Supercut [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔️

XII.

TW: mentions of drugs and drug use

"Well, that case was fun."

The team staggers into the bullpen, and you drop your go bag on the floor in front of your desk. Spencer walks in on his crutch, sitting down in his chair at his desk. You glance at him, a small smile on your face.

It had been a few weeks since the incident in McLean—Spencer had hobbled around on crutches for a couple weeks but was down to just using one. You stifle a yawn as you sit down at your desk, wincing a bit.

"The unsub got you good," Prentiss says, grinning at you.

Your fingers brush your black eye, shrugging. "I've had worse, honestly."

Morgan laughs and you raise your eyebrows, glancing at him. He shoots you a look, shaking his head before turning to his paperwork. You open the file on your desk, beginning to write down what had happened on the case. The unsub, unfortunately, in his struggle to get away, had socked you square in the fucking eye. It hurt like hell, but you didn't want to admit it.

After about an hour, you stand, stretching your arms. You stop at Spencer's desk, leaning against it.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom but when I get back, I'm making coffee. Want any?"

Spencer nods. "Please."

"I'm guessing you take it the same as always—sugar with just a little bit of coffee."

He laughs, hitting your stomach with his hand lightly. "Shut up, Ace. But yes."

You roll your eyes at him before walking to the bathroom, walking into a stall. You flush and walk out, starting the process of washing your hands when the door opens. You turn your head to look at none other than Ms. Jennifer Jareau. You offer her a little smile as you grab a paper towel. She doesn't return it.

She brushes past you and you clench your fists, turning around abruptly.

"What's your problem?"

She turns around, tilting her head. "What are you talking about?"

You cross your arms. "Seriously, JJ? We're not going to act like you hate me?"

"I don't hate—"

"No, you just don't like me. Why?" You already know the answer, and you know she's not going to admit it, but you still want to see if she'll say something.

She shrugs. "No reason." Liar. It's like she forgets that you can tell when people are lying.

You scoff, letting your arms fall by your sides. "No, actually, I can tell you why you don't like me." You take a step toward her. She might be average height, but you still have a couple inches on her. "You're insecure because Spencer was your best friend and I swooped in and took him from you. And I hate using that wording because Spencer isn't an object—he's an actual person. This isn't fucking high school."