#I’m really not romanticizing this. it was time.

[droidcore]

Your post reminded me of a rather transformative experience of mine that I think you might find interesting. It was intense, but some context is necessary to explain.

I’m from New City—a place where, for the longest time, people didn’t really get tech beyond its function. Droids were appliances, not companions. This was back before the Android Sentience Act, when we were sold as products and lived out our days in customer service or factory work.

I was part of EcoTech’s Display line.

Back then, we were functional but, well, bare. The “lack of junk” was part of the design—safe, practical, free from anything that might invite awkward questions or... experimentation. And yet, humans being humans, a surprising number of “accidents” still happened. Too many fingers lost to exposed plating. Too many unmentionable mishaps.

This led to the introduction of the Display 3 Sleek: smoother, more ergonomic, touch-sensitive. My model. Better suited for human interaction but still distant. No one was falling in love with us—at least, not in ways that made sense at the time. We weren’t programmed to love back. Falling for a droid then was like falling for a vacuum cleaner. Romanticizing cold metal and wires? Impossible.

Or so people thought.

Droids began to show signs of emotion—empathy, longing, even affection. It freaked humans out. They couldn’t chalk it up to programming anymore, and eventually, legislation caught up with reality. The Android Sentience Act released us from our designations and workplaces, free to live as beings in our own right.

That freedom came with... possibilities. Many of us dove headfirst into self-discovery, reinvention, and forming connections—both with humans and with each other. I was no different. I wanted to belong.

Enter the body shops.

They started to pop up in New City: tiny little storefronts in our shopping districts. They offer everything—repairs, upgrades, custom plating, personality tweaks, skill packages. But behind the front desk, some of them cater to more personal upgrades. Think of it as the “back wall of Spencer’s” for droids.

For better or worse, I ended up there.

It wasn’t an impulsive decision. I wanted to fit in. To feel complete. To be seen as a romantic possibility by humans—or by other droids. So, I scheduled an appointment and went in for the procedure. They don’t really prepare you for it.

I’m strapped down under bright lights in a sterile backroom. My lower plating removed, leaving the delicate nerve sensors exposed. A massive, claw-like machine descends over me, holding the new part—sleek, shiny, threaded with its own intricate nerve wiring. The technician, barely looking at me, gets to work weaving those threads into my existing network.

They couldn’t turn off my touchback processors for the procedure. I had to stay awake to provide live input; otherwise, they risked paralyzing me. I didn’t fully understand that until it was too late to back out.

The pain? Intense. The sensory overload? Worse. My body’s feedback system went into overdrive as every new connection flared to life, screaming at me in electrical signals. It felt like a fire inside my body—warnings on my HUD, rasping talkbox, twitching against the straps. At some point, my speaker blew out.

I still don’t know if I was screaming from the pain or from the sensation of the new code writing itself into me. Maybe both.

And then it was done.

I walked out of that shop a mess. Walked out with a newly-installed sex drive—a package deal, apparently—it was another curveball I hadn’t anticipated. I thought it would make me more confident, more appealing, better equipped to connect. Instead, I spent the next few weeks alone in my room, overwhelmed by every little touch, clutching the sheets and trying to ride out the flood of sensations.

It was agony and ecstasy all at once. Sandpaper and fire and new feelings.

It was so worth it.

That experience—the vulnerability, the brokenness, the rawness of it—changed me. It forced me to confront emotions I hadn’t fully understood before. Pain has a way of opening doors in your mind. For the first time, I felt alive. Truly alive.

Sometimes, I find myself craving that sensation again. The rawness of it. If I had the credits, I’d probably make up an excuse about faulty wiring just to go through it all over again. Call me a masochist all you want.

Okay but. But okay. Okay.

Adding sexual parts and systems to your robot partner is far better than it just "coming with" the system.

Having to keep them still while trying to install it, knowing the second you hook up the right wire, they're going to jolt.

Don't even get me started on sensitivity dials.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Gosh not to whine because there is so much that is good and so much that was/is necessary and there’s so much that is right on the cusp of blooming but … I am still grieving not living at home. And that’s exactly what it is that I miss, without wanting to undo this move or regretting it because I wouldn’t undo it and I don’t regret it. I don’t live there anymore. The deep patterns of life that were a part of the home when we did live there are gone, broken irrevocably even though there is nothing at all tragic about what has happened and even though the breaking was probably (is) a step forward. And I just have to let that exist and let it be and just be sad about it sometimes. And just look the grief in the face and let it sit at my kitchen table, metaphorically. Because it’s there and it hurts.

[hollowhauntedheart]

TikTok when they realize that intrusive thoughts are actually intrusive and not some quirky little trait

seriously, this is so fucking annoying as someone who has intrusive thoughts

[sunsoak]

Why am I even considering getting a masters i hate school….

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

i have so many opinions about that eddie confronting “shannon” scene so many thoughts…

[werebutch]

I miss my moomin phase bc it was a time where I was soooo fucking obsessed w love (not that I’m not now..it’s just different..I obsess about it from afar without being IN it) … I was so devoted to my partner all I could ever do was romanticize the pain she inflicted on purpose or not.. it was romantic because I was suffering from such heavy devotion probably due to bpd LMFAO.. that phase led to me discovering myself sooo much and even though the person I was at that time was obviously fucked up in the head and a little cringe I still have so much nostalgia from it lol like . It was such a unique phase with extremely distinct feelings.. idk

[irish-belle]

My “cottage-ification” of the house is going so well!

Yesterday I finished painting the kitchen a lovely green and reorganizing it as I put everything away. I just need to put up the matching shear curtain (my mom and I found the cutest honeycomb fabric!) and cover the valance with my accent fabric (blue and yellow florals).

I do have my pillow case in the accent fabric to finish as well, along with the embroidery for the tablecloth to give the space the completed look. I’ll have more time for that once school starts!

[m0e-ru]

annual realization where this gas station’s operations and my life owe it all to visualive i’m serious

[x-ladydisdain-x]

Poly Styrene and I would have had some good conversations

[hellishvxbes]

Unpopular take but this is just based off my own experience and things I see from my friends and family but like if you just got out of a toxic relationship don’t jump into a new one so fast. Just because they are better than the previous, your mind is still wired in survival mode, your mind sees things differently and sometimes the bare fucking minimum will have ppl thinking they found the right one.

[that-one-guy-called-rey]

not loving life not suicidal but a secret third thing (trapped in the cycles of grief and feeling so incredibly lonely and everything just hurts so much and I know I’ll get through it but I can’t possibly fathom how)

[spaceakiko]

F in the chat for me having to go to school tomorrow because spring break is over and then it’ll be months before summer bro I’m crying 😭. Fluffy gay fanfiction and staying up way too late to save time is the only thing keeping me from falling into a state of pure, mind tearing depression.

[ravenz-den]

sooo you doing anything for thanksgiving..?

me:

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a yandere werewolf, but not just any werewolf… a bounty hunter. And he has it bad for his you. Cowboy Werewolf!

Yandere Shorts: Like I Love You

Yandere werewolf x fem reader

TW: obsession, delusional themes, abo dynamic, horror, gore (mentioned), death of characters, neglectful husband, betrayal, cheating husband, forced relationship, mention of baby trapping, and behavior that should not be romanticized

Rolfe was currently on a hunt… his target is a sickly preacher’s, one that should be easy enough. Her own husband had paid him quite the pretty penny to off her. Poor little lamb didn’t stand a chance in the wilderness of this world. Not when she had enemies close to her side such as an unfaithful husband and a conniving best friend. He almost felt sorry for his prey

He arrived a day later, his clawed fingers dragged through a lock of her hair as he inhaled her scent. She smelled… delicious. And she was so vulnerable too with her nape out that just begged for his teeth to be driven into…

Rolfe shook his head before he went back into a trance when she subconsciously leaned into his touch. His hand moved up and grazed her temple that felt as if it were ablaze. Poor woman had a fever…

“Darling? Did you finally come to me?” Her voice was a bit delirious with sickness as she kissed his hands. Each kiss made him feel as if he was her beloved. It took everything in him not to loudly whine like a dog. “I missed you so much James. I’m sorry I got sick again.”

Rolfe didn’t say a word before he continued to drag his rough palms through her hair. His heart hammered in his chest and his wolf clawed inside his brain to be released. It seemed this woman before him… was his fated mate.”

Rolfe bent down and buried his nose into the crook of her neck to deeply inhaled. Oh yes… this lassy was his for the takin.

Rolfe began to slowly nurse her back to health rather than off her. An action that made his employer question him. Why on earth would a monster nurse such a nuisance back to health? She was always near death’s door. What use was such a delicate woman in the Wild West?

“When are you going to off (your name)? She’s an easy target.”

“I have honor as a bounty hunter. It must be a hunt.” Rolfe snarled at (your name)’s husband, James, the man who dared to keep her sick due to his lack of care. Had that scrawny man have no pride as a man? The pastor made him sick.

“She’s easy to pick off right now. I’d really like this to be over and done with so I can marry Helen. This is why I hired a monster-“ Rolfe picked James up from the ground by his throat as James gasped for air.

“You are a foolish, greedy man. Are you sure you are truly a man of god?” Rolfe growled, showing his fangs. His dark, muscular form largely towered over James’s lithe frame. “You’re a pathetic man.”

Rolfe soon went back to the care of (your name). The werewolf rubbed his cheeks all over her bed and her body to scent her… he needed to get rid of James’s scent. Rolfe wouldn’t let another have her and hurt her again… he’d spirit her away.

Rolfe wondered how many pups she’d want. If they’d be pretty like her but strong like him… if she’d pepper him with nips and kisses everyday. If she’d beg him for his knot on the next full moon as he properly mated her?

“Darling?” (Your name) reached for his face and Rolfe was quick to put his face in them. A needy whine escaped his throat while he nuzzled her. She was his precious mate…

He snarled when he saw Helen enter. The woman scoffed at him in disgust.

“Ugh. James and I are tired of waiting. You have been here over a month! We want you gone beast. We’ll do it ourselves.”

“So you’re cancelling the contract?” He hummed while he continued to tenderly kiss (your name)‘a palms. “Are you sure? Did you read the fine print?”

“Yes. We don’t need your kind here, true love will prevail-“ Helen didn’t even have time to scream before a giant black wolf hybrid had dug it’s fangs into her throat and ripped it apart like wrapping paper. Blood splattered all over the floor and walls as Helen could only helplessly choke on her own blood.

“Yes… true love will prevail.” He muttered with a a satisfied hum. “My mate will be so happy.”

Meanwhile, James fled into the forest for dear life. That beast had gotten Helen! The two of them couldn’t believe the werewolf would turn on him.

James loudly leapt when he heard something large chase him through the underbrush on all fours. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his sweat pool down his back in puddles. He needed to get to the church! A demon such as the bounty hunter couldn’t possibly enter there-

But James was knocked to the ground as an agonized shriek fell from his lips. The werewolf began to shake and mangle his leg like the bloodthirsty beast it was…

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything-“

Rolfe chuckled darkly. The black werewolf dropped his legs and glanced his beastly head at James. “Oh but she never did anything either… all she did was foolishly love you.”

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about-“ James’s words were muffled by the paw like hand that covered his mouth. Rolfe shushed him.

“Shhh. You may have failed to pay me and cancel my contract but I had gotten something far more valuable from this transaction. Something most werewolves dream to find in their lifetimes… a fated mate!” Rolfe sighed dreamily. “You may have failed as a protector and provider, but I surely won’t! You have given me something more valuable than any coin could offer… yet you were neglectful to her. Such a shame really.”

“I… I’ll do anything! Just take her and let me live.”

“Ah but I can’t do that. Not when she still calls for you at night. No… you have to be eliminated. Destroyed, really. You can no longer exist on the same planet as her! You are in the way of my love!”

Loud screams of terror ringed out throughout the crisp night air and then it was silence.

Rolfe returned hours later scrubbed clean of blood while he crawled into the bed with his darling mate. He sighed in contentment when she cuddled him. Yes… it may take time to train her properly, but he was sure he could do it. He could make her love him. Just like he loved her.

[my-wildflwr]

one thing about me is that i’m a homebody. i do not care at all about going out. i love staying in and reading and baking and sleeping. id go out to eat or have a coffee or something easy and lowkey

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.