You’re not expecting the immediate call from Spencer after you send him a picture of your meal, but you pick it up anyways with the crunch of a pretzel stick.

“Spence?” You speak through your mouthful, long-since over the illusion of perfection around him.

“Angel,” He greets you, worry lacing his sweeet voice, “Is that really your dinner?”

“Yeah,” You laugh, looking down at the collection of pretzel sticks and cheesy popcorn that adorn the plate around your bowl of macaroni and cheese, “I don’t feel like anything else.”

“Sweetheart,” He hums, “That’s not a very nourishing meal. You’re probably going to feel gross afterwards, it’s going to make you tired and you’re not going to feel very energized tomorrow.”

“Spence, I know,” You chuckle, adjusting the phone against your ear, “It’s girl dinner. It’s supposed to be unhealthy and mismatched.”

“Girl dinner,” He grumbles, his brows probably furrowed adorably. “What-?”

In the background you hear assorted giggles, Prentiss’s the most recognizable. You assume that others are JJ and Garcia, and you hope they’re enjoying themselves.

“It’s a meme,” You explain, “An internet joke, Spencer. I’m in the mood for junk food, so instead of forcing myself to eat healthy all the time, sometimes you just have to give in and eat like shit for a night. Girl dinner.”

“If you paired it with a vegetable, you’d at least be getting some nutrients,” Spencer tries, but you cut him off while you stir your macaroni.

“No vegetables. This is girl dinner. I’m okay, Spence, I’ll eat something really good for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Okay,” He’s hesitant to agree, “But- but honey, if you’re having trouble preparing yourself food, I can order in for you, okay? Just tell me what you want and I’ll wake up early to have it sent over.”

“Spencer!” You giggle, eager to get to your less-than-balanced meal, “Okay. This is just a one-time joke, okay? I thought it would be funny to send you. You don’t have to worry.”

“I worry about you all the time,” He confesses, and you know it’s meant to be flattering instead of insulting, “I’ll have fresh fruit delivered for you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Spencer.” You finally concede, “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Now you hear the relaxed smile in his voice, “Enjoy your- uh, girl dinner.”

“if you’re having trouble preparing yourself food”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

stop if only i had a spencer to help me make food :(

ty for ur request :D fem!reader

“Emily,” you say weakly. “What is that?" 

Emily looks up from her desk, clearly desperate for a distraction, the lip of her coffee mug against painted lips. "What’s what?" 

"That.” You point. You feel sick to your stomach. “That right there." 

"Oh,” Emily says happily. “You finally noticed. Yeah, Spence forgot to renew his contact prescription. He has to wear glasses for two weeks." 

Spencer stands by the photocopier with a perturbed frown, clicking a button, then another. His brow is furrowed and his hair is falling into his eyes. He has the stupidest, dorkiest, prettiest face, and practically every expression he makes has you weak in the knees.

"That long?” you ask. 

Derek looks up in concern at your pained tone, following the line of your eyes. When he realises what it is that’s hurt you so, he skirts around the desk to shake your shoulder. “You could always tell him how you feel. I’m sure he’d keep the lenses forever if he knew you liked them." 

"I don’t like them,” you say. You sound faraway to your own ears. You hate them. They’re gonna be your demise. 

Spencer runs a fingertip across the photocopier’s screen, in his own world as the machine finally begins to chug out whatever it is he’d been wanting a duplicate of. The frames of his glasses sit snug on his nose. You can tell from even this distance that the lenses make his eyes look a tiny bit smaller. You could probably point out a misplaced freckle if he asked you to.

“Don’t be cruel, he looks cute,” Emily teases. 

Spencer collects his papers, shuffling them into a straight line as he makes his way back to the bullpen. You pretend to take interest in Emily’s things. She sips her coffee too nonchalantly. Derek doesn’t even bother pretending. 

“What?” Spencer asks, swift to spot your suspicious behaviours. “Is it the glasses?" 

You wince. "Of course not. You look… you look really nice, Spence." 

"You know he used to wear ‘em every day?” Derek asks.

You would’ve died. “Before I joined?" 

"For a few years,” Spencer says, looking you over. “You’re unhappy. Is something wrong?" 

He looks to Derek and Emily for confirmation. Emily stutters for an answer while Derek laughs in the background, "She– you know. She just– She missed breakfast!" 

Spencer pushes his glasses up his nose by the leg and drops his copies onto the desk. "I have dried apricot in my bag. Two seconds." 

He bends over his chair to retrieve his bag from under the desk. Your eyes blow wide at his position, the sudden demonstration of well-fitted pants. Derek’s laugh echoes up to the eaves. 

"And he has that twenty four seven,” Emily says against the rim of her coffee. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and tilt your head back. After a few seconds, a hand touches your elbow gently, a hesitance that comes with only one member of the BAU. “You okay?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m okay. Headache,” you lie. 

Spencer presses the apricot into your hands. “Maybe you should see an optician. You know they can tell if you have a brain tumour from one photo of your sclera?” He smiles morbidly, his glasses slipping down his nose. “They measure the size of your optic disk. It takes less than a minute. I can give you the name of my doctor, if you want. She’s nice. Not as nice as you." 

Your throat is so dry you can’t form words to answer him. He doesn’t judge your rigid nodding. 

"I’ll write down the number for you. And, Y/N?" 

"Yeah?” you choke out. 

“You look really nice today, too." 

Emily has to kick you in the leg to bring you back to earth. Stupid Spencer. Stupid lovely glasses. 

this is so stupid cute i’m kicking my feet and giggling