favorite insomniac | spencer reid
a little warm-up exercise i just finished <3 you can't sleep, so you decide to call the only other person you know who would be awake at this hour. ~500 words
You donât get insomnia. Usually, you fall asleep quickly and easily, and then devolve into any number of nightmares or vivid dreams or somethings that cause to you wake up feeling like you hadnât slept at all.Â
Obviously not great. But not insomnia.
You roll over once again, after what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes of lying as still as possible and trying to will your body to be tired. You check the time on your phone; 3:14 AM.Â
Ugh. You have to be at work in less than 6 hours, awake in less than 5. Closer to 4, if you want to actually look presentable.Â
You groan, scrubbing your hands over your face and barely resisting the urge to start punching your pillows.Â
And then you give up.Â
Thereâs one insomniac you know whoâs got a pretty good chance of being awake right now. You've dialed the number before you can even think about it. The line rings once, and you realize what an inappropriate, quite possibly disrespectful choice this had been. Youâre about to hang up, hovering over the red button, when you hear him.Â
âHey,â he says, voice raspy.Â
Oh god, oh god. âPlease tell me I didnât wake you up.âÂ
âNo,â Spencer chuckles bitterly, âYou didnât. Whatâs wrong?âÂ
âI canât sleep?âÂ
His eyebrows raise halfway to his hairline. âSo you called me?âÂ
You and Spencer are coworkers. Youâre friends. You just donât really hang out much outside of work and work-related events. Not that you havenât wanted to, you just⊠donât really know how. Or if you should. Or if it would be particularly smart.Â
âIâm so sorry. I figured if anyone was liable to be awake right now, itâd be⊠I wasnât thinking. Iâll let you go, IâmââÂ
âHey, itâs alright,â he says, amused. Youâre the only person he ever gets the opportunity to calm down; heâs usually the most nervous person in the room. âThis doesnât usually happen to you though, does it?âÂ
âNo,â you huff, flopping back against your pillows. âIâd ask you for tips, but whatever youâre doing clearly isnât working.âÂ
âThatâs nice.âÂ
âAm I wrong?âÂ
âNo, youâre not wrong.âÂ
You make a self-satisfied little âhmphâ sound.Â
âWhat did you call me for then?âÂ
Something in the timbre of his voice makes your heart speed up. âI donât know, human connection across the ether that is 3 AM?â The sense that youâre the only two people in the universe. The sound of his voice. Not that you could say that part out loud.
âWanna go for a drive?â
Huh? âWhâ We have work in, like, 5 hours.âÂ
âOh, you havenât been counting, have you?â
âYou mean like thinking âif I fall asleep right now at this moment I could get 5 hours of sleepâ but then I still donât fall asleep and I watch the minutes go by until itâs only 4 and a half hours and then I get angry at myself for being awake and then Iâm somehow even more awake?âÂ
He chuckles, dark and rich through the phone. âThe classic trap. Never count the hours.âÂ
âNow you tell me.âÂ
âAlright,â he grunts, and you hear him shuffling around, âIâm picking you up.â
âYou're what?!"
"I'm picking you up," his voice lilts up, almost like a question. But not like he's asking for permission, more like he's teasing you. Like he knows your answer anyway.
"Now? You have a car?âÂ
âYes, now. And yes, I have a car,â you hear jingling on the other end. âYouâre gonna like it.â
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I CAN SEE YOU | Spencer Reid x FBI!Reader
Request: Congrats on 2k!!! Could you write something based off of âI can see youâ by Taylor Swift with Spencer please?
Description: Spencer may or may not have a thing for the cute desk jockey on the fifth floor. But little does he know, she may or may not have a thing for him too.
length: 1.2k
warnings: literally nothing but fluff, season one Spencer in mind, what a cutie (I adore this gif he is so freaking CUTE I love him)
He passed through the lobby at the exact same time every day. Usually with his head dug in an obnoxiously thick book, or fiddling with the strap on his satchel bag, or flicking his long curls out of his sweet, hazelnut eyes. Sometimes with thick round glasses perched on his slender nose, sometimes nothing but a thoughtful, musing frown.Â
Not that she was obsessed with him.Â
But it wasnât hard to acknowledge that whoever the guy on the sixth floor was that seemed to stick to an incredibly tight schedule had the face of a god.Â
Though she supposed he could say the same about her seeing as they seemed to enter the elevator at nearly the exact same time every single day, never saying a word, a brief nod of hello was about the extent of their interaction. One time he had pressed the button for her floor, number five, for her, and she hadnât stopped smiling the rest of the day.Â
Of course there were times he and his team would be away on a case, in which she wouldnât see him for days on end, while she went to her lonely desk in forensics no matter what case had come up.
In the grand scheme of things, she was a desk jockey, inputting numbers and data and figures, organising files and sheets and loading ink into the printer. She was a nobody and he was part of the BAU.Â
No one would even notice if she didnât show up for the day. At least that was what she hoped as she sped walked out of the cab, her hair soaking down her back, her lungs puffing in a crackling wheeze, frantically tucking her tight shirt into her dogtooth pants, limping on her ankle that sheâd rolled racing out her apartment building into the raging storm that had overcome Virginia in a matter of hours.Â
She felt socks wet through as she squelched her way into the elevator, barely noticing the usual passenger that was tracing a bony finger down the page of Pride and Prejudice, quickly flicking over the page in a matter of five seconds.Â
He looked up when she hopped in beside him, squeezing in as a handful of other people followed her, trying desperately to even her hair out in the large mirror behind them; only then realising her mascara had smudged down her cheeks entirely, making her look like sheâd slept in a pile of charcoal.Â
âFuck,â She said loudly, her hand slapping over her mouth when she realise the deadly silent elevator full of federal agents turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as if her face hadnât been embarrassing enough, âS-sorry,â She muttered, turning her head to the ground as she frantically wiped beneath her lids with her cardigan sleeve.Â
Turning to see if he had noticed, she caught him staring right at her, and she could have sworn the heat on her face blazed even harder when she saw he was smiling into his book in amusement.Â
Fuck. She repeated in her head this time, taking a small sigh of relief when the doors opened on the first floor and half the passengers trickled out onto the finance floor.Â
She was still fixing her hair by the time they got to the second floor, communications, and even more people got out. By the third floor, it was just the two of them left.Â
âBad morning?â He broke the silence, and it was the first time sheâd ever actually heard his voice. He was even dreamier than sheâd thought, in a boyish kind of way.
âCar battery died, and the bus was full,â She murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves that were entirely sodden, âAnd then apparently someone up there hates to see pretty girls get to work looking dry and respectable,âÂ
He chuckled properly, and she swore it soothed the ache of the cold rain just the smallest bit.Â
âDonât we all,â He mused, though his eyes went back to his book, flicking over the words than she figured would be possible.Â
She figured he didnât want to be bothered by the drowned rat looking woman that had all but thrown herself into the lift beside him, interrupting his reading with her curses and pitiful glances.Â
It was only when they reached the fourth floor that he quickly rooted around his bag for something, likely a bookmark since he didnât seem the type to dogear a perfectly neat page, and it wasnât until a soft, moss green sweater was thrust in her face she snapped out of her self loathing daze.
Looking at him wide eyed, he nudged it towards her hands, and it was like Spencer only just realised that offering a stranger your clothes was perhaps not normal, but he didnât feel like they were strangers.
She was the first person heâd ever met in the building besides Gideon. He remembered the two of them stepping into the elevator, the bashful woman already flicking through files, her lanyard hanging low over her chest as she chirped good morning to Gideon and he did the same, wishing her a good day when she stepped out onto floor five.Â
He couldnât help if he was so perceptive heâd clocked her name and position written on her ID, couldnât help it if he was a huge fan of routine and repetition, that he purposely walked into the lobby at the same time every day knowing she was going to be right behind him just for an excuse to see her.Â
No, they certainly werenât strangers, Spencer tried to reason, yet he wasnât even sure she knew his name.
âT-take it,â He stuttered, watching the doors close and the lift jolt as it ascended to her floor, âYou can just bring it back tomorrow,âÂ
âThatâs- I couldnât,â She reasoned, her eyes fretful, âItâs yours,â
âIâm not using it, you must be freezing,â Spencer reiterated it with another nudge towards her, and he saw the longing glance she gave at the promise of warmth.Â
Number 5 dinged above them, and the doors slid open.Â
âJust take it, please,â He said, and it seemed like that was the magic word as she cautiously took it out of his hand, and melted when she realised it was softer than sheâd thought, like it was made to feel like a giant hug.Â
âThankyouâŠâ She said, heading for the doors with slow steps, as if she didnât want to leave whatever moment heâd caught her in.Â
âSpencer,â He replied, smiling at her with a shy cadence.Â
âThankyou, Spencer,â She said, and gave him her own name back. But he already knew it, and he realised he would sound like a complete creepy stalker if heâd said so. So he just nodded, a small wave off as she headed for her office and the doors closed behind her.Â
He loved how she said his name, he thought blissfully, but he loved even more showing up to work day after to see her waiting by the elevator, his sweater washed and ironed, pressed neatly in her hands and still warm from where sheâd tumble dried it.Â
She handed it back to him with a sheepish smile, and he took it gracefully, catching a whiff of her fabric softener and felt fuzzy inside right there and then.Â
âGood morning, Spencer,â She said sweetly, and he swore he wanted to kiss her the minute it left her lips, glossed with something rouge and shiny.Â
But he didnât, he just said it back, loving how her name rolled over his tongue.Â
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