the paintings

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You glance at yourself in the mirror, a flurry of nerves running through you

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You glance at yourself in the mirror, a flurry of nerves running through you. Spencer is going to be here any minute for your first official date, and, per usual, you're second guessing your outfit. He'd told you to dress comfortable, so you'd chosen an orange, yellow, and black striped cropped sweater, and a pair of high-waisted jeans, topped off with your Converse. Your hair is left natural, and you had opted for light makeup—mascara, highlight, and a light red lip tint.

You inhale slowly, deciding to not overthink it; instead, you cross into your living room, grabbing your keys and putting them in your small purse. Just as you close your purse, a knock sounds at your door.

Upon opening the door, you're greeted by Spencer's smiling face. He's dressed in a dark purple sweater, the collar of his white button up poking through the top of the sweater. Dark jeans rest on his hips, and he, too, is wearing Converse. He gives you a little wave.

"Hi," he says, his hazel eyes meeting yours.

"Hi," you reply, walking out of your apartment and closing the door behind you. "You look nice."

"So do you; I like your sweater," he compliments, rocking back and forth on his heels in front of you.

You feel your face flush as the two of you descend the stairs of your complex. "So, where are we going?"

"I-I hope you don't think it's too boring, but I wanted to take you to the National Gallery of Art. At the Smithsonian? If you don't like art, we can definitely do something else, I—"

"Spencer," you silence him, his eyes flicking to your face as the two of you walk. "Art sounds perfect. We can see Monet! And Seurat! I love him."

"You like Georges Seurat?" Spencer can't keep the grin from spreading across his face.

You nod as the two of you walk toward the metro. "I like pointillism. Plus, his paintings are just...they're different."

"I agree." He exhales as you two descend the steps of the metro. "I was worried you were going to think it was stupid."

"No, I don't think it's stupid at all," you reply, grabbing his hand as you step on the correct train. "I think anyplace is interesting if you're there."

He gives a breathy laugh as you two sit down, his face painted a light shade of pink. "So you won't mind if I tell you facts about the painters as we look?"

"I definitely won't mind." You give him a smile. "I like the facts."

"A lot of people don't like it when I ramble," he murmurs, turning his head to look at you.

You scrunch your brows together. "Why not?"

"I think they think I'm annoying when I do it." His lips turn up into a humorless smile.

"Well, I don't think it's annoying. I think it's hot. Intelligence is hot." You flash him a grin, and he laughs softly, leaning back in his seat.

He pulls your entwined hands into his lap, the fingers of his unoccupied hand tracing random patters onto the back of your hand. You watch, his touch burning into your skin, lingering long after his fingers leave the area. He turns his head, eyes landing on your face, and your eyes drag from his hands to his face.

Delicate [spencer reid x reader] ✔️Where stories live. Discover now