SPENCER REID ONESHOTS

Symmetrical

warnings: just spencer being spencer

The bullpen was having one of those weirdly quiet moods—the kind where the fluorescent lights buzzed louder than the phones, and even Hotch hadn't stalked through in the last ten minutes. For the BAU, that was basically a miracle. And honestly? It made the whole floor feel like someone had pressed pause.

Spencer Reid sat at his desk, one long leg jittering in that nervous-energy way he pretended he didn't do. Well... he did it more around Y/n, which he absolutely blamed on the fact that she was currently perched on the edge of his desk like she belonged there. Which she kind of did.

Y/n Y/l/n was reading through a file with one hand and absentmindedly twirling the end of Reid's tie with the other. It didn't even look intentional—just something her fingers drifted into doing. And Reid, for his part, looked at her like she'd hung the moon, won a Nobel Prize, and solved the Zodiac case all before lunch.

Her brown blouse fit her like it had been tailored specifically for her; the puffed sleeves gave her this soft, effortless charm, while the black slacks hugged her hips and thighs just enough to make Reid's brain short-circuit every five minutes. He tried not to stare. He failed. Often.

"You're doing it again," she murmured, eyes still on the file.

Reid blinked, trying to look innocent, which—bless him—he absolutely did not pull off. "Doing what?"

She gave him that sideways smile, the one that made her dimple show. "The staring thing."

"I wasn't—" he began, then stalled the second she raised a brow at him. "Okay, I was. But in my defense, you're sitting on my desk."

"And?"

"And you look... really nice today." He cleared his throat. "Not that you don't look nice every day, because you do, statistically speaking—well, not statistically, there's no metric for that—but—"

Y/n laughed softly, leaning over and tapping his chin with her finger. "I like when you ramble. It's cute."

Reid's ears went pink. "You're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe," she said, swinging one leg idly. Her heel brushed his shin. He froze like someone had hit pause on him specifically.

For a moment, the calm settled around them again—the rustle of papers, the distant hum of the hallway, Morgan somewhere across the room muttering about people stealing his pens. Y/n let her gaze drift to Reid's desk clutter: books stacked in precarious little mountains, sticky notes with tiny handwriting only he could read, two mismatched mugs, and a half-finished crossword he was absolutely overthinking.

"You know," she said, "you could take a break."

Reid blinked like the concept was new. "A break?"

"Yes, a break. B-R—"

"I know how to spell break."

"I know." Her smile softened. "I just think you deserve one."

He looked at her for a long moment. "I don't really know what I'd do with a break."

Y/n shrugged. "You could... I don't know... sit with your girlfriend for a few minutes, maybe?"

That made him grin—this small, shy, crooked thing that he only ever gave her. "I can do that."

He scooted his chair just a little closer, and Y/n shifted to sit closer so her legs brushed against his. His hand drifted to her thigh without him thinking—curious and gentle, thumb tracing the seam of her slacks. She always joked that he liked her thighs more than any man reasonably should; he never denied it. In fact, he usually blushed and changed the subject, which only confirmed it.

"You're staring again," she teased.

"They're very... symmetrical," he said, voice low like he was discussing something highly scientific.

She snorted. "Did you just call my thighs symmetrical?"

"It's a compliment," he insisted, flustered. "Symmetry is often associated with attractiveness and good health—"

Before he could finish, she leaned down and kissed him, soft and warm and slow enough to make him forget every fact he'd ever memorized. When she pulled back, his brain was doing that buffering thing again.

"That's not science," he whispered.

"No," she said. "That's just us."

From across the bullpen, Morgan's voice echoed loudly: "Hey, Pretty Boy, you two wanna keep the PDA to a PG rating?"

Y/n didn't even flinch. "We're literally just sitting," she called back.

Morgan held up his hands. "I'm just saying! The vibe is getting real 'rom-com hallway kiss' over there."

Y/n rolled her eyes. Reid let out a small, embarrassed cough, but his hand stayed exactly where it was on her thigh.

"Ignore him," she murmured.

"Oh, I always do," Reid said, a tiny spark of playful defiance in his voice.

She nudged his knee with her feet. "Look at you. Getting bold."

"A little," he said. "It's your fault."

"Is it?"

He nodded. "You make things feel... easy." His fingers brushed her hand, lacing with it almost absentmindedly.

For a split second, her expression gentled in that quiet, full-hearted way he'd grown addicted to. "Funny. That's how you make me feel."

And the bullpen, with all its buzzing lights and coffee smells and half-finished paperwork, felt weirdly peaceful. Like a tiny safe pocket in a world that rarely slowed down for any of them.

"So," she murmured, "want to spend the rest of this very rare calm day like this?"

Reid nodded immediately. "Yes. Absolutely. Statistically, having you close increases my serotonin levels by—"

"Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"Just say you like me being here."

His smile softened. "I like when you're here, Y/n. A lot."

She squeezed his hand. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

And for once, nothing urgent interrupted them. No alarms, no frantic calls, no case crashing into their quiet little moment.

Just them.

And for the BAU, that was its own tiny miracle.