer in headlights expression overtaking her at the prospect of being discovered in her misguided attempts to seduce a professor.

“Oh,” Spencer gave, a lightness in the tone as his head turned to look at you. “It’s just my wife.” You had risen from the chair at this point, darting around the desk to catch sight of the poor girl and sending her an awkward wave as you did so.

She looked very nice, you had to admit; she had chosen a skirt, of course, but had paired it with such a nice shirt that you almost wanted to ask where she had bought it. “Nice to meet you,” you told her instead.

“You…I-“ she stuttered out, mortification overtaking her youthful visage. Quickly, she shot out, “thanks for the help,” before almost running away down the corridor.

Spencer lingered at the doorway briefly, expression indicating that his mind was busy trying to decipher a reasonable explanation for the interaction. When he closed the door you allowed yourself laugh more fully, secure in the knowledge that the poor girl would not hear you now.

Raising your eyebrows at his lack of response, you asked; “has that happened before?”

Looking back at the door, eyes crinkled in confusion, he shook his head. “I’m not even sure whathappened.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Stepping closer, you smoothed a hand over his arm in an attempt to reassure that you were not about to get mad about a student trying so hard to seduce him. “Oh, come on, sweetheart.” You pushed.

His confusion did not abate even with your prompting.

“Really?” You asked, disbelieving. “You, an experienced FBI profiler, cannot work out what just happened?”

Your insistence seemed only to confuse him more as he looked back at the closed door once more as though it held the answer. When, somehow, his brain remained without a solution you huffed another laugh.

“God,” you began, feeling a little awkward with no understanding as to why. “I don’t know how to explain this nicely. She was…” you pinched the bridge or your nose, “flirting with you.”

At your words, he looked utterly taken aback. “Why?”

Hands smoothing over his chest, dipping beneath his blazer, you cocked your head with a smirk. “Oh, I don’t know,” you murmured wryly, “why would anyone want to flirt with their handsome, smart, sweet Professor who explains things with his large hands as much as he does with his mouth?”

Eyebrows raised, he swallowed thickly at the seduction you sprinkled into the words. “I-uh-I don’t think that’s what she was doing?”

You knew him well enough to recognise that he really was being sincere. You felt a little stab of guilt as you looked at him. He had been definitively stuck in to minds over this partial reassignment, part of him almost excitable at the prospect of academia but another part anxious to be away from cases, the team, and - of course - you. You didn’t want to ruin this positivity by informing him that at least one student was more interested in sleeping with him than his syllabus. “Well,” you started diplomatically, “maybe your wife is a little biased.”

He seemed unconvinced by this change in your words. You weren’t entirely surprised, you had been so adamant earlier and were now trying to change your tune. You really didn’t feel like spelling it out for him but he was leaving you with little choice. You decided to play it coy; you could at least have some fun with this uncomfortable discussion.

Batting your eyelashes, you ducked your head to look up at him through fluttering lashes. “Oh Professor,” you gushed, leaning into him, “there must be something I can do.” Reaching up, you loosened his tie - fingertips lightly tapping against the thrumming pulse in his neck. “There’s really nothing I can do for you to get an A?”

Arching a brow at him, hoping you managed to get your point across, you smirked as he let out an almost laughing breath. “I-uh-think I get it.”

Pressing your lips to his cheek, skin tickled by his dusting of stubble, you giggled. “I always forget you went to college at like… four.”

He laughed properly at that, “I wasn’t four,” he all but scoffed.

“Close enough,” you muttered with a shrug, redoing his tie where you had loosened it. “I do like this professor look on you though.”

His warm hands squeezed your waist as he smiled at that. Brow suddenly furrowing in what you recognised as contemplation, he quickly asked; “wait, so did you… proposition your professors?”

You giggled freely at the question. “No,” you let out between laughter, just managing to tuck his tie back beneath his blazer. “I did ask for extra credit though.”

“You did?” He asked, watching you with great interest as you smoothed his collar and pushed back his hair.

You hummed your affirmative, before adding with a wry smirk; “I didn’t come to the tail end of their office hours in a mini-skirt and with hot red lips though.” After a quick, affectionate, swipe of your thumb over his cheek, you stepped away to collect his satchel from behind his desk. “I turned up in floods of tears, mascara tracking down my cheeks, basically on my knees begging them not to fail me.”

His lips quirked up. “That’s quite an image.”

“What, me crying and hyperventilating over my shitty grades?” You asked, winking at him. “Or me on my knees and begging?”

Head falling back slightly, hands lazily slung into his pockets, he looked over your figure with a delicious gaze. His smirk was answer enough. Lithely, you slunk back to stand before him. “I like the way you think, Professor.”

You reached him, fingers walking up his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him. “Your bag,” you offered, hanging the item from his shoulder.

Greedy hands pulled you closer, arms winding around your waist as his large palms pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you flush against him. After all this time you would have thought that you would be used to kissing Spencer - but you weren’t. Butterflies still fluttered through your stomach, your heart still swooped, and your head still swam with an excited dizziness. Hands in his hair, forgetting where you were and where you were supposed to be, you opened your lips beneath his.

A sudden, unexpected vibration buzzed in the space between you and you pulled back with a breathy laugh. “And what is that, Professor?”

Reaching into his pocket, revealing his buzzing phone, he muttered an almost strained reply. “Please, stop calling me that.”

“I kinda think you like it,” you whispered as he answered the phone, “Professor,” you murmured into his other ear.

The way his eyes burned so passionately into yours told you that you would end up reaping the benefits of this game at some point in the near future. You pressed your lips softly against the hollow of his neck as he spoke into the phone.

“Uh- yeah,” he stuttered into the receiver, struggling against your ministrations. “We - uh- we’re on our way.”

He hung up quickly after that, the tinny voice on the phone getting cut off mid-sentence. “Sounds like we gotta go.”

“Unfortunately,” he eked out, sending a last set of kisses against your jaw.

“Stop distracting me, Professor,” you purred. “And let’s go.”

Pressure - Part 2

Summary: After birthday drinks, you come up with what seems like a great idea to respond to Spencer’s message.

A/N: Took a while to get this part 2 out, but I think this is a cute little sequel. Let me know what you think!

Part One

Masterlist|Requests

“Garcia, this is important!” Your words were framed with a hiccup as you pulled her along with you.

JJ had the decency to stumble after you of her own accord, but even she complained. “What’s more important than drinking right now, it’s past midnight?” pinching the bridge of her nose as she swayed after you, she added, “let’s go back to the bar, I’m starting to sober up.”

You shook your head adamantly, still stumbling determined down the sidewalk. “It’s soimportant,Jennifer.” You told her, likely cattier than you really needed to be as you stopped before a darkened shop.

You moved to the door, that was displaying an overly cheerful ‘we’re closed’ message, and stomped your feet unhappily. Groaning and lightly tapping your forehead against the locked door, you whined into the night. “Why are they all closed?!”

Garcia, swigging from a bottle she had nabbed from the last bar, giggled at your show of annoyance. “Maybe ‘cause no one in the world wants to visit a florist in the middle of the night.”

You stamped your feet like a child as you continued to peer into the shop. “I do!”

Stepping beside you, following your lead and peering into the darkened shop, JJ asked, “and why is that again?” Her smirk told you she knew the answer. Of course, you knew that she did. After six tequila shots you couldn’t help but gush about the Doctor and his gift.

Now, after another two shots of tequila and a mojito, you were even more willing to gush. “For Spencer,” you sighed almost dreamily.

Garcia dramatically placed a hand over her forehead and imitated a swoon. “Oh! But how could we forget?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, with a roll of your eyes, “maybe we should break in?” You considered as you aggressively tried the door handle once more.

“Oh yeah,” JJ agreed sarcastically beside you, before snorting with laughter and continuing. “Three FBI agents getting arrested for theft is a great way to declare your undying love.”

You grumbled a response, “theft is with a weapon, this would be a burglary.”

JJ laughed at your dramatically disaffected correction. “Oh you’re right!” She hummed a faux show of consideration. “I do think burglary sounds more romantic than theft.”

“Ooh!” Garcia chimed in, “you could use your one phone call to talk to him! That would be soo cute!”

You pushed away from the door. The idea of calling Spencer from jail having been arrested for drunkenly breaking into a florists at midnight with JJ and Garcia clumsily following after you, on your birthday no less, was less than appealing.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe we need a plan B.”

Garcia passed you the almost empty bottle and you took a large swig, convinced it would aid your creative process. When the alcohol tasted like breaking into the florists however, you hastily handed it back to Garcia.

JJ, in what seemed to be a sudden stroke of genius, stopped mid-stride and she grasped your arm. “Why don’t you just draw it?”

“Huh?“ you asked, dumbly.

Shaking your arm in her excitement at what she clearly thought was a fantastic plan, she clarified. “Draw a picture of the - the flower you wanted. Right?“ She nodded disjointedly and, somehow, it made her idea sound better so you nodded too. “He’s a smart guy he can use that brain to like imagine what the real one would look like.”

You yelled your response, excited by this breakthrough. “That’s a great idea!” Your voice echoed through the night as Garcia rummaged in her bag.

Fluffy pens, key rings, and a hot pink pair of tweezers scattered the sidewalk as she dug through the purse. The objects lay forgotten in the street as she brandished a notepad at you.

———————————————————————

Your head was beginning to spin. God, you thought hazily, this place has so many stairs.

When you reached the peak of the stairs, you clutched the bannister and looked all the way back down to the bottom. JJ and Garcia smiled up at you. Garcia gave you an enthusiastic double thumbs up whilst JJ waved at you to keep going.

Realising, in a moment of greater clarity than you had achieved all evening, that Spencer may not appreciate eavesdroppers, you violently gestured for them to leave. They giggled, attempting to be quiet but the noise only coming out more high pitched as a result, and scurried from the building’s small lobby.

Taking a deep breath, you shuffled to Spencer’s door. You raised your hand to knock but, in another startling moment of clarity, realised it was far too early in the morning to be knocking on someone’s door. The sound may awaken one of Spencer’s neighbours.

Rifling through your pockets you successfully located your phone and swiftly opened your contacts. You scrolled quickly through the s section, eyebrows furrowing as you struggled to locate his name, but quickly realised his name would be listed under r. Finally finding his name you wasted no time in pressing call.

It rang and rang and rang until, finally, the call connected and his markedly groggy voice rang through the phones tinny speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you whispered into the phone, giving nothing in the way of explanation as to why you were calling so late.

There was a pause over the phone, some rustling, before a more concerned tone of voice sounded. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m outside.” You told him, crowding closer to his door.

“Where outside?”

Eyebrows furrowing, unsure why he didn’t understand what you had meant, you more loudly explained; “outside your apartment.”

“You’re-“ he cut himself off, increased rustling sounding from both the receiver and behind the door.

A few moments later and the door opened before you. Phone still pressed to your ear, you beamed at him. “Hi, Spencer!”

Looking at you and then quickly down to the phone in his hand, he ended the call. Running a hand through his hair, almost nervously, he quickly asked; “are you okay? It’s seventeen minutes past one, what happened?”

Leaning against the door jamb, bashfully curling your hair around your finger, you shook your head. “I’m fine, Spencer, nothing’s wrong!”

Concern still etched upon his features, he sent an assessing gaze over your figure. You were hopeful the sight of your legs at least, only adorned with a blue mini-skirt, would send some heat spooling through him. Much to your chagrin, the only change you could discern was a widening of his eyes and an apparent doubling of his concern. “You’re shivering! It’s only twenty-six degrees outside!”

Taken aback, you looked down at yourself. Oh, you thought distantly, he’s right. Now that you were thinking of it, you noticed the chattering of your teeth. “I’m cold.” You told him distantly, having just come to the conclusion yourself.

Maybe, your alcohol slowed brain finally warned you, just maybe this was not a good idea.

You had no time to think further on it, Spencer already ushering you inside of his apartment and leading you to the sofa. You felt a little bad, his face had scrunched into a mess of concern and worry as he softly told you to sit down.

You weren’t exactly sure where Spencer disappeared to but before you knew it he had returned with a large, ruby coloured, cable knit blanket. With a careful flourish he laid the material over your legs and proceeded to hand you one of his large cardigans. You took the fabric greedily, sitting forward to pull your arms through the sleeves but your cold fingers were too stiff to do up the buttons.

Watching your poor attempt he finally let a smile lift his lips. Bending to help you, he gently moved your hands out of the way and methodically buttoned the cardigan up for you. With his eyes so distracted by the task at hand, you shamelessly watched him. You adored the chocolate curl of hair that fell across his brow, the narrow of his caramel eyes as they concentrated, and the almost timid smile he held.

When you were safely buttoned up, his eyes raised and caught yours. Even your dazed mind discerned that he had stopped breathing, a sharp intake of breath followed by silence indicating nothing else. You reminded him softly, “Breathe, Spencer.”

Flustered at being caught, he awkwardly straightened and moved from your line of sight. Head lolling backwards, you closed your eyes against the swirling of the ceiling. Feeling incredibly stupid, if still not entirely sober, you huffed out “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He called to you, still somewhere off behind you.

You laughed, amused that he was acting as though your drunken arrival at his doorstep in the early hours of the morning were a usual occurrence. “Im drunk,” you gave, as though it explained everything.

A laugh reached you as he returned to your line of sight. “I deduced that,” you smiled warmly at him, pleased he wasn’t entirely annoyed with you, and took the offered cup.

Squinting at the steaming contents, you raised a brow. “What is this?”

He sat precariously on a footstool across from you and clasped his hands before himself. “It’s chamomile tea. It’s incredibly effective in calming the mind to the point that some doctors prescribe it as a sleep remedy.”

Eyebrows pulling together, you frowned down at the cup. “I thought alcohol helps you sleep?”

He shook his head with a wry smile. “Actually that’s a myth, small amounts of alcohol can have a sedative effect but recent studies have shown that imbibing copious amounts of alcohol before going to bed can actually lengthen the time it takes to fall asleep.” As he spoke you nodded along, brain only slowly processing his rush of information. “In fact, even if you do fall asleep quickly, the slow metabolism of alcohol makes restless sleep almost unavoidable.”

You blinked slowly a few times. The alcohol induced slowness of your mind was making it significantly harder than usual to follow his intelligence.

He seemed to take this slow, dumb blinking of yours as something akin to discomfort and ducked his head shyly. “Sorry,” he let out through a breath.

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, and the room started spinning wildly around you. “No,” you reassured through this daze, “no, it’s… I like when you do that.” Your brain had the awareness to at least blush at this admittance but, still, you managed a coy smile. When his neck flushed red and no answering words made it through his fumbling stutter, you more confidently added; “it’s attractive.”

“Uh-“ he struggled, eyes darting to and fro over his wringing hands, “you - er - you think so?” His voice rose in pitch as he asked, nerves seeming to get the better of him.

Confidence bolstered by both the alcohol in your veins and his sweet, nervous disposition, you nodded adamantly. “Intelligence is sexy, Dr Reid.”

The red flush of his cheeks alongside his inability to form a coherent response to that was as sweet as it was exciting.

A sudden burst of excitement distracted you from his nervous timidity; “oh my god!” As you let this exclamation loose your hands flapped exuberantly before you as your gaze searched the area. “Where’s my bag?”

“I’ll grab it,” he told you, eyes alight with something saccharine at the sight of your excitement. He stood to retrieve your bag and was only missing from your line of sight for a few seconds before he reappeared with your bag in an outstretched hand.

Snatching the item from him quickly, you muttered a brief “thanks,” and began to rifle dramatically through it. A grin split across your features as you found the crumpled and ripped slip of paper and held it out to him. In a conspiratorial whisper, you prompted him. “This is for you.”

Bemused, he gently took the paper from you before sitting across from you once more. “What is it?” He asked, brow raised at you.

You giggled, for no real reason other than inebriation, and sat up straighter. “Open it!”

Following your instruction dutifully, he delicately unfolded the scrap of paper. You watched with bated breath, excitement causing you to practically vibrate in anticipation, but no dawning realisation crossed his features. Quizzically, he looked back to you and apparently gave up. “What… what is this?”

Entirely shocked that he could not decipher the scratched drawing you had made using JJ’s back to lean on, you crinkled your brow in consternation. “Well, what does it look like?”

Lips raising in a lopsided grin, he dropped his amused gaze from yours to narrow his eyes at the paper. “I … really don’t know.”

Pressing forward suddenly, you indelicately snatched the paper from him. Turning it over a few times to find the correct orientation, but struggled entirely to figure out what the correct orientation even was, you squinted at the splodge of ink. “Huh,” you let out curiously, “I really thought this looked better… I was proud of myself.”

“Could you tell me what it was meant to be?”

Feeling a little silly now, and like this was maybe - just maybe - nothing more than a stupid idea you had come up with whilst drunk, you lowered your gaze. “It was meant to be a rose,” for clarity that you doubted he needed, you added, “a red one.” And, because you were apparently turning into Spencer, you continued explaining. “Red, specifically, because, y’know, I opened the present you left on your desk.” He was watching you very closely as you struggled out this long winded verbal storm of unnecessary detail. “And it was so sweet, I reallly loved it, and I even managed to decipher the note you left me.” He nodded some subtle encouragement; a type of excitement you were still too tipsy to decipher shining in his gaze as he watched you ramble. “And so, after I had had a drink, I wanted to find like a florists or or something.” Spencer huffed a laugh but you continued, ignoring it. “But they were all shut? Which seems… silly. Anyway,” you waved a hand in the air as you struggled to focus your little speech, “I decided to draw the flower that I - uh - wanted to reply with…” you awkwardly trailed off before panicking slightly that he hadn’t caught the meaning and adding, “because it means-“

He cut you off, finally, with gentle words spoken almost to himself. “It means I love you too.”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod, “it does… I do.”

A small, yet bright, smile pulled at his lips.“You do?”

Leaning forward to clumsily take his hand in yours, you confirmed. “I love you too.”

Warm hands turning in yours, Spencer’s fingertips grazed the hammering pulse at your wrist. Pressing your forehead to his, hoping the tequila on your tongue were not too obvious, you leaned forwards to finally kiss him. You pouted when he quickly turned his face away, a breathy laugh falling from him as he caught your suddenly unbalanced figure. “What’s wrong?”

One large hand cradling your face, the other hand pushing your hair from your eyes, he looked you over apologetically yet with amusement. “You are very drunk,” he stressed.

“Uh-huh…” you nodded distantly, unsure what your inebriation had to do with anything. “And?”

“And,” he began, still sporting a mirthful smile, “it wouldn’t be right to kiss you when you’re this inebriated.”

God, you thought almost dreamily, he’s so sweet. The barrier between your thoughts and your words simply did not exist in this moment and, so, you told him this fact. “You’re so sweet,” you giggled as you spoke, feeling like a school girl who just admitted to having a crush. Voice almost trembling with hopefulness, you asked; “Will you kiss me in the morning?”

Matching your gaze, nodding rapidly, Spencer let out an immediate verbal response. “Of course.”

Parties, Propositions, & Panic - Part 2

Summary: After the events of your birthday party, you and Spencer are forced to talk about the past.

A/N: This is incredibly long! I didn’t wanna split into 2 parts and keep you guys hanging though! Warning that this is 18+ and there are mentions of addiction and drug use. Please let me know what you think here!

Part One

MasterlistIRequests

The air outside felt just as oppressive as the crowded room. Yet at least here you were free from those stranger’s stares, watching you with a strange excitement as your distress spiralled.

Guess they’ll have something to gossip about tomorrow, you thought distantly.

You stopped a few steps from the door, your breathing out of control as you felt sharp panic overtake you; why did you run away? Why did Alex have to ask you in front of all those people? Why did he have to ask you at all?

And why, why, did you look at Spencer?

Of course, you knew the answer to that.

It was for that same reason you always stayed late at work until he was finished. The same reason you always sat beside him on the jet. The same reason you broke away from Alex’s parents just to dance with him tonight.

Guilt tore through you; Alex was far from perfect but he deserved better.

Your name rang out, a desperate plea in the cold air, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Why was Spencer doing this now? Your thoughts and emotions were scattered and unsure. You couldn’t trust yourself to have this conversation right now.

You turned to watch him approach you, his steps hurried and clumsy enough to make you worry he would fall. You shook your head, tears clouding your vision as your breath hitched. “Spencer,” you barely got the two syllables of his name out between heavy breaths, “I-I-“ I can’t do this right now, you wanted to say, too little air in your lungs to form the words.

Gently, but with urgency, he pulled your hands from where they harshly gripped your elbows. Smoothing his hands over your bare arms, he warmed the goosebumps from your skin. Ducking down to match your gaze he delicately cradled your face between large palms; thumbs swiping over your cheekbones as he met your gaze. “Breathe with me, sweetheart.” He told you softly, warm words misting the air as they met the cold night.

Gripping his wrist, you nodded and tried to match the steady rhythm of his breaths. The tingling in your fingertips abated slowly, the dark spots blotting your vision replaced by the clarity of his chestnut eyes, and the all-consuming panic was replaced with a barrage of other emotions.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeatedly murmured. As the ringing of your ears quietened, you realised he had been whispering these reassurances to you from the moment he caught you.

It was toosweet,too perfect. He could read you like nobody else, calm you like nothing else, and right now that was an impossible revelation to contend with. You pulled back, stumbling back a few paces.

“Spencer, I need to-“

He cut you off.

“I love you.”

The words rushed from him, as though they had been fighting to leave him for longer than just tonight. Tears shone in his eyes, his voice rough as he fought through this welling of emotion, “I love you.” He repeated, the words hanging in the air between you impossibly.

You wiped at your eyes, aggressively pressing your palms against your brow. Your voice raised in pitch as you struggled against the multitude of things you wanted to scream, shout, cry, and whisper to him.“You-you can’t do this to me right now.”

Your name fell from him again, as he staggered half a step closer. Close enough to touch you once more. Both hands gripping one of yours, he pulled you yet nearer. “I know,” he told you, a sadness pulling down his voice, “I should’ve told you a long time ago.” One hand left yours, the fingertips of his left hand raising to push your hair from your eyes. The pads of his fingers brushed tenderly against your temple at the action and you couldn’t prevent the way you leaned into the sensation. Voice hoarse, breaking as his tears fell, he told you; “I never should’ve let you go.”

Pursing your lips against the sob that tried to leave you, you dropped your gaze. You couldn’t do this now, this was the worst time for this conversation, but he was making it so hard to walk away. You pulled back, a few trembling steps to put some distance between the pair of you; anything that might clear your mind enough to think straight. His gaze could only tempt you closer but it was impossible to ignore the pull of his touch.

The new space between you did nothing to help.

The sight of Spencer felt eternally frustrating; his honey-brown eyes sparkling with expression and hair almost drooping alongside his shoulders. “You- you ended things with me?” The words rasped out, almost becoming caught in the knot swelling in your throat. “What did you expect?”

“I know,” he implored, tears threatening to spill over as he gripped his own hands in the absence of yours. “I know this isn’t fair, but… please.” His feet fumbled closer to you, hands wrenching free of one another to cup your cheeks once again. His thumbs drew circles over your cheeks, swiping away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. “Why did you look at me?” He finally asked.

How could you answer that with anything other than the truth? You tried your best to hold onto anger, annoyance, but your next words came out flat and disaffected. “You know… I could say yes to Alex… I could marry him, have a kid, a dog, a house, whatever.” You sniffed, eyes closing against the sight of Spencer’s distress. “And I could be fine.” You shook your head, the image your words had conjured in your mind dull compared to the sight of Spencer. “But-but… it wouldn’t be enough. I looked at you because I wanted you to give me a reason to say no.” You reopened your eyes, breathless as your emotion for this man overtook you. “I looked at you because I love you.”

A whine escaped him at that, forehead pressed against yours and you let him pull you closer still. His lips pressed against yours, tentatively at first but increasingly desperate when you reciprocated his desire by tangling your hands in his hair. Your mouth opened in a gasp as his arm wound possessively around your waist - pulling you chest to chest with him.

His name fell from your lips as your mouths were forced to part in a needful gasp for air. Almost magnetically, your lips met once more, no pause for words left between you.

You could feel the heavy weight of Spencer’s longing for you in each press of his lips, each grab of his hands, each moan he let slip into your mouth.

The door you had fled from clattered once more and you jolted from Spencer with a gasp of surprise. “Alex is…” JJ broke off, eyes widening as she took in the sight before her; you and Spencer still entirely wrapped in each other, looking wide eyed and guilty at the now opened door. She cleared her throat, delicately closing the door behind her and taking a step towards the pair of you. “Alex is looking for you.” She told you, almost sternly. “It might be for the best if he doesn’t find you like this?”

Entirely guilty, you nodded with downcast eyes. What were you doing? You pulled away from Spencer, ignoring lingering hands that tried to keep you, and nodded solemnly. “You’re right,” you agreed, chastened. “I-I can’t do this right now.”

He shook his head, a string of ‘no’ and ‘please’ escaping him as he reached for you.

You grabbed the palm that reached for you, “Spencer, this isn’t a no.” You squeezed his hand, the only reassurance you could give in this moment, before pushing it back towards his figure, “I- it’s just not… not right now. Just give me some time, please?”

He nodded, lips pursing as he swallowed back tears. “Anything,” he told you thickly.

Lowering your eyes from his, finding it impossible enough to leave even without the sight of him, you called to JJ. “Can you take me home?”

———————————————————————

Days had passed since that evening but the remnants of your touch remained embedded in Spencer’s skin. His lips still tingled where they had tasted yours and fingertips still burned hot where they had traced your flushed skin.

Days had passed since that evening; but he was yet to see you, yet to hear your voice, and yet to bathe in the brightness of your gaze.

You had asked for space, for time, and he was determined to give it to you. When the weight of his memories overwhelmed him, however, he would crack under the pressure. A text here, a call there, but nothing ever reciprocated.

He tried to distract himself with work, throw himself into case files and paperwork, but every day that he sat across from your empty desk reminded him that you were not there. Had he lost his chance with you? Had he chased you away with his late show of devotion?

These harassing questions were only silenced by one, unerring, memory of that evening. You had told him you loved him, you had reciprocated his great emotion for you; you lovedhim.

But, a scratching thought remained; after all the time that he had wasted, would that be enough?

His phone vibrated suddenly upon his desk, sliding a few inches as the screen lit up with your name. Dropping the paper that he had been mindlessly ripping into smaller and smaller pieces, he snatched the phone from the desk.

Can you come over after work?

His fingers worked over the keys almost faster than his brain could tell him what to write. Luckily, his reply was short; yes.

———————————————————————

Spencer lifted his hand to rap his knuckles against the mahogany of your door but, before contact could be made, he noticed the trembling of his fingers. Retracting his hand, using it to fiddle once more with the tie around his neck, he slowly let out a long breath.

A little more settled in himself, he knocked. Your light footsteps hurried to the door and he chose to interpret your rush as a positive sign.

The door fell inwards, revealing your face peering up at him. Whatever words he had planned to say caught in his throat, tangling there and making it impossible to speak.

You relieved him of the burden of speaking first, “hi, Spencer.”

Swallowing heavily, he returned your greeting with a voice strained by a barrage of competing emotion. “Hi,” he glanced down to his right hand, clutching a peace offering in the form of a bouquet, and presented it to you as though he had just recalled they were there. “I- these are for you.” He explained, pointlessly.

Your eyes brightened as you looked over them, both hands immediately reaching for the gift, and you beamed. Still looking down at them, you murmured “My favourite…”

Your smile eased him greatly. This gesture of his, so clearly appreciated by you, reminding him of how well he knew you. How perfect you were for each other.

You took a step to the side, holding the flowers almost reverently beside you, and gestured for him to enter. He moved into your apartment, finding a light on at the end of the hall and following it to the kitchen.

You entered the room behind him, crouching at the corner cupboard and emerging with a crystalline vase. Filling the vessel with water, you softly pulled the twine bow that held the flowers together, and carefully placed the stems in the vase. Once the display was completed you paused in your movements. Your fingertip delicately traced over one of the larger petals, your head tilting as you watched the flower shift beneath your musings.

He wished, so dearly, that he could hear your thoughts in this moment. Unable to help himself, he greedily asked; “what are you thinking about?”

You turned to face him, a sigh and a melancholy frown pulling at your lips. “You know my favourite flower,” he nodded eagerly, dissecting each subtle intonation in your words. “And it’s not just that you know it… it’s that you think to buy them for me, you think to make me smile.”

“Of course.” To Spencer it seemed so obvious, so simple. Why, then, were you telling him this with such wonder?

You looked down, the angle disguising your smirk but your gentle sigh still reached him. You echoed him in a whisper, “of course.”

You moved closer to him, leaning your weight against the counter across from him. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t discern whether his heart began to race or if it stopped completely. What could you possibly be sorry for? He was sure his attentive gaze would not have missed a ring on your finger but his eyes still darted to where your hands were folded upon the counter. Settled by the emptiness of your ring finger, he asked; “what for?”

“I should have called, or… or something.” You were wringing your hands together as you spoke, words muted as your head bowed, hiding your eyes from him. “I just…” your words trailed off as you lifted your head, eyes softening as they found his.

“You asked for space.” He reassured you, leaning against the counter in some effort to be closer to you. “I-“ he huffed a sad little laugh at himself, at his own inability to follow your simple instruction, “I tried my best.”

Your nerves were clear in the set of your shoulders, obvious in the tightness of your voice, and the sight inspired his own nerves to triple.

Almost shyly, you peeked at him as you spoke next, “I broke up with Alex.” Spencer felt as though some great weight had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe for what felt like the first time in years. His shoulders collapsed down and his eyes fell shut as a guilty smile painted his features. Spencer had never been particularly religious, but he was ready to fall to his knees and proclaim his everlasting thanks to whichever deity had looked so kindly upon him.

You watched this unschooled reaction with a sparkling interest in your eyes, dissecting his reaction intensely and waiting to speak once more. “Sorry,” he told you hoarsely, struggling to regain his composure after the relief that you had sent burning through his veins.

“Spencer, what do you want?”

Your words were clipped, wavering at the end of each syllable in a telling show of an emotion that you were trying desperately to chase away. Eyes narrowing at you, Spencer worked to discern this emotion. You lips were working oddly as you awaited his reply, twisting and pursing, and your hands were gripping one another almost desperately. You were scared, Spencer realised with a frown. “What?”

Eyes shining, you asked again. “What do you want?”

But,surely, you knew the answer to that. “You.” He told you, imploring. “I want you.”

You lifted your weight from the counter, increasing the distance between you as you hugged your arms. He chased you, this new distance scaring him, and leaned imperceptibly further over the counter between you.

You asked for further reassurance. “You do?” Eager to settle these fears of yours he pushed from the counter and moved to stand before you; no barrier left between you. You looked up at him, eyes shining with tears you were doing your best to hold back. “Even now that I’m-I’m available again?”

Eyebrows crunching together, hands smoothing over your arms, he answered with a voice strained by confusion. “You think I only wanted you because you were with someone else?” How could you think that?

Could you not feel the weight of his devotion for you? Could you not hear the way his thoughts spilled and spiralled into longing each time your eyes met? Could you not see the affection painting each subtle brush of his hand against yours?

Your hands were against his chest but he couldn’t discern whether the action were meant to keep him at bay or press affection into him. He hoped for the latter. “You never said anything, Spencer.” You told him, sending something in his heart twisting painfully. “Not until now.”

His eyes squeezed shut, emotion overwhelming him. Desperately, his grip tightened upon your arms; how could it still feel like you were slipping through his fingers? Eventually, he breathed out, “I know.”

“You keep saying that,” you almost whispered into the quiet air of your kitchen, “‘I know’” you parroted sadly. “I waited for you.” You admitted softly, one hand daring to frame his face. Sucking in a breath at the contact, your palm feeling electric against his skin, he opened his eyes to find your almost haunted gaze. “I waited for you to tell me that you- that all those things you said - that you didn’t mean them.”

Tears spilled from him now. The too perfect memories of the sharp words he had shot at you in some self-destructive haze of withdrawal playing tauntingly in his mind. In his minds eye he could still see your face crumpling, still hear your voice lowering into whispers, and still feel the sharp sting in his chest as he had turned from you. Afterwards, that night, he had indulged himself. Falling into a chemical high and chasing the feeling of increasingly fleeting serenity it had once afforded him; even then he was quickly realising that your absence was not something his habit could hide from him.

He had mostly sobered by the time Morgan had knocked on his door, sent to check on him at your request.

Shaking his head against the memories, having already agonised over them through enough sleepless nights, he tried to explain. To finally explain. “I couldn’t keep hurting you.” The words were cracked and frayed by the sadness dragging him down, but he continued through his tears. “I couldn’t stop and you were-you were getting dragged down with me.”

Thumb softly clearing the tears from his cheeks, you ignored your own pooling tears. “But you did so well. You’ve done so well.” Your second hand smoothed over his shoulder, fingertips grazing the stubbled skin of his neck. “I’m so proud of you,” you smiled sadly, “but even after you got clean… you didn’t say anything.” One of your hands left him, the skin of his cheek feeling cold and hollow at your absence, to instead rub over your streaming eyes.

“You know- we’ve got a pretty dangerous job,” you told him, with some kind of stuttered laugh as though you were attempting to lighten the heavy mood of the air but still struggling too much with your own sadness. “And- it’s so stupid- but every time I got hurt… Every time you hovered over me while I was getting patched up, all those times I would wake up in the hospital with you at my bedside… every single time I thought ‘this is it - he’ll tell me now - if he loves me he’ll tell me’.” You gave a light shake of your head, “and each time you said nothing. And, eventually , it didn’t matter what Morgan said, it didn’t matter what JJ said… because you didn’t say anything.”

The answering words struggled from him, his mouth dry as he just suddenly realised how his behaviour must have seemed to you. How could he blame you, for trying to move on, when he had left you with no proof of his devotion except heavy gazes and lingering touches? “I didn’t want to let you down,” you sighed as he spoke, head ducking as you sniffled, “I wanted to be sure and- and I wanted to tell you. I nearly did, but I was scared.” His words were tumbling into one another in his haste to get them out. “Fifty-eight percent of addicts relapse at least once in their recovery, I… I didn’t want to lose you forever.” Shaking his head, struggling to understand even his own logic looking back, he breathlessly finished with. “I thought I could keep waiting and making sure I that I wasn’t going to let you down. I was so sure we would just end up together somehow. And then - then you met someone else and… it was too late.”

“You could never lose me.” You reassured, eyes distant as they wandered over his shoulder. “I wish you had talked to me,” you told him solemnly, before returning an open gaze to him. “But I understand.”

Encouraged by these words, he softly placed his hands upon your waist - hoping you would allow him pull you closer. “I’ve loved you since our very first conversation.” Your hands slid around his neck, fingertips curling into the hair at his nape. “I loved you when we were together and I loved you for the entire year, nine months, and eleven days that I had to watch you with someone else.” His head ducked, forehead pressing against yours and gaze boring into yours. “I never stopped and I shouldn’t have waited this long to say it. I’m sorry.”

The words poured from him, a subtle whisper beneath the hammering of his heart. Please, he prayed to whoever would listen, please.

Tentatively, you tilted your face upwards. Lips parting, your eyes darted between both of his in a fearful search for deception or hesitation. Spencer knew that all you would find in his eyes was affection.

You kissed him. Your lips were slow against his, languid and perfect. The last time he had kissed you he had felt frenzied; it had been the first time he had been able to hold you in years and he hadn’t hidden the desperation that had filled him.

“I love you,” you murmured in the brief moment your lips were parted.

This kiss was different. This kiss could afford to be languid and slow; the promise of being together clarifying in the space between you.

Despite this allowance of steadiness, slowness, between you - neither one of you seemed able to ignore the rising need for more. One of your hands slipped from the back of his neck; lowering to tug meaningfully at his tie and the action sent a spiral of desire burning through him.

The guilty sinful memories of you had been ever-present in those lonely nights without you, but even they were nothing compared to the real thing. You had already freed him of his tie as his hands dipped beneath your shirt - the feel of your skin beneath his electrifying and leaving him desperate for more.

You pulled back suddenly, an unbearably salacious gasp pulling from you as he pulled you flush against him. “Spencer,” even his memory could not compare to the breathless way you whined his name, “I want you.”

The confirmation was all he needed, the enthusiasm within your words bolstering his confidence as he kissed you in reply. Spencer knew the layout of your apartment, knew how to steer the two of you to your bedroom using the shortest possible route, but he couldn’t wait that long. Your table, he knew, would likely withstand the weight of you.

Your hands upon his belt stalled completely as he pressed you against the table. Mouth still parted beneath his, you followed his silent instruction and perched upon the stained wood. Your legs fell open around him, the warmth of your body welcoming him to fill the space, and your hands returned clumsily to his belt.

Catching your hands, he stopped your attempt with a stern grip. As desperate as he was to fill you, to feel you stretched deliciously around him, he had to taste you first; taste one of the hardest sensations to recreate.

Still gripping one of your wrists he placed your palm flat against the table behind you, his mouth working down the column of your throat as you leaned back. Distractedly, you murmured; “is-is the table-“ you cut yourself off with a squeak as his hands smoothed under your skirt, fingertips tracing the silken skin of your inner thigh.

Pushing your skirt up, he dropped to his knees before you and answered. Although, you didn’t seem to concentrate on his answer as he pulled you to the edge of the table. “It’s fine,” his own voice was strained with desire, hoarse and barely recognisable as his own.

Despite the almost uncomfortable tightness of his slacks, he worked his mouth slowly down your thighs. Impatient whines poured from you but he was determined to re-write himself over every inch of you, determined to remind your body how he could make you feel.

When he finally tasted you, your hips jerked forwards as your back arched with a heady moan that Spencer could hear continually echoing in his mind. Hands now firmly clamped over your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, he worked on pulling more of those delicious sounds from you.

Your hands were tugging at his hair, nails scratching as his tongue flattened against you. The groan that escaped you reverberated sinfully in the air as your thighs tried to close around him. Easily, with the white knuckled grip he maintained on your thighs, he held them open.

You were shifting and twisting above him, desperate pleas leaving you breathless. Spencer knew he was teasing you; tongue lapping too lightly over your clit for any real progress to be made towards your orgasm, despite the jolting pleasure continually being sent through your figure.

Wickedly, he pressed his tongue flatly against your clit, providing the pressure you so desired, only to immediately return to his previous teasing. You gave a groan, a mix of pleasure and frustration infecting the sound, and tugged his hair more harshly. Mouth forced to leave you, he looked up at your hazy gaze and flushed cheeks. The smirk he gave at the sight of you, the sight of what he did to you, seemed only aggravate you more.

“Stop teasing me, Spencer.” He went to respond, mouth opening to claim innocence that he doubted he could really pull off with his head between your legs, but you cut him off sternly. “I know how fast you can make me cum, so do it.”

You loosened your grip on his hair and he complied immediately. Mouth dropping back down to your slick heat, he closed his lips around your clit whilst releasing your left thigh in favour of dipping a finger into you.

Soon a second, and then a third, finger slipped so easily inside of you; curling in an eager attempt to find that one spot inside of you that could make you fall apart. A long, low whine spilled from you as he found it. Mouth still working over your clit, he gave his own moan in response. The vibrato of the noise against your clit alongside his curling fingers sent you skittering over the edge.

Gripping your bucking hips with his free hand, he remained on his knees for you and worked over you as you rode out your high.

Even after your hips had stilled and your grip upon his hair had eased, he remained. The taste of you was unforgettable, irreplaceable, and he could ignore his own straining need if it meant he could taste more of you.

With some effort, you pulled him away. A haze had overtaken your gaze as he straightened before you and your lips were parted in the reverberations of your pleasure. You kissed him harshly, quickly, before sending your lips skittering and sucking down his neck. “Did that feel good?”

You nodded against him, giving a slurred “so good,” as you finally succeeded in removing his belt.

As you freed his erection, hand - slicked with your own juices - sliding over him and sending his head caving forwards, he managed to bite out. “No one else can make you feel this good.” The possessive twist of his words were surely not missed by you but, after all this time, you allowed him sink into his jealousy. “Only me.”

Second hand dropping to position him at your entrance, his own hands too busy tangled in your hair and gripping at your waist, you whispered huskily to him. “Nothing makes me feel like you do.” Your thighs squeezed over his hips, pulling him in, and your breath hitched as he entered you but still you whined out; “that’s why I belong to you.”

He had needed those words; this confirmation that you wanted to belong to him, wanted him to belong to you, and he surged forwards with a moan that spilled straight into your lips.

Your arm hooked around his neck whilst the other propped you up on the table behind you. Each slam of his hips against yours sent you forcefully backwards but his arm around your lower back kept pulling you back to meet him.

Part of him wanted to slow his movements, indulge himself entirely and take his time with you, but he couldn’t chase away the frenzied need to feel you and fill you and have you. All he could do was grip you harder, pull you closer, and selfishly keep you wrapped around him.

“Tell me how it feels.” He ordered, words strained by the moan that almost overtook them.

Your answering words came out almost staccato, stuttering out between whines and moans that you couldn’t suppress. “You feel,” a heavy whine interrupted the words, “god, Spencer, you make me feel so good. Don’t - ah - don’t stop.”

This desperate little plea of yours was entirely unnecessary, he really hadn’t planned to stop until you were an exhausted mess of pleasure beneath him.

As the building pressure of pleasure quickly approached crescendo, however, he vaguely reasoned that he had the entire night to send you spiralling into pleasure. He wanted to fuck you properly tonight, twisted in your bed sheets and with you squirming beneath his weight.

As his thrusts began to falter, he watched you fall apart all over again. Your mouth puckered and opened into a silent ‘oh’ and the hand holding you up all but failed. He caught you as you slumped into him, wrapping both arms around you and burying himself to the hilt as he met his own release.

You remained within the circle of his arms for a long moment, your heavy breaths heating the space between you, and he sent a distant, dazed hand stroking over your hair. You hummed into him, curling impossibly closer and his eyes fell shut. This was a moment he could bask in, this was a moment he had fantasised over for too long and now, finally, got to experience.

Your quiet words broke him from his peaceful reverie. “Will you stay tonight?”

Head turning, lips pressing against the sweat slicked skin of your temple, he answered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

——————————————————————

Morning washed lazily over the pair of you; the sunlight twinkling through hastily shut blinds and the distant sounds of traffic lulling him back into awareness.

A slight fear had overtaken him as he had fallen asleep; would you be here when he woke up? Would the events of this evening turn out to be nothing more than his ever hopeful mind playing out perfection for him in the guise of some hyper-realistic dream?

But, he could feel the comfortable weight you between his arms, smell the honeysuckle of your hair, hear the quiet murmur of your snore, and still almost taste the evidence of your repeated pleasure.

You turned lazily in his arms, sleepy eyes cracking open to find him. “Morning,” you croaked, settling heavily against your pillow.

“Morning,” he parroted you, smile obvious in his words.

Groaning, you pressed a hand against your eyes. “It’s way too early for you to be so cheerful.”

Smiling down at you, despite your closed eyes, he murmured, “I’ve wanted to wake up like this again for years,” you smiled into his words, nestling closer to him, but your eyes remained closed.

You nodded dreamily, humming some vague agreement before a light snore told him you were asleep once more.

Taglist

@jhiddles03 @halloween-is-my-nationality @givemeth @ametrine-lilymoon @justlivinginadaydream

(I think this is everyone who asked to be tagged - thank you!)

Crossed Wires

Summary: Reader is an IT tech and Spencer is a technophobe. Their paths are fated to cross.

A/N: This is a prequel to Bridge the Gap, linked below, but can be read as a stand alone! Please let me know what you think!

Bridge the Gap

MasterlistIRequests

The shrill and sudden ringing of the phone made you jump, so much so that you bashed your head on the desk you were currently crouched beneath. Abandoning the plug you had been attempting to find a spare outlet for, you clambered back to your feet and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

A tinny, nasal voice that you recognised but couldn’t quite place answered you brusquely; “one of the professors needs your help.”

“Really?” You asked, eyebrows raised as though she could see them. “It’s the first day of the semester.”

The woman sighed, “I know,” her voice dropped in volume as she spoke next and you had the distinct impression that she leaned closer to the phone as she spoke, “it’s a wonder they manage to get their pants on in the morning without help.”

You didn’t bother stifling the chortle of laughter that escaped you at that. Your closet of an office had space only for you, No would-be eavesdropper would bother to squeeze into the space just to hear you laughing at the alumni. Recovering yourself, you asked; “so-uh - what’s the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t know something about his printer I think.” There was a pause, and then; “it’s a new guy, Professor Reid? In…” you could hear fingers flying over a keyboard, “he’s in office 12C… the Criminal Science building.”

Eyebrows furrowing, attempting to mentally conjure a map of the campus, you nodded pointlessly. “Okay, I’ll head over now.”

“I’ll let him know to expect you,” she told you, before leaving you with a sarcastic “have fun.”

———————————————————————

Your internal map of the campus was a little less accurate than you would have hoped. In an embarrassing turn of events you were forced to awkwardly stop a student and ask for directions.

Ten minutes later than you would have liked, you found the office that you were looking for. For the sake of politeness, and because some of the older professors could be particularly pedantic about it, you lightly rapped your knuckles against the door before entering. “Um - hello?” You asked, awkwardly poking your head into the room.

A man, much younger than you had expected, turned sharply to face you. “Hi?” You blinked at him for a moment too long. In all honesty your brain had completely stalled. He was just… not what you were expecting at all; attractive, young, attractive, tall, attractive. You almost recovered yourself enough to talk but he soon shot a warm smile at you and your brain turned back to mush. “Can I help you?” He eventually prompted.

“Oh erm,” pulling yourself together, finally, you smoothed a hand over your clothes and answered with as much charm as you could muster; “I think I’m here to help you, actually.” The words came out a little more suggestive than you had intended but you enjoyed the immediate effect they seemed to produce.

His eyebrows raised, mouth fallen open as a nervous squeak escaped him, and you caught his eyes sweeping over your figure. “Oh?” Was all he managed to eke out before swallowing thickly.

“Your printer?” You offered.

“Oh! Oh, yes.” He straightened out his jacket as he nodded a little over-eagerly at you. “you- you’re here to help with the printer?”

Stepping a little further into the room, the door clicking softly shut behind you, you nodded. Normally, you would be a little more reserved with the professors. Waiting instead for them to invite you in, but Professor Reid’s awkward stuttering somehow put you at ease. “Yeah, that’s kinda my job.” You smiled plainly at him, and he returned the gesture in kind.

Pointing at you, he confirmed, “you’re the IT tech?”

“That’s me,” you affirmed, holding a hand out to him as you told him your name.

Placing his palms out before himself, he leaned back and away from your offered palm. “Oh, I don’t really shake hands.” His lips twisted almost apologetically, as he clasped his hands in front of himself. “It’s actually more hygienic to kiss.” Immediately his face flushed as he caught the innuendo too late and he rushed out a babbling explanation, “not that I- I didn’t mean-“

Feeling generous, you saved him with a wave of your hand. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

Sheepish, he nodded. From the twist of his lips you gathered that he was still internally chastising himself, but he eventually managed to introduce himself more appropriately. “I’m Dr Spencer Reid.”

For his sake, you breezed past this deliciously awkward introduction with a tone filled with professionalism. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Raising a brow, you looked to the computer tucked away, almost forgotten, in the corner. “What’s the problem?”

Eyes following yours and landing on the offending laptop, he gestured for you to move over to it. Following behind you, he explained. “I was trying to print out the handbook but… it’s not working.”

Leaning over his computer, you nodded with a crumpled brow. “That’s like a hundred pages, Dr Reid.” You looked back to him but he didn’t seem to get your point. “You know you don’t actually have to read all that, right? It’d take the whole day.”

Eyes averted to the floor he gave you a strange, almost cocky, little smirk, “I think I can manage it.”

The side of your lips twitched upwards as you gleaned some strange amusement from his words. He spoke them as though they were some inside joke with himself. It was oddly charming. From anyone else you likely would’ve condemned his tone to arrogance, but his demeanour was so open and strangely sweet that it was hard to tar him with such a brush. “Well,” you sighed, narrowing your eyes at the screen, “is there a reason you can’t just read it from here?”

You looked to him for a response and he visibly grimaced at the suggestion. “I prefer a more traditional medium.”

Raising an eyebrow, dissecting his words to find the truth, you smirked. “You and technology don’t get along, huh?”

Nodding confirmation with a laugh, he wryly replied; “we’re colleagues of necessity.”

You breathed a laugh, surprised by his quick wit but eager to experience more. “Okay,” you let out, leaning closer to the screen and immediately detecting the problem.

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but you had the decency to provide him his explanation first. Biting your lip, in an almost fruitless attempt to hide the amused smile pulling at your features, you turned back to face him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you. His gaze unsure whether to settle heavily on your bitten lip or respectfully on your eyes. In the end his gaze settled somewhere in the middle. A cough fell from him before he managed to ask; “what’s the problem?”

“How many times have you tried to print this?”

The corner of his eyes crinkling, he cryptically answered, “a few.”

You giggled helplessly, spurring an answering laughter from him that was interspersed with his continued questioning, “what did I do?”

Recovering yourself, you conspiratorially leaned in closer, whispering the answer to him. “You’ve sent them to print in Professor Friedman’s office. He’s a couple doors down.” A giggle interrupted your explanation, “so he’s probably got a hundred copies of that handbook printing out and no idea why.”

“Oh,” he gave, turning quickly to look at the door, as though Friedman himself were about to burst through demanding an explanation. “That’s not… ideal.”

“No,” you agreed. When you held his attention once more, you asked; “do you want me to show you how to do it right or… shall I just do it for you?”

His lips twisted and a husky laugh escaped him. That was answer enough.

“I’ll just do it for you.”

A few clicks later and his own printer had hummed into action, spitting out paper rather slowly. The pair of you watched the whirring machine for longer than was likely necessary. Every now and then it seemed Dr Reid was about to speak, face turned to you and lips parting, but each time his attempt stalled.

After the silence had stretched just a little too long, none of his attempts coming to fruition, you sighed and turned to him. Your tone was less than enthused. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

His eyebrows rose as though surprised at this turn of events where you were not able to loiter with him in his office all day. “Oh- of course…” he gestured to the door and kindly opened it for you, “I - uh-“ you were quite thrilled, really, at how flustered he was getting. This excitement dulled just slightly when he seemingly gave up on what he had been trying to say and settled instead on; “thank you.”

Stepping across the threshold of the door, you turned back to him. “Anytime, Dr Reid.”

“Spencer, call me Spencer.”

Grinning, sure a telling blush was painted over your cheeks, you affirmed. “Spencer it is.”

“There you are!” Came a booming voice from down the hall. Turning to look, your eyes widened at the sight of Professor Friedman barrelling down the hall towards you. “I’ve been calling your line for half an hour! My printer has been hijacked! It’s printing dozens of copies of some kind of handbook and it’s still going!“

Taking a deep breath, you nodded with a polite yet tight smile. “Of course, Friedman, I-“

Sternly, he interjected with an arrogant correction; “Professor Friedman, thank you.”

Spencer cut in, surprising both you and Friedman, before you could even think to apologise. “You know, I read an interesting article recently about individuals who obsess over the use of their proper titles. Especially within inappropriate social contexts,” the glint within his eye as he snuck his gaze over to meet yours was almost playful. “Apparently,” he prefaced dramatically, “the obsession with the formality is deeply rooted in a collection of physical, mental, and sexual inadequacies.”

You choked on your laugh, desperately trying to conceal your peals of laughter with unconvincing coughs. Professor Friedman said nothing, seemingly entirely blindsided and unsure how to even respond without seeming as though he were protesting a little too much against the subtle accusation.

Still fighting back your laughter, words coming out markedly more uneven than usual, you said; “That’s very interesting, Dr Reid.”

Smiling down at you, gaze filled with this secret victory the pair of you were sharing, he answered quickly. “Oh, please call me Spencer.” After a sly glance at Friedman beside him, who still looked as though he were picking through Spencer’s quick words in search of a viable response, he continued, “I’m not worried about formality.”

God, he was going to kill you.

Your face was burning hot with the effort of containing your laughter and you couldn’t even look Spencer in the eye anymore; the amused sparkle in his chocolate eyes surely enough to send you tipping over the edge into joyful hysteria.

“Well,” Friedman eventually let out, grimly, “I will wait for you in my office.” He nodded to you before sending a disdainful look of annoyance towards Spencer who, to his credit, did not seem affected in the slightest. “It was… interesting to meet you, Dr Reid.”

Spencer nodded in response, already turning to look at you as Friedman hurried away.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. Hurried hands pushed Spencer backwards and into his office, the door swinging shut behind you, and you entirely broke down into a fit of giggles.

You vaguely hoped the office door was enough to keep your raucous laughter from reaching Friedman’s ears but you weren’t especially concerned enough to stop. At one point you had successfully recovered yourself but, one shared glance with Spencer, and the both of you were sent spiralling once more into laughter.

Eventually, you managed to huff out; “is that- is that even true?”

Almost cheekily, he grinned with a shrug. “Not exactly.”

Straightening, having hunched over in the depths of your laughter, you wiped the tears from your eyes. “Oh god,” Spencer was still looking at you. Now that your laughter had subsided to a more reasonable level, you realised how strangely intense his attention upon you was; he was looking at you as though you were some fascinating specimen whose every move deserved his rapt attention. “That was so funny.” You eked out.

Eyes now focused on your shoes, feeling shy under his attention, you mused. “I’ve gotta go help him now, how am I supposed to look at him without laughing?”

He laughed breezily, “sorry.” Looking back up, you found his head ducked and his right hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, don’t be,” you assured lightly, a wave of your hand dismissing the apology, “that was amazing.”

He nodded, lips twisting as he shoved nervous hands into his pocket. “Good,” he told you, resolute. “I- uh- I hope to see you around?“

Hand settled on the silver door handle, ready to face Friedman with an extra spring in your step, you agreed. “Yeah, you too.”

As you walked away and down the hallway, following the sound of Friedman’s poor overworked printer and the aggrieved grumblings of the man himself, you found yourself hoping Spencer’s technology would fail him again soon.

As though the gods themselves were listening, or perhaps just because technology really did hate Spencer, the very next day you were called to fix his email.

Tequila Challenge

Summary: Your first date with Garcia is just as quirky and unforgettable as Garcia herself. As the night goes on, she enrols you in the titular tequila challenge.

A/N: I’d love to go on this date but, alas, I can only write about it. I also could not drink 4 tequila shots! Let me know what you think!

MasterlistIRequests

A surprisingly sultry silk eye mask obscured your vision entirely, Garcia’s gentle yet excitable hands the only thing standing between you and falling on your face. “Isn’t this a bit much?” You asked, fumbling over a step she hadn’t warned you of.

“It’s a date,” she told you brightly, “and mystery just makes it sexier.” You grumbled in reply, but couldn’t help but internally agree with her flawless logic. “Cmon, we’re nearly there!” Her voice had taken on that sing song quality that warned of her increasing excitement.

Her hands smoothed over your arms and you felt her move to stand behind you. The ghost of her breath washed over the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps tingling over your figure, as she whispered; “you ready?”

A hum of agreement left you, the shiver she sent down your spine stealing your words.

Squeezing your arm in response, she leaned closer once more. “Was that supposed to be a yes?” She all but purred.

This time you managed a slightly more eloquent “uh-huh.” It seemed good enough for Garcia, as she swiftly pulled the blindfold from your eyes.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, you slowly took in your surroundings. “We’re… at a ball pit?”

Wagging a sassy finger at you, she corrected; “not just any ball pit - a ball pit with a fully stocked bar in the middle.” Hand on your shoulder, she directed your attention to the central bar with a flourish of her hand.

The bar was standard, except for the sea of colourful, plastic balls surrounding it. Disco lights were shining wildly from ceiling mounted electronics and, as the pair of you neared the entrance to the ball pit, you could feel the thumping bass of R&B resonating through the floor.

Standing at the edge of the ball pit, ready to jump in and wade eagerly towards the bar, you looked to Garcia beside you. The pair of you shared a bright beaming smile, joined hands, and dove in.

———————————————————————

The ball pit was more fun than you would have ever imagined, the alcohol that was served alongside it was like a special bonus that simply made everything that much more colourful.

Wading through the sea of plastic balls, you flagged down a bartender but, in your increasing inebriation, accidentally sent a red ball flying several feet in the air. Watching the ball arc gracefully in the air, a pink disco light reflecting dizzily from it, you didn’t notice Garcia sidle up beside you. “I think it’s time,” she murmured to you, arm sneaking around your waist as she looked up at you.

“For what?” You asked huskily, craning your neck in an attempt to meet her lips half way.

Bright eyes darting down to your lips, she gave the most victorious little smirk she could muster, before pushing you towards the barman. “She’d like to take part in the tequila challenge, good sir!” She exclaimed, gaining the attention of several bar staff.

The barman raised his eyebrows in surprise, hand on his chest in a dramatic show of shock. “You really think you’re up for that?”

“Erm..” you stuttered, looking to Penelope beside you. Offering no form of explanation, she nodded dramatically and you looked back to the barmen with an unconvincing “yes.”

“Alright,” he resolutely told you, ducking from sight briefly before reappearing with four blue shot glasses.

Startled, eyes widening in sudden fear, you stepped closer and hurriedly asked for clarity. “Wait- wait, what is the tequila challenge?”

Already pouring the second glass, he raised a brow at you. “Two shots now,” he told you, briskly filling the other two glasses, “and two shots upon retrieval.”

“Retrieval?” You asked, blankly.

Penelope was clapping excitedly beside you as he turned to grab a glittery, golden, plastic ball from the bar. Brandishing it at you, the man more clearly explained. “Once I throw this ball, you have one minute to drink these two,” he pushed the first two full glasses at you, “collect the ball, return it, and drink these last two.”

Nodding, a little overwhelmed by the task at hand, you asked “and what if I don’t manage it in time?“

The barmen shrugged, “you lose your pride.“

Apparently deciding that the stakes weren’t quite high enough, Penelope added. “And you lose your shot at a goodnight kiss.”

Groaning, you whined in response. “Garcia, c’mon, that’s not fair!”

Wickedly, she smirked up at you. Hand upon your cheek, thumb swiping over your cheekbone, she winked. “Do it for me, hot stuff.”

Eyes closing, pulling a centring breath in, you squared your shoulders. Turning to the barman, you nodded as coolly as you could muster. “Let’s do this.“

With a smirk, the barmen pulled his arm back and tossed the golden ball several metres away. Immediately, you lost sight of the ball beneath the colourful haze. Grimacing, you turned back to the barman and, somehow, downed the first two shots without so much as a grimace.

As you rushed through the sea of plastic balls you sent them flying all around you. It was like running through glue, each step took such great effort and whilst you now could see the glittering ball that was your target, you felt as though you were no closer.

Your arm was stretched before you, your other arm wildly sweeping away the balls before you. Unfortunately, as quickly as you could push them away they fell back before you forming a barrier that seemed impossible to penetrate.

“That’s thirty seconds!” Someone shouted behind you.

Throwing caution to the wind, you dived forwards. Entire body now engulfed by the sea of balls, drowning almost in the colourful spheres, you finally caught hold of your glittering target. “I got it!” You yelled hysterically into the air, awkwardly manoeuvring yourself into an upright position once again.

Your target was now in your sight; the bar, the last two shots of tequila, and Garcia.

With a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible in this sea of colourful plastic, you raced back to the bar. As you reached the sticky wood the crowd now formed around you were beginning to excitedly count down from ten. One hand still clutching the golden prize, you swiftly finished the final two shots.

Just as the crowd reached “one!” in their exuberant countdown, you victoriously slammed the empty shot glass back on the bar.

A clamour of cheers roared around you but you had one thing on your mind. “Where’s my prize?” You slyly whispered to Penelope.

She giggled, a musical tone, before placing both palms upon your cheeks. Pulling you down, exuberantly, she locked her lips with yours.

You melted into her kiss, the increasing roar of the crowd melting into the background as you smoothed your hands over her back. She pulled back just long enough to say, “that was impressive, hot stuff.”

You laughed around her lips, “I had the right motivation.”

You weren’t sure whether it was the copious alcohol now burning through your veins making you feel light-headed and dizzy, or if it was simply kissing Garcia. At this point, pulling her closer and melting into her embrace, you didn’t really care.

Parties, Propositions, & Panic

Summary: After breaking up under difficult circumstances, you and Spencer have carved out a friendly relationship. When your boyfriend plans a birthday party, you and Spencer have to face your feelings.

A/N: A warning, this is longggg. I had this idea and just couldn’t stop writing! Please let me know what you think! ❤️

Part Two

MasterlistIRequests

It was a rainy Tuesday, ordinary in a boring type of way, when Spencer was asked to the party. You had been stood by his desk, looking down to him as the pair of you chattered; your hair shining like a halo beneath the amber lights of the office. Such divinity suited you, he had thought.

The chirp of your phone distracted you, an almost imperceptible jump of your shoulders as you looked down in surprise. “Oh, Alex is here,” you explained, lips twisting awkwardly at this mention of your boyfriend. “He’s -uh - he wanted to pick me up.”

The explanation was unnecessary. If your boyfriend wanted to pick you up from work there was no real need for Spencer to know about it; despite the jealous coil that wound through his stomach at the revelation. The fact that you had thought to tell him at all, with that guilty glint in your eye, did give him some hope. Surely, your continued guilt could only be thought indicative of your remaining feelings for him. Surely.

Despite the best efforts of his logic, he harboured all these small hopes that you offered him. Clung to them as though they were a refuge and he supposed, in fact, they were.

You were awaiting a response. There was nothing for him to really say, no need for him to give any real response past an amicable nod of understanding. You, however, wanted words. Did you recognise, he often wondered, these small hopes you offered him? “I’ll walk you out,” he eventually eked out, voice strained beneath the words he could not say.

You were meant to be together, he was sure. Tales of four legged humanoids separated by unsettled gods and souls tied by the red strings of fate were mere portions of the expansive mythology of soulmates. And that, truly, objectively, was all soulmates really were; remnants of mythology. And yet, Spencer believed.

You nodded your acceptance with a grin. Shoulders sagging in relief as you watched him collect his things. As the pair of you meandered to the building’s exit Spencer talked, likely too much. He knew the subjects you enjoyed and basked in your wide-eyed grin as he doled out every piece of somewhat interesting information he could muster. He hoped, as he always hoped, that the conversation would linger in your mind and overshadow any attempts Alex could make.

All too soon, the front door approached. The yellow street lights shone brightly through the glass doors but were quickly dimmed by a tall figure waving at you through the glass. Surprise halted you for a moment before you gave a brief smile and continued forward. Unreasonable annoyance lanced through Spencer.

Spencer walked with you to the door every night after work. This was his time with you and Alex had chased away the last remaining seconds. Poorly, Spencer attempted to chasten himself; he had no right to lay such a claim over your time. He had given it all up in a haze of weakness and narcotics. A haze that, once he had pulled himself through, he realised had left him with nothing. When his sobriety became more trustworthy, he had wanted nothing more than to grovel his way back to you. But he couldn’t. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he let you down, fell off the horse and destroyed your relationship all over again?

He had waited too long, it sometimes seemed.

Spencer greeted Alex coolly. Not cold in his words but lacking any true warmth. The best that Spencer could manage. Strangely, the man turned quickly to you in an effort to usher you away; “honey,” Spencer wrinkled his nose at the pet-name, “you mind if I talk to Agent Reid a second.”

“It’s doctor,” the pair of you responded in tandem. Spencer’s words harsher than he intended whilst yours were almost distant as you blinked back surprise at this strange turn of events.

With too much confidence to even be amicably embarrassed, Alex turned his gave over to Spencer. “Sorry,” he gave half-heartedly before turning an insistent gaze back to you.

You floundered. A darting gaze seemed unsure who to focus on. Spencer understood the fear flashing in your eyes; as far as he was aware, you were yet to share the true nature of yours and Spencer’s past relationship with Alex. As much as some strange foreign part of him wanted Alex to know, he enjoyed this secret. Another thing Spencer knew that surely Alex did not.

After another round of insistence from Alex, alongside a quiet nod from Spencer, you relented and left them. Bracing himself, for whatever was about to happen, Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and let his attention wander to his shoes.

“So, er…” Alex started, awkwardly. “It’s her birthday this weekend.”

Eyebrows raising, but gaze remaining on his feet, he bit out a reply. “I know.” Of course I know, he thought spitefully.

Encouraged, somehow, by Spencer’s stern agreement, Alex continued. “Well, anyway, I’m throwing a party for her on Saturday - It’s a surprise!” He quickly added the last part, emphasising it strangely as though Spencer had been on the cusp of running across the parking lot to tell you. Knee jerking as he stood and listened to this man, Spencer felt increasing agitation needle at him. “I- she’d love for you to be there.”

Finally, Spencer looked at the man before him, suspicious. “That’s short notice.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Alex ducked his head. “Well,” for once, Alex sounded sheepish, “I wasn’t sure if it might be awkward… you know…”

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat. So, he did know. You had told him. Of course, you were more than within your rights to tell him, but… there had been hope in your attempt to keep him a secret.

Alex floundered before him, seemingly unsure how to rescue them from this awkwardness he had steered them into. Spencer, was not going to help.

Finally recovering from his stuttering, Alex began babbling mindlessly. “Well, you know, my family came down to visit so they’ll be there.” Nervously, Alex wrung his hands together. Somewhere, distantly in Spencer’s psyche an alarm bell rang out in warning. Before he could hope to process it, the chatter of Alex before him drowned it out. “And she thinks of you guys as family, so… it’s important.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he cut the man off. “I’ll be there,” he told him, before sharply turning away.

As he journeyed home, as he prepared a dinner for one, as he brushed his teeth, and even as his tired mind refused to sleep, he replayed the conversation verbatim over and over in his mind. Turning the conversation over, he found no explanation for the instinctive dread pooling in his stomach.

Over the next days, every second up until the evening of your party, the dread remained.

He had agreed to take you, the pair of you bundled into his car as he meandered to the location. As far as you were aware Rossi had invited all of you to a soirée at some grand hall in the city; although, considering the way you were gnawing on your nails, Spencer was sure you knew that something was amiss. Admittedly, he had not been entirely engaged in keeping up the charade. You hated surprises, on your birthday even more so, and he had endeavoured to make it as obvious to you as Garcia would allow him.

“You okay?” He asked, stopping the car to allow a pedestrian cross.

You hummed a little, high pitched, noise of agreement before turning sharply in your seat. “Spencer,” you began, voice wavering with nerves, “you would tell me right? If this is a surprise party for me?” He didn’t say anything, he opened his mouth a few times but all that escaped him was a stutter. Sure, he wanted you to know, but Garcia would tear into him if he ruined this.

But, looking at you, he deflated. Your wide eyes were fixed on him, blinking up at him with such panic that he couldn’t bear to keep anything from you. Relenting, he confirmed. “It’s… a surprise party for you,” you rubbed tired hands over your eyes. “Alex,” he wondered if you caught the disdain that laced that word, “was adamant about it being a secret.”

You groaned into your palms, still covering your face as you rubbed at your temples. “I told him I hate big parties,” you moaned, peeking at him between your fingers.

You sighed, cast a wandering gaze from the window, and dropped your arms heavily into your lap. Hands now picking at the hem of your skirt, you timidly asked a question that sent that strange alarm ringing through his mind. “Did he mention anything else?”

Eyebrows scrunched together, he leaned closer - concerned but unsure why. “Like what?”

You worked your bottom lip. Normally the action would stall his mind, sending his entire attention rapt upon the temptations of your lips, but your intense emotion overshadowed any errant desire. “It’s just-“ you began, only to be immediately interrupted by a car horn blaring behind you.

The pedestrian had crossed the road, and disappeared from sight in the time the pair of you had been talking. Spencer was still stopped in the middle of the road, the car behind him clearly losing its patience.

Holding a hand up, a silent apology to the driver behind, he pressed the accelerator. As your destination neared, he watched you shrink further into your seat from the corner of his eye.

———————————————————————

Despite your nervousness, you gave an excellent performance of surprise. Spencer was sure even the profilers of the room would have been fooled by your faux excitement. As much as he had hoped to hold onto your attention a little longer you had been whisked away by your boyfriend and presented like a trophy to a pair of people he assumed were Alex’s parents.

Morgan patted him on the back, murmuring some kind of encouragement, and directed his sullen figure to the other agents in attendance. They cheered him up well enough, providing some relief in this crowd of unfamiliar people, but unease returned each time he caught sight of your figure.

Butwhat was it setting him so on edge? Why did the overelaborate decor feel like a warning? Why did the abundance of expensive champagne wash dread over him? And why were Morgan’s eyes fixed on him so closely?

“I feel like a show pony,” your arrival beside him distracted his thoughts. It was hopeless trying to concentrate with you beside him. “Everyone’s looking at me, it’s weird.”

“Cmon,” JJ reassured, an excitable tone to her voice as though you would mirror her emotion, “you’re the birthday girl! Everyone’s supposed to look at you.”

Sidling beside you, Garcia trilled with more enthusiastic excitement. “Plus you look smokin’ in that dress,” a rosy blush painted your cheeks at that, the brief ‘thanks’ that escaped you immediately drowned out by Garcia’s next words; “where’d you buy it? Do they take coupons?”

A pair of large hands gripped Garcia’s shoulders,

Tugging her back slightly from where she huddled closer to peer at the label, Morgan spoke. “Okay, okay. How bout we leave the birthday girl in tact, yeah?” Garcia huffed but immediately brightened at his next words. “Dance with me, hot stuff?” As she tugged him away he craned his neck back to the group with a whispered “you’re welcome,” that sent a lovely chuckle past your lips.

Will and JJ soon joined them, sharing a look and a laugh over making the most of a child free night before sweeping away. Rossi dramatically held out a hand for Emily, cocking a brow when she merely crossed her arms. It took surprisingly little needling to convince her, a roll of her eyes and a scoff before she joined him in a dance. As the final pair swept away, Rossi sent Spencer an obvious wink.

Hands firmly in his pocket, worried you’d say no but panicked to lose the chance, he looked to his feet again. “You’re not gonna dance with the birthday girl?” You asked lightly.

Stupidly, he avoided the question. “Did you know in Vietnam everyone celebrates their birthday on the same day?” You smiled at him, the sweet uplift of your lips you always offered that he could never hope to decipher. He barrelled on, “It doesn’t matter when you were actually born because-“

“Spencer,” you cut him off, a hand on his arm, “just dance with me?”

Shutting his mouth, keeping his obscure knowledge of east-Asian birthday traditions to himself, he took your hand and led you to the small square set aside for dancing.

You turned to face him, a nervous apprehension colouring each movement you made. Somehow, your nervousness made him feel better. At least you were both floundering under the gaze of the other. Your hand was warm in his, fingers soft as they laced through his own, and the curve of your waist fit perfectly beneath his palm.

The rigidity of your anxious figure softened beneath his hands, your feet effortlessly following his lead and your lips upturning in one of the few true smiles of the night. “How are you finding the party?” He asked quietly, using the guise of conversation as an excuse to press closer to you.

You followed his lead and pressed closer still. “Well,” your eyes darted about the lavish environment, “it’s… yeah it’s nice.”

Spencer gave a hushed laugh, that was the least convincing lie he had ever heard, and you laughed alongside him. Between your giggles you coyly chastened him; “Spencer, it’s not funny!” You were still laughing even as you said it, “it’s-it’s a nice gesture, at least.”

He nodded sternly, fixing his features into an over dramatic stoicism that was reminiscent of Hotch. A few seconds were all the expression was given before his face broke into amusement at your answering giggle.

After a few small circles of the dance floor, your shared laughter had subsided enough for conversation to continue. “I don’t know,” you murmured listlessly, “it’s just not for me, I guess.”

Humming in agreement, thumb absently swiping over the hand that he held, Spencer replied. “I know,” he said lowly. And he really did know, the moment he had learned of the party he had known you wouldn’t enjoy it. You would grit your teeth throughout the evening and lie to protect the feelings of a boyfriend who should really know better. “You’d like breakfast in bed and scary movies and popcorn for dinner.” Just like that last birthday when we were together.

Your eyes widened as they met his gaze and he could understand this show of surprise. This was the first time either of you had dared make mention of the time you had been a couple. Spencer likely hadn’t picked the best occasion to remind you of your days with him but he felt a strange anxious gnawing in his stomach that time was slipping through his fingers.

You blinked a few times, your hand in his gripping more tightly, before you nodded and spoke in a melancholy kind of way. “Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, “something like that.”

The pair of you continued to carve a small circle into the dance floor, continued to gaze at the other, but it was a long while before you spoke again.

“Spencer, do you still-“

Your voice was cut off by another. “Hey, mind if I cut in?”

Spencer had half a mind to tell Alex that yes, he really did mind. His hand on your waist was now clutching you in a way he wouldn’t be able to explain away if you asked. You squeezed his hand and forced him to let you go by stepping back and telling him; “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Even Alex had the decency to seem a little threatened by that promise, looking at you with a mix of confusion and agitation. Spencer nodded, seeing the emotion still welled in your eyes, and let out a raspy “okay.”

He wandered back to where he had stood before, finding the others stood there as the dance floor cleared. “Deep breaths, man.” Morgan told him, voice careful as though he were speaking to a caged animal.

Unsure what Morgan was even referring to, Spencer asked with a crinkled brow; “what?”

Morgan gave no further indication of what he meant, eyes moving respectfully to where Alex was making some kind of speech. Beside Alex, you almost shrunk into yourself. Eyes wide, arms crossed over your front, and gaze avoiding everyone. Spencer didn’t need to be a profiler to know you were incredibly uncomfortable.

As much as Spencer tried to listen, give Alex at least this subtle politeness, all he could hear was the question you had been about to ask. What had it been? Was he overanalysing it? Was it something simple and filled with banality? Or would it change everything?

As Alex, rather gracelessly, dropped down to one knee his attention snapped back to the present. No, no, no, became his internal monologue. He must have made some kind of physical reaction as Morgan’s hand was now tightly gripping his shoulder. “Keep it together,”he distantly warned.

You were looking down at Alex, mouth opening and closing as what he severely hoped was panic overtook you. “I-I…” you stuttered and stumbled as a discontented murmur spread through the crowd.

You squeezed your eyes shut and forced a breath through your nose. Panic was still evident on your features as you reopened your eyes, but your gaze eventually settled. Your gaze settled on Spencer.

Some silent question shone in your eyes. Spencer felt the tears threatening to spill over as he shook his head at you, as subtly as he could muster. As his gaze poured over you he repeated an internal mantra that he hoped you could somehow hear; please say no, please say no, please say no.

You didn’t say no.

But, in some small relief, you didn’t say yes either.

Instead your gaze broke from Spencer, sending nausea swirling through him in dreadful anticipation, looking down to the man on his knee before you. You backed away slowly, hoarsely proclaiming that you needed some air. With a hand pressing against your stomach, you looked to the left and darted to the fire exit. The crowd parted eagerly for you, everyone hoping to see the distress upon your features as you fled the scene, and you left the door clattering behind you.

Spencer moved immediately, instinctively following you. Morgan harshly pulled him back, gripping him tightly and murmuring “give it a second.”

Morgan, thinking much clearer than Spencer feasibly could in this moment, was right. A second later and the crowd had burst into an excitable rabble and chatter. A group had descended on Alex, surrounding him with reassurance, whilst the rest moved about the room almost wildly. Now, at least, Spencer’s desperate clamour to follow you would be less obvious.

“I hope you know what you’re gonna say, kid.” Morgan told him, stern as an older brother, before releasing his hold.

Spencer took no time to reply, darting through the rabble of the crowd and to the still clattering fire exit.

Unsuitably Subtle

Summary: Reader is trying to be subtle in their flirtations with Garcia. They quickly learn that subtlety will get them nowhere.

A/N: Hope everyone had a great holiday season! Thanks so much to the anon who requested this! Let me know what you guys think. ❤️

Masterlist|Requests

“Gee, Garcia,” you began, the side of your mouth upturned in what you hoped was a smouldering smirk, “your hair looks so soft.” In a gesture that was probably a little over the top, you licked your lips, “I bet it’d feel nice if I ran my fingers through it.” You paired this suggestion with waggling eyebrows. In this pursuit, you had quickly learned that subtlety would get you nowhere with the woman. Although, so far, being extremely obvious had not served you much better.

She smiled, waving a dismissive hand and entirely missing the suggestive overtone of your words. “Oh, I know.” Garcia’s astounding self-confidence was something entirely attractive about her but it was beginning to get in the way of your attempts to flirt. How were you supposed to make her blush when she was fully aware of everything amazing about her? “I’ve got a super secret conditioner but,” playfully, she extended the last word into a sing-song warble, “if I shared it with ya I’d have to kill you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of Garcia, who squirmed in the wake of admittedly gruesome crime scene photos, committing a murder of her own in an effort to conceal her hair-care secrets was adorable in a wonderfully strange way. “Well” you began, fingertips trailing along her desk towards her as you slipped into the most charming tone you could muster, “I’m sure we could come to some…other arrangement.” In order to cement your flirtations as unmistakable you added an over dramatic wink.

She squinted her eyes at you. With baited breath, you waited for realisation to strike. For her playful eyes to widen, soft lips to fall open, and a hushed ‘oh’ to fall from her. Much to your excitement, realisation. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that she had once again misread your efforts. “Oh fine,” she playfully threw a fluffy, pink thing at you before wheeling back to look at her computer. “Email me the deets of your skin care routine and I’ll let you borrow my favourite coconut and lime intensive conditioner.”

Your shoulders drooped. How was she this blinkered to your clear advances? Everyone else in the office, no the entire building, seemed aware of your attraction to Garcia’s whirlwind of a personality. Your hopeless puppy dog eyes impossible to misread for everyone but the bedazzling object of your affection. You blamed Morgan. The constant, somehow platonic, flirting between them had made her immune to the real thing. On a particularly frustrating day you had shared this hypothesis with Morgan himself, much to the man’s amusement.

Throwing in the towel for today, doubting Hotch would appreciate your hiding in Garcia’s fantastical office, you said your downtrodden goodbyes and left.

The next day, refreshed and ready, you stepped up your game.

Entering Penelope’s lair, the fragrance of oranges and strawberries hitting you like a pleasant breeze, you strode purposefully to her desk. “Hey there,” you greeted, voice sultry and low as you gracefully hopped up onto the desk.

The red mini-skirt you had worn was perhaps not entirely work appropriate. It didn’t seem weather appropriate either considering the shivering you had suffered on the walk from your car to the office but that was beside the point. The only thing it needed to be appropriate for, was Garcia. The skirt itself was less an invitation for her to ogle you, although that would be most welcome, but more a prompt for her to see what you were trying to achieve. The red skirt a metaphorical flashing sign; ‘look at me! Notice me hopelessly flirting with you!’ It would say.

When you had first joined the BAU, Garcia would punctuate each of your appearances in her office with a witty and quick-fire greeting. A charming introduction to her personality that had sent you spiralling helplessly head over heels for her. Nowadays, however, your appearance to her was so routine you were as much a part of the furniture as her favourite computer monitor. “What can I can do for you, fire-cracker?”

You scrunched your nose and jerked your head to the side. With a bemused smile, you watched her fingers fly over her keyboard and asked; “Fire-cracker?”

She waved a hand towards your skirt, eyes still glued to her screen even as she smirked through her words. “You’re almost setting the place on fire in that skirt.” Luckily, she didn’t notice the rosy flush that coloured your chucks in response to her words. And then, in a sudden and surprising burst of excitement she took a sharp breath, waved her hands, and whirled her chair to face you. Through her beaming smile, she asked conspiratorially; “Are you trying to impress someone?!” You stuttered over your breath at how spot on she was with her quick-fire assessment of your behaviour; begrudgingly you wondered how much else Garcia had so slyly picked up from her colleagues.

Your stuttering clearly gave at least some of the truth away to her. Suddenly beaming, she squealed. “You are!” She wheeled closer to you, looking up at you with devilish eyes that only intensified the pink of your cheeks. “Who is it?”

You smoothed over your skirt, trying to come up with something, anything, to save your pride. This whole endeavour had been in the hopes of making her realise that you were hopelessly flirting with her, but you had hoped it would happen under circumstances not involving your intense embarrassment under her scrutinising gaze.

“Well, uh…” you stumbled over your words, not convincingly confident in the slightest.

Giggling, she winked at you. “Morgan?” She asked, with raised eyebrows. “Could put a good word in for you,” she waggled her eyebrows at you, but deflated when you shook your head adamantly. Fresh excitement overtook her a mere half a second later, “or is it our resident genius?”

I can work with that, you resolved quickly. Sliding down from your seat on her desk, you folded your arms and leaned in closer to her. “Isn’t that you?” You murmured the words, the hush of your consonants forcing her lean into you slightly. You flicked your hair over your shoulder, confident the smell of your carefully selected pineapple shampoo would meet her nose. By the way she leaned a little closer, you were hopeful she had noticed and appreciated her favourite scent emanating from you.

Like music to your ears, she giggled and finally, finally after all this time she blushed. “Come on,” she encouraged, eyes darting from yours in what you hoped was a nervous gesture, “spill it.”

“Garcia,” you told her sternly, dropping your chin in an effort to look more seductive. Something was beeping aggressively in the background, but she ignored it in favour of narrowing her gaze at you.

“I won’t tell anyone!” She assured, although you were sure it were not entirely true.

Widening your eyes, you fixed a gaze on her and very slowly enunciated her name. “Garcia”. She blinked a few times before her eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. Wordlessly, mouth opening and closing like a fish, she pointed at herself. A little amused, but also a little terrified, you nodded with a grin that felt more like a grimace.

“Oh,” she finally uttered, “Oh! Me!” You were still nodding, unsure how to make yourself stop until she either denied or confirmed any reciprocated interest. “You’re interested in me!” You finally stopped nodding in order to cringe as your eyes darted to the ajar door. In your mind’s eye you could imagine Morgan hiding behind the door, ear pressed to the wood and chuckling to himself as he heard the proclamation. Although, considering how loudly she had spoken you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone at their desks had heard.

“Yes,” you confirmed, in a voice much softer than hers had been. “What-uh,” your mouth was suddenly entirely dry, this admittance of your feelings stealing both the courage from your veins and the moisture from your lips. Eventually, you were able to ask; “What… do you think?”

Bemused by the question, she mirrored you and folded her arms. “What do I think?” You nodded like an overeager child. “Well, frankly I think you’ve got fantastic taste.”

A little settled by Penelope’s positive response, you chuckled and agreed. “Of course,” the return of your boldness prompted a wink that you instantly regretted. “Erm…” you were’t entirely sure how to ask for the greater clarity you desired. Luckily, she sensed your uncertainty.

“Let’s talk about it more tonight?” You assented, hands still nervously wringing before you. She smirked as her gaze swept over the nervous action. “Tonight…on our date.”

“Yes!” You all but yelled, much too eagerly. Coughing, averting your eyes from her giggling features, you attempted to make your next words seem a little more collected. “I mean… “ you shrugged dramatically, “sounds good.”

She scoffed at your late show of stoicism and began ushering you from the room. “Oh, honey, I’m gonna show you a night you’ll never forget.” Your stubborn feet worked against her efforts to remove you.

“I don’t doubt it,” your giddiness was clear in your words.

“Now get outta here,” she insisted, “stop distracting me with that cute little skirt.”

Pressure

Summary: It’s your birthday and Spencer has a special gift for you. Despite multiple attempts, he struggles to find the perfect time to present it to you.

A/N: Slight warning for very slight mentions of blood - just a smallish cut. Let me know what you think!

Part Two

Masterlist|Requests

Your birthday was often a strange event, as were those of the entire BAU you supposed. Last year you and the team had been chasing an unsub with a penchant for collecting fingernails around Seattle and the year before had been spent liaising with the LAPD to catch a serial arsonist. It was safe to say, that this year your expectations were a little low; you were hoping for a fun drink or two with your colleagues but little else other than a full night’s sleep.

It was surprising, then, and really quite nice that you were not miles from home; for once, there had been no invitations from far away states and you and the team were merely completing paperwork. It wasn’t the most exciting thing you could be doing for your birthday, that was for sure, but you were too used to the wrong kind of excitement to care.

The clack of wheels drew your attention from the wordy document you were currently poring over. “Hey,” you greeted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you looked at Spencer. “You come to help out?” You asked, lifting your pile of yet unfinished paperwork into his eye-line.

Almost shyly, his eyes averted from yours - darting first to his wringing hands before landing on the closed door of Hotch’s office. “I’m kidding,” you gave him, cutting him off before he could awkwardly tell you that it was against some kind of rule.

Relieved he nodded with a chuckle. Spencer, in general, seemed a nervous individual. Although you always considered skittish a better word for him. His social confidence had more than improved over the years, but there were plenty of things - just like anyone else, you supposed - that still melted him back into nervousness. His show of nervousness now, therefore, was nothing particularly new. Why he was so nervous in this very moment, however, you couldn’t quite pin down.

Eyes darting down to his hands, gripping a neat parcel in his lap, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Own eyes jumping down to it, he stammered over a response but never quite got the words out. Garcia interrupted him before he could muster a full sentence, announcing her sudden presence with a stream of glitter and confetti pooled upon your desk. “Oh wow,” you tried to enthusiastically exclaim as she also tossed some confetti in a way that ensured it landed in your hair.

“Happy birthday!” She all but squealed as you shook your hair out.

A wry smile overtaking you, appreciating the thoughtfulness if not the gesture itself, you nodded up at her. “Er Thanks, Garcia.”

You and Spencer both leaned back as a large bouquet of flowers was heavily placed on your desk. The smell, while pleasant, was a little overwhelming. As Spencer tried to subtly cough beside you, you grinned at the flowers. There was no question that Garcia had chosen them herself; the petals were a wonderfully soft pink but the most obvious clue was the somewhat garish addition of roses that had been sprayed with gold glitter.

Moving the large vase to the corner of your desk, the flowers still overtaking the majority of the space, you thanked her. “They’re really… something.”

She beamed, not catching the amused glance you shared with Spencer, and waved a hand. “Oh it’s nothing,” leaning in to sniff one of the pink flowers, she continued. “I know you’re not a big birthday kinda person but you absolutely cannot expect me to ignore such a big day!”

Placating her enthusiasm, you stood to make a show of smelling the pungent floral fragrance. “They’re lovely, really, thank you.”

She somehow beamed a little brighter and, gripping your hand and tottering in her heels slightly with excitement, she pulled you alongside her. “There’s more!”

Gracelessly falling after her, you turned your head to shoot a wide eyed grin to Spencer who returned the gesture with a warm gaze of his own.

———————————————————————

Fingers tapping against the carefully wrapped parcel in his lap, Spencer watched you go. A little wave of disappointment crested over him but was overshadowed by what he knew would be short-lived relief. There was both an excitement and fear tied with the gift he was hoping to give you; his ever busy mind harassing him with constant questions of whether he had interpreted your behaviour objectively enough, of whether he was about to ruin your friendship forever, and more importantly whether you would understand the meaning of the gift regardless.

Somehow, he had managed to cut through that whitenoise of uncertainty and follow Morgan’s advice; “they’re being awfully patient with you but I’m telling you now, thats not gonna last forever. You better make a move sometime this century.”

The gift would be his quiet, subdued confession; one more than overdue but still nerve wracking. He loved you and in his own, perhaps cowardly, way he would tell you with this gift. That is, if he were able to ever actually give it to you.

Watching you go had therefore been disappointing but the feeling had been immediately salved as you looked back at him. The look felt like a secret, a glance shared between the two of you like whispered gossip; your thoughts conveyed perfectly only to him with such a simple gesture.

With markedly less enthusiasm, he wheeled his chair back to his own desk, deposited the gift back into his drawer, and stood to join the party now happening in the round table room.

———————————————————————

An hour and a half later, the expanse of time that Hotch was willing and able to put aside for non-work related activity, the party was reaching its close. Spencer admittedly had not been to a great many parties, but he was sure their impromptu gathering could not be accurately defined as one. Still, you seemed to enjoy it; laughing animatedly with JJ as she made some joke he couldn’t quite understand and happily licking the butter icing from the top of your birthday cupcake. The latter action sent an almost audibly sputtered breath from him as his eyes caught sight of your lapping tongue. Things only worsened when Morgan pointed out the icing smeared over your lips. In a single swipe you collected all the icing on the tip of your pointer finger and proceeded to salaciously suck the finger clean. Although, he was certain he were the only one in the room deriving such guilty pleasure from the objectively normal action. When it came to you his thoughts often derailed into either hopeless romance or crimson desire.

Normal work set in quite quickly after that. The usual routine of the office a little lighter after the celebration but the tasks still menial despite the ease Spencer found in them. Even as he flipped through the pages of his last folder, eyes zipping down the last page, he couldn’t prevent a small portion of his attention sticking fast to the gift he was yet to give you. Time was ticking by and he felt that if he didn’t do it today, he would never work up the courage again.

You were at your desk, your hunched figure almost framed by the dramatic floral arrangement still upon your desk. Hand resting upon the gift, as though the item would somehow bestow him confidence, Spencer methodically formulated a plan. He wondered if maybe he should approach under some other guise, add some forced casualness into the giving of his gift, but he couldn’t conceive of a viable option.

He considered making you a coffee, a splash of milk and one and a half sugars just as you liked, but it was past four pm. You never drank coffee after two pm, even when you were miles from home on a case filled with late nights. It was some unspoken rule of yours that he had never seen you break.

He considered bringing a file over to you and asking for help. That ruse would be see through, however. He had never asked you for help before and the mere prospect that he wouldn’t have finished by now would certainly either cause you great suspicion that he was up to something or inspire concern in you that something had happened to his brain.

His lips twitched and fingers drummed against his desk as he considered his options. It seemed, much to his chagrin, that he would simply have to approach you guiseless.

Something Spencer’s wandering mind had somehow not noticed, however, is that in all the time he had been considering his options his eyes had been fixed on you. It was little surprise, really, his gaze found you so often it was likely his eyes naturally rested upon you at this point. Unfortunately, the passive attention had not gone unnoticed. Your lips forming his forename pricked his ears and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Focusing more intently on you, he leaned towards your desk with a question. “Sorry, what was that?”

You didn’t answer immediately, eyes wandering over his figure in some kind of assessment of his faculties. Eyebrows crinkling together when you rematched his gaze, you stood and moved closer to him. “You okay?” He nodded quietly, swallowing thickly as you stood over him. “You seem a little… lost in thought.”

Gaze dropping from you momentarily, he looked to the gift still beneath his palm. It truly was now or never. He opened his mouth to speak, lifted his hand to offer the parcel to you, but was cut off by a loud and sudden yowl from the kitchenette. The pair of you turned your heads in tandem, the yell so full of anguish it was impossible to resist, the gift hovering between you yet to be accepted.

The source of the yell was Morgan. The man was cradling his right hand as he leaned heavily against the sideboard, pain apparent on his features and continued groans escaping him.

Neither of you moved right away, assessing the situation as best you could from afar but when crimson began leaking from his clenched hand you took off with a muttered curse. Depositing the gift back upon his desk, Spencer quickly sprang from his desk to follow you.

———————————————————————

“Morgan, what happened?!” You asked, voice high pitched and frantic, as you pried his clenched fist open. A large cut was sliced across his palm and as the pressure of his fingers lifted the gory mess worsened dramatically. “Reid, hand me that paper towel.”

“Got it,” came Spencer’s reply beside you. You raised a grateful glance to him as you took the paper towel before concentrating on your task. Pressing the towel over the cut, you encouraged Morgan to use his other hand to apply significant pressure.

“Look in the sink,” Morgan gave eventually, by way of explanation. Peering into the murky depths of the overfilled sink you raised an eyebrow.

Spencer voiced the question on your mind. “I don’t see anything?”

With a huff, Morgan nodded, “exactly.” Nodding to the sink, he continued; “someone,” he stressed the word as though he knew exactly who that someone was, “left a knife in there despite me telling her every week how dangerous it is.”

Spencer grimaced at the sight of blood seeping through the paper towel and leaned closer with crinkled eyebrows. “Let me see,” he requested, frown deepening as he inspected the wound. “You’re going to need stitches,” he asserted, much to Morgan’s clear disappointment.

Morgan looked to you as though in search of a second opinion, you merely shrugged. “I’m not gonna argue with the doctor.”

Spencer gave you a little smirk. A few months ago he might have reminded you that he wasn’t actually a medical doctor but it seemed he knew you well enough by now to recognise the joke.

“I’ll take you,” you offered Morgan with a sigh, already fishing for your keys in your jacket pocket.

Spencer’s voice stilled you. “I can do it,” looking to him, you raised your eyebrows in silent question at this strangely sweet gesture. “It’s your birthday,” he pointed out needlessly, “and there’s only seventeen minutes left to work; you’re going out for drinks tonight,” you nodded in a confirmation of this fact that he didn’t really need. “enjoy your birthday, you don’t get to very often.”

A smile lifted your lips even as you felt guilt wash over you at the prospect of letting Spencer deal with this. Considering, you chewed your lip. Your lengthy consideration, however, seemed to take a little too much time for Morgan. “I’m about to bleed out over here,” you rolled your eyes dramatically at him.

“Are you sure?” You asked, attention back on Spencer, shifting in your heels in premature excitement.

“Absolutely,” he told you, resolute.

You squealed with excitement and, overcome with gratitude, sprang forward to hug the man. He responded with a surprised “oh” alongside an almost nervous chuckle.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back but still smiling up at him. The pair of you remained like that, smiling dumbly at each other, for perhaps a moment too long.

Morgan straightened and interrupted the moment with a clear of his throat. When he had gained your attention, he told you with a smile; “happy birthday, really, but my hand is gonna fall off if we don’t go soon.”

“That’s highly doubtful,” Spencer began, almost looking affronted by the outlandish suggestion, “for your hand to ‘fall off’ it would be necessary to cut through several layers of skin and muscle. Plus-“

“Reid, let’s go.”

Remembering himself, Spencer blinked rapidly a few times before nodding like a bobble head, wishing you a last farewell, and rushing off after Morgan.

Watching the pair disappear you sighed, hands wrapping around your elbows. A strange disappointment that you couldn’t quite place had overtaken you as they had left. Pulling yourself together, wanting to feel nothing but positive on your birthday, you turned your attention to the kitchen.

You cleaned up as best you could, wiping down the surfaces and carefully extracting the offending knife from the sink before draining the ruby tinged water. Within ten minutes the kitchen looked as though nothing untoward had occurred; a miracle really, considering the surprising amount of blood Morgan had produced.

With little time left until you were free to enjoy your birthday to the max, you meandered back to your desk. On the way, the forgotten parcel upon Spencer’s desk caught your attention. Changing trajectory, you stopped at his desk and delicately fiddled with the tag of the gift. Your name was scrawled upon it in Spencer’s familiar, somewhat scruffy, handwriting.

Would it be considered rude for you to take the gift and open it? After all it was clearly meant for you and he had already attempted to deliver the gift himself.

This ‘consideration’ was merely surface level; the gift was in fact already sitting upon your own desk being less than delicately unwrapped by your impatient fingers.

Slowly, a book was revealed. As you turned the tome over a gorgeous floral illustration met your gaze. Running your fingers over the somewhat raised golden lettering, you read the title; “The Secret Language of Florists.”

A few months ago you had been entirely floored to learn the secret messages that could be sent using nothing but a well designed floral bouquet. You could hardly remember what had been the catalyst for the conversation, perhaps one of the BAU’s many unusual cases, but you had been strangely fascinated by the entire concept. A sprig of purple heather to wish the recipient good luck, for example. And, your personal favourite, the inclusion of a single white daisy as a silent vow to keep a secret.

There were so many more that Spencer had entertained you with, but they had fallen from your mind amongst the plethora of white noise that daily life forced upon you.

Excited by this gift, you turned to the first page. Between the cover and the first page, a pressed flower delicately sat; it’s rich red petals striking against the ivory white of the page. As you lifted the flower, wishing to admire its preserved beauty, you inadvertently revealed more of Spencer’s scrawled handwriting upon the page.

A message from me to you.

You grinned widely to yourself, shifting so excitably in your seat that anyone watching would think you were attempting some strange dance. So, the flower was a message - one the book could help you decipher the meaning of. Feeling like a spy deciphering this secret encoded message, you looked to the flower.

Even in its flattened state the flower was clearly a chrysanthemum. Taking care not to tear any pages in your excitement, you found the double page spread devoted to the flower. An illustrated yellow chrysanthemum decorated the middle of the page, providing confirmation that you had been correct in your initial assessment, and you skimmed through the surrounding words.

White chrysanthemums were symbols of truth, apparently, but you skipped past the rest of the explanation to find the meaning behind your red chrysanthemum. As you read the words, you brought the flower close to your chest. Your lips broadened into a giddy grin and your heart felt as though it may burst with sudden fullness.

A red chrysanthemum, very simply, means ‘I love you’.

Bridge the Gap

Summary: After dinner turns into talk about children, reader starts to panic that their older boyfriend Spencer will not want to wait for them to be ready. He reassures them that this couldn’t be further from the truth.

A/N: I think I’m going to do an unofficial prequel to this about how Spencer and reader met! Thanks so much to the anon that requested this :) please let me know what you think!

(Prequel - Crossed Wires)

MasterlistIRequests

The clink of cutlery was barely audible over the chatter of conversation. The dinner itself had been delicious, you had been reliably informed that Savannah had certainly not made it, and the wine had been perfectly paired. Meeting Spencer’s best friend had felt like such a big, scary step but Morgan had made you feel so welcome it was hard to see why you had been so nervous.

As the plates had emptied, Spencer so kindly offered to help Savannah with the dishes and incidentally left you fend for yourself with his best friend. His hand squeezed your shoulder as he passed behind you, encouraging eyes warm as he left you in your seat. Suddenly awkward, despite the amicable air, you smiled down at your hands instead of trying to make conversation. The age gap between you and the rest of the group was not striking but it was at least noticeable and you were terrified of saying something that could label you as childish.

Luckily, Morgan was social enough for the both of you. “So, how’d you meet pretty boy?”

Smiling at the memory, you took a sip of your merlot before responding with a wistful smile. “Well, I’m one of the IT techs at the university-“ you cut yourself off as he immediately began to laugh.

When he recovered himself, he asked with a smirk and a raised brow. “Let me guess… you got called to help Dr Technophobe with his email?”

You laughed noisily as you nodded, although you managed to add the detail; “the first time it was his printer actually.”

“The first time,” he repeated, eyebrows raised, “how many times are we talking?”

Eyes darting to the kitchen door as Spencer reappeared, you responded quietly as though your boyfriend wouldn’t hear. “The first week I think I saw him eight or nine times.”

Immediately catching onto the conversation, he sighed and corrected you despite Morgan’s laughter drowning him out. “Actually it was ten times.” In an attempt to defend himself against Morgan’s lighthearted ridicule, he continued, “and the last time I didn’t even need your help I just wanted to see you.”

“You didn’t need my help?” You asked dubiously, “when the photocopier was making that emergency alert noise?” Morgan’s laughter doubled.

Spencer’s voice raised in pitch as he defended himself, “that was the ninth time and that definitely wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t even know copiers could make that noise, Spencer, it must have been your fault.”

Waving a hand in the air, he dismissed that statement and you rolled your eyes with a giggle. “Anyway,” he stressed, “the tenth time there was nothing actually wrong - I told you I was struggling with my email but really I just wanted to ask you for coffee.”

Your cheeks took on a red glow as you remembered that day, “oh yeah.”

Morgan seemed entirely amused and proud all at once. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Dr Reid.”

In response, Spencer merely shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug but sent an almost shy smile your way.

This jovial atmosphere remained throughout dessert, the house never falling silent due to the laughter bouncing off the walls. You were surprisingly at ease. To begin with, concern had flooded you that you would have nothing to say and would come across as just some naive girl making doe eyes at an older man. But Spencer had silently reassured you throughout, encouraged you to join in the conversation, and made you feel like you belonged there.

You felt fantastic, entirely relieved, the night had gone smoothly with no hiccups. Well, until the pair of you were at the door saying your goodbyes at least.

The baby monitor crackled suddenly into action, a whining cry sounding through the static making you jump. Morgan and Savannah shared a tired yet humoured look. “Your turn,” Morgan told her, dipping his head closer to her with a smirk.

Savannah, with a huffing laugh, rolled her eyes with a “yeah, yeah.” Turning to you and Spencer, she gave you with a smile and a warm “thanks so much for coming! It’s nice to have some adult company once in a while.”

You thanked her but you doubt she heard you over Morgan’s dramatic scoff. “Woman, I’m an adult.” He pointed at his chest as though to specify who he was talking about.

She gave him a long look, a pout pulling at her expression before she broke into a laugh. “Sure you are, Derek.” A last smile to you and Spencer, and she rushed off to allay the now screaming child.

You winced as a particularly high pitched cry squeaked through the monitor. “Better get used to that sound,” Morgan told you off-handedly as he held the door open, “that’s gonna be you two next.” He laughed as though you should laugh alongside him, and so - for the sake of politeness - you did. It was more a squeak than a laugh as the sound caught in your throat as you processed what he had said.

You were terrified to look up at your boyfriend’s reaction. What if he were jovially agreeing with his friend’s words, what if a spark of excitement had lit up his gaze?

Of course you already knew that Spencer wanted kids, you had been together long enough to have delved into that particular discussion. You had assured him that you wanted them too and so, realising you were in agreement, the pair of you hadn’t spoken on it any further. You realised now, all of a sudden in Derek Morgan’s doorway of all places, that you had never thought to discuss a timeline with Spencer.

He was older than you, in an entirely different phase of his life, surely he would want them sooner rather than later.

Finally, the pair of you escaped the house. Waving a goodbye to Morgan, you rushed to the car and fumbled with the keys as you tried to open the door. The keys jangled musically before thudding dully to the pavement.

A light touch on your arm stilled your jerking motion to pick them up. “I got it,” Spencer told you, already half crouched to collect the keys. “I can drive?” He offered lightly.

“Thanks,” you nodded, breathless in your quiet panic.

The drive itself was quiet. Silence was no stranger to you and Spencer, but it was usually a silence bathed in comfort and quiet belonging. This silence was entirely different; heavy with your insecurities and punctuated by the gnaw of your nails between your teeth.

Spencer, the behavioural analyst that he was, clearly noticed your agitation. A warm hand settled upon your thigh as you came to a stop at a red light. His thumb swiped lightly over the skin there and pressed just enough comfort into you to allow your thoughts return to coherency.

Fixing your gaze upon him, you felt the usual affection bubble through you as your eyes traced the wash of neon red light bathing his features. You loved this man, more than you had ever thought possible. You wanted everything with him, kids included, but… just not yet.

Noticing your fixation upon his features, he turned a brief gaze to you despite the light bathing him now turning green. Softly, as though worried he would scare you off, he asked; “you okay?”

You lips parted, a sullen and dishonest ‘yes’ forming on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You felt so lucky to have Spencer and to begin with you had continually hidden your fears and feelings from him in fear of somehow pushing him away. You had quickly learnt that this made neither you nor Spencer very happy. In aid of that past epiphany, you told him the truth. “No, not really.”

Spencer didn’t get angry, didn’t get annoyed or offended, didn’t hold anything against you. Instead, Spencer nodded calmly, pulled into an empty parking lot, clicked the car into park, and looked to you patiently.

He didn’t push you to tell him everything instantly, he sat calmly with an open expression and waited. Taking a deep settling breath, you sorted through your thoughts and started to speak. “I love you, Spencer.” You assured him. Considering the way his eyebrows pulled together and fear twisted his expression you realised it was probably the worst way to start. It sounded like the beginning of a breakup which was the opposite of your intention. “I’m not breaking up with you!” You almost shouted in your hurry to calm his fears. Relief settled his shoulders instantly and he nodded for you to continue.

Your hands were wringing together in your lap as you continued. “It’s just… what Morgan said.”

One hand on the wheel, he turned as much as the car allowed to face you. “About having kids?”

Nodding emphatically, entirely relieved that he knew exactly what was on your mind, you twisted in your seat towards him. “I just… I’m only 26.”

“I know.” He told you, with a strange little laugh indicating he wasn’t entirely sure why that detail was relevant.

“Well… I do want kids, Spencer, you know I do but… I’m only26.”

It was a quiet for a long while as his gaze settled on the middle distance. Tone filled with uncertainty, he tried to confirm what exactly was bothering you. “Are you… worried I’m not going to want to wait for you to be ready?”

You didn’t verbally reply, afraid to confirm this out loud, but you nodded with your gaze stuck on your lap.

His fingers drummed against the wheel and you couldn’t help your gaze from darting to the motion. From there, it was impossible to keep your gaze from his features. Thoughtfulness had overtaken them, eyebrows pulled together as he looked over you. Eventually, he carefully formulated his response. “Honestly,” you gulped in response, “I would love to have kids now or-or soon at least.” You almost shrunk back into your seat in disappointment but you tried your best to remain strong. “But,” he added in a slight panic, watching the badly hidden sadness quickly overtake you, “what I would love more is for you to be their mother.”

Looking at him through your lashes, you whispered out; “are you sure?”

“Yes.” He told you simply but, because it was Spencer he couldn’t help but to add; “the physical and social impact of pregnancy and child rearing is significantly greater for mothers than fathers. On average it’s estimated that women who give birth before-“

You cut him off with an almost panicked giggle and a hand gripping his. “Spencer, maybe stop before I decide against having kids altogether.”

A hearty laugh met yours and the air of the car felt instantly lighter. How easy things were to deal with when you simply communicated with each other. Spencer was so open with you about your worries, fears, and feelings. It was entirely refreshing. You had come to realise that it was exactly what a relationship shouldbe.

A realisation came to him suddenly, you could tell in the way his eyes widened and mouth dropped open as though to immediately say whatever had sprung to mind. He quickly stopped himself and awkwardly cleared his throat as though that would distract you. It didn’t work. “What?” You asked, lightheartedly.

“It’s nothing.” Dubiously, you raised your eyebrows and sternly crossed your arms. It did not take long for him to relent. “It’s… how do you-um-feel about marriage?”

He said the last word so quietly that you were forced to strain to hear it. You weren’t even certain you had heard him correctly. “Marriage?” Nodding, he scratched the back of his neck and avoided your searching gaze. Suspicion spawned in you. “I’m not… averse to marriage.” You told him honestly.

Only partially settled, he awkwardly stumbled out another question. “But is- are you - do you want to wait for that as well?”

Warmth spilled through your chest as you worked out what Spencer was trying so very hard not to tell you. “Are you gonna ask me soon?”

Spencer was an incredibly talented man, but one thing he could never seem to do was lie to you. “No!” He squeaked out, an obvious mistruth, “I’m just asking. I’m curious.”

You gave him a knowing smile that did nothing to hide your obvious excitement. Almost bouncing up and down in your seat you asked; “Is it gonna be soon?”

Dramatically, he shook his head. “No! No, I just-“ he cut himself off as he looked at your excitable expression. Shoulders dropping, realising the cat was well and truly out of the bag, he grumbled despite his smile. “Just act surprised when it happens, okay?”

You practically lit up, cheeks almost aching as you beamed at him. “So it is happening?”

“Let’s go home?” Was his unsubtle attempt to redirect your thoughts. With a wry grin, he clicked the car back into drive but replaced his hand upon your thigh. You slipped your fingers beneath his, taking his hand from your leg and instead squeezing it between both of yours.

World-Lines

Summary: After attending a party full of intellectuals with Spencer, you start to worry that you’re not smart enough to be with him. Filled with determination, you decide to try and do something about it.

A/N: Sorry it’s a bit later this week! Recently I hit 100 followers so thank you so much for that; made me very happy :) Let me know what you think!

Indescribable(Soft-Prequel)

MasterlistIRequests

The party was more an intellectual soirée than an all out rager. Whilst your college days were far behind you, you would have rathered the latter. You were a successful professional, a career in the FBI spanning years at this point, but somehow all these dusty professors surrounding you made you feel small. You knew you weren’t stupid, there were plenty of things you particularly excelled at, but you certainly weren’t a genius.

A few of the attendees had struck up conversation with you, seeming nice enough until it became clear you were not an academic; most of them left fairly quickly, finding more stimulating conversation elsewhere. Some, however, stuck around.

Somehow, they managed to annoy you even more. They were fascinated by your relationship with Spencer, entirely confounded that the pair of you ever managed to find anything to talk about considering the grand difference between your respective IQs and asking probing questions into how you had even met. Of course, they all punctuated these personal questions with assurances that it was “all in good fun” and attempted to placate you with the knowledge that they were “sure you must be very happy together”.

It all felt entirely passive aggressive but you doubted these intellectuals even realised it was offensive.

Eventually, you took to hiding in a darkened corner and nursing your second glass of red. As you swirled the velvety liquid around the glass, watching the legs cling to the surface, you wondered whether all these strangers really had a point. Spencer wasn’t just smart, he was a bonafide genius. Why was he with you?

You couldn’t add any information to his life that he didn’t already know. You couldn’t provide a fresh take on classic Russian literature. You couldn’t even understand most of his jokes well enough to laugh. You knew Spencer loved you, his actions and words both speaking loud enough, but surely that wouldn’t stop him from getting bored eventually.

You watched him across the room, chatting animatedly with someone you hadn’t had the pleasure of being spoken down to by, and felt an anxiety coil in your chest. Surely it was only a matter of time.

Quickly finishing off your wine, nabbing another glass from a passing waiter, you tried to think of some solution. How could you connect with him intellectually?

As half-baked plans tumbled through your mind your gaze unfocused into the middle distance, leaving you entirely vulnerable to an unnoticed visitor. “Do you like the wine?”

The unidentified warm hand lightly gripping your arm caused you to jerk suddenly. The wine sloshing dangerously around the glass, the contents somehow remaining contained. Hand over your chest, heartbeat trilling rapidly beneath it, you looked to Spencer with wide eyes. “Don’t sneak up on me,” you breathed out as your heart rate slowly resettled.

Amusement danced in his eyes and the sight softened your previous anxiety somewhat. Palms raised in surrender, he relented. He gestured vaguely to a generally disapproving older gentleman conversing quite animatedly with a younger colleague. “Riemann told me that he tried to convince the organisers not to allow alcohol tonight,” you screwed up your face in response and earned a husky chuckle as you took a rebellious sip of wine. “He gave me an entire speech about the ‘stimulation of conversation being inebriation enough’.”

You giggled in response, leaning closer to Spencer even as you hid your face behind the wine. “He sounds like fun,” you commented, around another sip of wine. Eyes darting to the man you were busy gossiping about you found his attention flickering to the pair of you. “Spencer,” you exclaimed pointlessly, his attention was already upon you, “he’s looking this way!” Holding the glass out to him, you asked with a wicked smirk; “You want some?”

A full grin pulled your features as he took the offered glass and, with a last little laugh, took a large gulp. Eyes quickly darting back to Riemann, giggling at the disapproval now being glared at the pair of you, you murmured lowly to Spencer. “We’re such trouble makers.”

Handing you back the now half emptied glass he smiled down at you - seemingly not daring to look at your disgruntled audience. Instead he was focusing on you in that intense way he sometimes did; his warm eyes somehow lit up, his lips twitching upwards as though he simply couldn’t help himself, and his focus fell entirely upon you. You never felt more loved than you did when he looked at you like this.

Your previous worries were forgotten, for now at least, as you matched his gaze with wide eyes. “Are you having fun?” You asked, almost shyly diverting his intensity.

He nodded quickly, stepping closer to you as a waiter struggled to get past him, and proceeded to give you an in depth run down of some of the evenings more interesting conversations.

As the evening itself drew to a close, Spencer spent most of his time by your side. Hovering close, a hand splayed over your back, even as people ambled over to speak to him.

His presence made you feel much better, the quiet support he always offered you soothing you immensely. In fact, your anxious feelings did not return until he was snoring beside you.

In the quiet of the night you found ample time to worry over the longevity of your relationship. At around three thirty am you came to the groggy conclusion that you really had to do something about it; starting tomorrow of course.

Over the next few weeks you carefully carved out time for yourself wherever you could, whenever you thought Spencer might not notice. An extra hour or so at the gym, staying a little later at work with a promise to meet Spencer at home after you had finished your paperwork, and even purposefully sitting away from him on the jet home.

To begin with you had tried to read one of his favourite books but quickly gave up when you spent more time staring blankly at the pages than actually reading. You had found an English translation but the archaic sentence structure meant that the words still seemed foreign. Eventually you found a niche that made you feel as though you were getting somewhere; a pithy podcast so helpfully titled ‘physics for dummies’. It was surprisingly easy to follow and whilst you still couldn’t hope to follow Spencer’s long-winded science ramblings you could at least pick out a few words that you actually understood.

Spencer wasn’t aware of your extra curricular activity and you were hoping to keep it that way, at least for now.

This particular plan of yours was scuppered, however, during a challenging case involving an erotomaniac with an obsession for a high school physics teacher. After hitting several roadblocks in the investigation you and the rest of the team were crowded around a table working through the mountainous pile of letters your unsub had sent the object of his desire.

So far this had yielded little, but when Luke read out an excerpt your ears immediately picked out a familiar word. “‘And in that moment where our world-lines collide, you’ll know without doubt that we were meant to be….’” Luke huffed, slapping the paper back on the desk beside his empty coffee cup, and leaned back with a curse and a groan. “What does that even mean?”

Spencer went to reply but you got there first, your own focus still upon the letter in your hand. “World-lines describe the paths that particles take in space, encapsulating every event they have and will experience. It kinda sounds like he’s trying to say that their paths are fated to cross?”

A beat of quiet met your almost flippant response and your gaze flickered up to find surprise pointed at you. “Alright, Dr Reid,” JJ commented with a well humoured sarcasm. Spencer himself, said nothing.

Peeking at Spencer, you were expecting surprise certainly but you were entirely unprepared for how upset he suddenly looked. His eyes were fixed unseeingly upon his left hand, idly scratching at the grooves of the table, and he didn’t even look up at you.

Your shoulders bunched around you as you felt embarrassment heat your cheeks. “Sorry,” you squeaked out, hoping he would look at you; he didn’t.

The others made no mention of Spencer’s strange lack of response, sensing his strange agitation and attempting to move on quickly with a discussion about the case itself.

You didn’t get your answers until the case had been successfully closed. Despite your impatience to work out what was picking at him, you knew it was likely more professional to wait until the pair of you were off the clock. Whilst you knew that, it didn’t make his avoidance of you any easier to handle.

With the unsub in custody, the rest of the team were busily making evening plans - a night at a local bar seemed to be winning the vote at the moment - but Spencer had other plans. Sidling up to you whilst the others were busy with their excitement, he murmured a question to you in a strangely husky tone; his voice rough as though he were greatly upset. “Can we talk?”

Nodding softly, you followed him silently as he led the pair of you into an unoccupied interview room. His eyes couldn’t meet yours, falling instead just below your searching gaze, and you squirmed under this sudden strangeness. His hands were pushed into his pockets, a sign of forced casualness that was more telling of how uncertain he was.

Taking a step forwards, you broached the heavy silence with a soft question. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat. When he finally met your gaze you were forced to stop yourself from reaching out to him. The shine in his eyes curled a concern into you that was hard to tamp down, but you knew he needed space to articulate whatever was eating at him.

Finally, he formed the words he seemed to have been thinking very hard about. “Are you seeing someone else?”

The question floored you entirely. Surely you had misheard. “Wait, what?” Sniffing, he dropped his head but didn’t repeat himself. After a silence that stretched for far too long, your brain finally caught up with his question and you rushed to reassure him. “No! God no, Spencer!” Raising his head, his eyes worked slowly over your features in a search for deception. “How could you even ask me that?!”

Lips twisting, he looked away and carded a hand through his hair. “You’ve been spending so much time away; last month you spent an average of four hours a week at the gym. This month it’s increased to eight.”

You tried to shrug this point off, stomach twisting as you realised he had clearly misread your admittedly odd behaviour this past month. “I’ve been working out more.” Even you could hear the lie in your words.

Your poor response seemed to upset him even more, face crumbling as he struggled to keep a hold of his emotions in the face of an obvious lie. “No, you’re not.” You had no answer for that, he seemed so certain and you didn’t want to lie again. “You… you’re staying later at work but I know you haven’t gotten any outstanding paperwork to do.” Considering the emotion welled in his words you realised how much he must have thought about all of this. “And now you know what world-lines are, something I know we haven’t spoken about!” He heaved a last sigh, face falling as he noted your answering silence. “If - if there’s someone else,” he swallowed thickly then, struggling against the tears still within his eyes, “can you just tell me what’s going on? Please.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” you reassured imploringly. A step forward brought you before him and you pressed a hand to his cheek. “I- I’ll tell you what’s going on but… promise not to laugh at me?”

That seemed to settle him a little and he allowed himself to lean into your affection. At his answering nod, you took a centring breath before explaining.

“So, that party thing we went to a few weeks ago…”

Eyebrows pulling together, he nodded slowly. “I remember.” He confirmed.

“Yeah, of course you do.” You tried to laugh, to encourage him to, but the noise became caught in your throat. Shaking your head, realising he wasn’t quite in the mood to laugh with you just yet, you continued. “Anyway, erm, a bunch of people came to talk to me. I guess they kinda assumed that since you’re with me that I must be super smart too. But obviously… I’m not.”

You felt some relief when he brought his hands to your arms, the warmth of them reassuring you that he was here and he was open to listen. “But why have you been avoiding me?”

Dropping your hand to his chest, you averted your gaze. “Well, they were all just so surprised that you would be with someone who was… I don’t know, average.” You tried to look back at him, your own awkwardness making this confession difficult. “And it kinda got me thinking that I don’t really know why you’re with me.” Immediately, he went to cut you off but you barrelled past his attempted reassurance. “And I started to panic that yknow you’d get bored of me one day so I started listening to this stupid podcast every chance I got to try and learn something that would make me more interesting.”

He said nothing to begin with. Eyes downcast but you felt immediately disgruntled when a quiet laughter peeled from him. It was certainly better than the sight of his emotional distress but it still irked you. Lightly slapping his chest, you pulled away but he quickly tightened his grip upon you. “No, I’m sorry - I’m sorry…” he calmed you, but a strange little smile was still pulling at his lips, “it’s just that, you tried to learn about physics just to be closer to me.”

“Well, yeah.” You told him, as though it were the the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

His tears had entirely disappeared, replaced with an obvious wave of relief. “When we first started dating, do you remember we went to an art gallery?” You nodded, remembering the shyness of Spencer back then and smiling into the memory. “I talked way too much,” you chuckled and shook your head wryly, “I told you the year that everything had been painted, the medium used, the artistic style… I told you everything i could think of.”

Quirking a brow, you made a lightly teasing joke. “I remember thinking you were gonna give me a pop quiz at the end of the night.”

Ducking his head, he gave a laugh as he squeezed your arms. Some of his past shyness returning briefly before he looked back at you. “The point is, you eventually interrupted me to ask me what I thought of the painting I was talking about.” He paused, a reminiscence shining in his eyes. “And I didn’t have an answer, I had to stop and think about it.” He told you this like it was some great revelation, but you couldn’t work out what he was trying to tell you. Sensing that you hadn’t quite captured his meaning, he explained further. “I will never get bored of you,” he told you with so much certainty it was impossible not to believe him, “you make me see the world in ways I didn’t think possible.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you teetered on your tiptoes to peck his lips. “Especially now,” you teased, “now with my newfound expertise in all things space physics.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he hummed in an affectionate kind of humour hands slipping to the small of your back. “You mean astrophysics.”

With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you teetered forwards once more to kiss him, murmuring “whatever” in the space between you.

A languid kiss later and his gaze shifted past you and to the door. “Should we try to catch up with the others?”

Twisting your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you pouted and shook your head. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel?”

He laughed lightly as he fell forwards to rest his forehead against yours. “Let’s go.”

Gezellig

Summary: After a bad few days, where stress has caught up with you, your boyfriend Spencer provides words of comfort.

A/N: Tried to make the stress very non-specific so everyone could be comforted by Spencer! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist|Requests

There were often days, weeks, or months where the world felt rallied against you. It was a certainty, you were absolutely sure, that everyone experienced such targeted difficulty. Today, however, the world seemed so unfair and built up against you that it was hard to take comfort in that knowledge.

Your shoes scraped against every step as you clambered up the stairs to your boyfriend’s apartment, feet feeling so heavy it was hard to fully lift them between steps. Your hand slid along the railing, gripping the solid wood in an attempt to pull yourself up the mountain of stairs. It took an age, but eventually you reached the top step.

Heaving a deep breath, attempting to quell the storm of negativity within, you plastered a smile onto your lips. Shoulders set, expression schooled, you moved to his door and rapped your knuckles against the wood. You heard him yell through the door, indicating he was coming, and the excitement in his tone pulled a peal of happiness from you. If anything could make you feel better today, it was definitely going to be Spencer.

The door opened quickly and you were greeted with an almost goofy grin as he struggled with his over-large coat. “You ready to go?”

Trying to mirror his enthusiasm, but likely failing spectacularly, you nodded quickly even as your eyes darted to the floor. Had you been looking up to him you would have noticed the crinkle between his eyebrows as he looked over you; the gaze that swept over everything from your slumped shoulders to your wringing hands. You would have seen the stilling of his hands as a deep concern etched upon his features.

His voice pulled your gaze back to his, “I - uh - I just need to grab something,” he gestured back into his apartment with his thumb and stepped aside to allow you pass, “do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” you assented, moving past him and into the familiar space. His apartment was so cozy, comforting. Everything about it was so familiar, so very Spencer, that a small relief warmed through you.

“Is everything okay?” You started at his sudden question, having thought he had disappeared to locate whatever he had needed to grab.

“Uh-“ your mouth hung open as you looked at him in slow surprise. Blinking rapidly, you finally nodded; “yeah.” The word was so obviously a lie that it was doubtful your profiler of a partner would miss it.

Kindly, instead of calling you out on the clear mistruth, he stepped closer and lowered his tone. “It’s just, usually you aren’t on time.” A small upturn of your lips met that, an action that encouraged him continue. “On average you tend to be seven minutes and thirteen seconds late. Your lateness is always because you stopped to get coffee from your favourite shop, but you’re both on time and you didn’t stop for coffee?”

You kicked your feet against his floor, a rueful expression overtaking you. “Guess I can’t hide anything from a profiler, huh?”

Your careless response did not appear to appease his concern. He gave you a smile, one that didn’t quite crinkle his eyes, and stepped closer. Wringing his hands together, he paused for a considering moment before asking another question. “You’re not feeling great?”

It was less a question, more a statement. Spencer, of course, knew the stresses that had been piling upon you recently; he had been your shoulder to cry on through it all. So far, however, you had managed to hold it together pretty well. But, today, the line between coping and crying felt just a bit too thin.

Giving up on any pretence of pretending everything was fine, you took the few steps separating the pair of you and wrapped your arms around him. Not only was it pointless to hide your feelings from your boyfriend who literally studied behaviour for a living, you also didn’t want to. When you were young you had thought sharing your feelings of stress and difficulty a sign of weakness. Now, wrapped up in Spencer, you knew that there was no weakness in relying on someone. Especially when that someone loved you like he did.

You only noticed your tears when you tried to speak - the hoarseness of your throat warning you of the wetness of your cheeks. “It’s all catching up with me.” You croaked out.

A hand was smoothing soothing circles over your back whilst he leant his cheek upon your temple. “It’s okay,” he told you quietly, letting the warmth of his arms calm you before he gave you words that sent relief coursing through you. “We can stay in tonight?”

That sounded perfect to you, but a guilt still crept over you. “Spencer, you’ve wanted to go to this place for like… forever.” It was true, he had given you more information about this particular planetarium over the last two months than you thought possible and you couldn’t take away his chance to go.

Pulling back to look down at you, warm hands rubbing over your arms, he laughed. “It’ll be open next week, we can go then.” The sincerity and sweetness of this gesture overwhelmed you and your lip trembled as you held back fresh tears. Apparently recognising this latest emotion bomb, he quickly made you laugh with an attempted joke that wasn’t really funny at all. “If we stay in and- and look out the window,” he began gesturing vaguely to the window in question, “it’ll be like we’re in a terrarium instead.”

It wasn’t funny, not even slightly, and you could tell he didn’t think so either. But, you smiled through quiet tears and responded in kind; “the opposite of a planetarium.”

Lips quirking up, he squeezed your arms once before steering you onto his sofa. Melting into the soft upholstery, you hummed at the relief of changed plans. You loved exploring new places with Spencer, he was like your own personal tour guide wherever you ventured, but an evening in the familiar confines of his home was often unbeatable.

Spencer didn’t join you right away, moving to his kitchen and clanging about as you settled into comfort. Eyes dropping shut, you let your head fall back against the pillows and tried your best to relax the tense set of your shoulders. Spencer’s softer footsteps, his shoes now discarded likely beside the door, alerted you to his reappearance. Cracking a single eye open you broke into a smile as he handed you a mug. Steam rolled from the mug in curling waves, the vapour filling your nose with the pleasant sweetness of cocoa and you thanked him immediately. “How is it you always know how to make me feel better?”

Smiling warmly down to you, he quipped an answer that did raise a chuckle from your downturned lips. “Simple mathematics.” He paired the statement with wiggling fingers as though he had just finished some spectacular magic trick; the motion warmed you almost as much as the mug you clutched.

Patting the spot next to you, you sidled closer to him as he took direction and settled beside you. Sending a slow, cooling breath over the scalding contents of the mug, you quirked a brow at him. “Math? How does that work?”

Cupping his own mug between his hands, the small ceramic surface almost entirely disappearing beneath his grip, he settled back as he explained. “Well, over the time that we’ve known each other I’ve gathered ‘data’ about your likes and dislikes.” You twisted in your seat as he explained, letting your back rest against the arm of his sofa to allow you watch him entirely. “Over time I’ve noticed what makes you happy when you’re feeling down - it’s different depending on what’s upset you.” He lowered one hand to rest warmly over your ankle as you stretched your feet onto his lap. “Today, I knew you were feeling overwhelmed so it was a reasonable estimate that you would want to stay home.”

You sunk further into the sofa and nodded. Your returning words were caught in your throat at the fact that he had referred to his apartment as your home; a pleasant flutter of your heart meeting the sentiment. Home. it felt right. When you untangled your tongue, the giddiness still tinged your words. “In short,” you started, daring to sip the still steaming liquid before you finished, “you pay attention.”

Squeezing your ankle, he gave a hearty laugh and a sheepish nod in response. A comfortable silence settled over the pair of you then, only the cautious slurping sips of hot chocolate punctuated the pleasant companionship of quiet.

When you had drained your mug, the drink spreading a pleasant warmth through your chest, you shifted position again. Carefully, you moved your feet - aware his mug was still half full - and shifted to lean into his chest. Subtly, he shifted his own position to provide you with greater comfort. Head now leant against his chest, you smiled at the steady rhythm of his heart. “Spencer?” you asked, enjoying the way your voice seemed almost muted in the still air.

“Yeah?” His hand dropped lightly onto your hair, smoothing over it before his fingertips rubbed light circles over your temples.

“Tell me something.” You murmured, eyes falling closed against his ministrations. “Something fascinating like you always do.“

Fingertips not stalling against your request, his mind too quick to stutter, he quickly responded. “You know,” he began musingly, tone suggestive of a wandering mind, “the English language lacks quite a few adjectives.”

“Like what?” You asked, gaze settled on his features as your fingertips toyed with his shirt.

His gaze roamed over the window, the rain now battering the pane of glass more dramatically, and his lips quirked up at the edges. Looking down at you, eyes warm upon you, he murmured an unfamiliar word in the space between you. “Gluggavedur,” you raised your eyebrows in silent question, “it’s the comfort of watching bad weather from a window.”

You smiled and turned your gaze to the window. Under your breath you repeated the word, your pronunciation shaky at best, and nodded in some kind of agreement. “I like that,” you told him, tone low to match his. “Do you know any more?”

An arm curled around you, pulling you closer and you buried yourself further into his side. “Gezellig,” he told you, the word unusual to your ears but sounding sweet in his timbre.

You waited in the warm silence for him to elaborate but he seemed almost shy to. Eventually, curiosity pushed you to ask, “what does that mean?”

Head tilting, his cheek coming to rest against the crown of your head, he breathed a slow sigh before responding. “It’s the comfort of coziness with someone you love.”

The words registered in your mind, a cozy warmth spreading from your chest to the very tips of your toes. You had never considered that specific type of comfort before. He was right, unsurprisingly, there was a specific type of comfort that curled around you when you were with someone you loved. When you were with him.

Your eyes drifted back from the window to his features. His head shifted at your movement and caramel eyes met yours. Hand delicately tracing from his chest to his cheek, you moved up to softly press your lips against his. The kiss was hoped to press your gratitude into him. You pulled away, only very slightly, and whispered a response. “I like that one the most.”

He smiled down at you, a relief washing over his features as he watched the stress melt from you. “Thank you,” you murmured to him in the cozy air between you.

“For what?” He asked, genuinely unsure. How could he not know how grateful you were for every little thing he did for you?

Shaking your head lightly at his question, at the confused crinkle between his eyebrows, you kissed him again. Your stresses still existed, some problems couldn’t be solved in a day, but in this sweet moment with him the burden seemed a little less heavy