#spencerreid
Matthew photographed by Terry Richardson.
summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.
word count: 1,007 reading time: 4 mins
warnings: angst
a/n: HERE IS THE FINALE!!! I’ve had the most amazing time writing with the talented @goldentournesol. Steph is incredible and so creative, please show her some love! Hope you enjoy :)
masterlist
I was afraid the chocolate he got me would taste sour, but it was luscious. I found comfort in the sweetness, just as I had found comfort in Spencer. It’s been a week since his confession. I also couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous in my accusations. I had jumped to conclusions and couldn’t see the signs of my boyfriend in pain. The guilt ate away at me for a while, but Spencer let me know that he had been hiding it to the best of his ability. I eventually told him that I wanted to be the one he ran to when he was in pain. Both of us had our fair share of issues with vulnerability and insecurity, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t work through them together.
And so, here I sat, my head in his lap, his hand in my hair like all those weeks ago. This time, when our gazes met, there were no underlying feelings. No words left unsaid. The air was finally cleared and we could finally breathe. The air tasted sweeter somehow, now that I understood fully.
The past week was not easy. Reconciliation was a bumpy road and I was not prepared for the ride. Spencer and I are stubborn, proud individuals. I had almost kicked him out of my apartment that night. I had almost ended the relationship right then and there. What else was I supposed to do when he’d said such vicious things?
But he’d seen the crack in my armor. The room was heavy with the guilt I felt and my subsequent tears were even heavier. The tears fell free before I could even tell them not to. His behavior made sense. I saw it then, he’d squint if the room was too bright and would often ask me to turn the TV volume down. His stories had become less animated, he had become less animated. He was going to sleep much earlier than he usually did. I should have caught on, but I just assumed that his long days had taken a toll on him. Spencer was no stranger to overworking himself.
He explained that he’d gone to countless doctors and I expressed how upset it made me that he was going through all that on his own. I could have been there for him, I could have supported him, but he wasn’t used to having someone to lean on. He was his own protection all his life, and I understood that. I made it clear that he had someone to lean on now, someone who loved him and looked after him.
The doctors had trouble diagnosing him so he referred to a renowned geneticist. She was one of the greatest minds in her field apparently. It was a she, after all, and she had a name. Maeve Donovan. It was easier to have a name. It personified her. She was less of an abstract being and more of a person. I thought about how much of my time and energy she’d unknowingly spent before I even knew who she was. Or I guess I was the one who’d spent it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, looking up at Spencer, who was focused on the TV now. He finally had the weekend off after finishing a case in Wisconsin. I’d been tasked by Dr. Donovan to make sure that he’s getting at least eight hours of sleep each night. He’d been good at going to bed on time, his issue was with staying asleep more than going to sleep, anyway.
“I’ve been better, but to be honest, I’ve also been much worse.” He shrugged. Spencer’s eyes were never unkind, his soul was too kind to let them show anything other than that. Even now, his eyes were soft, even softer due to the dim light in my apartment.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I sat up to face him. I’d been doing my own research on migraines. Mostly how to relieve pain. Dr. Donovan also mentioned a series of supplements that he had to keep track of. I’ve made sure to incorporate more vitamin-enriched foods into our diet as well as made sure to keep him adequately hydrated.
I recognized the mischief in his eyes before he could even get a word out, “Actually, I think it’s time for my hourly dose of kisses.”
I threw my head back in a hearty laugh before cupping his face gingerly and bringing it closer to mine, “Who am I to deny you your medication?”
His grin was contagious, it went straight to my heartstrings and I felt weightless when he looked at me like that. His hands were perched on my waist and I brushed our noses together once before sealing our lips.
Together we lived in the clouds, sharing the same bubble. We’ve finally rebuilt the fantasy we had before, although this time a newfound trust had formed. However, that is not to say that everything was instantly perfect. Frankly, I think that the inexperience and the unknown is what gives beauty to this world, our world. To me, anything with him was perfect, no matter what the great philosophers say. But they were right in one aspect: defining voluntaryignorance.
The bliss I felt in our intimate space was addicting, it turned my brain into gullible mush. I didn’t want to believe that eternity didn’t exist. How can it not when it feels like this? I refuse to believe it. But harsh reality does not lie, it is only ourselves willing to fall for it. One day, Spencer’s arms would no longer be around me, and his lips would no longer brush softly against mine. The bubble would shatter like glass, the deception following suit. But for now, this lie was a silent agreement between Spencer and I. No matter the blissful ignorance we shared between us; no matter the ignorance of Spencer’s remaining lucidity, I knew this was the only lie we wished to be true.
-
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to be true, to not be true taglist: @sassymoon@jackiehollanderr@gubleryum@cielo1984@allexthakatt@escapingrealities
summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.
word count: 3,969 reading time: 14 mins
warnings:angst, cheating allegations, mental illness
a/n:PLEASEREAD!!!! the epilogue/finale for this will be uploaded on @goldentournesol later today!
masterlist
What kind of life is lived when all you’re doing is waiting for the other shoe to drop? Waiting for the inevitability of cruelty? I stepped into a relationship with Spencer never expecting that I’d be waiting for the cord to snap. He led me into a cocoon of safety, one where I never doubted his motives. One I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Three little words can seemingly make or break a relationship, and the words Spencer had uttered confirmed that theory. However, unlike in most relationships–at least the fortunate ones, it wasn’t the three-word spectacle that symbolized the deep passion or confirmation of the shared sentiments. Instead, the dreadful trinity cut me deep, symbolizing the undoing of what we have–correction, had.
“It’s a date.”
I wish I could curse the air, scream into the sky, and stomp at the earth below me, but I couldn’t help but direct all malice to me.
What did she have that I didn’t? It must’ve been my intelligence. Everyday, Spencer was surrounded by the brightest minds–him outshining the rest, although his humbled self would always discredit that matter. With a considerate heart, he would mind voicing his opinions of people out loud, keeping to himself. However, there’s a significant distinction between publicly expressing your judgement and having internal thoughts, though unshared, still exist.
This baffled me, considering Spencer had always reassured me of this particular insecurity, suppressing the disquiet of my thoughts. Would he have lied? He seemingly excels at that, as of recent, among his other accolades. I would never admit it to him, but I would often find myself skimming through the books he loved–analyzing them so I’d better understand his mind or to offer a common topic. All the things I did for him to seem smarter in the past makes me look stupid now. The wasted effort should set every fiber of my being aflame and angered, however, all I can really feel is the doubt and self-resentment pricking at the walls of my chest.
All I can show for it are the blotched texture of my cheeks from incessant wet streaks, the suffocating push and pull of my throat, and the tautness of my muscles from the inability to move. On top of that, a heavy heart that carried the haunting spirit of a failure.
This disposition left me paralyzed on a Thursday night, alone in my apartment. The parallel left me with an incredulous expression. Just last week, I was on the precipice of my relationship without knowing it–senseless to the downward spiral that followed. What would I have changed, had I known this was going to happen? I tell myself this was all on him, but what if it isn’t? What if I led him to do this? To seek love and comfort in someone else.
Spencer’s been out of town for the last four days. I should have kept up with our nightly calls, but the truth is I couldn’t hear his voice without breaking down. His calls were left unanswered and I didn’t even know if that worried him or not. My insecurities had me by the throat and I just couldn’t shake them. Why was I dreading the day he returned? I’d seen his text messages, but hadn’t bothered to reply. I didn’t want him to know that I was festering in my own self-pity, so when I finally answered the call after he texted me to let me know that he was in town, I pretended I was someone else for it.
But then I thought…maybe, just maybe, it was all in my head. Maybe he wasn’t calling her as much as he was calling me, I didn’t even know if it was a her. I still thought that I might be desperate enough for his attention. So much so that I was willing to be the second option.
The phone call was short and dry, but I did my best to pretend that I was fine. He said he would take me out on a date tomorrow. It would be Friday, not Thursday. He said he was busy today and I didn’t ask him what he was doing, I had a feeling the knowledge would only cleave our relationship further. As tempting as it felt to pull away from him even more, I must admit that I missed him. I missed the way his nose scrunched when he was listening to me talk, I missed the way he’d always chime in with his facts and stories. I missed what we had and who we were before things started to change.
I forced myself to get ready for our date the next day. I circled around my apartment like a vulture circling around its prey, as if I’d find any motivation lying around, but it felt redundant so I stopped. I sat on my couch and nervously tapped away my anxiety until the doorbell rang throughout my apartment. Taking a deep breath, I made my way over to the door and opened it to see him holding a large bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. He’d never been one for grand gestures, and I’d never been one for flowers and chocolates, but from him, they were precious. I let myself accept them with a smile, even though the dread was eating me alive from the inside. Don’t cheaters and psychopaths buy gifts for their victims in a way to suppress their guilt? Did I just compare my boyfriend to a psychopath?
“What’s all this for?” I asked him after he greeted me with a kiss to my cheek. I put the flowers in a vase as he spoke, following me through the hallway and into my kitchen.
“Well, I felt bad for postponing our date and you sounded upset over the phone. I’m sorry I technically missed our date night.” Spencer said, tapping his fingers on my counter, waiting for my reaction. I surveyed him under my lashes. His remorse seemed genuine, but I was no profiler. I wouldn’t be able to catch his quirks as easily as he would.
I merely nodded, “Thank you, I love them.” I said, but the words felt like they were spoken from behind me, from someone else’s mouth. His eyes raked over me like they were assessing me, just as mine had a few moments ago.
“What?” I asked, trying my best to convey curiosity instead of acidity.
“Nothing, you just seem a bit on edge.” He said, smoothing a hand over his cardigan. My eyes followed his hand instead of meeting with his. His gaze felt sharp, even though I know he didn’t mean it that way.
“I’ve just been having a hard time at work.” I dismissed the conversation and quickly changed the subject, “So, are we ready?” He nodded, dropping it and we left my apartment.
The slight chill passing between the backs of our hands felt foreign to the skin. I guess I was so accustomed to the warmth and comfort enveloping the appendage that it felt like a phantom limb. I even miss the claminess of his fingers and how my own fit perfectly between the dips in his hand. However, it was difficult to reminisce with the penetrating thoughts of resentment and self-scolding in the back of my mind.
Every other step, Spencer would ask a shallow inquiry, in which I would reply with a mindless response. It’s like we reverted back to the naive touches and suppressed sentences in the beginning of our relationship. However this time, a tense air constricted the blood flow to our heads.
“So, what’s been going on at work?” he hummed, tilting his head towards me. Without meeting his analytical gaze, I responded with a mere quirk in the lips, suggesting a less than satisfactory experience. He nodded, sensing the imminent disinterest of the conversation.
While we walked on, I subconsciously laced my fingers togethers and observed the oscillating space between us. My feet staggered as I took a heavy interest in kicking stray pebbles and counting the cracks on the sidewalk. At this point, Spencer’s baffled yet indistinguishable expression had locked onto the side of my face. I would never mind his curiosity, but this time sent pins and needles shooting down my spine.
Unable to handle the suffocating air, I pushed the words off of my tongue and took a leap, “What did you do yesterday?” I sputtered out, cringing out how desperate and invasive I sounded; huffing, I rephrased my question to be less encroaching. Although why would that matter at this point? We’ve hit our climax, and we’re frankly teetering on the precipice.
“I had to deal with some family business,” he admitted breathlessly, a stutter undetectable in his words. I peaked at him from my disengaged stature, noticing the slight hilt in his voice was gone–a tell of dishonesty that was usually easy to spot. I guess he really did get better at it; they say continued practice makes perfect, right?
My head throbbed at the thought, and my nails dug into the surface of my fist. “Family business,” I nodded, not noticing the pure indignation evident in my tone. I hadn’t even realized that the phrase came out as a jesting scoff until Spencer had called my attention.
“Is something wrong?” He stopped suddenly, straying a few steps behind me as he waited. I could tell by the firmness of his voice that he was slightly annoyed by my reclusive behavior. Everyone had a limit, and Spencer wasn’t an exception to that.
I shook it off, finding my composure once again. I fought the bubbling feeling of impulsivity, the wanting to throw the whole world at him for deceiving me. I suppressed the desire to scream and yell, leaving them hidden in my imagination. I detested the way his eyes would scan over me in a mixed expression of pity and displeasure, adding onto the blaze inside my stomach.
“No.”
My delivery left me stunned, and hearing the tenacity and resolve in my voice was almost unheard of. Although it did set a culpable insecurity in mind, knowing that it sprang from a place of abhorrence and anger. The second the word fell breathlessly off my tongue, it rubbed Spencer the wrong way. We’ve had petty fights before, but as individuals we’ve always advocated for fighting the problem together rather than each other. I hate to admit it, but between the two of us, it wasn’t surprising that Spencer had a sound mind. At least, that’s what I knewof.
He took a deep breath, as if he were resetting himself and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, “Let’s just eat something.” Instead of fighting, I heard him add, but of course he didn’t actually say it.
-
I wish I had the privilege of saying that dinner was intense or full of passive-aggressive bickering but instead it was a suffocating silence, only broken by conversing with our server. The room shrunk to the size of an elevator, and the extravagant decor transformed into four silver surrounding walls. Despite being only 3 feet away from each other, our presence felt miles away. At one point, I even contemplated fabricating a convoluted excuse to leave abruptly but it was my pride that prevented me from doing so.
The walk back to my apartment was even more tense. Spencer’s breathing pattern was off. I couldn’t remember when I’d begun analyzing his breathing, but I could tell something was off. The second the door of my unit slammed shut, I knew I was trapped in a vulnerable position. Spencer leaned against the door, dissecting every movement I made. I felt scrutinized under his line of sight, my resolve shrinking into nonexistence while I bit my tongue.
He scoffed under his breath, throwing his coat and phone onto the side table by the entrance. “So are we going to talk about what happened, or frankly, the lack of anything happening back there?” He held a pointed gaze, shifting his weight onto his hip. His tongue swiped the bottom of his lip, patiently waiting for an answer.
A breath was caught in my throat, preventing me from getting any words out. I refused to face him, keeping myself busy by trying to find a place for my belongings. I knew I had to be wise with my next words, however, my impulsivity was, sooner than later, going to send me into a fit of combustion. I found myself teetering at the precipice once again, thinking back to the lies and excuses he shamelessly threw my way. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but confide in the sunlight of our past. With only a few more seconds of running oxygen, I sighed, mumbling a deflecting response, “There’s not really much to talk about.”
The soft bang against the door caught me off guard. Shock ran through me as I turned around with an incredulous expression. My stature unconsciously shriveled into itself in fright as Spencer’s fist slide from the oak door. My mouth hung open, frozen in state, unable to form coherent sentences. Never once had I seen Spencer express himself by physical means, let alone operate on his own anger. Maybe it was the present naivety that lingered in our relationship, but judging by the discreet upset shown on his face, he too was stupefied.
“What is going on with you lately?” I asked, looking at him with a certain level of incredulity. His mouth flew open as his brows rose to his hairline. The once tense hands dropped to his sides as he swiped a few hairs from his face.
He gestured to the air with a nonchalant figure before deflecting the question at hand. “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N.” I could hear the slight stagger in his tone, like he was holding a part of himself back. It must’ve been the adrenaline pumping through his veins from whatever affair he participated in. Frankly it made me question the integrity of his fib; how long was he going to hold out on me?
I couldn’t distinguish between the thoughts of Spencer possibly continuing this fib because of his cowardice or if Spencer truly thought I was too gullible. Both sent a blaze through me that attacked every piece of rationality I had left; it was as if shots of espresso were injected into my veins. Spencer’s elusive response hadn’t helped with the compelling sensation either, leaving me defenseless against my absurdity.
Although, to think of it, is it really illogical to be vexed by Spencer’s vague behavior?
“Me?! I’m not the one who’s being secretive.” I defended, my fists at my side.
“And how exactly am I being secretive, y/n?” Spencer raised his voice, an unfamiliar boom echoing throughout the room. “Please! Tell me ‘exactly,’ how I’m being secretive.” He responded like a petulant child, emphasizing simple words to enhance the condescension in his tone.
“Oh, so you think I haven’t noticed the calls? The way you hide your phone from my view when you get a notification? Do you really think I’m that stupid, Spencer?” I said.
“And, how is that exactly being secretive, y/n? I have my own business to attend to,” he defended. “Frankly, I think you’re the one overstepping here!” Spencer avoided the question per usual, unconsciously switching the scope to me. I felt a bubble rise in my throat, similar to the tightness I felt whenever I cried, however this time, it was from a place of malice.
“I am not overstepping because you are being secretive! I have no idea who you’re talking to! Where were you last week? Where were you yesterday?” I fought to keep my voice even.
“How is that even your business in the first place? You’re not my mother.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, almost undetectable to unknowing ears. He tried to brush it off, using intimidation to distract from the emotion crawling up his throat. Knowing Spencer, he did a rather exceptional job, although at this moment, I suspected a chink in his resolve.
“I don’t have to be your mother to know that something is wrong! Stop deflecting!” I blurted in a fit of frustration.
“You see, you keep trying to tell me that there’s something ‘wrong,’ with me! But there’s obviously some unresolved issue that you’re getting at here to be this upset!” He threw his hands into the air, shrugging his shoulders with an air of arrogance.
“God, do not twist my words here, Spencer Reid! I did not say that there was anything wrong with you, I said there was something wrong. Unresolved issue?! What the hell does that even mean?”
“You know for someone who’s claiming to be so perceptive of what’s ‘wrong,’ you’re really awful at being self-aware. I mean…the attitude, the distance, the–the closed off expression at dinner! I mean wh-what the hell was that!” He grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek as he finished his heated spiel.
I couldn’t help but scoff at his words. Me not being self-aware! “Oh, please. Ladies and gentlemen, a world class behavioral analyst!” I gestured to him sarcastically, like a ringmaster would with his gags, hoping that Spencer could realize how ridiculous he sounded. “You tell me why I was acting so strange!” I was livid, the words that came out didn’t seem to make any sense. I just wanted him to feel what I felt.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Let me play my part,” he pathetically bowed to me, exaggerating his movements. “Here, I’ll sit and do the things that you can’t, and practically feed into all your insecurity!” He mockingly laughed, “because that’s what this is all about right? You’re not getting enough attention?”
I groaned in frustration, “You are so infuriating!” I could feel the anger ripping its way through my skull.
“And you’re so invasive! All I needed was time and space to figure a few personal things out. I’m sorry that we’re not at a point in our relationship where I’m expected to tell you every bit of my life.” He pointed to himself with such ferocity, although it was the pure indignation in his eyes that sent a harsh chill into me. “I’m notcomfortablewithyou, and that’s that.”
I couldn’t ignore the way his words stabbed their way into my heart upon hearing them. They violently ripped open a cavern in my chest and settled there. My moment of hesitation must have caught him off guard and he reeled back slightly, as if aware of what he had said. The air in the room began to shift as the silence danced between us, taunting us.
Beyond my control, my lip quivered slightly as I stared at him, my eyes growing wetter by the second, “Is that…is that why you’re cheating on me?” I asked, my voice coming out shockingly small. I was never the best at showing my emotions and being vulnerable, but if he was going to break up with me, he had to do it now before the dam released.
His eyebrows cinched together, his mouth following suit. He turned his attention away from me, taking his head in the palm of his hands. The tips of his fingers rubbed at his temples while I stood there helplessly. It was as if my words were obsolete in his ears, getting lost in the thick air. His shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed; his eyes were also scrunched closed like he was tired of hearing my voice. “God, y/n,” he whispered, dropping his head, “can we not get into his right now?”
A ball had expanded in my throat, and the gates that fortified every tear I suppressed crumbled. My chest compressed and expanded at the same time, leaving me in an aching loop. “Did… Are you just…” I bit my lip as it continued to tremble, stifling the sobs crawling up my esophagus. I leaned my head back, diverting my attention to the ceiling to save the last bit of my composure.
Soon enough, the fire from before mixed with the saltiness of the fluid staining my cheeks. I had needed some part of me alive–I needed part of me to live for me. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the constriction of my muscles, contrasting with the exhaustion coursing through my head. At this point, I didn’t know if I was going to fall or peak. I didn’t know if I was on that precipice again or if I was soaring into a disposition much worse.
It was poetic if you thought about it. The pain and exhaustion was my kerosene to an unforeseen ember. He sighed, reaching my prodding eyes once again, “I’m just… I’m getting a headache from all this.”
“Spencer fucking Reid, ladies and gentlemen.” I brought my middle fingers under my eyes, wiping away the pain and grime. I shook my head, biting my bottom lip but not biting my tongue. Not this time. “All you can fucking say is that… you have a headache?” I scoffed. “Well you know what Dr. Reid-”
“Y/N, we’re not getting into this.” He began to cower away, brushing past me to get to the kitchen. Gently pushing me aside, he dared not to look back at my provoked visage.
“No, let me talk” I asserted.
“You can talk however the hell you like, y/n.” Spencer turned around, shrugging his shoulders like an odd air of indifference. His head was still in his clutch, explaining his lack of eye contact. “But I sure as hell won’t be listening to you.”
“Funny how I’m causing you a fucking headache cause your mouth is doing the same damn thing to-”
“Y/N…”
“GOD, can you let me speak!” I huffed, feeling an overpowering shock shoot through my resolve. Sparks fused with the blood in my veins and the adrenaline felt like battery acid. I guess I was soaring rather than falling.
“Y/N, I really don’t want to get into this…” His voice went suspiciously soft, although I knew better than to let that hinder my determination.
“Why don’t you see a doctor then?” I spat, unbeknownst to the animosity tied to my words. “You know what?! Why don’t you fuck them too, since you’re on a damn roll!”
The air changed the second those words rolled off my tongue, however, I was unfortunately unconscious to the great shift. Spencer’s hand left his temple, and his head slowly raised to reach my eyeline. He held a blank expression, but by the indistinguishable twitch in his cheek, I knew his nonchalant demeanor dissipated.
“You don’t know a damn thing,” he mumbled in intimacy, like he was reassuring himself. “Maybe I should see a doctor–MATTER of a fact, I am seeing one,” he nodded mockingly, his eyes lined in a penetrating glare.
My heart sank at his words; the ground below me decayed, seemingly unable to support the withered organ. However, if I had known that the world, myworld, would collapse with an unsettling phrase that would follow, maybe I would’ve preferred falling off that peak after all.
“But I’m not fucking anyone, y/n. I never did.” The words left him breathless and gritted with every syllable, although that didn’t take away from the pure abhorrence towards me.
“I’m sick… Are you satisfied now? My mind is slowly deteriorating, my mother’s illness is slowly killing me,” he cried, “an-and all you care about is yourself.” His face fell to the floor, hiding the blotchy redness invading his cheeks. “Frankly, with whatever lucidity I have remaining… I would rather spend it on anyone better thanyou…”
-
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to be true, to not be true taglist: @sassymoon@jackiehollanderr@gubleryum@cielo1984@allexthakatt@escapingrealities
THAT’S RIGHT OUT TOMORROW!!!! I and @goldentournesol are incredibly excited to have worked on this project, see ya’ll soon
◌ ˚ ୨ ໒꒱ SPENCER REID:: ABROSEXUAL, ACHILLEAN AND PANSEXUAL PRIDECONS ◌ ୧ ₊* ᩿
- ◇ . * don’t repost * ☆ °
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◌ ˚ ୨໒꒱SPENCERREID+TOTHEMOON◌୧ ₊* ᩿
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taglist::@cherry-del⊹⁎⁺.@buckleyhans⊹⁎⁺.@tenelvez⊹⁎⁺.@raeganlewis⊹⁎⁺.@ropoto⊹⁎⁺.@usercordelia.⊹⁎⁺.@meganskane⊹⁎⁺.@ben-barnes-enthusiast⊹⁎⁺.@ssgay-jareau⊹⁎⁺.@slytherbun⊹⁎⁺.@paulitalblond⊹⁎⁺.@hotchgan⊹⁎⁺.@lumosemily⊹⁎⁺.@lavenderspencer⊹⁎⁺.@ssa-sapphic⊹⁎⁺.@lcvingprentjss⊹⁎⁺.@dalexandriag16⊹⁎⁺.@sapphicalexblake⊹⁎⁺.
◌ ˚ ୨໒꒱SPENCERREID+TOTHEMOON◌୧ ₊* ᩿
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Small Gestures
Summary: After a reading lesson with your favourite colleague, you become entirely distracted with his hands. To begin with, it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed but things aren’t always what they seem.
A/N: I wasn’t kidding when I said multi-fandom! I’ve been binging Criminal Minds and couldn’t resist.
It had all started so innocently.
It had been a quiet few days, strangely so for the BAU, but unfortunately for you that also meant that paperwork had become the top priority.
Weighed down by the compact text you were trying your best to skim through, you quickly gave up and slapped the heavy file onto your already cluttered desk. Groaning, you rubbed the heels of your hands over your tired eyes.
“You okay?” Came a familiar voice from your left.
Swinging your chair to face Spencer, you gave him a lazy smile – the kind you knew made his eyes dart down to your lips, as much as he always clearly tried to stop himself. Smile widening into a full grin as he did exactly as you anticipated, you decided to take pity on him with a distraction.
Pushing the discarded file further from yourself on the desk, you looked to his uncluttered workspace and felt an envy burn through you. “How come you don’t have any paperwork?” Your whined question had been paired with a childish pout of your lips, something that had pulled his eyes straight back to them. Looking down to your hands, you wryly considered the fact that you weren’t doing a particularly fantastic job of distracting his easily diverted attention.
When he recovered himself, attention finally seeming to focus on the question you had posed, he shook his head as though to clear it before answering. Tapping his pen against the desk in an almost nervous manoeuvre, he twisted his lips with the words; “well, about eighty percent of all paperwork is simply reading. So, it doesn’t take me that long and…” He trailed off at the squeaking sound of your chair’s wheels shifting – eyes darting to you as you stood and moved to his desk.
“Teach me,” you requested playfully.
As was often the case, the doctor was unsure how exactly to respond to your playfulness. This time he settled into a serious response – seemingly taken aback by your request, he looked at you with a crinkled brow. “It’s not something you can learn in ten minutes,” he tried to reason.
One hand on the back of his chair, you peered over his shoulder. “C’mon,” you murmured close to his ear, “indulge me, doc.”
As you had anticipated, he obliged you quickly.
To begin with, he had simply talked you through how it worked. You were surprised by how much verbal explanation was apparently required but you had always been happy to listen to him ramble on about anything and everything. After the stress that had bunched your shoulders due to your excessive paperwork, it was relaxing to listen to his voice.
Eventually, he moved onto a practical demonstration. And that was when disaster struck.
It had always been fairly obvious to you that you found Spencer attractive. Your eyes would often linger a little too often, albeit more subtly than his, and your heart often fluttered when you looked at him. The way that he often looked at you, unable to stop himself despite the obvious heaviness in his gaze, never bothered you. If some small town local detective ever looked at you with that same, subtle longing, you would immediately make it clear you were not interested. Those kind of looks felt uncomfortable because you didn’t want them. But with Spencer, it was entirely different. You almost revelled in how hard he clearly found it to keep his eyes off you.
You had always felt as though you held the power in your not-quite-relationship with him, able to pull his gaze to you whenever you craved it but always in control of your own reactions to him.
Until this fateful afternoon, at least.
The lithe finger that slid down the page took entirely too much of your attention, your mind wandering over all the possibilities attached to his large hands. Tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips, you felt the hand gripping the back of his chair tightening as your mind wandered a little too far from the very professional workplace you were currently occupying.
Of course, he noticed the change in your demeanour. “Are you okay?”
Delayed, your brain struggled over a response. “Uh…” you let out dumbly before forming a more coherent response that was still filled with stuttered pauses. “Yeah, I’m fine… J-just trying to – uh – keep up.”
Confusion crimpled his features briefly before he nodded offhandedly and continued his instruction; once again drawing your eyes to his fingers and sending your thoughts scattering in a salacious direction once again. How you were supposed to keep your composure, in this situation you had placed yourself in no less, you weren’t sure.
Luckily for you, your job very rarely allowed long periods of relaxation and the pair of you were quickly interrupted by Garcia’s clacking heels. “We’ve got a case, kids!” Her voice whizzed past the two of you, almost trailing behind her as she tottered past you.
Strangely, instead of jumping into action as you normally would, the pair of you paused. Eyes catching one another, a moment of silence stretched between the two of you. Eyes ducking shyly from yours after only a more extended gaze, he closed the book slowly and placed the heavy tome back on his desk. “We should get going,” the words were less than enthusiastic and he made no immediate attempt to move away from you.
Although, neither did you. Instead, you met his gaze once more.
You were forced to move, however, when Morgan appeared behind the two of you. “You two not hear the woman?” he asked, a grip on your shoulder grounding you into reality. “Let’s go,” he encouraged, a hand gesturing for you to move.
Spencer very quickly came to his senses and jumped up from his chair, sending it skittering backwards on its wheels in his haste to escape. He spared you a final glance before rushing away entirely.
Your thoughts threatened to spiral over his hands once more but Morgan unknowingly pulled you back. “He alright?”
Too quickly, you responded with an aggressive nod. “Think so,” you muttered before rushing to the meeting room.
——————————————————————————
As days went by, your ability to concentrate around Spencer diminished at an alarming pace.
The first time it happened again, the pair of you were discussing case details in the cramped spare office of a police station in rural Louisiana. The room was hot, to put it mildly. You had popped loose the top few buttons of your shirt, your modesty mostly covered by a black camisole you wore underneath but even that barely allowed you relief. It was almost hard to look at Reid, with all his layers of clothing still firmly in place, the mere appearance of his sweater vest almost infuriating in this heat. How could he still be wearing that?
The air conditioning unit stuttered uselessly in the corner as you fanned yourself with a crudely folded paper fan. He faltered in his words, mouth opening as if to say something else but clicking back shut when he thought better. “What?” You asked, suddenly impatient.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted in his seat, eyes darting back up to your eyes when he noticed your gaze. You felt some relief when you wondered over where exactly those eyes had darted up from. Although that thought sent an entirely new heat stifling through the room.
“Well,” he started slowly, before launching into a very in character explanation. “Fanning yourself is only going to make you warmer.” Immediately believing him, even without the imminent explanation, you tossed your poorly made fan back onto the table. “The contraction of your muscle actually creates heat in your body and therefore actually warms the air around you even more-so.”
You grumbled incoherently in response.
“Sorry,” he gave you, sheepish.
Perplexed, you leaned further over the table. “Why? You’re stopping me from overheating.” He nodded, eyes returning unseeingly to the papers before him. “Although,” you injected enough playfulness into your tone that he immediately looked back up with that perfect mix of excitement and trepidation. “You could fan me, huh? Then I wouldn’t get too hot.” You gave him an obvious wink, letting him know you weren’t really expecting him to perform such a service for you.
Still, in a pedantic show of dramatics, you slid the fan over the table towards him. You were gifted a lopsided grin as he leaned forward to take the outstretched object from you. Just briefly, the pads of his fingers brushed against yours before he pinched the folded paper from your grip.
Too obviously, you sucked in a heavy breath at the contact but he seemed too distracted by the dimensions of your fan to notice. “You know if you wanted to make this more effective you should actually fold it more like this.” Slender fingers turned the paper over, creasing it multiple times and presenting the finished product to you with a grin. “See?”
You would have replied, surely, were you not so distracted. His hands worked so quickly, effectively – every movement almost exactly calculated to complete his task. It was almost impossible not to consider other tasks he could complete with similar dexterity and efficiency.
You weren’t entirely sure what was wrong with you. It wasn’t like you to get so stuck on something so simple, but it was beginning to severely impact your ability to think around the man.
The second time it happened was immediately afterwards, except there were far too many witnesses for you to come away unscathed.
The rest of the team rapidly bundled into the small room, their body heat causing you to almost melt into your chair but you kept your groan of aggravation to yourself. Prentiss almost collapsed into the chair beside you; the pair of you sharing an overheated look of similar distress.
Quickly, Hotch directed the group to summarise what details had been gathered about the case. Morgan and Prentiss quickly confirmed they had found nothing of particular interest from the victim’s home; Rossi explained that the crime scene indicated high levels of aggression; and JJ gave a rundown of her conversation with the wife.
When it was time to talk through the geographical profile, you were more than happy to let Reid jump up and explain your work to the team. It seemed far easier than peeling yourself out of the chair and sweating through an explanation that Spencer would enjoy delivering far more than you. Although your plan failed almost immediately.
Spencer had always been expressive with his hands, but you swore there was something different about how he used them in this explanation. His fingertips slid over the circles he had marked onto the map as he described… something… to the team. You reassured yourself that it didn’t really matter if you didn’t listen; you had worked up this profile with him so you could afford a little distraction.
In resistance to biting your bottom lip, you chewed on the end of your pencil in a mock show of thoughtfulness. But then, something strange happened. With his fingers still running along the lines of the map and his mouth still working to explain his train of thought, his honey eyes flickered over to yours. It was a quick little look, something strange sparkling in his eyes, but he didn’t stumble in his words as he usually would and he looked away so quickly you could forgive yourself for considering it a mere glance.
That was until he looked back at you. It was subtle enough that no one else seemed to notice, and his lips quirked up slightly before he looked away and continued with his explanation. He tapped one particular spot on the map with a pair of fingers before circling them around the spot once and moving on to do the same with two other locations. By the time his fingers had moved off the board entirely your eyes narrowed as you stared him down. He couldn’t know what he was doing to you, surely he couldn’t.
Hotch’s voice quickly commanded the attention of the room. Well, all except for yours and the doctor’s. Boldly, Spencer caught your gaze again and at the sight of your intensity trained on him he was forced to stifle a gleeful yet breathy laugh. Internally, you cursed him.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Luckily, you managed to tune back into the conversation in time to hear Hotch’s orders. Thankfully, you weren’t expected to move from this room. Unfortunately neither was Spencer. The two of you tasked instead with narrowing down the location even further.
Your pencil was still caught between your teeth, eyes refusing to leave the back of Spencer’s head. He had turned to look at the board again, leaving himself free from your dissecting gaze as the others quickly left the room.
“Looks like the heat’s getting to you, huh?” The unexpected voice beside you pulled a yelp from you and sent the abused pencil clattering against the table.
Eyes darting to face him, narrowing in a glare this time, you scolded him. “Jeez, Morgan, you scared the shit outta me.”
“Not my fault you’re so distracted,” he told you. The wickedly amused smirk he paired with the words made you sink several centimetres in your chair. Of course Morgan noticed your obvious distraction at the hands of Reid.
Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you sent him a half-hearted glare. “Bite me,” you bit out, grumbling as he chuckled and left the room.
Eyes following Morgan from the room, Spencer quickly approached you as the door clicked closed. Instead of taking the chair he had previously occupied, he dropped into the one directly beside yours. Raising an eyebrow at him, you tried to follow his example and concentrate on the board in front of you. That clearly was not where he desired your attention, however, as he quickly began thrumming his fingers against the desk.
They caught your eye, as he had likely calculated they would, but you resolutely decided it was time to take control of this situation. He had enjoyed this for far too long.
You stood up quickly. With a single, huffed iteration of his name you managed to gain all of his attention. He gave a curious hum in response, eyes darting to you and immediately shining with that addictive mix of excited trepidation at your approach. You turned his chair for him, leaving him looking up at you and you revelled in the way his Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he craned his neck.
“It’s like a thousand degrees in here, Reid.” You began, softly untucking his tie from his vest. You moved slowly, ensuring he knew he could pull away if that’s what he really wanted. If anything he shifted imperceptibly towards your hands. “Let’s loosen this tie a little, hm?”
“Uh-“ he struggled, squirming as your fingers brushed his neck, “sure.”
Loosening the already wonky tie was too quick, you wanted him to suffer a little longer. Tucking the loosened tie back into his vest you tapped his chest lightly as you wondered over what your next move should be. His top button was rarely done up and today was no exception but the button below it was tightly secured.
Slowly, you walked your fingers up his chest and towards this button. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as your fingers stopped over your target. You looked up to his eyes as though to ask permission and he tilted his head to the side, eyes trained so steadily on yours. You felt his hand close over your wrist, two fingers swiping over your hammering pulse. At the sensation, he shot you a smirk filled with pride.
Maybe he was still winning in this strange game of yours. It didn’t really matter, you were enjoying yourself too much to continue keeping score.
With one hand, you skilfully undid the button. Hooking one finger beneath the fabric, allowing your knuckle to brush against the skin you had just revealed, you pulled the fabric open by mere millimetres. It was doubtful anyone else in this situation would find such a small reveal so intensely satisfying, but the idea that he was letting you do this in only a semi-private space sent your heart pounding just a little more. Something he clearly noticed, given the widening of his grin as his fingers pressed slightly over your pulse.
Distantly recalling that the pair of you were actually at work right now, you flattened your palm against his chest and pushed him back slightly in his chair. “Much better,” you lamented, softly pulling your wrist free and turning back to your own chair.
“Shall we get back to work?” You asked, as you dropped into the chair, the playful tone never quite escaping your voice.
