Hihi! First Time Requesting! Please Delete If You Have No Interest Or Feel Uncomfortable Writing!

Hihi! first time requesting! Please delete if you have no interest or feel uncomfortable writing!

Can you maybe right sum about Gn!GenZ! reader(obv of age) x Older!Spencer reid? maybe Spence doing something Reader disagrees of and saying he isnt very demure or mindful? just something fluffy n cute w old man spence 😋

Have a great day/night!!!

r is in her early-mid 20s, whatever you'd prefer :)

"turn it off, spence," you push at his arm, eyes still heavy and closed with fatigue, but your ears are left ringing alongside the alarm that spencer is ignoring. "shut it off, please-"

spencer snorts into his pillow, and the pillow rustles as he turns his head, his right hand clambering blindly against the bedside table to find the source of the noise. "it just went off, honey," he coos, and you quickly hate the saccharine undertone. "gimme me a second, bub."

you turn away, back turned to spencer when the noise stops, reveling in the cold bite of untouched pillow against your cheek. "hm," your figure dips further into the mattress when spencer rolls over draping his weight over your back so he can stamp a kiss against your hairline. "no class today?"

your legs stretch under the covers, joints popping, and you ignore his question even when he wedges a thigh between your two, properly slotting himself behind you. "you're not skipping again, are you?" he says into your neck, and it tickles, especially so when he fans a cool breath of air over the exposed skin.

you immediately whine, shoulders hiking up to hide the vulnerable area, fumbling for the covers to pull them higher over your shoulders. "go get ready for work."

"that'll be two this week, honey," he murmurs, and his mouth is warm when he smooshes it against your cheek in a docile kiss. "and you wanted to be good this semester, remember?"

"stop remembering everything i say," you throw your chin over your shoulder, lips quirking with a tempting smile to show you're only teasing.

you finally accept a real kiss, even if your nose is wrinkling with disdain for waking up. "dare I say that you're not being very mindful?"

spencer's taken aback. he withdraws for a moment, eyebrows pulling in tight. "not... mindful? i... aren't i helping you, here?"

you twist around, finally chest to chest with him. "no, old man," you tuck a curl behind his ear. "you're not being very mindful of my feelings," you exaggerate, looping your arms around his neck and finding his jaw to suckle into. "aren't you supposed to be mindful of how much sleep i'm getting? i'm so awfully tired, spence."

spencer's face flickers with something that looks like worry, and then you're laughing, unable to maintain the charade. "oh," he huffs with half-amusement, disentangling himself from your embrace. "it's one of those weird tiktok things again, isn't it?"

you quickly miss his warmth when he pushes off the bed, leaving you with your legs all tangled up in the sheets, watching as he retreats to the bathroom, and calling after him: "and you flaunting off that tight ass of yours isn't very demure either!"

hi I love your writing so much. Would I be able to make a request with spencer with a deaf reader? I was thinking maybe meet cute or early relationship and meeting the rest of the team? sorry there’s not much plot idea I don’t have much else to add. It’s ok if not!! 😊

YES YES YES

Hi!!

I really love your imagines. They are so full of emotion and care. I was wondering if you can do a fluffy, angst, and maybe smut if you’re up for it. With a friends with benefits to strangers to loves situation. Where you admitted feelings to Spencer but him feeling scared to admit his true feelings towards you he doesn’t say anything you want to hear but still wants to fwb (still stringing you along) But you’re so in love with him it’s not healthy anymore so you distanced yourself from him for a while. Then he really feels your absence and misses you dearly. He will do everything in his power to win you back and to commit to you fully.

Thank you so much!! <3 <3

omggg so i have a story i'm already working on that this could fit into perfectly !! which is greta because i didn't really know where to take it hehe ,, thank youuuuu

hi I was just thinking about some fluff/angst. based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by Gracie Abrams. just reader being a singer (she and Spencer were together but broke up), and during one of her concert she sing the song for the very first time (like Taylor do for the surprise songs). and Penelope is, obviously, a fan of the reader and she see the performance in streaming on some illegal site and she run to Spencer to let him see the performance and let them know that she still loves him. I really hope you will, because every time I listen to that song I imagine this scenario. thank you so much <3

writing it right neeeooooowwwwww

Lost in Translation: Prologue

Summary: A college student (reader) forms a deep bond with a young professor, Spencer Reid, over weekly study sessions in the library. After months of building a friendship, they share a night together, only for the student to be left alone, Spencer gone without a word.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, backstory, mild smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: non-descriptive smut (18+), talks of sex, alcohol, professor/student relationship (but it's Spencer and he's 18 like his students), being used for sex, loss of virginity, (un)requited feelings, no happy ending for this part

Word count: 8.6k

a/n: new story just dropped lol -- wrote so fucking fast and not edited at all sorryyyy

main masterlist part two part three part four

Being a wonder kid, Spencer Reid’s youth was one of isolation. Growing up too young, too smart, too awkward—too everything to really fit in—made life difficult. He navigated a world where his intelligence placed him far beyond his peers, yet his age kept him at arm’s length from those who might understand him better. It wasn’t until he began teaching an engineering course while working on his PhD at eighteen that he finally felt a flicker of that belonging.

Standing in front of an auditorium full of undergraduates, Spencer finally experienced something akin to acceptance. The students, many only a few years older than him, loved the fresh, youthful energy he brought to their 8 a.m. class. For the first time, they weren’t learning from a middle-aged professor droning on about equations but from someone who felt like one of them. Spencer’s lectures were passionate, and he brought concepts to life in ways that made the subject not only digestible but genuinely fun.

It didn't hurt that he was handsome either; that soft hair, those gentle brown eyes framed by glasses, and the earnest way he smiled—all of it made more than a few students swoon over him at one point or another. Spencer, of course, remained oblivious to the dreamy stares and flirtatious comments.

Despite his newfound sense of belonging in the classroom, Spencer didn’t really hang out with anyone. He remained somewhat of an enigma—attending his own study groups, tutoring off and on, and sometimes grabbing lunch with faculty who treated him more like an adorable novelty than a colleague. He was used to it by then, that feeling of floating in between worlds. 

But one day, after a particularly engaging lecture on applied mechanics, a student named Jasper approached him. Jasper was bold, with a confident walk and a grin that suggested they weren’t afraid to push boundaries. “Hey, Professor Reid,” they said casually, leaning against the edge of the lecture podium.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Spencer replied, caught slightly off guard as he scrambled to gather his things. He was never quite sure how to handle the one-on-one interactions with students that felt too friendly, too casual. “Did you have a question about the lecture?”

Jasper laughed and shook their head. “No, actually, I was just thinking... Me and my roommates are throwing a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come? You know, kick back, meet some people... No physics or equations, promise.”

Spencer blinked, processing the invitation like a computer struggling to boot up. A party? With students? It felt... like an odd concept, but one that piqued his interest in a way nothing had before. He’d never really had a social invitation like this—especially not one involving people close to his own age. The idea was exhilarating, and for a moment, Spencer could almost feel what it might be like to be just another young adult, rather than the kid-genius-teacher everyone knew him as.

“Really?” Spencer’s eyes lit up, his grin boyish and genuine. “That sounds great, actually! Should I, um... should I bring anything? Snacks? Drinks? I can... figure something out.”

Jasper shook their head, laughter spilling out at how adorably sincere he was being. “No, no, don’t worry about it,” they said, waving off his concern. “Just bring yourself, cutie.” With a teasing wink and a quick flick of their wrist, they slipped a small note with their address into Spencer’s hands. And then, with that same confident stride, Jasper turned and walked away, leaving Spencer to stand there, flushed and stunned, staring down at the address in his palm like it was some secret code to a new world he’d been waiting forever to explore.

—

Spencer stood outside the house, his nerves and excitement mingling as he took in the scene. The address Jasper had given him led him to a lively place: music thumping loudly enough to rattle the windows, laughter spilling out through the open front door, and the warm glow of lights casting playful shadows on the lawn. People were milling around everywhere—huddled in small circles, raising drinks to one another, dancing, and talking loudly over the music. It was the kind of scene Spencer had seen in movies but never really experienced in real life.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and stepped inside. He immediately felt out of place in his neat button-down shirt and slacks, compared to the casual party attire of those around him. But he was here, and he was determined to enjoy it. As he made his way through the crowded entryway, Spencer's eyes were wide, absorbing every detail—the smell of popcorn and alcohol mixing in the air, the flashing lights, the loud music, and the laughter. He weaved through groups of students, dodging stray elbows and trying to make eye contact with anyone who might seem familiar. 

However, after a few failed attempts at small talk and realizing that almost everyone he knew was either preoccupied or didn’t recognize him outside the classroom setting, Spencer’s excitement dimmed a bit. He found himself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the living room, eventually sinking into the soft, worn leather of a couch, trying to look relaxed but not too out of place. He sat there, half-heartedly holding a cup of soda someone had pressed into his hand earlier, unsure of what to do next. Every now and then, a familiar face would pass by, and he’d offer a polite wave or smile, but nothing stuck. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt like an observer looking through glass, disconnected from the easy laughter and carefree movements around him. He sighed inwardly, wondering if coming to this party was such a great idea after all. But as he settled back into his seat, he heard an enthusiastic voice shout above the noise.

“Professor Reid!” 

He barely had time to look up before Jasper dropped down beside him on the couch, their presence as warm and electrifying as a flash of lightning. They were so close that the entire side of their body pressed against Spencer's, hip to shoulder, the sudden contact sending a warm jolt through his skin. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music but still tinged with that inherent awkwardness that never quite left him in social situations. He noticed the slight flush in Jasper’s cheeks, their eyes bright and relaxed from the party vibe.

“I thought you were gonna be a no-show,” Jasper teased, leaning in so that their mouth was close to Spencer's ear, their voice buzzing through him. “You seemed kinda nervous when I invited you.”

“N-no, not at all!” Spencer said quickly, though his laugh betrayed his nerves. “I was... just... you know, trying to, uh, soak it all in.”

“Well,” Jasper drawled, dragging out the word like they were savoring it, “now that you're here, we should make sure you have a good time. Can’t have my favorite professor looking all lonely in the corner.” They flashed him that teasing smile, the one that Spencer had come to recognize as Jasper's signature charm, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the crowded room and the strangers dancing around him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, the warmth from Jasper’s touch making the party seem a little less intimidating. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That night, Spencer had no idea how things would unfold. What started as casual chatter on that couch quickly transformed into something more charged, more intimate. Jasper had a way of making Spencer feel seen—really seen—and as they talked, leaning into each other, the lines between conversation and flirtation blurred until they no longer existed at all. Eventually, the touches grew longer, more intentional, and Spencer felt his breath catch when Jasper’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until their lips finally met.

It was Spencer’s first kiss, and it was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. He was clumsy at first, feeling every ounce of his inexperience and fearing that he was doing everything wrong. But Jasper was patient, guiding him with slow, teasing movements until Spencer’s hesitations melted into something fervent and desperate. They broke apart, breathless and flushed, and before he knew it, Jasper was pulling him up, leading him through the crowded party, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom.

There, it happened—the fumbling of clothes, the whispered instructions and reassurances. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, the nerves and adrenaline mixing with a primal kind of desire he’d never felt before. Jasper seemed to know exactly what they were doing, leading and coaxing Spencer through the motions, and for once, he wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t caught in the spiral of his own mind. He let go, lost in the sensations of touch, taste, and pleasure as he experienced intimacy for the first time.

When it was over, Spencer lay on his back, panting, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief wash over him. He was almost scared to speak, to ask what this all meant. But before he could say anything, Jasper sat up and smiled, giving Spencer a quick, almost dismissive pat on the arm.

“That was fun, Professor,” Jasper said with a playful grin that lacked the intimacy they'd shared moments before. “But I’m gonna get some sleep now. Thanks for, you know, joining in on the fun tonight.”

Spencer sat up, a little dazed and trying to process the sudden shift. He nodded, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and muttered a soft, “Yeah, sure. Thanks... for inviting me.” There was no animosity in Jasper’s tone, but it was clear the night had come to its end. Spencer gathered his clothes, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the room, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts. He walked through the party once more, though he felt almost invisible now, slipping out the front door into the cool night air.

The next class was excruciatingly awkward for Spencer. He’d gone over the lecture material several times, but nothing could prepare him for the moment when Jasper walked in, took a seat right in the middle of the room, and gave him an easy smile like nothing had happened. Spencer struggled to maintain eye contact and found himself stumbling over his words more than usual. He felt exposed, raw, like everyone in that room somehow knew what had happened between them.

But Jasper was unbothered, unfazed—completely casual. It was as if that night was just another blip on their radar, a moment to be shared and then forgotten. And perhaps that was the point. As the days went on, Spencer realized that to Jasper, and probably to many others, it was just another night—no strings, no lingering feelings, just a moment of pleasure and then moving on. 

The realization was strange for Spencer. He couldn't help but question if that was just what sex was—casual, meaningless, but a great way to blow off steam. It felt anticlimactic to think that something so intimate was treated so carelessly, but maybe that was the reality. For all his intellect, this was an area Spencer had little experience in, and he found himself trying to adjust to this new perspective. Maybe this was just the way people did things, and maybe that night with Jasper was simply the start of understanding what it meant to live a life that wasn’t dictated by equations or theories, but by messy, imperfect human experiences.

—

The library was packed with students hunched over textbooks, fingers flying across keyboards, and whispered conversations about study guides. You were already on edge, the stress of your final exam making every little noise seem louder, every empty table harder to find. You hugged your books to your chest, eyes darting around for any free spot, your mind already buried in the formulas and concepts you needed to cram before tomorrow.

Then, without warning, you collided with a solid body as you turned a corner. Your books tumbled out of your grip, scattering across the polished floor. “Shit!” you blurted out, the curse escaping before you could hold it back. “Sorry!” You dropped down immediately to pick up your books, your face burning with embarrassment.

Just as you did, so did the person you’d run into, and the next thing you knew, there was a dull thud as your foreheads collided with a painful smack. You jerked back, clutching your head, eyes watering from the sudden sharp sting.

“Ow,” the guy groaned, rubbing his forehead. He winced, but there was a hint of a laugh behind the pain, a softness in his voice that made your embarrassment double. 

“Fuck, my bad,” you stammered, feeling utterly mortified. “I’m so clumsy.”

The guy chuckled lightly, standing back up as he brushed off his pants. “Me too, it’s alright,” he said. As you looked up, you finally saw who you’d bumped into.

It was him. Professor Reid—the young genius who everyone in your classes seemed to talk about, with rumors that swirled around him like leaves in a storm. The eighteen-year-old PhD who made engineering sound sexy, apparently both in his lectures and in the beds of the more... adventurous students. You’d heard more than one friend gush about how he'd helped them understand a complicated theory in more ways than one, their whispers tinged with admiration and amusement.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you, all tousled curls, warm hazel eyes, and that slightly awkward but undeniably charming smile. The closeness made you realize how tall he was, his lean frame towering over you. You felt a rush of heat creep down your neck, spreading across your skin like wildfire. You’d seen him from afar, of course—catching glimpses of him in lecture halls or around campus—but never up close like this, and he was... so much prettier than you’d expected. 

“Are... are you okay?” Professor Reid asked, still rubbing his head but looking at you with a concern that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, grabbing the books you'd dropped before handing them to you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping your books tightly, trying to ignore the fact that your hand was now tingling where he’d touched it. “I just... wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” he admitted, his smile widening a little as he looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess we're both guilty.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, forcing a laugh. God, why was it so hard to speak right now? You mentally cursed yourself for being so flustered. You quickly glanced around, realizing that most of the tables were still full, and suddenly it dawned on you that there were no available places to sit... except for the table behind him.

“Um... do you—do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the table he’d just been standing beside.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the table and then at you, a strange look crossing his face like he was trying to figure something out. Then, with that same awkward but genuine smile, he nodded. “Yeah, of course. It's all yours.” 

You thanked him quietly, moving to the chair and settling down, but as you did, you couldn't help but steal another glance at him—those curls falling just right, his long fingers thumbing through his notes as he lingered nearby. And as you opened your books, pretending to focus on studying, you couldn't stop sneaking glances at the very attractive, young professor. 

The hour that followed was filled with the gentle rustle of pages turning, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional cough or whisper from other students scattered around the library. But you couldn’t concentrate, not really. Your eyes kept drifting up from your notes to the table across from you, where Professor Reid sat hunched over his books, his focus so intense that you wondered what on earth he could be doing. Every now and then, your gazes would accidentally meet, and you’d look away quickly, your cheeks heating up as if you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You were in the middle of re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when you heard his voice break the silence between you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, the soft tone of his voice instantly grabbing your attention, “what course are you studying for?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. He was looking at you curiously, genuinely interested, and his expression was kind, almost encouraging. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear and cleared your throat, trying not to let your voice shake as you replied, “Oh, uh, architecture. I’m studying for an exam... final one of the semester.”

“Architecture!” Spencer’s face lit up, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like you’d just told him the most fascinating thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed so genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s great! I’ve always thought architecture was such a beautiful blend of art and science—it’s like engineering for the soul, you know? There’s so much math involved, but it’s all to create something tangible, something that can change the way people experience space. And the way architecture has evolved over time? It’s like a living timeline of human innovation!”

He continued to ramble, moving from modern skyscrapers to the ancient marvels of Rome, describing the symmetry of cathedrals and the beauty of brutalism. The passion in his voice made every word seem like a story, and you sat there, leaning your chin on your hand, utterly captivated by the way he spoke. It was clear he loved to share knowledge, to connect different ideas, to see how everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

You found yourself smiling wider and wider, nodding along as he spoke, absorbing everything he said not because you needed to know it for your exam, but because he made it all sound so alive. 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, laughing softly as he realized he’d been talking nonstop for quite a while. He leaned back in his chair, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I tend to... ramble a bit. Especially when it’s something interesting. I hope I’m not distracting you.”

“Not at all,” you assured him quickly, shaking your head. “Actually... I liked listening to you.” 

He seemed surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes and offering a shy smile. “You, um... you make it all sound really exciting. It’s nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, the kind that lingered like a shared secret. You wanted to say more, to keep the conversation going, to ask him about the things he was passionate about. But before you could find the right words, Spencer glanced down at his watch and began gathering his books.

“I, uh, should get going,” he said, a slight note of regret in his voice. “Lots of things to prepare for—classes and, um... you know, life things.” He gave an awkward laugh, and slung his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as if he were about to say something else, but then just smiled instead. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady and casual, despite the fact that your heart was pounding harder than it should have been. He nodded, gave you one last shy smile, and turned to leave, weaving through the tables and shelves of books until he disappeared from view.

You watched him go, the way he held himself with that slight awkwardness, his long stride taking him quickly out of the library. And as soon as he was gone, you slumped back in your chair, letting out a breath. 

For a fleeting moment, you felt hopeful that you might run into him again, that maybe you’d have another one of those conversations that felt easy and exciting all at once. But then you remembered the stories—the whispers about how Professor Reid often slept with students, how it was no big deal to him, just casual fun. And suddenly, you felt foolish for reading anything more into his friendliness. What if he’d only started talking to you because he was trying to woo you into bed? 

You couldn’t deny that he was attractive—very attractive—but if all he saw in you was another potential fling, then maybe it was better not to get your hopes up. After all, Spencer Reid wasn’t like other guys. He was brilliant, handsome, and, from what you’d heard, had more than his share of admirers. You shook your head, trying to brush away the pang of disappointment and return your focus to your notes.

Still, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite shake the image of his warm smile or the sound of his voice. And a part of you—just a small part—hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Spencer Reid than the rumors said.

—

You were rushing, nerves jangling through your body like alarm bells. You were running late—really late—and all you could think about was getting to your exam on time. In your panic, you didn’t see the corner coming, your eyes glued to your watch as you cursed yourself for oversleeping. You rounded the bend with way too much speed, and before you could react, you collided hard into someone else. The force knocked you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground, your books and papers flying in a wild scatter across the floor.

“Oh my!” came a startled voice. “I am so, so sorry, I was just looking for—oh, hi.”

You winced as you propped yourself up on your elbows, but the moment you looked up, your heart sank and soared all at once. There, standing over you, was none other than Professor Reid. He was staring down at you with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern, and his mouth opened as if he wasn't sure whether to apologize or help you up first.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to get back up, your face flushing hot. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I just—”

“No, no, please, don’t apologize,” Spencer said quickly, his voice soft but urgent as he bent down to your level. “That was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention either.” He reached out to help you up, his hands gentle as he grasped your arm and steadied you, making sure you didn’t trip over yourself as you stood. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting over you to make sure you weren’t hurt. “I didn’t, um... hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No, I’m fine, really,” you said, though you could feel your whole body tingling from where he touched you, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he let go. You brushed off your pants, trying to regain any semblance of composure despite the fact that you were now not only late but completely flustered.

Spencer began gathering your scattered books and papers, handing them to you with the same focused attention he gave to everything else. He was quick, efficient, but still careful, making sure to line up the pages neatly before passing them back into your hands. “Here you go,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You, um... dropped a few things.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the books from him and clutching them to your chest. And then you remembered. “Oh my God, my exam!” You looked at your watch again, the numbers glaring back at you as if taunting your lateness. “I... I have to go, I’m so sorry, Professor Reid, but I really need to—”

“Wait, wait,” Spencer interrupted, a spark of understanding lighting up his eyes. “Is it in the main lecture hall? The big one across campus?”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “I have, like, five minutes to get there or I'm screwed.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” he said, a determined smile breaking across his face. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, I mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Spencer insisted, already starting to lead the way. “I’m heading that direction anyway.” You both knew that wasn’t true but then, with a quick glance back at you, he added, “Besides, it’s the least I can do after, you know... knocking you over.”

You felt a laugh bubble up in your throat, despite the chaos of the moment. “Okay, thanks,” you said, falling into step beside him. It was a strange, surreal thing—running across campus with Professor Reid at your side, his long legs matching your frantic pace. And even though you were still panicking about being late, there was something oddly comforting about his presence, like the whole situation was slightly less catastrophic just because he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said between breaths, casting a reassuring glance your way as you both hurried down the path. “You’ll make it. I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

You made it to your exam with barely a minute to spare, heart still racing from sprinting across campus and the whirlwind encounter with Professor Reid. As you settled into your seat, your mind was a jumbled mess of nerves, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of having Spencer Reid rush beside you, determined to get you there on time. The reality of having bumped into him—literally—and seeing his concerned, handsome face up close again was a distraction you struggled to push away. But as the exam papers were passed out and you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus, you felt a small swell of determination rising within you.

It wasn’t just about passing the exam anymore. No, it was about doing well—really well—because a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d run into Professor Reid again. And if you did, and if he asked you how your exam had gone, you wanted to be able to look him in those warm, interested eyes and say, “I crushed it.”

And so you put everything into it. Every formula, every theory, every bit of knowledge you’d crammed into your brain over the past few weeks. The hours passed in a blur of scribbled answers and focused thought, and by the time you handed in your paper, you felt a surge of pride and relief. You knew you’d done your best—maybe even better than your best.

—

The new term had settled into a predictable rhythm for you: classes in the morning, work in the afternoons, and then hours spent in the library for some uninterrupted study time. By the third week, you found a comforting routine in the silence and solitude of your favorite corner, tucked away but not too far from the bustle of the main floor. It was your place to dive into note-taking, to tackle assignments, and to escape from the chaos of student life. And though your schedule was tiring, there was something satisfying about the repetition—class, work, library, sleep, repeat.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and you were in the thick of your study session, textbooks spread across the table, fingers tapping absently against your highlighter as you scanned the pages. You were deep into a chapter on sustainable building design when a shadow fell over your table, and you heard a voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't need to see his face to know who it was, but the confirmation was still enough to make your heart skip a beat. Professor Reid stood there with that same friendly, slightly awkward smile, his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of books in his arms.

“Professor Reid,” you greeted with a smile of your own, trying not to let on how quickly your pulse was racing. “Of course, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes crinkling in that gentle way as he pulled out the chair across from you. He sat down, settling his things on the table with a soft thud, and for a moment, you were both just... there, in the kind of companionable silence that libraries are made for. Spencer pulled out his own work, a notebook and a pile of papers, and began arranging them neatly before him, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of a binder.

“Preparing for midterms?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you with a tilt of his head, genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving a little shrug as you gestured to your scattered materials. “Trying to get ahead, make sure I don’t fall behind. You know how it is.”

“I do,” he laughed softly, his gaze drifting to the open book in front of you. “I’m writing one, actually. One of the joys of being on the other side of the classroom.”

“Wow,” you said, the laughter bubbling up before you could stop it. “That... actually sounds like way more pressure than taking one.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted, a lighthearted grin playing on his lips. “I always end up overthinking it, trying to make the questions fair but challenging, relevant but not too obscure. It’s like creating a puzzle that someone’s actually going to solve.”

You nodded along, smiling at how earnest he was. “That sounds... kind of like how I feel about taking exams, actually. Trying to solve the puzzle without knowing if you even have all the right pieces.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes lighting up as he considered that. “Exactly,” he said, like he’d never thought of it that way before. “It’s a lot like that. But the fun part is watching the different ways people solve it, the different approaches and interpretations. It’s... fascinating, really.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch him, his hands moving expressively as he talked, the way he was so animated about his work. You’d heard him lecture from afar, but this—this was different. There was something more intimate about being across from him like this, sharing space, sharing thoughts. 

You smiled, leaning forward a bit. “Sounds like you really enjoy it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It’s nice to be able to help people understand things, to make learning something enjoyable instead of a chore.”

You nodded, and for a while, the two of you sat there, working side by side, an unspoken connection forming over the shared silence and occasional exchanges. And though you were both absorbed in your own work, you knew now that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d find yourselves at the same table, sharing the same quiet space amidst the noise of college life.

Every Thursday for the rest of the term, your routine became intertwined with Spencer’s. You’d meet in your usual spot in the library, setting up your notes and books, and he'd arrive not long after, dropping into the chair across from you like he belonged there. And for hours, you’d sit together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes falling into deep conversations about classes, life, and everything in between. It was almost comical when, after weeks of these meetings, he finally looked up at you, eyes wide with realization, and laughed softly.

“You know,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t think I ever asked you your name.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, blurting it out in a rush, and he repeated it back to you like he was savoring the sound of it. And just like that, something clicked into place. He’d ask about your exams, your grades, always genuinely interested in how you were doing. You, in turn, asked about his lectures and the classes he was teaching, and he would share his thoughts on the challenges of balancing students’ needs, all with that passion and depth you had come to expect from him. 

Your friendship blossomed, but it was always contained to those Thursday evenings at the library. It was a boundary neither of you seemed to cross—studying together, talking, connecting, but never making plans outside of the walls of academia. And that was fine, for a time. But as the end of your freshman year loomed closer and summer break approached, the thought of leaving and not seeing Spencer every week weighed on you more than you’d expected.

One Thursday, when you could barely focus on your notes because of it, you found yourself fidgeting, chewing on your pen cap as you tried to summon the courage to speak. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice quiet over the hum of the library around you.

“Mhm?” he responded, not looking up from the papers he was reading through but giving a small nod to show he was listening.

You swallowed, nerves bubbling up, but pushed through. “Would you, um, want to come over after exams end? You know, to... say goodbye to the year?”

Spencer paused, his pen freezing mid-note, and he looked up, surprise flashing across his features. He hadn’t expected that, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered your offer. The idea of spending time together outside the library, beyond your weekly tradition, was both tempting and concerning for him. He’d grown fond of your friendship, of the way you made him laugh and didn’t expect anything from him except a shared space and genuine conversation. But, deep down, a part of him still feared being used like so many others had. 

Yet, there was something earnest in your eyes, something that made him think maybe, just maybe, you really did just want to hang out. To be friends, and nothing more. He let out a small breath, nodding slowly. “Sure,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hoped the heat wasn’t too obvious as you scratched the back of your neck, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “Uh, I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “Maybe... a movie? Just something casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated, almost as if testing the word out, and then his smile widened, a bit of relief and something like excitement brightening his eyes. “Yeah. A movie sounds good.” 

And just like that, you found yourself looking forward to what might be the start of something new—something beyond Thursday study sessions, something more than a quiet routine.

The Friday after final exams, you paced your dorm room, nerves buzzing through you like electricity. You'd barely slept since inviting Spencer over—second-guessing every detail, every word you’d said. But now, as you checked your phone again, you reminded yourself that it was just a movie, just two friends hanging out to say goodbye to the year. Nothing more. You tried to convince yourself that it was normal to be this excited.

And right on time—exactly at 7 p.m.—you heard a knock at your door. Spencer's punctuality didn’t surprise you, but it did send a rush of excitement through your veins. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, before walking over to the door and opening it.

There he stood, dressed in casual jeans and a plain button-up shirt, looking somehow both effortlessly put together and adorably uncertain all at once. His curls were a bit messy, his glasses slightly askew, and he clutched a bag of something in his hands, which he immediately offered up to you with a slightly bashful smile.

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I should bring something, so I, uh, brought snacks?” he said, holding up the bag like it was a peace offering. You could see a mix of candy, chips, and a few other treats inside.

You grinned, stepping aside to let him in. “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you—that’s perfect.” You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he stepped into your room, glancing around with curious eyes as he took in the posters on the wall, the books scattered on your desk, the remnants of your rushed packing for summer break.

“Your roommate left already?” he asked, looking over at the other, empty half of the room.

“Yeah, they went home the day after finals,” you said, trying not to sound too relieved about having the room to yourself. “So it’s just us.”

“Just us,” Spencer repeated, the words hanging in the air with a nervous tinge in his voice. He smiled softly and set the bag of snacks on your bed, taking off his shoes and settling in as if he were almost comfortable—almost.

“So,” you began, moving to sit beside him, your nerves starting to subside as you relaxed into the familiar presence of your study partner turned friend. “I thought we could just pick something light to watch, you know? Nothing too serious.”

“Light sounds good,” Spencer nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose, and for a moment, there was that playful glimmer in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during your library sessions, when a joke or comment would catch him off guard. 

You leaned forward to pick up the remote, scrolling through the options until you landed on a few comedies and light-hearted movies. You tossed out a few suggestions, and eventually, the two of you settled on a movie neither of you had seen before—some easygoing, feel-good flick that you knew would make you both laugh and not require too much thinking. You hit play, and as the opening credits rolled, you sank back into the pillows, side by side with Spencer.

There was a comforting quiet between you, a sense of familiarity even in the newness of the situation. And as the movie played and the two of you slowly started sharing the snacks he’d brought, laughing at the jokes on-screen, you felt that same feeling you always did on Thursday nights—the calm certainty that, somehow, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The movie had been on for about thirty minutes, and both of you were already lost in the silly over-the-top humor. It wasn’t long before the playful energy from the screen found its way into your own conversation, and you couldn’t resist teasing Spencer a little every time he laughed at something you found particularly cheesy.

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually laughing at this. I thought you had... you know, a refined sense of humor.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I can appreciate a good joke, okay? Even the dumb ones. It’s called versatility,” he said, giving you a sidelong glance before popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning closer as if you were about to share a secret. “You’re just pretending to like it so you don’t hurt my feelings.”

He chuckled, turning to face you, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as his knee bumped lightly against yours. “Trust me,” he said, voice low with that familiar teasing lilt, “I’m not pretending. I genuinely think this movie is... absurdly entertaining.”

“Absurdly entertaining, huh?” you said, narrowing your eyes as you leaned in just a little more, close enough to see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I think that’s code for ‘terrible but in a fun way.’”

“Okay, maybe it is a little terrible,” he admitted, laughing openly now. “But in the best way.”

The lightness in his voice, the ease with which you bantered—it felt effortless. And then, suddenly, there was a shift. His laughter trailed off as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a beat longer than usual. Your faces were so close, your knees brushing, your shoulders almost touching, and you noticed the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to decide something.

Spencer’s mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to flirt, to let the playful banter turn into something more, but a voice in his head reminded him of past experiences—where interest in him was just a prelude to sex, a quick thrill before moving on. He didn’t want that with you. You were different—kind, genuine, and he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had by crossing a line.

And ever since meeting you, Spencer hadn’t slept with anyone. Your study sessions, conversations, and simple presence filled a void in him; being around you was all the release he needed. Now, sitting beside you, he just wanted to keep this intact, afraid that taking a step further might shatter what he cherished so much.

Little did Spencer know, your own thoughts were tangled with doubt. You'd been excited for this night ever since he said yes, but now, sitting so close to him, you wondered if he'd only come over for the same reason he might have gone to others in the past: sex.

The whispers around campus about Professor Reid’s quick, casual flings were hard to ignore. Reconciling that with the sweet, earnest man beside you felt impossible, but still, the thought gnawed at you. What if, to him, you were just another fleeting encounter before summer ended?

You wanted to believe that your Thursday study sessions meant more than a prelude to something casual, but the worry hung there, making your hand pause before reaching for the snacks. What if you were misreading everything? And if this was just casual to him, could you handle it, or would you rather preserve what you had now?

You glanced at Spencer, who was focused on the movie but stealing nervous glances your way. It was clear he was treading carefully, and you could feel the irony—both of you caught on the edge, too afraid to find out what the other truly wanted.

When the movie ended, the credits rolling silently on the screen, neither of you moved to turn it off or get up. There was an unspoken tension in the room, a pull that made it hard for either of you to suggest that this night should end. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” you blurted out just as Spencer said, “I really like hanging out with you.” 

You both paused, your words colliding mid-air, and then burst into laughter. It was awkward, sure, but it was the kind of awkward that felt endearing, pulling you closer instead of apart. The kind that made you grateful for the comfortable silence that followed, where you both sat smiling like fools.

“Another movie sounds great,” he said, the grin on his face not fading, and you nodded in agreement. You both took a break—stretching, refreshing snacks, and using the restroom. When you returned to your dorm room, you found Spencer sitting more toward the middle of your bed, and when you slid in next to him, your bodies ended up pressed tightly together, the heat of his side warming yours through your clothes. You were hyper-aware of every place where you touched, but neither of you pulled away.

“Your turn to pick,” you said softly, handing him the laptop.

Spencer flipped through the options with focused eyes, and finally, he settled on a film—a foreign romance, its title scrolling across the screen in delicate script. You raised an eyebrow, curious but also a little lost. “Spencer,” you said, trying not to sound too nervous, “I, uh, don’t speak French.”

His eyes met yours, and this time, the way he looked at you was different—more intense, like he was seeing something in you that hadn’t been spoken aloud. It sent a shiver down your spine. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and almost intimate. “I can whisper translate for you... if you don’t mind.”

The idea of Spencer leaning in close, his voice softly whispering translations in your ear as romantic lines played out on the screen, made your heart race in a way you couldn't control. You could practically feel his breath on your neck already, the warmth of his words settling into your skin. 

“Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching on your lips as you tried to keep your composure. 

You pressed play, and as the opening scene unfolded, you found yourself sinking deeper into the bed, Spencer’s body comfortably close to yours, and your heart pounding in anticipation of every word he would breathe into the small space between you.

The movie’s soft music and dreamy cinematography made it easy to get lost in its world, but it was Spencer’s voice—low, rich, and soothing—that anchored you. He leaned in, and his breath brushed against your skin as he whispered the translation, his tone low and almost reverent.

“Élise tells her...” he began, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, “‘When I'm near you... everything disappears. The whole world, the sounds, time... there's only you and me.’”

The words hung in the air, and your senses were drawn to the way his lips moved against you as he concentrated on the words. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the way he brought the romance to life, the intensity in his whisper making your skin tingle with every syllable. 

“Juliet replies...” he continued, not yet noticing how your attention was fully on him now. “‘You are the reason I breathe, Élise. Every beat of my heart... it whispers your name. If I could, I would spend every second of my life looking at you.’”

And that’s exactly what you did now—look at him. His eyes were still on the screen, but there was something in his expression that felt vulnerable, open, as if he wasn’t just translating lines, but baring something deeper, something unspoken between you. You couldn’t resist leaning in just a little closer, every inch of your body hyper-aware of the closeness between you.

“‘Then look at me... and never let me go,’” he whispered, and when he finally turned to meet your gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly took your breath away. His voice was softer, more intimate, as if he was no longer speaking for the movie characters but for the two of you alone. “‘Because without you, I'm lost. You are my everything.’”

Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you stared at each other, your faces so close now that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his breath came out just a bit more quickly. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the hesitation in them, the question he didn’t dare ask.

“‘I promise you... never, ever will I let you go,’” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his lips only a breath away. “‘Because I love you... more than anything in the world.’”

Neither of you moved, frozen in that charged space between a word and a touch, every part of you yearning to close the gap as the rest of the world fell away.

The words hung in the air, your shared gaze brimming with something unspoken and heavy. And then, as if on cue, both of you turned your eyes back to the screen, where Élise and Juliet leaned in, their faces close, the tension snapping as they fell into a deep, passionate kiss. The soft sounds of the movie filled the silence between you.

“Do you want me to translate that?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm on your cheek. The words were teasing but tentative, laced with a hope that sent a shiver down your spine.

But before he could say anything more, before you could second-guess the pounding of your heart, you closed the space between you. Your lips met his in a sudden, breathless kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The taste of him, soft and warm, was everything you had imagined it would be. You felt Spencer’s sharp inhale, the surprise in his body, but then he melted into you, his mouth moving against yours like it was something he'd been waiting for all along. 

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gentle but sure, pulling you closer, and the world disappeared—just like Élise had whispered—leaving only you and him in the electrifying moment of finally letting go.

Deep down, both of you felt that nagging worry—was this just a fleeting moment, a one-time thing? But as your lips moved together, those thoughts slipped away, overwhelmed by the heat of the moment, the desperation in every kiss and touch. Spencer laid you back gently, his hands trembling slightly as he held you, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you wanted to stop. But there was only desire and your verbal confirmation, and so he continued, showing you the skills he’d learned over the past year.

And when the clothes were shed and the vulnerability became all-consuming, you allowed him to take your virginity, holding back that delicate truth out of embarrassment over your own inexperience. You didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to add more pressure to a moment already so fragile and important to you both. Spencer, in turn, treated you with a reverence that spoke to his genuine care, his every touch slow and deliberate, like he was savoring each second. 

It was the most passionate, mind-blowing experience Spencer had ever had. Every gasp, every whispered name, every shared look made it clear why—it was you, and it felt like something more than just sex, something deeper, like he was baring his soul alongside his body. When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together, hearts still racing, bodies wrapped around each other like you could hold the moment in place forever. And in that perfect silence, Spencer’s arms became a haven, and you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe, happy, and loved.

But morning came like a cold shock. You reached out across the bed, seeking his warmth, and found only emptiness. The sheets were cool, and Spencer was gone—no note, no sign of him ever having been there. The joy, the love, the comfort you’d fallen asleep to vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind an aching emptiness and the haunting fear that maybe all your doubts were true.

—

Summer came and went, and though the days were warm and filled with distractions, nothing eased the emptiness Spencer left behind. The pain of waking up to find him gone never faded, and as you returned to campus for your sophomore year, the ache of his absence settled in deeper, an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

You looked for him—hoping to see that familiar face in the library, in a lecture hall, anywhere on campus—but every search ended in disappointment. It was like he’d vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Over the next three years, you went through the motions, diving into your studies and trying to let go of what happened, but the memory of him never left, haunting every quiet moment and making you wonder what you'd done wrong.

The truth was clear to you now: Spencer had used you, filling some void in himself for one night, and then disappearing, leaving a much larger void in your own heart.

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Languages of Love

Summary: Based on this request! Spencer meets you, someone who uses a language he can't use, and is determined to learn your language and impress you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x deaf!fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: sign language

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: this was adorable omfg i can totally see spencer needing to learn a new language because he meets a beautiful person

main masterlist

You were standing in line, waiting to order your coffee, when the person ahead of you suddenly turned around with a confused expression. You blinked, tilting your head slightly in question, trying to understand what their look meant, only to realize they weren't focused on you—they were looking at something behind you.

Curious, you turned around to see what had caught their attention. Standing off to the side were two people who looked very official—a man and a woman, both watching you expectantly. The sight puzzled you, and your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of their presence.

You tilted your head again, a silent question in your eyes, wondering why they seemed to be addressing you. Before you could react further, the man began to speak, but his words spilled out too quickly, and his lips moved in a blur—far too fast for you to read.

Feeling a bit flustered but wanting to clear up the confusion, you lifted your hands and signed, “I’m sorry, I’m deaf.” Your movements were calm but clear, hoping they would understand.

The woman’s eyes followed your hands carefully, and after a brief pause of comprehension, she responded in sign language, though her motions were a bit awkward and unsure. “I’m sorry,” she signed, her hands slightly stiff, “can I talk to you?”

You nodded, though a hint of hesitation clouded your eyes. You motioned towards the counter, your hand forming the sign for "coffee" as you asked, “Coffee?” A small, polite smile spread across the woman’s face, and she nodded while signing back, “Yes, please.”

Turning back to the barista, you quickly ordered two coffees, keeping your movements efficient, your eyes flitting back occasionally to the two strangers. After a few moments, you balanced the cups in your hands and followed the man and woman to a nearby table, your mind racing with questions about who they were and why they wanted to talk to you.

You all sat down together, the tension of the unknown hanging over the table like a thick cloud. The man, looking slightly flushed—embarrassment, you observed—pulled a notebook from his pocket. He scribbled across the page quickly, his eyes darting up to you every so often as though gauging your reaction. After a moment, he flipped the notebook around, pushing it across the table for you to read:

We are with the FBI. We’re canvassing this area as a potential suspect has been spotted coming to this café. Can we ask you some questions?

Your eyes scanned the note, the words sinking in like stones as your heartbeat quickened. FBI? Suspect? You looked up at the two agents, your pulse in your ears, and nodded, your hand lifting instinctively to sign, “Yes.”

The two agents introduced themselves, the man as Dr. Spencer Reid and the woman as Dr. Alex Blake. You nodded at each name, trying to maintain your composure despite the underlying nerves. Once introductions were made, they dove right into their questions—simple, straightforward things: How often did you come to this café? Had you seen anyone suspicious lately? Any strange behavior that stood out to you?

As you answered each question in turn, you couldn’t help but notice Dr. Reid’s frustration. It became apparent how much he wished he knew more sign language, his brow furrowing whenever he struggled to understand, his hands occasionally twitching as though wishing to communicate properly. He would look to Dr. Blake for support each time you signed a response, and you found his earnestness almost endearing, this quiet desperation to make sure you felt understood.

Dr. Blake, on the other hand, impressed you with her sign language skills. Although her movements were not perfectly fluid, her recall was solid, and she managed to keep up with you almost effortlessly. She took the lead in asking follow-up questions, her hands moving with a careful confidence that showed she had practiced this before. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Dr. Reid glancing between you and Dr. Blake, clearly trying to learn and understand, his eyes darting back and forth with sharp focus. 

It made you smile—just a small quirk of your lips—as you could tell he was putting in genuine effort, and you appreciated it more than you could say. In a way, it softened the situation, making it feel less like an interrogation and more like a casual chat, albeit with an important undertone.

After you’d shared everything you could think of, Dr. Reid and Dr. Blake nodded appreciatively. They both signed "thank you," and while Dr. Blake’s movements were confident, Dr. Reid's were hesitant and slow, his brow furrowing as he tried to get it right. He turned to Alex, his voice tinged with a shy curiosity. “Alex, can you show me how to say ‘thank you for your time’?”

A grin spread across Dr. Blake's face as she demonstrated the sign slowly, her movements exaggerated so he could easily follow along. Dr. Reid focused intently, copying her motions with a nervous determination. After a couple of attempts, he finally got it, his face lighting up with a small, triumphant smile as he turned to you. “Thank you for your time,” he signed, a bit clumsily but with sincerity in every gesture.

You couldn't help but giggle softly, charmed by his effort, and you responded with a bright smile, your hand moving fluidly as you signed back, “Thank you.” There was something warm and genuine about the exchange, the simple kindness in their attention to making sure they communicated with you as best as they could. You all signed your goodbyes, your hands dancing through the familiar gestures, and then you turned to leave, ready to head back to your day.

But before you could take more than a step away, you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes widening slightly until they landed on Dr. Reid. You couldn't help but smile as he stood there, his expression a mixture of hopefulness and uncertainty. He hesitated for just a moment before raising his hand to his ear and mouth, mimicking the universal “phone” gesture. It was clear he didn’t know the proper sign, but his eagerness was adorable, and you found yourself giggling again, nodding to show you understood.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled out your phone and handed it over to him. He accepted it with a small, bashful smile, quickly typing his number into your contacts before handing the phone back to you. As you looked at the screen, your eyes danced with teasing amusement. You saved the number and immediately sent him a text, letting him see that now he had your number, too.

Spencer’s eyes met yours as his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out to see your message, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. You waved, your hand fluttering playfully, and then turned to walk away, glancing back just once to catch a final glimpse of his shy, boyish smile before you disappeared into the crowd.

When you finally got home, you kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag by the door, and flopped down onto the couch with a sigh of relief. It had been an odd day—running into two FBI agents at your favorite café was definitely not part of the plan—but it was intriguing.

Your phone buzzed as you relaxed into the cushions, and you quickly fished it out of your pocket, your eyes lighting up when you saw the message. It was from Spencer Reid, and just seeing his name brought a grin to your face. You opened the text, your smile widening as you read his polite and thoughtful words.

Hello, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. I did not know how to sign this, but I wanted to give you my number in case you thought of any additional information or had any questions. I hope I did not make you uncomfortable.

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, amused by how proper and formal he was, even over text. His thoughtfulness shone through every word, the way he worried if he’d made you uncomfortable, and the cautious professionalism in offering his number just in case. It was sweet, and it made your heart warm a little.

You typed back quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard as you smiled to yourself, deciding to add a hint of playful teasing to your response.

Hi! You did not make me uncomfortable at all, you’re sweet. Although, I am a little disappointed you only gave me your number for professional reasons.

You hit send, the message whooshing off into cyberspace, and sat back with a satisfied little grin on your face. You wondered how he might respond—would he be flustered? Amused? Whatever the answer, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last you’d hear from Dr. Spencer Reid. 

—

Spencer couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he read your message, his eyes lingering over your words. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, the warmth of the exchange settling comfortably in his chest. It wasn’t often that someone teased him so lightly, so playfully. He liked it—more than he expected to.

Alex caught the change in his demeanor instantly, narrowing her eyes with a teasing grin. "What was that?" she asked, her tone playful and prodding as she tilted her head towards him. "You seem... unusually cheerful for an investigation."

Spencer cleared his throat, doing his best to mask his smile, though he was fairly certain he failed miserably. "Hmm? Oh, nothing," he replied casually, trying to shrug it off as if it was no big deal. But the secret smile that tugged at his lips betrayed his nonchalance, and Alex could see right through it.

Alex’s eyebrow arched, a playful glimmer in her eyes as she observed Spencer's sudden burst of enthusiasm. She shook her head with a soft laugh, her amusement evident. But rather than dive into teasing him more, she let it slide, instead leaning back against the wall, folding her arms comfortably. 

Spencer, eager to steer the conversation away from the curious sparkle in her eyes, tilted his head. “When did you learn sign language?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I didn’t know you knew so much.”

Alex’s expression softened, the laughter fading into a more thoughtful smile. “A long time ago, actually,” she replied. “I took a linguistics course in grad school, and one of the areas we studied was American Sign Language. I found it fascinating—how rich and expressive it is. A completely visual language. So I kept learning, practiced with some Deaf friends. You know how it is—you start learning something new, and it just sticks.”

She paused for a moment, a fondness in her voice as she reflected on the skill she’d picked up so many years ago. “I haven’t had many opportunities to use it recently, though, so I was a bit rusty today. But I’m glad it came in handy.” She gave a small shrug as if it was no big deal, but Spencer could tell how much it meant to her to be able to communicate with you effectively.

“I’m impressed,” Spencer said earnestly. “It’s a beautiful language. I just wish I knew more of it. You made it look so easy today.”

Alex chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, Spencer. You did fine. And besides, looks like you might have an excuse to practice now.” She shot him a knowing glance, and Spencer’s cheeks turned slightly pink as he glanced away, a small, bashful smile playing on his lips.

When Spencer returned home that night, his first instinct was to reach into his bag and pull out the book on American Sign Language he had impulsively picked up on his way home from the library. He settled down in his favorite chair, the worn fabric molding comfortably around him as he cracked open the first few pages. The textbook felt heavy in his hands, but the thrill of learning something new made his pulse quicken, the familiar rush of excitement he always felt when diving into a new subject.

He scanned the table of contents, eyes darting over the list of basics—alphabet, numbers, common phrases. His fingers itched to start signing immediately, but he forced himself to go slowly, knowing he’d need to cover the fundamentals before he could even think of diving into conversational fluency. Spencer read carefully, mouthing the words as he memorized the signs, occasionally raising a hand to test out the motions, his fingers forming the letters of the ASL alphabet with care.

Of course, he told himself, this sudden drive to learn had nothing to do with you. The way you had smiled so brightly when he’d attempted to sign, the warmth in your eyes as you’d encouraged his clumsy attempts—that had nothing to do with this. He’d probably never run into you again anyway, right? It was simply a practical skill, he reasoned, one that could serve him well in the field, and it was important to be able to communicate with anyone he might meet.

But as Spencer flipped through the pages, trying to imprint each sign in his memory, he couldn't ignore the flutter in his chest, the small hope that maybe, just maybe, he would see you again. And when that day came, he wanted to impress you—he wanted to sign your language, seamlessly and naturally, so you’d never feel that gap between spoken and signed words again. Deep down, Spencer knew that every sign he learned was a step closer to reaching out to you, to breaking the barrier that had momentarily stood between you both.

So he stayed up late that night, practicing the signs over and over, his fingers moving clumsily at first, but gradually gaining confidence. He covered the basics—the alphabet, greetings, simple phrases like “How are you?” and “Thank you.” And as he signed each one, his thoughts returned to the cafe, to the way you’d laughed so easily, the gentle curve of your hands as you’d signed back to him, your eyes filled with light.

—

"Hey, Alex," Spencer said as he slid up to the side of her desk, trying to sound casual, though the eagerness in his voice made it obvious he was anything but. His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her desk, his eyes flickering between the book of ASL phrases he'd brought with him and Alex, who was typing away at her computer.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow with an amused smirk. “Sure, Spencer,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “Any particular reason you suddenly want to practice?” The corner of her mouth twitched upward knowingly, the hint of a teasing smile spreading across her face.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he fumbled to keep the book tucked under his arm. “Uh, no,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though it came off a bit forced. “I mean, yes, but not really. It’s just, you know, important to be able to communicate in different ways. In case we... ever need it again for a case, or something like that.” He shrugged, but the movement was stiff, and Alex could see right through his excuses.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying his half-hearted explanation. “Or something. And this doesn’t have anything to do with the woman we spoke to at the café?” Alex roughly signed while she spoke, just to throw a little more teasing into the mix.

Spencer gave a small, sheepish grin, one hand nervously brushing through his hair. “Well,” he admitted, his eyes darting to the side, “I guess it couldn’t hurt... to be more prepared. In case we see her again.” He paused before adding quickly, “Or anyone else who signs, of course.”

Alex chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Of course,” she said, still signing. “Alright, let's practice then. I could use the refresher myself.” She gestured for him to sit, setting aside her work, clearly delighted by this turn of events.

Spencer let out a small sigh of relief, and as he pulled up a chair beside her, he opened the book to the first page they would go over together. And as they began signing basic greetings back and forth, Spencer felt the nerves start to melt away, replaced by a renewed excitement. He knew that with every word he learned, he was one step closer to being able to speak directly to you, without stumbling or awkwardness—just him, hoping to meet you at your level.

—

It was a normal Wednesday morning, and as always, you found yourself waiting in line at your favorite coffee shop. This midweek pick-me-up was one of your cherished routines—a small way to break up the workweek and treat yourself before the daily grind. You'd been coming here for years, long enough that the staff knew your face and your order by heart, and they had long since adapted to your way of communicating. It always made the mornings smooth, familiar, and comforting.

When it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the counter, ready to place your usual order. The person in front of you had just moved to the side, waiting for their name to be called, and you reached into your bag to grab your wallet. But before you could even open it, you felt a gentle touch on your arm—enough to make you pause but soft enough not to startle. Confused, you turned around, and a smile broke across your face when you saw who it was.

There, standing right behind you, was the tall, familiar figure of Dr. Spencer Reid. His expression was open, friendly, his eyes crinkling slightly as he waved hello. You gave a small wave back, surprised and happy to see him again. But before you could say anything, his hands moved up, and he began signing, a little slowly but clearly: “I will pay.”

Your eyes widened in delighted surprise, and you couldn’t help the massive, toothy grin that spread across your face. You nodded, not even trying to hide your happiness, and as Spencer pulled out his billfold, you watched him confidently step up to the counter, ordering another drink for himself. 

As the barista rang up the total and handed back his change, you both made your way to the other side of the counter, where the barista would place your drinks once they were ready. Your smile was still stretched ear to ear, and as soon as you were both settled, you signed enthusiastically, “Thank you.” You put your whole heart into the sign, hoping to convey just how much you appreciated the gesture.

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your reaction, and though he was still learning, he carefully signed back, “You’re welcome.” He felt a swell of pride, not just because he'd gotten the sign right, but because it had earned him that big, radiant smile from you again—the one that made him feel like he'd just done something really, really right.

As you both waited for your drinks to be called, you found yourself eager to know more about him, about why he was here, and whether this coffee outing was as coincidental as it seemed.

With coffees in hand, Spencer gestured toward an open two-person table, and you both made your way over. The café was abuzz with the usual mid-morning activity—baristas calling out names, the hiss of espresso machines, and the chatter of other customers—but right now, your focus was entirely on the man sitting across from you. 

Once you were both seated, you set down your coffee and looked at him with a smile, your hands moving slowly, deliberately, as you signed, “How are you?”

Spencer's eyes lit up as he caught every sign. He felt a wave of excitement that he actually understood, and you could see how grateful he was that you had signed clearly and at a pace he could follow. He straightened up slightly, lifting his hands to respond, his movements a bit stiff but determined. “Good,” he signed, and then quickly followed up with, “And you?”

Your smile softened as you signed back, “Better now.” You made sure to sign gently, your hands moving with an easy grace, knowing that he was still learning. But Spencer’s expression immediately changed—he was concentrating, trying to decipher the exact meaning behind your words, a look of curiosity and a touch of self-doubt clouding his eyes. It was clear he was trying to figure out if you meant "better now" as in "better today" or "better in this moment."

The slight frustration on his face was endearing, and you watched as he quickly pulled out a pen and notebook from his bag, his fingers fumbling slightly in his hurry to communicate clearly. He scribbled a quick note, and then turned it to you, the question neatly written out in his careful handwriting: 

“Do you mean ‘now’ or ‘today’?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you. It was a fair question—ASL could be nuanced, and for a new learner, the subtle differences in meaning could be confusing. You reached out to take the pen from his hand, your fingers brushing against his briefly, causing a light jolt of surprise for both of you. Spencer’s eyes flickered to your hand before looking back up at you, his cheeks tinged pink. 

You wrote carefully, making sure the message was clear: “Now :)”

When you passed the notebook back to him, Spencer read the word with a growing smile, feeling a sense of relief and happiness that you were, in fact, "better now"—because of this moment you were sharing together. He looked up at you with an almost shy grin, his eyes meeting yours with that same bright sincerity. And as you both sat there, sipping your coffee and smiling across the table, it felt like you had all the time in the world to learn each other's languages, one small step at a time.

Spencer set his coffee cup down on the table with a look of pure determination etched on his face. He met your eyes with an earnestness that made your heart skip a beat, and he began to stumble through a series of signs, his fingers moving with deliberate care. You could see how hard he was concentrating, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to recall everything he'd studied, but it was clear that while his mind might know the signs, his hands were having a little more trouble putting them together smoothly.

His first sign came out awkwardly—he intended to sign "will," but you understood it as "future." You tilted your head slightly, a puzzled smile tugging at your lips as you tried to understand. Spencer, not realizing the mistake, nervously pressed on, clearly determined to get his message across. He paused for a moment, gathering his courage, and then signed "you," mouthing the word as he did. 

Your grin widened as you watched him, still a little confused by the context but so endeared by his effort. His eyes flickered up to yours, gauging your reaction, and you nodded in encouragement, waiting to see what he'd say next.

Spencer's fingers moved again, a little clumsier this time. "Go," he signed, and then followed it with "date." He paused, took a deep breath, and then finally added, “with me,” his eyes never leaving yours, as if afraid to miss your reaction. It was such a sweet attempt that you couldn’t help but smile brightly, warmth blooming in your chest as you realized what he was asking.

You quickly pieced together his intended message: he wanted to know if you would go on a date with him. Technically, Spencer should have signed "will" at the end, to clarify the question—since in ASL, that would have helped avoid any confusion about tense—but you didn’t care about the technicality. The effort he’d put into learning, and his shy, hopeful expression, meant so much more than getting the grammar perfect.

Nodding eagerly, you signed back “Yes” with enthusiasm, your hand moving quickly and brightly as your eyes locked with his. Spencer’s face broke into a relieved, overjoyed smile, his entire expression lighting up in a way that made you want to laugh with delight. 

And just like that, over two cups of coffee and a few imperfect signs, you found yourself agreeing to a date with Dr. Spencer Reid—the handsome, sweet, determined FBI agent who was willing to learn an entirely new language just to speak with you.

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