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spencilweidblog · 2 months ago

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hey i would really love some feedback on this since its my first time posting my writing <3333 if you have any thoughts and wanna give it a read lmk!!

𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 ⊹ . ݁. ݁જ⁀➴ ♡. ݁₊ ⊹

Spencer Reid finds himself with an irregular heart rate… and not because of his injury

cw: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ears i guess, it’s really just fluffy i think!! idk i’ve never posted my writing on here nor have i ever written x reader so please give me constructive feedback and let me know if you liked it!!!

Spencer Reid had spent his fair share of time in the hospital.

Working in the BAU alone had yielded him to countless injuries. He had been shot, caught on fire, beaten, tortured, even exposed to anthrax. All of which usually landed him in the hospital, or at least receiving a very thorough once-over from the local EMS.

This recent go around was the result of a near-fatal shot to the neck during a shootout with an unsub. But this time felt different.

Because when he blinked awake, you were there.

His whole body still felt asleep, his tongue dry. He felt a faint throbbing register in his neck, but he couldn’t focus on it. The fluorescent lights framed you like a halo as you bent down, fiddling with something on the side of the bed.

He didn’t have the energy for anything except to follow you with his eyes. He watched as you continued to work, a focused glint in your eye, your scrubs rustling slightly the only sound besides his heart monitor beeping.

When you stood again, your eyes drifted up, and he quickly realized he was staring. His first instinct was to apologize, oddly enough, but you just broke into a grin, and he swore that beeping noise was getting faster.

“Hey, Dr. Reid! You’re awake!” You smiled, leaning over to check the vitals on the screen over his shoulder. “You’re in the ICU. Do you remember what happened?”

His voice came out in a sort of croak he was immediately embarrassed by. “I was shot.”

You nodded, your smile dropping to a slightly more solemn expression. “You were. But you pulled through. I heard you made it through that surgery like a champ. Do you mind if I take a look at that incision?”

Spencer nodded weakly. When you leaned forward, your eyes focused on his neck, he allowed himself to really look at you, just for a second.

You were pretty. He honestly tried not to classify women like that— pretty and not pretty— but his brain was running low on energy with all the healing his body was doing. And he couldn’t help but notice you. It wasn’t just your appearance— it was the care in the way you moved the protective cuff off his stitches, the concentration behind your eyes, the genuine warmth in the smile you had given him when you realized he was awake.

As your gloved fingers grazed his neck, he sucked in a breath, which in turn allowed whatever sweet perfume you were wearing to make him dizzy. You withdrew your fingers, replacing the cuff with a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” you apologized, “It’s normal for it to be tender. Just trying to check for any bleeding or damage to the stitches, but you look great!”

You started removing your gloves, still speaking in that soft, cheery tone. “You sound hoarse. I’m gonna grab you some water. Do you need anything else?”

You turned as you finished speaking again, your eyes meeting his. He urged himself to speak.

“Do you guys have jello?” He rasped. “I love jello.”

You broke into another radiant smile, and he felt a little like he was melting. “Of course. I’ll be right back with that, okay?”

With that, you whisked out of his room, taking the light with you. He settled a little, beginning to let his mind wander now that you weren’t taking up so much of his focus. Had his team managed to apprehend the unsub? How long had he been knocked out? He knew that the typical anaesthetic wore off following surgery after a couple hours, but the body also tended to be incredibly fatigued following a severe injury, and he could have simply been resting for hours and hours and—

A knock at the door sounded, and it creaked open. You stepped inside, holding a cup of jello, a little plastic-wrapped spoon, and a styrofoam cup of water.

“Here you go!” You chirped, setting the jello on the side table and helping bring the water to his lips. He swallowed, the moisture in his mouth finally returning. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Thank you.” he murmured softly.

“Of course.” You responded, lifting up the head of his bed as you handed him the jello. “You get the royal treatment. It’s not every day we get an FBI agent in here, you know. Let alone a doctor.”

He felt his lips curl into an involuntary smile as he shakily pulled the paper lid off his jello. “Well, I hate that you have to see me like this. I’m usually a lot more put together.”

“Oh, stop it.” You waved him off, unwrapping his spoon for him. “I think you look great. You’ll be home in no time.”

Before he knew it, nearly twenty minutes had passed with you at his bedside. The jello cup sat empty on his bedside table, and his hands moved animatedly as you smiled and nodded, listening to him ramble about the effects of dopamine on the brain and body.

He winced as he looked up at the clock. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have other patients.”

You stood, waving him off. “You’re fine, I’ve been keeping an eye on their monitors. I’ve liked talking to you. You’re definitely my most interesting patient.”

He fought back a smile at the compliment. You turned over your shoulder as you made your way to the door. “I’ll see you soon, Dr. Reid.”

He shook his head. “You can call me Spencer.”

“Well, I’ll be back, Spencer.” You shut the door behind you.

Over the next day or two, he rested, ate more than a healthy amount of jello, and talked to you as much as he possibly could. Each morning when you came back, you greeted him with familiarity, and he fought the urge to ask for extra things just so he could get you in his room more often. He knew, logically, that you had other patients, and that your kindness to him was probably job-related. But he couldn’t deny the way his pulse was always a little faster when you were in the room, and that he looked forward to your hourly rounds.

On his last day, you came in at 7:15, grinning. “Good morning, Spencer! And I say good morning because you have gotten the all-clear from the doctor to go home!”

Inexplicably, his heart sank a little. As happy as he was to have survived his injury and healed well (he knew four days was probably a short stay for this kind of wound), he hated the idea of not seeing you anymore.

You didn’t seem to notice his shift in mood. You kept talking, hooking him up to the vitals cart. “I just need to get one last set of vitals on you and I’ll get you your paperwork. Is there anyone you need to call to come get you?”

“I’ll, uh, I can call Penelope.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh, Penelope!” You unhooked the cuff as the machine beeped. “She was so sweet. Is she your girlfriend?”

Spencer nearly choked on air. “No! No.” he responded, probably a little too quickly. “We work together. And she’s a really great friend.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Well, alright then. She seems like a really good friend to have.” You wheeled the cart towards the door. “I’ll be back with your paperwork soon. Hang in there just a little longer!”

Spencer shook his head, trying to clear whatever negative feeling seemed to be stuck in his throat. He dialed Penelope’s number, and she answered quickly. Soon enough, she was at the hospital, helping pack his things.

You helped him with his discharge paperwork and gave him pamphlets about how to take care of his incision. Even after several days, he was enamored with the way you did your job with so much care. You didn’t seem like you rushed through his paperwork to get him out the door. You even brought him another cup of jello for the road.

You smiled warmly at him and Penelope as you wrapped up. “Well, I’ve really enjoyed having you! I’m so glad you’re doing better. Be careful in the field, okay? Keep saving the world.”

He smiled back at you through the ache in his chest that knew he was saying goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

“It was no problem.” You waved as you stepped out of the room, going back to your job and your life and wherever you were that he wasn’t.

He swallowed, standing up and gathering his things. His mind was racing, and he wished silently that he could turn it off. It was time to go back, to cases and unsubs and stressors and triggers and no you no you no you—

“You totally have a crush on your nurse!” Penelope giggled, breaking the silence. “Why didn’t you ask her out?”

“What? I— well—“ Spencer spluttered. “She was just nice. Also, it would have been wildly inappropriate.”

“So you wanted to.” She retorted.

“I never said that.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, walking out of the room.

“You didn’t deny it.” Penelope teased as they walked past the nurse’s station towards the elevators. He craned his neck as they passed, his eyes scanning the staff, but he didn’t see you. He sighed, imagining you waving bye to him in front of your coworkers.

Wow, snap out of it, Reid, he reprimanded himself. You barely know her. Don’t be weird.

However, even after he was settled at home, Garcia making sure he had everything he needed before he was finally alone, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your jokes, your kindness. That smile.

He paced his apartment. He made tea. He read three books before he realized he wasn’t retaining any of it. He tried and tried and tried to distract himself, and none of it was working.

So, at the risk of being wildly inappropriate, he ended up outside the hospital at 6:30.

Spencer tapped his foot against the concrete as he sat on the bench, the air cooling as the sun was setting. Every time he heard the electronic whir of the sliding doors, he looked up, both hopeful and terrified that it was you. He gripped in a nervous fist a bouquet of flowers that he had picked up on the way there.

He chided himself as his watch ticked closer and closer to 7. How could he even know you would walk out this door? He didn’t know your routine. He hardly knew you. In fact, this whole thing was absurd. He probably looked like some sort of stalker, standing out here, waiting for a staff member whose job it was to be nice to him and he was probably imagining the whole—

His mind stopped. Because then, he saw you.

You looked tired. Your badge clipped to your jacket, your hair a little mussed. You were shoving your stethoscope into your shoulder bag, but he felt like he was seeing something ethereal. Beautiful. Human.

He was on his feet before he realized. When you looked up, and your eyes landed on him, he swore his heart stopped beating.

“Spencer?” You half-laughed, walking over to him. You glanced down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up at him, your face a mix between confusion and pleasant surprise. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

He suddenly felt like his tongue was tied. He had spent the past hour and a half reciting in his head what he was going to say to you, and yet in this moment, he was terrified.

He settled on extending the flowers. “I, uh, I brought these for you.”

Your brows knit together as your face softened, reaching tentatively to take them from him.

“Wow, Spencer. You really didn’t have to do that.” Your eyes were a little shiny. He realized, arbitrarily, that he hadn’t seen you while standing up yet. He was used to being beneath you, smiling up at you while you checked on him or talked to him about your day. Now, you looked… smaller. More fragile. More real.

“I just… really appreciated the way you took care of me these past few days.” He replied, rocking slightly on his feet.

“You really came all this way just to give me flowers?” You asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

He took a steadying breath, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well, actually, I… I came here to ask you on a date.”

There it was. Your eyes widened, and it seemed that now you were the one at a loss for words.

“Maybe there’s a textbook somewhere saying it’s a case of transference or Florence Nightingale syndrome or some other complicated psychological term I could ramble about, but the truth is…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’ve been thinking about you since I left. A lot. And I didn’t want to leave things at just ‘thank you.’ And if you don’t feel the same way, I completely understand, and I will never come back here again, I promise—“

“Spencer.” You cut off his rapid train of speech, and he exhaled, his heart thudding out of his chest.

“Yeah?”

“I would love to.”

Oh. Fireworks were erupting somewhere behind his sternum, and he laughed a little in disbelief. “Really?”

You beamed. “Of course.” You reached into your bag, pulling out a crumpled up sticky note. You smoothed it out, passing it over with a shy smile. “I wrote this to give to you this morning and chickened out.”

His eyes scanned over it. Your handwriting scribbled on that wrinkled yellow paper, saying: “Spencer, if you ever need a follow-up, or just want to talk” followed by your phone number and a smiley face.

He was sure his cheeks were going to split open. He couldn’t figure out how to express the joy he was feeling, so he settled on: “How’s Friday?”

“Friday sounds amazing.” You zipped your bag back up, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “See you soon, Dr. Reid.”

And with that, you walked toward your car, shooting one last glance over your shoulder. And Spencer watched you, reminded of all the dopamine flooding his nervous system.

A/N: HEYYYY if you read this thank you so much i am terrified to put this on here. please let me know what you think i LOVE nurse!reader !!!! also this is so self-indulgent and i can’t bring myself to care so

#criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x me #spencer reid fanfiction #writing feedback #x reader #nurse!reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #penelope garcia #uhh idk what im doing #please be nice #reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid #dr big brown eyes

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