You were just a florist in a flower shop near the FBI’s building. That’s it. Never in his life Spencer Reid would have imagined to meet a witch. An actual witch. Nonetheless falling in love with one.

He was a logical man, magic doesn’t exist. It isn’t real. It isn’t something rational. But somehow, it does exist. When you both started dating you didn’t tell him about your true magical nature, but once he mistakenly saw you washing dishes with the help of your magical skills. He thought he was going out of his mind but then you explained to him that you had powers, that you weren’t 7183 years old, that you were still human… a special human, but still human. You weren’t immortal or anything, just a basic witch. That’s all.

He got used to that anyway. He is still kinda scared of your skills and he tries not to get on your nerves too much, but he loves your magical abilities too, most of all when he is too lazy to cook.

But now, hell, he is refusing your help. He got shot in the knee during a case and the doctor told him it would take at least a month or so for it to heal. But the doctor didn’t know his girlfriend is a witch.

“Come on Spencer. Drink it. It would make you heal faster.” You insist, pushing the small bottle of potion near his mouth. He refuses. “I won’t drink it. What if it makes me sick? What if I die? What if-“ You quickly interrupt him. “Do you think I’d hurt you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows. “No but— that thing also smells!” He says, pointing to the potion.