Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Pumpkin ☁️ (PG)

Summary: Spencer can't handle how cute Reader's southern accent is.

Rating: G

Content Warning: None!

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Her hair reminded me of summertime. There was no particular reason for it, but it did. Watching her move felt like watching a painting come to life, and I wondered how anyone could look past her so easily. Like they weren't being graced with the presence of a faerie in the form of a woman.

Her voice reminded me of molasses, but there was a little more of a reason for that. The gentle drawl in between each word felt like something that couldn't be shaken off very easily. The kind of thing that left sweet, sticky marks on whatever it touched. Her eyes were equally paralyzing. I'd compare them to snake venom, but I felt that metaphor might be ill-received by someone unfamiliar with the creature's impressive evolutionary design.

Which is why I was grateful that we hadn't had much time to talk alone. I was worried that once we did, she would notice the way I couldn't form a single coherent sentence when she looked at me. She would take one look at me and know that I was completely lost on backroads and fields that didn't have names. The same ones that no doubt filled her memories.

I wanted to find them with her. I wanted to become a part of those memories so that the next time I found myself lost, it wouldn't be because of her. It would be with her.

Despite my job being filled with maps, I knew that it would take more to navigate her world. I was a city boy, after all. A city boy in love with a Southerner; as if there weren't already enough novellas and soap operas exactly like that.

"Hey, sugarplum?" (Y/n) called from her desk that she'd only just settled into, and for a second I was so distracted looking at her that I almost forgot to answer.

"... A-Are you talking to me?"

It was a stupid question, considering she was looking right at me. And from the way she cocked her hip to the side, she agreed with me about that much.

"I don't see any other sweet things in the room!" she shouted through a laugh. That was more bad news for me, because when she laughed, I swore the rotation of the earth and the passage of time itself stopped to make the moment last a little bit longer.

"Would you be a dear and help me carry these files?" she asked once the world finally returned to its normal rotation.

"Sure." I agreed because there was no saying no to her, even though I knew it was a terrible idea. Any extra moment with her just meant more opportunities to make a fool out of myself. Another chance to fall even more in love with a woman who barely knew my name.

"You're a lifesaver, sweetheart." There was a heavy sigh that fell with the words, and it reminded me of the breeze on a hot summer day.

I wondered what it was like where she was from. I was so used to the dry, desert heat. Even after moving to Virginia, my Nevada roots stayed with me. I wondered if her voice like dripping honey was the only thing that she kept with her from home- wherever that was. I carried mine in odd patterned clothes and gambling abilities.

She carried hers in sweetness and in grace. I was certain that the tea we drank in Las Vegas had less than half the sugar in a liter than she had in a cup. And although I only saw her in business suits, I could picture her in a sundress and a wide brimmed hat so vividly that it hurt my heart.

"You know, I was talkin' with some of the others 'bout you last night."

That hurt my heart, too, but in another way.