#because my mind is very fried

[natreads]

I got a job as a bookseller!!!

[kaisollisto]

“How long have you been here?” She prods, bumping her gently with her foot still keeping the couple of inches of distance between them. The storm had passed 20 minutes ago and Ava had insisted on exploring as much as she could before nightfall.

“Does it matter? There’s no use dwelling on the passage of time.” Beatrice can feel bitterness lingering on her tongue. It feels like rejection, it feels like Ava has peeled back the layers of Beatrice, glanced at her and decided no thanks. They’re sat on a lumpy rock, Beatrice can feel how worn it is and wonders when she started feeling the same.

Ava pauses, before bringing her gaze from the space below them to Beatrice’s eyes. “It does to me.” Ava has a soft look in her eyes that makes Beatrice want to lash out. She looks away, she doesn’t need this, whatever it may be, whatever Ava chooses to wrap under the word ‘care’.

She takes a deep breath, hoping to still her emotions of misplaced anger. It’s not like Beatrice to get emotional, but after years of isolation, she supposes it’s bound to happen. “Days, years, maybe decades, it’s been a long time.” Beatrice gazes deeply into the horizon, how many times had she wished for this, someone to share the sunset with?

Ava hums and Beatrice turns to look at her. Her face turns to the direction of where Beatrice was once looking, admiring the view. Ava’s face is illuminated by the setting sun, she doesn’t have any blemishes or bumps on her skin. Ava is probably what humans would consider perfect. Beatrice doesn’t know what to think of her, doesn’t want to dwell on it either. She knows better than anyone what that could mean for her.

“For a such a shitty planet you’ve got a nice view.” Ava quips, Beatrice isn’t quite sure what she wants her to say. So she breathes, she closes her eyes gripping the rough stone beneath them and exhales.

“Yeah,” she can feel something rise in her. It balloons from the tips of her toes and forces it’s way up her throat. It curdles on her tongue bitter tasting, everything tastes bitter to Beatrice now. She swallows hard, wallowing in the silence procured between them.

“So, you’re like a MILF or something?” Ava jokes, Beatrice misses the uneasy expression on Ava’s face when she chokes and the smile that follows.

She hacks up spit from her lungs and feels the pressure in her throat loosen, “What?” Beatrice breathes raggedly as she clears her airway. “What could have led you to believe that?”

Ava has the nerve to look sheepishly as she shrugs her shoulders to her ears, “I mean DSP9 is basically your child? And you’re, uh,” Ava flushes as she frantically waves her arms between the two of them. “Yanno, um, h- attractive for your, um species? Race? You’re just pleasing to the eye, at least my eye. But not just pleasing! You’re like plenty smart! Living here on this desolate planet with so little you must be very fit, and survival-y.” Ava trails off blushing a profuse red.

Beatrice would be more concerned if her translator wasn’t struggling to decipher the speed of her words.

[rexscanonwife]

Hi it's one of those really early mornings again and I'm on the bus so I'm gonna share this pic of Anakin cause it fucking KILLS me for some reason 😂😂😂

I showed it to my partner and they said "what the waitress sees when she brings my chicken nuggies" and YEAH THATS THE VIBE HERE

[rosenfey]

god going veggie as an autistic person + a picky eater really makes it clear how much more limited your options are huh

[somewhereincairparavel]

percy had an 'im a big three son' moment when he choked a goddess with her own saliva (controlling a fluid that was INSIDE her body) annabeth was terrified.

nico had an 'im a big three son' moment when he disembodied bryce lawrence (quite literally dissipating and shrinking his LIVING soul into a spirit) and threw him to the underworld, smashing his zombie warriors. reyna was terrified.

yet we were robbed of jason's 'im a big three son' moment where he sucks the air out of someone's lungs and makes them stop breathing, or damaging a person's nervous system with his lightning control, and literally cause internal bleeding, or a damaged/fried skull if he electrocuted hard enough (look up the effects of lightning damage on body y'all will get a whole list, tbh he doesn't even need lightning to do any of this, air control is more than enough since air takes charge of everything going inside the body, but this is just an added effect.) he could give people STROKES if he wanted to. he's the literal definition of burnt out kid who was suppressed from discovering the magnitude of his abilities, because one, his dad's ego wouldn't be able to handle it, two, because he, for some reason, can't be allowed to do anything other than get knocked out :/

also adding on, hardcore pjo fans know that after the ending page of boo, there's this fan story that rick chose to publish in the last few pages of the book where a fan reimagines the ending of hoo, in that work, annabeth collapses from an attack and percy sobs clutching her body. jason calmly asks him to step aside, and kneels before annabeth, jason regulates her breathing using his wind/lightning powers and brings annabeth back fully from her cardiac arrest, causing percy to be relieved. (I wanted to link the pics of the pages here so bad but I didn't have the hard copy of the book with me, and this isn't available anywhere online either, only in the original covers of boo uk and us version, so I edited this post and asked people to reblog this post w the pics if they have the hardcopy, and a kind blogger found the story I'm talking about and reblogged the pictures of the pages, you can check my reblogs of this post for the pictures of the almost all the pages after this scene) considering rick approved and even liked the fan's work well enough to publish it in the official boo book, I'd say rick was aware and never completely ruled out expanding jason's abilities and had them in mind, he simply didn't incorporate it into the books. (also W fan for giving jason the rep he deserves, I will always remember you, you saw the VISION before any of us did, the story was very well written, with great dialogue.)

[luveline]

I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I'LL SAY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ S. REID

SUMMARY ৎ୭ falling in love with spencer reid was never a question, only an inevitability. it was in the way he remembered things you barely remembered saying, the way he defied probability just to make you smile, the way he learned you like you were his favorite subject. four times he surprised you—quietly, sweetly, in ways only he could. and then, when it was your turn, you made sure to give him a surprise worth remembering

WARNINGS ಇ. excessive fluff, spencer reid being the most thoughtful man alive, reader being absolutely whipped, the bau being the ultimate group of enablers, and just an overwhelming amount of love A/N ಇ. my first 4 + 1 fic for spencer, and i had to make it disgustingly sweet. this man was made for the softest love. i wrote this with heart eyes the entire time. hope you love it as much as i do ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 2,524

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The first time Spencer surprised you, it wasn’t with some grand romantic gesture or an intricately thought-out plan—it was with a single sentence, delivered so casually you almost missed it.

You were at the BAU, perched on the edge of Spencer’s desk, absently flipping through a book he’d left open while he and Derek were mid-conversation about something you weren’t entirely following. The buzz of the bullpen droned around you, keys clacking, phones ringing—nothing unusual. You had half a mind to start daydreaming when you caught the tail end of Spencer’s words, his tone as effortless as if he were reciting a grocery list.

“—kind of like the 1972 edition of The Last Unicorn, you know, the one with the misprint where the dedication is in the wrong place. That’s her favorite edition. She mentioned it once, so if you ever see a copy, let me know.”

You blinked.

Your favorite edition? The one with the misprint? The edition you had rambled about once—once—over takeout months ago? The conversation had been a passing thought, a fleeting mention between bites of lo mein, something you’d figured was lost to the ether.

But no. Of course, Spencer remembered.

Derek smirked, a slow, knowing expression creeping across his face as he shifted his gaze to you. “Damn, pretty boy. You writing a dissertation on your girl or something?”

Heat surged up your neck so quickly it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. “Spencer—”

“What?” Spencer blinked at you, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. “You said it was important to you. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Because I said it once. Months ago. In passing.”

He frowned, as if the very concept of forgetting something you loved was utterly foreign to him. “You love it. That makes it important.”

Your heart stumbled over itself, warmth pooling low in your stomach. You weren’t sure what to do with the way he looked at you, all soft certainty and quiet devotion, as if remembering the smallest details of your happiness was second nature to him.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”

Spencer barely acknowledged him, tilting his head at you. “Did I say something wrong?”

You exhaled a laugh, light and breathless. “No, Spence. Not at all.”

You were still flustered. Still shocked. But more than anything, you were his. And that made all the difference.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The second time Spencer surprised you was at the carnival. The lights flickered like a thousand fireflies overhead, washing the fairgrounds in a kaleidoscope of color. Laughter and music tangled in the air, mixing with the scent of popcorn and fried dough. You were walking past a row of game booths with Penelope, your fingers wrapped around a half-melted cotton candy, when your eyes landed on it.

A stuffed bear, slightly lopsided but endearingly so, with soft brown fur and a tiny pink bow.

“Oh, that’s cute,” you said absentmindedly, taking another bite of your sugary treat.

The game itself was one of those—the kind designed to be unwinnable. A cluster of milk bottles, stacked in a pyramid, just heavy enough and just angled enough that knocking them over with a weighted ball was statistically improbable, if not impossible.

Penelope gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, sugarplum, but those are rigged to hell and back. The guy running the booth said no one’s won that all night.”

You sighed, a little disappointed but not surprised. “Figures.”

With that, you let it go, continuing forward with Penelope while Spencer lingered behind. You didn’t think much of it—he probably got distracted by something, as he often did.

It wasn’t until you were waiting in line for the Ferris wheel that you felt something tap your shoulder.

You turned, and there stood Spencer, glasses slightly askew, his cardigan sleeves pushed up, holding the stuffed bear against his chest like it was some sort of peace offering.

Your mouth parted in shock. “Spence. No.”

Spencer, looking far too pleased with himself, simply shrugged. “Yes.”

You blinked. “How—?”

“It’s all physics.” He adjusted his glasses with one hand, shifting the bear to his other arm. “The way the bottles are stacked, they create a deceptive center of gravity. Most people aim for the middle, but if you hit the base bottle at the exact right angle—”

“You’re telling me you mathed the carnival?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Technically, I scienced it.”

Penelope let out an outrageously loud gasp. “Boy Wonder, did you just hack the universe for love?”

Spencer, deadpan, said, “Would you rather I hacked it for evil?”

You didn’t respond, mostly because you were still too busy gaping at him. The keeper had said the game was impossible, and yet, here he was, holding the proof in his hands.

Spencer held the bear out toward you with a small, shy smile. “You liked it.”

You took it, warmth blooming in your chest so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet.

“Spencer Reid,” you said, voice full of wonder, “you are ridiculous.”

His expression faltered. “But in a good way?”

You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“Yes,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “In the best way.”

And as if he hadn’t already ruined you completely, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and murmured, “Good.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It started as a habit you barely noticed—something instinctive, something you never really thought about. When emotions ran too high, whether in frustration, excitement, or joy, you’d slip into your native language. A muttered curse when you stubbed your toe, rapid-fire exclamations when you got good news, whispered endearments when Spencer did something particularly sweet.

And Spencer, for all his genius, would just stare at you, brow furrowed, lips pressed together in frustration.

“I hate not knowing what you’re saying,” he admitted once, after you’d spent two minutes ranting under your breath about something someone had said. “It’s like…watching the best scene in a movie, but without subtitles.”

You had laughed, ruffled his hair, and moved on.

You didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it.

But, of course, this was Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t until months later, in the middle of a particularly heated argument over whose turn it was to do laundry, that you realized something had changed.

“Spencer,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I literally did it last week, and I swear to God—”

You stopped mid-sentence, your frustration boiling over into a string of words in your native tongue, too sharp and fast for him to possibly understand.

Or so you thought.

Because instead of his usual confused frown, Spencer just…sighed. “I know, sweetheart,” he said, voice annoyingly soft. “You feel like you’re always the one keeping things in order, and it’s frustrating when I get caught up in my work and don’t notice.”

You froze.

Your brain froze.

Your soul left your body.

“Did you just—?”

Spencer shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his cardigan pockets like he hadn’t just rocked your entire world. “I learned.”

“You learned?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just casually admitted to learning an entire language for you. “You use it when you’re overwhelmed. When you’re really happy. When you’re really upset. I wanted to be able to—” He hesitated, then sighed. “I wanted to understand you. All of you.”

You were reeling.

Your Spencer, the man who got overwhelmed by new foods and wore mismatched socks on purpose, had sat down and taught himself a whole language just to keep up with you.

The worst part? He wasn’t even bragging about it.

He was just looking at you with those big, earnest eyes, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Say something else,” you breathed, stepping closer, heart hammering in your chest.

Spencer’s lips quirked. He took your hand, lifted it to his lips, and murmured something in your language—something soft, warm, achingly tender.

You didn’t need a translation. You felt it.

And that was the moment you realized that if this man ever proposed, you wouldn’t even need a ring to say yes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The BAU wasn’t exactly known for throwing extravagant parties, but every once in a while—when the cases weren’t weighing too heavy, when the team needed to breathe—someone would organize a gathering. Tonight, it was at a cozy, dimly lit bar, where laughter hummed in the air, and glasses clinked together in celebration of nothing and everything all at once.

You were nursing a drink, swaying absently in your seat to the upbeat music thrumming through the speakers, when a hand ghosted over yours.

Spencer.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” you teased, raising a brow.

“I don’t,” he said. “Or, well—I told you I don’t.”

Before you could question him, he was tugging you to your feet, guiding you toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room.

“Spencer,” you laughed, trying to plant your feet. “What are you—?”

And then he spun you.

Spun you.

Not clumsily, not awkwardly—gracefully, like he’d been doing this for years, like he’d memorized the movements as easily as he memorized case files. His fingers found yours effortlessly, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, pulling you close in a way that sent warmth flooding through you.

Your breath caught.

“You lied,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Spencer had the audacity to smirk. “I omitted.”

You wanted to be annoyed—really, you did—but it was impossible when he was guiding you so effortlessly, his steps steady and sure, his touch sending sparks along your skin. The rest of the room faded, the music folding around the two of you like something made for this moment.

And then, over the music, someone yelled—loud, clear, amused.

"Put a ring on her, Reid!"

The team laughed, Penelope whooped, and Spencer—adorably, unbelievably—went scarlet.

But you?

You just smiled, pressing closer to him, because the thought had already taken root in your mind.

And if he kept surprising you like this, you had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You should’ve known things wouldn’t go exactly to plan.

But in your defense, you did the math.

And for a while, everything was going perfectly.

The entire BAU was in on it—except Hotch, who you had strategically placed on Spencer distraction duty. You needed someone with a natural air of authority to make sure Spencer didn’t suddenly wander back early, and Hotch, bless him, had agreed with only a single, unimpressed sigh.

Now, with Spencer successfully occupied, you had an entire team of federal agents setting up the most intricate, heartfelt surprise proposal the world had ever seen.

“Derek, the ribbons don’t loop like that,” you huffed, pointing accusingly at the offensive display of tulle bows on the ceiling. “They’re supposed to be elegant and flowy, not—” you gestured wildly at the mess he’d made, “—that.”

Derek scoffed. “Princess, I think we’re getting a little dramatic over some bows.”

“You’re dramatic over football games,” you shot back. “Let me have this.”

JJ and Emily were arranging candles while Penelope fussed over the lights, making sure everything had the perfect warm, golden glow. Even Rossi was involved, setting up the champagne and shaking his head fondly at your borderline-manic attention to detail.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything was perfect.

And then, the door opened.

At first, no one reacted. You were too busy adjusting the placement of the table centerpiece to notice. But then the silence hit you—thick, unnatural, the kind that only meant something had gone terribly wrong.

And that’s when you turned.

And saw Spencer.

Standing in the doorway.

Everyone. Froze.

Your heart plummeted.

“NO, NO, NO—” You lurched forward, waving your arms as if that would physically undo the moment. “YOU CAN’T BE HERE YET! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE UNTIL 7:05, I DID THE MATH. IT WOULD TAKE YOU APPROXIMATELY ONE HOUR TO GET HERE AND THREE MINUTES TO COLLECT YOUR THINGS FROM THE CA—”

Spencer blinked. “You… did math?”

“That’s not the point!”

Spencer looked around, taking in the flickering candles, the flowers, the absolute chaos of the team caught mid-action like deer in headlights.

“Hotch was supposed to distract you,” you accused, glaring at the universe itself.

Spencer shrugged. “Yeah, after about ten minutes of his ‘So, Reid, how’s work lately?’ routine, I figured I should leave him alone.”

You groaned. “Dammit.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had planned this for weeks, accounted for everything, down to the minute, and yet here you were—standing in the middle of a half-finished proposal setup, Spencer staring at you like you were an anomaly he couldn’t quite solve.

But then he smiled.

Soft. Warm. Curious.

And you realized—it didn’t matter.

The plan had never mattered. Only he did.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Okay, well, this wasn’t supposed to go like this, but—” You turned, grabbed the velvet box from the table, and without any further hesitation, dropped to one knee.

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“Oh.”

And suddenly, words were spilling out of you, tumbling past your lips faster than your brain could catch up.

“Spencer, I have never met anyone like you,” you started, voice thick with emotion. “You remember every little thing I say, even if I say it once. You math carnivals just because I looked at a stuffed animal. You learned a whole language just to understand me better. You do all of these things not because you have to, but because that’s just who you are. You love me so much that it’s written into every detail of your life, and I—I just—”

Your voice broke.

Your vision blurred.

Tears streamed freely down your face, and you knew you were a mess—sniffling, shaking, soaked in emotions that should’ve been poetic but were just loud.

“There’s a reason girls don’t do this,” you hiccuped, rubbing at your eyes, utterly failing at keeping yourself together.

Spencer let out a soft, breathless laugh.

You swallowed, gripping the ring box so tight your knuckles went white. “But I figured you’d appreciate an unexpected variable for once.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then Spencer dropped to his knees too, hands framing your face with a reverence that made your breath stutter.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, and you were about to apologize, about to start rambling again, when he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “And I love you so much it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, deep, sure. Like an answer. Like a promise.

Somewhere in the background, you dimly registered Penelope sobbing, Derek muttering, “Damn, pretty boy really does have it bad,” and Rossi popping open the champagne with a satisfied sigh.

But none of it mattered.

"Will you marry me, Spencer Reid?"

Spencer pulled back just enough to whisper, “Yes. Of course, yes,” and you knew—down to your bones—that this was the best equation you had ever solved.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[venusbyline]

Oasis ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 01, oct.

— pairing: Spencer Reid x wife!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: squirting + overstimulation

— summary: Spencer finds out another guy made you squirt in the past and it hits a nerve. You agree to try this with him, even after your husband's sudden childish behavior.

— word count: 4.3k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 1st day, female!reader, husband!Reid, squirting, overstimulation, arguing, mention of safeword (no use), fingering, oral sex (female receiving), curse words, light degradation, biting, body worship, no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @magnoliatrees-world @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Spencer had to stay away from Virginia for more than fifteen days solving an extremely urgent criminal case, you've been needy all the time. Your thoughts were in an ironical division between your concern for your husband's safety and well-being, but also the pure desperation and desire to be touched by him again as soon as he returned home.

And it didn't happen.

Unfortunately, Spencer arrived so tired the night before that he didn't even bother to reheat his dinner. After all, it wasn't your fault if he returned late and the lasagna was already cold. Spencer was never a husband who demanded you anything. Both of you cooked and took turns doing the other tasks... As any couple should do. Of course he never complained if you didn't make his lunch before work. It was the least a husband should do. And you two knew it.

So it was a big surprise when there were no welcome hugs and kisses, but just the rolling of his eyes when he noticed that you put his dish in the fridge due the lateness. A spoiled attitude coming from him, and you gave up the lecture because you supposed he was just exhausted and frustrated after the case he solved with the team.

However, that didn't last long. Spencer simply took his things to sleep in the guest room. That made you angry as hell. He couldn't be being such a petty brat over a damn cold dinner, right? Spencer wasn't like that.

It was only a few minutes before you followed Spencer into the other room, asking for an at least reasonable explanation for what was happening to him.

And your hope of ending the night of Spencer's return with a good sex was completely dashed due to the unexpected argument.

During the morning, you left the room still sleepy and grumpy by Spencer's behavior last night, but tried to focus on other things. You tried to distract yourself by making the breakfast, furrowed brow as you watched the eggs and bacon strips frying in the pan.

You turned the piece of meat to the other side when you realized that it was already a little fried, but you let out a sigh when you felt hands entwining around your waist, the recognition of the shaving lotion smell preventing you from screaming in fright.

"It smells great..." Spencer hummed with groggy voice from sleep, leaning over so he could be at your height and resting his chin on your shoulder. The compliment about the good scent he was also flowing almost escaped your lips, but you remained silent, ignoring his existence right there behind you. Even though you hated giving him the silent treatment, your pride was wounded and you needed to give him a taste of his own medicine. After all, he had been trying to ignore you all night, before the uncomfortable silence turned into a stupid fight.

Not getting any reaction made Spencer's heart to ache, and he sighed. "Honey, please... Talk to me. You know how much it hurts me not to talk to you."

You couldn't help but let out a mockery sound, without even looking at him back. "Seriously, Reid? Because I remember very well that you were planning to do exactly that shit last night."

Your accusation made Spencer let out a frustrated sigh, his hands letting go of your waist and taking a few steps away. For a moment, you thought he was angry too and going back to guest room or maybe the living room, but instead, you looked at him furiously as he turned off the flame of the stove.

"What the hell? I haven't finished cooking yet!" You exclaimed with a frown, not believing your husband's boldness.

"Yeah... I know." Spencer took a deep breath, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. "You can finish later. I need to explain myself."

"Oh, so now you wanna explain yourself?" You scoffed. "Maybe if you had done that yesterday instead of treating me like trash or-"

Spencer cut you off, holding your shoulders gently but firmly enough to make you shut up and pay attention to what he needed to say.

"I'm so sorry, okay?" He began and one of your eyebrows rose in a nonverbal sarcasm sign. "I'm serious, honey. I was an asshole last night and-"

"Yes. You were." Your words came out colder than he was expecting and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "You threw a lot of shit at me without me even knowing why we were fighting."

Spencer took another deep breath, trying to work up the courage to confess about what messed with his mind. He knew that nothing he said would justify his actions and that was making him anxious, his heart ached not only at the mere thought of you not forgiving his childish behavior, but also at the possibility of you keeping to avoid his touches and his attempts to talk.

Spencer let go of your shoulders, his hands coming down until they were intertwined with yours, even if your fingers were stiff at first.

"I was jealous..." The confession finally came in an embarrassed whisper.

A perplexity look appeared on your face. "Jealous? Of what?" You asked, trying to look him in the eyes, even though his face was tilted down, a few strands of hair hiding his flushed cheeks. When he didn't answer, you insisted, lightly touching his fingers that were still intertwined with yours. "Explain it to me, Spencie."

Your demand said by a less angry way made him whimper, needing to be honest. "Y-Yesterday, after the case, the team was at the BAU. JJ, Prentiss and Garcia were talking some personal stuff about their sex lives..." Spencer began. "I-I wasn't paying attention, logically, I swear. I was with Morgan and Hotch talking about random things, but my hearing accidentally picked up a certain topic of the talk between the girls and-"

"Spencie..." Your voice softer now that you noticed how he seemed embarrassed and stuttering like a little child, as well as he was also beating around the bush. "I know you're nervous, but you could try going straight to the point, please? I'm worried here too."

Spencer nodded, knowing you were right. "I accidentally heard JJ whispering to the girls that you already had a squirt." He murmured and it was your turn to get hot and rosy cheeks. You could imagine that JJ hadn't told your secret as a gossip, but rather to add some important information on the subject, but it still left you embarrassed. "But you never had a squirt with me..."

Your eyes widened with realization and you tried to work around the situation. "Baby..."

"Don't do that... Please. I know how it works, okay? I know that not every woman can squirt and I also know that those of you who can squirt don't necessarily do this often. I've also read that it's not always as pleasing for you as porn makes it seem-"

You cut him off. "So you also know that squirting doesn't always happen during a orgasm. It can also happen even without cumming. It's something individual for each woman, it's not like an exact rule."

Spencer huffed angrily. "I know, fuck. I know..." He grumbled, running a hand over his face. "I know how all this shit works. But it doesn't change anything."

"What doesn't change, Reid?" You exclaimed impatiently now.

"The fact that you hid this from me!" Spencer shouted and you immediately rolled your eyes. "Damn, don't you dare roll your eyes at me. You don't know how much hearing that behind my back hurt me."

"Retroactive jealousy? Really, Spencer? You know better than anyone this doesn't make any sense." You huffed, massaging your temples to avoid the huge urge to pick up that frying pan and hit your husband in the back of the head.

His jaw clenched when you mentioned that. "It's not... It's not just jealousy, much less the retroactive one." He was stubborn like a fucking child, the sight of Spencer crossing his arms to try to look more mature almost made you chuckle.

"Oh, I bet it is, and very immature too." The scoff escaped before you could think of something more gentle to say. "Fuck, Spencer. It's not like we share details about our past sex lives with each other. That would be really awkward and uncomfortable. I don't wanna know what you've done with other women in your past and I guess you don't wanna know what I've done in my past either."

Spencer kept his arms crossed, but his eyebrows shot up and his jaw clenched for the second time, a clear sign that he knew you were right, it was just hard to admit.

"Well, I really don't wanna hear about that old stuff, but this is important one..."

"Why on earth would this be important?"

"BECAUSE NOW I'M FEELING INSUFFICIENT!" Spencer uncrossing his arms as he looked at you with despair. "I feel like I'm not giving you enough pleasure! Now I feel like I've never given you a decent orgasm."

You felt your eyes widen again. It all still didn't make any sense, it was something completely irrational coming from Spencer. You knew that academically, Spencer was always a genius who knew about anything in the world, but when it was something regarding you or your relationship, he acted like any man, lost with most situations and also insecure at times.

"You're being ridiculous." You grumbled, trying to push past him before his hand closed around your wrist, keeping you firmly in place.

"I know. I know I'm being immature and irrational, but-"

"But what, Spencer? Jesus Christ, if you were trying to deal with jealousy, it would have been easier to have asked to fuck me last night or something."

His face flushed and he began to stutter, not knowing what to do other than let go of your arm.

After two minutes of awkward silence, Spencer tried to argue again. "That's not... That doesn't make sense. We can't solve our relationship problems by having sex..."

His hypocrisy made you roll your eyes. "Oh, sure. And fighting solved it?" You asked and he looked away, knowing you were right. Again. "Yesterday I was really desperate to have sex with you."

He lifted his head and looked at you, surprised. "You mean that?"

You laughed quietly due to the confusion in his face. "Yes, Spencie. You've been away from home for over a fortnight, do you really think I'm not fucking horny?"

Spencer stopped to think for a moment, scratching the back of his head and trying hard to find a solution to the stupid situation he created. "So can we... Can we try?"

You looked at him, thinking about denying it out of a tantrum, but you just sighed and then argued. "I don't know, Spencer... I'm not in the mood, but we can try just for learning purposes. More like a lesson than our real sex."

A guilt expression appeared on Spencer's face, along with a pang in his chest. The idea of you not even wanting to have real sex with him for now was torturous for him. He knew he had failed with you, being so immature to the point of making you lose your lust about the situation. But he could try to redeem himself. Even though it was a selfish thought at first, he was now determined to apologize properly.

"Yes... Yes, that sounds good..." He gave you a sad smile.

You lay down on the bed and put a pillow under your hip. Your pajamas were already thrown somewhere random on the floor, just like the pink cotton panties. You were ready to teach Spencer whatever he needed to learn.

There was no certainty that he would be able to make you squirt. You always had the best orgasms when Spencer was in charge of pleasuring you, but he was feeling less after the discovery that you had already squirted with the help of another man. A man who wasn't him.

Maybe hiding this fact from him hadn't been tbe wisest choice, even if you hadn't done it on purpose. You just didn't think that mentioning this situation or asking Spencer to try that would really be so important. Over the years, no man had given you half the pleasure that Spencer gave you on a daily basis, squirting or not.

"Well, let's do it." Your words came out emotionless as you parted your legs, giving him the perfect view of your still barely wet pussy.

"You're shaved..." Spencer frowned at your complete lack of pubic hair so suddenly. Or at least that's what he thought.

You rolled your eyes, impatience side by side with embarrassment, both eating you alive. "Like I said, I was desperate to fuck with you as soon as you got back from the case. So I decided to get a full wax beforehand."

At other times, Spencer would laugh hearing you confess so openly about your high desire for his body over the past few weeks. At other times, he would even tease you about needing a vibrator to help you achieve your release when he was away, even if you were more than capable of cumming with your own fingers.

But your hands didn't provide you the same ecstasy that Spencer's long thin fingers made you feel. And he knew it too.

You felt yourself holding your breath the moment Spencer took off his shirt to make himself more comfortable. As much as your pride told you to look away from his body, it was impossible for you to stop enjoying the view. Watching Spencer's bare skin was as addictive as the fresh water of an Oasis should be for thirsty people walking through deserts. And you couldn't lie... You were desperate to quench your thirst and taste him again after all that time away from each other.

Spencer knelt on the floor, carefully pulling your legs so that your lower body was closer to the edge of the bed, and automatically closer to his face.

"Are you okay, honey?" He asked with a cocky smile as he felt your thighs tingle as he touched them to adjust your position.

Hearing your husband's sarcastic smugness, you held back from punching him in the shoulder. "Yeah, I'm great." Your voice sounded angry and he chuckled softly, nodding his head and turning his attention to your center, which was finally starting to get wetter.

"I'm seeing..."

You ignored his mockery and looked at the ceiling, not wanting to exchange eye contact at that moment. Spencer's puppy eyes plus his mischievous smile were an almost fallen angel combination. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing or the Devil in disguise, just as Elvis Presley said in that song.

Spencer giggled as he ran his fingertips down your thighs, caressing your skin so gently that it felt like delightful torment. You fought to maintain an expression of indifference and boredom, but the goosebumps that passed through your body told him a different story.

Already knowing that not so soon you would give in and admit your lust, Spencer began to left kisses spread across the lower part of your thighs, enjoying the sound of your breathing becoming increasingly panting.

"What's the next step, professor? Your teaching method it's being too silent..." Spencer joked and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Just... Just keep doing what you always do for now." You hummed with the last bit of patience you had left, grabbing the sheet to keep your hands out of Spencer's hair.

Another chuckle escaped Spencer's lips and he nodded, placing more soft kisses on your skin before moving closer to your pussy again, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of your essence for a few seconds before leaving a quick delicate kiss on your bud. “F-fuck…” You squirmed slightly, your eyes widening at his unexpected action. "T-this is new..."

"I saw something like this while I was watching porn after our argument and I thought this might be good for you." Spencer confessed and you nodded with difficulty, a confirmation that the wished effect was occurring.

You looked at Spencer's cute face, but the eye contact lasted very little time, because as soon as Spencer's tongue began to tease your clit, your head arched back, more moans escaping as he held your legs firmly, not letting you give in to the normal human reaction of trying to deflect sudden pleasure. "Fuck... Why is this even better than usual?"

Spencer laughed again at the question you asked amidst the moaning session. He knew you were more touchy this time and he had an idea why. Probably due to the fact that both of you missed each other's bodies, as well as the fact that he was working hard as if it were actually a goal to be achieved, a prize to be won. But he wouldn't stop licking you to admit it. Deep down, he supposed that you were realizing that too.

"T-two fingers, Spencer! Put two fingers inside!" Your order left him a little disconcerted, since despite everything, he was used to putting in one finger at a time. As soon as he did what you demanded to him, he felt the walls of your pussy almost crushing his fingers, a desperate moan escaping your lips, fleshy and reddened from holding back the sounds that wanted to escape.

"Damn, honey... You're needy today." Spencer smirked, starting the movements more gently, wanting to enjoy the sight of you writhing around his fingers, begging for more. "You said it would just be a lesson, just a method to stop my stupid retroactive jealousy... But you're loving it, don't you?"

You just kept moaning. Even though the pleasure was obvious by the way your cheeks flushed and your hips rolled around Spencer's fingers. Pride prevented you from saying you were excited to make a mess on the sheets.

When Spencer interspersed the fingerfucking and his lips closing slightly around your clit, starting to suck gently, an immediate whimper left your lips. "F-fuck, do it again. Do it one more time, Spencie."

Spencer, the genius who learned too quickly, followed your commands like a good boy, sucking the swollen bud again, his fingers moving faster when he noticed how you eyes were rolling back in pleasure. It was a divine view. He could fuck you for hours, just as he could watch you cum for hours too.

He greedily licked away your first orgasm of the day, even though he knew it still wasn't enough. It still wasn't the goal you two were looking to achieve that morning. However, not only did Spencer never waste the opportunity to take in every drop of your sweet release, but he also knew that the first orgasm could make it easier to get closer to your potential squirt.

And to be honest, he might even be content with your normal orgasms, since you looked so beautiful when you came on his lips.

Your lungs burned for air as his breathing normalized, his heartbeat became faster and your vision readjusting to reality. When the white flashes disappeared, you look back at Spencer, who still has a cocky smile on his face, his fingers still working inside you.

"Honey, you're a very unfocused teacher." He mocked and the literal joke made you laugh, a weak, breathless sound, mixed with some sighs of pleasure that were impossible to you contain.

"Or maybe my dearest student's very diligent. Too much, actually." Your mockery made him laugh too. His lips moving closer to your intimacy again, but now focusing on nibbling the flesh of your thigh, speeding up his fingerfucking again. Even the smallest touch making you whimper, your pussy tightening from the overstimulation.

Spencer noticed this and bit your skin for the second time, now with a little more pressure, and you were sure you heard the neighbor from the next apartment knock on the wall to curse you for the sudden fucking loud moan in the middle of the morning. This only further increased Spencer's growing arousal and your need for more release. "Grumpy old woman." You mumbled about her, trying hard to hide the embarrassment that colored your cheeks.

"Oh, c'mon... Don't be shy, my dear wife." Spencer chuckled, licking your soft flesh before teasing your with his teeth again, but now just scraping them across your skin until he reached your core. You felt the moment when the central and lateral incisors brush against your clit. It was a soft act despite it taking a gasp from you due to the little pain. And then he did it again, returning to moving his fingers roughly.

When Spencer nibbled on your swollen clit, you almost screamed, but his free hand stopped you from moving away from him. “Relax, baby…” He purred, licking your sensitive pussy to redress for the pain he caused, his wet warm tongue matching perfectly with the bitter sting of his teeth returning to bit the same spot. It was so painful and hot...

“S-Spencie…” You whimpered as he blew on your slightly tortured clit. A rush of air so brief that you would barely feel it usually, but now, with your pussy burning in flames, the mere breeze of his sigh in that right spot made you shiver and squeeze his fingers tighter.

"It's okay, I'm feeling it, baby... I'm feeling your little pussy squeezing me. Are you gonna cum again? Will you be a good wife and wet my tongue with your cum?" Spencer practically growled, focusing back on fingering you, his fingers moving in and out of you at such a fast pace that the wet obscene noise joined your moans, filling the room like music to Spencer's ears.

The moment his tongue returned to licking your soaked folds, your body shook more than expected and you opened your mouth in a silent scream, your back writhing in Spencer's grip, arched and aching as the clear jets wetted your husband's face, a guttural groan escaping him as he opened his eyes to see you with your eyes closed and your legs shaking as he committed himself to drinking every drop from the fountain you provided.

Spencer didn't give you time to adjust to that non-routine orgasm. He took care of remaining with his head in the same position, between your thighs, licking your pussy as if it were the tastiest Oasis' water. Savoring the flavor, eyes closed as he concentrated on getting messy, not caring which part of his face he was rubbing against your warm cunt. Whether it was the lips, the nose, the chin... He rubbed every inch of his face, noticing how your moans became desperate again and you tried to push his head away, a mix of overstimulation and shyness.

Spencer always loved eating you out. However, nothing was like now. Nothing was like feeling eaten alive by a hungry lover, and at the same time so worshiped by him.

"J-Jesus... it's enough, Spencie. S-stop, please." You tried to push him away, enough to get a heavenly view of his face glistening due your juices, completely messed up and handsome like a angel.

But he looked up grinning like a devil. "Unless you want or need to say your safeword, then it's not enough and I'm not stopping now." He threatened, even though you two knew that the one word would stop him immediately.

Instead of answering him, you grabbed the back of Spencer's head closer to your already swollen pussy. He removed his fingers, focusing on letting you rub against his face. Every inch of the tip of his nose brushing against your folds was enough to make more pathetic whimpers come from you, plus a little liquid leaking out, now in light jets and low quantities.

You trembled, letting go of the back of his head and looking at him with your lip bleeding from biting so much. You wanted to say something, anything to say thank you, but Spencer had other plans. His fingers, still soaked from fucking your walls, began to return working on your clit. He smirked at your screams of pleasure, the tears streaming down your face... And he enjoyed every minute of all of this, exchanging his long fingers for his own palm, where the friction turned aggressiver, more painful, eliciting louder screams from you as he practically left your pussy raw, biting your thighs to create a mix of impressive actions whose only possible consequence was having you squirting into the palm of his hand, screaming like a whore. His little whore. Only his.

And when you did it, Spencer finally moved his arms away from your body. You sobbed, eyes closed and tears flowing. But he knew you were fine, especially when you let out a soft, weak and shy chuckle at just hearing the sound of him licking his own fingers so as not to waste any drop of your squirt.

"Was I better than your ex?" Spencer teased, pulling you to his chest, where he could caressing your hair and calm your tremors from all the orgasms he gave you.

Still with your eyes closed to try and calm down, you let out a scoff through your nose. He already understands how you feel, but that doesn't stop him from wanting you to say it, loud and clear. You nodded at his provocation and received a soft kiss on your forehead, while his hands snaked around your waist, getting closer to your tired and fragile body. "You're a very smart and diligent student." You managed to scoff and Spencer laughed, kissing your cheeks.

"Only because you're my favorite professor, honey."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[dannyriccsystem]

congratulations on 1k!!! 🥳🥳🥳 Can I have 9, 33, and 46 with Lando?

DO WHAT YOUR HEART DESIRES!

1K SPECIAL - LN4

Blind date gone right + car sex + overstimulation

SUMMARY: Your friend sets you up on a blind date with her boyfriend’s friend. Things go well—maybe too well!

WORD COUNT: 2.9K

WARNINGS: Smut, P in V, car sex, overstimulation, sex after the first date, Y/N usage

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Reader

NOTE: Thank you sm! Also, I don’t know if you KNOW this but you sent this request in... 7 times. Sorry for slow updates! I’ve been super drained this week with exams (and I have more next week. yay)

THE RESTAURANT WAS BEAUTIFUL. When Pietra told you she wanted to set you up on a date, you weren’t expecting something so classy. You were anticipating a sweet coffee date at the very most—maybe a lunch date at your local joint that sold burgers on picnic blanket wrapping with fries in metal cones. The kind of expensive you wanted was a burger that costed $20 and tasted like it was probably frozen.

This was nothing like that.

The ceilings were high, hand painted with pristine greek figures. Each table had a vase of flowers pushed off to the side, each one real with that signature earthy scent. The place was dimly lit by authentic candle chandeliers, ran by waitresses and busboys in uniquely tailored suits—people who wore blank facial expressions and spoke in fake french accents. Overall, it was nothing like you expected.

It was beautiful, sure, but you felt really out of place. You were adorned in a simple black dress; the gown was floor length, gently brushing against the polished floors. You sat down at a table for two alone, shifting through the menu whilst anxiously tapping your foot against the ground. You could feel the fat of your thigh moving with every shake.

You agreed to meet at the restaurant at 6:30. You showed up on the dot, and you weren’t incredibly surprised when you found out this surprise man wasn’t there yet— yes, surprise! Pietra had told you nothing. Just that he was a friend of her boyfriend. Mind you, you hadn’t talked to her in ages, either. This was completely unexpected, and you wanted to say no, but she seemed super genuine and you just couldn’t bring yourself to. So here you were. Alone.

You had managed to read the entire menu by now. You checked your phone, expecting some sort of cancellation message or some information about where the hell your date was, but your notifications were empty. All you took note of was the time: 7:23. A nearby waitress seemed to be lingering, almost like she was thinking up how to tell you that you’d either have to order something now or leave the restaurant, because there were lots of people waiting.

Everything happened at once. You set your phone in your bag to pack your things up, the waitress took a step towards the table, and the chair across from you was pulled out. It was weird how the universe had such strange timing. You looked up, mouth slightly agape with shock as a well-dressed man took a seat across from you. He seemed slightly flushed, gasping for air.

“I am so sorry,” He spluttered out, his British accent thick. You straightened up subconsciously with your hands neatly folded over your lap. “There was so much traffic— I even checked my maps and it said it was fine, it totally came out of nowhere!” You responded with a soft ‘oh!’ He shook his head, running a hand through his curly mullet. “Long story short, I had to pull over and run here, so… That’s why I’m late.”

He ended his story with a breathy, nervous laugh as he leaned back in his chair, still panting. You blinked, taken aback by the onslaught of words, and then you giggled.

“I want to think you’re lying but with the way you’re sweating, I feel obligated to believe you.” He stared at you. Like, he finally stared at you, because he was beginning to realize just how pretty your voice was and how beautiful everything else about you is.

“Yeah… Yeah.” He shook his head just slightly to snap out of his daze. The man straightened up and held his hand out. “I’m sorry for being late. I’m Lando, my friend has told me lots about you.” This statement somewhat surprised you. You shook his hand, offering a warm smile.

“Y/N,” You greeted. You pulled your hand back, gently toying with your cloth napkin. “That’s surprising. I don’t even talk to either of them that much.”

He raised a brow, chuckling under his breath. “Well, Pietra said lots of good things and showed me lots of photos.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed over you. “Though, I gotta say you’re way more stunning in person.”

That was a huge compliment, considering you tended to hand pick your favorite photos. Lando just liked you.

“Thank you.” You hadn’t been shown any photos of him, though you were thoroughly impressed. His eyes were gentle, his hair was soft and curly, his hands were big, which was a very important feature for you. “What made you pick this restaurant?”

You decided to make quiet conversation as he briefly flipped through the menu. You nearly had the whole thing memorized as you were waiting for him, so you didn’t have to look to know what you wanted. “It’s one of my favorite places. I’ve been coming here for awhile.”

You were blown away.

Looking at the prices, this wasn’t exactly your regular establishment. Maybe you’d feature the place once or twice a year at most, but he made it sound like it was just another everyday restaurant to attend. You swallowed thickly, leaning into the conversation without even realizing.

“What do you do for a living?” It might have been a personal question, and you immediately regretted it after, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he just seemed surprised. He wasn’t used to people not recognizing him, but when it came to romance, he was grateful for that. It was better when people had a fresh perspective on him.

“I’m a Formula One racer.” Oh. Oh.

Oh.

You felt like your whole view on this guy just shattered— in a good way, of course, because he just got ten times hotter. Knowing that this already very attractive man was out there fearlessly racing high speed cars on dangerous tracks made something in you tingle.

Was your mouth dry? You reached for your glass, but it was already empty. Seemed like you chugged the whole thing out of boredom. “Oh, that’s so cool! My dad is a big fan of racing, but I’ve personally never gotten into it.” You looked down at your menu, wanting to avoid eye contact because you were sure you looked like a blubbering mess. “No offense— I’m sure I’d like it if I gave it a chance, I just never have.”

“No, it’s cool.” He set his menu down, and then gestured towards yours, as if asking if you were done. You briefly nodded and handed him the menu. He stacked the two on top of each other and set them aside for whoever ended up taking your order. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone who’s never heard of me before, honestly.”

You normally would have found something like this to be somewhat snobby, but with the way he said it, you could tell Lando just needed a break from fans. Probably from haters, too. He was a nice guy, which meant everyone in the community was likely against him, because that’s just how most sports work.

The rest of the night went great. Lando was a delight to talk to, and if you ignored the occasional fan who asked for an autograph or snapped a picture, the date was successful. You found yourself leaning into conversation subconsciously, wanting to hear more and more from him. He was an animated talker—you were initially worried Lando might only be interested in talking about his field of work, but he had thousands of stories outside of racing to tell, and you found yourself hopelessly laughing at them all.

It wasn’t until you were just slightly tipsy on three glasses of wine, and full with dinner, that the waitress started to discreetly push you guys out. Lando paid for the entire bill without even asking you, which you certainly weren’t going to complain about. You both left side by side. He had his jacket folded over his arm.

“Thank you for this amazing night, Lando,” You mumbled, your words just slightly slurred. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. You weren’t drunk beyond reason, but it was definitely affecting your speech.

“Do you need me to call an uber? I’m not sure you can drive like that.”

You hummed, “Good idea,” and Lando pulled out his phone to make the order. You leaned your head against his arm, eyes shut as you took in his warmth. He looked at you fondly, lips turned up into a little smile.

Then he lightly hissed, his lips pressed to his teeth, “They won’t be here for another hour. Traffic must be bad still.” He checked his watch with a sigh. You pulled back to look up at him. “I can drive you home, but my car is parked pretty far away.”

Maybe you should have said no. This was a first date and he was asking to walk you to his car to then drive you home, but considering Pietra put so much trust in this guy, you felt obligated to believe him. So you nodded, and the two of you began your trek to his vehicle.

About halfway, Lando draped his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the cold. You shared quiet chatter, just like before. But this time it felt more personal—the two of you had grown comfortable with one another, and were now more willing to share more. It was the first date, but you felt like you knew everything about Lando. He’s been racing since he was young, he really likes his teammate but feels pressured to view him as a rival, he misses his old teammates, he wants a dog really bad… Everything you learned was slowly building his character in your head.

His car was beautiful. It was a sleek navy blue with neon green embellishments. It sparkled perfectly under the soft glow of the moon. The doors lifted upwards elegantly, and your date held out a hand as he helped you climb into the car. The door was lowered behind you, safely securing you inside the cush interior, which felt more like the cockpit of a high speed racing machine than your typical car.

You sat back in a bucket seat, which felt personally tailored to fit like a glove. The interior was a mix of deep blue and black, his iconic logo sewn into the headrests of your seat. you took a deep breath, slowly relaxing in your spot. It was hard to really settle down when it felt like you were sitting in a pile of a hundred million dollars. It was both intimidating and exciting.

He climbed into the drivers seat beside you, huffing a sigh, “Traffic’s still bad.” The door closed behind him, and he leaned back in his seat before turning to face you. “We won’t be able to leave for a bit.” The lights slowly dimmed until they were all the way off, leaving you to stare at a face bathed in the moonlight, just barely highlighting his handsome features. He looked soft, almost vulnerable. Tonight you had seen everything.

Well.

Almost everything.

“That sucks,” You muttered with an absent mind. Your mind, slightly intoxicated, drifted to Lando’s lips. Pillowy, soft, enticing… It was impossible to not feel something damn near feral when he looked at you like that. He was handsome— incredibly handsome.

Unfortunately for you, he noticed. Fortunately for you, Lando had some similar thoughts running through his head. You looked too pretty in that dress, especially with his jacket draped over your pretty figure. He leaned in over the center console of the car, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He muttered quietly, his voice a breathy whisper.

“Yes, please.”

Your lips met in the middle. It was gentle and full of love, but when you chased him for another it ended up being hungry and lustful. He hummed, his lips smirking against yours as you greedily kissed him. Your lipstick was most certainly smeared across his face right now, but neither of you cared. A night full of yearning was finally coming undone when you two were in a car with far too much free time.

You tasted like wine and cherry chapstick, an odd combo that he found delightful. Lando pressed his tongue to your lips, savoring the flavor of you. You moaned, almost like a little giggle, and suddenly he found that the console was too much. He helped you climb over top of it, landing yourself right in his lap, pressed up against his very obvious erection. Your dress was hiked up, giving your thighs enough room to spread all the way across his hips.

He held your hips tight as your make out session continued, pulling your hips down to grind against him. You whined pathetically, nibbling his bottom lip before pulling back. Your mouth was agape as you moaned, eyebrows pinched together in a look of both disdain and pleasure.

“Tell me to stop,” He commanded with a grunt, humping his hips up against you. He could probably come in his fucking pants at this point, because both the sight of your face and the feel of your thighs was too much for him.

“I can’t,” You replied, giving him full permission to continue with his work. He dove in, lips attached to your neck as he fumbled with his belt. He wasn’t expecting the night to end like this, and was somewhat embarrassed to pull his pants down and reveal his Monster themed underwear. Goddamnit, leave it to Lando to not think things through. But, it did earn a little giggle from you, so he took that in a positive manner.

His cock was finally free, and it achingly slapped against your stomach, pre-cum leaking from the mushroom tip. You grinned, reaching down to rub your thumb over the sensitive end. He shuddered, forcing out a harsh moan that made your own cunt flutter. “Cute,” you murmured, making his cheeks flush a deep red.

“Don’t.” He replied shortly, lifting your hips. It was a harsh reminder that he was exponentially stronger than you.

Lando pushed your panties aside roughly, rubbing his index finger across your folds, which were already slightly damp with arousal. He slipped a finger in to test the waters, giving it a few harsh thrusts before replacing it with his already leaking cock. You bit your lip, hissing as you sunk down onto his thick length. He was an impressive size, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. With a bit of time for adjustment, you finally bottomed out on his dick, your greedy hole taking all of him in.

“What if someone sees?” You asked softly, your hips subconsciously gyrating for more friction. He cupped your ass, giving it a soft slap.

“They won’t. The windows are tinted and it’s dark.”

His lips clung to your neck, sloppily kissing whatever skin he could access. You breathed in a sharp breath as he assisted you in riding his cock, moving your body up and down. You gripped the headrest for leverage, your chest pressed tight to his. He groaned in your ear, eyes squeezed shut.

The car was loud with your moans, accompanied by a symphony of skin-slapping. Outside you could hear cars drifting by, clueless to the filthy acts that were taking place inside such a luxury vehicle. You had to slow your pace, taking time to push aside your impending orgasm, because you weren’t quite ready—except Lando was, so he pushed you through that first climax. You clawed his shoulders softly, your hips bucking and spasming on him.

“Fuck, Lando-!” You squealed. You expected that to be it. Maybe he’d pull out and come on your dress, but no. He continued thrusting, holding you in place so he could fuck you like his personal toy. Your eyes fluttered shut, twitching on the way down. “L-Lando-!”

“We’re not stopping until I come,” He whispered as he nipped at your ear. “Or until you tell me it’s too much.”

That’s all it would have taken, and he would have stopped in a heartbeat, but you didn’t want him to. One orgasm faded into two, and two eventually turned into three, though it started to feel like he was forcing them out of you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, and yet you still refused to tap out. His cock was creamy with your release, making every thrust sticky and loud.

“C’mon,” He squeezed your hips. You whimpered, hands buried in his curly mullet. “Just one more. ‘M about to-”

He was cut off by your own cry of his name, your hands yanking on his locks, which drew out a filthy moan from his own lips. He barely had enough time to pull you off of him, spraying his cum onto your clothed stomach. You panted, gasping for air as your body collapsed against his.

He held you gently, as if he didn’t just force four orgasms out of you. He tenderly stroked your hair and kissed your scalp, murmuring loving praises into your ear.

When you finally relaxed, coming down from the high of adrenaline, Lando chuckled. “Successful blind date, I’d say.”

You giggled, burying your face in his neck out of embarrassment.

[galactic-rhea]

The thing with Palpatine is that I do believe he cared for Anakin, like, he really did! In a extremely twisted way, because see, he really DIDN'T need Anakin, seriously he didn't. Palpatine's plan was going to work either way and he already had power over a republic already becoming a failed state.

For him Anakin was kinda just a whim, a little extra thing to rub on the face of the jedi to take their golden powerful chosen one and make him a menace from the inside. He really DIDN'T NEED to put on the work to groom him for over a decade, exhaust him emotionally and isolate him to the point of extreme distress, like he seriously put a lot of work on it and it wasn't needed.

So he cares for Anakin like the thing he's a bit obssesed with, he cares for Anakin the same way you care for an extra score, like the cherry on the top, he cares for Anakin in a possesive 'Look what I made of him', which is pretty much what abusive parents that see their children as just an extension of themselves do. But there is some very twisted and awful love in there, and Vader probably knows that, and in his fried mind he's unable to be anything else but grateful that there's someone that cares for him even if is for, yknow, a walking weapon.

Palpatine didn't really to put on the work to go and look for Vader when he sensed he was in danger, nor to put on all the work to put him into an Iron-Maiden-Suit, like yeah he relished in the torture, but he didnt want him to lose him just yet. It isnt until 20 years later that he seems to be kinda okayish with Vader dying, and partially i think is because at that point he got a bit bored of Vader lol

But my point is that he did put an awful lot of work for something completely unnecessary for his plans, an awful lot of work just to rub it on the face of the jedi that didnt even exist anymore for the most part. Except to maybe have the last laugh at Yoda and Obi-Wan. So yeah, Anakin was Palpatine's little prized pet, and probably his little obssesion, like I'm sure it just made his game more entertaining; but also he's repeating the cycle that all sith have been doing.

He's in a way just doing exactly what Plagueis did with him, because man being a sith lord surely sounds lonely, after a while you might as well start caring for the guy that you're trying to manipulate into murdering everything that moves since he was 9, even if is in a very selfish and dehumanizing way.

[quarterlifekitty]

The guys with a girlfriend who honestly.. kind of scares them

In different ways of course, but there’s still the underlying theme of her being rather unsettling

- @murderkittyz

I want you to know that this has been living in my mind. I love writing reader characters that are weird af and quite honestly unsettling

To be honest, writing Nikolai was really hard for this one, and I’m still not totally satisfied by it. I think he’s too willing to match your freak.

cw: some graphic descriptions of violence (not enacted, just threats/movie scenes etc)

Gaz is freaked out by how much you like the dark. You scare the shit out of him all the time because he’ll come home, thinking you’re not home because no lights are on in the house, and you’re so quiet— he is not proud to admit how many times he’s screamed when you suddenly said hi from a spot in the dark. And how whenever you get up in the middle of the night, you don’t turn the lights on. He asks you why, and you just say you don’t need them. Freaky.

There have been a handful of times where you were truly, extremely angry at Soap. And he almost pissed himself every single time because of how scary you get. Not because you scream or shake or slap his chest or anything, but because you don’t do any of it. Outside, you’re calm, you’re smiling. But it’s how you talk to him like he’s a child. “It’s okay. I’m just very, very angry at you right now”. It puts him on fucking edge. It creates this tension like you’re about to do something, that you’re gonna get back at him somehow in some way he’ll never see coming, but you don’t do anything. Absolutely fries his nerves.

Ghost is scared by how easily you tone switch, partially because he’s not really able to do so. The way you can be talking about someone from the base and say “he’s such a fucking prick bastard. I wanna rip off his balls and shove them down his throat far enough that he chokes”. And then the next day, you’ll greet the same guy like he’s an old friend. Extremely polite, pleasant, happy. It reminds Simon that he only sees the real you because you allow him that privilege.

Price is scared by your good memory. He’s used to being the one who remembers, the one who’s completely on top of things, the one who knows everything needed to know about everyone. But he’ll mention a colleague that you met once, for 10 minutes, years ago and you’ll ask “Is he still with Martha? She wanted to adopt a dog with him, a Siberian husky, and he seemed so scared of the commitment”. That’s scary. Makes him feel like he has a blind spot. Makes him wonder what you remember about him that even he doesn’t recall.

König is a difficult man to disgust and to scare. He’s seen a lot of things, and he himself is rather unsettling. But he’s scared and disgusted by some of your taste in movies. Things with long, painful torture scenes. All of the blood, flaying of skin, needles, ripping bones from flesh. It’s not so much that you enjoy these movies, but how you enjoy them. You lean against him, but not because you’re scared. You laugh in a way that you never do outside of watching a gorey scene, of someone crying on the floor with broken limbs. He shudders to imagine what you’d be like if you had his job.

Nikolai is unsettled by some of the fantasies you share with him, and how you convey them. Not things that you could really enact, just fantasies. “The other day I thought about being a mermaid— and you being a pirate that captured me to cut me up and sell my parts. But when you were about to cut me open you saw my cunt and decided to keep me as a fuckdoll instead, and fingered me right there with the butcher knife still on the table”. And you say it pretty nonchalantly. He’s honored that you trust him with these inner thoughts, and usually they turn him on completely, but it does creep him out just a little.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt3

Dick knew that Tim was sending him looks every few seconds.

How could he not? This places food names were honestly the best, if this was some kinda murder cult Dick would be so disappointed.

Glancing up over the menu at Danny, Dick smiled at the teen who had been whipping down the same cup for five minutes like some wild west bartender while trying very hard not to stare at the two vigilantes.

"Okay, I think I have made up my mind, Red you got what you wanted?" Finally meeting Tim's eyes, Dick mentally winced, Tim's eyes were doing that twitchy thing that happened sometimes...

"Yes. I am." Dick understand slightly but like...the puns weren't that bad

Out of the corner of his eye Dick saw Danny pop up, nearly slamming the mug he had been holding as he fumbled with a note pad, coming closer to the two, he did a pretty decent customer service smile as he waited.

Since Tim was having a problem with words, Dick went first.

"So, I'll have some Boo-berry Poltergeist pancakes, with two sunny side up eggs and a side of bacon?" Dick watched as Danny paused for a moment, let out a little laugh and then started to write before looking to Tim.

"I will have...Ugh, the Wraith waffles with the hunting hashbrowns on the side...please." Dick had seen Tim look less pained over being stabbed than say the wonderful puns.

"Alrighty, anything to drink before I head back and get started on your order?" Holding up a coffee jug in one hand and an orange juice jug in the other, Danny gave a slight smirk.

Perhaps it was the coffee but Tim looked a bit less pained after that.

---

As he slapped down a few pieces of bacon, Danny totally didn't use his ghost powers to bring the bowl of pancake batter over closer as he scooped a ladle full on a freshly buttered side of the flat top, making sure it set first, Danny heard a beep from the frier, heading over he paused to see French fries in there as well.

Shaking his head, he dunked them all into the oil, and moved to set the timer only to see it already clicking down, "Oh um...thank you very much." Patting the deep frier, Danny moved back to the flat top as it let out a gurgling purr.

---

Tim took all of five seconds after Danny rounded the corner into the back of the house to start whispering

"Wing, this place is mocking me. Apple apparition pie? Haunting Hashbrowns? Ethereal fucking eggs benedict." Hissing Tim shifted in his seat, "like I would get it if this place was ghost themed but it very clearly isnt! It is mocking me because I know this place doesn't exist!" Slamming a fist down on the counter, it very much thudded.

Sharing a look with Tim, Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, "Buddy...I agree there is something up with this place but...I very much think it exists? Since we are kinda sitting here."

Dragging his hand down his face with a groan Tim leaned back in his seat, "I know and it is infuriating me..." Grabbing the coffee mug Tim looked at it with a not insignificant amount of distrust before taking a swig, pausing, than taking another, much slower sip, holding the mug with both hands as he lowered it down, staring at the dark liquid with a small glare.

"Red? You okay? Is that the bad coffee look ot oh shittake mushrooms that was poisoned look?" Dick said worryingly, looking to the cup of orange juice that was in front of him with suspicion.

"N-no...I" Tim's words cut off as he took a breath, "Just...tastes just like the kind Mom used to drink, came from this little town in Chile they passed through..." staring at the cup a little longer Tim shook his head, "They closed a few years back, the farmer that made it got killed by a drug cartel that wanted him to plant coca rather than coffee, it's just that this place should very much not have this."

There was a tension between the two vigilantes, Dick moving to speak before being cut off by Danny quickly coming out from the back.

"Order up! Got two pancakes for Mr. Nightwing, side of bacon and eggs and two waffles for Mr. Red Robin with some hasbrowns!" Setting each plate down in front of said vigilante, Danny gave them both a grin.

"And a side of Phantom fries for both of you on the house!"

After refilling the little bit missing out of Tim's cup, Danny seemed to be to there one second and back in the kitchen a moment later.

---

"Phantom fries?" Danny whispered to himself as he started to clean off the griddle, a grin on his face as he did, he might of left the hero business, but oh God was it funny, he wondered if other people got the same fun out of it.

Checking out on he customers through the small window to the front, Danny felt his core thrum at the sight of the two eating, it was a different kind of thrum that he got while protecting people, this one...this one gave him a full body shudder and cleared a fog in his mind he didn't even he had.

Shaking his head, Danny tried not to let the purr building in his chest out.

---

Screw the worries that Tim had, Dick was having the time of his life.

"We can't tell the others about this place Red...Little wing would try and place it in the Alley and B might try and buy it cus holy guacamole this shit is good..." Dick had dug in after Tim's wrist mounted computer had tested the food for any known poisons which said that there weren't any, but still went and saved a few samples for further analysis at the Cave.

Dick didn't know why but the pancakes tasted like those that Alfred made the first week he had been at the manor, he had gotten upset at Brcue and hid in the attic all day, but Alfred managed to lure him down with the promise of blueberries in his pancakes.

They were perfectly fluffy, butter soaked with that little edge around it that was crunchy, the berries were tart enough to battle the maple syrup and...it was just like how Dick remembered.

Shaking his head as he finished up his food, Dick threw a look over at Tim, who was hunched over his empty plate, holding his mug of coffee closer, at Dicks questioning look the teen spoke.

"We have to leave Wing something is just...off about this place, its...they taste like when my dad used to make breakfast after coming home from a dig...has to be brain waves or mind reading or..." Tim continued to ramble on, ideas flowing out of him like a water fall.

By the time that Danny went back to check on the two, they were gone.

[jessiso]

"642 Days"

A criminal minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

A drunken Spencer Reid shows up at your door with a list of nerdy confessions—and a heart full of love he can’t hide anymore.

cw: intoxication, alcohol use, mentions of hangover, fluff and romantic confessions.

w/c 1,697

(As this was the most voted on my poll - here it is! I hope you all enjoy it 💚)

...

The bar lights were low and warm, casting soft golden halos around the heads of the laughing crowd.

At a corner table, the BAU team was mid-sprawl, empty glasses and discarded lime wedges cluttering the wood between them. The scent of whiskey and something fried clung to the air.

Spencer Reid slumped against the back of his chair, a lazy, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, his tie loosened and askew. A half-finished glass of whiskey dangled precariously between his fingers.

"You good, pretty boy?" Morgan chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Spencer’s shoulder, which made him sway slightly in his seat. "You’re lookin’ a little wrecked over there."

"I'm fine," Spencer said emphatically, drawing out the word. He blinked at Morgan like it took a second for his brain to catch up. "Actually, statistically speaking, I'm —" he paused, lifting his hand in an uncertain gesture, "— better than fine."

Across the table, JJ burst out laughing while Emily smirked over the rim of her beer.

"God, Reid," Emily teased. "You're drunk."

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted, affronted. "I'm not drunk, I'm..." he searched for the word, waving his hand like he could pluck it from the air. "Loosened."

Hotch, nursing his beer with an amused shake of his head, said dryly, "That's not a clinical term, Reid."

Spencer grinned brightly at him, then immediately checked his phone again, bringing it up so close to his face that Morgan barked a laugh.

"You seriously trying to read like that?" Morgan said. "Who you texting? That little lady of yours?"

Spencer’s flush deepened instantly, visible even in the dim lighting. He fumbled his phone, caught it against his chest, and mumbled, "M'not texting. I'm—I'm just making sure she didn't..." He trailed off into a mutter, too low for any of them to hear.

Penelope swooped in with a fresh round of shots, setting a bright red one in front of Spencer with a flourish. "For love!" she cried. "Or at least for courage!"

Spencer blinked at the glass, then back up at her, visibly debating it. He shook his head a little too dramatically.

"I gotta go," he said, dragging himself upright, coat swinging from his elbow. His legs wobbled for a second before he caught himself against the table. "’M already late."

"Oooh," Morgan hooted. "Someone’s got plans!"

Spencer pointed vaguely at him as he backed away. "I have intentions," he corrected, sounding far more serious than he probably intended.

The team’s laughter followed him all the way out the door, warm and full of affection. He barely noticed. His head was a little light, his steps a little uneven — but all he could think about was getting to you.

And how much he hoped you didn’t mind if he showed up a little... loosened.

You weren’t expecting the knock at your door at 11:42 p.m.

But when you opened it to find Spencer Reid swaying slightly in his cardigan and a very flushed face, holding a paper bag like it was a priceless artifact, you knew two things immediately:

1. He was drunk.

2. This was going to be interesting.

“Spence?” you asked, blinking. “What’s—did something happen?”

He beamed at you, bright and boyish. “Something very important happened,” he said, stumbling slightly over the word “important.”

“Derek made me drink whiskey. Which is fermented grains, by the way. Grains. Like in cereal.”

You bit back a smile. “You hate whiskey.”

“I do! That’s the thing! It tastes like regret and firewood,” he declared, stepping inside uninvited. “But I drank it because Morgan said I need to ‘loosen up,’ and I think he’s wrong. I think I’m perfectly un-loose. Wait. No. Loose enough. I’m loose enough.”

He paused, brows furrowing in deep thought. Then he looked up at you.

“You’re very pretty,” he said solemnly.

You blinked. “Okay. That’s new.”

“Not really,” he murmured, eyes wide and glassy. “I think that all the time. But usually I don’t say it because there are rules, and I like rules. I’m good at them. Except for the unspoken one where I’m not supposed to tell my best friend she’s the reason my hippocampus lights up like a Christmas tree every time she walks in the room.”

You just stared. “Your... hippocampus?”

He nodded, leaning against your wall with the grace of a wet noodle. “It’s the part of the brain that stores emotional memory and processes faces. Yours is my favorite. Face. Your face.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Spencer, are you trying to confess something to me right now? Because it sounds like a dissertation on how in love with me you are.”

He straightened, suddenly serious, like you’d just solved a puzzle. “Yes!” he whispered. “Yes, exactly. That’s the thing I’ve been trying not to say for, like, 642 days. You counted how long you’ve had a crush on someone before, right? That’s normal. Totally normal.”

You tried not to laugh too hard, but a giggle slipped out anyway. “Six hundred and forty-two days?”

“Since the coffee spill incident,” he said fondly. “You were wearing that sweater with the star on the sleeve, and you apologized twelve times even though it was my fault. That was the day I thought, ‘Huh. I could love her.’ And then I just... never stopped.”

Your heart did a very inconvenient somersault in your chest. “Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“You’re drunk.”

He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “So I’ve been told. But the truth serum is working and I’m not even mad about it.”

You took a step closer, touching his arm gently. “Okay, drunk genius. Let’s get you some water and into bed. My couch is yours tonight.”

He pouted. “Only if you promise you’ll still be here in the morning. I don’t want to forget saying all that, and then wake up and think it was a dream. Because I’ve definitely dreamed about this. At least twice. Once we were on a space station, though.”

You smiled so hard it hurt a little. “I’ll be here.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

You cupped his cheek. “Spencer. I think I might be in love with your hippocampus too.”

He blinked. “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You laughed, leading him toward the couch, already knowing this would be a story to retell for years—but more importantly, that this was just the beginning of something you both had been waiting for.

You guided Spencer toward the couch, his long limbs gangly and uncoordinated as he nearly tripped over a rug you were sure he’d memorized the dimensions of during one of his thousand visits.

“Wait,” he murmured as you handed him a glass of water. “I have more confessions.”

“Oh?” you asked, amused, tucking a blanket around him.

He nodded seriously, though it looked more like a slow-motion bobblehead. “I have a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes. Top ten reasons I think you’re the most perfect person I’ve ever met.” He held up a finger. “One: You laugh at my jokes, even when they include Latin roots. That’s rare. Statistically, only twelve percent of people enjoy etymology-based humor.”

You sat on the arm of the couch, face warm. “That’s not a real stat.”

“It is in my heart,” he said gravely.

He opened his mouth to continue, but his eyes were already closing. “Two... You always smell like cinnamon and old books. Like a library during fall. That’s comforting. Oxytocin levels increase by seventeen percent when exposed to comforting scents, did you know that?”

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “I didn’t. But I do now.”

He mumbled something else—something about synapses and serotonin and maybe a soft “I love you”—before he dozed off, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

You stayed a few minutes, watching the rise and fall of his chest, your own heart blooming with something deep and warm and undeniable.

Maybe it had always been him. Maybe it had just taken 642 days and a few too many whiskeys for either of you to realize it.

**The Next Morning**

The sun spilled gently through the blinds, warming the room with a sleepy golden glow.

You found Spencer exactly where you left him—sprawled on the couch, hair a soft halo of chaos, blanket tangled around him like he’d been in a light academic battle overnight.

He stirred slowly, scrunching his face in a wince.

“Oh no,” he croaked. “I think my neurons are staging a mutiny.”

You handed him a glass of water and two aspirin. “Good morning, Einstein.”

He opened one eye. “Technically, I feel more like Heisenberg right now. Very uncertain.”

You laughed softly as he sat up, groaning.

“There’s a non-zero chance I embarrassed myself last night,” he said, voice raspy but still with that uniquely Spence precision. “Did I happen to confess deep and unwavering romantic affection while comparing your face to the hippocampus?”

“You absolutely did.”

He looked mildly horrified. “Did I—did I mention the coffee incident from 642 days ago?”

“Yes.”

“And the oxytocin levels?”

“Yup.”

“And the list?”

You handed him the wrinkled scrap of paper he must’ve written part of it on at the bar. He squinted at it.

"#6: She knows my coffee order and spells my name right on to-go cups."

“That one was my favorite.”

He looked at you then, hair messy, eyes soft behind dark lashes. “I meant all of it, you know. I might’ve had a blood alcohol content high enough to dull my fine motor skills, but it didn’t touch how I feel about you.”

You smiled, sitting beside him. “Good. Because I meant it, too.”

He blinked. “Meant what?”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “That I love your hippocampus.”

A dopey, hungover grin stretched across his face. “Oh. That’s definitely going in the top ten.”

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly? It was.

Nerdy or not, sober or slightly slurring, Spencer Reid had always been the smartest man in the room.

And somehow, he’d finally figured out what mattered most.

[prefrontal-bastard]

I’m not sure if this is permitted in other countries, but here in the US, advertisers are allowed to use any kind of malignant psychology they want in their ads so long as those ads fit within the allotted time-frame.

Back in high school, my class watched a video on how a certain Coca-Cola advertisement was made. You may have seen it, but for those who haven’t: The ad featured a cinematic montage of a crowded beach with smiling thin white people enjoying their leisure time and drinking Coca-Cola out of a common plastic bottle.

The big takeaway from this video was that the ad wasn’t actually advertising Coca-Cola. It was advertising a lifestyle. By associating Coca-Cola with a desirable lifestyle (as well as qualities associated with desirability) it plants the association of “Coca-Cola” with “happiness” in people’s subconscious minds.

This becomes clear when you consider who the ad was meant for. The target audience wasn’t the smiling thin white people that the ad featured, but instead it was people who wanted to be smiling thin white people. This was an ad for the Gen X mom of three kids who worked full-time, who relied on shelf-stable foods to keep everyone fed, and whose nervous system was chronically fried from the stress of never having adequate time for herself.

If she was at the grocery store, and saw the very same bottle of Coca-Cola featured in that ad, she’d be far more likely to pick it up than she was before watching it. If she didn’t anticipate finding relief for her stress, then she could at least drink up the idea of it.

Of course, the thing about ads is that they stop working. Eventually, people’s minds grow wise to the fact buying a certain product doesn’t actually grant them the lifestyle associated with them.

But there’s a lot of other tricks ads employ beyond this.

The reason why Geico is the first company you consider when thinking about buying car insurance is because of the calm, consistent nature of their ads and the fact they’re ubiquitous enough to be familiar. Their mascot forms a kind of parasocial rapport with the audience, so Geico already feels familiar to you by the time you’re looking to buy insurance.

Cereal brands use cartoon-character-like mascots to make their product memorable to kids who can’t read. The reason why so many cereal mascots exhibit such frenetic, possessive behavior is to teach kids to emulate that behavior to compel parents into buying them the cereal, especially if they saw that behavior rewarded in the ad (with the cereal).

You only really see ads for apps on an app-based devices for a reason.

Then there are the ads that don’t look like ads, but look like people on TikTok sharing a new secret product with their audience using the only communication format we regularly trust: word-of-mouth.

And let’s not forget the sheer magnitude of ads that exist. I can’t go outside without seeing them. I can’t watch videos online without exposing myself to ads that wants to skewer my emotions within 10 seconds.

There’s no reprieve from it unless I wall myself off from our culture entirely.

Ads are parasites to both culture and to cognition, and they must be regulated.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

There’s a Beta standing in Eddie’s doorway. She’s slim, choppy ginger hair and red boots poking out from under the cuffs of her denim dungarees – Eddie likes her pretty much immediately.

She’s holding a plate.

She hasn’t managed to speak yet, but from down the hall, Eddie hears a voice hiss, “Robin!”

They both turn to look. The Omega of Eddie’s dreams face and...tummy...are both poking out of the doorway. He looks mortified.

“So sorry,” the Beta starts, “Steve was too embarrassed to come and ask a second time, but he’s basically had his nose pressed to the door for the past half an hour so…” she holds out the plate.

From down the hall, very faintly, the Omega, who Eddie now knows must be called ‘Steve,’ whines, “why are you like this,” and then clicks the door shut.

“I’m Robin, by the way,” and she holds out her non plate hand to shake.

Eddie ends up shaking one hand and taking the plate from the other. Eddie knew, objectively, that Steve must have a partner, but he still has to squish the disappointment of meeting them. “Eddie...just, give me a second. It’s chicken parm.”

Eddie goes and dishes up a portion, it was going to be tomorrows lunch but...he can’t deny the pretty little Omega anything. Maybe he should start cooking extra extras, even if Steve doesn’t come knocking, at least it’s a meal he can have another time.

“This is one of his favorites, no wonder he was so restless about it.”

“Yeah, well, anytime,” and Eddie could add that Robin should be making Steve’s favorites, but he doesn’t because he’s pretty sure Robin is cool and he already knows Steve is sweet and he’s just not that kind of person.

Much.

“I’m sorry, you’ve done what to the pulled pork?”

“Orange and Oregano, trust me Henderson, I’m about to blow your mind.”

“Uh hu, and someone else's by the look of it, you’ve cooked enough for us and that Omega guy twice over.” Eddie just rolls his eyes. “You got all your shit put away then?”

“Pretty much, and leave that alone.”

Dustin huffs but puts the spoon down and replaces the lid on the crock pot, “what are we having with it?”

“Was going to do dirty fries.”

“Oh my god. You’re a saint. A hero. You should be knighted like ye olde dragon-slayers of yore-”

“Yeah yeah, this will not score you any extra loot later.”

“Mayhap a smidgen of exper-” Dustin stops at the sound of knocking, looking to the door. “Is it your Omega?” He whisper hisses at Eddie.

“He’s not mine, he’s got a girlfriend,” Eddie whisper hisses back.

Doesn’t stop him pulling his shirt straight and tugging at his jeans and fluffing his hair real quick on the way to the door. All of that is kind of...reflexive, though.

Dustin’s smirk is actually slap worthy, and Eddie will get to that right after he answers the door.

“I am so sorry about this,” Steve is saying before Eddie even has the door fully open, “and I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I thought I could at least contribute.” He’s holding two plates, one empty, one stacked up with cookies, “they’re Reese’s.”

And Eddie’s mouth is watering, not just from the scent of Steve, but because he can see the chunks of partially melted Reese's pieces sticking out of the cookies, “they look incredible, thank you,” Eddie takes both plates, “it’s not actually ready yet, can I drop it by in like, thirty minutes?”

“Oh you are my hero,” Steve beams at him. It’s a happy smile, a smile that comes with the scent of pleased Omega. Happy Omega. Happy Omega with pup. The kind of smile and scent that digs it’s hooks deep into Eddie’s brain and fucking yanks.

“It’s pulled pork, would you rather fries or rice?” Eddie finds himself asking, completely on auto pilot.

“Whatever is easiest. Whatever you were already planning. Thank you so so much Eddie.”

Eddie watches Steve waddle back to his apartment down the hall before he turns, a plate in each hand, and nudges the door closed with his foot.

“Thank you so much Eddie. I made you cookies Eddie,” Dustin simpers from the couch, before making kissey noises.

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

Eddie stands in the hallway in his crocs. His apartment is new, so he has a strict no shoes policy; but he has a pair of crocs for in the hall and heading outside real quick. Also, they're comfortable as fuck, so Eddie refuses to be judged.

Especially since they’re black, and Dustin got him all these little button things that pop in the holes. Little swords and shields and D20’s and stuff. So they’re super cool.

Steve opens the door, wincing, one hand resting on the small of his back, but his face blooms back into the beautiful smile at the sight of Eddie. It does something, very briefly, to Eddie. That reaction. And then he viciously reminds himself that the reaction was for Eddie’s food and not at all for Eddie himself.

Steve goes to take the plate but, “it’s hot, I warmed the plate up in the stove, let me put it down somewhere for you?” A trick Eddie learned in his month of working in a kitchen one Christmas when he was a teenager, but it never left him, and he didn't want Steve’s dinner to go cold.

“Oh, gosh, you’re so thoughtful Eddie, come right in.”

Eddie’s heart gives a little flutter at Steve’s praise, and Steve shifts out of the way, letting Eddie into an apartment that’s a mirror of his own. It’s very neat and tidy inside; everything very clearly has a place. Nothing looks brand new, but everything does look well cared for.

Steve directs Eddie to the little two seater dining table, where there’s a place set. It’s so freaking adorable, a place mat with flowers and kittens printed on it, a white folded napkin, cutlery and a glass of juice set out. A single daffodil in a tiny vase.

Eddie puts the plate down carefully, turning to see Steve blushing furiously. “Sorry, I don’t get out much and I wanted to make it nice.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute,” Eddie says, even as he feels himself grow irritated yet again with Robin, Steve’s nose twitches, eyeing Eddie with concern, so he does his best to push it down, “well,” Eddie tries his best to be cheerful, “I really hope you enjoy it. Maybe your girlfriend will take you out tomorrow?” He tries to say that with no hint of spite whatsoever.

Steve blinks at him, “girlfriend?”

“Robin? I thought...aren’t you two..?”

Steve snorts a laugh, actually ugly laughs and snorts like a cute little piggy and has to bring his hand up to his face to try and hide his reaction, “no. No, she’s my best friend. She’s home with her girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Eddie says, processing, “oh. Right sorry, I just, assumed…” he can’t stop his eyes from, briefly, flicking to Steve’s tummy.

“It’s okay,” Steve’s smiling at him, “you can ask.”

“Well...I mean when I thought you were with Robin I just assumed you’d used a donor or…”

“Yep!” Steve pops the ‘P’. “I did do that, and I did go to the appointments with Robin, but I’m single. Going it alone.”

And then Steve does quite possibly the sexiest thing Eddie’s ever seen in his entire life; he bares his throat, “see, no bite.”

Eddie has to clear his throat and shift a little where he's standing, lest his inconvenient biological reaction become overly obvious, “why did you decide to, uhm…”

Steve shrugs, smiling happily, “guess I just never was lucky enough to meet the right Alpha.”

And then Steve’s tummy rumbles very aggressively.

“I’ll let you eat your-��

“Gosh excuse me I’m-”

They speak at the same time, and then both end up laughing.

“I’ll leave you to your dinner,”

“Thanks again Eddie, I really do appreciate it.”

Part three

[tikitakatia]

Fixer Upper — A. Putellas x Reader

"Couples Therapy"

WC: 1.4k

Summary: Alexia´s invited you to attend an impromptu therapy session that´s meant to help bring you closer together, much to your chagrin.

You should’ve known something was off when Alexia insisted on being early.

She’s never early for anything. Not brunch, not birthdays, not even her own surprise party, which she managed to be twenty minutes late for. The only time she runs on schedule is when she’s getting paid for it. So when she’s already dressed, keys in hand, and bouncing on the balls of her feet fifteen minutes before you’re supposed to leave, your internal alarm bells start softly ringing.

“We’re gonna be late,” she says.

You glance at your phone. “It starts in thirty minutes.”

“Exactly. What if there’s paperwork?”

“You hate paperwork.”

She just grins that stupid grin. The one she gets before she does something outrageous and claims it’s romantic. You eye her warily but still let her drag you out the door, because you’re a fool.

The office is in a coworking space downtown. It has exposed brick, too many succulents, and a suspiciously cheerful front desk attendant who offers you organic mints from a jar labeled "for emotional clarity."

The waiting room is... unconventional. No couch, no fidget toys, just scattered bean bags, color-changing LED lights, and a TV screen looping stock footage of couples doing yoga. You sit and wait, but as the seconds pass, you start to feel the creeping edge of concern.

“Is this a tech startup or a therapy office?” you mutter.

“Babe. Chill. It’s probably a modern approach or something.” Alexia’s already opened her complimentary LaCroix.

Before you can ask what that even means, a woman with aggressively symmetrical eyebrows and a t-shirt that says “LOVE IS A JOURNEY, LET US BE YOUR GPS” steps into the room.

“Hi! I’m Maya 😊” she says, the smiley face emoji somehow audible in her tone.

“Thanks for joining our guided couples session. If you’ll follow me, we’ll begin with a light partner diagnostic and then a few reflection prompts in the group circle.”

You blink. “Partner diagnostic?”

Alexia pats your leg. “See? Modern.”

You follow Maya into a room filled with more bean bags, a couple of ring lights, and a half-circle of already-seated couples. You take your seats. You try to stay open-minded and remind yourself that you agreed to this.

“Okay,” Maya says, clapping once.

“Before we begin, just a quick heads-up that we’ll be exploring five core compatibility questions designed to help you reflect and deepen your bond. This is a judgment-free zone, so feel free to be honest and vulnerable. Or silly! We love silly geese here!”

You watch as one couple high-fives. Another is wearing matching sweatshirts that say “Love is a Verb.” You suppress a shudder.

The first prompt comes with no warning.

“So! What’s one habit your partner has that drives you a little bit crazy but is also kind of endearing?”

You look at Alexia. Alexia is already smiling.

“She growls at her phone when she’s annoyed,” she says, without missing a beat.

“Like a little thundercloud trying to send emails.”

You stare. “I do not.”

“She does. It’s like grrrrr, but about as threatening as a pomeranian.”

“I swear to God, Alexia.”

Maya beams. “That’s such a vivid image! Okay, your turn.”

You cross your arms. “She steals my food.”

Alexia gasps, offended. “I protect you from health scares.”

“No, you order some healthy shit, decide that you don't like it, and then eat half my fries.”

“But amor, I love you.. And your fries.”

You glance around and see other couples who are nodding and laughing like this is all very charming. One woman is crying into a man’s shoulder about how she finally feels seen. You’re starting to feel... deeply unwell.

Maya claps again. “Let’s move on to the next reflection. Imagine your partner’s had a hard day. How do you support them?”

Before you can answer, Alexia grips your hands dramatically.

“Babe,” she says. “You’ve had such a long day being mean and scary. Do you want me to run you a bath or hide your laptop?”

“I will destroy every LaCroix in this building.” You hiss under your breath.

“She’s really opening up today.” She turns to the group.

You grind your teeth so hard your jaw pops.

“We love that emotional safety.” Maya nods solemnly.

The third question hits like a sideswipe: “If your relationship were a team sport, what would your roles be?”

Alexia lights up. “Well football of course! I’m still the midfielder. She’s defense. No one gets past her. Or speaks to her. Or makes eye contact.”

“I’m filing for free agency.” You deadpan.

A man across the circle pipes up, “My wife’s the goalie. She blocks all my bad ideas.”

You glance at him. He’s wearing socks with hotdogs on them and a fanny pack. You make a mental note to investigate further.

“Let’s keep the good vibes going,” Maya trills. “If your partner were a dessert, what would they be and why?”

You nearly choke. “How is that therapy?”

Alexia doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s a molten lava cake. Looks intense. Bad for your health. But if you wait it out... gooey on the inside.”

“You’re deranged.” You say as you stare her down.

“I’m romantic.”

You glance around again. One couple is whispering into a shared AirPod. Another has been feeding each other dried mango slices like birds. You feel like you’re trapped in a quack health influencer’s fever dream.

By the time Maya announces the final question, you’re already halfway to existential collapse.

“What’s something your partner doesn’t know you appreciate about them?”

You look at Alexia. And you know you could make a cutting joke. You want to. But instead, your mouth says something soft.

“She makes everything fun. Even when I don’t want it to be.”

Alexia blinks.

You add, “She’s chaos. But she’s mine.”

There’s a collective “awww” from the room. Alexia practically preens.

She says, “I was gonna say your ass. But that works too.”

You rub your eyes with both hands.

Maya beams. “Wonderful reflections, everyone. And just a quick housekeeping note, if you haven’t already, please complete the feedback form in the app so we can send you your 15€ Amazon gift card!”

You freeze.

Your brain hits a wall and reverses.

You glance at Maya. Then at Alexia. Then back at Maya, slower this time.

“Sorry,” you say, like someone testing the edge of a knife. “Did you say... app?”

“MindMatch!” Maya chirps. “Thanks again for being part of our beta testing group. Your responses really help us shape the user experience!”

There’s a faint ringing in your ears. You turn, mechanically, to Alexia.

She is suddenly very interested in the condensation on her LaCroix.

“This,” you say, with the voice of someone holding in a scream, “isn’t therapy.”

“It’s kind of therapy,” she says into her can.

“It’s market research.”

“It’s couples bonding through market research.”

“Alexia.”

She shrugs, not even a little sorry. “We got to talk about our feelings, didn’t we?”

“We got ranked on vulnerability and made to roleplay in front of strangers so someone in a WeWork could optimize user retention.”

“And,” she adds brightly, “we’re getting gift cards.”

“You are a millionaire. Why are you like this?” You ground out.

“I love prizes.”

You squint at her like you’re trying to set her on fire with your eyes. She smiles like she’s already won.

“You tricked me.”

She slides an arm around your waist as you start walking out. “And yet, you said I’m your chaos.”

“I meant that like someone might say that child has a knife.”

She leans on your shoulder. “Still counts.”

You sigh so deeply you feel it in your spine. “I want you to know I’m never trusting you again.”

“Lies.”

“I’m filing for emotional damages.”

“You smiled.”

“Out of shock.”

“You called me your chaos and said I make things fun.”

“I was having a medical episode.”

She stops just outside the building and grins at you. “Come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

You eye her. “I roleplayed a fake meltdown and told strangers about your food theft.”

“And now you’re stronger for it.”

“I hope your next smoothie explodes.”

She’s still grinning. “Wanna get dinner? I’ll let you order fries.”

“You’ll steal them.”

“Just a few. For bonding.”

You shake your head.

And you really do hate it, how easily she wins. How quickly she turns a disaster into something weirdly warm. You sigh again.

But your mouth betrays you and twitches up at the corners.

Because she may have lured you into a glorified dating app workshop disguised as therapy, and you may never recover from the secondhand embarrassment of being called “a thundercloud with trust issues” in public, but she’s yours.

And you’re hers.

And yes, she’s chaos.

But somehow, you're a molten lava cake.

And unfortunately?

She’s got a spoon.