#first anniversary messages

[potato-lord-but-not]

why are you the will wood guy?

Made official merch for him teehee

[the-meme-monarch]

huh sorry for disappearing for like a day and a half. a weird guy appeared

[mumblelard]

the neodymium microcosmos or the anticipation of received forms

last week was the seventeenth anniversary of my first post in this place and after three thousand one hundred thirty-seven posts, i am pretty sure i'm still not doing it right

my kids and my girlfriend came over friday night and we drank pink lemonade tequila spritzers and ate pizza and shared this week's stories. it was a really nice night

yesterday, a cover of thirteen by big star came on the radio, and i was barely able to explain to cassidy how that song always makes me cry just before i lost my voice

last night i dreamt of quitting, i dreamt of a magazine cover with red stars on a blue field and no words, and i dreamt again of walls filled with pastel fauna absent menace or comfort

today, i am spending the day with finn and fall and they have surprises in store!

this week spans bloomsday, the solstice, the full moon, and midsummer

i'm spending next weekend in the mountains up near the gorge and my anticipation grows

[herecomesthefirstday]

boyfriend just walked into the living room and said "i think i'm vampire crazy"

[just-rhys-things]

Fathers Day is out.

Give Your Cool Orphan Friends $20 Day is in.

[fatimagic]

HAPPY 20th MONTANAVERSARY TO JACK & CARLY SNYDER JULY 3, 2003

[idcallmyselfhuman]

star rail this is so fucked give me my last fucking gallagher eidolon NOW

[heybaetae]

.

[pondslime]

so I rewatched House of Wax on a whim a month ago, found your blog, and your writing and succumbed. 60 pages of WIP later and a single chapter posted to AO3 later (with more to come) I just wanted to stop by and fucking salute u, dude.

I would literally shit a chicken if you ever bothered to check out my work. Especially if you’ve got miss rona and need time to kill 🔪 I reread your stuff on the train to work all the time, just resisting the urge to put my fist in my mouth and start screaming. In the best way.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa??? AAAAAAAA???? 😭💕

just woke up (@ nearly midnight bc being sick absolutely nerfed my sleep sched lmao) and this message was such a wonderful surpise omg

60 pages into a wip??? GOD that's so powerful. gonna need the writing gods to send me that energy asap bc OOF!!! and yes!! I'd 100% love to check out ur stuff!! ya girl is having her first cup of (midnight) coffee and would love to read it like it's my morning paper

anyways. thank u thank u thank u. 💗

I haven't posted a fic in 739813298321 years and sometimes I'm like....................remember when u were a fic writer on this website. huh.......................crazy..................................hsdfjhfsdjhjfsdh

tysm for taking the time to send me this. the idea of someone liking my stuff enough to not only reread it once? but multiple times? is honestly such a foreign abstract concept to me jhdsfhfjdshjsfdh I cannot COMPREHEND

BIG HUGE 💞💓💗💖💘💝 @ U

[madame-fear]

🌼🧁unexpectedly came for fluff lucerys, and stayed because got used to amira and her nice rambling!😁 avy jorrāelan! i'm glad to talk with you :) you're a very cool human being, and gentle!

My beloved Carlo! 🥺❤ I'm so so happy to have met you as well, issa jorraelagon !! <33 your positive and sweet comments, ask box messages, and messages always make me smile and feel so delightfully happy!! Thank you all for everything! 😭😭🥂🥂🎉🎉🎉💕💕

[burymagdalene]

Covetous Cravings - S. Reid x Reader

Spencer finds himself sulking around in jealously for the first time after you regrettably tell him you have plans for the night. When surprising him with your presence later, Spencer realizes just how badly he missed you while he was away.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smuttttt...... (18+ pls pls) tags: Whiny & desperate Spencer, he's just very eager to please. virgin Spencer, munch!spencer, head (fem!receiving), coital takes place on Spencer's pretty Persian rug, jealous Spencer, fingering, heavy make out session, nipple play, handjob, panty sniffing, Spencer's POV! Dirty dirty dirty wc: 5.3k a/n: I've written "Spencer" so many times it doesn't sound like a name anymore. I saw this tweet and was inspired to write something related to the carpet picture. That's all. I don't even think of you that often.

Cold water washes over Spencer's tired eyes and rolls slowly down his wrists to the bottoms of his sleeves (that he rolled up to avoid getting them wet, annoyingly) as he frantically tries to wash away a strange sour feeling in his gut.

Upon looking into his mirror he gazes over the 5 o’clock shadow he’s garnered over the few days spent away in a small town in Delaware. He pulls in his lips and rubs over it with his finger tips. He doesn’t have the energy to shave it right now.

Spencer is currently harbouring a bit of a sourpuss persona, he knows this well. The team had wrapped up the case quicker than expected, leading him to message you as soon as he could about heading back to D.C. and seeing you again.

To his dismay, when he got off the plane and checked his crummy silver Nokia, that you’ve giggled at a fair share of times, the response he receives from you is… that you’re… busy?

Something about a group of friends at a late night cafe/bar getting together, he didn’t read all of it, pouting so much that he just closed his phone. Spencer is aware you had these plans before he asked to see you. Spencer is aware that he’s back from Delaware earlier than expected. Yet he’s still over his sink, face wet and cold, grumbling about your social life.

The two of you have been together for a couple months now, it’s extremely new, he knows you wouldn’t drop everything upon his arrival, but the whole plane ride home he imagined your ideas around hanging out once he got back. He got his hopes up too high.

He begins to reflect a bit, maybe a better word would be spiral, as he wanders back into his bedroom and unpacks his go bag. I shouldn’t be feeling lousy right now, he thinks. We’ve been dating for 2 months and 3 days, he had missed your two month anniversary while he was away. He couldn’t even text you that day because he was too busy. Should he even text about anniversaries like that? He’s so new to this he has no clue. 

Considering your dating timeline now he starts to worry. He’s inexperienced, almost completely… no, yeah, actually completely. He sighs.

You have been over twice, by all the beautiful luck he might have fostered in a past life, he has had the spine-tingling honor to have made out with you those two times as well. After a handful of museum and bookstore dates, even visiting your apartment once, the first time you shared a kiss was when he was showing you Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge, attesting it was substantial to the gangster film genre. 

When he felt your eyes against the side of his face during the best part of the film, he took a double take at you, seeing an unreadable expression in your eyes. He cringes at the memory of his confusion.

“Th-this part is really good… Pierre’s use of cinematic synecdoche here is perfectly timed compared to–” 

You had leaned in closely and started kissing along his jaw as he fumbled through the rest of his explanation till he tapered off into a whimper that was sealed with a kiss planted on his lips. He even reached to the coffee table in front of him while you were kissing to pause the movie, not wanting you to miss anything.

Spencer groans a bit at the memory, a little embarrassed, he now would recognize the signs you were displaying easier. He’s jealous of his past self, having you to himself so unabashedly. He’s jealous of his past time spent with you and he’s jealous of your friends right now who are hearing your laugh and smelling your perfume all night.

He sighs and flops down on his back to his bed. Spencer does not feel jealous often. He feels completely rotten and out of sorts. He thinks, maybe if he would’ve kissed you more suavely that first time you would’ve dropped your plans now. Maybe if he translated the French into English for you in a more sultry voice you’d skip out on a coffee with your friends. Maybe–

Spencer hears a faint knocking on his front door. He looks over at his alarm clock, 12:12 a.m., hm. He’s hallucinating for sure. Like a lonely old man who hears his late wife’s voice in the dark of his haunted halls–

Another tentative knock. 

He leaps up from his bed and races over to the front door with his legs moving so fast he feels like he’s in Looney Tunes. His heart starts pounding as he looks through his peephole to see a small blurry version of you shifting on your feet. He scrambles to unlock his door and swing it open. 

“Hi!” You smile at him, smelling like strong coffee mixed with whatever lactonic and spicy fragrance you usually wear that curls his toes. You step forward and give him a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. This springs him into action, wrapping his arms around your waist he mutters out a “wow” against your shoulder. Like he just won a sweepstakes. 

You pull away a bit, but Spencer's arms stay around you. “Is it okay I’m here? You never responded to my texts.” You give him a shy smile and he realizes as he was grovelling he didn’t open his phone again after you said you had plans for the night. 

“Yes! Yes,” he clears his throat… be suave. “Of course. Um. Was just thinking about you, ha. Come over whenever. Yea. Even if I say I’m busy, come over still, haha.” Shit. 

“Ah. Okay, noted. I missed you too, Spencer.” You giggle a little at him and walk into the apartment, leaving him to shut the door behind you. “What were you thinking about?” You muse. 

“Ummmm. Le Cercle Rouge.” Spencer clears his throat again. IQ slashed to 60. 

“The Le Cercle Rouge incident, right.” You laugh again and look over at where he’s standing with a blank face. “Oh. Are you sure it’s okay that I'm here? I know I said I was busy, so I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, especially after the case. Did that go well?” His blank expression has made you nervous, he notices, though he was just considering again the feeling of his neck being kissed for the first time in 24 years. 

“Please stay. A while, too. I’m not tired.” A pause with long eye contact. “The case went surprisingly well, hence the early arrival.” 

The curve of your lip pulls up in a smirk and he sees he’s convinced you fully now. You bend down and unzip the sides of your brown high rise boots, leaving you in your black tank top, skirt, and now kneehigh socks that create a monochromatic wet dream for Spencer. Though this isn’t a dream, he shakes his head from side to side to get rid of the distracting thoughts.

“Good.” You sit down fully on his red carpet now, trying to pull your last boot off. “You know, you were a really short walk from the coffee shop, I’m surprised you’ve never been. As soon as you texted you were back I kept trying to slip away as politely as possible.” You talk while struggling with the shoe.

Spencer takes a deep breath in and meets you on his carpet, sitting on his knees to pull the boot off of you, which was incredibly easy. You were pretending to struggle with it on purpose. Once removed, he sits back against his heels and pushes your knees together by your ankles.

“You walked?” He mumbled back. He would’ve picked you up. He should’ve just checked his phone, told you to have a good night like a proper boyfriend. 

“Mm, like five minutes. No worries.”

“Its midnight- I. I can always pick you up.”

You whined your response, “But you weren’t answering your phoneeee.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hands, covering his smile a bit and feeling his skin heating up. “I’m very glad you showed up anyway. Even if it scares me you walked alone this late,” he glances at you leaning back against your hands, knees still pulled together. “You look very pretty.”

“Really? Thanks. I thought so too. About you, I mean. You’ve got a little 5 o’clock shadow right now, you look really handsome.” You smile and let out an airy laugh. Spencer subconsciously rubs his face again. He’s not sure when these jittery feelings will go away, if they ever will. One compliment from you and he’s feeling a blush coming from inside of him stretch over to his skin. 

He remembers his petulance earlier, his flair for the dramatics. Whining over people other than him seeing you, cursing his past self for awkward conversations, so he leans over onto his hands and knees and kisses your lips. 

You hum against his lips, knees together against one of his sides, happy at Spencer's first time initiating a kiss between you. You sit up off of your hands now  so they can cup his face and pull him firmer against you. Taking one of his wrists from where he’s planted on the floor to the other side of you, you guide him to slowly hover over you. 

Spencer can’t help but let out a tiny noise, a moan, against you as his palms dig uncomfortably into his carpet. He feels you lean back against your elbows and swing one of your legs to the other side of him. Now, you are pressed flat against the carpet, legs on either side of his waist. Spencer slowly moves so he’s on top of your frame, elbows crowning your head.

Both times Spencer has had the pleasure of tasting you like this you have been straddling him on his couch. This is the first time that he’s been able to lay on top of you and feel his hip bones dig into you and your legs around him.

Woah. Your legs are wrapped around him, just like how he’s dreamed of having you in his bed. Legs squeezing helplessly around him as he buries himself in you. Feeling your chest against his as you arch up into him. He lowers one hand to trail it up from your shins covered in your knee highs that make him faint to your hip.

He pushes his crotch down a bit from where it was against yours, making it so the hard-on he’s now sporting is against the floor now. He remembers the visceral feeling of you kissing his neck. Immediately he’s moving down to return the favor. What starts in soft kisses escalates quickly to sucking and laving against your skin, face buried into the source of his wildest dreams, your perfume. 

Your hands are carding through his hair right now, nails scratching at him softly and he has to position himself a bit closer to the ground now to rub off some built up tension his cock is begging for. This is usually where you part.

Face buried in your neck he’s smelling your intoxicating scent and moaning against the skin. He feels like a wild animal smelling a pheromone filled scent gland. Spencer realizes briefly where he is and pulls up from your neck to stare down at your face.

Hair haloing around you, you’re feverish and pressed against the Persian rug he spent his first big paycheck on. You have a bit of mascara smudged under your eyes and the lamps scattered around his living room are highlighting you in a way so beautiful he moans out again softly. No friction, no kissing, just by looking at you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he traces the line of your neck up and down softly with the tips of his fingers. “I almost drowned in my sorrows before you knocked on my door.” He leans back down and chuckles against the skin of your neck.

You don’t have exactly the same romantic thoughts in mind as you gasp out for the first time since he’s laid on you, “You feel so good against me, Spence. Wanted this so bad,” he stops kissing, breathing lightly against your neck as you continue. “Can’t believe I haven’t pulled you on me sooner.” He’s blinking silently hidden in the corner of your neck. He acts on a whim and bites down lightly against where your neck and shoulder meet and you squeal. 

Spencer was not prepared for the blazing eye contact he’d be met with once pulling away to look at you. Your tank top has ridden down, the top of your pink bra showing a bit and your hair is drastically more disheveled than when you arrived. He can feel his heart in his throat. He has to keep making you let out that sound.

You seem to notice his brazen eyeline and you take one hand to pull the neckline of your top down a bit, exposing most of the bra covering your breasts that are only slightly spilling out from all your wiggling. Spencer shuts his eyes like he’s in pain, but he’s actually moving his hips up and away from the floor so he doesn’t come in his pants right then and there.

A completely new and formidable heat spreads over him and into his loins. Never in his life has Spencer trembled with anticipation in this way. His skin is on fire and he’s struck with the overwhelming need to make you the happiest person in this world. He wants to have you shiver and shudder completely against his apartment floor, he wants to hear every moan and grunt until your voice gives out. He wants to fuck you with his mouth.

“Gah-God, baby,” Spencer moves himself away from you so that he’s kneeling between your open thighs, rubbing the outsides of your legs as he looks into your eyes. “My mouth. Um, can I use my mouth?” He lets out a shaky breath at the image.

You bite your lip softly at him, he feels like he just licked the screen on one of those old staticy TVs he used to have. “Use your mouth for what?” You half play coy and half ask in earnest, not wanting to jump to conclusions since you and Spencer have never taken off many layers together.

“I want to use my mouth to make you cum.” His face flushes immediately, your eyes widen in shock. He drags his sight down to where you lay in front of him. Legs spread open and skirt ridden up giving him an obscene upskirt of your underwear for him. Also black. He keeps his eyes there as you reply.

“Yeah. Please, please-” he whips his head up to look at your face again to engrain the image of you unkempt and nodding a desperate yes into his memory. He lightly reaches out between your thighs to briefly feel the bottom of your panties. He’s barely thinking, his first instinct was to gauge how wet you are, to compare it to how you’re going to feel later. You gasp sweetly and he moans in response, untouched, again.  

With this searing hot permission Spencer gets hit with a strong pietistic devotion towards you. There is literally nothing in his life that has mattered more to him right now than how the gusset of your panties stick onto you and that his tongue can finally be given the task he has thought about constantly since knowing you. 

The anxiety Spencer was expecting as a result of his inexperience is completely overthrown by a perfectly instinctual autopilot setting he falls into. The excitement of making you feel good, you letting him touch you in such a profound way completely overshadows the doubt of his expertise. 

Not that he’s completely clueless. Erotica classics hide in his bookshelves, copies of Anaïs Nin’s short stories, the detailed counts of female pleasure derived from biology books, decent sex education stemming from the countless hours he’s poured into literature. He’s fairly in tuned to what generally makes people crumble, he just has to try it out himself. 

Spencer starts at the top again. The push and pull between him and eating you out the way he’s craving will have to drone on a little longer as he starts kissing along the exposed skin of your breasts, not wanting to leave anything unkissed. How rude. 

You outstretch your neck to him and slide the tank top off yourself, leaving just your pink lace bra that's covering little of your nipples. Spencer fingers the straps briefly while taking in the sight of you. He cannot believe the cosmic circumstances that have led him to this moment.

“D’you like?” you mumble while watching him eye-fuck you. He almost feels sorry for how he’s watching your chest rise and fall but the way his dick is pulsing under the confines of his underwear allows for little words.

In fact, his hips kick a twitch forward at the sound of your voice. A siren song as old as time. 

“MmmIwanna,” Okay. Form words. “I wanna-” he pities himself enough to give up on that one and kisses along your chest again.

“Do what you want to. I want to feel you everywhere… I want you to touch me.” You seem to understand his dilemma. A once articulate tongue falls flat in such a frenzied situation. 

Spencer palms your tits through your bra properly now while kissing you sloppily. He feels the friction of the lace against his palm and your hardened nipple receiving the rough friction from it as well. He picks up on your whine against his lips and pulls your bra down by the middle of it, exposing your chest fully. 

You gasp against his lips and move your tongue against his as a thanks. Spencer lets out a tiny “ah” from the back of his throat when your tongues meet. To regain composure he takes the nipple he was palming through lace earlier and rolls it between his middle finger and thumb, it’s your turn to kick your hips up for friction now. 

He decides to lower his hips against yours fully for the first time, desperately searching for that debauching pleasure that he was avoiding earlier. His dick rests nicely under your belly button and you bite his bottom lip when he’s fully settled against you, he feels sort of proud. 

Feeling your body completely pressed against him in this way makes him mourn every second he’s been with you and not made you moan in happiness like he is now. Wishing that the pesky virginity he’s carried with him this long will be taken by this angel underneath him right now. His cock twitches against you at the thought of it.

He stops fiddling with the nipple and instead moves to hold one of your hands with his as his other hand moves to rub your neglected nipple. He subtly grinds a long and slow rhythm against where you two are pressed together and you make a curious noise, a full moan caught before getting let out. Nudged in your throat as you hold it in.

Spencer thinks for a moment and smiles at the realization that it sounds almost exactly like how you hold back a laugh in your throat. A small and choked out “hngh” high pitched before its snuffed out. He thinks of any future endeavors where he gets to hear you hold back a laugh in a quiet museum or library from one of his stupid jokes. With this comparison he’s going to be pathetically hard in so many more inappropriate situations now.

“Please, can you please take my panties off.” You mewl gently, almost as if you’re worried he will refuse, and break him out of his thoughts. Spencer nearly forgot how lost in his head he was while methodically rubbing your sensitive breasts and grinding against you. 

“Pretty girl, I’m sorry.” He really is, he never wants you to feel so desperate you have to beg for him to touch you, but without interference he could probably sit for eight hours straight playing with your tits to see if you could come from it. He whines out loud at the thought. “I will, of course, I will.”

The feeling of him peeling himself off you feels tortuous. However, it is very much a high risk, high reward scenario when he looks down between your thighs again to see a wetter fabric clad to your hips. Spencer leans towards you, pushes your socks down slightly to kiss the tops of each of your knees. You giggle and he nips the inside of your leg slightly. 

It’s dizzying, the experience of pulling your panties down for the first time. Every night where he has sloppily fucked his fist thinking of your smile lines and pretty hands, every evening after you’ve left his apartment well kissed has finally led to this life altering moment.

Your panties have been slid off and he’s got an iron grip on them as he’s staring at you fully exposed, the translucent liquid smudged around your cunt. He’s trying incredibly hard to not push them up to his nose and inhale, he thinks he’s done enough animalistic sniffing and grunting at you tonight. He places them neatly on the couch instead. 

“Baby, Spence, you’re a voyeur.” You laugh at his staring gently, he assumes 25% of this experience for you has been watching him stare bug eyed at every inch of skin you’ve surrendered. He lays down flat on his tummy, sucking in air through his teeth as his dick presses against his carpet through his slacks again. “Feel sensitive, that feels like a lot?” You ask softly down at him. He flushes, embarrassed a little that you notice him the exact same way he notices you. Spencer pinches his eyebrows together and nods.

“Feels.. real good though.” He laughs gently at himself as you groan and rest your head back down on the carpet at how sweet he is.

He wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs to pull your pussy closer to him, your skirt riding up to your belly in the process. He feels you squirm a little under his arms and kisses the skin above your hip flexors softly.

His heart skips a beat when he’s up close to you, a sliver of doubt creeping up along with the immeasurable need to make you feel good. Spencer takes his tongue out and licks a broad stripe up from right below your opening to above your clit. This is more for himself, actually. He wants to taste every single drop you expelled from him kissing and touching you, it’s what he deserves.

Spencer's arms immediately have to resist against your thighs moving shut, using a bit of his strength to keep you open as he does it again. This time he moves his head slightly side to side. The whine he hears coming from your lips makes him take one arm away without thinking to hold your lips open and wraps his lips around your clit.

The open window you get without one arm suspending your leg allows you to close one thigh to the side of his face while the other is still pried open by him. He continues to suck gently, pulls away and lifts up the skin covering your clit, kisses it softly, you let out a pitiful sobbing noise and Spencer sucks your clit again, rolls it between his lips.

You help him out by taking your other thigh away from his face and holding it up yourself. “Wh-who taught you to do this?” You squeak out giving him a sense of confidence he’s been desperately striving for. Spencer cannot bear to part from your cunt to reply so he just hums lowly against you, hoping that you get his message of I daydream about doing this to you every waking moment through the vibrations he’s emitting.

He feels you rock your hips against his face greedily and he smiles a toothy grin against you. His perfect pliant girl, he couldn’t be happier to have your wetness rubbed against his nose as he dives into you. 

Wanting to escalate the scenario a bit, he’s internally pleading to feel you cum against his face, Spencer begins to suck harshly and suction onto your clit intermittently. The loud “fuck” you whimper out and how your torso isolates to twist to the side as you keep your hips in place is a good indicator that he’s making you feel good. This is a dream.

“Hh- mmmm” you cry out and Spencer flickers his gaze up to your face. You’re scrunching your face like a sweet bunny and have one hand up and posed above his head, waiting to push him away, the pleasure so strong you have to implicitly prepare yourself to shove him away when it gets to be too much. He moans highly against you.

The hand you had defensively propped up begins to lightly push at his face, he smiles at this, suctions your clit through his lips and runs circles over it with his tongue, your hand falls limply to your side.

“Fingers- ah, fingers!” You manage to gasp out one more plea before sucking your lips in and moaning deeply against them.

You seriously do not have to ask him twice. Being able to feel you twitch and grip around his fingers while he sucks on your clit has him pushing himself against the floor. The bordering on painful stimulation he’s getting from using all his body weight to hump his carpet sends tingles up and down his spine. As you said, sensitive. 

Spencer starts by tracing your entrance with his middle finger, he slips in easily just by doing that, your slick and his spit making the intrusion incredibly easy. He wastes no time pulling his finger up against your g-spot and slips in his ring finger alongside it, rubbing slick circles inside of you.

The noises your cunt is making from his incessant sucking and rubbing could probably be heard from any of his neighbors walking by his front door. He gasps hotly at this thought, what are you doing to him? Has he no shame?

You’re riding his face and fingers again, mumbling intelligible sentences. God, his cock hurts. 

“Baby, close, don’t stop-” The angelic words fall from your mouth and his ears perk up like an owner saying her dog's favorite words to it. Spencer continues exactly what he’s doing against you and looks up at you again through your back arching.

He can feel you twitching and senses you’re done for. If only he could talk and eat you out at the same time, he wants to call you pretty until tears come from your eyes. You gasp wetly and come all over his fingers.

Your thighs clamp against his head and he lets you do whatever you need to do to his face to get off. He’s rubbing soft and soothing circles against your hips as you hiccup through your orgasm.

You open your mouth as if you have something to say, and close it again, shuddering out a breath of air. Spencer pulls away, he can talk again.

“My good girl, thank you. I mean, you tasted so good… you’re so pretty, my pretty, oh my god-” He’s got a lot on his mind right now.

Spencer watches and follows your movements as you sluggishly sit up to kiss him, moving your tongue against his in an eager display to taste yourself against his lips, he whines again, feeling your warmth against him. When you palm him through his pants Spencer stutters out a pornographic “hnnn”, the friction from his rubbing against the floor has left him painfully needy.

“Can I take your cock out baby?” You ask against his neck. Spencer is aware of the embarrassing uhhuh uhhuh he releases as he scoots back against his couch. You don’t bother teasing him, taking out his red dripping dick from his pants and underwear and you don’t even giggle when it makes a whip sound as it taps against his skin.

He actually has to close his eyes after watching you whine in overstimulation as you collect your come from yourself to use it as lubrication to jerk him off with it. He’s genuinely going to pass out.

With a mouth open to the shape of an “o”, Spencer has an onslaught of tiny gentle noises that fill up the room alongside the skin slapping sound of you jerking him off. You touch the crown of his dick and one of his arms shoots out to brace himself against the couch. 

He accidentally grabs your panties he placed on the couch earlier.

Not thinking, he grips onto them and you kiss his cheek. “Want em’?” You tease. “My panties are in my top drawer next time you come over and want to snoop around.” You joke further, a red flush of humiliation covers Spencer's neck and chest. He slowly moves his grip on them over to his nose. Too far gone to have the same self-control he had earlier to set them aside, he finally indulges in taking in your scent.

He’s somewhat expecting more prodding and teasing, but you just continue to kiss over his face softly. He’s so thankful.

There’s no surprise to the fact you have him coming especially fast. Spencer feels his legs twitch and he sets down your panties to kiss you properly as he finishes all over your fist. 

As he comes down from this unexplainable high he is struck with such a tender feeling of affection towards you his eyes water. You notice and scoot onto his legs and lap and wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Not letting go until you feel him chuckling against you, you ask him how he feels and he sighs out dramatically. He’s so exhausted now.

You shyly offer to wet-vac his carpet once you guys move to clean yourselves up and he breaks out into a laughter that makes his stomach hurt. You eventually join his contagious laughter at the situation.

Spencer’s suggestion for you to stay a while is accepted with open arms. You spend your first night together wrapped up in each other's embrace. Being back in his own bed with you here settles his mind so gently that within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow he’s out like a light. 

In the morning when he wakes up for work he rubs his nose softly all over your face to wake you up. Spencer offers that you stay in his bed and sleep more or he can drive you back to yours before he heads over to work. He ends up driving you home so you can get ready for work yourself. Once you’re back home he finally opens up his phone again from last night to see a picture of yourself you sent on the walk to his apartment last night with the text under it “Had to come see you anyway, hope the doors unlocked mwahaha”.

He finds himself smiling at his missed message all day at work and once he’s seated back in his car to go home later that day he finally finds the “forgotten” panties you left on his passenger car seat when you left this morning.  

Spencer flushes then pockets them before texting you that he is in fact not a voyeur or a perv and he did not put your panties in his pocket and he is not asking you to come over again tonight so he can cook you a pasta dinner before he lays you out for him again, hopefully on his bed this time.

[walkinginsunflowers]

Hope you're doing ok! 💚

Thank you anon, this means a lot! 💖

It’s a hard month but I’m getting better!

[gghostwriter]

Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Part 3 Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company. 

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine. 

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully. 

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing. 

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave. 

Tonight was suppose to be special. 

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down. 

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said. 

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving. 

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team and asking her out on a baseball game date.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection. 

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing. 

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast. 

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about? 

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins. 

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee. 

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent. 

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ. 

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went. 

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place? 

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips. 

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.” 

His brow twitched. 

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears. 

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you. 

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.” 

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence. 

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.” 

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after? 

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did? 

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.” 

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table. 

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from. 

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob. 

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new. 

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back. 

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[5sospenguinqueen]

Raw. Next Question | Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: No thoughts. Just a wife publically thirsting over her husband, and him not really understanding it.

Warnings: unhinged sexual comments. pregnancy

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and others

mercedesamgf1 the boss man hard at work 

22,634 comments

user1 the most handsome team principal 

user2 my biggest hear me out, i fear

→ user3 but this man is objectively hot. we’d all drop our panties for him liked by yn_wolff

georgerussell63 the GOAT 

→ kimi.antonelli i thought i was meant to be the gen z??

yn_wolff that man in glasses hits in a different way. palpitations in a different kind of place, you know what i mean

→ user4 see, she gets it

→ user4 wait, hang on, it’s mrs wolff who gets it?

→ yn_wolff of course i do. i married him for a reason, ladies

→ georgerussell63 stop rubbing it in

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by jv.f1, valterribottas and others

mercedesamgf1 is there anything better than a smiling toto? how about a celebratory toto? 

26,443 comments

georgerussell63 our favourite team principal livery 

yn_wolff hey siri, how to lick champagne from a man’s stomach

→ user5 i love this woman so much

→ user6 toto wolff pulled a bad bitch 

→ mercedesamgf1 @/yn_wolff please stop making us read these things

→ yn_wolff stop looking then

→ mercedesamgf1 you know we’re responsible for your pr

→ yn_wolff if my husband wasn’t so bangable, i’d be asking for a divorce because of you lot

→ totowolff what does this mean, liebling? 

user7 i am (s)creaming  liked by yn_wolff

user8 call me niagara falls  liked by yn_wolff

user9 hottest team principal in f1 history  liked by georgerussell63

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totowolff just posted

liked by zbrownceo, christianhorner and others

totowolff summer break means time with you 

18,457 comments

jv.f1 a very lovely couple

fredvasseur the man is ruining these photos 

georgerussell63 please take your wife’s phone off her 

→ kimi.antonelli i second this 

→ user10 maybe if you two stayed offline then you wouldn’t have to see them 

user11 sigh. when’s it my time to have a toto wolff

user12 he rarely posts and when he does, it’s the sweetest thing about his wife

→ user13 that’s what we call a real man

→ user14 and he only ever replies to her

yn_wolff those arms look 10x better when they’re wrapped around me

→ totowolff mein schatz, this is not our private messages?

→ user15 i love how confused he is by technology 

→ user16 i love how confused he is by his wife’s thirsty comments

yn_wolff just posted

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and others

yn_wolff my favourite view will always be you ❤️ happy anniversary, my love

27,440 comments

yn_wolff woof woof 

→ mercedesamgf1 we see you 

→ yn_wolff i meant wolff, wolff. silly autocorrect 

→ user1 but why would you say it twice??

→ yn_wolff ��cause there’s two of us??

user2 mr wolff, i was not familiar

totowolff ich liebe dich

→ yn_wolff i love your dick

→ user3 i saw that deleted comment 

→ user4 !! 

user5 i bet his back looks so much better covered in yn’s marks liked by yn_wolff liked by totowolff

user6 i don’t want to be toto or yn. i want to be in the middle of them both

user7 i’d let mr and mrs wolff walk me like a dog

user8 i love how yn is now getting more interaction on her posts than merc or toto because we all love her behaviour 

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, peterbonnington and others

mercedesamgf1 pr refresher for the first lady of mercedes

23,983 comments

georgerussell63 finally. 

→ user9 you were liking more thirsty tweets/comments than his wife

→ yn_wolff read him! 

user10 nooooo free our lady 

user11 the only reason your posts have had so much interaction is because we love thirsty yn

kimi.antonelli but now what can we tease the boss about?

→ notchristianhorner having a losing team

user12 but now who will fuel my maladaptive daydreams about toto wolff

user13 no more spank bank material :( 

totowolff just posted

liked by mercedesamgf1, christianhorner and others

totowolff we are very excited to announce baby wolff is on the way 

33,161 comments

yn_wolff 💕💕

→ georgerussell63 this is calm for you? did the pr work?

→ user14 fell to my knees in walmart 

fredvasseur my condolences to yn 

user15 all of that thirsting led to somewhere

user16 baby brain is the reason she forgot all her pr training 

user17 she wasn’t kidding when she liked “raw. next question”

→ yn_wolff no she wasn't. liked by totowolff

→ mercedesamgf1 giving us the best news ever is not an excuse for you both to forget your pr training

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Requests open

Turns out when F1 goes on a break, so do I 😬 Sorry for how late this is

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost lives next to an old woman. She's a pensioner called Wilma who never had children and her husband passed six years ago.

At first, he had no intention of doing anything but offering his neighbours an awkward but friendly wave and keeping it like that.

Then he comes home one day, lugging around his shopping from Tesco and finds her sitting on her front step. It's baltic outside, a glacial chill running down his spine and twisting around his bones like vines. And this woman is sitting on her front doorstep, housecoat and slippers on with her eyes glued to the entrance of their street.

He's quick to approach her and locate the problem: her lock is broken, she went out for her morning smoke and now she can't get in until her landlord arrives and tries to fix the problem she's been telling him about for months.

He doesn't hesitate to bring her into his house, there's no worry about a stranger occupying his space. He treats it like a mission, get Wilma into his kitchen, make her a cuppa and possibly kill her landlord.

She insists on helping him put away his messages, she isn't prying and trying to get a feel for his home. She's genuinely trying to be helpful because she feels guilty that he had to go out of his way to assist her.

That's the day he decides that Wilma Stewart is his friend because that gives him a reason to help her without her trying to insist on owing him anything.

If something in her house needs to be repaired and he's capable of doing so, he'll mend it. If she needs help with bringing in her shopping or taking out her bins then he'll help when she's there. And eventually, he gives her a spare key, so she can pop in and look over his place while he's away for the job.

If she's baking, she'll leave a plate on his kitchen table. That's how he gains a fondness for Mars Bar traybakes.

When he leaves for any amount of time, he comes back to find a small house plant somewhere in his kitchen. Once he finds a knitted blanket hanging over the back of his couch.

When it's the seventh anniversary of her husband's passing, she invites him in for a drink. She tells him all about her husband Jim. A tender, attentive, gracious man who liked growing tomato plants and crocheting. He tells her about his mum, about Tommy, about Beth and about little Joeseph. His mum and her homemade lentil soup when dad was out, Tommy and their fight over a teal crayon when they were both boys, Beth and the way she brightened up the house with vases of flowers in the colours of a sunset, Joeseph and the way the little bugger peed on him the first time Simon ever tried to change him.

They get a little tipsy and watch Father Ted, he wakes up on his seventy-four-year-old neighbour's couch and ponders what past Simon would think about present Simon's friendship with a pensioner.

One day he invites the other lads over to his place, intent on having a drink with them all and catching up. He lives in a two-bedroom, one of the sergeants could kip in with him, Nik and John could take the other room and the last poor sod could sleep on his couch.

They don't end up making it out for a pint. It's a sunny day and she's a forward woman, Wilma talks them into washing her car under the assurance of baked goods. Then the old bird brings out a camping chair Simon wasn't aware she owned and watches them clean her Mini.

The other men seem to get a kick out of constructive criticism.

"Pretty boy, you missed a bit on the window."

"Oi, stache, get the shirt off."

She wins them over with her switchblade wit and the mismatching mugs she serves them all tea in. Kyle seems particularly fond of the Gromit mug she hands him but Simon's favourite is the cunt mug that uses the handle as the C.

Only when her car is gleaming under the sun's rays does she let them call it quits, herding them inside and tutting disapprovingly when Nikolai pulls his shirt back on.

The array of baked goods that she forces upon them all builds an alliance between the infamous Taskforce 141 and one Wilma Stewart.

By the end of the day, the old-timer has a small army rallied behind her and Simon is almost positive that if her landlord dies within the next four days Nikolai will be responsible for it.

[frink-o-matic]

He has a nasty habit of dropping bombshells on me while I’m at work.