Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Honeysuckle Hair ☁️ (G)

Summary: Spencer has some words to say about Reader's curly hair.

Rating: G

Content Warning: None!

——————————————————

It was supposed to be a good day, but it was  not. There were many reasons, but the most recent and most notable was  that I had just locked basically every single item a girl needs to  survive in my car... in the rain... alone.

Like it always seemed to  happen in movies, the moment I'd realized that I'd made the mistake, the  sky opened up to drench me in irony and misfortune. I tugged helplessly  at the door to my car, like I could will it to open with my mind, but I  couldn't. I didn't have telekinetic powers and the keys sitting in the  passenger's seat next to my umbrella and purse didn't move, either.

I  could have tried to run to the storefront, but I quickly realized that  the time I spent pretending like speed could save me from all the  anti-theft functions of my car had already ruined all of my plans.

Besides,  the torrential downpour that had so kindly waited to start until after I  shut the door was beginning to wane now, like it had accomplished its  objective in soaking me straight to the bone. At least my phone wasn't  wet, I thought. Although, I sure would have liked to have it so I could  call someone.

Figures. I groaned loudly before thunking my  head against the top of my car and giving into the temptation of  accepting my fate. The day was doomed.

And naturally, just  like that, the sun peeked out behind the clouds, mocking me once more  for my terrible timing. I glared at the reflection of the light bouncing  off the metallic surface of my car, thinking to myself all the  different ways I would personally punish mother nature.

As I  padded over to the store, I wrung out my shirt the best I could. I was  going to have to find a way to get a hold of my boyfriend, because there  was no way I was going to be on time now. I'd either need to cancel or seriously  delay the plans, because, thanks to too-heavy clouds, I would have to  go all the way back to my apartment, somehow dry the giant mane on my  head, and straighten it again.

Luckily the people in the  store took pity on me, giving me the number for Triple A and letting me  call them. Within 15 minutes they arrived, dutifully unlocking that  wretched door. Still damp, I signed off all the paperwork and climbed  into my car.

When I finally looked in the mirror, I saw exactly  what I'd expected. My hair had devolved into the same frizzy, poofy,  disastrous mess that it always did. For some reason, I attempted to tame  it with my hands, patting, smoothing, and pulling with my hands to no  avail. I knew I should've called Spencer; he was expecting me over an  hour ago. But it really felt like my hair was consuming all of my  brainpower. Still, somehow, I managed.

Then it happened. As I hit  his name in my recently called, I heard a very familiar ringtone from  behind my car. I spun around so quickly I was surprised I didn't hit my  head on the visor.

"(Y/n)?" His voice sounded behind me and in my ear as he came into my view. "Are you alright?"

I  stayed paralyzed in place, unsure of what the hell I was meant to do.  If I'd talked, he would most definitely hear me, assuming he did't  notice my car in a few seconds, anyway. But if I didn't talk, he was  going to freak out because I called him, and then refused to speak!

"Uhhhh," was the very graceful middle ground I landed on. I was, as usual, the pinnacle of grace.

Realizing  that he'd heard me, I scrambled to end the call. I could see him  approaching with that big, dopey smile on his face as he spotted me  through the rearview mirror. I was not smiling, however. In my  haste, I dropped my phone, using both of my hands to gather my hair and  try to compress it the best I could around my shoulder furthest from the  door.