jezabelle9299

[jezabelle9299]

spencer x bau!reader my beloved <333

they're out on some case and they're all just throwing out ideas (yk how they do before they have a breakthrough and solve the case?) and reader says some weird fact and spencer cant help but just break professionalism and kiss her bc it is SO HOT that she knew that and he is so impressed that she knew that 🤭🤭

Spencer's drawn out of his contemplative stupor at the sound of your voice, rough and heated and tight, "No, Derek, that's not true! It's a common misconception, but a dangerous one!"

He glances over at Derek's face, jaw tense at the frustration of being wrong, then back to you, your passion tangible as you explain the proper facts of Derek's incorrect assumption. It's a statistic that shouldn't be appealing to Spencer, even out of your mouth, because it includes terms like enucleator, and cannibalism, but when you turn to him, breath slightly heaving after your mouthful of words, and raise a brow, "Spencer?" at him for confirmation, he can't help himself.

He's fairly certain that you'd asked him for backup, for a fact-check to prove Derek wrong, but in the moment all he can do is grab your face, and yank you forwards in your rolling chair to kiss you.

You let out a muffled yelp as his lips meet yours and he feels your tense muscles stay that way as he holds your jaw, but it's over as soon as he clears his head. All he does is smash his lips to yours, then withdraw, face lax as he watches you fluster.

He belatedly registers Hotch's stern, "Reid," as well as a scoff from Rossi and various other whoops and titters from the team, but the sound he cares about the most comes from your throat, a soft, barely-audible whine.

"Sorry," He excuses himself calmly, letting go of your face and tucking his hands beneath his thighs on the chair, "Yes, Y/N, that's correct."

"Okay." You breathe, head still spinning from the unexpected strength he'd displayed, "Uh- okay, thanks... for- thanks."

Penelope is, perhaps, the least collected person in the room, pink-painted mouth still agape as she stares between the two of you.

Before Hotch can move the conversation along she stammers, "But I- I say smart stuff all the time." She turns a narrowed glare upon Derek, "You never do that to me."

Derek throws his hands up to placate her but your attention is stolen by Rossi this time, who regards Spencer with an expression that looks to be part amusement and part disgust.

"Everything I say is smart, too," He pays little mind to the way that JJ scoffs at his declaration, "But Reid, if you ever do that to me, I'm bribing Strauss to fire you."

[jezabelle9299]

Stop it’s so cute— love him and love this whole moment

Why is it so hard?

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader summary: Spencer has cooked a meal for both of you, but you find yourself unable to take a bite. words: 1,2k warnings: food struggles/eating disorder, please read with care and prioritize your well-being, no y/n a/n: This was a request! I want to mention that I have my own struggles with food, which may have shaped how I wrote this story. Everyone’s experiences are unique, and we all face different challenges and thought processes. I hope this resonates with you somehow, though I understand if it’s not exactly what you were looking for. Thank you for reading, and I’m sending all my love to anyone who may relate to this story in their own way.

Spencer had been so excited to cook for you. After weeks of long days at the BAU and many crazy cases, he finally had a few days off, and when he suggested making a homemade meal for the two of you, you agreed. 

Part of you was excited, hoping this time would feel different. You’d convinced yourself that tonight, it’d be fine.

But now, sitting at his small dining table with the warm light casting a cozy glow over the food he’d prepared, all that optimism is slipping away. 

Your stomach twists as you stare at the plate in front of you, perfectly arranged with a meal Spencer had put so much effort and love into. 

You know it’s probably delicious, and you wish more than anything that you could just eat it without hesitation, without feeling this gnawing discomfort.

You wish you could just smile and thank him, telling him how incredible it all smells, how delicious it looks.

In your mind, you imagine taking that first bite under his soft, expectant gaze, watching his eyes light up with quiet pride. 

You’d close your eyes, savoring each flavor as it fills your mouth, and when you open them again, you’d see his delighted smile. 

You’d tell him how amazing of a cook he is and how perfect tonight feels.

But instead, the words are trapped somewhere deep inside, just out of reach, and the meal sits untouched on your plate. And you couldn’t even lie or pretend if you wanted to. 

Spencer watches you quietly, his own plate barely touched as he picks up on your tension. 

You keep your eyes on your food, not wanting to meet his, a lump forming in your throat as shame starts to bubble up. 

He went through all this effort, made everything look so perfect, and here you are, unable to take a single bite. 

You can’t help but feel, again, that there must be something wrong with you—something that keeps you from just… eating like everyone else.

A soft sigh escapes you as you push the food around on your plate, trying to hide your reluctance. 

But you know he can see it. 

You hate the thought of disappointing him, of wasting the meal he prepared just for you.

So you clear your throat,  plastering on a smile as you search for something—anything—to fill the silence and keep his attention off the plate in front of you.

“So… you wouldn’t believe what happened on the metro today,” you say, leaning forward a bit, hoping to keep his focus on you instead of the meal. “This guy—he looked like he was in a huge rush—was running down the platform, trying to make it before the doors closed. And just as he got to the edge, his phone flew out of his hand. You should’ve seen it, Spence, it went spinning through the air in slow motion.”

Spencer’s brow lifts, his eyes sparking with curiosity as he chuckles. “Did he get his phone back?”

“I actually don’t know. But here’s the crazy part. He didn’t even notice! He was so focused on making it inside that he left his phone lying there on the platform. And people were shouting after him, trying to get his attention as the train pulled away. It was chaos.”

Spencer’s grin widens, completely drawn into your story. “And then?”

“Then this lady picks up his phone and just shakes her head, like she’s seen this happen a hundred times before. She walks over to the nearest bench, sits down, and just waits for the next train like nothing happened.”

Spencer lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s intense,” he says.

You keep adding more details, letting the conversation flow from one story to the next, watching Spencer laugh, his smile widening as he listens. 

With each laugh, the tension in your chest eases a little more, and for a few moments, you almost forget about the untouched plate in front of you. 

Almost.

But then, as your story winds down, there’s a brief pause. You feel his gaze shift, and when you look up, he’s watching you carefully, a softness in his eyes that makes your heart clench.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” he says, his words tender, free of any judgment. “I didn’t make this to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You feel your face warm as his words sink in,

You glance down at the plate, then back up at him, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper. “I know it’s silly. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard.”

“I know it’s not easy for you. I noticed.” 

Of course he did

“And I don’t want you to feel bad about it, okay?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I know it’s probably really good, and you went through all this effort…”

“Hey,” he interrupts, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours, close enough that his fingers could brush yours if you needed it. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s okay. I’m not mad or upset okay? We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. I mean it.”

You exhale, feeling some of the weight ease from your shoulders, even if only slightly. You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but kindness and understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “It’s just… hard sometimes,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like, no matter how much I want to, I can’t make it any easier on myself. I hate it all. I wish I could just eat and enjoy it like everybody else. Why is it so hard?”

Spencer listens closely, his gaze softening as he considers your words. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. 

“You know, there’s a lot of research on why some people find eating more difficult or even distressing. For some, it’s sensory—taste, texture, even certain smells can be overwhelming. For others, it might be about control, or even just... the way their brain is wired.”

He pauses, glancing down at the table thoughtfully before continuing. “Actually, it’s pretty fascinating. The way our brains process food and flavor isn’t just about hunger or taste. It’s tied to so many different things—sensory receptors, past experiences, even emotional responses. So, you’re not alone, and it’s not your fault. It’s just… complicated.”

You watch him as he speaks, his eyes shining with that familiar intensity he gets when he’s deep in his rambling.

He smiles, his voice growing softer. “I know it’s frustrating, and I can’t pretend to understand exactly how it feels for you. But.. I’m here, whenever you want to talk about it—or even when you don’t.” 

He offers a small smile and notices the glint of tears in your eyes, his hand covering yours to squeeze it lightly.

“Hey,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “How about we just… watch a movie?”

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

[jezabelle9299]

It’s like one of my favorite Penelope moments— that whole episode is amazing. Her chaotic, hyper focused stressed out energy is like so me

This is such a small thing, but I just that when Garcia is attempting to fill in as communications liaison while they're missing JJ, she very specifically emails had insisting that Reid be referred to as Doctor, not Agent, and I think that's such a sweet detail, and good drawback to the first episode I believe it was, where it mentions that Gideon always insists that Reid is introduced as Dr, because it makes people take Reid more seriously as someone so young

[jezabelle9299]

Love them and love this

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.��

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[jezabelle9299]

And as if being an American could not get worse I have to listen to the fucking tornado sirens because it’s the first Wednesday of the month and they sound like the purge sirens— which is so fun because every day we get a little bit closer to it.

How am I supposed to read and write fanfic under these conditions

[jezabelle9299]

I do in fact hate everything

To all the other women and minorities whose lives are now on the line in the US- here’s a virtual hug from Reid. I haven’t stopped sobbing.

[jezabelle9299]

I don't know S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture-Spencer knows you're hungry, but you won't just tell him what you want.

CWs- Feeling like an inconvenience

A/N-Based on a true story (Me). Also very short, but I'm attempting to catch up because we are well into November at this point.

Spencer had learned a lot of things about you over the course of your short relationship. He knew how you liked your coffee, your favorite movies, every line from every book you’d ever recommended to him– but all of that pales in comparison to the hardest thing for him to figure out from you. Nearly every time he asked you something and you said ‘I don’t know’, the answer was yes– but you didn’t want to feel like an inconvenience. 

Whether it was something as simple as him getting you something from the kitchen, or even when he took you to the amusement park and he asked if you wanted to go on your favorite ride— the one that always had a particularly long line. You’d shrink down, and mumble a quick noncommittal response. 

And now you’d been laying on his couch for almost four hours watching an exceedingly long foreign film— without complaint, something he is endlessly grateful for— and your stomach quite literally just growled. Meaning you’d been hungry for a while, and continuously stayed silent. And to top it all off when the noise finally stopped you looked down at your own stomach as if it betrayed you. 

“Are you hungry?” He said gently, looking down at you where your face laid against his side. 

“I don’t know.” And you pushed your head further into the blanket laying over the top of you, trying to physically shrink yourself down. 

“It’s ok if you are, you know that right?”

“I know.” But you still didn’t answer his question. 

“So are you hungry?”

“Umm…” Executive decisions had to be made on Spencer’s part. 

“Alright, I'm ordering food for you. Do you have any preferences?”

“You don’t have to do that–”

“But I’d like it if you didn’t starve on my couch, because I have gotten attached to you. So– preferences?” It was said in a way that was only genuine, but you still couldn’t get your brain over the hurdle of being a perceived inconvenience. 

“I don’t know��”

“Is Italian ok?”

“Don’t you want anything?” He didn’t usually want Italian, and it was always the first thing he suggested if he wasn’t hungry— purely for your benefit. 

“Sure I’ll get something, but what do you want?”

“Well–umm” You couldn't figure out what the problem was now. You knew he wouldn't think you were an inconvenience no matter what you got, but you couldn't quite get your brain going again.

“Would you like me to just get you what you got last time?”

“Please?”

“Of course.” He gave you a small kiss on the forehead, and turned the movie back on.

[jezabelle9299]

That’s so real though (I’d totally read that fic)

very kinky @mandarinmoons

[jezabelle9299]

Straight up harlot

slut

[jezabelle9299]

Just in case you were curious

i'm not like other girls. in fact, i'm not even a girl. im lieutenant commander data from the hit science fiction show star trek the next generation.

[jezabelle9299]

Exactly my type I’m afraid

Look at this fucking nerd.

-I want to suck his dick-

[jezabelle9299]

Rise and Shine S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- This is a part 2 of Morning Sunshine, which if you'd like to read you could do Here, but if you don't feel like doing that the gist is that these two are roommates on a long case (separate beds they're awkward enough without being under the same comforter), and when Spencer wakes up Reader is already up getting ready, so they decide to get breakfast together. But Spencer is very sleepy, and starts drifting off again.

CWs-Spencer falls down, but he's fine.

A/N- Someone actually requested this! It made me very happy and I would like to give that person a very small kiss on the nose. Also it's technically Halloween, so happy Halloween! I'm beginning to think I may not finish all of these before the end of the month (but I may die trying) Anyway, this is day 23, and if you'd like to read the other things I did this month you can do that here: October Writing Master List

You let Spencer sleep in an extra 15 minutes, long enough for you to finish your makeup– before trying to wake him up again. You agreed to get breakfast and coffee before the morning briefing, and if you were going to make it in time, he needed to start getting ready. 

“Hey Spencer?” You called out to him, and although you were only a few feet away, he didn’t respond. 

“Spence?” This time he only turned over in response, so you leaned over his bed to gently shake his shoulder, lowering your voice a little bit so as to not startle him. 

“Hey, come on, we gotta go if we’re going to make it to the briefing on time and still get breakfast on the way.” He turned his head towards you, sleepily grumbling a little bit. 

“5 more minutes Sunshine?” That he’d never called you before. He wasn’t very into nicknames outside of occasionally calling you and your colleagues by their last names. And you could see the very moment he recognized it in himself, his eyes shooting open, and him immediately sitting back up in bed. He registered your slightly shocked expression and threw the blankets off of himself. 

“Ah— I mean I— I’ll get ready now.”  He stumbled to get out of that bed so quickly, he didn’t even notice his leg caught in the sheets until he went tumbling to the floor. 

“Oh my god Spencer are you ok?” You rushed over to him, trying to pull the rest of the bedding off of him.

“Yeah-yep, I’m fine. How about I meet you in the lobby in like 10 minutes?” He spoke while still collecting himself from the floor. 

“Sure, I’ll see you then.” You gently closed the door behind you, and made your way down to the lobby to wait. Spencer however, spent the first minute screaming into a pillow because he was so mad at himself that he not only let the nickname he preferred to keep confined to his thoughts slip in front of you, but that he immediately fell down after. Like a baby deer learning to walk. 

When he came down to the lobby, his face was still as red as could be. But you didn’t say a word about what happened earlier, leading him with his cute little message bag to the cute little cafe down the street. You got your food and coffees, and then after the waitress made sure everything was ok, you decided you could now tease him just a little bit.

“So Sunshine, huh?” He almost choked on his coffee, and you felt just a little bit bad for bringing it up. 

“I’m so sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking– I didn’t mean to call you–that.”

“I didn’t think you liked nicknames.”

“Generally I don’t.”

“So what got me the honor of such a flattering one?”

“I don’t know, you’re just so warm? I guess?” Warm, bright, the light of his life— it was all semantics really.

“Aww, thank you. That’s really sweet, Spencer.” 

You took a glance at the clock on the wall, and realized you needed to be at the briefing in less than 20 minutes. Everyone on the team knew you were sharing a room so if you both turned up late, they’d have a field day. You could make it on time, but you raised your hand when the waitress walked by so you could get the check. 

“Oh the two people at that table already paid your tab. They said you were a very cute couple.” She said it in a way that was so sweet and genuine, you really weren’t sure who you were picturing when you looked towards the door, where the waitress had pointed. 

Yet there they were, Derek and Emily, smug as ever. Spencer followed your line of sight and all of the color drained from his face. They each gave you small waves before putting their sunglasses back on and walking out. 

“Alright, we’re getting made fun of this morning anyway, you might as well finish your coffee.” Spencer grumbled while picking up his own mug again.

[jezabelle9299]

Busy S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture-You haven't been giving yourself enough rest and Spencer's worried to say the least.

CWs- Light angst, Reader isn't sleeping enough by like a lot, and is drinking too much caffeine (then gets crazy jittery), petnames (angel and honey).

A/N- Still behind, but this is day 21.

When Spencer started staying over at your apartment on some of his days off, he really noticed just how busy you are. Between work, school, and everything else he wasn’t sure how you had time to breathe let alone anything else. He figured you just managed to push yourself throughout the day by way of excessive caffeine and near endless motivation, only to crash at night– when you’d finally get some rest. But you’d been different recently. The bags under your eyes were more apparent, you seemed to be stifling a yawn every other sentence, and worst of all, one of the last times he was over, after you and he had both gone to bed he thought he heard you moving around in your living room well after two in the morning, he called out for you, and you quickly moved back to the bedroom, insisting you couldn’t sleep and needed some water— despite the glass of water right next to your side of the bed. 

He was too tired to make a valid attempt at analyzing your behavior, so he took your word for it when you insisted you were ok, just thirsty. That was until, the time after that, when he only stirred when you came back to bed, just to look at the alarm clock by your bed to see it was almost five. 

“Where’d you go?” He called out from your bed, and although you were startled– you didn’t realize he was up– you crawled back under the covers. Just as you had done hours before, but now you had every intention of actually going to sleep. 

“Just to the living room, I promise I didn’t go far. I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“I thought you were coming to bed for the night?” You gave a contented hum when you scooted closer to him, burying your face in his shoulder, giving him a small kiss there when you settled in. 

“I am, Spencer. Come on, you need to get some rest.” The insinuation that he was the one who needed to get rest– after he had just gotten several hours and you were just now coming to bed after sleeping for who knows how long well before he noticed you were missing next to him. But you were tired, he was tired, and he didn’t want to take any more of the time you should’ve been using to rest–so he let you be, and fell back asleep in your arms. Of course after waiting until he could hear your breathing change, and knew you had actually fallen back asleep. 

When he woke up in the morning, he was in your bed alone again. He wasn’t sleeping a lot, often not even sleeping enough– how are you still functioning? He wandered over to your kitchen in his pajamas, the coffee machine brewing, and you were already leaning over the counter reading one of your textbooks. It was like looking in a mirror for Spencer, and he was concerned for you. 

“When did you get up?” He called out to you as he made his way behind you, holding onto your arms— still propped on the counter and kissing your shoulder. 

“Just a few minutes ago– but coffee’s almost ready.”

“You’re an angel. How’d you sleep?” He was almost hoping that you’d say you slept terribly. Because he knew you did– he heard you, and he knew you barely got a few hours of sleep. 

“Fine, but I don’t want to get started on school work yet– and I think I have to now.” He was particularly worried because of your change of subject. He knew school was important to you, and that you had so much going on, but he needed you to take care of yourself too. 

“Or we could go out for breakfast, and I could help you when we get back.”

“I don’t know if it’s fair to use my genius boyfriend to help me study–” you wanted to do things yourself. Spencer was able to do everything perfectly, and even if you weren’t quite as intelligent as him— you wanted to feel like you could too. 

“But the genius boyfriend loves you so much, and he really wants french toast.”

“Mmm, ok let’s get breakfast, I’ll get caught up later. I’d hate to deprive my loving boyfriend.”

After getting ready together, you ended up at an adorable diner near your apartment. Spencer got his french toast, you got your third cup of coffee this morning, and you could think through your mental schedule again, pushing everything you have to do back an hour to account for the breakfast you were currently enjoying. You hadn’t even realized you got lost in thought before Spencer pulled you out of it.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure Spencer, anything.” 

“How long have you actually been sleeping at night?” You could feel every muscle in your face drop, but tried to play it off. You just needed to make it a few more weeks, and then it would all be ok. 

“What, why?”

“Because I’m getting worried about you. You were shaking from high caffeine intake yesterday.”

“Maybe I was just cold.”

“It was 75 degrees and you were wearing long sleeves.”

“I mean– I don’t drink that much coffee. I just have kind of a lot going on this month, and I wanted to stay focused.”

“I know honey. But you need to take care of yourself too. “

“But if I can just make it a couple more weeks it won’t be as big of a problem. Work will calm down, and I’ll be most of the way through the semester.”

“But, you can’t keep going like this that long.”

“Sure I can.”

“Honey, no you can’t. Let’s go back to your apartment and I can help you with your work. Because you need to take a break once in a while.”

“But I want to do it myself– It’s not an accomplishment if you do it for me.”

“How about I help you get organized then? We can make a schedule that maximizes your time and lets you actually get rest at night.” 

“I don’t know—“ 

“We can make a list of all the assignments for school and all of the tasks at work that you need to do, and we can figure out what order works best for you to get everything done. Please let me help.” That broke your already crumbling exterior of self reliance. Your stubbornness was no match for his damn puppy dog eyes. 

“Well, alright— we can try that.” 

“Good. Let’s go home, ok angel?”

“ I mean if Spencer Reid is telling me to sleep more and drink less coffee— I must be on death's door.”

“Ha ha. Come on beautiful, let’s get you set up and then you’re taking a nap, because my goodness I can’t believe you’ve been living like this for weeks.” He put money on the table for food, and helped you out of the vinyl booth. 

“Yeah that last cup of coffee didn’t help like I thought it would.” 

“ I asked the waitress to switch you to decaf when you went to the bathroom.” 

“What?”

“Honey— you were shaking the table because you were bouncing your leg so much.” 

“Ok maybe I had a little too much caffeine this morning.”  “Maybe.” He may have laughed at you a little bit, but you couldn’t be mad at him when he opened the door for you like that, putting his hand on the small of your back as you passed through the door’s threshold.

[jezabelle9299]

Not to be a horned up catholic on main- but this scene is so fantastic. And it sets up his character so well? (This is in the first episode, and I think it’s only like the 2nd scene?) like he’s so polished and polite but also just a bit unhinged and volatile 🫶🫶🫶 and then he puts on the little red glasses (we love the little red glasses)

@giftober 2024 | Day 25: "Devilish" Daredevil Season 1 Episode 01 - Into the Ring

[jezabelle9299]

Spencer is a fantastic loser boyfriend and that is a fact.

giggle fit

spencer reid x fem! reader blurb. fluff :) undressing because of sex but theres no sex. kissing! meh ending because i just wanted to get this done. 458 words.

spencer shuts the door behind him as he makes work of his tie and shirt buttons, shoes and jacket left behind in the hallway of your apartment.

while he does that, you make progress with your own stripping. the urgency of the moment makes both your actions hurried. you let your skirt fall and pull off your blouse, waiting.

you watch as he struggles with his pants, kicking them off. his lack of attention for his surroundings while he looks at you becomes very evident as he trips over his pants, toe getting caught in the front pocket. he stumbles forward, eyes wide, and you reach out to steady him. the sheer momentum that exhumes off him sends you both to the floor. you, falling hard on your ass, and him, on his knees.

you rub over the impacted area with a grimace, and then you meet his eyes. they're equally pained by the fall, squinting, face twisted funnily that you can't help but start laughing. he frowns in confusion but seeing the way you light up causes him to follow suit.

you lean forward and press your smiling lips to his, “slow down,” you murmur against them. he kisses you back with fervour and pulls you closer by the waist. your lips part as another giggle escapes you, he uses this opportunity to lick into your mouth but your lack of cooperation makes it a messy ordeal. 

your laughing persists and he gives up on kissing your lips, instead moving to the side of your face. you keel over on the carpet behind you. he looks at you incredulously, you can't be laughing right now.

he moves to straddle your waist, imploring you to stop squirming, careful not to crush you. he peels your hands away from your face and plants them under his on the ground. “stop it,” he whines. 

you only grow more delirious, “i cant-” you let out between a fit of giggles, the outburst causing your stomach to ache, you tense under him. 

he smiles at you, amused, shifting lower to your hips so that when he brings his head down, it’s level with yours. “your diaphragm,” he lets go of one on your pinned hands to press at the area under your ribs, “and your abdominal muscles are repeatedly contracting.” he presses a kiss to your lips, which you accept, “that's why it hurts.”

you're breathless as your laughter ceases. “huh, i always wondered why that was,” you use your free hand to rake through his hair. “thank god i have a loser boyfriend to tell me.”

“loser boyfriend really wants you right now, so how ‘bout you get up?”

“how ‘bout you get off me first? and don't trip this time.”

[jezabelle9299]

Fashion Show S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- You try on a new dress for a night out, and Spencer is continuously surprised by how beautiful you are

CWs- Reader wears a dress and heels, Spencer walks in before she's zipped the dress up all the way (But he doesn't really see anything-- just the back of her bra), Penelope is one pushy matchmaker and we love her for it

A/N- Day 19, I did not in fact fall off the face of the Earth (Yet), and I will hopefully get caught up with everything by Thursday! But I can't make any promises. If you like it, let me know-- and if you hate it, then maybe don't tell me, please, thank you.

Finally having your first fancy professional job came with something you were not all that familiar with, disposable income. So when Penelope invited you for a shopping trip on your lunch break, you obliged. You walked around the mall with her, and ended the trip with three new outfits, and a new pair of shoes. Two were for work, since you spent most of your time there anyway; and the third, along with the shoes were for the occasional night out. Whether a date (Which were few and far between), or the rare occasion of the government paying for a nice hotel with a bar you felt the need to dress up for. 

The fitting rooms were closed for maintenance when you went, so Penelope convinced you to do a quick fashion show when you got back, just for her in her office. The bathroom was right next to her office, so no one would even see you on the walk while you tried to decide if you liked the things you got. 

You tried on the work outfits first, working your way up to the piece you were most nervous to try on. It was a somewhat short purple dress, with a lace trim to complete it. But of course, this was the one thing you could not zip yourself. You threw on a jacket for the ten foot walk, and made it into Penelope’s office without seeing anyone. But as soon as she ran over to you in her very high heels to help you zip up, someone knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ on her office door, before promptly walking in. 

You knew from the knock that it was Spencer, unfortunately Spencer had no idea you were in there, let alone what you were doing. 

“Hey Garcia—“ as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, right as Penelope started zipping you up, he froze. No recollection of why he came over here, barely even registering Penelope’s presence when you looked like that. 

As if his life was one cruel joke, his favorite person in the world was wearing his favorite color, in a dress that could have been engineered specifically to render him speechless. And in the workplace no less. And in one final twist of the knife, he wasn’t supposed to see you. And he knew it. As soon as his brain could get him to move even an inch, he was covering his eyes. Like a child during a scary movie, he fully covered his eyes with one hand placed sideways, only to double the other one over top of it. 

You couldn’t not laugh at him. Just a little bit. He was just so scandalized at seeing a little bit of your bra. 

He was just trying to figure out how to excuse himself without opening his eyes when he felt your hands over his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s ok. I promise I’m fully dressed now.” 

“What did you need, boy wonder?” After shooting you a look declaring, once again, her support of you and Spencer becoming a couple– Penelope sat herself back in her desk chair, ready to do whatever Spencer needed. 

“I—uh.” He quickly readjusted his glasses, but it didn’t help. Functionally, he was a brick in a sportcoat. 

“The incomparable Dr.Reid speechless? This dress is better than I thought.” You made the joke to undercut the tension you were feeling, but it only made it worse for both of you. 

“Sorry, I—I’ve just never seen you this dressed up.”

“She bought it to go out, you should take her for a night out tonight!” Both of you looked at Penelope, you couldn’t believe she would do that to you. Setting you up for that kind of rejection? Even if he did say yes— would it be for the sole factor of you dressing in a form fitting outfit? Spencer had a similar line of thinking– Penelope knew he liked you, and he was deeply upset that she would force him to actually hear your rejection. 

“Oh–um. I’m sure you have plans, I mean– you look really nice, I’m sure you have someone in mind or somewhere specific you wanted to go.”

“She doesn’t have any plans tonight! You don’t either, so you two are hitting the town.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s a good thing we’re getting off work soon, and the chinese place down the street is open late anyway.”

You looked at each other, or in the general direction anyway. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact, and then when Spencer shot Penelope a betrayed look at her meddling, she just tilted her head to the side in a ‘go on’ motion.   

“Would you maybe like to go to the Chinese place with me after work? As a– I mean as a date?”

“You want to go out with me?” He was so surprised by your reaction, he ended up taking a full step back– his brow furrowing as he did. 

“Well yes– of course, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” By the end of his sentence his cheeks were starting to turn pink again. 

“I thought that you knew I liked you, is all. Of course I want to go out with you.”

“Oh– ok, can I pick you up at your desk after we’re done with paperwork?”

“That sounds nice, thank you Spencer.”

“Of course, and could you– maybe– keep the dress on? You just look really, really, great.”

“Sure Spencer, I’m glad you like it.” The teasing you endured from the rest of the team was worth it, because every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you– tossing you a shy smile that could only increase your excitement for tonight.  

[jezabelle9299]

I actually got a date??? Not expecting this— very scared