garciasgirl

[garciasgirl]

it’s so sunny and pretty outside I feel like a little fairy frolicking >.<

[garciasgirl]

what I think will happen if I message my mutuals

[garciasgirl]

i just ate sushi and watched spencer reid edits

my life is finally fulfilled !!

[garciasgirl]

do we all agree that spencer would call his gf angel?

we do right

[garciasgirl]

i love love love lana del rey

and whenever I listen to her music i always think about spencer reid

spencer would def listen to lana and i won’t accept any other opinion

[garciasgirl]

THIS IS SO PRECIOUS.

beach volleyball

hotch notices you struggling through volleyball matches and intervenes

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, age gap, power dynamics, fluff, hotch being protective, reader being a people pleaser (just like me fr) prompt: here wc: 0.6k

Aaron watches as Emily and Morgan launch into yet another plea for a rematch — enthusiasm undimmed by the blistering sun or the four, no, five rounds they’d already forced you through. 

From where he sits, sunglasses shielding his scrutinizing gaze, he notes your laughter, the kind that’s just a shade too forced. You’re nodding along eagerly enough — he can practically hear you insisting that yes, of course, another round sounds great — but he knows that politeness is stretched dangerously tight.

You’re caked in sand and sweat — in your hair, on your skin, places he probably really shouldn’t dwell on. But it’s your breathing, becoming increasingly uneven, that truly sets off every protective instinct he’s been trying to suppress all day.

He hadn’t exactly been thrilled about the volleyball idea in the first place. Too many variables, too many ways for you to end up hurt. His mental checklist had been exhaustive: twisted ankles, sunstroke, dehydration. Every scenario plausible, every concern well-founded. 

But he’d bitten his tongue — partly because he knew exactly how it would sound coming from him (overbearing, parental), but mostly because he refused to reinforce the insecurity you carried about being the fragile, delicate addition to the team.

Even if, in his quiet opinion, you very much were.

Aaron leans forward in his chair, setting down the water bottle he’d barely sipped from.

“Hey,” he calls out calmly, injecting just enough authority into his tone to catch your attention without alarming anyone else. When you turn, he gestures subtly, a slight tilt of his chin that makes it clear he’s not asking, exactly, more like strong suggesting. “Come here for a second.”

He’s relieved, maybe even pleased, to see the tension drain from your shoulders. Your smile softens, brightening into genuine gratitude as you deliver an excessively apologetic excuse to Emily and Morgan before slipping to his side.

Aaron pointedly ignores how natural it feels to have you there.

“What do you need?” Your voice is soft, tinged with breathlessness from the exertion, eyes searching his face for some sign of an assignment or request.

Aaron doesn’t answer immediately, simply nodding toward the towel laid neatly to his right, watching as you sit onto the shaded fabric. “You feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” you reply quickly, the sound practically tripping off your tongue.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t you sit here for a little while anyway? Humor me.”

You don’t reply, and Aaron takes the silence as confirmation that you’re genuinely too tired to keep up the polite charade anymore. He leans back a bit, shoulders easing into the chair, watching Morgan and Emily’s increasingly competitive volley across the sand.

“I’m really terrible at volleyball,” you suddenly admit.

Aaron smiles to himself, almost affectionately, though he quickly tamps it down. He’s been quietly confirming your theory all afternoon. A kinder man might have kept that truth to himself, yet he finds himself speaking anyway.

“I had noticed that, yes.”

“You’re not supposed to agree,” comes your drowsy complaint, the words blending as your eyes droop slowly.

His instinct to argue — to remind you he’d never lied to you before and isn’t about to start now  — softens beneath a gentler impulse.

“My mistake. I’ll pretend to disagree next time.”

You murmur something else — quiet, sleepy syllables trailing off into an indistinct, drowsy sigh. Aaron learns forward, trying to catch your meaning, when he suddenly registers the gentle pressure against his leg.

Glancing down, he sees you’ve fallen asleep right there, head tucked neatly against him like he’s the most natural place for you to rest. For a moment, he sits completely still, uncertain how best to react. Protocol has never covered this scenario.

Aaron decides waking you now would be unnecessarily cruel. 

A few minutes won’t hurt anyone, least of all him.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 6 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[garciasgirl]

undercover | s.reid x reader

genre: fluff..? no yeah fluff they just kiss a lot.

content warnings: is kissing a warning idk.

content: secret relationship, spencer is desperate for reader, no use of y/n, bau!reader, pining, like a lot of it, pet names, duh, sassy!reader, flirty!reader, even more flirty!spencer, reader is kinda a menace, spencer loves it.

a/n: new territory for me!! little nervy angels!! alsoooo this is just a random drop, I got bored! i hope all of you angels are having a lovely weekend <3 you guys are loved so so so much!! xoxo, aurora

word count: 1.4k

no one would ever really consider spencer a secretive guy. sure, he had his secrets, everyone did. but spencer, he was just open? or maybe. he had more going on behind the scenes than he let on.

you and spencer had been a thing for a while. it was special, something only you two knew about. at first, you liked the privacy, and in a way you still do. but sometimes you wished you didn’t have to hide how much you loved him. and spencer, oh he felt the exact same way.

the way you knew? spencer couldn’t keep his hands off you. Spencer always needed to be touching you. it’s like you grounded him, it kept him focused. a small brush of his hand against yours as you two walked. his hand resting discreetly on your lower back as someone would give the profile. in public, it was subtle. in private, it was anything but.

you loved how hotch always put you two together, that way you could be alone with him. in the car. and today was the same.

hotch had sent you and spencer down to the local police station, in charge of getting everything set up. you sat in the car waiting for spencer to also get in.

the door opened, a new weight being added to the car, you looked over, your gaze searching over the mess of brown curls and pale skin. spencer looked up at you, a boyish grin playing on his lips.

“hi pretty.” he said, his tone raspy, his eyes focused solely on you. you hummed’ “hi spence..” almost like it was an instinct, his hand darted onto your thigh, resting comfortably like his hand was made for it. his other hand however, rested on your chin, pulling you closer to him. his lips catching yours. the two of you moved in sync, your hands twirling and tugging at his hair. you pulled away, taking a breath.

“don’t get distracted, agent, we have a job to do.” you teased, pointing a finger at him. spencer rolled his eyes, starting the car, his hand still on your thigh. you knew it wouldn’t leave until they got out of the car. “i don’t get to kiss you nearly as much as i should, let me enjoy it.” spencer grumbled, starting to pull out of the hotel parking lot. you laughed, putting your hands up in defense. “you know i love it, love you.” he grins, nodding. “i do.”

as spencer drove the car down the street to the police station, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence. he stopped at a red lightly, immediately turning to catch your lips in his again. you gasped, shocked, before melting into the kiss. pulling away, “focus on the road!” spencer laughed, a deep noise that radiated inside your ears. “can’t, you look really good in a fbi vest, baby.” you roll your eyes playfully, “oh you are such a flirt.” he looks over “only for you.”

spencer wasn’t as shy as everyone thought. well with everyone else, maybe, but with you? he was insanely bold. and you loved it, couldn’t get enough of it.

the end of the car ride came, spencer pulling up to the police station. after he parked and turned off the car, he leaned his head over, resting on the seat of the car. you already knew what he wanted, you moved your head slightly to fit his, and pressed your lips onto his in a quick kiss. it only lasted a second, when you pulled away, he raised an eyebrow.

“can I help you?” you teased, his tongue poked the side of his mouth as he raised his eyebrows again, “that’s it?” you scoffed, “you know what if you’re going to criticize my kissing, then maybe-“ Spencer shook his head, “shut up.” he murmured before twisting his hand in your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you to connect your lips. this kiss, was more passionate than the rest, it was ever consuming and spencer seemed as though he didn’t need air, just you.

your hands rested on his chest as he kissed you, your breath being taken away. you pulled back, gasping for air, Spencer was too. but, he looked content- like he needed that before they started the case. your eyes were glazed over, looking at him with a kind of emotion that made spencer crazy.

“are you ready now?” you questioned, fixing your hair in the mirror, before looking at him. spencer couldn’t take his eyes off of you, his gaze running down your entire being, worshiping you. he nodded slowly. the two of you got out of the car, meeting behind it, you were walking in front of him. a hand grabbed your wrist spinning you around, you fell into Spencer’s chest, his lips catching yours again. you smiled into the kiss, biting his bottom lip, which in turn he pulled away. his hand darted up, “what was that for?” you laughed, patting his cheek, “to help you focus, softy.” he laughed humorously, “im not a softy. that’s all you, baby.”

you looked at him with a pointed expression as the two of you walked up to the station. “oh really? like you don’t make me breakfast everytime im at your apartment? like you don’t bring me flowers every friday?” his eyes squinted, his head dipping to the side in consideration, “okay maybe.” he reluctantly agreed, you smiled triumphantly, a mischievous look in your eyes. he shook his head, “you’re a menace, you know that?”

“obviously?” you replied, “and you love it!”

walking into the police station, spencer changed a bit - he wasn’t as outward with his flirty advances, but you could still seem them. knowing they were still there. when the rest of the team arrived, they all sat in chairs around a big round table. spencer instinctively taking the chair next to you. as the team talked about the case, spencer took your hand, drawing soft shapes on your inner wrist. he could feel your fluttering pulse under his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips.

you looked at him, in way that said ‘what are you doing?’ but spencer simply shrugged and widened his eyes innocently. you laughed internally, what a tease.

as you slipped away from the team, you stood near a empty office; knowing spencer would come and look for you. and he did, of course.

steps sounded behind you, you didn’t turn around yet, you could feel his tall presence behind you. and then, in a quick second, the office door opened and he yanked you inside, shutting the door. you spin around, leaning against the door, spencer looming over you. “well hi there..” you mumble, a smile stretched on your lips. he hummed, leaning down, “hi sweetheart.” you took advantage of him leaning down, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely and pulling him down further to kiss him. he was shocked at first, but slowly melted into this kiss.

as your lips moved against each other, it’s like everything went away, all you could think about was spencer and the way his hands were on you. his hands resting on your hips, digging into your soft skin, you could almost feel the bruises forming already.

as spencer pulled away, he pushed some hair out of your face, tilting your chin up so your gaze met his. for a moment, he was quiet, observing you. he let out a breath, the warm air leaving goosebumps to travel throughout your body. “god..you’re so perfect.” he spoke, his raspy voice making your stomach flip.

“can’t keep your hands off me, hm?” you tease, even though your cheeks were flustered and eyes hazy. spencer leans down next to your ear, whispering. “don’t be a brat..” he said, before nipping your neck, just below your ear. you gasp softly, “you know..some poor guy, is gonna walk into his office and see us, oh even better, what is hotch does?” usually that would make spencer think, but this time he didn’t. shrugging he mumbled against your neck, “let them watch, then..”

you smile, grabbing his face and pulling it too look at yours, pecking his lips once more. you trailed a featherlight touch down his bottom lip. “im sorry for teasing you..” you said, “I’ll make it up to you, but now, we have a job to do.” you winked, opening the door. he sighed shaking his head.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, angel.”

[garciasgirl]

this was so cute my heart can’t take it

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[garciasgirl]

im bored pls send asks :(

literally ask me anything please!!

[garciasgirl]

the nerdy but hot persona belongs to mgg thank you and goodnight

[garciasgirl]

guys i have become obsessed with the rookie

tim bradford..foaming at the mouth

why are they all so fine

it’s like me watching cm for the first time all over again dw tho

spencer and jj my day ones always

[garciasgirl]

it’s true believe me please

[garciasgirl]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ auroras rants .ᐟ

hi my lovely sweet angels it is late and I am so super sleepy but I cannot sleep.

i really really really like kpop which is very known and for anyone who does i cannot get heya by ive out of my head

all day just heya heya heya and i cannot sleep and it’s just repeating in my head

so yes anyway night night

[garciasgirl]

oh my god?? oh my god. yes please I need twelve more this made me feel so warm and fuzzy

spencer x reader || alarms

late night working on a case, the hotel fire alarms on your floor won’t stop going off. what choice do you have other than to crawl to a pining spencer reid’s room to try and get some rest?

warnings: one slightly ? suggestive comment if you squint, mutual pining, not proof read. build up/background of a bubbly!reader i’ve been meaning to write about <3 v short n sweet fluffy!!!

————

“hey,” you whisper when spencer opens the door, pillow crammed under your arm. your sweats are rumpled, long shirt almost hitting your knees under an equally oversized academy shirt, hair mussed and eyes sleepy.

the sight makes his chest burn and his knuckles grip tight against the doorframe.

“hi?” spencer manages to respond, voice confused but still stepping to the side to let you inside automatically.

you shuffle by, pink fuzzy socks peeking over the tops of your dress shoes. it’s ridiculous, the sight of the fluff spilling over the edges of your mary jane’s (unbuckled), made even moreso by how cute he finds it.

“sorry, i know it’s early. the fire alarm on my building won’t turn off, it’s been almost 45 minutes.” you turn once you hit the small kitchenette in his hotel room and awkwardly clutch your pillow to your chest.

after a moment of squinting, eyes unaccustomed to the dim of the room and contactless, spencer realizes that you’re not holding a hotel pillow. rather, it’s covered in little pink daisies and looks far more comfortable than the rocks on his bed.

“i was wondering if i could take the chair in your room?” you ask, continuing despite how spencer’s mind is now racing with thoughts of your pink daisy sheets that he was aware of before tonight (this morning?) but wasn’t expecting to be reminded of when his mind is still hazy enough to crave the warmth of your body next to his.

“you—yeah.” spencer shakes his head in one, fast motion, rapidly switching to nodding when he realizes that could be misread as a no to your question. it makes him dizzy but wakes him up just enough to dig himself out of dreams. when he opened the door, there was a moment where his heart thudded in his chest, sure you were coming here to climb in his bed for other reasons.

not that you ever had before or that he thought you were the type to, of course not that—never that. it was just that his mind was stuck in a molasses of sleep that so frequently rewarded him of dreams where scenarios like that happen. or, even better, dreams where you two simply sit next to each other, your stocking-ed leg pressed against his pants, knocking together, hands intertwined, a warm glow emanating from somewhere for you to read to him by.

those dreams were the worst, just real enough that he could feel the love emanating from your breath, know that you want him close too, only to be yanked away with the spasms of beeps from his phone serving as his alarm.

“yes, of course you can stay here,” spencer finally says after his tragedy of a nod, moving past you and into the bed area of the room to yank the pillow he was using from the bed, “but you take the bed, i can take the chair.”

“no, spence, it’s like 3 in the morning and you’ll get a headache. i intruded on you, i’ll take the chair.”

spencer is shaking his head no before you finish, turning to stare at you. subconsciously, you mimic how he holds his pillow under his left arm and spencer makes a note to research if it’s actually true that attraction causes people to mimic each other.

and, fuck, this is why he had to put distance between you two because his brain can’t just be normal about things. you’re an affectionate person, spilling over with hugs and hands on arms and kisses on cheeks and he can’t help but analyze everything for a sign that it might be more.

“no, really, i’ll take the chair.”

you laugh at him, shaking your head and making your way closer. “let’s just share,” you suggest, tossing your pillow onto the side of the bed not made messy by spencer and rubbing your eyes with two closed fists, digging in deep. “i’m exhausted and we have to get back to it tomorrow. i’m not winning this fight and i can’t have my best brainiac impeded by a headache tomorrow.”

“no, it’s really—“

“spencer.” your eyes are earnest when you look at him, wide and tired and so so hypnotic. he can’t say no, not when you’re blinking up at him, only lit by the obnoxious street lights filtering in through the cheap hotel curtains, in your pajamas, taking in a tired, tiny voice.

“yeah, okay,” he says, forfeiting the back and forth and allowing himself to give in, just for tonight.

you yawn in response, hand coming up to cover your triumphant smile. you look exhausted, climbing into bed and shoving your feet under the sheets with much more aggression than necessary.

spencer climbs in after you, stretching his legs out and flexing his arm so his shoulder pops with a loud click. it’s a testament to how close you are to sleep that you don’t wince and tell him he shouldn’t do that—you always get onto him for it.

“hey,” spencer says after a moment, mind slowing but still moving fast enough to keep him on the cusp of sleep.

you makes a small sound, high pitched, as you roll over and press your forehead to his bicep. “what?” you say, voice half asleep, half complaint.

“is that my academy sweater? i’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“mm,” you hum, head moving up and down against his arm. “you left it at my place. i like wearing it—miss you less when i do.” your voice is trailing off, spencer’s heart is pounding, and he nearly misses the soft sigh you let out before tacking on, “makes m’feel like yours.”

it could mean a million different things, spencer tells himself as he listens to your breath deepen and slow, but he lets himself imagine it means exactly what he wants it to as his eyes settle closed.

[garciasgirl]

i don’t know if i should sob or giggle and kick my feet this was so beautiful and precious oh my god

mariaaa!! i have another idea!! > 3 <

ok, so…

sleepy, needy, & clingy bimbo!reader with hotch

either before they together or when they first get together <3

Hot & Bothered (No, Like, Literally, You Have a Fever) - A.H.

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader is feverish, clingy & just a little delirious, except, not too delirious to shamelessly flirt with your very attractive, very exasperated boyfriend. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: sick!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, soft!hotch, flirty banter, suggestive-ish content, clingy!reader, hotch ignoring all cdc guidelines, reader is kinda being a baby about everything (just like me fr), theatre kid hotch. wc: 2.3k

You started off playing it cute. All little sighs, sending Aaron pouty texts filled with emojis, making sure he knew you missed him, but in a haha, just kidding (unless?) kind of way. Now you're way past that. The cute phase had dissolved into something far more desperate.

You were sick-sick. The terrible kind of sick where your limbs feel like they're made of granite, and your skin somehow manages to burn and freeze at the same time.

Worst of all, Aaron wasn't here.

And really, what was the point of having a boyfriend as stupidly gorgeous, painfully competent, and naturally overprotective as Aaron Hotchner if he wasn't going to be around when you need him most?

You knew you were being dramatic. You knew this was your own fault. Aaron had practically ordered you to let him come home with you, standing there in his office with his disapproving frown, telling you that you shouldn't be alone if you weren't feeling well.

But in your infinite wisdom, you had waved him off, told him to stay at work. Because at the time, you were fine. Or, more so, fine-adjacent. And because sometimes, your brain tricks you into thinking you are a capable, independent woman who does not, in fact, require Hotch-shaped supervision.

So now you're curled up in bed, drowning in the well-worn fabric of his FBI academy hoodie, the one that smells like him. And it helps. But not enough.

Because if he were here, he'd be so good at taking care of you. He'd probably be all bossy and stern about it, telling you to drink your water, go to sleep, and stop pouting. But then he'd turn around and betray himself completely by smoothing your hair back so, so softly, by tucking the blankets up to your chin like you're something delicate. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a soft side.

Maybe you should call him. Maybe you should be really, really pathetic about it and beg him to come home.

Maybe you're just a little too codependent. (Just a little.)

The second the front door opens, you think you must be imaging it. You convince yourself it's the fever, twisting reality into want instead of what actually is. Because Aaron shouldn't be home yet.

You squint at the clock, but it's just a bunch of blurry numbers, and math is already hard enough without feeling like your brain is actively melting.

But then there's the sound of leather against hardwood, and not just any leather.

You know those shoes. The custom Italian Oxfords you forced him to let you buy. He'd grumbled about the price, all exasperated and dramatic (as if he had any real concept of what good leather actually costs), but he still let you drag him to the store. Still let you lace them up for him. Still let you kiss him senseless in the parking lot because he looked too insanely sexy in them to be allowed to exist without immediate compensation.

You'd told him once that good shoes take you good places. And now look where they took him.

Straight home to you.

The relief is so instantaneous, it makes your head spin. And suddenly, he's there, shoulders broad against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes warm despite the unimpressed look he's attempting to pull off.

"My poor baby," he says, half-teasing, but mostly just achingly soft.

Your bottom lip wobbles. "It's not that bad."

Aaron sighs loudly, already loosening his tie as he strides over, assessing the damage, which, in this case, is you, buried under what is objectively a very reasonable amount of blankets.

"Uh-huh." Flat. Dry. But he's already reaching to fix them, like he can't help himself. "That why you're buried in every blanket we own?"

You burrow deeper into said blankets. Maybe if you commit hard enough, he'll stop looking so smug.

"They're comfy."

He crouches beside the bed, undoing the last button on his cuff before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. His touch is cool, and you lean into it immediately, shameless at how much you enjoy his skin against your overheated own.

"You're hot."

You blink at him, dazed, and—without thinking—mumble, "So are you."

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Not because they're untrue, that's indisputable, but because of the sheer pathetic delivery of it, all scratchy and pitiful and nothing like the effortless flirtation you usually bring to the table.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut like that might somehow reverse time.

Aaron, of course, is completely unbearable about it. His lips twitch, and you can see it happening in real time, his struggle not to laugh directly in your face.

"Flattered," he drawls, his thumb brushing over your temple, fingers carding through your hair in slow strokes. "Have you been drinking enough water?"

You wrinkle your nose. "Water is boring."

"You're boring."

You gasp, sniffling as you try to look offended, despite the congestion ruining your tone. "Boring? You weren't calling me boring last night when I—,"

"Okay."

Aaron cuts you off immediately, already leaning down, pressing kiss after kiss to your face—forehead, cheeks, anywhere he can reach. You squeal in protest (or, well, try to, your voice is too weak for it to be truly effective), but he just laughs against your skin, relentless.

"Okay, I take it back," he murmurs, kissing your nose like an apology. Like a bribe. "You're the most exciting person I know. Now be exciting and drink some water before I have to force it down your throat."

"Force it down my throat?" you rasp, a weak smirk pulling at your lips as your fingers prod into his dress shirt. "You promise?"

"So inappropriate." He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, but his hands are already cupping your face, his lips pressing to yours, like he loves kissing you too much to stop himself.

You barely have time to enjoy it before your brain remembers how sickness works.

"Wait, germs!"

Aaron just smirks, tilting your face up with a knuckle under your chin. "Since you brought up last night, that's an interesting concern, considering where your mouth was last night."

You should say something flirty in return. Something about how that was different because it was basically an act of public service (one you love providing). Because that's what you do. You throw him off, make him sigh like you're exhausting and adorable at the same time, watching his ears flush pink when he pretends he's not affected.

But the words never come, instead, your brain hands you a far worse visual. Aaron, like this, but worse. His face pale, head pressed against a pillow, forehead creased with discomfort he wouldn't acknowledge. You can see it clearly, the way he'd insist he's fine, the way he'd make it through a workday half-dead before even considering rest.

And suddenly nothing is funny.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt without thinking, like holding onto him will somehow fix the terrible, awful, no-good mental image you just had.

You're frowning, and you don't even realize it, not until Aaron does, his thumb pressing lightly against the center of your forehead, like he can smooth it away.

"I don't want you to get sick."

"My sweet girl," he murmurs, fingers threading through your hair once before he stands. "I can handle a cold. What I can't handle is you being miserable and dehydrated. Be good and let me take care of you."

Aaron disappears before you can argue and by the time he returns, a glass of water in hand, you've barely had a chance to process how much you missed him in those few seconds.

You watch as he puts it down on the nightstand beside you.

"There. Now drink."

"Yes, sir," you mumble, taking a few small sips just to prove that you're listening.

But if he really wanted you hydrated, he should've just kissed you again.

Aaron's eyes narrow, shooting you a pointed look.

You sigh, loud and put-upon, then take another sip, longer, just to appease him. You make a show out of it, before immediately reaching out, patting the empty space beside you with undeniable urgency.

Aaron snorts. "Didn't last long, did you?"

"I'm sick. I need warmth and love."

He exhales so dramatically, shaking his head. "If that's what my poor, suffering girl needs, then I suppose I have no choice."

Alright, theatre kid.

You bite your tongue, not because you're wrong, but because self-preservation is a skill, and you'd like to see another sunrise. And, fine. If he wanted to pretend like sitting still for five minutes was his own personal crucifixion, then who were you to deny him. It wasn't your fault, he ran himself into the ground, like he was trying to beat time himself, working to the bone until someone (you) had to physically drag him to bed.

You watch, maybe a little too intently, as he kicks off his shoes, undoes his belt, and swaps out his boring, stuffy work pants for the sweats. Your sweats. The ones you have a deeply personal attachment to.

You have history with those sweats.

"You know, you put those on and suddenly I start feeling a whole lot better." Call it divine intervention, maybe. "Do you think if you let me sit on your lap, I'd be at full strength again? Because I think we should at least try. For medical purposes."

Aaron settles in beside you, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips, because he can, because he wants to. When he pulls back, he's smirking.

"Cheeky girl," he murmurs, thumb skimming your jaw. "And here I was, thinking you needed me to take care of you. Turns out you just wanted an excuse to climb all over me. How tragic. I've been completely fooled."

You brain-to-hand coordination is questionable at best, but that doesn't stop you from attempting to very subtly slip your fingers along the waistband of his sweats.

Aaron grabs your wrist instantly laughing—an actual, real, Hotchner laugh.

"Sweetheart," he muses, so damn amused, his thumb tripping over the pulse point of your wrist. "You can barely hold your head up, and you're trying to start something?"

"With a boyfriend like you, I'm like, legally required to start something."

Aaron lets out the longest, most suffering sigh known to man.

Like you said—theatre kid.

"Don't I know it. You're insatiable."

You open your mouth, fully prepared to launch into a passionate defense of you very reasonable levels of attraction to him, but a sneeze—tiny, weak, kind of embarrassing—ruins it.

Aaron's smirk evaporates. It happens fast, like a switch flipping, like he's just remembered, really remembered, that you're not at full strength, that beneath all your teasing, you're a little delicate, too easily worn down.

For a second, he just stares, jaw tight, brows furrowing ever so slightly, like the sight of you, flushed cheeks, fever-glazed eyes, pathetic sneezy, physically pains him.

And then you're moving, no he's moving, pulling you in, tucking you into his chest, as if you were something his hands were built to protect.

"And yet, here you are," he murmurs, kissing your temple, breathing against your hair, "disease-ridden and tragically adorable."

You sigh, shoving your face as close as humanly possibly, like some kind of human limpet. His heartbeat is strong beneath your ear, soothing, a constant thump thump thump that makes your eyelids droop.

"I really missed you today."

Aaron's arms tighten around you, but then you sniffle. Not the same pathetic little sound from earlier. This one's different. This one is softer, wetter.

He tenses just enough for you to feel it, enough to make you regret it, because now he knows.

You blink rapidly, tilting your face down, trying to breathe past the sudden, stupid sting behind your eyes, willing it go away before he—

Too late.

His arms loosen just enough to tilt his head down, scanning your face like he's already trying to figure out how to make it better.

You turn, burying your face in his chest. "I'm fine."

A lie. A bad one at that. So laughably transparent that even you wince a little.

Aaron doesn't call you on it, however, just pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your cheek, catching the tear before it falls.

"Oh baby," he breathes, voice a little rough, like he wants to pull the sadness out of you and keep it for himself.

He presses another kiss to your temple, then another, then another, like he needs to fix something unfixable, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck.

"You're killing me here."

You sniffle. Again.

"M'sorry," you mumble. "This is probably like... super unattractive."

Aaron shifts again, tilting your chin up as his thumb brushes against your cheek.

"Still the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he murmurs, but his jaw is tight, his fingers flexing against your skin. "I should've come home sooner."

"You wouldn't have lasted," you mumble, voice slowing, words dragging just a little.

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Because you'd stress yourself out." You hum sleepily, tracing absent circles against his shirt. "You'd take my temperature every hour. Make me drink disgusting tea. Then, once you ran out of things to fuss over, you'd start deep-cleaning the grout just to feel useful."

He snorts, shaking his head. "You make me sound unbearable."

"You are unbearable," you murmur, but your grip tightens around him, contradicting yourself entirely. "But in a very sexy, very productive way."

He laughs and presses a kiss to your temple.

"You know what would make me feel better?"

Aaron's chest rises with a deep inhale, like he already knows. His arm tenses around you. "Sweetheart—,"

You grin against his shirt, weakly.

"A very hands on wellness check."

Aaron chokes out a laugh, tightening the blankets around you. "Christ."

He presses one last kiss to your forehead and you think you hear him mumble should've seen that one coming under his breath.

You hum in agreement, mentally ranking all the times he should've seen something coming.

This moment, obviously.

The time he let you fall asleep on him once and then acted surprised when it became a permanent thing.

The time he told you to be serious and then immediately realized that was the worst possible way to get you to stop joking.

The time he tried to fight it, tried to keep you at arm's length, tried to act like this thing between you wasn't inevitable.

You should tell him. You should. But then he tucks you closer, breath hot against your temple. And before you can launch into your incredibly important findings, you're already too far gone.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[garciasgirl]

below the surface | spencer reid x reader

genre: gee I don’t know.. (fluff!!)

content: season 1 spencer, fake relationship trope, spencer is down bad, like really down bad, he’s also a sweetie pie, reader doesn’t like crowds, private but not a secret relationship?, confession, spencer is literally obsessed with reader, not spell checked sorry :(

content warnings: super minimal swearing

a/n: hi!! this is super random but I think it’s cute!! hope yall like it <33

word count: 1k

relationships, especially fake ones, weren’t meant to be easy. they were meant to be messy and full of undeniable chaos. but, spencer made it easy. at least, the easiest it could be. you and spencer had been “dating” for the past four months. it was random, spencer defending himself against morgan, claiming he had this girlfriend they just haven’t met yet. now, you were his “girlfriend”, well really, you were just his next door neighbor that he had convinced to enter into a fake relationship.

when you first moved into the the apartment complex you had met spencer by chance, walking out of your doors at the same time. immediately it was clear that he wasn’t the type to get close with his neighbors, he was shy and pretty closed off. or that’s what you thought. however, as time passed, when you started to see spencer every now and then, he became friendlier, more open. and eventually you found yourself developing a genuine friendship with him.

on one friday night you were over at spencers, the two of you watching movies and sharing chinese take out when out of the blue he offered a proposal. “what if..we date, pretend, but..you know?” he said it so casually, but you were completely taken back. he sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “listen, uh, the team..they- they’ve been teasing me about not being in a relationship. and..i might’ve lied and said I was..” you laughed, “spencer reid, what a delinquent.” he nodded, then almost started to look serious, his gaze locked on yours. “listen..I know, it’s crazy, but you’re the only person I could do this with..and I really, really need to do this.” your eyes squinted, nodding slowly, “m’okay..” Spencer’s eyes grew wide and a big smile broke out on his face. and that, was the start.

you hadn’t met Spencer’s team, but they were aware of who you were. you would send him text messages, flirty and small things that they would read, he would talk about you, and you would post him on your social media. small things like a story of you two out on a date, or flowers that he picked up for you on the way home. you became the picture perfect girlfriend, that everyone knew about, but no one had met in person. and it worked for a bit..but eventually the team got curious.

spencer had been sitting at his desk, when all of a sudden emily, jj, penelope, and derek appeared. Penelope gushed about not being able to see his girlfriend other than stalking her instagram account. and then, they insisted that she come to rossi’s team get together he was having at his house this weekend. spencer, reluctantly agreed.

tonight, was the first time that you were meeting his coworkers, his team. it caused you and him both immense anxiety, but it was necessary. the team was dying to meet you. apparently it was at rossi’s house, an older man on the team. and when you and spencer finally arrived, your jaw was on the floor. it was a giant house. “god, spencer is this guy a billionaire?” you sputtered out. spencer low and familiar laugh rang out in the car, “something like that..” he replied. together, hand in hand, the two of you walked into the giant house. immediately, you were surrounded by unfamiliar faces, not an occurrence you particularly enjoyed. some man clapped spencer on the back, and a group of girls swarmed you, smiles on their faces while a million questions seemed to be thrown at you all at once.

you knew they were just interested, wanted to know more about the girl who had “stolen spencer’s heart”. but it was just simply to much for you. you didn’t do well with crowds, and you couldn’t bare the overwhelming feelings that this gathering had brought on. spencer, of course, noticed. you could feel his gentle eyes on you, scanning you entirely. he was a profiler after all. he said something to his team, but your hearing was to distorted, the anxiety almost paralyzing you. spencer put a grounding hand on your lower back, leading you back outside. the fresh air caused you to take a deep breath in.

“hey..hey, you alright, love?” spencer’s calming voice settled you. you nodded, taking slow and shallow breaths trying to calm yourself down, spencer’s hand never leaving you. “I’m sorry- I don’t, don’t know what got to me-“ you tried to explain yourself, but spencer just shook his head. “hey, no, none of that.” he looked at you, his eyes soft and comforting, “tell me what’s going on..something’s bothering you, and it’s not just nerves from meeting the team.” he said, already denying your excuse before you even mentioned it. you sighed, looking up at the sky. Spencer’s eyes never left you, his gaze focused solely on you, nothing else. his IQ was high but when he was with you..he couldn’t think about anything else.

you finally looked at him, your eyes glazed over and your face filled with emotion even spencer couldn’t quite understand. “spencer..I don’t think I can do this anymore..this.” you motioned in between you and him, then turning your gaze to the ground. “this fake dating this, I..” you shook your head, looking back at him. “I can’t do this anymore..because, I can’t stop myself from wishing it was real, from hoping that we are real.” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. spencer was not expected that at all, you figured you were going to see rejected or disbelief radiate across his face, but all you could see was the same longing that you had reflected onto him.

“god..sweetheart, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted that..” he said, a small laugh parting his lips. “this started off fake..just an excuse for my team, but..somewhere along the way it became real. it became so fucking real, I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long…” he said, closing the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing onto yours. his hands on either side of your face. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you. he only pulled away to look into your eyes for a second. almost immediately kissing you again, smiling against your lips.

spencer pulled back again, staring at you, his eyes look over you entirely, every inch of you he looked over, completely entranced by you. you laughed softly, “is..something the matter?” he quickly shook his head, his eyes finding you again, “no..god, you’re just so beautiful.”

[garciasgirl]

spectacular just wonderful holy oh my gosh yeah i didn’t know i needed this in my life until now

Invisible string | s.r

who: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff (??)

summary: you've always loved reading at your spot in the park, getting lost in books and daydreams. what you didn't realize was that someone had been noticing you all along

lyric prompt: “green was the color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial Park, I used to think I would meet somebody there/ time, curious time, gave me no compass, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn’t see? and isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?” Invisible string, t.s

word count: 1.1k

a/n: my entry to @mggslover 1k event, congratulations once again darling

t.w: none

divider by @esote-rika

The park had always been your favorite place in the whole city—a patch of green and calm right in the middle of the metropolis' restless buzz. Exactly what you needed after a long day. Alone, but surrounded by people; that weird in-between your introverted personality had always loved.

Beneath your favorite tree, you'd lay out a towel, open a book, and let yourself slip away. Between the pages, you'd been a poet, a painter, an elderly woman reminiscing on her youth—someone's lover, even.

And sometimes, in the spaces between sentences, you'd let yourself dream. You'd imagine meeting someone, falling stupidly, hopelessly in love—just like in your favorite romances.

You knew it was silly, highly unlikely, but the thought alone was enough to make you smile. Enough to fill you with a quiet kind of hope.

And then, as if crafted by destiny, you did meet someone.

☆

Near-Miss #1: The Coffee Shop

The first time Spencer saw you, it wasn’t at the park. It was at a coffee shop, long before he ever noticed you beneath that tree. He hadn’t even been paying attention at first, too busy watching the barista prepare his drink. But then he saw you—leaning against the counter, absently tracing circles on its surface while periodically checking your watch. Something so ordinary, so insignificant, yet he couldn’t look away. He thought about getting closer, maybe striking up a conversation. But by the time he worked up the nerve, you were already walking out the door.

☆

Lucas was a lovely guy. You met on a rainy day—"Mind if I help?" he had said, noticing how you were struggling to juggle your things and an umbrella at the same time. He ended up with your number, and soon, the tree that used to be your spot became your shared spot.

☆

Near-Miss #2: the train ride

A familiar giggle caught Spencer’s attention. He looked up and saw you.

Curled up by the window, book in hand—as always. He watched as you absentmindedly twirled your hair, scribbled something in the margins of your book, let out the occasional quiet laugh. It was just like all the other times he’d seen you, and yet, he was still mesmerized.

The thought of approaching you crossed his mind. Maybe he could finally say something, maybe this time—

The train jolted to a stop. You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and stepped off the train before he could find the words.

☆

Picnics, reading sessions, coffee breaks, cloud-watching—beautiful moments. But now it was Valentine’s, and you were alone at your spot. Turns out Lucas wasn't the one after all.

For the first time, you sat under the tree alone, thinking about all the little moments that, maybe, had been clues.

The way he never understood your love for books. The fact that he never got your bakery order right—"It’s too complex, and you know that, babe." You’d chuckle, brush it off, but it unsettled you.

You knew it was dramatic. Of course, he wouldn’t be like the men in your books. He was good enough. But something was missing.

A sickly kind of romance filled the air—people of all ages showing their love for each other. You were sure you’d witnessed a failed proposal a few minutes ago. Amid all this love (and some heartbreak), you felt invisible.

But maybe you weren’t.

☆

Near-Miss #3: the collision (and almost first conversation)

Spencer had walked past you countless times. A hundred, maybe more. But one time, he almost spoke to you.

You were heading in opposite directions. You looked hurried, eyes glued to your book even as you walked. He was distracted too, skimming a page of his own. And for a moment, just a split second, you almost collided.

At the last second, both of you stepped aside. Hushed apologies, barely more than whispers, before you kept walking.

He took a few more steps before his brain finally caught up and registered who you were. He stopped in his tracks, only to turn around just in time to see you disappear into the crowd.

He cursed himself for losing another opportunity.

☆

Spencer loved the park, too.

He came to play chess, to read, to watch people—not in a creepy way, just something he enjoyed. You had always been one of his favorites to watch.

He loved how you’d giggle at a line in your book and then glance around to see if anyone had noticed. How you’d twirl your hair when you were deep in thought. How you looked so utterly lost in your stories, as if the world around you didn’t exist.

☆

But now, it was Valentine’s, and the young man who usually accompanied you was nowhere to be seen.

His chance.

"Can I sit here?" His voice startled you. You looked up to see a tall, slender man watching you.

"Uh... sure," you replied, still a little confused.

"Why are you alone?" Fuck. That probably sounded weird.

You huffed a small laugh. "Well, not anymore." He smiled at that, a little softer now.

"I'm Spencer, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer. I guess now you're my partner for the day."

"I guess," he echoed, his smile was so wide it could seem fake

☆

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Spencer looked at your book and said "You were reading a book by the same author on the train a few months ago"

"Was I really?" you blinked

"You were," he affirmed "I was in the seat across from you. We sat across each other many times in fact"

"I guess we were bound to meet sometime then" you mused meeting his gaze

"Yeah," he mumbled with a smile"Something like that"

thank you for reading!