Note: (Y/N) means your name, (Y/F/N) means your full name, (L/N) means last name
I'm taking requests because writer's block is a thing.
You're a bad liar. Especially in Spencer's eyes.
Every few minutes, you switched between stretching your back, tapping the desk with your nails, and blowing out air. If you weren't doing any of those things, you perpetually wore a slight grimace. Spencer knew you were on your period––more than that, he knew you were in pain, despite your insistence that you were fine. He understood your stubbornness––after all, he didn't like being perceived as weak either.
Instead of asking how you were doing for the billionth time today, he approaches your desk with some chocolate and ibuprofen, smiling softly as you look up in surprise.
"What? I have chronic migraines and have secret snacks. I'm just sharing some of my stash," he says with a little grin. You chuckle quietly and take what he's offering you. You bow your head, fidgeting with the chocolate bar wrapper, but with a small, embarrassed smile on your face.
"Was it that obvious?" you ask quietly. He chuckles softly and pulls a chair up to your desk, taking a seat so he can face you.
"Pretty obvious. Are you still saying you're fine?" he questions with a small smirk. You sigh and open the chocolate bar, keeping your eyes down.
"Guess not."
A moment of silence passes before you speak again.
"It's one of those bad ones. The ones where even breathing can hurt."
He frowns a bit at your confession, his expression turning empathetic, knowing how bad it could be for you when you had a bad one. He'd had a front row seat more than a few times to these 'bad ones'. He nods a bit in understanding, crossing his arms on your desk and leaning forward a bit.
"How long have you been feeling awful?"
"It really started to impair me today. I've had...it...since yesterday so I still have a whole six days of this."
You take the ibuprofen with water then take another small bite of the chocolate bar, still avoiding eye contact, your smile diminishing slowly.
He knew you were in a lot more pain than you were letting on, probably just wanting to keep your pride and not have to go home. He looks at you sympathetically before speaking again.
"Do you have a heating pad?"
"At my apartment, yeah. I didn't think to bring it," you tell him, still avoiding his concerned gaze. He frowns at you slightly, knowing that you were stubborn and also that sometimes you needed a little push before you'd take care of yourself. He stands up from his chair and grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet.
"You're getting cramps when you breathe right now. I'm driving you home and making you use your heating pad."
You then remember how stubborn he is too.
"Okay, but we're coming back. I can bring it here," you explain quickly. You stumble on your feet a bit to catch up to him as he drags you out.
"Also, shouldn't we tell Hotch instead of just walking out?" you ask in a more panicked tone, not wanting to get in trouble. He rolls his eyes and drags you to the elevator, stopping to hit the button to summon it, still holding your hand.
"I'll text him. And trust me, you're not coming back. You need to rest, not try to work with a heating pad strapped to your abdomen."
"It won't be attached to me, I'll have it in my lap. It's been a desk day today..."
The elevator appears, opening the doors soon after it reaches the floor you're on. He gently guides you in, letting go of your hand and putting his on your lower back to support you. It actually feels nice since it's been starting to hurt a tad.
He stands right next to you and sighs a little, shaking his head.
"Don't you think a couch would be more comfortable for a heating pad than a desk chair?"
You pause then let out an airy chuckle, closing your eyes as you finally give up, opening them as you speak.
"No, but a bed does," you counter more playfully. You finally look over to him. He raises his eyebrow a bit as you say you'd rather sit in bed, and chuckles at your cheeky comment.
"See, was it that hard to give in?" he asks with a little smirk.
"Yes, it was," you say, still being playful. He shakes his head at your answer and chuckles again, amused at how you are still trying to put up a front and remain witty while in clear pain. He can see how that pain is starting to affect you from standing up for so long; he wishes he could just take that pain away.
You reach the main floor, so he ushers you out, opening the passenger door on your car and driving you home since he took the train to work. The whole ride home, you keep taking small bites from the chocolate bar with a slight grimace on your face. You end up closing your eyes and put your hand on your lower abdomen and let out some air.
You get to your apartment and he literally does everything for you; he opens the car door, the door of the apartment building, your apartment door since the keys are with your car keys, and takes your bag and coat off. You walk down the hall to the right to get the heating pad from your bedroom but he takes it from your hands once you retrieve it, just having to do that too.
"Stay here," he demands, gesturing for you to lay down on your bed with his finger. He leaves the room to heat it up in the microwave since you only have the rice bag heating pad.
He enters the kitchen and quickly starts the microwave, heating the pad for two and a half minutes, knowing it was probably your preferred time. He then leans against the counter to wait, folding his arms over his chest while he thinks about you.
He takes the heating pad out of the microwave and walks carefully back into your room, closing the door behind him softly. He sits on the bed beside your legs, being careful as he leans over you to gently place the heating pad on your stomach, wanting to make sure he didn't hurt you at any point. He looks at you warmly, his gaze almost tender as he looks upon your pain-ridden figure.
"Too hot?" he asks worriedly.
"No, it's alright," you respond with a small look of discomfort, but sigh and close your eyes as you feel more relaxed laying down. He watches for a few seconds before he speaks again, in a softer tone than usual.
"Do you need anything else?"
"Ice cream," you joke. It's definitely a craving but you don't have any at the moment and would feel bad about making him go out and buy some. He shakes his head at your comment jokingly, silently wishing he could go out and run to the store to buy you ice cream at that exact moment.
"Honestly, I could use a good nap right now."
He grins slightly, knowing it'd probably be the most beneficial thing for you. He lays down beside you and runs his fingers through your hair softly, knowing that you could probably do with a bit of comfort.
"Sleep then, I'll stay with you. Just to...make sure you're alright."
He scooches a bit closer and wraps his arm around your shoulders slowly and awkwardly. You smile and roll your head to the side, leaning it on his shoulder, still laying flat on your back to keep the heating pad in place. You're comfortable and so grateful that he's helping you through this. He knows how much pain you've been in and how miserable you've been all day, and knowing that he can at least be there for you is enough for him, even if he wishes there were something more he could do.
"Do you feel any better?" he asks quietly, still running a hand through your hair.
"Much," you respond quietly, sighing out your nose and making a tiny hum of comfort. You already feel yourself falling asleep with how warm and comforting he is. You could stay like this forever.
All of these one shots are going to be the reader as an agent unless there's a request for something different.
YOU ARE READING
Spencer Reid One Shots
Fanfiction(F/M) Putting yourself in situations with Spencer Reid, our favourite nerd. You can read about helping him, loving him, and just being near him.
