could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her
tysm for requesting, 1k
Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence.
You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign.
You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it.
Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup.
What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed.
Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.
She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no.
What if you're forcing yourself on him?
You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it.
Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks.
"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.
Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside.
"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap.
The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said.
Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal.
"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks.
"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says.
"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?"
"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done."
"Don't rush it for my sake."
Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should."
Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.
You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else.
His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder.
"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"
You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it.
"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down.
"What?"
"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea."
"What's not a good idea?"
You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth.
"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield.
"I don't want to torture you," you say.
Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection.
Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist."
You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask.
He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes.
"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone.
Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty.
And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things.
"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?"
You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.
I would love to do a request if you would like! Some sort of Spencer Reid x Reader where the reader is super bad ass, tough, doesn’t show much emotion is kind of cold to others but has the biggest soft spot for Spencer!! 🫶🏻
thanks for your request lovey, I would love to write more of this pairing if you have any more requests ♡ fem!reader
"Here comes the ice queen," Morgan mutters, turning his chair away from the walkway.
You walk down the steps from Hotch's office. Whether you were praised or reprimanded is anybody's guess —your face never gives anything away. Spencer doesn't necessarily agree with the way Morgan's categorised you, but he isn't wrong either. You're like Hotch in temperament, if Hotch were soft on only Spencer.
That might have something to do with why Spencer won't call you cold. You're never cold with him.
"What did boss man want?" Morgan asks.
"If it were your business, Morgan, I'm sure you'd already know." You don't say it spitefully, but it's far from a warm answer.
Spencer honestly asks just to piss Morgan off, "Everything okay?"
You visibly soften. Walking past Morgan without notice, you pause by Spencer's desk, your voice quieter, gentler. "Don't worry, Spence, everything's fine. You still reading that book about sex crimes in Arizona?"
"I finished it. Doesn't take long."
"No, you're fast," you agree. "What are you gonna read next?"
It's amazing how swiftly you shift gears. Your body language totally changes, your shoulders slouching toward him, your hand open and resting on the back of his chair as if you might touch his hair. Morgan shoots Reid a look that says, What is happening right now?
"I was thinking about reading up on the Milk Killer, from 1954. He tried to give his victims blood transfusions high in lactose in an attempt to cure intolerance."
Even Spencer admits that that sounds boring, but your face lights up with genuine interest. "That could be good. You'll have to tell me how it goes."
"Sure." Spencer squints at you. "You have something on your face."
"Yeah?" you ask, and Morgan goes wild behind you, dipping back in his chair in disbelief at your breathless tone. "What is it? Can you get it for me?"
You bend a little and Spencer wipes the lint from your face sweetly. He wonders if he should be blushing, your affection for him as clear as it is, but for once, Spencer Reid feels smug. He can melt someone that Morgan can't. "All gone," he says. Smugness aside, you're a friend (and maybe a little more than that).
"Thanks, Spence," you say, popping a kiss against his cheek. "You saved me from embarrassing myself."
Morgan clears his throat. You barely move, your hands twisting behind your back. "Hey, lovergirl," he says, making himself heard.
"What, Morgan?" you ask, finally looking away from Spencer's pinking cheeks.
"You have something," he says, pointing at the corner of his mouth.
"So?" you ask indifferently. You turn back to Spencer as though nothing occurred. "Do you want to go to the movies again this weekend? They're playing a silent film. I think you'll like it."
Spencer smiles genuinely. It's not his main concern, but it's definitely an added bonus to hear Morgan's sighed, "Are you kidding?" as he nods vehemently.
"I'd love to," Spencer says.
"Okay. It's a date," you say, smiling at him so nicely it feels like he can't breathe.
"What's a date?" Emily asks as she returns from the kitchenette, eyebrows jumping.
"It's a marker used to denote the day or month within a year," you say primly. "I have to go make copies for Hotch."
You don't say goodbye. Morgan likes you, really, in the same way you like Morgan, so he gives Spencer a dazed look followed by a small smile. "Good luck with that."
Spencer looks over his shoulder to follow your figure as you carry a box of reports to the photocopier. "I don't think I need luck," he murmurs. You glare at the copier, clicking one of its buttons aggressively. "She's nicer than you guys think."
Includes: FLUFF, Spencer explaining how he can tell readers mood off what music she's listening to (Prompt from this challenge from @imagining-in-the-margins)
You were on the jet with the rest of the team, reading one of the many novels you packed in your go-bag while listening to the Smiths with your headphones.
Or at least thats what they saw, what you were actually contemplating was giving up on your book and staring out the window for the rest of the flight. Usually you'd use Spencer as your personal pillow but he looked busy so you tried your best not to interrupt him.
In fact, you dutifully turned your head towards him, just to enjoy how he talked, which was always using hand gestures.
He however was talking about you, though you'd never be the wiser with your music blasting so loud everyone could hear it slightly.
It wasn't anything bad of course he was only discussing what he found helped to determine your moods.
It had been Derek that asked initially, "Spence why aren't you sitting with Y/n? Trouble in paradise?"
To which spencer responded, "Actually, I find that by paying attention to what artist y/n listens to I can easily determine in what radius to her she'd like me."
"That can't be real." Emily was suspicious.
Rossi however...was familiar with how relationships went about.
"I believe it may have been...my first wife, she had this thing about how she wore here hair, up meant she was going to be more extroverted and down meant not to talk to her too much...or was it the other way around?"
"Gee I wonder what went wrong there." Derek grinned,
You tried your best to follow who was talking, but it was all reading lips and you were too lazy to reach your phone across the table to pause your music.
Spencer continued to explain and your gaze landed on him, "No, he's right, whether or not we realize it, many of us do things out habit, its our subconcious essentially communicating with the rest of the world, for instance, Y/n will listen to more 80's groups or artists like The Smiths, David Bowie and Queen when she's feeling more introverted and independent. As when we go out together she's more likely to put on more recent artists like Lana Del Rey and Lizzo because she's feeling extroverted."
Even Hotch was invested now, "But how do you know she just doesn't want to hear a specific song, written by one or the other?"
"Well I also like to take into account the beat and message of the songs, one of her favorite songs is 'Losing My Religion' by R.E.M and though the group was founded in the late 80's this specific song is more up-beat and has, like most 80's songs more of an 'all or nothing' message."
JJ spoke up now, "But what if its her favorite song? I mean like you said it is, so how do you know she doesn't just want to hear it, bad or good mood?"
Your eyes followed back to him as He smiled at the challenge, "People will gravitate more to songs that express their emotions, and often will shy away from playing a favorite of theirs as to not ruin the euphoric feeling they get when hearing the song with that of a gloomy memory."
The last question you did hear though, as you finally paused your music and could hear Emily try one last time, raising an eyebrow at what you could only assume was Spencer's consistent rants.
"And when you can't hear her music, how do you determine her mood?"
He looked to you then, catching your gaze and wiggling his fingers like a magician.
'oh, you LOVE me!' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)
The team visiting Spencer for one reason or another on their day off & reader opens the door (maybe even wearing one of Spence's shirts) and that's how they all find out Spencer is in a relationship?
The doorbell rings, and even if Spencer weren't hobbling around on crutches with a rolled ankle, you'd have bolted to answer the door. You've got new shoes coming, a treat from your boyfriend himself, and they're set to arrive today before 9PM. It's 6, and you're eager to finally put them on.
However, it's not the mailman at the door, not unless the US Postal Service has gotten a huge budget increase. The man that stands at the door is dressed in a fine suit, something you're sure cost more than double what your shoes had, and he seems mildly surprised to see you behind the door.
There's a posse of people behind him, and you wonder if this is some sort of special delivery system. But no one seems to have your package, and you tilt your head at an angle, "Can I help you?"
His eyes narrow infinitesimally, curiously, "Yes, we're here to see Dr. Spencer Reid," The man speaks up, his voice deep and smooth, "Did we have the wrong address?"
"No- No! Hotch," Spencer shouts from his place on the couch, and you hear the clatter of crutches, "Hotch, wait!"
"Spencer," You gush, ditching the door to make sure he doesn't tip himself over in his sudden pursuit of his callers, "Spence, go slow, you'll trip."
"I'm fine," He pants, moving as fast as he can to the door, his cheeks unusually rosy, "Uh, what- what do you guys need?"
Upon sighting him, the rest of the people behind the door exchange glances with each other, like they hadn't quite believed just his voice. You're hovering awkwardly behind Spencer now, looking up at your houseguests curiously, and waiting for them to speak.
"We brought you cookies," A blonde woman behind the man in the suit pipes up, hands decked out in jewelry as she brandishes a ziploc bag of treats, "And- and Morgan has medical tape he thinks you should use on your ankle, and JJ made a casserole, and we just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I was going to offer to hire you a live-in nurse," An older man pipes up from the back, a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, glancing back at you with a small smirk, "But I'm not sure that's necessary."
"Thank you for the stuff." Spencer reaches out for the bag, keeping his crutch stabilized beneath his shoulder, "Y/N, can you- the casserole, um-"
"I got it," You jump forward to help, taking a dish from another blonde woman standing beside the first. The bottom is warmed, and she smiles kindly at you as she passes it off, nodding at your thnaks.
"Here's the tape," A man pipes up, muscles straining the t-shirt he's wearing as he sets a roll of medtape over the foil on the casserole. He grins at you, and the expression shifts more into a teasing one when he speaks to Spencer, "Sorry for interrupting."
"Oh, you weren't interrupting," You shake your head, "Are you- you're Spencer's coworkers, right?"
At their round of nods, you readjust your grip on the casserole, "Would you want to come eat with us? We could-"
"Our apartment is messy," Spencer cuts you off, hand already on the door to shut it on their shit-eating grins, "Thanks for the food, sorry you can't stay. See you tomorrow."
He shuts the door without offering them another word, and you gasp, "Spencer! That's rude, open the door!"
"They are relentless," Spencer locks it, heading towards you and backing you against the kitchen counter where you set the casserole, "If you let them in, they'll tease us both until our ears bleed, angel. They're not offended, and you can meet them some other time," He promises, kissing your forehead where you stand frowning at him, "When we're at someone else's house, and my ankle is healed so that we can run to the car and leave early when they lay into us."
Contributors: @baebae-goodnight, for this STUPENDOUS MOODBOARD
Pairing: You / Yoongi
Rating: PG-13 (GothicRomance!AU)
Word Count: 7,507
Summary: After becoming the assistant of professional recluse Min Yoongi, you begin to notice strange things. Noises which shouldn’t take place, shadows which shouldn’t move like they do. You’re almost convinced that you’re crazy - until something happens, something unbelievable to make you realize you’re not. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @daegusoftboys !!!)
Every time I remember this exists, I turn into a madwoman trying to find it again. I LOVE this so much. The concept is just fantastic (love a hot demon hunter) and it is written SO WELL?? just so elegantly done. And every time I finish reading it I’m incredibly hungry for more the story.
which of the evans do you think would cry during or after sex?
Tate!!! 100% though it’s mostly just him being a whiny brat and getting frustrated if you tease him 😌💕 though in all honesty the first time he has sex with someone it is kind of brought on by his mommy/daddy issues rising to the surface at being treated right by someone
Kyle!!! also definitely goes for both frat boy and zombie Ky 💕 especially at first and once he’s 100% comfortable with you— he just gets so overwhelmed by your soft touches and feeling nothing but wholehearted love from you that he can’t help it— just please take care of him, he’s been through so much
Jimmy??? Not like too often, mostly after sex and when he’s drunk off his ass— not really like full crying either he just lets his emotions build up inside him so much surrounding things outside that sometimes the dam just bursts in such vulnerable moments with you
Peter 🥺 honestly, this mans so touch starved and needy for you the tears just pour out of him the minute you touch him. He definitely either gets embarrassed by it and his cheeks get all red and feverish, very pretty— they quickly turn into whiny bratty tears though but it’s fine, how could you scold him???
Luke Cooper??? I mean, come on, the mans a huge brat— you can just tease him a little bit and the tears are immediately brimming in his eyes— also gets really embarrassed by it and tries to hide it so like if you grab his hands and keep him from hiding his face they just flow even harder
