Criminal Minds One-Shot book

Spencer Reid: The Type Of Person People Write Love Poems About

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Relationship: 'Shy' friendship/ Co-workers

Fluff

POV: First-Person

Gender: Female

A/N: Basically just an excuse for me to write a love poem without being annoying lol

A/N: I know it'll seem weird the way I wrote it but I thought that I would make the reader speak almost 'poetically'. I used many adjectives and may have exaggerated things but I felt it helped the story flow and helped for you, the reader, understand what kind of character (Y/N) is, at least in this imagine. Also, idk if the poem I wrote is a slam poem, but it gives off those vibes. Enjoy!

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     I was sat at my desk, scribbling in my notebook like I normally do whenever I have nothing to do. Of course, I'm writing poetry. A love poem and, as per usual, it's about the shaggy-haired and bright-eyed genius that sits just a few yards away. 

He forever believes that he isn't the type of person that people write love poems about

He forever believes that he isn't the type of person hopeless romantics fall for

He forever believes he is not Romeo

He forever believes the words that come off his tongue don't attach themselves like carefully placed thorns on roses

He forever believes he is nothing more than a person

An unimportant being

What he doesn't realize is that he is more to me

He doesn't realize that the words that roll off his red tongue stick to my skin like the stain of coffee on my shirt from that one time I tripped when he licked his lips

He doesn't realize he is my Romeo

That I wish I were his Juliet

He doesn't realize that he is exactly the kind of person I, a hopeless romantic would and has fallen for

He doesn't realize he is the perfect person to write annoying love poems about

Because he is a love poem waiting to be written

He holds my heart in every word he says 

And his vowels, metaphors, similes, verbs, and adjectives cradles it in every curve and line

And I will thank them for their hospitality

And write him a love poem to show my gratitude

Because he is the person you write love poems about

I just haven't finished it yet

     I read over the lined paper and smile triumphantly at my poetry. "Whatcha smiling at?"

     I jump at the voice behind me. I turn to see that it's none other than the shaggy-haired bright-eyed genius I was talking about earlier. He looks at me with a curious twinkle in his eyes. "N-no-nothing," I squeak out. I internally yell at myself for my obvious stutter and watch as his lips begin to move once more.

     "C' mon, (Y/N). I know you aren't working on a report. What were you writing?" he confidently asks. My wide (E/C) eyes must have shown my embarrassment since he quickly added, "You don't have to tell me. Sorry, I was just curious."

      "No, no, Spencer. It's fine. I was, let's just say, indulging in a guilty pleasure of mine."

       "And what is this 'guilt pleasure?'" I shiver as his lips form the words. 

      "Poetry," I speak. I get ready for his laughter and I quickly realize that there won't be any. 

      "What kind of poetry?" Spencer leaned against my desk, crossing his arms over his chest. 

       "I don't know. But I feel like it gives off a sort of 'slam poetry' vibe. It's just something I do to sort out my thoughts, I guess."

       Spencer nods in understanding. Then he asks the one question I was praying to every God I could think of he wouldn't ask. "Can I see some?"

       I gulp and hand my notebook over. I never put his name in there so I guess it was safe. "Just be warned, it's mostly cringy love poems that only a hopeless romantic would write," I chuckle, a hint of nervousness in my voice. Spencer chuckles as well as he flips through the pages of similes, metaphors, verbs, and adjectives. He smiles every once in a while or furrows his brows like he does whenever he's deep in thought. I look with fondness as he scrunches his face as he does every so often. I watch his hands flip the pages with such grace and I wonder how there isn't a single papercut. I look at the shaggy-hair and bright-eyes with curiosity. I wonder what I can find behind them. I wonder if he-

        He closes the book suddenly and hands it to me. "Those are really good, (Y/N). They're very unique. Thanks for letting me see them. I never would have thought that you were the romantic type. Whoever that guy is, he's lucky. I'm definitely not the type of person people write love poems about," he chuckles. 

     I chuckle as well. "Maybe, you just haven't been looking between the lines," I joke.

     He nods. "Yea, I guess so." He moves to sit at his desk, turning to type on his keyboard once more. I sigh in relief, putting my head on my desk. 

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A/N: This one's really short. It just felt like the one-shot was written to the point it was supposed to end at, idk. 

Have a nice day broski :)