Supercut [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔️

XIV.

"So, Y/n."

You shift in your seat, crossing your ankles and giving your unit chief—SSA Chris Davis—a smile. "Yes, sir?"

"Come on, Y/n, drop the formals. You've worked here long enough for that."

"Sorry, Chris," you apologize, chuckling.

"It's alright." He flashes you a toothy smile. "Do you remember a couple months ago when you expressed your interest to the BAU to me?"

You nod. "Yeah, I just think I'd be pretty valuable to the team, considering my background in psychology and sociology. I mean, my whole masters is in behavior analysis."

"Well, I've spoken to the section chief here, and given your record and your training, they're pushing through the approval transfer paperwork today."

You raise your eyebrows, eyes widening slightly. "You mean I'm actually getting transferred?"

Chris nods, closing the file in front of him. "Yes, Y/n, you are. It's unfortunate to lose you here in Atlanta, but they agree that you'd thrive at Quantico."

Excitement courses through your veins. "Oh, wow. Thank you, Chris. Seriously."

"Don't thank me, Y/n. You're the one that worked hard."

"When do I leave?"

"As soon as you find a place to live."

You talk with Chris for a few more minutes before leaving his office, grabbing your purse and walking out of the Atlanta FBI Field Office. The humid air hits you immediately, and you stop for a moment, closing your eyes.

Holy shit. It's actually happening. You're leaving in Atlanta to go to D.C. To basically start the job you'd been dreaming about for a little over a year. Nerves flutter in your stomach as you walk to your car, turning your head back to look at the concrete building in front of you.

And once you turned away, you never looked back.

"So, what? The unsub is abducting women?"

You look up from the file, biting the inside of your cheek as Prentiss' voice rings throughout the roundtable room. JJ nods, images filling the screen of women's bodies—all stabbed to death. All off them with brown hair; the unsub apparently likes brunettes.

"I'd say, judging by victimology, these women are surrogates in some way," you mutter, glancing down at your file again.

You see Spencer staring at you, your face growing hot with the realization. Your eyes flick up to meet his for a moment before averting your gaze, your cheeks probably a bright red.

The conversation a few days ago on his birthday had not been ideal—because you couldn't get the words out. You couldn't say the three little words back to him. Your body had frozen. And sitting here, feeling his soft hazel eyes on your face makes your heart twist in your chest.