My Attempt At A Mystery Fic Has Turned Into Fucking Romance I Cannot Why Does This Always Happen To Me

my attempt at a mystery fic has turned into fucking romance i cannot why does this always happen to me 😭

“He didn’t realize how much he missed you until he noticed how long he spent convincing himself that he didn’t, despite how all he ever thought about—other than Gotham, of course—was the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled.”

bruce wayne snippet

“If Bruce Wayne doesn’t stop melting in your hands, he’ll collapse, and there would be no one left to save Gotham from itself. And there is nothing he loves more than this city, though you come begrudgingly close to it.”

tbf i only read skyward and its sequel so i’m making my judgments on his writing on them, but i think it’s fine bc they’re relatively new books of his.

it felt as if he wrote the book like the mc was a boy and then switched it to a girl later on due to her oddly stereotypical male traits. don’t get me wrong, i’m all for a confident mc who breaks gender stereotypes, but the characterization of the mc, or the way he wrote her personality, rubbed me the wrong way. she was kind of like a mix of exaggerated naivety and familiar male arrogance. in other words, i felt like sanderson was pushing a stereotypical guy’s personality onto spensa to make her “different” rather than her own personality with no attachments to such stereotypical male behavior.

however, i’ll admit that there was a good redemption arc and the character development of spensa toward the end of the first book was so good. also, overall, there was decent worldbuilding and plot though.

upon further reflection, i’m pretty sure that sanderson turned me off of dystopian/fantasy; i haven’t read a dystopian book since last reading skyward and starsight in 2020. when he published cytonic, i just couldn’t care less because of how turned off i was from his characterization of spensa.

for insight, my fav dystopian book (and really, it’s in my top 3 books ever) is the scythe series by neal shishterman. goddamn is that trip the best. they’re pretty difficult to get through in the first half but everything picks up toward the second half. the scythe series is so worth reading, i promise you.

all that said, i still have respect for sanderson writing like 5 books in 2 years (or so i’ve heard) and having thousands of people donate millions bc they love his work so much.

unpopular opinion: i dislike brandon sanderson’s writing

thank you!! this was so cute

34 + ss!wilbur? <3

of course! thank you for the request, and for being a lovely mutual :D

‘prompt 34’ w/ starstruck!wilbur

━━ ✧︰34: a secret they’re dying to tell you

event post | series masterlist

Dearest Diary,

It’s hard to watch Y/N fall in love with Technoblade. It’s amazing to see them both happy— Hell, it’s been crazy to see how much he’s changed.

But a selfish part of me still can’t believe somebody as perfect as them, ended up with him.

Maybe I’m being biased— Heaven knows. But I’m pretty sure I had a little crush first, and that feels extremely unfair to me.

I mean, if I’m being honest everyone has has a crush on Y/N at some point. Hell I wouldn’t be surprised if students are crushing on them too.

And I know it’s incredibly selfishly unfair of me, but I’d love to tell them that. Tell Y/N just how wonderful they are, and how they had a special place in my heart when I first met them.

I don’t think I ever will though— I mean, what kind of bastard would I be to confess this to a taken person? They’re practically Techno’s partner at this point.

All will be right eventually, I’m sure of it. I hope that I’m shown my future soon, though.

Feels weird to see them move on. We’ve never been romantically involved unfortunately, but still— It’s ‘moving on’, I guess.

Until next time,

Wilbur.

masterlist

wilbur soot

ozymandias

perennial pages

that's my wife

summary: you and spencer have always had a relationship that some refer to as 'work spouses'. it's not until the addition of a new, handsome employee, that spencer has to challenge what that really means to him.

a/n: you might be confused why the characters don't match up to the show's timeline... that is because i do not respect canon. this is my fantasy world and i make up the situations, and that means i get all my fav characters in one fic even if they never even met in the show.

category: fluff! so much fluff. friends to lovers. pining. and jealous spencer

warnings: none i can think of!

word count: 6.6k

“Time!” Spencer filled in the last empty space of his crossword puzzle and with the brightest of smiles, shot his head up from the newspaper in excitement. He was pretty sure he beat his record, until you half-winced and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” you rubbed your thumb along the tense muscle between his neck and shoulder. You knew he’d been so looking forward to beating his already fast time. “Three seconds too long.”

He sighed and dejectedly tossed his pen back onto his desk. He blames it on the fact that he ran out of ink halfway through writing the word jeremiad, and wasted fifteen seconds in searching for a new one.

Reading his mind, you added, “You know, I keep telling you to just use a pencil so you don’t have those bothersome ink issues.”

You already knew what he was going to say. At the same time, you both chorused:

“That’s not the way to do it.”

“That’s not the way to do it. I know.” Shaking your head, you hopped off the top of his desk, removing the stopwatch dangling from around your neck on a lanyard and placing it neatly inside his cup of highlighters. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

He smiled and agreed. He might not have beat his record, but at least this morning wasn’t a total waste. He still got to hang out with you.

You picked up your almost finished cup of coffee and took a slow sip, savoring the last remaining bits. Spencer always made the best coffee in the world. You’ve asked him for his secret and he refused to tell you, mostly because he didn’t mind making it for you. In fact, for that exact reason, he didn’t want to tell you. Because then you wouldn’t need him to do it.

“Mm. I’ll bring the paper, you make the coffee,” you joked, bumping the side of his arm. Of course he was going to do that; it was your routine since forever. Each morning started the same.

You and Spencer would always arrive at the office twenty minutes early. Even though Spencer had subscriptions to every newspaper around town, you still brought one in, and while he was in the kitchenette making his top secret coffee, you waited for him at his desk. With your specially-made coffee in hand, you’d time Spencer while he worked, just to keep him honest about how fast he could really solve the puzzles.

It started because you didn’t believe him when he said he finished the Sunday puzzle – objectively, the hardest of the week – in roughly seven minutes. It seemed outlandish to you, but you’d only met him a few days prior and hadn’t yet learned not to question that kind of thing. So, the next morning you strolled up with the Times and challenged him to complete it. If he couldn’t do it in seven and a half, he was to buy you a cup of coffee. And if he did, you’d buy him one.

That day, he broke his record. He did it in six minutes and forty-two seconds. Still, he offered to pay for that cup of coffee.

And a routine was somehow born from that. Since then, he’s shaved his time down to five minutes and thirty seven seconds. You learned that his homemade coffee is better than anything, and stopped letting him buy your coffee in lieu of making them himself. There were days he finished the puzzle before you even finished your coffee. And days where the puzzle was forgotten entirely in favor of conversation.

There were also days where you’d compete to see who would finish first; Spencer and the crossword, or you and the coffee. Until you’d burned your esophagus one too many times trying to get ahead, and for your own good Spencer had to implement a rule against competitions.

Mostly, though, that extra twenty minutes before work was never enough. Making the coffee only took three, and doing the puzzle never took more than nine, and somehow the excess of eight minutes was always too short. Even with no coffee and no crossword, you’d stay at his desk until it was absolutely imperative to start working, or until Hotch came in and gave you one of his disapproving looks.

That morning, you had to leave Spencer’s side because Hotch called everyone in for an early morning meeting. One that you were already three minutes late to.

“So nice of you to finally join us,” Emily crooned as the two of you finally walked in, the last to arrive.

You playfully rolled your eyes at her, “Should be used to it by now.” It happened often enough that Emily’s quips were getting repetitive.

Hotch closed his eyes and sighed. “Your tardiness isn’t something to be proud of, agents.”

“Sorry,” Spencer whispered and walked around to the other side of the table, going for the usual spot in one of the two empty chairs that sat side-by-side.

Only to find a stranger already in it.

“Oh.” He took a step back, only now noticing the man sitting in his unassigned assigned seat. He blinked awkwardly at him, slightly embarrassed and confused. “Hi?”

“Did we miss something important, Hotch?” you laughed.

“Yes, actually,” he huffed, not finding humor in the fact that you routinely missed the beginnings of his meetings. “This is agent Luke Alvez, he’ll be joining us indefinitely.”

Spencer gave the new agent a shy wave, which was only half-acknowledged because you interrupted by placing a hand on Luke’s forearm and a very welcoming, “Hi, Luke, welcome to the team.” You flashed him one of your signature bright smiles, equally returned by Luke himself, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The two of you held eye contact for a prolonged second before returning to the room.

_

Spencer noticed it, but he didn’t mention it. At least not right away.

The introductions were cut short, Hotch gave the brief on the case, and the team packed into the jet. Spencer made it on last, and when he boarded he found out the repercussions of taking too long to decide which book to bring for the trip.

Luke had once again taken Spencer’s seat. No, it wasn’t labelled as his, but it was next to you, and that made it Spencer’s seat. He awkwardly shuffled past you and Luke, talking on your chairs side-by-side, and went all the way to the back of the plane.

He hadn’t sat on the tiny couch in a while, even though it was his favorite spot on the plane. Mostly because you preferred the seats and hardly ever agreed to utilize the couch unless Spencer had all but forced you into following him back there by refusing to sit in the normal seats. You had to, because he was the keeper of whatever book the two of you were reading together, and how could you make it through the trip without your in-flight entertainment?

He guessed he should enjoy being on that couch, but it didn’t quite feel as nice as he remembered it. He kept looking over to where you were sitting, his carefully chosen copy of Pride and Prejudice abandoned in his lap.

Luke sure seemed to pique your interest. You had one earbud in, and Luke had the other, while he showed you different songs on his iPod. He was talking excitedly about music, and Spencer could tell you were listening to every word of it, because of course you were. Spencer figured out early on that you were the rare type to actually listen to people when they talk, even if the things they’re passionate about aren’t of your particular interest.

Spencer waited a while, but thirty minutes later, you were still listening to Luke, who had now moved on to talking about his dog, Roxy. He wasn’t going to start your favorite novel without you, so he put it back in his satchel and kicked up both feet on the couch. He figured he might as well take a nap if he had nothing else to do with his time.

_

An hour later, he was woken up by a sudden weight on his lower legs.

“Hm?” he opened one eye, unfolding his hands from behind his head and propping himself up on them, still in a fog.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Whenever he sat up like that, his tummy got a soft pooch to it, and you gave him a good poke there. His tum flinched reactively at the tickling.

When he realized it was just you, he laid back down on the seat, closing his eyes again.

“Wake up!” You poked him again, and again, until he had to open both eyes and slap your invasive hand away. To which you doubled down with both hands, index fingers leading the charge against his tummy in rapid succession, and he couldn’t get rid of them fast enough anymore. “Wake up! I’m bored.”

Spencer groaned loudly, stopping your assault by grabbing both your hands and finally sitting up. He moved his feet back down to the floor, gently tossing you off his legs in the process. No worries; that just made room for you to take a proper seat next to him instead.

“What book did you pick out for us?” you asked, cozying up to his side. Spencer smiled and reached down to his satchel, knowing you were going to love his choice. “Oh! My favorite!” you cheered, lightly clapping your hands together.

He grinned to himself, watching you look at his worn-in copy with so much excitement in your eyes. “I know.”

Stealing a portion of Spencer’s blanket and adjusting it so it laid over both of your laps, you rested your head on his shoulder and waited for him to begin.

“What are you waiting for?” You scrunched your brows when a full minute passed and he hadn’t started reading.

“Oh – I… I thought you were sitting over there,” he tilted his head to the side, where you previously had been enjoying Luke’s company.

“Yeah, but I missed you.”

Spencer’s imperceptible pout twitched into a smile at your admission. But he still wanted to pull your leg for abandoning him for Luke.

Even if, in reality, you had actually gotten there first and saved the other seat for Spencer, only to feel too rude to tell the new guy he couldn’t sit there when he boarded two minutes later, saw an empty chair, and sat down.

“Ohhh, Agent Alvez wasn’t holding your attention?” He said in a teasing tone, placing his hand on your forearm just as you did to Luke earlier, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears, and batting his eyelashes dramatically.

“I don’t bat my eyelashes like that.”

“Right, you just do everything short of that,” he laughed. You socked him in the bicep, not even feeling an ounce of guilt when he cried out and grabbed his arm in pain.

“Shut up and read, Reid.” He shook his head at your poor attempt at a play on words. An overused and unoriginal one, and yet he knew you still found yourself clever for it. You knew it was lame, but he still giggled, even if it was a tiny one that he stifled under a tight lip because he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. You placed your head back on his shoulder as he cracked open the book and started on the first page.

–

With a big yawn, Spencer stood up from his desk and stretched his arms out, wiggling his toes and extending his fingers to re-energize his tired body, in need of a mid-afternoon pick up. It was a habit you got him into a while back. You noticed his ridiculous caffeine intake and suggested that he try alternative methods to upping his energy. Like a good stretch or walk around the room to get his blood flow going after hours of hunching over files.

So, he got into the habit of standing up to stretch, taking a quick lap around the room, and walking right into the kitchenette to make himself a cup of coffee as soon as that was done.

In return, you got into a bad habit of overconsuming caffeine, because each time he got up to make himself a coffee, he brought you one too.

While he waited for the coffee to drip into the pot, he passively tapped his fingers on the countertop and hummed a tune. He didn’t know the name of the song but it was something you played for him on your iPod, listening with one earbud each, on the way home from work the previous night.

He poured two cups of coffee; one for himself, and the other for you.

“Special delivery,” he sang softly, cautiously approaching your desk with over-filled mugs of hot liquid in each hand. He had an eye on the cups and another on the path ahead, terrified he was about to spill scalding coffee over both his hands.

“Oh, shit,” you said under your breath, sitting upright as you saw him coming. “I wish you’d asked, I already have one.” You regretfully held up a mug, still mostly full with coffee.

Spencer paused right in his tracks. He never had to ask if you wanted coffee. He just always brought it out, and you always took it without question. You also never bothered to make it yourself, because it was an unspoken agreement that Spencer would inevitably make it for the both of you.

So where did that cup come from?

“I didn’t realize you had some already.” He furrowed his brows, not sure what to do with the extra mug now. He even poured yours in the favorite mug that the two of you often fought over because he was in an extra nice mood. It was a pale blue and had tiny brown dachshunds all over, donning yellow raincoats, and sneakers just like Spencer’s.

“Sorry, angelface,” you pouted back. He looked so disappointed as he turned away, no doubt to go right back to the kitchen and toss your beverage down the sink, and you quickly called out, “Wait, no! Leave it, I’ll drink it.”

Screw it, you’ll take the jitters and a night of bad sleep if it meant Spencer wouldn’t feel so bad. He was instantly happier, smiling at you as he walked back to place the mug at your desk, slyly shoving the other cup aside so that his took the priority placement.

“By the way, you know you can just ask me when you want coffee, right? You don’t have to wait until I want one, or make it yourself.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Luke made extra, so he brought me one.”

Spencer’s lip tightened just a little, brows a centimeter higher on his forehead now. “Oh? Luke did, hm…” he mumbled, perhaps a bit snarkily, as he picked up the mug Luke made. “That was nice of him, but I guess you don’t need this now, anyways, it’s probably cold now and this new one’s much fresher.”

You chuckled softly and didn’t bother correcting him on the fact that Luke’s mug was very much still warm, and that you were still enjoying it. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.”

_

The coffee incident rolled right off Spencer’s back by the next morning.

Even he could recognize that his reaction may have been a bit childish. After all, it was only Luke’s second week with the unit, and he was just trying to make some new friends. Spencer figured that there really was no better person to know, nor easier one to befriend, than you, so he couldn’t blame Luke for trying.

That clarity lasted until he walked into the bullpen and found a new reason to be annoyed.

As usual, you were waiting for him at his desk, perched atop the wood with the morning paper rolled up in your hand. But not as usual, you already had a mug of coffee placed next to you. He had the sneaking suspicion that this one was also made by none other than Luke Alvez.

“Good morning,” you chirped, giving Spencer a quick peck on the cheek as he walked around the desk and took a seat in his office chair.

He grumbled it back, taking the newspaper from your hands and unraveling it on his desk, ironing out the rolled edges with a little more irritation than he’d normally have. As he searched for his favorite pen, he noticed you were already halfway through your drink.

No doubt that was going to cut down the amount of time that you could use the excuse that you were ‘still fueling up’ to justify loitering at Spencer’s desk instead of working. He tried not to roll his eyes at that fact and got to work on his puzzle without much chit chat. The morning routine was already off, anyway.

“No coffee this morning?”

“You have it, already,” he pointed out.

“I meant for you. You’re not gonna have some?” That was incredibly abnormal for Spencer. You couldn’t recall even one morning where you didn’t see him down some form of caffeine.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t really feel a burning desire to make coffee when it was only going to be for himself. “Eh. Maybe later.”

“Okay,” you frowned. Quickly erasing it for a smile, you picked up the stopwatch and slung it around your neck. “Ready to start?”

You gave him a little countdown and he went off reading the clues. He was uncharacteristically slow at it, this time around. By ten past the hour, he was only three-quarters done with the puzzle. You could practically hear the way Hotch was going to yell at you if he saw you still not working by this point.

The lines between Spencer’s brows were prominent as he concentrated far too hard on the clues he couldn’t solve. Pressing your thumb right over the deep crease, you reminded him to un-scrunch and relax his face.

“It’s okay if you can’t solve it, sweet boy.”

Spencer sighed, putting down his pen in defeat and leaning back in his chair. ”I don’t know why I’m off my game today.”

“It’s alright, we all have those days.” You ruffled the top of his hair before hopping off his desk, collecting your long-empty mug and returning his stopwatch.

“Wait, where are you going?” Those worry lines you just chased off came right back to his face. “I can still finish it!”

“I know, Spence. I don’t doubt you,” you reassured, but it felt like you were already halfway to your desk anyway. Which was all the way across the bullpen, way too far from Spencer’s cubicle. “But I really have to start work before we get in trouble again.”

He curled his lips to the side. You were right, it was twenty past the hour, and there was no viable excuse for you to stay any longer. Damn that empty cup, and damn him for being too slow.

Spencer gave the crossword one last, cursory glance. The remaining words were cruelly obvious to him now. He didn’t find a point in writing them in and completing it now, so he opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and tossed the paper inside. The metal filing drawer reverberated with a loud clang as he kicked it shut with his foot.

“Hey, ouch!” From the next cubicle over, Derek was leaning back in his chair to make sure Spencer could see him covering his ears with both hands. “Pretty boy, what’s with the loud angry noises at nine in the morning?”

Spencer didn’t dignify him with a response, grumbling and inspecting the stack of manila folders on his desk instead. Derek got up from his seat, walked over to Spencer and slung one muscular arm over his shoulders when he realized.

“Ohhh, I think I get it,” he teased.

“Get what, Morgan?”

“You’re mad because you’re lonely without your little work wife,” he chuckled, jostling Spencer’s shoulders playfully. Maybe, he thought, if he shook Spencer hard enough, it would knock his brain into place.

“My what?” Spencer had never heard of that term before. Solely based on context clues, he understood Derek was implying some sort of intimate relationship between himself and you.

“Your work wife,” Derek repeated. “You know – a woman, with whom you work, and are closer to than most people. Whom you happen to love, in your case.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and shrugged Derek off his shoulders. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Derek put up both hands defensively, slowly backing away from the hothead in front of him.

It was one of those things that didn't need to be said in order to be true. Everyone just knew it and accepted it as a fact; Spencer was in love with you, and more than likely, you were in love with him. Work spouses was just a cute nickname for what was really going on.

He had just turned his shoulder back towards his own desk when Spencer called out.

“How are we different from you and Penelope!?” Spencer barked. Derek turned back on his heel, smirking at Spencer. “Aren’t you two ‘work spouses’?”

“We are, Reid,” he smiled, thinking about the picture he had on his desk as evidence. It was of him and Penelope, walking Derek’s dog in the park. The picture next to it was of the two of them, plus Derek’s new girlfriend Savannah who had recently earned the Garcia-Stamp-of-Approval, out to brunch together. “And I love her, too. But the difference is that you are in love with your work wife.”

Derek snickered as he left for good, leaving Spencer to ruminate on that thought for a while.

As many pictures of Penelope as Derek had on his desk, Spencer had a few more than that. And far more brow-raising ones, like one of you baking cookies at Spencer’s house. With flour on your nose and chocolate chip cookie batter on your hands, slowly feeding it to Spencer right off your fingers.

_

Speaking of feeding Spencer, every day he brought a neat ham and cheese sandwich to work in his sack lunch. He cut the crusts off himself and split the sandwich down the middle with a diagonal cut. While you were originally a rectangle-cut person, he was adamant that triangle-cuts were the best shape of sandwich, and eventually you came to agree.

You always brought a salad with all your favorite things that could pass as nutritious. Wild greens, arugula, shredded carrots, goat cheese, and roasted beets. You even made the vinaigrette yourself, and packed it into its own tiny to-go tupperware so it could be mixed into the salad fresh at lunchtime.

And every lunch break, Spencer gave you one half of his sandwich, and you shared with him half of your salad.

What you’d both come to realize is that lunch is so much better with both. It’s the perfect ratio of leafy greens to delicious bread and cheese, and lunch no longer felt complete with just one and not the other.

And then.

And then of course, Luke Alvez decided to take you out for lunch, as if he had no respect at all for the sanctity of homemade, sack lunches. Or any sort of respect for Spencer, given that he’d now ruined the man’s meal by taking away his rights to a salad.

Sometimes Spencer hated how nice you were. Most of the time, he loved it, except for when it conflicted with his own personal interests. Of course you accepted Luke’s offer, and so he was eating his whole sandwich all by himself.

The entire balance was off – had it always been so hard to eat whole sandwiches without getting exhausted by them? Two halves was too much. Too much bread, too much ham, and too much cheese all for one person. There was a significant lack of leaves, carrots, beets, and you.

If he had to be honest, that last item was the real thing lunch was lacking.

He didn’t miss the salad at all. In fact, he actually absolutely hated that salad.

He hated beets and how they always overtook the entire flavor of the whole god forsaken thing. It should’ve been a welcome reprieve to go one day out of hundreds to not eat them. For some reason, he never asked you to take them out. He pretended to love them, to love the salad that tasted like wet Earth, and forced himself to eat all of it every day.

Because if he said he loved it, he figured, then you would share with him half of your salad. So that he could give you half of his sandwich.

That was the routine. It was simple, but it was sacred.

Everything you had together seemed to be sacred until the introduction of one Luke Alvez. Spencer tried to like him, really – Luke was incredibly kind, even to Spencer, from day one. But the fact was that Luke now held all of your attention, and that was beginning to be inexcusable. He messed with a man’s lunch, and that was over the line.

Spencer wasn’t even lying to himself about it anymore. He was seething as he stared at your desk – the only empty one in the bullpen, besides Luke’s – and chewed away at his boring ham and disgusting cheese sandwich.

_

It was impossible to tell what the final straw was going to be, but Spencer knew he was running out of them.

He was eavesdropping on you and Luke in the kitchenette across the bullpen. Laughing together, as if no one could hear you. As if no one would very specifically tune in to the sound of your voice and deliberately refrain from making any noises, not even sounds of breathing, in order to hear what you were saying. You two were just rubbing it in his face, now.

“Come on,” Derek nudged Spencer’s shoulder, earning an annoyed gruff when his concentration on your voices broke. “You really gonna let him move in on your wife like that?”

Spencer clenched his teeth. He knew Derek was just egging him on, but he still didn’t like what he was hearing.

It was ridiculous, and he knew that, to expect that you were never going to be interested in other men. Not that Spencer assumed that you were interested in him, but still...

He just felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you two. That you both had all the companionship you needed in each other, even if it wasn’t romantic. He had to find out the hard way that you didn’t feel the same, if you really were interested in Luke after all. The real kicker of it all was that he had everything Luke had to offer – same job, same intelligence, not the same muscles but he compensated for it with the history he had with you. He thought that would’ve at least given him a competitive advantage.

Spencer watched as you leaned in to Luke, putting your hand on his upper arm and smiling. Right before Derek interrupted, he heard Luke offering to drive you home. By the look of this, you’d accepted it, as if you completely forgot that you promised Spencer you’d take the metro home with him after work.

Derek was still watching it go down, brows raised at Spencer. His question still stood.

“No, I’m not.” Spencer’s nostrils flared out as he slammed his mug down on his desk, liquid sloshing around inside and threatening to spill over. He stormed right into the kitchenette, immediately drawing attention as he stomped up.

“Hey, buddy!” He tried to make his yelling voice sound big and tough, but it came off squeaky and unintimidating. You could tell what he was going for, though. “That’s my wife!” With that statement, you were less sure what that was.

“I – excuse me?” Luke crossed his brows in confusion. You mirrored his expression.

Spencer shifted on his two feet, finger still pointed at Luke in an accusatory manner. He was less confident in his rage than he was before he got there; suddenly aware that his outburst was lacking in context. He knew now that he probably looked insane. It still didn’t stop him from doubling down on his tantrum.

“You heard me.” Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. Standing straighter, he came to the happy realization he was about an inch taller than Luke. Before he could make himself into even more of a fool, you waved your hand to Luke as an apology for this inexplicable outburst.

“Spencer, can I talk to you?” It was rhetorical. You wrapped a hand tight around his upper arm, tugging him down an empty hallway and away from the invasive eyes watching the scene he just caused.

You had no idea what got into him then, but the feeling bubbling in your stomach was unignorable. You’ve never seen him act like such a child, no, a downright brat, in public like that. Much less with you on the receiving end of it. It was quite frankly embarrassing, on top of how confusing it was that he was going around calling you his wife?

At the end of the hall, you had him cornered alone. Just the two of you under the dim fluorescents. He evaded all eye contact when you tried to look him in the eyes, knowing you’d find the truth too quickly if he gave you the chance.

“Are you alright?” you asked, squeezing his arm much softer now. You were planning on chewing him out for what he just did. Really, you were going to lay into him for causing a scene like that, which no doubt was sparking up some rumors behind your back.

But somehow, that anger dissipated the moment you got him alone. Make no mistake, you were not excusing his rude behavior. But that little part of you that was always concerned about Spencer – because with him, there was always more going on under the surface – was impossible to shut up.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I’m not. I haven’t seen you in days.” Your whole face softened. It was so hard to hold it against him when he was so sweet.

“Spencer, you see me every day,” you reasoned. He bowed his head and scoffed, placing his hand at the dip of your waist and pushing you away from him. It was going to suffocate him to be so close to you if you weren’t going to understand where he was coming from. But even a few inches further apart, his hand was still on your waist.

“Not really. It’s not the same. You barely have time for our puzzles. You’re always next to Luke on the jet now. You started skipping our lunches, and now, you’re ditching me for a ride home with him.”

His words made you flinch. You noticed it yourself that you started spending a lot of time with Luke, but had no idea all those little things you’d been doing had added up to affect Spencer in such a way. Of all people, you should’ve noticed him being upset.

“It’s fine, I want you to do whatever you want to. But I miss you,” he added.

The part he didn’t want to say is that he needed to know if you missed him back. He didn’t want to call that into question, even if he really wanted to hear it.

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you leaned in and put a small peck on the tip of his nose.

“I miss you too, angel.” You rubbed your thumb across his cheekbone, watching his face light up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tell you what,” you smiled, tucking his unruly waves behind his ear, “let's take the long way home tonight.”

Spencer grinned from ear to ear. His hand slipped from your waist down to the free hand at your side, squeezing your palms together tightly as you led the way out. You planned to walk all the way home with him to make up for all those minutes lost.

“You know, I’m glad you said you want me to hang out with Luke if I want to,” you smiled, holding Spencer’s hand as you walked down the street.

“Oh, yeah…” He avoided looking at you. He didn’t think that one through when he said it.

“I’m probably going to hang out with him a lot for a bit.”

Spencer focused hard on looking ahead, the road seeming blurrier now. Shit, he really didn’t think it through.

“That’s great. You should do that,” he lied through his teeth. Only you would’ve picked up on that edge in his voice.

“Yeah,” you smiled, noting his thinly veiled annoyance. You wanted to believe for a moment that it was because he was jealous. Because if he was, you could take that crumb and turn it into a feast - a silent declaration of his love that you secretly hoped he had for you. “Because he’s been asking for tons of advice on how to get closer to Penelope.”

Spencer’s ears perked up. “Penelope?”

“Mm-hmm. Seems he’s been smitten with her ever since he saw her,” you smiled harder. So long as you didn’t know any better, he reacted that way because he loved you the way you wanted him to. “Only issue is, she’s a tough one to crack. So coaching him on Penelope 101 has been taking a lot longer than I thought.”

–

It seemed to pay off. Those weeks of neglecting Spencer and inadvertently hurting your best friend produced at least one positive thing.

Luke learned everything he needed to know about Penelope. He won her over, slowly but surely, thanks to your insider information. Still, he needed a bit of a wingman, so the first time he tried to hang out with Penelope outside of work, he disguised it as a group thing.

He invited you, Penelope’s best friend, to a weekend lunch with him and Penelope. You of course brought along Spencer, and tried your best to ignore the fact it felt like a double date. It wasn’t. Luke was on a date with Penelope, which she didn’t know about, and you and Spencer were just there to play along. That’s it.

On another plus side, Spencer seemed to like Luke a whole lot more now.

Luke and Penelope were fictitiously bickering over the lunch options - Luke argued that a blueberry scone was perfectly appropriate to order, and Penelope maintained it was strictly a breakfast item. She settled on an order of soup, to split with Luke for half of his sandwich. Luke might’ve learned that trick from an observation around the office, which you were oblivious to.

Moments before the food arrived, you tapped Spencer’s thigh, asking him to scoot out of the booth so you could go to the bathroom.

“You always do this,” he said exasperatedly. “Every time the food gets here, you have to go.” Being the polite man he is, Spencer always had to wait until you got back to start eating his meal. The number of times he’d had cold food was just too much, now.

“Just start without me, then,” you shrugged. It was a bodily response you couldn’t help. Spencer rolled his eyes, a smile betraying it, and turned back to the table as you walked off to the nearest restroom.

Even though he hated waiting, hated the fact that he’d end up eating cold food, he waited for you to come back. With his hands folded in his lap, patiently sitting in front of his tempting plate of french toast that was rapidly getting colder by the second.

Penelope made a happy noise around a spoonful of her soup, then noticed Spencer hadn’t touched his plate yet.

“Spencer, do you want to try a bite of this? It’s delicious,” she offered, shoving her bowl to him. She knew he wouldn’t touch his own food, but hers was free territory.

“Oh, no thanks,” his nose crinkled when he inspected the contents of the soup. “I don’t like beets.”

Penelope shrugged and took the bowl back, thinking nothing of it.

“You don’t like beets?”

Spencer whipped his head around. You’d returned from the bathroom just in time to catch what he’d said. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights as you stood there gobsmacked. “Spencer, I’ve been feeding you beets for two years…”

He swallowed the air in his already dry throat. You slid into the booth beside him, cornering him against the wall with the saddest look on your face. Completely betrayed by his confession. “I don’t understand, you don’t like them?”

Penelope and Luke must’ve looked between your face and Spencer, because they’d slipped out of the booth unnoticed.

“Well, no. It’s not that I don’t like them,” he laughed nervously. Your eyes only looked more disappointed. “Okay, I don’t like them. Are you mad?”

Confused, yes. But definitely not mad. “Why would I be mad at you?” you laughed lightly.

“Because I lied to you?”

“Yeah, about beets,” you nudged his side, “Not about something serious.”

Spencer laughed softly, holding his side as if it hurt when you bumped him. In reality, he was just pretending he could still feel your pressure against him.

“The only thing I don’t get is why you didn’t just tell me you hate beets. I would've taken them out.”

Now that was a thought Spencer didn’t have before. He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I was afraid that if I said I didn’t like your salad, you’d stop wanting to share lunches with me. And to be honest, that’s my favorite part of the day.”

Time stopped.

“You ate a food you hate… for two years… so that you could keep hanging out with me?”

If he was any less nervous, he might've been able to figure out how you felt about that based on your tone or body language. But he was useless in that regard, squirming in his seat.

“I-uh-well,” he stuttered, whipping his head between looking up at you and down at the table as his upper lip beaded with sweat.

You had to take the plunge.

“You make bad coffee,” you gasped. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. He was so confused.

He wasn’t trying to be mean when he said he didn’t like your salad – it was just the beets!. Were you trying to get back at him? “I didn’t mean to make it sound personal, I just really hate beets –”

“No. No, it’s not personal,” you laughed awkwardly, shifting in your seat because your nerves creeped up steadily. “Your coffee isn’t as good as I pretend it is. I only say it’s great so that you’ll bring me coffee every day.”

You paused to creep your hand down to his, shaking a little as you tried to hold it. Your fingers stopped short of his, needing him to be the one to bridge that gap. “It’s fine coffee. Just fine. I think I convinced myself I love it because I really love…”

You looked at him instead. Hopefully he knew the end of that sentence without you having to say so. Of course he knew. Because how could he be your work husband and not know you like the back of his palm. His pinky inched toward yours, resting gently on top of it in the quietest declaration of love.

It didn’t need to be said in order to be true. You loved Spencer Reid; and if his willingness to eat his most hated food for two years was any indication, he loved you back.

Your faces drifted together, both feeling infectious smiles pushing their way across your cheeks as you neared each other. Finally meeting in the middle in a kiss that made you regret not doing it sooner.

-

-

ok, hope you thought this was cute! i know it's such a *small* confession at the end, but i really wanted it to be ! driving home that point of, 'it doesnt need to be said in order to be true' lol.

thanks for being on my taglist <3 (tagging part two in a reblog). if your name is crossed out, tumblr won't let me tag you :(

if you wanna join, link is at the top here

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