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criminallyinsaneizzy · 4 days ago

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1. The One Where Dr. Reid Accepts a Deal

When you become aware of how much your roommate is missing out on because of his job, you strike up a deal to fulfill in the coming year.

SPENCER X READER

CONTENT: multipart series, fluff, roommates, he fell first she fell harder, basically just a giant self insert

WORD COUNT: 3.0k

Twelve Grapes Under the Table masterlist

You’re very cold. Freezing, even. It’s probably because you keep opening and closing the fridge, hoping that leftovers magically appear on one of the shelves, but you’ve managed to convince yourself it’s because Spencer likes to keep the apartment cold. He says it had a bunch of health benefits.

You groan when you open the fridge again just to find that nothing had manifested on the sparse shelves. There is still only an almost finished gallon of milk, a can of whipped cream, half an apple locked in a Ziplock bag, and a full carton of grapes that look like they’re on the verge of expiring.

You consider the grapes for a moment. You forgot they were even in your fridge. Your friend Ava had convinced you to buy them the last time you were at the grocery store (nearly two weeks ago) and join her in eating twelve under a table at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Day?

You didn’t believe in the superstition, but Ava did it last year and her boyfriend finally decided to propose in March. Their wedding’s in September.

So yes, maybe you had folded and bought the grapes with the intention of shoving twelve down your throat under the coffee table in the living room. And yes, maybe you were hoping the twelve grapes were magical and would bring you good health and prosperity and all that in the coming year. And, on the off chance that you hadn’t forgotten about the grapes, maybe you were hoping to meet someone that would sweep you off your feet.

Whatever. The grapes had gone bad anyway. You weren’t going to risk a ridiculous stomachache for the sake of participating in a superstition that probably wouldn’t even work.

You shut the fridge door for the final time. The cold sweeps around the crack and the door before it finally closes, making a chill run down your spine despite the thick pajamas and strawberry patterned snuggie you’re wearing. You glance around the kitchen before settling on the absurdly large bag of Welch’s gummies you know is in the cupboard. You try slamming the cupboard closed, but Spencer has those hinges that catch and the slowly close installed, so you can’t.

You walk into the living room, cursing yourself out in your mind for not going to the grocery store while it was still open. It wasn’t really your fault. Spencer had been gone on a case until hours ago, and even then he had to stay at the BAU to fill out paperwork and reports or whatever it was he did when he finished a case, so it’s not like he could’ve gone grocery shopping. And you . . . Well, for the past four and a half days you had been living in a rich, White people house watching two kids because their parents were out of town. Why would you have gone grocery shopping if you weren’t even going to be in your apartment for that long?

Okay, maybe you had gotten home at ten that morning and had a decent amount of time to do that chore before every single store you were willing to go to closed, but you were just so tired. You had immediately got cozy on the couch and took a seven hour nap (was it even a nap at that point?) and had only woken up barely an hour ago. It really wasn’t your fault.

While you were opening and closing the fridge in the kitchen, Spencer had moved from his desk to the couch. He seems to be extremely focused on whatever’s displayed on his laptop screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard every now and then to type something out.

You plop yourself on the opposite end of the couch, wrapping yourself in a nearby blanket (the cream one patterned with flowers that Spencer got you for Christmas) and tearing open the bag of gummies in your hands. You reach for the remote on the coffee table before turning on the TV. You were about to stuff your face with an unreasonable amount of fruit snacks and were bound to get an upset stomach later. You needed something to distract yourself from that.

Maybe twelve almost expired grapes aren’t a bad idea . . .

It’s no shock that the first thing the bright screen recommend you watch is Friends. You had seen that show more times than you could count and planned on watching it even more in the coming year.

At the very edge of your peripheral, you see Spencer lift his head when you started the episode.

“Didn’t you say you were skipping all New Year’s parties to work on your business orders?”

You slowly turn your head to face him, squinting your eyes and popping a gummy in your mouth. “No.”

It’s a blatant lie. You had told Spencer that just a week ago on Christmas when he asked what your plans were for New Year’s Eve.

“I’m not doing anything,” you had said. Spencer’s brows had pulled together, and it looked like he was about to say something before you cut him off. “I’m blowing off all New Year’s parties.”

“Why?” he’d asked. He had crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching as you washed dishes. “Don’t you love throwing parties?”

“Well, yeah.” Of course you did. The planning process was so fun and it gave you the opportunity to pretend you belonged to an exclusive aristocratic society that didn’t invite people to parties for petty reasons. You also loved going to parties, but that was a different story. “But next year I’m gonna focus more on my business and try to make extra money alongside babysitting. So to do that, I’m taking the thirty-first to make a couple orders that have been sitting in my closet.”

“Which business?”

Spencer had a cheeky smile on his face when he said that. He was always jabbing at you—more often now that you had lived with him for more than a year. When you did nothing but turn to stare at him with eyes that told him he wasn’t funny, he choked down a laugh.

“I don’t need this negative energy.”

“Well—”

“And what if I said I’m going to combine all of my previous failed small businesses into one big one that capitalizes off of people’s interest in homemade items, huh?” You had lifted your rubber glove covered hands and pointed at him. “And when I make millions more dollars than you and live in a big fancy mansion I’m gonna knock on your door and laugh at you when you answer and shower you in my millions of dollars to rub it in your face.”

Spencer couldn’t hold in his chuckle that time. The sound rang through your ears and he shook his head as you turned back to the dishes. “I was just asking. You have five you’ve tried to commit to.”

It was true, but you didn’t want to admit that. Various interests that you thought you'd be able to keep up with had turned into numerous businesses. Clay earrings, beaded bracelets, crocheted clothing and plushies, embroidered wall decor, practically any creative hobby is something you’d tried to make money off of.

You scoffed. “Okay, Mr. I Have Fifty Million Degrees and PhDs so I’m Good at Everything. I don’t need your input.”

“I only have six,” he corrected. He was still smiling.

“Numbers are numbers, smartypants. You’re worth, like, a million dollars in education, so literally shut up.”

After a moment of silence between you and Spencer, you swallow the snacks in your mouth and click your tongue. “Okay, maybe I did say that.”

Spencer lets out an amused breath and shakes his head. “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to commit.”

Your jaw dropped. It wasn’t really a jaw-dropping revelation, but you liked overreacting to silly stuff because it was funny. And it always managed to pull a reaction out of Spencer. “How about you watch two middle school aged kids of rich parents for four and a half days and see how motivated you are to continue small business work.”

“Why don’t you try to solve a string of murders where the unsub is dumping his victims limbs in the dumpsters of retail stores—”

You hold your hand up, interrupting him. “Woah. Very graphic. But touché. I suppose solving crimes and babysitting are just two different types of exhausting.”

Spencer smiles again—the same soft one he gave you when he opened the new pair of Converse you had gifted him at Christmas because his old ones were, quite literally, falling apart at the seams. “So are you going to work on anything at all?”

“Probably not.” Your gaze had turned back to the TV. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Both you and Spencer know that is nothing but another lie. You’re probably going to lay in your bed and take another extended nap halfway through the day. Or maybe you’ll actually go grocery shopping and put real food in your fridge.

Another unlikely scenario, but an option nonetheless.

“So what are you doing on this uneventful night?” you ask, nodding to his laptop.

“I was responding to a couple emails, but now I’m probably going to grab a book and read for a bit,” he replies. He closes his laptop and sets it down carefully on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Boring. No dating website or something?”

“I’ve never been on a dating website. Why would I?” Spencer furrowed his brows and turned to you.

“Boo! Loser. Everyone needs a pit in their life where they’re so desperate for love they hop onto Tinder or something.”

“Have you ever been on a dating website?”

You pause, grabbing a small handful of gummies from the bag in your hands and sticking them in your mouth. “No answer.”

You have. Earlier that year, actually. You promptly deleted it after one guy suggested the two of you go to a bar to watch the Superbowl as a date. An embarrassing bump in the road, but you had erased all evidence that you had ever even had an account.

“But anyways. How many dates have you been on?” you ask. You’re genuinely curious. Since you’ve lived with Spencer, he’s never once mentioned dating. Not a girlfriend or boyfriend or even an interest in anyone. Some part of you wondered if he just didn’t want that, but then you would overhear him on the phone with one of his coworkers or see him with his godsons and think otherwise.

“Not many,” he says. “Something always seems to go wrong or I get called away for a case, so it never works out anyway.”

You hum. It makes sense, but surely someone had tried to stick around? Tried to reschedule a cancelled date? Spencer wasn’t a bad guy by any means—it confused you that he was still as single as he was.

“And no one tries again?” You voice your thoughts. Now that you had found yourself in this hole of asking about your roommate’s dating life, you need as much information before you can climb out.

Spencer shrugs. “It always just sort of . . . falls off.”

You can tell that there’s something he isn’t telling you. He’s holding back one piece of information that might change your entire perspective on his no dating life situation, but you know the more you ask the more vague his answers will be.

Instead, you try a way around it. It’ll be a long and extended process to get the information you want, but it’ll be worth it.

“I should set you up,” you say. “Pick a girl from my friend group and make you guys meet in the mall parking lot, or something.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in who I date?” Spencer asks. His brows furrow again. He does that a lot, you’ve noticed.

“Because you never talk about anyone! I’m just curious, Spencer.” You cover your mouth as you finish chewing, not wanting to gross him out as you continue to talk. “Plus I complain about bad dates I go on all the time. It doesn’t feel right that you don’t.”

“I come home talking about bad cases, Y/n.”

You scoff. “That’s not the same. Obviously the cases are bad. People are out there dying and children are getting exploited. You need something less extreme to complain about.”

“And dates are the less extreme option?”

You nod. Spencer seems to consider it for a moment before you start talking again. “I think you’re too uptight.”

“What?”

You hum in affirmation of your own statement. “Yup. I think that you don’t know how to have fun and be yourself and it’s hindering your ability to ask people out.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’ve literally told me about how you kissed an actress and then stopped because you were on the job.”

“She was being stalked—”

“If it had been any other single bachelor on your team they probably would have kissed her,” you say. You don’t actually know that. That happened before you knew Spencer and who knows if the team members from then are the same ones he has now. “So basically, from that I can draw the well educated conclusion that you don’t know how to have fun.”

“I have plenty of fun.”

“Okay. Tell me about it. Tell me about all this fun you’ve had in the past month.”

You stare at him. Your unwavering gaze makes him nervous and his mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in air. You raise your brow when what seems like a minute has passed, wordlessly nudging him to say something.

Spencer sighs, averting his gaze in defeat.

“Exactly,” you say. It was rare that you ever won any sort of debate against him, but you would bask in your small victory later. “And thus, I propose a deal.”

“You really just want to set me up, don’t you?”

You nod. “That’s besides the point. Basically, this is the deal. Ava’s wedding is next year.”

“Oh, that’s right. I need to tell her I’m coming.”

You shush him, moving your hands in an exaggerated zipping motion so Spencer stays quiet. “Ava’s wedding is next year. I’m her maid of honor and am going to help her and Julian with a lot of the planning. By extension, you will also help with the planning if you accept this deal.”

Spencer stays quiet, but you can see the reluctance in his gaze as you continue detailing what he would have to do in order to fulfil this bargain. He wants to say something, you can tell, but he listens.

“So what’s going to happen, you may ask.” You press the tips of your fingers together like you’re a villain in a children’s superhero movie revealing their evil plan. “What’s going to happens is I’m going to teach you to have fun. Maybe set you up on a date or two. See what happens. And.”

You know and technically isn’t a sentence, but you stop talking like it is. It annoys Spencer when you leave sentences unfinished, so you mostly did it for the small spout of amusement you get seeing him roll his eyes.

“That’ll never work, Y/n. I’m too busy to commit to something like that.”

“Oh, but you haven’t heard the best part.” You readjust yourself on the couch, sitting up so your back is pressed against the armrest and your legs are crossed. You lean forward. “I will do this for one year. One year, and then next New Year’s Eve, if you tell me you still aren’t interested in anyone or tell me you didn’t have fun or don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever,” you pause. You’re treating this like a business transaction in a movie. It’s more dramatic than it needs to be, but it’s entertaining. “If you don’t have fun, Doctor Spencer Reid, then I will sit with you through a Doctor Who marathon and go to Comic Con with you.”

His brows raise. His eyes light up with interest. You know you’ve got him because he loves Doctor Who and going to Comic Con but always feels awkward going on his own.

“That is a very tempting offer—”

“I know. You should take it.”

“—but I have to say no.”

You groan, flopping back on the couch’s armrest, arms covering your face like you had just been broken up with and were about to start bawling. “What! Spencer!”

He laughs at your dramatic antics, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Y/n, I just don’t think I can commit to something like that.”

“Which is also the best part”—you sit up correctly again, your back jerking into your previous position—“because those things would happen on the days you’re actually here! I’d plan those things to happen when you’re off, Spencer, just think of the possibilities!”

Spencer almost rejects your offer again, but the way you’re looking at him, the obvious pleading in your eyes to at least get him to try something makes him fold.

He would be spending time with you, after all . . .

“Fine.” It’s embarrassing, really, how easily he bent and accepted your deal. “One year.”

You nod.

“If I don’t think it’s fun then you’re holding up your side of this deal,” he says. Ava’s told him about your knack for squeezing yourself out of situations you had signed yourself up for but no longer wanted to be in.

“Promise.” You hold out your hand. “So do we have a deal, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer glanced down at your hand, his gaze flicking between your outstretched palm and your cheeky smile. He takes your hand with a soft sigh, giving it a firm shake.

“You have a deal, Miss L/n.”

Your beaming smile makes Spencer think everything will be worth it.

does this count as grumpy/sunshine??? i wanna say yeah but i actually don’t think i’ve ever read that trope so….

anyways hope y’all enjoyed part two will be out by next month hopefully ✨

TAGGING: @floraisunwell @alexandritgreylock @ghostly-xxo i’ve tagged people who previously showed an interest in the series, if you’d like to be removed or added to the list DM or comment to let me know!

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