wrote an absolute banger of an essay for my english final and my teacher wluldnt let me turn it in for two whole minutes until someone else went to turn it in animal boybuse.
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can you do Spencer Reid x reader who has a habit of scratcing themself when nervous??
Spencer hears your nails grating against your skin before he sees it. He hears the faint scrape of your forearm starting to sting, and meanders into the living room to find you hunched over your laptop.
Sure enough, you're scratching. Your left arm has faint white stripes on it, each one caused by a swipe of your nail.
You scratch back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, not noticing Spencer until his hand falls on your shoulder.
"Oh!" You squeak, turning your head to peer up at him, "Hi, Spence."
"Hi, Itchy." He grins, glancing at your screen, "Coordinating another meeting?"
"No one can meet at the same time," You huff, launching into a spiel, "Monica's out until Tuesday 'cause her kid's sick. Sam won't be in the office tomorrow because he's running a training course. Sophia can't operate zoom because the IT guy hasn't fixed her computer. Jana can only meet at 6:30, AM."
"Sorry, honey." Spencer croons, leaning down to kiss your temple, nudging your face slightly with his nose, "Why don't you make a sign-up sheet? A table with all the times you're available, and everyone can figure out their own schedules. They'll sign up whenever they're ready, and you can choose the time with the highest attendance rate."
"Those doctors were right," You decide, staring up at him with shiny eyes, "You are a genius."
You pop a soft kiss to the chub beneath his chin, rolled from the way he's peering down at you. He squirms as it tickles him, reaching for your hand that's paused mid-scratch.
"Time to cut your nails?" He wonders, looking at the slivers protruding well past your fingertip.
"Oh. Uh," You look sheepishly at your marred arm, skin burning hot and fiery, "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"Why don't you put on a jacket?" Spencer reaches for your sweatshirt that's draped over the edge of the couch, "That way you can't get to your arm absentmindedly, you've gotta work for it."
This time, 'genius' sounds more like an insult than it did before, grumbled as you slip your head through the neckline of your hoodie. He's waiting for you as soon as you emerge from the fabric, face hovering, eyes closed, lips puckered.
Instead you lean backwards, raising your stinging arm and peeling back the sleeve, pressing the heated skin to Spencer's lips.
His eyes flutter open when he feels your smooth forearm instead of your plush lips, but he grabs your wrist with care, angling his cheek against your skin so that he can press soft, sweet, feather-light kisses to your skin. Once he's smothered the raw patch in love, sticky kiss marks littering your arm, he reaches for your chin, tilting it up to kiss you for real.
"Love you, Itchy." He murmurs against your mouth, all soft words and sweet touches.
"Love you, too, Genius," You whisper, kissing at his bottom lip, "Thanks for your help."
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