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irndad

Chrysanthemums for spencer 🫶 would be lovely

irndad answered:

Chrysanthemums - a vow or promise
(also ily)

It’s just a cut.

It’s barely anything, really. He’s walked away with a lot more pain and lot less attention, and really, really, he’s okay. But it’s hard to put up too much of a fight when she’s so close to him.

Her delicate finger brush over the wound, a little scrape above his eyebrow. He can tell by her expression she’s worried it will scar.

It wasn’t really a dramatic closure to the case, the worst of it being a minor explosion from the unsub trying to escape. The only injuries were Morgan’s shirt and his forehead.

Her tongue sticks out a tiny bit, focused on cleaning the wound, and there’s a reverence in how he looks at her.

It won’t scar, he wants to tell her, don’t worry about me.

But there’s a selfish, irresistible urge to this. Everyone else has cleared from the bullpen, distributed to their own home, their own loves. She’s here, attentively patching his forehead because- he can’t tell why. It’s been so long since someone touched him like this. Care without any sense of return needed.

It’s so hard to define her. Lovely smile and kind eyes, warm disposition and complete and utter control of Spencer Reid’s heart. She doesn’t even know it, and he’d prefer it that way. Because she- this is the kind of woman who stays and helps when everyone else has left, who touches him with a kind of gentleness that feels almost divine.

Spencer is an awkward man who never could even keep a date, let alone charm a woman whose essence radiates warmth and candor.

“That’s better,” she breathed, and he tries not to notice how he enjoys the warmth of her breath over face. “You’re going to be good as new before you know it.”

He wants to hold her hand. He’s thought of hit so many times, but this- the feeling of it, her standing above him, leaning down to meet his gaze as he sits in the same chair he admires her in every day. She smells like roses and peonies, and Spencer- it’s intoxicating.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he says, unable to break her gaze. It’s hard to fight, hard not to notice how their lips align.

Her eyes roll. A delightful, playful thing, and his heart skips a beat. She’s his weakness, even as she heals.

“I always will, Spence.“

irndad

Anonymous asked:

Are you still taking flower prompts? If so, Orchid or Gardenia with spencer? Love ur work <3

irndad answered:

the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends // flower prompts

She’s wearing his shirt.

He’s not sure anyone else would notice- it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t assume Spencer owns, but Spencer remembers leaving it at her place.

It sometimes feels like they view the world in entirely different ways. She moves through the world with lightness and literally stops to fawn over flowers as she walks past them. She’s all graceful laughter and deep intention, somehow always saying something of substance without a bit of pretension.

He’s here to pick her up. It’s not a date because they don’t date. That’s not what they are to each other.

(But sometimes, Spencer considers that idea. Keeps the idea beside him like a well-loved companion, a wishing stone to ponder when the edges of his life threaten to shred him.)

She glances up at him, her lovely mouth blooming into her trademark gorgeous grin. They have a two-person book club, and she’d suggested something lighter (she had read his Russian drama translation without complaint, so he’d agreed.)

“Is everything okay?” her careful finger drums against the spine of the book, the thump of it calming with her eyes trained directly on his own. Her voice is a lilting thing, floating in the air like a pleasant breeze. He drinks in the sight of her, the hem of her denim shorts kissing her thigh, and his, his, shirt is tucked into it. She looks adorable.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” He says, without thinking.

And then, then, he feels so stupid. Because for a flash, and he’s sure the only reason he can tell is his line of work, but that’s shame on her face. But it doesn’t make sense. Because all Spencer can think about is that something that’s his is wrapped around her. Something that’s his gets to hold her.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I thought it was mine! I’ll go change.”

“No, no,” he says back, a little too quickly. “It looks better on you.”

irndad

Anonymous asked:

Tulip for the flower asks, with spencer?? 🥺🥺

irndad answered:

Tulip - an act of affection so blatant everyone notices // flower prompts

“You have an eyelash.”

She blinks at him. She looks beautiful, as always, but her hair is a little mussed, sleepiness painting the corner of her eyes with a bit of sleep, and he thinks it has to be obvious, how captivating she is. The case had been long, and it’s their last night in the hotel, and they’re all decompressing in the lobby before the jet is ready.

He savors this time, making excuses to go to his room and chatting until the night breaks into morning. He hates when she pads off to her own room. Now, she’d just been rambling about the book she was going to read on the jet (even though Spencer would highly prefer if she would get some rest, ideally on his shoulder), and he’d noticed it.

A stray eyelash.

“On your cheek,” he clarifies, “Let me.”

He reaches his thumb forward, and it’s then he realizes that oh, the distance between them was not actually so large. He can smell her floral-scented perfume mixed with her, and her face is so soft under the pad of his thumb as he brushes the stray lash away.

It would actually not be that much distance to kiss her, actually.

That it is an absurd thought, though, because they are friends and also everyone in the BAU is watching him take far too long to do what he said.

“Thank you,” she says back softly, eyes trained on his in a way he can’t exactly parse.

He thinks he hears JJ and Morgan snickering, notices the hint of a smile on Hotch’s face and swears Rossi is holding back an actually guffaw.

But her skin felt warm under his touch, and kind of all he can think about.

irndad

sleepyspencer asked:

are you still doing flower ones? How about Arbutus for Spencer? 🫶

irndad answered:

This BARELY fits I apologize !!! flower prompts

jealous!spencer x fem!reader

Of all of her talents, of which she has many, this might be one of Spencer’s least favorite.

She’s wearing a shirt he’s never seen before, a shiny metallic-looking thing that hugs the curve of her waist, and even from the distance he is, he can see the flirt in her tempting grin. She offers her attention and gaze to a bartender they need information from, and she is excellent at it.

She flirts with him sometimes. It’s different with him, Spencer knows. She reads his favorite books, and reviews them with careful, intentional brushes of her fingers when she hands them back to him. She wears his favorite color and the brooch he’d gotten her from a vintage shop.

But not like this.

Here, she circles the rim of a martini glass with a manicured finger, painted lips curved into a siren’s smile that could lure the most level-headed sailor to his knees.

The bartender brushes her hand, and Spencer- he’s not used to jealousy, to the sick sense of anger he has brewing in him when someone else touched her.

It’s not fair to say she’s his girl, but also, fuck this, she is. Because Spencer knows the game that they’ve been playing. He’s not sure it actually is jealousy. Because he would do more, than that man. If she stood in front of him with that look on her face, he would do far more than touch her hand.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers at him, but also, no. Because that guy has got to stop touching her, seriously, what could he even be saying at this point that would be worth this-

“The unsub was here 3 weeks ago,” he hears her voice suddenly, having trekked her way over to them in a few quick strokes, “Also, I hate men.”

A swell of pride wells in his chest, mixed with heady relief. He feels a sense of possessiveness that he has no right to.

“Not including boy-genius here, right?”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, not bothering to look at him, reaching out to grip her waist, a roar of possessiveness in his ears like a ringing, “Are you alright?”

Her gaze softens, melting like a pad of butter into a warm glance of affection, and something slots into place. He’s closer than he’s been before, touching more, and it’s almost easy to ignore they’re in a seedy bar trying to catch a murderer.

“I’m totally fine, Spence. Happy to be back with my real man.”

irndad

sleepyspencer asked:

are you still doing flower ones? How about Arbutus for Spencer? 🫶

irndad answered:

This BARELY fits I apologize !!! flower prompts

jealous!spencer x fem!reader

Of all of her talents, of which she has many, this might be one of Spencer’s least favorite.

She’s wearing a shirt he’s never seen before, a shiny metallic-looking thing that hugs the curve of her waist, and even from the distance he is, he can see the flirt in her tempting grin. She offers her attention and gaze to a bartender they need information from, and she is excellent at it.

She flirts with him sometimes. It’s different with him, Spencer knows. She reads his favorite books, and reviews them with careful, intentional brushes of her fingers when she hands them back to him. She wears his favorite color and the brooch he’d gotten her from a vintage shop.

But not like this.

Here, she circles the rim of a martini glass with a manicured finger, painted lips curved into a siren’s smile that could lure the most level-headed sailor to his knees.

The bartender brushes her hand, and Spencer- he’s not used to jealousy, to the sick sense of anger he has brewing in him when someone else touched her.

It’s not fair to say she’s his girl, but also, fuck this, she is. Because Spencer knows the game that they’ve been playing. He’s not sure it actually is jealousy. Because he would do more, than that man. If she stood in front of him with that look on her face, he would do far more than touch her hand.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers at him, but also, no. Because that guy has got to stop touching her, seriously, what could he even be saying at this point that would be worth this-

“The unsub was here 3 weeks ago,” he hears her voice suddenly, having trekked her way over to them in a few quick strokes, “Also, I hate men.”

A swell of pride wells in his chest, mixed with heady relief. He feels a sense of possessiveness that he has no right to.

“Not including boy-genius here, right?”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, not bothering to look at him, reaching out to grip her waist, a roar of possessiveness in his ears like a ringing, “Are you alright?”

Her gaze softens, melting like a pad of butter into a warm glance of affection, and something slots into place. He’s closer than he’s been before, touching more, and it’s almost easy to ignore they’re in a seedy bar trying to catch a murderer.

“I’m totally fine, Spence. Happy to be back with my real man.”

irndad

sleepyspencer asked:

are you still doing flower ones? How about Arbutus for Spencer? 🫶

irndad answered:

This BARELY fits I apologize !!! flower prompts

jealous!spencer x fem!reader

Of all of her talents, of which she has many, this might be one of Spencer’s least favorite.

She’s wearing a shirt he’s never seen before, a shiny metallic-looking thing that hugs the curve of her waist, and even from the distance he is, he can see the flirt in her tempting grin. She offers her attention and gaze to a bartender they need information from, and she is excellent at it.

She flirts with him sometimes. It’s different with him, Spencer knows. She reads his favorite books, and reviews them with careful, intentional brushes of her fingers when she hands them back to him. She wears his favorite color and the brooch he’d gotten her from a vintage shop.

But not like this.

Here, she circles the rim of a martini glass with a manicured finger, painted lips curved into a siren’s smile that could lure the most level-headed sailor to his knees.

The bartender brushes her hand, and Spencer- he’s not used to jealousy, to the sick sense of anger he has brewing in him when someone else touched her.

It’s not fair to say she’s his girl, but also, fuck this, she is. Because Spencer knows the game that they’ve been playing. He’s not sure it actually is jealousy. Because he would do more, than that man. If she stood in front of him with that look on her face, he would do far more than touch her hand.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers at him, but also, no. Because that guy has got to stop touching her, seriously, what could he even be saying at this point that would be worth this-

“The unsub was here 3 weeks ago,” he hears her voice suddenly, having trekked her way over to them in a few quick strokes, “Also, I hate men.”

A swell of pride wells in his chest, mixed with heady relief. He feels a sense of possessiveness that he has no right to.

“Not including boy-genius here, right?”

“Shut up,” Spencer says, not bothering to look at him, reaching out to grip her waist, a roar of possessiveness in his ears like a ringing, “Are you alright?”

Her gaze softens, melting like a pad of butter into a warm glance of affection, and something slots into place. He’s closer than he’s been before, touching more, and it’s almost easy to ignore they’re in a seedy bar trying to catch a murderer.

“I’m totally fine, Spence. Happy to be back with my real man.”

irndad

Anonymous asked:

Furniture shopping with Spencer!! Like going To Ikea and imagining what your future house could look like.

irndad answered:

“We do not need a velvet couch.”

She looks adorable, lip jutting out in a incredibly endearing pout, and he knows that she knows he’s liable to give her anything she wants. Her hairs pulled back, and he strides her pretty face; his favorite thing to look at. Even when she tries her hardest to be mad at him.

“You don’t see my vision!” It’s intended to sound angry, but affection betrays her, the ghost of a smile creeping into her expression.

“Velvet is a nightmare to clean,” he replies, “Do you really want to get a couch dry cleaned?”

A loving grin playing at his lips of its own volition, and he wraps his slender arms around the curve of her waist from behind, and he relishes in the way her entire demeanor softens. It’s something addicting, how she is always responsive to his touch. He’d never expected someone to lean into him like this, to savor his touch on first instinct. He’d never believed it would be someone as lovely as her.

“If you had it your way, we’d only have lawn chairs.”

He spun her around gracefully to face him, and scans her face, seeing only easy understanding a jovial attention, and he doesn’t mean to but he does it anyway- lifts her delicate hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

“No,” he says, with a cheeky smile, “We’d only have a loveseat.”

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.