13atoms
Sometimes I Remember How To Write
Em, she/her, 20s (18+ only please!)
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💕💕 me too!! thank you!
Airplane Mode (Spencer Reid x Reader)
A quick blurb about Spencer Reid and his SO finally getting a resort vacation! (Or holiday, because I’m a Brit and saying vacation feels weird). Insp by the slightly weird holiday I’m currently on lol | 1k fluff
Holidays were a bad omen for the BAU. Like complaining a night shift in a hospital is too quiet, or that it hasn’t rained in a while. Holidays meant something was bound to go wrong. So you’d waited until the very last minute to book the flights. Packed your suitcases two hours before leaving for the airport.
You hadn’t allowed yourself to be excited to go away, or even to tell many friends you’d be on holiday.
The louder you said it, the more likely it was that Spencer would be called into work, and the whole thing would fall to the wayside in a series of frantic phone calls. Ultimately, it would only mean Spencer felt awful, and guilty, and it would have been better if you’d never planned anything in the first place. It wasn’t his fault, you couldn’t resent him for it, people’s lives were at stake.
But you were so excited for a vacation.
Even in the airport, as Spencer passed through security with the lazy, efficient movements of a weary regular flier, you’d been waiting for his phone to ring. For it to all be over. You’d held his arm in the airport lounge, waiting for the gate announcement, not daring to speak a word in case the universe heard you and Spencer had to jump on a different plane before yours had even taken off. Then there would be the arguing with the airline. The money lost, the forms for it to be refunded by the FBI, your bags missing because they were already packed deep into the hold of the plane.
You had clutched your coffee cup, already feeling dread and exhaustion overtaking you.
Then the plane had taken off. You hadn’t quite believed it. Spencer put his phone on airplane mode, and showed it to you.
“We’ve made it,” he whispered, through a smile, “it would be in violation of the Federal Aviation Administration regulations to take a call from work now.”
You shoved your face into his neck, and let yourself begin to feel excited.
The resort was one recommended by a colleague of Spencer’s, boring and relaxing, adults’ only and pleasantly quiet. There was a time and a place for exploring and excitement, but truly the thought of Spencer spending a single week away from work felt like excitement enough.
In the taxi from the airport, when Spencer had turned his phone back on and not received summons from Gideon, you finally let yourself utter the words:
“I can’t believe we’re on holiday.”
“I know!”
Spencer was giddy, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d heard him giggle, and it was so wonderful you had to pull his hand into yours and squeeze it.
“I am so excited to do nothing,” he admitted, though you knew his e-reader contained a small library’s worth of books.
“I just want to eat good food, and spend time with you.”
“I think I’m going to turn my phone off,” he said abruptly, as though he’d only just had the thought he could.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Garcia knows where I am, if there’s a real emergency. That way I won’t feel like I have to check it all the time.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
He smiled at you, and you watched as he shot off a quick text to Penelope, before completely turning his phone off. For a moment there was silence, and you both waited, listening to the sound of rubber on tarmac and feeling the heat of the sun outside. Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. The realisation made you burst out laughing at the same time as Spencer, and you caught a flash of the driver’s backwards glance in the rear view mirror.
“You know what, mine too!”
You turned your phone off in solidarity, and stacked it beside his on the middle seat.
“Swap?” Spencer asked, offering you his phone, but you shook your head.
“Straight into the safe, when we get to the hotel. They can stay there.”
“That’s an even better idea.”
You knew, if it came down to it, if a life was at risk, he’d get the message from the hotel reception and go back to Quantico. That was okay. It was part of who he was, he needed the BAU, as much as they needed him.
There was a chain of people between that decision being made and Spencer finding out, including Gideon and Penelope, who would do everything in that power not to ask him. And that felt good.
For the first day, you let yourselves do only what you wanted to, to explore, to lie in bed, to read. Spencer needed the reminders not to watch every little thing that happened, not to examine poolsides and restaurants like they were crime scenes, but soon that went away and the frown in his brow was smoothed.
He wore swim trunks. He tried sips of your cocktail while floating in a pool. He laughed, and cried at one of the books he read, and ate properly, and let himself spend hours lying against your body in bed.
When you left the hotel, you both forgot your phones, and had to pay the taxi driver to turn around and get them.
“We should just leave them,” you’d joked breathlessly, as the receptionist concealed exasperation and politely led you to the room you’d just checked out of.
“That would be pointless, I’d just have to buy another one –” Spencer was distracted, following the receptionist, working out whether you’d miss the plane in the worst possible scenario.
You could see the stress in him, as the taxi driver waited outside with your bags, his meter running.
“Not if we stay here forever,” you teased, and finally saw the fall of his shoulders, the smile lines appearing on his face.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
Spencer made it a whole 24 hours after landing without getting on another plane, and you considered it a small victory. When he called you on the jet you could almost see him, skin a little bit more tanned, his hair still a little curlier from the sun and the chlorine.
“You’d better bring a souvenir, jet setter,” you teased, and imagined Spencer wrinkling his nose before he replied.
“We’re going to Milwaukee.”
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Spencer Reid x reader, Rossi is readers father, she is not part of the BAU, Curvy and much younger than Spencer at 26, loves how smart he is and likes to learn about facts she’s just not as smart, loves baking. Smut?? Maybe?? Thank you!
With love and kindness, I feel very uncomfortable getting asks copy pasted to loads of different writers? The immensely talented @basketonthedoorstepofthefbi wrote this beautiful piece in response, and I’d feel very weird answering the same request!
#I’ve heard a lot of writers echo the same sentiment#but by no means is my opinion universal!#I just don’t like stepping on toes#and repeated INCREDIBLY specific asks feels like being tricked into that :(
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Airplane Mode (Spencer Reid x Reader)
A quick blurb about Spencer Reid and his SO finally getting a resort vacation! (Or holiday, because I’m a Brit and saying vacation feels weird). Insp by the slightly weird holiday I’m currently on lol | 1k fluff
Holidays were a bad omen for the BAU. Like complaining a night shift in a hospital is too quiet, or that it hasn’t rained in a while. Holidays meant something was bound to go wrong. So you’d waited until the very last minute to book the flights. Packed your suitcases two hours before leaving for the airport.
You hadn’t allowed yourself to be excited to go away, or even to tell many friends you’d be on holiday.
The louder you said it, the more likely it was that Spencer would be called into work, and the whole thing would fall to the wayside in a series of frantic phone calls. Ultimately, it would only mean Spencer felt awful, and guilty, and it would have been better if you’d never planned anything in the first place. It wasn’t his fault, you couldn’t resent him for it, people’s lives were at stake.
But you were so excited for a vacation.
Even in the airport, as Spencer passed through security with the lazy, efficient movements of a weary regular flier, you’d been waiting for his phone to ring. For it to all be over. You’d held his arm in the airport lounge, waiting for the gate announcement, not daring to speak a word in case the universe heard you and Spencer had to jump on a different plane before yours had even taken off. Then there would be the arguing with the airline. The money lost, the forms for it to be refunded by the FBI, your bags missing because they were already packed deep into the hold of the plane.
You had clutched your coffee cup, already feeling dread and exhaustion overtaking you.
Then the plane had taken off. You hadn’t quite believed it. Spencer put his phone on airplane mode, and showed it to you.
“We’ve made it,” he whispered, through a smile, “it would be in violation of the Federal Aviation Administration regulations to take a call from work now.”
You shoved your face into his neck, and let yourself begin to feel excited.
The resort was one recommended by a colleague of Spencer’s, boring and relaxing, adults’ only and pleasantly quiet. There was a time and a place for exploring and excitement, but truly the thought of Spencer spending a single week away from work felt like excitement enough.
In the taxi from the airport, when Spencer had turned his phone back on and not received summons from Gideon, you finally let yourself utter the words:
“I can’t believe we’re on holiday.”
“I know!”
Spencer was giddy, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d heard him giggle, and it was so wonderful you had to pull his hand into yours and squeeze it.
“I am so excited to do nothing,” he admitted, though you knew his e-reader contained a small library’s worth of books.
“I just want to eat good food, and spend time with you.”
“I think I’m going to turn my phone off,” he said abruptly, as though he’d only just had the thought he could.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Garcia knows where I am, if there’s a real emergency. That way I won’t feel like I have to check it all the time.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
He smiled at you, and you watched as he shot off a quick text to Penelope, before completely turning his phone off. For a moment there was silence, and you both waited, listening to the sound of rubber on tarmac and feeling the heat of the sun outside. Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. The realisation made you burst out laughing at the same time as Spencer, and you caught a flash of the driver’s backwards glance in the rear view mirror.
“You know what, mine too!”
You turned your phone off in solidarity, and stacked it beside his on the middle seat.
“Swap?” Spencer asked, offering you his phone, but you shook your head.
“Straight into the safe, when we get to the hotel. They can stay there.”
“That’s an even better idea.”
You knew, if it came down to it, if a life was at risk, he’d get the message from the hotel reception and go back to Quantico. That was okay. It was part of who he was, he needed the BAU, as much as they needed him.
There was a chain of people between that decision being made and Spencer finding out, including Gideon and Penelope, who would do everything in that power not to ask him. And that felt good.
For the first day, you let yourselves do only what you wanted to, to explore, to lie in bed, to read. Spencer needed the reminders not to watch every little thing that happened, not to examine poolsides and restaurants like they were crime scenes, but soon that went away and the frown in his brow was smoothed.
He wore swim trunks. He tried sips of your cocktail while floating in a pool. He laughed, and cried at one of the books he read, and ate properly, and let himself spend hours lying against your body in bed.
When you left the hotel, you both forgot your phones, and had to pay the taxi driver to turn around and get them.
“We should just leave them,” you’d joked breathlessly, as the receptionist concealed exasperation and politely led you to the room you’d just checked out of.
“That would be pointless, I’d just have to buy another one –” Spencer was distracted, following the receptionist, working out whether you’d miss the plane in the worst possible scenario.
You could see the stress in him, as the taxi driver waited outside with your bags, his meter running.
“Not if we stay here forever,” you teased, and finally saw the fall of his shoulders, the smile lines appearing on his face.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”
Spencer made it a whole 24 hours after landing without getting on another plane, and you considered it a small victory. When he called you on the jet you could almost see him, skin a little bit more tanned, his hair still a little curlier from the sun and the chlorine.
“You’d better bring a souvenir, jet setter,” you teased, and imagined Spencer wrinkling his nose before he replied.
“We’re going to Milwaukee.”
#sowwy for the mobile formatting#i just got past the first Spencer’s mum episode i am a WRECK#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid#13atoms#fic#fluff
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girlies i've started watching criminal minds properly and yeah you're so right about sp*ncer r*id
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Working Late (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)
Summary: After a busy few weeks, you spend a friday night in the office catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork which appears whenever the team are whisked away on a case. To your surprise, a colleague decides to join you.
Contains: Fluff, very gentle friends-to-lovers, early seasons spencer, food | 2k words.
If you listened for long enough, you could hear the distant hum of the vending machine.
The office was empty. It was long past the time where other departments turned their lights off, and it became acceptable to sling your shoes off and pad around in socks. The BAU was in high demand lately, and it felt as though the last three cases had been back-to-back-to-back. You could hardly remember what your bed looked like, your apartment floor was covered in clothes from hastily repacking suitcases, and the thought of cleaning it up was enough to keep you in the office.
At 7:30pm, even the most dedicated of your colleagues had rightfully headed home to partners, or sports clubs, or kids. That only left you, and the team’s mountain of paperwork which only grew each time you headed out on a case.
I’ll work late tonight, catch up on everything, then crash for the whole weekend, you’d promised Garcia at lunch. In one breath, she’d claimed that was impressive, that everyone would love you forever for getting it done, and warned you to take care of yourself.
Sometimes it was hard to know how to. You felt dreadful being here, you'd feel worse if you went home, thinking about the work hanging over you. For a moment you lay with your head on your forearm, idly massaging out the headache that had started to form.
Dinner, you realised. You hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe that was why you felt dreadful.
The temptation to just go home would be too strong if you went out to get it, so you headed for the drawer in the kitchen full of takeout menus.
While you were flicking through the pile for the least sticky menus, the elevator doors opened.
It was almost certainly security checking to see who was still up here, or a cleaner making their rounds. Nonetheless, with half the building dark, it was hard not to suddenly be on high alert. In socked feet, you tiptoed back along the corridor until you could see the doors, already sliding closed with the carriage empty.
You crept further forward, until you could see a man, hair slightly damp around his face and a satchel looped over his body. Reid. He was stood behind your desk, peering at the computer you had left on, as though he was confused.
“Evening,” you offered, pushing against the warm fondness you felt as he jolted away from your chair in surprise.
“The computer screens turn themselves off after five minutes of inactivity, and you never leave yours unlocked. I figured something must have happened.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to your socked feet, then back to your face.
“Evening.”
“I just went to get menus,” you held them up limply, and Reid smiled.
“Have you not been home yet?”
“No, I can’t believe you’ve been home!”
“I actually went home early,” he admitted the fact as though he was embarrassed. You were fairly sure Hotch had shoved him out of the elevator doors.
“You’ve snuck back in, them?”
Finally you crossed the bullpen, sinking back into your office chair. Reid perched on the next desk over.
“Couldn’t settle – I figured I could get through everything quickly, save everyone the job…”
“Especially after we’re inevitably called in over the weekend, and all these cases feel like a lifetime ago.”
He smiled grimly.
“Exactly.”
For a moment it was silent, and you felt a little caught at Reid finding you in the office alone like this. Your headphones lay out on the desk, music blaring tinnily from them, and you felt your face grow warm as you reached across to turn the music off.
“So you’re getting food?” he hadn’t moved, gesturing at the menus.
“Yeah. Have you had dinner?”
“Not really. If you don’t mind me joining you…”
“Not at all,” you insisted, “please.”
He glanced over the options you’d laid out, over the three piles on your desk. You wondered how long ago he’d showered, his hair was straighter than usual with the weight of being damp. He was wearing one of his usual jumpers, but he must have put a t-shirt on underneath it. There was something odd about seeing him without a shirt collar. Some insight into what Spencer wore when he wanted to be comfortable, when he thought he wouldn’t be seen.
“I– Thank you. I don’t mind going out to get it?”
“I usually just order it in, and then get security call me down and accept it.”
Reid frowned, no doubt prepared to reel off dozens of stats about security risks.
“Is that allowed?”
“No one’s ever stopped me,” you shrugged, only to delight in Reid’s wide, nervous smile.
He’d never had the chance to be a naughty schoolboy, you’d often reflected, it was why he often seemed to look like he was being called into the principal’s office.
“So long as you make the call…”
“Don’t want to get in trouble?” you teased, and Spencer laughed.
“Absolutely not! That’s the last thing I need.”
“Well then, in that case I’m choosing Chinese. Pick something.”
You tossed him a menu, and he glanced it over before looking up to think. You’d never quite get over the way his mind worked.
Once the order was placed and Spencer had laughed over your stomach grumbling, reality sunk back in. Sat at your desk, on a Friday night, under fluorescent lights.
“Isn’t it funny to have your dream job, and it’s still so boring most of the time,” you mused, and Spencer just chuckled.
He still hadn’t moved to start his work.
“I know what you mean.”
He paused for a moment.
“Was this your dream job?”
Oh, no.
“Is that lame? I assumed this was everyone here’s dream job,” you admitted.
Spencer shrugged, and you found yourself watching him desperately for any kind of redemption from the ache of embarrassment you were feeling in your chest. It shouldn’t matter, whether Spencer thought you were lame. Somehow, it seemed like the only thing that did matter.
“I suppose I never knew where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here.”
You nodded, waiting for him to speak more. Spencer spoke a lot, defended himself with constant talking. It was something different, rare, when he was talking about his own past.
“What am I talking about? Yeah,” he was smiling, and that meant you were smiling right back at him, all toothy and lame, “this is my dream job.”
“If it was really a dream job, they’d pay for our dinners,” you teased, and Spencer laughed.
“That’s true enough. Oh!”
He rifled through his wallet, pulling out a twenty and hunting for more.
“My half,” he offered, “thank you for letting me crash your dinner.”
“Not at all, it’s nice the you’re here! And I wasn’t angling for you to pay me back, Spencer. Don’t be daft.”
“No, you just reminded me, is all.”
He put the cash down beside your hand with an eyebrow raise, and you laughed.
“Thank you.”
You wondered how someone sourced bills so clean, it wasn’t as ratty as the cash you grabbed from your wallet.
“I’ll take it as danger money, in case security squeal on us for ordering takeout.”
“I’m not sure the late night paperwork should the riskiest part of the job.”
He laughed, and finally made a move to stand up. Suddenly you were overcome by the need to stop him from going anywhere.
“What have you got left to do?” you asked.
“Case reports, a few bits of random paperwork, I think there’s a security review and some statements to type up…”
As you talked over the workload, you realised you’d done some of the work Spencer had intended to. He offered to take over on some things, and you knew he’d complete the work perfectly, until finally the workload split between the two of you felt manageable. He pulled a chair over to share your desk, and by the time the food had arrived, you felt far better about your odds of getting home before midnight.
“Do you want to try some of this?” you offered Spencer, catching him watching you.
“Oh, um, yeah actually.”
You hadn’t really meant it. Spencer didn’t share, you’d already double-dipped and your chopsticks had been in your mouth and…
“Do you want a spring roll? These are amazing.”
You let him use his chopsticks to drop a spring roll into your container, and you smiled your thanks as he did. His face was suddenly far closer to you than you’d realised, knees inches apart as you struggled to share one desk.
“Hm,” you mumbled, “that is good!”
“Right!”
For a while you ate in silence, and if you forgot about the fluorescent lights and stale scent of office, it was like you were sharing dinner together by choice. Spencer in his casuals, you still shoe-less, perched casually on your chair, it was nice.
“So, do you have weekend plans?”
He’d be silent for so long, you hardly heard him.
“Hm?”
“Weekend plans,” his voice dropped quieter, less stable. “What are you up to?”
Spencer was asking what your weekend plans were. Spencer.
“I just thought… asking about… asking about your weekend shows that I care for your wellbeing and builds social rapport between colleagues, or… I mean, I think we’re friends at this point? Too? So I just wanted to know what your weekend plans were.”
He was bright red and staring down at his noodles, you could see the rise and fall of his chest, the panic growing in him.
“No, Spencer, I appreciate you asking. I’m, uh, just planning on crashing to be honest. I have to clean my apartment, do all my laundry. Nothing too exciting. And my building’s laundry room is flooded – again – so I guess it’s a long wait at the laundromat.”
Desperate to say anything, to make Spencer feel better – and make sure he didn’t regret talking to you – you found yourself rambling on and on, until he was smiling nervously. Still avoiding your eye, he interrupted you gently.
“Public laundromats have all kinds of risks. My biggest concern is always bed bugs – even commercial machines in laundromats often can’t kill bed bug eggs, leading them to be transferred between customers…”
“Oh, god Spencer, that’s really not making me feel better!”
“No! I just mean… I have in-unit, for that reason. Disinfected regularly.”
You looked at him, bemused, the warm food in your lap forgotten. He paused, and met your eyes, a lock of hair falling over his face. He brushed it back.
“Oh! I meant, I wasn’t bragging about my washer being clean. Uh, you’re welcome to use mine, if you’d rather.”
It was the strangest thing that had ever made your heart clench with fondness. He was still blushing, clearly afraid he’d said the wrong thing, done something weird again. It was your first instinct not to bother him, but at the innocent look in his wide, brown eyes, you found yourself accepting.
“That would be amazing, if you wouldn’t mind, Spencer. Be warned, I’ve got a lot of laundry to do, you can kick me out anytime you get sick of me,” you teased.
“I know, from all the travelling. You’re wearing clothes you never normally wear, presumably because all your favourites need washing.”
You stared at him, processing for a moment. You could see his finger tapping against the side of his thigh, the smile he was trying to hide.
“You can stay as long as you like,” he clarified.
“Maybe we can watch a boxset or something, if you like?”
The raise of his eyebrows was enough to make you laugh, and he quickly looked away, taking another mouthful of rice.
“Doctor Who?”
There was nothing you wouldn’t have watched with Spencer, as you woke up the next morning blessedly free of work calls and lazily made your way to his apartment with two suitcases full of washing and a huge bags of Skittles for Reid. He’d surprised you with a made lunch, and with a freshly cleaned washer and dryer. Despite the way he made himself scarce when you pulled out underwear and bundled it into his washing machine, two hours later, he was brave enough to sneak an arm around your shoulder.
You sank your face to his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart. By the time Christopher Eccleston had met his first Dalek, you knew a lot of your future would be spent on this couch.
#i spent like 3 hours writing this and forgot to eat#relatable reader rn#13atoms#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fic
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It’s been a minute since I’ve watched, but they definitely ordered takeout on Criminal Minds; mostly Chinese whenever they’re pulling an all nighter for a case, but there for sure a lot of scenes of them snacking or eating while working
ah amazing, that's so helpful! thank you!
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god i just dont understand how these sad beige instagram influencers live in homes without things stuck to the walls. i love sticking things to the walls. drawing i did? note from a friend? postcard? that thing's going on the WALL
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hello new friends who came from my Spencer Reid fic! ill always take requests /suggestions/asks, my ao3 is the same name, thanks for hanging around!
#old friends ily I’m glad you’re here too!#trying to find my fic groove again now my books are in the home stretch
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You should totally do a criminal minds/X files crossover!
ahh i'd love to do that! ive been thinking of maybe an episode rewrite or something?
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Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)
Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean
Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.
Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)
The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.
You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.
It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.
Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.
Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.
“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”
You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.
“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”
“Exactly.”
“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”
Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.
“Not necessarily.”
“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”
His eyes snapped from you to his phone.
“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”
You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.
“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.
There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.
“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.
It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.
Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.
“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”
The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.
It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.
When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.
Spencer.
He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.
“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”
“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”
You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.
“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”
He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.
Oh, Spencer.
“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.
“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.
Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.
“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.
You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.
“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.
You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.
“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.
A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.
“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”
“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”
“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”
There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.
A rare breed.
You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.
You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.
“Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.
You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.
“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”
The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.
When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.
“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.
“I think so.”
You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.
“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”
Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.
“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”
“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.
Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.
“I mean, look at it!”
You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.
Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.
“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.
“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.
“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”
Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.
“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”
“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”
He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.
“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”
Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.
“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”
He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.
“Are you okay?” you asked finally.
“I’m okay.”
You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.
“Spencer…”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.
“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”
He didn’t say anything.
“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”
“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”
Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.
“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.
Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.
“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”
“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”
“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”
The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.
“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”
“I… yeah. I suppose so.”
“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”
“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”
You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?
“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.
You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.
“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”
“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”
You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.
“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”
“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.
You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.
“I’ve got no idea.”
Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.
“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”
You frowned.
“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”
“Handsome?”
In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.
“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”
You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.
“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”
Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.
#I can’t believe tumblr fics can still get 600 likes#feeling Incredibly Validated after like a year of 6 notes a fic#if u reblogged this I want to miss you on the forehead#*kiss
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No because saaaame
Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)
Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean
Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.
Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)
The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.
You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.
It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.
Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.
Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.
“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”
You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.
“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”
“Exactly.”
“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”
Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.
“Not necessarily.”
“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”
His eyes snapped from you to his phone.
���I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”
You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.
“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.
There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.
“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.
It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.
Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.
“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”
The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.
It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.
When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.
Spencer.
He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.
“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”
“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”
You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.
“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”
He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.
Oh, Spencer.
“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.
“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.
Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.
“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.
You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.
“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.
You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.
“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.
A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.
“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”
“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”
“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”
There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.
A rare breed.
You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.
You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.
“Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.
You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.
“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”
The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.
When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.
“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.
“I think so.”
You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.
“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”
Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.
“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”
“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.
Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.
“I mean, look at it!”
You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.
Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.
“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.
“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.
“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”
Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.
“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”
“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”
He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.
“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”
Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.
“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”
He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.
“Are you okay?” you asked finally.
“I’m okay.”
You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.
“Spencer…”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.
“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”
He didn’t say anything.
“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”
“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”
Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.
“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.
Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.
“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”
“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”
“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”
The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.
“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”
“I… yeah. I suppose so.”
“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”
“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”
You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?
“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.
You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.
“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”
“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”
You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.
“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”
“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.
You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.
“I’ve got no idea.”
Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.
“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”
You frowned.
“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”
“Handsome?”
In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.
“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”
You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.
“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”
Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.
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UR SPENCER FIC WAS SOOOOO GOOD!! you’re actually such a phenomenal writer like it doesn’t matter what u write i will be the first in line and i will DEVOURRRRR it. you characterized him so well like it came so naturally 😭 i would love to read some more of him written by you!!
That’s so kind thank you so much for the support i loved writing Spencer!! He’s such a babe and a sweetheart I’m gonna try and think of something a bit longer/more high stakes to write for him bc i feel like that’d be fun!
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Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)
Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean
Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.
Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)
The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.
You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.
It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.
Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.
Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.
“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”
You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.
“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”
“Exactly.”
“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”
Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.
“Not necessarily.”
“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”
His eyes snapped from you to his phone.
“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”
You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.
“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.
There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.
“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.
It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.
Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.
“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”
The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.
It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.
When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.
Spencer.
He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.
“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”
“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”
You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.
“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”
He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.
Oh, Spencer.
“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.
“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”
“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.
Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.
“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.
You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.
“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.
You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.
“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.
A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.
“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”
“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”
“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”
There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.
A rare breed.
You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.
You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.
“Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.
You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.
“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”
The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.
When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.
“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.
“I think so.”
You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.
“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”
Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.
“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”
“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.
Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.
“I mean, look at it!”
You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.
Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.
“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.
“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.
“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”
Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.
“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”
“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”
He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.
“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”
Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.
“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”
He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.
“Are you okay?” you asked finally.
“I’m okay.”
You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.
“Spencer…”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.
“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”
He didn’t say anything.
“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”
“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”
Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.
“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.
Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.
“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”
“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”
“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”
The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.
“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”
“I… yeah. I suppose so.”
“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”
“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”
You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?
“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.
You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.
“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”
“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”
You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.
“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”
“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.
You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.
“I’ve got no idea.”
Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.
“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”
You frowned.
“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”
“Handsome?”
In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.
“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”
You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.
“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”
Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#fluff#fic#13atoms#im so sorry if this is ooc
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PLZ WRITE FOR SPENCER I WOULD DIE 🙏🙏🙏
aaaah!! i want to! what should i write??
maybe fluff? i will think!
#this is because of luveline and the way she's so brilliant i fall for every character she writes btw#ily jade and im very worried about accidentally copying ;you haha
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ive never even seen cm but what if i wrote for spencer reid
what then
#ive read a lot of fic so i'd be that horrible second-degree characterisation#he just seems like he's got pathetic babygirl vibes and i like that#alternatively: i miss lockwood and co#requests? maybe? idk you could if you want to.#.. [im on linux but imagine i put the eyes emoji here]#cba to figure out how to do that on ubuntu
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just 😭 finished 😭 your 😭 orlo �� fic 😭 UGHHHHH it was so good! you’re such a phenomenal writer i forgot how much i missed your fics! you made my love for orlo come back tenfold omfg 🥹🥹🥹
omg thank you so much!! Hearing that makes me so happy! I really forgot how much I love orlo ❤️💕
Ily!! Thank you for suggesting him for this!!
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Arm in Arm (Count Orlo x tall!female!reader)
Thank you for the people who recommended Orlo for this! Getting back into writing fic after so long off was very difficult and very slow, but this is a first step! Reader is taller than Orlo (>5'8" or something?) and wearing a skirt.
Fluff (very light hurt/comfort) | Oneshot | 1.6k
It was a generous Russian morning, which looked to precede a deeply pleasant day. The whole world was languid and cheery, with a gentle breeze swaying through the summer drapes and sunlight illuminating patches of the rugs which ran through Orlo’s living quarters. The fire was built in its grate, but unlit, and the chaise longues had been moved to let you bathe in the warmth of the sun instead.
There was a great feast being held somewhere which wasn’t the Palace, and the whole place had breathed a sigh of relief as a great convoy of nobles and royals set off to attend it. It was, Orlo decreed, a rare day off. And the two of you were to enjoy it together.
You groaned and stretched out, wary where your legs were draped across Orlo’s lap. There’s a burning behind your eyes as you closed your book over your thumb, and extend both of your arms over your head. Hours of reading had left a tension in every part of you, yet it quickly melted away.
Orlo closed his own book, stretching himself out like a cat with a groan so gratuitous you were sure he’d intended for the sound to make you laugh. He yawned as he set the books aside and hugged your calves to his chest, making you shout out in shock as you were pulled down in your seat.
Laying flat, you looked up at him, felt the gentle stetch through your spine as he kept a hold of your legs. Orlo was smiling lazily, in a way you hadn’t seen him do in months. You flexed your bare feet, felt the muscles of your calves move against his arms, and threw your head back to stare at the ceiling.
It was painted with great skill, depicting a scene you probably ought to distantly recognise from the Bible. You had no inclination to focus on the brushstrokes for that long. Instead, you enjoyed the settling of your back against soft cushions, and the gentle patterns Orlo was tracing on your ankle.
“You’re too long for his sofa,” he mused, finally setting your legs down and letting them hang off the end of the arm.
He was trapped in, slouched under your legs, head lolling against the cushion behind him. Looking down the length of your own body, you only felt contentment. The Count clearly didn’t have anywhere else he’d rather be.
“I’m too tall for the chaise in my apartments too, the furniture-makers ought to be more considerate.”
You had no quarrel with the chaise. Not really. You were enjoying the relaxing, hazy feeling of having your legs above your head.
“I suppose if it just means we have to be closer together.”
“Tragic,” you murmured, looking back at the ceiling.
Orlo snorted a laugh, pulling his glasses from his face and tossing them onto the side table. When you lifted your head to look at him he was rubbing at the indents his glasses left on his nose. You loved seeing him without them, it was something private. Reserved for you. He squirmed with discomfort when you said it, but he was so pretty without them.
“Does it bother you?” he asked suddenly.
You cocked your head, humming a question.
“Height, I mean?”
Entangled together, you had forgotten he was any shorter than you. Now he looked at your legs, side-by-side, as his stretched out in front of him, and you felt a flash of embarrassment.
“I suppose… sometimes I think I’d prefer being shorter. It would be easier.”
Orlo frowned at you for a moment, and then rushed to speak, his words falling over each other.
“No! That’s not what I meant at all!”
His hand was back on your calf. Orlo’s eyes were wide and sincere, flashed with panic where they had been downcast a moment ago.
“I just meant…” he thought for a moment, thumb rubbing across your calf, “I know it’s not… popular to be seen with men shorter than you are.”
You thought for a moment, that uncomfortable sting in your chest completely extinguished by the slight shine of Orlo’s eyes. There’s nothing wrong with you, you wanted to tell him. You saw how Peter looked down at him, how people made jokes. The way being measured for new clothes would put a damper on his whole day. He’s avoided the process entirely for far too long, until he began courting you.
“Do you think there’s anything I’d want to change about you?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer it? For it to be a little more comfortable when we dance? To have someone… more?”
“All we have are the gifts we are given, Orlo. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”
He struggled to articulate what it was he wanted to say, and you waited, not wishing to put ideas in his head or words in his mouth. His hand found your ankle, and stroked over the delicate bone there. He brought his face to your calf, and mumbled against it as he spoke.
“I just want you to feel protected…”
“I do,” you insisted, quiet and sincere.
For a moment there was silence. You stared back at the ceiling, a maze of richly coloured stories merging into one another. Was that Eve above you, tempted by the serpent? Samson, in the next scene? With long cut locks of hair beside his sleeping face, and the glint of Delilah’s knife against the pillow?
“I’m sorry. You should never have to feel inadequate… I try to slouch. To not make it obvious. I can step further away, if you prefer…”
“I hate when you do that,” he told you plainly, no anger or malice in his voice. “You’ll hurt your back.”
The paused for a while, staring at the carpet.
“You don’t have to change yourself for me either.”
“I know I just feel bad sometimes…”
You thought about him in the moment he thought no one was watching, straining to stand up straighter, rocking on the heels of his shoes, staying seated when Peter walked up behind his desk to speak with him.
“Why would you feel bad?”
“It’s not as though you’re short, Orlo. Lots of women would look fine beside you, I’m just tall. I just know… some men don’t like being the shorter one.”
“I love that you’re taller than me.”
You ignored him. The cut on Adam’s rib was a smear of crimson against delicately painted skin, the paint so fresh it might have been real blood pouring from the ceiling.
“Catherine is tall,” he murmured, “and widely considered one of the most beautiful women in Russia.”
You hummed, and he reached for your hand, pulling it into his lap.
“Probably the second most beautiful,” he teased, and you scoffed at him.
“She’s not that tall. Peter is taller.”
“Peter is far too tall. I often think if he were shorter, he couldn’t get away with as much. He’d be too easy to punch.”
You shushed him, the sound broken by a laugh, and Orlo groaned, hiding his smile against your underskirts.
“I don’t want to make you feel bad about yourself. You have to know, that’s the last thing I want.”
“You don’t.”
He thought for a moment, and tapped his fingers on your skin in the pattern his often drummed into his desk. Finally, he spoke again.
“I love to see how tall you are. I love that I can spot you across a room, that you can do things with such ease. I envy it, sometimes. When I have to rush to keep up with you.”
You groaned as you curled yourself towards him, taking another moment to stretch. That horrid pang in your chest was now absent, replaced with something warm. Your guard was down. The palace was so quiet the outside world might as well not have existed. You indulged your insecurities a little longer, knowing Orlo wouldn’t strike if you showed weakness.
“I always worry that eventually you’ll find someone… easier. Someone shorter.”
“Why would I even be thinking about that, when I’ve got you?”
“A good point.”
It took a great amount of shuffling to lie next to him on the chaise, but it was worth it, to be beside his warm body. He pulled one of your legs over him, offered his bicep as a pillow. His dark, warm eyes staring into yours still gave you butterflies.
“If our heights bother other people, that is their problem. I’ve never known someone who understands me so well,” he murmured, “even if you take up far more of the bed than you ought to.”
“You’ve never complained about me being in your bed. You cling to me –”
“Yes, I understand. I’m teasing you, my love. I want you to take up every bed I ever sleep in.”
“I wish you saw yourself how I see you, Orlo. You’d never feel like you needed to be taller again – you’re the only person I pay attention to in any room.”
“How funny, I feel completely the same.”
You would concede, months later, when the bloodshed had ended and Orlo’s quarters grew far too big for one man, that he had been right to have a longer chaise long made. And when he crushed himself into you after long, arduous nights, his face pressed to your neck, you would both be grateful you could shelter him from the world – even for the shortest moment.
“Do you want to go out today?” he asked, when his arm was going numb from cushioning your head and the sun was high in the sky.
“Perhaps just for some air?”
“That would be nice.”
Your elbows didn’t really fit with one another, formally walking arm-in-arm as many other couples did – though you didn’t feel sorry for it. Instead you took a turn of the gardens hand-in-hand, head held high, all the closer for it.
#count orlo#13atoms#count orlo x reader#orlo x reader#the great fic#fic#orlo#ngl this was harder than i thought and im not very secure in it! so likes comments rbs etc.#very very much appreciated#not really got the fic bug atm but we'll see! i enjoyed doing this again
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