#nerdy!reader

[gemini-sensei]

CW: talks of first times and loss of virginity, and smut. That's about it.

Binary Boyfriends Demetri and Hawk who after so much avoidance and trying to ignore their feelings finally get together. Their friends are so happy for them and Miguel and Sam are constantly dragging them on double dates all the time. Hawk chooses the most inappropriate of times to be super flirty with Demetri, which flusters the lanky guy to no end. Hawk just loves making his boyfriend blush all the time. Demetri swears left and right about how much he hates it but it secretly riles him up and turns him on because he loves it when Hawk is dominate over him in public places. Thats just part of their day to day. Life is normal for the couple.

That is until Reader rolls into town. She's kind and sweet and innocent. But of course they didn't know that until they got to know her better.

They guys are at the comic store when they first see her. She's looking through a section of women written comics that look cutesy but are deeper than that. A male employee asks if she needs help and she asks if they knew when they'll get the newest issue and they have a whole conversation about the series and they're having a nice time until he gets pulled away by another customer. She waves him off with a laugh and goes back to browsing.

Demetri can't help himself from walking over and asking her about the series. He's never read it before and he couldn't help but overhear her excitement for it. Hawk was a little too busy looking through some old comics that he didn't notice his boyfriend wasn't beside him anymore until he hears a squeal. He looks over and sees Reader shoving a first issue comic in his hands and telling him all about how great the series is. He's nodding along and smiling, promising to read it if she's so enthusiastic about it.

Hawk walks over and asks them what's up. He's actually a little jealous seeing a pretty lady talking to his guy like that. So when he walks over, he gives Demetri’s ass a hard squeeze. He introduces himself as Demetri's boyfriend so Reader knows. But Reader doesn't really show any reaction to it. In fact, she smiles and giggles and puts her hand out to shake Hawk's. He's a little startled because for a ment he thought she was using his boyfriend's interest in comics to get close and flirt with him. But that smile isn't a sneaky smiles. It's so sweet and genuine.

They end up hanging out in the food court talking about Reader and how she ended up in the Valley. The longer she talks, the more both guys are enamored by her. She has this laugh that just enchants them and now Hawk feels bad about his earlier thoughts. Then they learn she's never been in a relationship before and so it was easier to move to the Valley with few ties back home. And it's shocking because she's so sweet and beautiful, and Demetri tells her as much. But she just.shrugs it off and laughs.

They exchange information and part ways and it seems like they've made a new friend. Except for days after, the boyfriends can't stop thinking about her. They don't talk about it at first, but oh boy when she does first come up, they can't stop talking about her. They don't think much of it. She's a nerdy and sweet new friend. That's all. But it quickly becomes more than that, especially when they start talking about her in bed.

Hawk tells Demetri while they were fucking, "I bet you wanna fuck Reader, be the one to take her virginity! Am I right?"

And Demetri can't even respond. He's so overwhelmed with the idea that he comes all over their sheets and he's whining. He shakes his head, wanting to be degraded, waiting for it.

And Hawk delivers: "Well you can't. You're too big for her. You'll break her in half. You can't be her first - fuck! - you'll just hurt her. It should be me! I should fuck her just like this and- fuckfuckfuck! Gonna fucking ruin her better than you can! Better than you ever could!"

He comes and fills Demetri’s guts, not at all hiding the fact that he wishes they were with Reader in this moment instead. They end up laying in bed panting, sweaty and messy, daydreaming about her between them; touching her curves, kissing her tits, making her moan and scream.

"We should invite her over," Demetri says. They've been texting her nonstop and promising to show her around the Valley.

Hawk nods and licks his lips. "Yeah, yeah we should."

Part two

[demigoddessqueens]

So I saw your right for star wars could you please do some head cannons for Ashoka with a super nerdy gf who works at the Jedi archives.

Awww! This is so cute!

Ahsoka with a bookish s/o would include…

She thinks it’s cute if you! The whole bookish personality and everything

Jock x bookworm dynamic

Either you share a new book you found with her

Just likes to look at you with a daydreaming smile when you start rambling about some new fact you learned

Sometimes sharing tea together while you ramble

Also super protective of you too!

Any other Jedi or Clone who teases your interests? May the Force help them….

Gifts of course include some new scroll or book she’s found for you, or sometimes new crisp journals that you like to scribble in

There was one time Ahsoka found doddles you made of her, and she thought it was sweet

[alana-reid-2005]

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

[bethsvrse]

STOP MAKING MY LIL AWKWARD NERDY BOYS BE CONFIDENT AND SO SURE OF THEMSELVES!!! I LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE NERDY NOT BECAUSE YOU FANFIC WRITERS MAKE THEM EGO MANIC ASSHOLES

[ozzgin]

It's the official comedic trio:

Nerdy!Yandere who has fallen for your kindness and clings to you whenever the other two attempt to bully him

"Why is it so cold in here," Nerdy!Yandere remarks with a shiver, oblivious to the deadly glares he's receiving.

Clumsy!Yandere who is ridiculously upset at the fact he's no longer babied by you as much, so he constantly plots the nerd's demise

"Today's going to be your worst day, you pathetic nerd," Clumsy!Yandere threatens with an evil grin, rubbing his hands together, unaware he just sabotaged his own locker.

Lazy!Yandere who would rather just chill with you, but he doesn't want to go through the trouble of dealing with the other two losers

"I was wondering if we could go on a da-...nevermind," Lazy!Yandere mumbles begrudgingly, noticing the other two angrily steaming and scheming behind a telephone pole. What a hassle.

[theresascove]

you at the edge of the bed, you about to fall off ₊ ⊹

loser!ellie williams x f!reader

your slow, awkward first kiss together turns into a little make out session

tw: not proofread, fluff, little bit of plot, college!au, nerdy/loser!ellie, popular/dancer!reader, r has an impulsive personality, quick makeout session, mention of grinding, kissing, confessions sorta, friends to lovers, r is mentioned to be drunk at a party

wc ✎ 1.2k

There’s that saying that opposites attract, and it partially describes you and Ellie. Going off of surface looks, absolutely you’re the completely opposite from each other. She’s got the nerdy title—glasses, nose stuck in something space related, keeping to herself. Meanwhile you’ve got the preppy title—on the dance team, outgoing, and known to be friends with everyone (you know what’s going on at all times).

You were aware of Ellie’s presence, but mainly her name. You rarely see her save for a class since the both of you share the same major. So on a surface level, you seem different—but on a deeper level? You’re very alike.

You had been paired with her for a class group assignment. Noticing how others were keeping silent, you pronounced yourself and led the assignment. That’s initially how you got her number.

Then it spiraled like a falling snowball. One thing led to another and you were spending any free time you had with her. Compared to you, her schedule was more flexible. Without a sport or a large social status, she had most of her day free—used up for studying or relaxing. She had a few friends, but it was lowered to stay between these two people. Then you joined the friend group.

It was unlikely to see the two of you together. You definitely knew people were talking seeing how the others on your dance team looked at the both of you around campus. You shrugged it off as a friend, but as the time went by—you knew it was more.

All your free time you had was spent with her, you even started to carve out moments to see her—even if it was just a minute long. You longed to see her, feeling your heart skip a beat in excitement when you saw her. You were aware, but also unaware of the way your heart chased after her—desired her.

It was late at night, drunk at a party when you came to realize you liked Ellie Williams. How? You thought some stranger was her, and your reaction elicited a very different reaction from you. Being so drunk you spilled your mind—stating your thoughts out loud when you saw this fake Ellie. By doing so the subconscious thoughts came forward and you had a breakdown.

You liked Ellie Williams.

You tried to call her but she ended it quickly, stating she was in a study group. Luckily your friend Annaka took your phone from you and tsked, saving you from drunk confessing to her.

The next day you felt like a fool, waking up in your bed sober with the realization. It might be one sided, but you only live once—why not just break it off and say it now. So you made the insane choice to go over and visit her, wanting to try and see your relationship from a different point of view. Could she be interested too? And you’ve been oblivious this whole time?

In your dance coverup uniform, you pulled the collar over your mouth—walking across the street while fighting the blistering cold air. Her dorm wasn’t far, just a few blocks from yours. She opened the door, eye bags under her eyes likely from studying so much for the upcoming exam.

“Hi?”

“Ellie,” you beamed as best as you could with a hangover lingering, “hi.”

She moves back so you could slide past her and into her bedroom. You noticed the other bed laid empty.

“Roommates gone?”

“Yeah, she’s back home for the weekend.”

You hum in response, feeling nervous now when you realize it could be a perfect day to tell her how you feel. She sat crisscrossed on her bed, head resting on her hand as she reads over her notes.

“Are you ever going to study for the exam?”

You lean over the end of her bed, eyeing her, “aww, so sweet, you worry about me.”

She grows a tad shy, tapping her pencil, “no, I don’t.”

“Mm, sure. I haven’t studied yet, but I’ll just start studying tomorrow. We have time still.”

She signs, flipping the page, “you say that and then get a C every time, just come sit up here. I’ll help.”

You hop up quick, hands reaching to pull yourself up. You make yourself comfortable, which means you sat towards the end of the bed with your knees hiked up under your chin as you listen to her. She asks questions, voice soft like a whisper. It lulls you, causing you to stare at her with a look that takes Ellie back when she catches it.

“Why’re you sitting so far back, come—“

“Ellie,” you call out, voice no louder than a whisper as well. She hums, sitting entirely too still as her eyes flicker across your face. Her warm desk light highlights the color in her eyes, the way her freckles move around her face, her lips—

It’s not entirely how you imagined, but you find yourself moving closer. Hands crawling on her soft sheets as you lean just ever so slightly, eyes moving towards her lips. She’s not moving much save for the last second.

“Can I kiss y—“

She cuts you off, moving quick to kiss your lips curtly. Immediately after she coughs, cheeks pink as she tries to go back to her homework—but you’re reaching over to cup her jaw and bring her back towards you.

“Of course,” you whisper your response, eyes searching for confirmation before she leans back down to kiss you again—this time, it’s a real one. Neither of you are pulling back far enough, between each kiss you’re already moving back to kiss again. Her hand falls on your thigh and you’re already moving to straddle her thighs, arms wrapping around her neck as she leans you back onto her desk almost.

You hum against her lips, hands curling into her hair as she brings her lips back on yours again and again and again. It turns your lips red, almost swollen, and glossy. Her hair, once laid out straight—now looks a bit like she just woke up with how you’re pulling on it.

Soft hums and giggles molded into moans and gasps quickly. Ellie would kiss down your neck, behind your ear, across your cheek—you would pulling her back to kiss her deep, mouth at her jaw, bite her ear.

You’re both thankful that she keeps her bed on the lowest mount, because she’s easily able to manipulate you to lay back down on it. Here she stands on the edge of the bed, body slotted between your thighs. The whine you let out when she grinds her jeans into your heat was sinful, and it pulled Ellie out of her trance. The sound got her dizzy, disoriented almost. You were an angel beneath her, hand brushing at her cheek as you smile up at her.

You laugh softly, fixing the glasses on her face, “are we dating?”

“Yeah, y-yeah,” she replies, eyes blinking rapidly, “fuck yeah.”

[romugh]

INTIMATE STUDIES - nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, gp!bottom!natasha, handjob (n rcv), blowie (n rcv), cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex

wc- 2.3k of pure smut

a/n- quick drabble as i'm working my way through BIOLOGY stuff as an ASTROPHISICS and ARCHITECTURE STUDENT. make it make sense?? I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE. not proofread, wrote this in like ten minutes as i was eating an apple :D

synopsis- you're studying biology, natasha comes in, you're doing biology (with her).

The past four hours had been a never-ending slog of human reproduction notes, diagrams of genitals, and biological functions that seemed completely irrelevant to your degree. You were an astrophysics major — the mysteries of black holes and quantum fields were your calling, not the intricacies of testes and ovaries. Yet here you were, neck-deep in textbooks, scribbling notes on a subject you didn’t care for in the slightest. Your biology exam was in two days, and every second spent on it felt like time wasted.

Your hand ached from writing, and your eyes burned from staring at diagrams. The irritation crept up further, gnawing at you, until the sound of the door creaking open drew your attention. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Natasha’s soft voice greeted you. There was a tentative innocence to her tone, one that always tugged at your heart in a way you could never quite explain. Natasha, your shy and awkward girlfriend, a literature major who found comfort in the written word more than social situations. Your Natty — so soft, blushing, and oh-so-easy to tease.

You glanced up, the sight of her instantly pulling you from your academic misery. Natasha stood in the doorway, blonde hair slightly tousled from the nap she’d taken, round glasses sitting low on her nose, and your oversized shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. The shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling past her hands, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how effortlessly adorable she looked. The fact that her boxers were barely visible under the hem of the shirt only made it worse.

She stood there for a moment, awkwardly shifting on her feet, and something about the way she looked at you made a surge of desire shoot through your veins. Natasha was always so shy, always so unsure about these moments. But that only made your pulse quicken, knowing just how easy it was to make her come undone.

“Natty,” you called, your voice low and teasing. “Want to help me study?”

She blinked, eyes wide behind her glasses, but she stepped closer, that innocent curiosity mixed with a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. Her bare legs peeked out from under the shirt, the fabric brushing against her thighs as she padded towards you. She always had this way about her—this quiet, almost timid energy that made you want to take care of her, tease her, ruin her. “Sure,” she agreed, pushing her glasses up. “What are we studying?”

You smirked, eyes narrowing as you slid your textbook to the side. “Human reproduction.”

Her blush deepened, but she tried to play it off, oblivious to the trap you were setting. “I’m not sure I can help with that. I mean, I’m more into poetry than—”

You smirked, your eyes tracing the length of her body, admiring the way the fabric of your shirt hugged her frame. “Oh, I think you can. In fact, you might be the perfect study partner.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she fumbled for words. “W-what do you mean?”

You caught her by the hips, guiding her until she stood between your legs, her lithe form pressed against your knees. Her blush deepened, her lips parting as she looked down at you, curiosity and nervousness swirling in her eyes.

“I can show you,” you whispered, running your hands up the sides of her thighs, pushing the hem of the oversized shirt higher and higher, revealing the fabric of her boxers. Your fingertips traced the outline of her bulge, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric. Natasha gasped softly, her breath hitching as you palmed her gently.

“See,” you murmured, your hand cupping her clothed bulge. “This is all part of the reproductive process.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath coming out shaky as she looked down at you. “I-I know that,” she stammered, but the way her legs trembled betrayed her completely.

“You didn’t expect to be part of the lesson, though, did you?” you teased, your fingers moving expertly as you tugged her boxers down, letting them pool around her ankles. Natasha whimpered softly, her hand clutching the back of your chair for support as you wrapped your hand around her fully. “So sensitive,” you cooed, stroking her with deliberate slowness, your thumb teasing the tip just enough to make her gasp.

Her entire body tensed, hips instinctively bucking into your hand as you increased the pace slightly, watching her lose composure. "Y-you're—," she tried to speak, but her voice faltered, her body betraying her with every twitch and pulse of her length in your grip.

Natasha's breathing grew more ragged, her chest heaving as she clutched the back of your chair, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Her hips twitched involuntarily into your hand, every stroke sending ripples of pleasure through her body. You could feel her getting closer, the way her length pulsed in your palm, the faint whimpers that escaped her lips.

“Y-you’re gonna make me—" Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper, her words tumbling out in a breathless stammer as she squirmed in your grasp. Her face was flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment as she tried to hold back, but you had no intention of letting her.

"Let go," you murmured softly, your voice thick with dominance. Your hand worked her faster, the slick slide of your palm coaxing her to the edge. "Come for me, Natty."

It was all she needed. With a strangled moan, her body tensed, hips jerking forward as she came, her release spilling over your hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. You watched her, captivated by the sight of her completely undone, trembling in your hand as she rode out her orgasm.

But you weren’t done yet.

Without missing a beat, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the tip of her sensitive length, tasting the remnants of her release. Natasha shuddered, still trying to catch her breath, but when your tongue flicked out to lick her clean, her whole body jerked, a soft gasp escaping her as you took her into your mouth.

“You taste so good,” you murmured against her, the words muffled by the weight of her in your mouth. Natasha's hips bucked again, her hands gripping the chair for dear life once again as you began to work her with your tongue, teasing her back to hardness.

Natasha's body was still trembling from her first orgasm, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as you continued your slow, teasing licks. She tried to steady herself, gripping the back of your chair harder, but the sensations were too much. Every flick of your tongue made her hips jerk forward involuntarily, and before she even knew it, she was starting to harden again.

You smirked against her length, feeling her twitch as she became fully hard in your mouth. "That's it," you murmured, lips brushing against her sensitive skin. "You're already ready for more, huh?"

Natasha whimpered, her face flushed as she bit her lip, too embarrassed to answer. But you didn’t need her to. You wanted to drive her over the edge again, and this time, you were going to take your time. Wrapping your hand around the base of her cock, you began to stroke her in tandem with the slow, deliberate bob of your head.

The warmth of your mouth surrounded her, your tongue pressing against the underside of her length as you took her deeper, inch by inch. Natasha's knees buckled slightly, and her hands flew to your hair for support, fingers tangling in the strands as she struggled to stay standing. Every moan she tried to stifle only grew louder as you picked up the pace, the wet, obscene sounds of your lips moving over her driving her wild.

"S-so good," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, shaking with each breath. "P-please, don’t stop."

You had no intention of stopping. Your hand continued to pump the base of her cock while your mouth worked the rest, hollowing your cheeks as you took her deeper. Natasha's hips bucked forward again, her body betraying her as she chased the pleasure. Her breaths were ragged, and you could feel her getting close again, her thighs trembling as you sucked harder, faster.

She didn’t last long. With a strangled cry, Natasha came, her entire body trembling as her release shot into your mouth. You didn’t falter, swallowing around her, not giving her a chance to recover. Her grip on your hair tightened, her whole body buckling as she tried to remain upright, but the sensation of your tongue still working her through her second orgasm made her lose control completely.

But you weren’t finished.

As soon as you felt her begin to soften slightly, you pulled back just enough to take a deep breath before plunging your mouth down again, taking her all the way to the base in one fluid motion. Natasha let out a strangled moan, her hips jerking as your throat constricted around her. She was completely helpless now, every thought leaving her mind as she lost herself in the feeling of your mouth wrapped so tightly around her. The wet, gagging sounds you made as you deepthroated her pushed her over the edge once again, her body trembling violently as she came a third time, filling your throat with her release.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, barely able to stand as her legs gave out beneath her, her knees buckling. "I-I can't…"

But the way her hands tightened in your hair told you that she didn’t want you to stop.

As Natasha trembled before you, utterly spent and flushed from her release, you pulled away, wiping your lips with a satisfied smirk. “I think we’re done here,” you said, standing up from your chair, feigning a tone of finality.

The look of disappointment that flickered across her face was instant, and though she tried to hide it, it was exactly what you wanted. A small, embarrassed frown tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting at her sides, but she avoided meeting your gaze.

"Something wrong?" you teased, letting your words hang in the air. Natasha’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. You grinned, taking a step closer, deliberately invading her space.

"Aw, poor baby," you cooed, running a finger along her cheek, your touch feather-light. "Were you hoping for more? Did you think I was really going to leave you like this?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes darting up to meet yours, wide and vulnerable. Before she could react, you pushed her down onto your chair, her body falling back against the seat as you straddled her in one swift motion. Her cock, still hard despite her exhaustion, slid inside you with ease, stretching you as you sank down on her with a satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her head falling back against the chair as her hands instinctively grabbed at your hips, trying to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensation of being buried inside of you, your warmth enveloping her completely.

Without missing a beat, you turned the chair to face your desk once more, your movements deliberate and controlled as you positioned yourself. Natasha’s grip on your hips tightened, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet.

You settled yourself, leaning forward slightly to grab a pen, pretending to return to your notes. Natasha’s eyes, however, were drawn to your cleavage, the way your breasts were just inches from her face. Her restraint shattered as her hands moved up from your hips, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breast while the other wrapped around your back to pull you closer.

She began to worship your breasts, her lips eagerly pressing against your skin, kissing and sucking, leaving wet marks along the curve of your chest. The soft weight of your breasts in her hands made her lose all sense of control. Her hips bucked slightly beneath you, the friction sending shocks of pleasure through both of you. You couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well what was coming next.

Natasha’s breathing grew more erratic, her kisses becoming more desperate, and before she even realized what was happening, she was coming inside of you. Her hands stilled, her body tensed beneath yours, her hips jerking up as she filled you with her release, barely fifteen seconds after you’d settled onto her lap.

“F-fuck!” Natasha gasped, her face flushed with shame as the realization hit her. “I—oh god, I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

Her words were cut off as her eyes widened in panic, suddenly aware that you hadn’t put a condom on her. Her hands gripped your waist, frozen in place as she stammered out apologies.

"Shh," you murmured, cupping her cheek with a soft smile, brushing her lips with your thumb. "It's okay, Nat. Don't worry." You leaned down, kissing her forehead softly. “I wanted this.”

Natasha looked up at you with wide, bewildered eyes, her blush intensifying as she tried to comprehend your words. “But I—”

You cut her off with another kiss, silencing her before she could spiral further into embarrassment. “I said, it’s okay,” you repeated, your voice firm but gentle. "You did nothing wrong."

Despite her lingering guilt, Natasha nodded, her breathing still unsteady. Her body relaxed beneath you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your chest, her blush deepening as she continued to mumble soft apologies.

For the rest of the day, you stayed that way, continuing to study while cockwarming her, her cock still snug inside you. Every half hour, like clockwork, Natasha’s body betrayed her once more. She’d shudder beneath you, gripping your hips as another orgasm washed over her, filling you again and again.

And each time, her face would flush with embarrassment, her whispered apologies slipping from her lips, but you simply smiled, squeezing her tighter, grounding her in your warmth as you reassured her again and again: this was exactly what you wanted.

a/n again- oops? i'm going back to studying again, see y'all! (no taglist for drabbles, unless y'all want one i suppose)

[moonlight-ee]

That’s America’s ass!

[mfxoxo]

I'm a slut for you, I won't deny it, I'm not trying to hide it.

I'm living on my knees, fuck me till I scream.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o�� shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[gemini-sensei]

i hope you're having a better day today! 🫶🏽

just kind of sitting here wondering about miguel and shy, nerdy larusso reader 😭 Very much in my head about miguel being head over heels for sam, until reader shows up (was out sick or something lol) and she's fully friends with all the nerds & miguel's like "why didnt you guys tell me about her?" and dem & eli are just like "idk 🤷🏻‍♂️ shes one of us?"

Maybe she's self conscious because she's bigger than her sister and has always felt like the second choice ?? Idk today is just a soft miguel kind of day for me lol would love to hear your thoughts if you have any!

- 🌼

"why didn't you tell me about her?" is such a mood tho.

Miguel comes to school, sees Sam and is kind of crushing. But the next day, Reader joins him, Eli, and Demetri at their table like "hey guys, sorry I was out. No one bothered you, did they?" and Miguel is absolutely lovestruck. She looks at Miguel and he's just staring until she waves at him with a cute smile.

"Hi."

"Hey."

They all talk about nerdy things like video games and comics, and the guys inform Reader on what she missed, which wasn't much. It's a fun time. It's great.

When she gets up to get another drink, Miguel looks at his new friends and is like "guys wtf!" and all Demetri has to say for himself is "Well, you were gonna meet her eventually, I didn't think telling you about her was all that important."

"Yeah, but she's totally hot and likes the same stuff as us, and you didn't think that was important?" Miguel asks.

Their conversation about it is cut short by Reader coming back and resuming the previous conversation. Miguel thinks that she's so cool.

Meanwhile, Reader isn't totally in love with herself. She constantly feels compared to her sister, especially as school. Sam is pretty and popular and has a lot of pretty and popular friends. She and Sam are so different body-wise as well that it's no wonder she gets so much more attention from guys. Reader would actually think Miguel is into Sam for a while, so she'd only look at him as a friend because she doesn't want to get hurt.

However, her feelings are uncontrollable. She falls for Miguel more and more with each passing day and they bond over karate. She doesn't tell him that her dad hates Cobra Kai or that Johnny is her dad's high school bully because she thinks that has nothing to do with their friendship. They will do karate in their free time, though, and that brings them closer together. They do other stuff together, too, like studying, playing video games, going to the movies; normal friend things., but she can't help but wish they were more.

Her insecurities around her body get revealed when they're watching a movie together and she accidentally lets it slip that she wishes she could look like the pretty actress on screen. Miguel is shocked by the admission and Reader becomes embarrassed. "You're beautiful just the way you are," he tells her and she shakes her head, mentioning how the pretty version of her is Sam. Then she excuses herself to refill their popcorn and Miguel is left to think about what she said. Oh how he wishes she saw herself the way he sees her.

Because he thinks she's so beautiful, inside and out, because her smile is shining and her laughter is angelic. She's smart and kind and sweet and nerdy in the best way possible. And she can do karate! What more could he ever want in a girl? So what if she's got some extra meat on her bones? he doesn't care about that. in fact, he'd say that's something he loves about her because no matter what body she's in, she's amazing. And he might wanna cuddle up and hold all of her close and give her extra fat a squeeze or two.

All he has to do it tell her he likes her and ask her out... but how?

[uc1wa]

my sweet atsumu who has the image of a player, of a total himbo whore to most of japan; especially when he moves straight from high school to playing professional volleyball

atsumu who gets constant migraines because of how much this bothers him; every morning, opening his phone to his pr manager, sending him a new article with a headline about a potential love interest for him. he wishes he didn't have to hire the man, but that's what top athletes worldwide do. several answers of no and he gets ready for the day.

atsumu miya who has never been in a relationship with a girl. he never gave himself the chance to think about crushes or the dating scene. since his youth, he's been committed to studying and training; landing him the career he shines in now.

so when hinata convinces him to make a dating profile, and one day when he matches with you and continues a conversation with you (it's a bit hard if he's being honest), he decides to pull the trigger: "would you want to grab a bite to eat sometime this week?"

a day or two later, he wants to cancel. he's shaking the hour he woke up, getting hardly any sleep the night before even though he had an entire day of training before the dinner date the two of you had planned. pacing around the room, miscalculating sets to his spikers, he's a nervous mess because what grown man hasn't gone on a single date in his life yet? atsumu miya is who.

[alana-reid-2005]

they really told us to trust the process

[1hot-mess-express1]

hear me out… toge with a spit kink, forcing you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue w his cursed speech so he can spit inside it, he abuses his power to dominate in the bedroom bc he keeps it pent up all day ffkdkskdkska

Listen, friend I hear you but also

I feel like he wasn't nasty AT FIRST. He was way too nervous and shy to do anything too mean; you for sure took his Vcard, so like at first, he was a little baffled, not sure what to do with himself. However, after the drunk!Toge incident....he had ideas. Absolutely nasty, vile thoughts on the regular, but despite his vulgar mouth and asshole humor, he's a sweet boy, so he kept them to himself. That quickly changes, however, when he's knuckle-deep in your pussy, curling his fingers in a way that has you slack-jawed and moaning his name. He can't help the way he stares at your mouth, or more specifically, your tongue. It's so soft and inviting, just begging to be spit on. He momentarily fantasizes about spitting in your mouth and forcing you to hold it there until you cum on his hand, effectively shutting up the cute noises you were making for him, forcing you to taste him the whole time he was rearranging your guts with his much larger hand. He groans at the thought and bucks his hips into the mattress slightly, but he's pulled from his thoughts when you lean up to whisper in his ear, "Tell me what you want....mmm, wan' you to force me...please." All sense of respectability goes out the window in an instant as he's gripping your jaw with one hand while the other one stuffed in your cunt takes on a brutal pace. "Open your mouth," his voice is misleadingly stern, as he feels himself get impossibly harder at the way your jaw hangs slack immediately, tongue sticking out slightly to taunt him. He leans down and spits directly on the surface of the pink muscle before telling you to "Close your mouth and don't swallow." His throat is getting mildly hoarse, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when you look like this, melting under his touch, jaw clenched shut as spit dribbles down the side of your mouth, trying desperately to obey his command.

He was a full blown menace after that, I'm praying for your cewchie

(Anon tbh at first I read this and was like....nah...my sweet boy? no way, buuuuuuut.....honestly......This is incredibly hot and I will be throwing myself out a window

[bloodibambiidoll]

Nerdy!Perv!Rafe x OF!Reader ⟡ coming soon ⟡

Shout out @rafeyscurtainbangs for the pics of Eugene and also helping me come up with this idea in the first place ♡

[ozzgin]

Can we PLEASE give nerdy yandere’s hair the okarun treatment? His hair just isn’t it

Come now, anon. If every character was conventionally hot, we wouldn't have any variety, would we? Nerdy!Yandere looks like your classic nerd stereotype. Of course he has a lame haircut, and pimples, and is awfully awkward. I would, however, argue that he doesn't really need a glow-up, as there are people who very much enjoy these traits (me included).

There's nothing wrong with being "uncool".