#my apologies to your dashboard

[violetganache42]

The remaining cards for "Shimmering Skies" were revealed over on the official Lorcana Discord server, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that another DuckTales (2017) card was part of this batch! This time, it's our third Scrooge card for the game! What definitely caught my eye was the artwork; the way he was drawn reminds me a bit of koizumi-marichan's art!

Scrooge McDuck - Afficionado of Antiquities

Ink Cost: 4 (Uninkable) Card Type: Character Ink: Sapphire Classification: Storyborn • Hero Strength: 5 Willpower: 5 Lore: 2 Rarity: Rare

“The secret room should be right here! Ach, I cannot believe I paid a whole penny for this map.”

Art by Cam Kendell

[front-facing-pokemon]

i hate flittle so fucking bad solely on account that they're the #1 cause of car accidents while i'm riding koraidon. they're SO small and i never see them before i start barreling into them at 100mph. nymble does the same thing but at least he's cute. smh

there's like thirty asks in my inbox. whoops!! choosing to put this one at the top because 1. it's the most recent and 2. this is worded fucking hilariously hello? #1 cause of car accidents. i agree with this and you're right but holy shit

now. for the rest of them

nnnope! this just feels like you're being an asshole, actually, since you're specifically going out of your way to Tell me you're ignoring the fact that i do this in natdex order. miraidon will come around when miraidon comes around. we're in generation 9. it'll be near the end of the pokédex—the end of the blog, actually. you can survive until then

THIS IS fair. a lot of the regional birds (pidgey, starly, rookidee, fletchling, pikipek) do have three-stager evos, but plenty of others (taillow, pidove, wingull, hoothoot) only have two-stager evos like wattrel. if anything, wattrel rounds out the collection of two-stager birds. in design, sure, it can feel like this—but doesn't swellow, too, if you think about it?

HELL yeah. sandaconda is pretty underrated, i feel like. i don't see folks talk about it very often—i've mentioned it before and been met with confused looks—even to other pokémon fans. it's strange, but some pokémon just don't get a lot of attention, i feel. sandaconda: here is your attention

i've managed to give one away. we're getting there

choosing to believe you on this because i've already deleted rabsca's model and i would like to not look at it anymore. but this is cool, if true. what the hell are they doing in there…

agreed about rellor. rellor haters unite

toed is cool… i don't get the kilowattrel joke i'm sorry. if it's about the 8/10 rating, that is

you rated tadbulb! here it is :)

[inkyquince]

Have those big ole thoughts about training Kylar properly. Maybe you don't wanna loose your virginity to him, or maybe you just enjoy preparing him properly for your first time together.

content warning. this was written for my VTM oc and realised that I can't just release that dumbass to the blog first, so instead it was changed to Kylar uwu. Kylar being nasty, frotting, sex toys, intercrural sex kinda, training mentions, lots of drooling and lube and fluids.

You didn't even mean to train him at first. It was all Kylar's fault. You two couldn't even kiss without his breath hitching and his cock hardening in his stained sweatpants. Jutting against you as his whined, hungrily mouthing at your bottom lip. Hell, you used to just let him hump himself to completion, but Kylar's eyes would prick with tears, both as how sore his cock would get but also being oh so close to you, your crotch being so warm against him beyond unbearable. Blow jobs were out too, since he had the same amount of self control as a glutton.

So, instead, one trip to Sirris' Sex Shop later, you have the solution to your problems. For him to cum and for you to train him before ever having to sleep with him.

Kylar likes to watch you prep the fleshlight. Parting the silicon to spit into the toy before pouring lube in, the clear liquid rising inside rapidly. Meanwhile, he watches, mouth agape just a bit. His cock juts against the fabric of his trousers, opaque liquid already seeping through the garment.

You kick off your trousers so they don't get stained and slip the toy between your thighs, tucked against your own crotch. Kylar used to whine at you to go without underwear when you two did this, but that discussion was long since dead now. Instead, he just tries to imagine it's all you, the tight, snug fit, the dripping mess over his dick. All. You.

He clambers on top of you, tugging his sweatpants down, tucking the band under his balls. His flushed dick stands to attention, dribbling just a bit as he nudges the head against the "lips" of the fleshlight. He's already sweating as he gazes at you, pupils blown wide, for your go ahead to sink into "your" hole. The little smile you give is more than enough and he gracelessly sinks down, lube pushing out as he pushes in, sticking to his thick pubic hair and balls.

Mouth agape, Kylar just gazes at you, dumb little expression as his cock throbbed uselessly inside the toy. God, he wants it to be you so badly. This is the least embarrassing way he's tried to simulate his cock in your warm hole. Tried the fuck a warmed up grapefruit once, before feeding it to you. Fucked a hole into his soap bar. Used to hump his pillow every night, ripped a shabby hole right into it. But somehow this was far more embarrassing. You, watching him, use a toy and obviously pretend its you, all the while you two are chest to chest, stomach to stomach, legs intertwined.

Kylar never had much composure to begin with, but any shreds of it are long gone by the first sloppy thrust. Drool gathering on his tongue, too entranced in the tight fit to even function properly, unable to swallow it down, so it just slips from his lips. The wet squelching of his cock bucking down into the toy, lube flowing out, was not helping, Kylar's lewd imagination kicking into overdrive. Reminds him of the hentai's he would put at full volume with his headphones, settle back and close his eyes and jerk his cock as he imagined you making those lewd noises, both your moans as well as your dripping hole taking his cock.

Yet the toy was just not enough. He came like a virgin whenever you used it on him, but his brain whispered that it would never be enough. Left every orgasm a bit less fulfilling each time. His cock ached as he continued to hump away, curling his body a bit to properly rut into it, almost like a clock wound too tight. His hot huffs of breath fanned over your face, sweat dripping down his face, into his hair and shining in the dim light.

"Please. Please, I want to... I wanna... Please?"

You just laughed softly and gently raised your thighs enough to mimic the feeling of the fleshlight fucking back into him. That was all he needed. Kylar whined and threw his head back, entire body jerking roughly as he came. Cum dribbled over the lips of the toy, seeping over the edges and staining your bare thighs, as well as his own.

Just babbles out his stream of consciousness, saying your hole is so good, that he loves you, that this was always meant to be, that he wants to fill you up up up until you are still dripping his cum days later.

You just stroke his head as he struggles to tug himself out of the toy, knowing that by the time you finally let him fuck you, he'll ruin you properly.

[thegreatyin]

completely normal roommates bonding over completely normal things like *flips through notes* murdering each other and having complicated opinions on giant alien bats

[astudyinimagination]

If you are an American citizen and you remain undecided about tomorrow's election, this is for you.

[carrinth]

Me, playing DA: Awakening: I have a very normal amount of interest in the spirit-in-a-corpse.

*trips and falls over*

*hundreds of screenshots spill out of my DA folder*

Me, awkwardly shoving them back in: N-NORMAL. VERY NORMAL.

[fuckwhoeverpickedallthefunnyurls]

*Blinking my eyes like a crusty newborn* 80 followers??????

[chibifox2002]

Finally figured out the friendship between Manny and DDD 😆

(they just do dumb/silly stuff like this together)

[bittersweetresilience]

I WANT TO TALK ABOUT DANGANRONPA SO BADLY

[astrowaffles]

Sorry for all the wonho Wednesday posts that are coming ♥️

I actually. Have had the kpop tag blocked for pretty much ever ❤️

[oculusxcaro]

@brokentoys said: feed i guess [x]

The strawberry yoghurt isn't that bad. Her tastebuds detect no hint of strawberry but there is a vague creaminess to it which is almost nostalgic if only because of it's tantalizing scent. It's easy to eat at the very least and she even tries another spoonful, flashing Eddie an awkward smile. "Thank you, I haven't tried yoghurt in... it's been a while." Not since before she left home anyway. The mere thought turns to ashes in her stomach.

[cixel-jewel]

Happy New Year!!

This year ended rough but it had it's moments! Especially with Eugene's stuffing drive.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me and has been following me! I love drawing some bellies and i hope to draw some more in

2023~!

LOVE YOU ALL!!!

[kissproof]

hi lovies! just updated my navigation links for ease of access <3

i cannot make any promises but i really do wish to get back into writing/requests so hopefully i can get some things out within the next month or so

[eyesxxyou]

sweet revenge

・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 1.3k

synopsis. after catching your boyfriend cheating, you and his father, Logan, go on a road trip to confront him, though, you don't make it far

warnings. p-in-v, tummy bulging, cheating (but as payback), DILF Logan, car sex, van sex, sex with boyfriend's father, cunilingus, kinda rushed :((

If someone told you you’d be trapped in a car with your neglectful boyfriend’s father for an entire weekend as you drive to meet him in Mexico a week ago, you would have stared at them blankly then told them that didn't sound so out of the ordinary for a life like yours.

It wasn't your idea, it was Logan's, your boyfriend's father. He insisted that you two would have to drive across the US together to confront your disgusting, cheating, asshole boyfriend who flew to Mexico to spend time with his mistress. He was almost as disgusted as you were, apologizing to you with explanations of how “he hadn't raised his boy like this”. How funny life is.

Logan, you always thought, was a good man. He had always been kind to you since you’ve known him, sometimes to the point where you thought he was flirting with you. Not that you minded, he was quite handsome, even for being in his 50s. With his salt and pepper beard and slight wrinkles that made him look mature and wise. You never minded his slight touches on your arm or your lower back but you never pursued the idea beyond a lingering thought.

“I’m slightly surprised you’re not crying.” Logan said about an hour into your ride together. You had been entirely silent, letting the radio play while you gazed longingly out of the window, your feet up on the dashboard. You rolled your head to the side to look at him. “I’m more angry than sad.” Or were you? You searched within the cavity of your chest for emotion and found nothing. You were so apathetic to the whole thing. Maybe it simply hasn't hit you yet, that your boyfriend of 3 years has been cheating on you for 2 of them with some girl he decided to vacation with in Mexico.

Logan stroked his fingers through his beard. “He’s a fucking idiot. His mother was a cheater too, I say he got it from her.” Your boyfriend was raised primarily by his mother after they had gotten divorced he had told you. He wasn't actually all that close with Logan. You had sussed out that it was because he didn't give special treatment between him and his sister, Laura. They were treated the same in every way by Logan while his mother always seemed to favor him.

“Thank you, Mr. Howlett for offering to bring me down here…really. It’s too kind of you.” You couldn't have possibly scrounge up enough money to haphazardly buy a plane ticket down to Cancun last minute. You would have had to wait for him to come back from his “business trip” to confront him. Logan thought it a better idea to do it as soon as possible.

He shrugged, a single hand on the wheel as his eyes flicked lightly from the road to you. “It’s nothing. He doesn't deserve a pretty girl like you.” Logan shook his head lightly. “Back in my day, I would have been all over a girl like you. Hell, I’d be all over you now if I’d met you at the right time.”

There's something deadly serious in his voice that suggests he was far from joking. All your delusional thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he was flirting with you turned out to not be delusions at all. He’s been dropping hints and you’d been turning a blind eye to them so willingly.

You’ve never been with a man his age. Something about it seemed so taboo. He was old enough to be your father. Yet the distinct feel of forbiddenness, both because of his age and because he was your boyfriend's father, excited you.

“Who says you can't be all over me now?” You’re being more bold than you’d have liked. You crossed your ankles on the dash. It would be the perfect revenge. When he goes low, you go lower—you go to Hell.

You let your hand wander to his thigh, your eyes lingering on him as he keeps glancing between you and the road. Logan chuckled lowly at you, your forward attempts at coming onto him were rather cute. “Oh baby, you don't know what you’re tryna get yourself into.” He’s trying to warn you but you like the edge to his tone.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and sit up in your seat to lean over and whisper into his ear. “Let me find out.” Maybe older men do it better, maybe they value things a little more. You were in the mood to find out.

You could see his jaw tighten as he slowed the car off the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tires. His fingers curled around the wheel, taut, knuckles white. “Why don't you get in the back?”

If someone told you you’d be in the back of a van, on you way to confront your cheating, sleazebag boyfriend, fucking his dad. That…that you’d bat an eye at.

It was a fast-paced endeavor. Logan had you in a mating press, pushed up against the back seats. Your pants and underwear at your knees, his pants just below his ass. He’s pounding you out in the back of a van, with thrust so hard and deep that it makes your eyes go cross. You beg, “please, please, puh-please!” like that will save you from the brutalization of your poor cunt.

Logan grunts above you, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he spreads them wide and keeps you still. “You wanted this, princess. Don’t back out now.” His strokes leave you winded, clawing at the cracked leather seat of his van, squealing like you have no damn sense in the world. “I can’t,” you gasp.

“Yes you can, doll. You can take it.” Fuck– he was using his father voice. Stern, authoritative, the kind of voice you can’t say no to. You could have come right then and there from his voice alone, cooing at your pretty pussy like a cat. He pressed his hips sharply into yours and watched your back arch away from the seats and your eyes prick with tears. “Logan!”

“You act like you’ve never been fucked before. Does my son not do a good job?”

You shook your head feverishly. “Never– ” you swallowed, “–like this.” Never made you cum for that matter. If you knew fucking your boyfriend's father would have been like this, you would have done this a whole lot sooner.

You could feel him in your stomach. You pressed your hand to your belly and felt the bulge of his cock under your skin. You whimpered at the feeling, tracing where his cock head poked through. You could feel him pressing against your tender womb.

You let Logan cum in you. It was easy to with a face like his. You let him sink himself deep inside, a guttural groan rattling out from his throat, satisfied as he emptied his balls inside you. You could help but giggle as he came in you. The thought of possibly having his baby didn't bother you as much as you thought it would. Logan was a good man, well, as good as one can be while fucking his son’s girlfriend.

Logan didn't want to leave you unsatisfied though you were more than used to it. He grabbed your hips and pulled you up, back arching as he dipped down and kissed your cum-soaked pussy. His tongue found your clit with ease, licking tenderly at the bud between your legs, eyes peering over your pelvis, looking down at you.

Your legs trembled over his shoulder, toes pointing with each rough lick against your puffy pussy. “‘s too much, too much.” His lips were latched to your lips, suckling.

Cumming on his tongue was an easy job. He made it so simple yet so powerful. You quivered under every lick, your body rolling with the waves of your orgasm. It was sweet, savory, like tender peaches on a warm, summer evening.

Who knew revenge could taste so sweet?

[bebx]

lmao tumblr letting their users choose whether or not they want their likes to be public but then pulling a twitter 2.0 and showing your likes on your followers’ dashboards and specially saying who liked the posts in their new update, without the users’ consent or a way to turn it off, is actually pretty insane.

like how many times to we — the users — have to tell them we don’t want tumblr to be like any other social media platforms and that tumblr’s being different than twitter, instagram, tiktok is actually what makes us stay on this silly little site.

respectfully @staff you’re driving your users away. stop trying to “fix” things that are good and don’t need to be fixed. we want tumblr to be tumblr. we don’t want the site to be twitter or instagram 2.0

edit: so at first I was under the impression that you could turn off the “posts liked by blogs you follow” in your dashboard preferences, but couldn’t control how your own likes showed up on the dashboards of your followers, after I saw several posts claiming that this was the case. — however, now I think I might be wrong and it thankfully does look like as long as you have your likes set to private, they will stay private and will not be showing up on your followers’ dashboards. apologize for any misunderstanding this may have caused.

* from my understanding now, you can choose not to see other people’s likes by going to your dashboard preferences in the settings and turning off the “posts liked by blogs you follow” option, and if you have your own likes set to private, they won’t be showing up on your followers’ dashboards.

[g0dlyunsub]

warm you.

spencer finds you in a state of hypothermia while the both of you are on a case, and he quickly works to warm you up.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of cryochambers and torture, hypothermia symptoms, weapons, gunshot wounds, partial nudity, scars, general cm themes

word count :: 2.8k

author’s note :: while this isn’t much different from my other sfw fics, i want to be safe and say that this is 18+!

accompanying song :: warm you by matty and mandaworld

“we’re closest to the address. we’ll head there first.” 

“be careful,” you hear hotch’s voice through the speaker, crisp with a hint of concern.

out of the corner of your eye, you see spencer nod and cut the phone call. he instructs you to speed up, so you grip the steering wheel, press down on the accelerator as hard as you can, and turn on the sirens.

“take a left,” he tells you, and you swerve the car. you blurt out a warning as the wheels swivel, and spencer places a hand against the dashboard for support. before you can apologize, spencer points at the house at the far corner of the street.

“right here!” he calls out, and you quickly maneuver the car to come to a halt. you park the car in front of the driveway and unlock your seatbelt before stepping out of the vehicle with your hand positioned on your holster. 

the house is a lot bigger than you thought, four floors altogether. this is where the unsub was keeping a cryochamber to torture his victims?

“should we wait for backup?” spencer asks as his eyes roam the exterior of the massive building, and you stop to do the same. the both of you already know the answer. a girl’s life is on the line, and the unsub could claim her last breath at any second.

spencer nods at you as he knows what your silence entails. you offer a nod back, then move to retrieve your gun and motion towards the front door. you test the doorknob, and to your surprise, it’s unlocked.

with a heavy inhale to prepare yourself, you jerk open the door and shuffle in, spencer following right behind you.

“daniel miller, fbi!” the two of you simultaneously call out, and you silence your steps to hear for any indicators of the unsub’s presence.

after checking the living room and kitchen, you move to the staircase. you point downwards to let spencer know that you’re heading to the basement, and spencer returns a signal that he’ll move upstairs.

you descend with stealthy steps. halfway down the flight of stairs, the platform creaks beneath your shoe, several wood fibers snapping with a splitting crack. the hairs on your skin stand and your flashlight shakes as you try to steady yourself. berating yourself for being so careless, you continue to tread down the rest of the steps with extreme caution.

it’s completely dark in the basement and your flashlight doesn’t illuminate the room as brightly as you want it to. but when you shine it to your left, you see it – a large cryochamber. right as you try to turn around to check if anyone’s behind you, you hear it – the click of a gun, aimed against the back of your head.

“drop it.”

you stand frozen, paralyzed with the realization that the unsub is right behind you, his gun positioned less than an inch from your skull.

you can faintly hear spencer yell clear! from upstairs. maybe you could stall a bit, wait for spencer to register your unusual silence. but the perpetrator has other plans.

“i said, drop the gun.” his tone is controlled and demanding, and your palms start to collect sweat. feeling your gun start to slip in your clammy grip, you decide to give in.

“okay, daniel, i’m going to put my gun down. we can talk about this,” you offer as you kneel slowly to place the gun and flashlight on the concrete floor. you stand back up with raised arms, watching as the shadow of his gun follows your every movement.

daniel kicks your gun to the far corner of the room and orders you to open the door to the chamber. the barrel of his gun knocks into your scalp, eliciting a sharp hiss from you. 

“go inside.”

you swallow your own saliva, feeling the cold gust of air brush against your face and bare arms as you twist the lever to the door. today was decidedly a bad day to wear a tank top. it’s only when the rigid weapon hits your head once again that you take a step into the room. you bite your lip when you realize the girl who’s been kidnapped isn’t in the chamber. where is she? desperately, you turn around to meet the gun that's leveled right between your eyes.

“listen, daniel, we can just talk about this. none of this is your fault, we-”

daniel growls at your forced attempt to reason with him, and hushes you by waving his weapon menacingly. you clamp your mouth shut, and daniel retreats with his gun still pointed at you. he slams the door shut before you can protest further.

there’s an overhead light in the chamber, and it’s lit with an eerie shade of nordic blue. the surrounding walls are all frozen, and the floor’s coated with a layer of ice fractals. you can see marks of blood tainting the sides, and it looks like one of the victims attempted to fight back with their knuckles. after taking a few staggering steps, you slip and fall to the ground, yelping when the painful impact reverberates through your kneecaps.

it’s too cold. you estimate the temperature to be below negative twenty based on estimates from the victim reports you read earlier. you faintly remember spencer stating that death under such conditions could occur in less than an hour. if only you could retrace back to the conversation and ask him how to maximize your chances of survival.

spencer.

where’s spencer?

you start to shake uncontrollably as the panic settles in, your muscles convulsing and your vision spinning out of control. you loosen your bulletproof vest and brace your arms underneath to gather the last of your warmth. trying to breathe on your hands doesn’t help, since the freezing air instantly neutralizes the heat. 

shit. you need to warn spencer not to come down to the basement, or at least let him know that the girl’s not here.

you click the button on your mic numerous times, cursing when nothing works. there’s static running in the background, and you can’t isolate any sound nor tell if a response is coming through. letting out a frustrated groan, you take off the mic and hurl it to the floor. with chattering teeth, you rub your arms as fast as you can to generate friction before giving up and curling into a fetal position on the ground.

minutes pass, and your labored breaths come out with visible puffs of air while your hair feels hard to the touch, like a layer of gel is smothered all over it. your fingers are numb, your jaw remains clenched, and your eyes are sore from the intolerable cold. you’ve stopped shaking now, which could only mean bad news.

then, all of a sudden, you hear the sound of a gunshot. 

was that spencer? 

oh dear god, did he just get shot? 

you don’t have time to further process your thoughts, because the door’s lever starts to rattle and momentarily after, it swings open.

spencer stands right outside, mouth wide open when he sees your still body, your extremities frigid from the cold.

“medic, i need a medic!” you hear spencer yell into his mic as he rushes inside. he hoists you up with a bridal carry, one arm looping under your legs and the other gently supporting your back. as he walks out, you can see the unsub lying on the ground with a gunshot wound in his forehead. a sigh of relief can’t even exit your frosty lips.

spencer sets you down on the other side of the basement and rushes to turn the heaters on at the maximum setting.

“y/n, look at me.” with one hand almost blazing hot cupping your left cheek, spencer tilts your head to the side slightly.

you look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. after a second of assessing your condition, spencer stands and retrieves spare blankets from the worktable before kneeling beside you. he lifts your head so as to not strain your neck, and wraps a dry, warm blanket around it. 

you hear spencer curse under his breath.

“i-i need to take your clothes off.”

you’re convinced it’s brain freeze that’s making you process his words with a delay.

right. no wet clothes when you have hypothermia. 

you don’t respond. you want to tug at his arm to give him the green light, but even that feels like the most impossible task. you can’t move, you can’t feel, and you can’t even blink. 

but spencer doesn’t hesitate. he tears the top that’s stuck to your thawing skin, lumps the fabric to the side, and proceeds to hastily remove your socks. you hear him murmur a soft sorry as he unbuckles the belt around your waist and unzips your jeans. his fingers fumble clumsily as he pulls on the denim, but he keeps a hand on your waistband to prevent your undergarment from slipping. it’s this little gesture that gets you all worked up, butterflies stirring in your stomach.

he reaches to slide each leg out of your jeans, holding you delicately by your heels. you wonder what you look like from his perspective. maybe a lifeless figure blended with the color of the concrete floor, the only sign of life in your moist hair that’s tangled and plastered to your skin. you wonder if his eidetic memory is capturing every imperfection of your body, and if your scars look even more obvious with the melting flakes of ice coating your skin.

spencer doesn’t leave you exposed for more than a second, though, because he places a heated blanket over your body. his eyes don’t break away from your gaze when he removes his vest, and his fixed stare kindles a spark in your core that you wish never set alight. unfortunately for you, he also starts to unbutton his collared shirt. 

in any other setting, you would open your eyes wide and gawk at him if he pulled the same move, but right now, you couldn’t move a single muscle even if you wanted to. he wraps his collared shirt around your exposed feet peeking from under the blanket before turning to face you. it feels illegal to look at him like this, his upper body bare and towering over you. and while you can’t see much due to the dim lighting in the basement, you can feel your heartbeat quicken.

“i’m… i’m going to use skin-to-skin contact, okay? we’re going to try and increase your internal temperature by sharing body heat,” spencer explains, but not much of it goes through your head. like before, you don’t say a word.

spencer slowly lowers himself next to you and gently embraces your body with his arms. he grunts as your body transmits cold onto his skin, while you close your eyes, relishing his warmth that blossoms throughout your core and extremities. 

“i’m sorry i have to do this, but you can’t produce enough heat on your own,” spencer apologizes, but you wish he didn’t feel like he needed to. his voice fills your body up like it’s an empty vial, and you give in completely to his touch. like candle wax, you melt slowly.

spencer shifts to cover his and your body with another blanket, desperately trying to keep your body exposed to as many layers of heat as possible. he releases hot breaths on your neck and his teeth occasionally graze your sensitive skin, making your eyelashes flutter. periodically, he checks your breathing patterns and listens as the painful gasps make their way into your throat. that’s it, keep breathing, you hear him whisper. his fingers spread along your waist as he tries to widen his grip on you. his touch feels so intimate, it sends your brain into overdrive.

you continue to lie in his hold for another five minutes until the medics arrive. the last thing you see is spencer’s face, wisps of hair falling into his eyes. he seems to move in slow motion, and his mouth moves like he’s saying something to you, but everything whirls into darkness.

you wake with an exhausted groan and look down to see you’re wearing a white gown. you’re on a hospital bed, hooked up to an iv line. as you survey your surroundings with your blurred vision, you stop. spencer. he’s standing at the foot of the bed, and he immediately drops his book with a thud when he sees that you’re responsive.

he rushes to your side, smiling weakly as he holds your hand gently. he has dark circles around his eyes and tousled hair furls around his ears. you feel guilty. did he get any sleep this entire time, or was he waiting for you to wake? how long were you even asleep for?

“are you feeling better?” he croaks out quietly with a slight crack in his voice.

“mm. i am.” you force yourself to sit up against your body’s will, and spencer tries to stop you. you insist with the shake of your head.

“it’s okay. i just wanted to say… thank you, spencer. i really owe you one.”

he blinks while his lips stretch into a thin smile.

“no, i-i actually, um, it was my fault. i shouldn’t have split up with you like that, especially when we didn’t have backup.”

you wet your lips and exhale quietly.

“i was the one who signaled that we split up, not you. none of this is your fault. seriously,” you respond firmly.

you give him a smile, which he returns. as his hand moves to rub a soothing massage along your fingers, you ask, “is the girl okay?”

spencer nods almost immediately.

“yeah. i found her on the third floor, and she told me that he was keeping her in the basement until we arrived.”

“i see,” you croon. spencer gets the hint that you’re tired, and he calmly lowers your hand.

“if it makes you feel any better, technically, we didn’t really… um… touch. at the macroscopic level, yes, but at the atomic level, the atoms of our skin aren’t free floating. they’re bound as part of a larger network, and so intermolecular forces keep our atoms from forming strong bonds-”

you let out a weak laugh.

he catches himself and quietly apologizes. “my point is, i’m sorry if anything i did made you uncomfortable.”

you reach for his hand and trace the veins that mark his skin.

“spence, are you kidding? you saved my life. if you hadn’t done that, i wouldn’t be talking to you right now. i’d be dead.”

“don’t say that,” spencer reproves you quietly.

“well, my point is i trust you with my entire life, spencer reid. i really do.”

spencer smiles and takes a deep breath, running his other hand through his hair as he looks at you with tired eyes.

“thank you. thank you for trusting me. i’ll … i should let you rest.” he slides his hand out of your grasp and moves to pick up the book from the floor, but you give his shirt a light tug.

“actually, spence–”

he turns around, curious eyes ready to listen to anything you have to ask.

“do you mind staying a bit longer?” you smile sheepishly.

spencer looks at you for a second, like it’s the last thing he’s expected you to say. but he immediately warms up with a wide grin. “sure, of course.”

you pat the space next to you on the bed as you shift to the edge. 

“come on, have a seat,” you say with an inviting tone.

“are you sure?” he confirms, a surprised expression painting his face. you nod, and he sinks into the bed, gently lifting your arm and lowering it onto his lap.

“you like the color red, right?” spencer asks out of the blue, and you furrow your brows.

“yeah, why do you ask?” you return curiously.

“i got you a new top. to make up for the… other one,” spencer coughs as he finishes his sentence. you giggle, burying your left cheek in the pillow as a blush creeps over your cheek.

“you didn’t have to, i really appreciate it,” you whisper, and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. spencer looks away shyly, but you can see him purse his lips to suppress a smile.

you repeat thank you's to him over and over again, each time feeling the weight of comfort pull on your eyelids and draw you closer to sleep.