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there’s absolutely nothing better than reading a 100k word fanfic, that is until you remember you have a body that is starving, thirsty and incredibly sleep deprived and hasn’t used the bathroom since the sun set 8 hours ago

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i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.

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how do y'all not let the things you like consume your entire being

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Let's be real, if a man talked dirty to me like they do in fanfics, I would use my pepper spray.

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When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

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Keep your priorities straight: post fic.

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knitted sweaters

Spencer Reid x Reader | 1,000 words | Fluff | GN!Reader

A little suggestive towards the end

Master List

A/N: Okay so am I down bad? Maybe… But I want comfy Spencer sweaterssssss

Silence surrounded you and you occasionally interrupted with the press of your knife through the onion. The soft sound as you pushed through the flesh of the vegetable and hitting the plastic cutting board. You paused for a moment and glanced over at the sofa, watching Spencer. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other carelessly hanging off the couch. His long legs curled and bent at the knee to help accommodate his height. The blanket you had haphazardly thrown over him wrapped now only around his waist. You smiled softly. The calmness in the air was exactly what he needed. You never understood why their missions got more frequent during the holiday season and as much as Spencer explained it; it frustrated you. Really you just wanted him home. Maybe the holidays made you more sentimental, or maybe you just had more time to think with the extended time off. 

You shivered slightly and nuzzled further into Spencer’s sweater. You were going to have to steal this one from him, with the Virginia weather getting colder and snowier by the day, the oversized sweater brought you reprieve. It also smelled perfectly like Spencer. A mix of his citrusy after-shave and earthiness of his skin, not to mention the cotton yarn he used to knit it. 

You did your best to brush off the thinking but a voice interrupted your thoughts for you, “you’re really thinking about that onion.” 

You turned to look, Spencer sat upright on the couch and lightly started rubbing his eyes. There was a level of domestic bliss that surrounded you in that moment that felt better than any holiday gift.

“I was thinking about you,” you sighed.

“Me?” Spencer responded, a slight shock lacing the word.

“Yes handsome, you. I was thinking about how much you needed that nap.” You said as you put the knife down and stepped over to the kitchen sink to wash your hands.

“You could have woken me up, I told you I would help with dinner tonight.” Spencer seemed to pout.

You laughed as you padded over to him in your fluffy socks, stood in front of him, lightly pulling your fingers through his hair. Running your fingers through his hair was one of the most soothing actions you could ever need, and plus the sigh of content from him solidified the action in your mind.

“You’re going to mess up my hair, I put a lot of work into that,” Spencer said as he shifted his head up to look at you, lighting pushing chin on your stomach.

“No offense but it was already a mess, the couch saw to that,” you laughed.

Spencer puffed a small breath and lightly wrapped his long arms around your waist. He nuzzled into your stomach and breathed in your smell.

“Hey, is this my sweater?” He asked.

“No,” you responded, a small smile spreading across your cheeks.

“This is 100% my sweater, I know because I made it,” he pulled at the bottom of the sweater. 

“I know you made it, but it’s my sweater,” the light teasing lacing throughout the words.

“I never gave it to you,” Spencer looked up at you.

“You didn’t have it because I knew deep down you wanted to give it to me,” you laughed.

Spencer laughed as well, seemingly understanding that you were not letting him win this one.

“This was the first one I got right,” he laughed, admiring the work.

The sweater in question was a deep burgundy resembling the color of red wine. The cuffs of the sleeves usually cover your palms, just allowing two knuckles of your fingers to peek out, but you have the sleeves pushed up to your elbows when you’re cooking. It was slouchy and hit your mid thigh. Spencer still had no concept of sizing while he was knitting, so the sweater was large on him and even larger on you. 

“I should make you one,” Spencer lightly traced the columns up and down your front. It was perfectly intimate, watching his fingers tracing up your front and then back down.

“I already have this one,” you said.

“I mean one that fits you,” Spencer said as he pulled his face away. 

“This one is perfect,” you went to walk away to go back to your cooking, but Spencer's hands were quicker.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down with him on the couch. You let out a small yelp as Spencer practically giggled behind you. He pulled you down on his lap, sitting across his legs. You laughed at his antics and pulled yourself around to straddle his lap.

“I thought you said you want to help with dinner,” you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Well, I can help in a few minutes, but right now I need my sweater back.” He replied.

“You already have one! This one is mine, and it’s cold,” you whined.

“It’s my sweater and I’ll turn the heat up,” he said, tugging on the bottom of the sweater.

“What if I told you I had nothing on under the sweater and you’re basically undressing me right now?” You asked.

“Well no wonder you’re cold,” Spencer grabbed both of your hands trying to warm them. “Go grab one of your’s from my closet.” 

“I don’t have any sweaters here,” you lied.

“Yes you do, it was in the box you brought over last week of stuff you’re leaving here and it was on your packing list two weeks ago when you texted it to me.” 

“Okay Mr. Memory,” you pouted and began pulling the sweater over your head.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Spencer yelled and pulled the sweater back down.

“What?” You asked.

“You said you had nothing under it,” he said.

“I don’t,” you replied.

“So you can’t just strip in my living room,” he stuttered.

“Why not?” You asked.

“Because–cause… You can’t, you just can’t,” Spencer frantically looked around the room for some excuse, but what he couldn’t hide was the redness spreading from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “Look! The blinds are open! Someone could see you!”

He pointed to the blinds and you turned to look at the spot. The blinds were barely open, someone would have to completely press their face against the window to see anything. 

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, getting up off his lap.

As you went to round the corner of the hallway, walking towards Spencer’s bedroom, Spencer cleared his throat.

“What’s up?” You asked as you turned around.

“Well I said, I would help with dinner, but I uh – maybe I could help with that?” He asked.

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Will introducing Nico to different cuisines: This is shrimp fried rice

Nico in awe: you’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice??

Percy in the kitchen commanding the shrimps: keep at it boys

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Nico: So we're doing the hear me out cake thing?

Percy: Yup. I start *grab his stick* Lego batman. I have my reasons

Piper: that ginger mouse from flushed away, she's kinda cute

Leo: Tristan MClean

Piper: THATS MY DAD

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I have chronic anemia but I don’t notice when it gets bad, I’m just like “I feel vulnerable and cold and tired and I bruise easily. Because of my poet’s temperament.”

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no, spotify, i don't want to use ai to "turn my ideas into playlists". i already fucking do that with my brain and hands and i do it for fun. what, should i get ai to pet my cat for me? to play my silly games for me? to spend time with my beautiful wife for me? how about i rend you asunder

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not all angels are in heaven. for example i’m mostly at home

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