Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Mister Spencer ☁️ (G)

Summary: Reader has a crush on her kid's teacher.
Rating: General Audiences
Content Warning: Single Mother Reader
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There was a special energy in the air that night; the cool Virginia breeze carried with it a frantic, albeit happy, energy that was unmatched by any other. It was the evening where parents would brace with a strange mixture of fear, fun, love, and loathing.

It was the night of the annual concert at the local elementary school.

The parents herded their children into minivans and tried to find the willpower to sit through what would almost certainly be an off-key horror with an animal theme. I was doing very much the same.

But there was something odd about my son that night. Each time I would glance back at him, I'd find him staring vacantly out the window like he was missing something. Each time, I would glance over at the empty passenger's seat and wonder if that was the presence he was missing.

"Are you excited to sing?" I asked.

In my peripherals, I saw him in the rear view, nodding his head in a reserved manner.

I'd thought that was going to be the only answer I got, but that little boy surprised me, as he so often did. In fact, he surprised me both by giving another answer, and the information it contained.

"I think you should sit next to Mister Spencer."

"Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"He teaches the big kids," he said matter-of-factly.

"Hm..." I hummed as I bought time to consider how sweet it'd been for him to be concerned about who his mother would sit with, if not his father. Then, once that moment had passed, I smiled to myself as I asked, "Is he cute?"

"Gross!" the young boy screeched before quickly correcting, "He's not cute, he's cool. Like the coolest person I've ever meeted. He knows everything."

"He sounds pretty great," I conceded with a sigh.

The lighthearted nature of the conversation would take a swift and painful exit, however. All it took was a mirrored sigh as my son returned to wistfully staring out the window.

"Yeah," he muttered, "I want him to be my dad."

It felt like a punch to the stomach, and I winced just the same. I tried to keep in mind that he hadn't considered the weight his words carried and took a deep breath to gather my wits once more after he'd knocked them all out of me.

"Wow. That's some high praise, kiddo," I laughed. It was an awkward, uncomfortable laugh, but he wouldn't know that, nor would he care.

He was a brave, oblivious little boy. I'd raised him to speak his mind when things mattered to him. Of course, now that I'd seen the errors of my ways, I almost regret for teaching him to be so forward. But I was also proud. Proud to have a son that wanted his mom to be happy. But also, a little sad that he clearly missed having a father around.

That was why I forgave him when he urged, "Yeah. You should meet him."

While eventually I would have to teach him about the oddness of his concern for my romantic life, particularly at his young age, I decided that was not a conversation for the packed elementary school parking lot.

So instead, I just turned and smiled at him. I took on that hushed whisper that denoted secrets of the highest importance, and I giggled with him when I said, "Well, he'd better come find me, then."

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I'd always considered myself to be fairly independent. My being single hadn't ever bothered me nearly as much as it did that night. I couldn't blame my son, though. Instead, I would blame the layout of the auditorium and the pesky habit of parents to insist on sitting as close to the stage as possible.