#I hope if I don’t make the cut for a PhD I can at least get into the Master’s program (both at the same school) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catboybiologist · 2 months

Note

so I went to college for a year on my parents dime, but the second year I suffered from severe burnout and returned to live with my parents and went back to my high school job, and now I’m just utterly terrified of the future as my job doesn’t even pay enough to make rent much less any other of the other physiological needs and I despise my parents but any path forward that I can imagine involves being dependent on them and the second year of college got so stressful I can’t imagine myself ever completing a degree, and you seem to have your shit together to a degree and I don’t even know what to ask but I just feel so hopeless

I hope this response is at least a little helpful. You're cutting deeply at something that a lot of people have experienced. I sympathize deeply. It's okay. And to tell you the truth, I don't have my shit together, and I'm at a similar crossroads to you. I'll elaborate on my own personal path after the cut, but if you want some advice, here's mine:

You're not gonna power yourself through burnout. You're not a failure, and what you're doing is okay. You need to take a real, hard look at what makes you happy. Not what career you want, what makes you happy. If that's your career, wonderful. If it's not your career, that's great too. It's okay to pause to reevaluate. Give yourself the patience you need. You're okay, and you will figure it out. But you can't power yourself through burnout. Something has to change. I can't tell you what. You're gonna have to figure that out, unfortunately.

But don't try to suffer through a degree that will make you miserable. You have to plan for the future, of course, but you need to remember that you're living in the present as well.

So how do you go forward? As I see it, you have two options: go back to school when you're rested a little, but in a different field than before (or a different approach like trade school or an associate's degree), or try to find a path forward that simplifies your life enough financially to make it on your own. Neither are easy. Both are possible, but brutally difficult.

You can slowly dip your toes into either option. Find out alternate jobs. Take classes from community college or online in a variety of subjects. But if you don't want to do any of that, its okay not to as well.

Take your time with yourself. I believe in you. But remember to enjoy yourself when you can. It's okay to be hurt. But you can try to love yourself too.

My overall point is: if you commit yourself to misery, it becomes addicting. The longer you resign yourself to living your life in a way that actively burns you out and doesn't make you happy, the harder it becomes to break that pattern. I spent a while that way myself. You don't have to read further, but if you want to hear my own personal vent and relation to this, you can if you want.

To tell you the truth, I'm considering quitting my PhD at some point. I'm still very undecided, but right now, I'm basically holding out until I can take my summer quarter off. Even if I wasn't doing that to socially transition, I need that to figure out what I'm going do with my life, and whether I want to complete this degree.

I've done a LOT of things I regret. And they were all in the name of committing myself to my own misery, and a lot of that was tied to academia, and appeasing my family. At first, I started giving up on dreams I had that weren't academia related (Mt. Whitney was a huge one, and longer thru hikes as well). It snowballed into a point where I didn't know how not to be miserable anymore, and I was actively suffering through things that I refused to change, simply because

That's... why I delayed transitioning so long. The first and last thought on my mind about it, the entire time I was getting my undergrad degree, was about how transitioning would affect my education, and my career.

I only started posting my first "femboy" pictures online in Fall 2021. At the time, I was deeply engrained into a really, really shitty situation, that I was doubling down on because I didn't want to impede the progress of my master's degree. I was trapped. I started posting the pictures because, well, I was in "fuckit, if I wanna kms anyways, might as well get some fun in before I do it". If anyone wants more detail, I might talk in DM, but it would mostly be me venting. For you, anon, I think my details aren't that important. I'm still scared of talking about it publicly even now, and I still regret getting into that situation every day.

Getting out of that was my breaking point. I realized that I needed to start living my life for me. I chose my PhD institution and lab in part because of available LGBT acceptance and resources, and started HRT about a year into my PhD when I was a bit settled.

And I love what I do! I still do! I love science!! I still love biology and research and the coding I do for it and discussing it and presenting it and all of it!!!! But is it worth it? Does I love it enough? And can I keep doing it?

I need to figure it out. And it sounds like you do too. Your individual considerations may be different, but its ultimately the same consideration: how happy will this make you, vs how miserable it will make you.

And that is a HUGE question, that won't be answered overnight. You're right to take a break and tackle it. I believe in you <3

#cw suicide

32 notes · View notes

kokonutcat · 6 months

Text

That's not right. Not fucking right and I can't be silent about this

I’m a fandom blog but before all a human person with opinions, feelings and critical thinking and there’s things that can’t be ignored

Yes, I'm talking about Palestine

I need to talk and at the same time I don’t have the words. I can’t stop thinking about it and what’s happening right now feels unreal. It’s not new at all unfortunately but still.

Right now, in 2023 they (the zionists) allow themselves to do ethnic cleansing like this with the western governments supporting them. And I don’t understand. Why they do that? What are their intentions? What do they want to achieve at the end and why? What do they feel when they’re committing all those massacres? What do they feel too when they cut access to water and electricity to a whole population?

I got it they’re white supremacists. They haven’t changed. There’s not bigger failures than them. But what will they do and what will they feel too once they eventually erase all the Palestinian population?

It’s sickening, to say the least.

The medias constantly showing us only one side like if they have something to hide, blaming the Hamas for anything and using the antisemitism excuse when we criticize isr@el also have their hands covered in blood.

I don't know what I should say about the victims. Feeling sorry isn't enough, as I said above I just don't have the words when I think about everything they've been through. I already saw disturbing videos… They’re losing everything. I truly feel guilty to ever have complained about my life.

We should never end talking about this, it’s the best way we can defend the Palestinian cause. And no it FUCKING DOESN’T makes you "too political". You don’t have to be an actual activist or to have a phd in political science to speak out against isr@el’s crimes, and against all the ones who are participating in this. You don’t have to do rant posts, even if you only reblog it’s better than nothing.

I hope this will never be just a phase or a trend people will move on from after some weeks. We should continue to speak the truth to not let all this zionist propaganda win. I believe we can do it.

This lasted enough time and it needs to stop.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #death to israel #death to zionism

12 notes · View notes

welldonebeca · 2 years

Text

Miss, Phd (V)

WC: 1.5k words Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of tension.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

The ride up to your flat was very weird, to say the least.

When Steve saw you in the lobby, you looked absolutely different from how he was used to seeing you. For starters, your hair was all wet, you were wearing fluffy slippers and there was a heavy look in your eyes like you had just walked through hell and back to get home.

Your flat was a surprising place. It was huge, and he was sure it had more rooms than you needed, but it wasn’t extravagant and opulent. Instead of those things, Steve found a cosy environment, with decoration a little chaotic – as if you had slowly put it together with the years, with plants around, a fireplace and a wall full of pictures of you with your father, a woman he assumed was your mother – a redhead lady who was always there with him in your talks and thing – and some half-pictures, that looked somewhere between cut off and folded to fit the frames. He could see the taste behind it, the idea behind your thoughts in it.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” you apologised, a little shy, as you closed the door. “And please, don’t take anything out of place.”

He just hummed positively, lifting his foot when a little cleaning robot passed by him, scrubbing the floor. The room wasn’t dirty, just… a little bit chaotic. It felt like a home.

“I’ll get you some warm clothes,” you told him. “I’m sure there is a good hoodie that will fit you somewhere around here if you are not too big for it.”

Steve watched as you left, walking into one of the rooms, and took the moment to look at some of your paintings. He was surprised, then, when his eyes fell on the painting that he had seen you hovering over in front of his classroom.

The one that had been bought by an anonymous collector.

Oh.

“I don’t suppose you would mind having your ankles out?” he heard and turned around quickly when you walked into the living room again, eyeing a pair of folded pants with suspicion.

“I’m taller than your partner?” he asked, unable to control himself, ignoring ho he was hoping – in the depths of his heart, in a little spot he wished to rain hidden, that the answer wasn’t the one he was fishing for.

“You are taller than my father,” you corrected him, and then eyed him up and down. “You got… many inches on him.”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. Yes, he knew your father was a little short, but not that much.

And… no partner.

Okay. Not that he cared, but okay.

You didn’t seem to notice his curiosity, checking on the thermostat.

“I’ll get you some longer socks to keep your ankles warm,” you decided. “But they might be a little...”

You fell into a short silence, biting your lip in hesitance, and he waited for a second, a little amused by your embarrassment.

“A little…?” he asked.

“Girly,” you decided, eyeing him up and down.

He couldn’t help the little chuckled that came from his lips.

“I’m okay with girly,” he decided.

Steve wouldn’t mind. Despite what his physique might tell you, he wasn’t going to fall apart at the sight of socks.

“Alright. The bathroom is the first door on your left,” you looked away from him, and into the corridor, pointing in the direction he should go, and he could see how you looked a little nervous as you rubbed your hands. “You can shower if you want because I have liquid soap, or you just dry yourself with a towel.”

You turned back to him and relaxed when he nodded. It was clear that you weren’t used to having people around your home, and the last thing he wanted was to make you more uncomfortable.

“Excuse me,” Steve spoke gently and took the clothes from your hands.

He dried himself with a towel, not feeling all that wet, but appreciating your offer, and dried his hair a little dismissively before picking up the clothes again. Yes, they were a little on the smaller side. The hoodie – the one with the Stanford name, something that looked like it would be too big for you – fit him almost well, a little tight around the arms but not uncomfortable, and the pants were too short for his ankles, even in his dress socks.

If this belonged to your father, as you had told him, he was indeed very short.

Steve carried his shoes out with him and his clothes draped over one hand, unsure of what to do with them, and frowned in a bit of confusion when he heard your voice from somewhere around, and raised his eyebrows when a door opened at the end of the corridor, revealing you.

“I’m done,” he announced awkwardly.

Your eyes moved from his face to the clothes you had given him, and then to the jeans and shirt in his hands.

“Where should I place these?” he asked, raising them.

Your gaze moved back and forth, like you didn't know how to answer at first, and for the briefest moment, Steve just wished he could hear what your mind was going through.

“I’ll go,” you decided. "Just make yourself comfortable."

And don't touch anything, he added to himself.

He didn't think you would be any happy if he moved anything out of place.

You picked up the clothes from his hands and walked out in stiff steps into a different room, and he moved around the room, a little too curious about the people in the pictures to stop himself from staring and investigating.

Your family pictures were curious, he had to say it.

Steve could see a lot of people repeating around - your father, your grandparents, a black man who sometimes appeared in uniform in some pictures and not in others. You were a curious little thing as a child, too: in some photos, you looked like he would expect any normal child to look like, with your hair - curled and long and all messy - stained with paint, a big smile on your face and sharing a warm moment with your family. In others, especially the folded and cut ones, that always seemed to hide someone out of the picture, you looked… dull. Sad. Your dresses lacked the mess a child would make when playing, your hair was so tightly tied that it had to hurt your head, and you weren’t playing with anything. There was no affection with anyone in the photo - though he could see glimpses of a leg or a dress, or a hand holding you in place - and you were framed like a porcelain doll.

Those photos were scattered, though, very rare.

And still, you kept them among the others.

The redhead that he had supposed was your mother only showed up in later photos, when you were already grown - probably a pre-teen - and Steve’s silent question to himself was answered when he saw a photo of the three of you in a beach, in what looked like a very small wedding.

She wasn’t your mother, but your stepmother. And a new official addition to the family, you looked a little older than just a teen at that wedding photo.

You two seemed very close, however, in the earlier pictures. He could see a story in there. Maybe one day you would want to tell him.

“That’s Pepper,” you spoke behind him, making Steve turn around quickly.

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment for being caught, but you didn’t look bothered.

“She is my dad’s wife, they got married a few years ago,” you explained, approaching him. “She always comes around with him when there is something important going on.”

Steve tried not to look surprised or intrigued, only nodding along.

“I know it looks like more time,” you leant in the direction of an older photo, where you were asleep in your father’s lap with her caressing your hair. “She’s been around for a while.”

He smiled a bit.

“You two look close,” he remarked. “I thought she was your mother, I didn’t know.”

You pressed your lips together, looking a little uncomfortable.

"A common mistake," you smacked them together. "No, my bio-mother left. She is not in the pictures, not officially."

Steve's shoulders tensed, and he could feel the blood just running out of his face.

You, however, didn't seem done.

"Here is her leg," you pointed at one of the stiff pictures. "And her hand, here."

He followed your fingers, a little hesitant, and bit his lower lip as you pushed your hands into your pocket.

"Baby trapping went wrong," you told him, at last. "And she ran for the hills."

The two of you fell into silence, and Steve sucked in a breath, all set into tension.

Alright.

That was a piece of information he wasn't expecting.

"Are you hungry?" you changed the subject abruptly. "I was just going to make myself pasta before the blackout."

Steve's metabolism was a little faster than normal, and maybe it was the stress and the awkwardness, but he really felt like he could use some good pasta.

"Sure," he decided. "Lead the way."

. . .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @letsdisneythings @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega

Marvel forever tags: @its-daydreamer23 @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @tayrae515? @indecisiondecisions? @afanofmanystuffs? @patzammit? @thevanishedillusion? @widowsfics? @alexisshoto @princess-evans-addict @dreams-of-feysand @xoxabs88xox @dragonqueen0606 @izbelross @isabelle-faith

Miss PhD: OPEN

20 notes · View notes

inkofamethyst · 2 years

Text

August 8, 2022

Me n all my homies hate quizlet and today begins my relationship with ~StudyStack~ bc quizlet be out here greedy with they all-our-good-features-are-now-premium nonsense. It’s one thing to add paid content and quite another to put existing content behind a paywall. It sucks bc me n quizlet got history. I’ve been using that site for years. Since ninth grade y’all. And they tryna pull a Notability and make us pay for stuff we been using. Absolutely not. I hope they lose their user base tbh. Anyway StudyStack seems better in most ways it’s just clearly not as well-known, but I’ll have to wait and see whether the ads are debilitating or not.

I watched the Snyder Cut while helping my sister braid her hair. It’s just kind of.. long? Like the movie is fine and quite.. extensive.. but it’s over twice the length of a normal movie. I will say that despite its length, I think the pacing and plot development was really well done, in my opinion. There was a constant build toward the climax, and even though it was “slow,” it was still constantly moving and I feel like that’s the most difficult part.

I’ve also been watching The Bachelorette with my dad (this is my first time) and it’s kinda wild and while I try my hardest to stay away from reality TV, I get why people watch these kinds of shows and I’ve totally been sucked in. I mean I don’t think I intend to watch The Bachelor season that follows (...I guess that remains to be seen bc if miss brunette lady doesn’t end up with mr. dreadlocks man and he’s the next bachelor (which I don’t think he will be tbh) I might have to), but I plan to see this one through lol.

Today I’m thankful that I should never ever ever have to memorize another stupid chem mechanism again ever. That fact just hit me and has filled me with glee.

About to go on vacation with my family and I know this is a terrible thing to say because this is a privilege that is being paid for and I’m probably going to have fun but it honestly feels a little bit more like an obligation than a vacation.

Also I’ve lowkey been hating myself recently and that does not feel great. Uhm.

Finally I have to get a minor procedure for my toeeeee because it didn’t fix itselffffff (I suppose one positive way to look at it is that I don’t have to get the procedure on both toes because one of them did (or at least it looks like it’s going to) fix itself) and like logically I know the anesthetic discomfort will only last less than a minute and that the procedure will be over before I can even start to cry (hyperbole but still) but I hate needles with all my mind, body, strength, heart, and soul. Well, I guess if I ever wanna sell feet pics online bc phd salaries suck then I’d have to have pretty feet and if this is how I get there then so be it. I’m mostly kidding.

Oh also (this is a complete non-sequitur but yknow) I’m thankful for the DnD game my dnd-friend invited me to pay with her, her bf, and her brother!!!!! It was a one-shot that she created and DM’d as a first-time DM and she did such an amazing job and the storyline was certainly well-crafted and it was fun going through the mystery and AGH I’m literally so proud of her :D

2 notes · View notes

twodimecastle · 3 years

Text

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #my writing #spencer reid fluff

277 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

Read your contribution on the post concerning academics using "simply put" and holy jolly macaroni that was some amazing takes and wonderfully explained too. I hope you know how good you are at saying things, jeez

Heh, thanks. Not to get back up on my old person soapbox and rant some more (though in my defense, it has been an exceptionally trying week), but the growth of an entire generation who think that everything can be said in a tweet and that anything longer or more difficult is automatically Elitist and Unnecessarily Complicated is... frustrating. To say the least. This kind of anti-intellectualism masquerades as woke leftism on (you guessed it) Twitter, as well as Tumblr. And like... I am an early career academic. I got my PhD in 2019 and have been trying to find a full time job ever since (in the humanities, during a pandemic, aha help me). I am More than aware of all the problems with the institution, its arcane quirks and outright infuriating nature, its elitism (in some cases) and everything else. Believe me, I know about all the parts that suck! I know about them INTIMATELY! But the answer to that is decidedly not "academics are frauds who just want to trick you into paying a lot of money and/or gatekeep Real Knowledge" or whatever other ice cold idiotic takes I am subjected to on this hellsite on a nearly daily basis. Protip: left-wing people aggressively discounting expertise, promoting "it's right if I feel that it's right and never mind facts," and "anyone who doesn't write in a style that I, John Q. Public, can immediately understand is an Elitist Bastard" is, uh. Not any better than when the right wing does it. See: every time I am forced to read with my own two eyes that historians are hiding the Real Queer History from you, or similar.

I know that my learned colleague @oldshrewsburyian also has many feelings about how university faculty are often treated as the enemy, when the enormous right-wing power of university boards and governing systems is often entirely ignored. (Yes, that article is from Teen Vogue, which waved goodbye to its last fuck a long time ago.) It's once more analogous to the Online Left TM almost exclusively blaming the Democratic party for "not doing more," while acting as if the openly fascist death cult Republican party that controlled this entire country for the better part of the last four years doesn't exist at all.

Teaching in the United States, whether at the grade school or university level, is never a job that anyone gets into because they're going to make money. Only the most senior tenured faculty at really ritzy places make good money, and for obvious reasons, that employment model has almost vanished. Now it's at will, part-time, non-tenure track "visiting instructors," which are easier to change out or replace and don't require an expensive lifetime contract. And guess what? It means that faculty may not have a stable or permanent job for years after finishing up to a decade (or more) of post-secondary education. And a lot of people cannot afford to live like that. So they quit. Then the humanities are treated as even more of a "worthless" degree, the next round of budget cuts hits, and the cycle starts all over again.

Anyway. As I have said before, we are in this mess in large part because America (and the western world, which is not off the hook here by any means) has deliberately cultivated higher education as something that is unprofitable, difficult, wildly expensive (see: the student debt crisis) and otherwise relatively pointless to pursue, since even a college degree can't usually get you an entry-level professional job anymore. There are problems on problems, not least this impulse for everything worth knowing to fit into a single (often wildly misinformed) Tweet thread. Reading things that challenge you and force you to take it slowly and take notes and not be sure of everything is fine! It's actually good! People should do it more!

That isn't to say that individual academics can't be bad writers, because they absolutely can. And yes, I know that post was a random Twitter screenshot from a random meme blog, and here I come blasting in like Captain Killjoy. But the strain of supposedly socially enlightened anti-intellectualism that is incredibly prevalent especially among young, college-aged, politically leftist people is both ominous and exasperating, and if we are ever going to get everyone out of their echo chambers, we have to start somewhere.

#anonymous #ask #school stuff

175 notes · View notes

there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts.

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame.

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67 because she’s the best.

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl.

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.”

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh.

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly.

“I have three PhDs!”

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.”

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that.

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off.

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him.

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact.

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.”

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —”

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree.

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.”

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Nope.”

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! In fact…”

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring.

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place.

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months.

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again.

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly.

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV.

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees.

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed.

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.”

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space.

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this.

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again.

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders.

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.”

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you.

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and —

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking.

— what?

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.”

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge.

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.”

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?”

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible.

“You’re… you…what?”

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged.

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.”

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle.

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features.

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.”

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?”

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss.

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away.

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs.

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered.

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.”

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed.

“I thought you were doing that.”

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —”

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.”

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.”

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.”

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched.

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action.

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air.

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.”

“So you didn’t know…”

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw.

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.”

“Like what?”

“Intense.”

“Yeah?”

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.”

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.”

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…”

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed.

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache.

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—”

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.”

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening.

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say.

There is now a sexy follow-up here!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader fic

620 notes · View notes

matthew-gray-gubler-lover · 1 year

Text

Spencer Reid Undying Love

meeting the team

you and spencer both knew when you first become a couple that it might end like this, one of you holding the other begging them to hold on, to stay with you, please don't die because they love you so much, you both knew but always hoped it would never happen.

june 23rd 2006 you had on a light pink button up top and black pants, it was your first day at the B.A.U you were hired by Aaron Hotchner you met him a few times but never anyone else on the team, it was till today as you entered the bullpen you see a few people, you don't know if you should talk to then or look for hotch, but then a man catches your eye he's talking rather quickly and gets cut off by a man telling him "nobody cares reid, and why do you know that?"

"because i read it in a book" the man answers.

he is wearing a dark blue sweater and tan pants and slick back brown hair and has a cup of coffee, you find him really sexy and hope that he is one of your them members.

"hi holly welcome to the B.A.U" hotch says hugging you.

"thank you Mr hotchner"

"please call me hotch" he smiles

"ok i will"

hotch walks you deeper in the bullpen

"are you ready to meet you team? he asks

you take a deep breath "yes i am"

"hey everybody can you welcome our new team member holly moore?"

they all walk over to you

"hi am Dereck Morgan"

"i am Elle Greenaway"

"Jason Gideon"

"hi my friends call me JJ and i can tell we are going to be friends"

and there he was waiting to talk to you, the fast-talking man, "oh my gosh he is a part of my team"

"Hello my name is Doctor spencer reid, and sorry i don't shake hands, i have a thing about germs, not that i think that you have germs, i mean everyone does but i don't think that you are a dirty person, i just don't like to touch" he smiles.

"wow reid really?" morgan asks.

"well i don't want her to think that it's just her" spencer tells him.

"let's go to the meeting room, we have a case" hotch tells the team.

it really didn't bother you that reid talked fast or didn't want to touch you, you are happy to spend some time with him, and the whole team.

when you walk into the room there is a big table there and 9 chairs, you don't know where to sit so you don't, that is till reid pulls a chair out for you.

"please sit, that is if you don't mind sitting next to me"

"i don't mind at all, and don't worry i will make sure not to touch you" you smile how could you not smile with him looking at you, with his beautiful brown eyes, oh boy this is going to be a hard job for you working alongside doctor spencer reid, but you will make it work, if you can just focus on the case and not on the sexy man next to you.

"so far it's been for women killed in LA all of them stabbed at least 20 times" hotch says.

"so no sexual assault?" morgan asks.

"no" hotch answers.

"well it is summer vacation a killer's playground" elle adds.

"well we need to stop him before he makes it to five victims, wheels up in 30" hotch says.

you all start to get up but as you do you hear a voice.

"hey i....i don't mind if you touch me, i don't want things to be weird between us" reid tells you with his hand on your arm.

"not at all, i like you already, you must be very smart to be a doctor already"

"well i have a lot of PHD's" he smiles.

"oh, well you are very smart then, i am happy to be working with you"

"and i am happy to be working with you" he tells you.

after everyone is one the jet, they start pulling out their files and going over crime scene photos and notes, since it is your first case, and it is young women being killed you are more than a little nervous, and sitting next to spencer reid is making it worse, you like him, and that is the problem, he is very cute, and from the time you have spent with him very nice and smart, he would never want someone like you, so you need to stop thinking about it and focus on the case, you take out a file and open it, and you see in the corner of you eye reid is taking something out of his pocket, you look over to see and he is now wearing glasses, he looks even cuter now, this is going to be impossible to not think about him, then the team starts talking about the case.

"so these women were all killed the same way?" elle asks.

"yes, all after leaving their boyfriends hanging out by the pool" morgan answers.

"did anyone talk to the boyfriends?" Gideon asks.

"yes, and they all had the same story, they were by the pool and the women goes to get a drink or go back to the hotel room, and they are found dead" hotch tells the team.

"so they were safe as long as they are with the boyfriend, but as soon as they are alone the killer strikes" reid says looking up from his file.

"it seems so yes" hotch answers.

"are the boyfriends willing to talk to use?" gideon asks.

"yes, i was told to call when we are ready for them" hotch answers.

"do you have anything you want to know holly?" hotch asks.

"well i do but it's silly" you tell him.

"i'm sure it's not, with is it?" hotch asks putting down his file.

"well these women are close to my age, am i going to be safe there?" you ask.

"of course, we are staying in the hotel where all of this is happening, but you will be safe" hotch tells you.

"ok, thank you" you say and look back at your file, you wish you could believe that you will be safe there, but in a room alone in a hotel where young women are being killed doesn't sit well with you.

reid seems to notice that and starts talking to you.

"are you ok?" he asks sweetly.

"not really, i mean two of these girls look kind of like me don't you think?" you asked holding up a photo.

"a little bit yes, but trust me we will not let you get hurt, i know it's scary seeing stuff like this, but one day you won't even notice it anymore, it will just be another photo"

"really?"

"yes, i promise"

"and in the meantime?" you ask.

"in the meantime, you have really good people around you, we are a family and we look out for each other"

"but this is my first day" you whisper.

"it doesn't matter, you are a part of the team, you are a part of our family" he smiles.

"thank you reid, is it ok if i call you that, or should i call you doctor?" you ask.

"reid if fine, or spencer if you would like, that's ok too"

"ok, and you can call me holly"

"ok, holly" he smiles and chuckles.

3 notes · View notes

buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

daddy issues - chapter i

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

Ransom felt as a loss for words while he stared down at the female looking patiently at him from across his desk. For once, he recognized her. Not only because she actually cut to the chase and asked him to get her into his bed, but also because she was one of the best lays he’d had in his life, which meant that she managed to still seem alluring to him, something that didn’t happen very often. Most of the time, after Ransom had his way with the woman he wanted for the night, he’d wake up only to figure out that any desire he’d felt towards her had been satiated.

It was one of the reasons he was sure he’d never be in a relationship. It just didn’t make sense. He would only end up hurting whichever woman he tried to keep, because his interest would soon end up elsewhere.

The same couldn’t be said about the girl who had asked for a meeting with him and was currently waiting for any sort of reaction to what she had come to share. First, besides having earned his respect from the moment he tried to pick her up at the bar, he’d woken up not to find her anywhere in his house. That very rarely, if almost ever, happened. He was used to having to ask one of his people to send the girls he slept with their own way, because they’d try to prolong their experience with him in hopes to get an actual relationship out of him. Well, tough luck.

Second, she hadn’t even left him a number or a note, something the few girls who had left him in bed made sure to do. Ransom felt like he’d finally found someone who understood that the night they had shared was only that, one night, but paradoxically, that made him intrigued. He found himself wondering about the mysterious woman, pondering if maybe she would be capable of interesting him a little more than most did. At the very least, he knew that if he ever met her at a bar again, he’d try to take her back to his place once more. At least once more.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for her to look for him in the office he had in his grandfather’s company, where she had come to tell him that she was pregnant with his child.

Several minutes had been spent in an awkward silence between them, while she waited for him to say something. At long last, he settled for an irritated mistrust, because the truth was, he had no idea what to do and for once in his life, he felt lost.

“And it’s mine?” The way the woman sighed before running a hand over her face made it clear she understood the tone with which those words had been uttered. Unfortunately for Ransom, however, her patience had worn thin.

“Look, Ransom. I haven’t slept with anyone else since we fucked last month and that was my first night of sex in a very long time. I know it’s yours, but I’m completely okay with doing a paternity test if you want to. The fact of the matter is that I’m only here because I feel like you have the right to know about the existence of any offspring you come to create, but I’m not asking for permission, support or anything else from you. I’m having this kid whether you like it or not, and I most definitely don’t expect any financial compensation from you. If you’d like to take part in this kid’s life, hell, if you want to be around for the pregnancy in itself, you’re welcome to, but as far as I’m concerned, unless you look for me, I don’t intend on seeing you ever again.” With that, she pushed away from the chair she had been sitting and stood up, but not before fishing out a business card from her pocket and dropping it on his desk, leaving without another word.

Ransom picked the card up, turning it around before waiting for a bit until the words made sense to him again.

Y/N Y/L/N

PhD Professor of Law

XXX - XXXXX

Well, at least he knew that his child would be well educated.

#ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fic

543 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for language and blood + references to violence Warning: Lil bit of kisses with dubious consent (initial surprise, then “hmm this is nice, I guess”), as well as a tiny bit of blood. Oh, and, ya know, mild referenced cannibalism. Notes: Still no beta reader, we die like innocent chickens unfortunate enough to be in Ethan Winters’ way. Also, I’m hoping this isn’t too ramble-y, I kinda. Got excited. Maybe sorta stayed up late to write this instead of sleeping, so... PS sorry for the cliffhanger, I could not resist. Next chapter will include the reader earning their PHD in Bullshittery, while also moving us into the, like, actual central plot of Serenade (or at least the part that the romance revolves around). Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne

Chapter 2: Overture

By the time you made it back to the maidens' quarters, it was nearly half an hour after your "shift" officially ended. Daniela hadn't taken up that much of your time, but her words had instilled a vigorous sense of anxiety in you, which had only drawn out your remaining tasks. You also weren't terribly looking forward to being interrogated by your coworkers. What would you even say? "Oh yeah, I accidentally played a note on the forbidden piano but instead of killing me, Lady Daniela just flirted with me and let me go! Haha smiley face emoji!"

Yeah, that would definitely go over great with the others. Maybe you could get away with pretending you hadn't been the one to play? Even though, you know, your daily duties were posted on the same wall as everyone else's, and anyone could see that you were the only person working in the music room today. Damnit, you think, everyone is always a bit tense when someone "gets off easy". Not that it happened terribly often. It simply made people nervous, considering they never knew if the Ladies of the house had been denied the "stress relief" they so desired, and whether or not they would want to take it out on someone else.

Hoping things would sail a little smoother this time, you took a deep breath and pushed the door to your quarters open. As soon as you stepped in you felt a dozen pairs of eyes turn your way. There had been muffled talking as you approached, but now it was silent, a heavy curtain of discomfort hanging over the room. Well, fuck, you thought, struggling to think of how to react. In the end you settled with a slightly-too-enthusiastic wave and a shy smile.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” One of the maidens asks, almost instantly, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed with confusion. If you remembered correctly, her name was Cynthia, and she was one of the (currently) longest running survivors. The two of you hadn’t spoken before, which made her next move all the more confusing. Without much of a warning she moved in front of you, reaching out to grab your hands, before gently holding them in front of her chest. When she speaks, it’s with a hushed voice. “How are you not dead right now?”

“I… have absolutely no idea,” you replied, doing what you could to avoid her gaze, but ending up meeting eyes with the others in the room.

“When you didn’t get back with everyone else… we assumed the worst,” Daphne, the closest thing you had to a best friend, said. She was towards the front of the small crowd of maidens, all of whom were now gathering around you out of curiosity. “You’re probably just lucky that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t home while you played, otherwise, well, I think we can all guess what would have happened.”

“Thank the Mother for that, literally,” Cynthia chimed, dropping your hands as she did. That caught your interest for sure. Despite being part of an eccentric “extended family”, it wasn’t that often that Lady Dimitrescu actually left the castle to visit the other Lords; or their leader, for that matter. Was something big coming? Or was it simply time for a regular check up? You didn’t have time to ponder that thought, as soon Cynthia was speaking again. “Now, please, regale us with your story, dear. It must certainly be interesting… seeing as you escaped unscathed.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, putting your hands up in a “slow down” motion. Sighing, you moved over to your bed, sitting on the edge, before starting to tell the others what happened. You left out a few details, such as the severity of Daniela’s flirting, as well as the way she touched you. By the time you reached the end of your story, the other maidens had settled in a semi circle around you. A few had started to get ready for the day shift while you spoke, but their movements were deliberately slow, and their gasps let you know they were definitely listening. It was, however, difficult to tell how anyone really felt about what you were saying. Were they looking worried because they were concerned for your safety, or for their own?

Hard to say. All you knew at the end of night was that no one was looking forward to the following night.

------------------------------------------------

Every shadow in the corner of your eyes makes your heart skip a beat. All day (night, technically) you’ve been overly paranoid, expecting Daniela or one of her sisters to pop out at any moment, their sickles raised, blood-stained lips pulled up into a grin, promises of violence dripping from their mouths. So far your anxiety had proven irrational. Experience, on the other hand, was reverse-reassuring you with memories of maidens you had hardly had time to get to know. Who were you to avoid such a fate? Could playing a little song really justify your existence to these people? These mutants?

Distracting thoughts like that swirled around your mind for hours, leaving you feeling faint and dizzy, as you desperately tried to focus on your work. Ironically, it was your tunnel vision on your worries that brought them to life.

“Humph, you should really pay more attention, sweet thing,” a voice whispers, right besides your ear. Immediately you jump, a little yelp escaping you, and whirl around to see who had crept up on you. Your wide open eyes soon settled on the youngest Dimitrescu daughter. A toothy grin lit up her face as she took you in, leaning in just close enough for you to feel her breath. “Missed me?” She asks, words melting into a fit of giggles. One moment she’s face to face with you, the next she’s evaporating into a swarm of insects, moving around the room with frightening speed before settling on a nearby table. Both her legs dangle off the edge, swinging a little in a childlike manner.

“Lady Daniela, I-” you stutter, hardly able to will yourself to speak. You can’t help but glance at the table with a feeling of anxiety, knowing that you had just finished cleaning it, and wonder if your work would be for naught. But it seems that Daniela doesn’t appreciate you focusing on something other than her. Again she buzzes into a cloud, this time coming closer to you, the insects circling you, occasionally tugging at your skin. Fight or flight tries to kick in, yet all you manage to do is freeze in place.

You don’t open your eyes until the sound of hundreds of wings beating dies down. Fresh drops of blood trickle down your brow, as well a few from smaller cuts on your arms. Panic still roots you in place, even as you stare up at Daniela with a frightened expression. At first all she does is laugh. Loudly, with no softness to it at all. This was exactly the sort of thing that you had been afraid of in the first place.

“Oh, you poor little thing… Did that hurt?” Daniela asks, trailing a hand up your arm, pausing just before her fingers touch blood. Then she leans in, once more putting her lips right next to your ear, slowly pulling off one of her gloves as she does. “Good. Maybe you’ll pay more attention to me now. You really should, being in love with me and all.” She says it so casually, and with such conviction, that you almost wonder if she knew something that you didn’t. Though you try to turn to look at you, you find her gloved hand holding your head in place. The other moves so slowly that you almost don’t notice it until her thumb is sliding across your forehead. Blood smears as she does this, but she doesn’t bother trying to be neat about it.

Instead she simply brings the finger back towards herself, her other hand turning your face as she does, so that you could make eye contact as she licks her thumb clean. As soon as the blood hits her tongue her eyelids flutter and a soft moan rises in her throat. Astoundedly the sound brought a strong blush to your cheeks. It was less about attraction per se, more about the inherently intimate nature of the moment. Daniela was so close, her hand resting on the back of your head, her eyes slowly returning their focus to you. When she sees you she can’t help but don a prideful grin.

“You taste even better than I expected, sweet thing- what a fitting nickname, mhmm?” Another giggle, another rush of blood to your cheeks. In the rush of the moment you found your fear fading out, slowly, gradually being replaced by a mix of confusion and… warmth? What is wrong with me, you think, mind racing with countless half-thoughts.

Suddenly, as quick as the strongest of impulses, you found yourself being pulled closer to Daniela, her bare hand moving to rest on your waist. For once her eyes left your own. Now they drifted lower, to your lips, giving you a single moment to realize her intentions before she acts on them. Your lips collide with hers before you can even think to protest. It’s a million times softer than you would have ever imagined- not that you had imagined. But now that you had felt this… damnit, you know you shouldn’t enjoy it, yet you found yourself kissing back nonetheless. It wasn’t like it meant anything, right? Not like you’d have a chance to kiss anyone else around the castle, either.

Within a couple moments you realize two things: One, Daniela was smiling into the kiss. Two, by Jove (by Miranda?) was she seemingly inexperienced. Based on how much flirting she had done, you had naturally assumed that she was in no way, shape, or form new to this. The kiss was a bit sloppy, although passionate, and Daniela seemed quick to mimic your movements. More than that, it seemed like she was unable to catch her breath (did she even need to breathe? Or were the movements more out of habit than anything else?). By the time she pulls away she needs to gasp, and you’re left absolutely reeling, unsure how to process any of this. On the other hand, Daniela was softly grinning, gently resting her forehead against your own.

“Delectable, darling,” she murmurs. There’s a softness to her voice that you simply cannot fathom is real, at least not entirely so. Then a pause, with her gently running her fingers through your hair, before she gives you one more little peck on the lips. When she pulls away, just far enough to really look at you, you see something in her eyes that fills you with dread: Hunger. “I think I know what you want, what you need. You want to be with me, forever, a part of me, don’t you? They always do, in the end…” Her eyes shift to your neck, and suddenly her grip on you is dangerously tight.

Instantly you shift into panic mode, trying to squirm out of her grasp to no avail. This seems to irritate Daniela, who digs her nails into your waist, making you gasp. Without hesitation she seizes the opportunity to push you against the nearest wall, the hand that had caressed you so gently now pinning you down. Your thoughts are racing, desperately searching for anything that might buy you some time to get away, or even dissuade her entirely. But seconds tick by with nothing coming to light, your hope quickly fading. Gulping, you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to accept your fate.

And then… it hits you. An idea, maybe, that might just be stupid enough to work. Here goes nothing…

“Wait! Don’t you want me to show you my love?” You ask, somehow managing to mask the pure terror you were feeling. Hell, you slipped in a bit of confidence, sounding far, far more sure of yourself than you really were. Apparently it was enough to give Daniela pause. Her teeth had been mere inches from your neck, but now she was watching you closely, head tilted at a slight angle. “I can hardly do that if you kill me so soon, love. Don’t you want to see everything I have to offer? To know me truly, fully, before we become as one?” Another pause, a little hum from Daniela, then a slow, spine-chilling smile.

“Go on, then… show me.”

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #yes every chapter will be named after a musical term #what can I say I gotta put those 8+ years of piano lessons to use #not like I've released two albums or anything #that was sarcasm #anyway please enjoy

203 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

Note

I'm not sure if you're still doing song lyric prompts, but any time I hear boys by lizzo the line "Got a boy with degrees, a boy in the streets a boy on his knees, he a man in the sheets" reminds me of spence🥰 🥰 🥰

Thank you, I loved this! Mentions of bondage and rough sex.

Send me a song lyric and a CM pairing and I’ll write you a blurb.

Spencer Reid loved that people saw him as the sweet, bookish Doctor. He loved that no one expected what he was capable of, that behind his facade or sweater vests and statistics, was a sexually charged man hungry for flesh.

He had his PhD’s, he was polite and charming in a kind of nerdy way.

Noone suspected that behind closed doors, Spencer Reid was an animal in the sheets.

He loved taking people by surprise. He loved taking someone home and then expecting him to be shy and awkward.

He loved the look on their faces when he threw them roughly to his bed and took charge.

Spencer was a dark horse. He knew his team thought of him as the awkward Doctor who couldn’t get a date much less anything else. But what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

He liked keeping his sex life a secret. They didn’t need to know that when they thought he’d spent a weekend off catching up on reading he’d actually spent the whole between the sheets. They didn’t need to know when they got called in to work in the middle of the night he usually hadn’t been sleeping anyway.

He had fetishes only his lovers were privy to. He was particularly keen on bondage, nothing turned him on more than having someone chained to his bed while he did whatever he liked to them.

He had to be in control. That was his one rule. He called the shots, he was the dominant. It was his way or the highway.

He was so passive and submissive in his everyday life that no one would suspect what he was capable of once in the sanctity of his own apartment.

Least of all you, the newest member of the team.

You were sweet and smiley and keen to get involved. Spencer had taken an instant liking to you. He wanted you in his bed, he knew that immediately. And he knew he would have you. It would only be a matter of time.

It took less than two weeks. He’d asked you to dinner, playing the gentleman as he always did. You’d agreed eagerly. Of course you had.

You’d exchanged polite conversation over dinner, getting to know each other better over good food and several glasses of wine.

Spencer had deliberately picked a restaurant close to his apartment, not that you knew that. He suggested a walk after dinner which you’d agreed to, not wanting the night to over.

Little did you know, it was far from over.

You’d walked for around ten minutes when Spencer had come to a stop outside an apartment building.

“This is me.” He told you, a look of mischief in his eye. “Would you like to come up for a drink?”

He had no intention of offering you a drink.

If it had been anyone else you would have said no but you trusted Spencer so you nodded and he led you inside.

You followed him upstairs and watched him unlock the apartment door.

You followed him inside and scanned the room while he closed the door.

“Nice place you have here. Impressive book-“ you were cut off your sentence by Spencer grabbing you by your shoulders abs shoving you back against the wall.

He kissed you hard and frantically and you were so dumbfounded by his sudden surge of confidence you let him take the lead.

It really wasn’t long at all before he had you naked and handcuffed to his bed.

You were turned on and confused all at once. You had not expected Spencer to be this way.

He teased you to the brink over and over again, not letting you reach your orgasm until he was ready for you to do so.

He fucked you from behind, spanking your ass until you were sure you wouldn’t be able to sit down again.

He left marks all over your body. He left you sore but more satisfied than you’d ever been.

After he soothed your bruises and welts with a wet cloth, asking over and over if you were ok.

Truth be told, you were more than ok. You’d never experienced anything like it.

“That was unexpected.” You smiled sleepily.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”

“Yes you are.” You laughed kissing him softly.

“I hope that’s ok.”

“I already told you Spence, it was more than ok. You aren’t the only one with secrets.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrow raised mischievously.

“Mmm hmm.” You hummed.

Suddenly you were standing up from the bed, staring down at him.

“On your knees.” You demanded.

Spencer sat up, his eyes curious.

“And if I don’t?”

“Do you want to risk it?”

His cock throbbed at your tone.

He stood up briefly before falling to his knees in front of you.

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever be the submissive. But for you he might make an exception.

Got a boy with degrees, a boy in the streets a boy on his knees, he a man in the sheets.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

282 notes · View notes

ghost-party · 3 years

Note

Congrats on your 200 followers my dear!! Can I please get a Roommates AU with Levi?? Thank you so much, you are wonderful and I heart you 🥰🥰🥰

Thank you, Lauren! 😊❤️ YOU’RE wonderful, and I love you so much! I really hope you enjoy this oneshot.

Warnings: swearing, banter, bad first date (not with Levi), alcohol, a little angst, small confessions

• • •

Levi + Roommates

“Wow. You’re actually wearing it.”

“What?” Levi looks at you, and then down at his apron — forest green, with a grumpy-looking black cat embroidered on the front. You gave it to him for Christmas last year, but you’ve never seen him use it.

“Yeah, well...” He returns to scrubbing the countertop. “I haven’t done the laundry yet.”

“It looks good on you.” And it does, paired with a black t-shirt that hugs his toned arms and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

You didn’t used to ogle your roommate. When you first moved in, he annoyed the shit out of you, criticizing your overall cleanliness and putting a chore chart on the fridge.

You were both exhausted grad students, trying to make ends meet and cling onto whatever sanity you could. In an effort to avoid committing murder, you tried to focus on Levi’s positive qualities. And at some point in the last year, his quirks had become more tolerable — even endearing.

He was an excellent cook. Whenever you went grocery shopping, he always supplied a clear and organized list of ingredients he needed. When you came down with bronchitis around midterms, he brewed tea, ran hot baths for you, and worked with your mutual friend, Petra, to gather your missed assignments. He endured move nights, even when you picked something he had no interest in watching.

You also began to notice small things about him. How his hair fell across his face while he was reading. How his strong hands flexed while chopping vegetables or pointing at something in your textbook during study sessions. How his shirt clung to his body when he returned home after a workout. How his dark eyes revealed more than his face usually did — amusement, irritation, curiosity...

“Going out?”

His question brings you back to the here and now. You’re standing beside the door, coat in one hand. “Yeah. I have a date with a guy Petra’s been wanting to set me up with.”

Levi makes a derisive noise. “Oh yeah?”

You roll your eyes. “Go on. Say it.”

He peers at you over his shoulder, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Let me guess. It’s her new coworker — that hipster asshole.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“So I’m right.” He turns to face you, looking agitated. “The guy who thinks he’s going to write the next Infinite Jest. I didn’t realize wearing pre-faded, fake vintage t-shirts was a personality trait.”

“Are you done?”

“What’s his name again? Zed?”

“Zeke.” You shoot Levi an exasperated look as you grab your keys. “What’s your problem? Seriously. You met him once, when we stopped by the café to see Petra. What, did he piss in your tea?”

Levi bristles, clenching the sponge in his fist, and you wait for his next snarky comment. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his expression flattens into apparent boredom. His gaze, however, is sharp and... something else.

You open your mouth, so close to asking if he’s okay, but he cuts you off. “Have fun.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter. Even as you close the door behind you and walk to the elevator, you can’t stop thinking of how he looked when you turned away. Almost as if he were sad.

• • •

When you walk into the apartment a few hours later, Levi’s sitting on the couch, a book held loosely in one hand. He takes one look at you and says, “That bad, huh?”

You kick off your shoes and drop your coat and bag on the nearest chair. “If you even think about saying ‘I told you so,’ I’m not bringing you a drink.”

“That’s a weak threat.”

After pouring two glasses of wine, you join him on the couch, curling one leg beneath you. “To be fair, it wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

Levi sets his book aside. “But...?”

“All he did was talk about himself — the whole time.” You groan, dropping your head back against the cushion. “He told me about his novel.” When Levi snorts, you point a warning finger at him. “Don’t you dare. Anyway, he’s ‘shopping it around,’ this epistolary examination of man’s existential shortcomings or whatever. And did you know he wants to get a PhD — in creative writing? In this economy?”

Levi merely hums, taking a sip of wine. “I just... felt bored, you know?” you say, looking down at your own glass.

I wish I had been with you instead. The words are right there, so close to being spoken aloud. But you hesitate.

Unfortunately for you, your roommate is inhumanly perceptive. You feel him shift, turning toward you. “What?”

“Stop that. It’s creepy.”

“Huh?”

“Reading my mind, or whatever it is you do.”

“Tch...” When you look up, you see that he has one arm propped on the back of the couch, his head resting in his hand. “It’s not my fault you’re so obvious.”

“Is that so?” You’re feeling daring — like you’re finally on the precipice of something, so close to the feelings you’ve been avoiding for months now. “Then tell me, what am I thinking?”

Levi stares back at you, dark eyes seeming brighter in the dim evening light. “That you would have had a better time with someone else.”

You laugh softly. “Damn, you’re good...” Tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, you ask, “Were you thinking that earlier, before I left? Is that why you were so upset?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

When you quirk an eyebrow, he glances away. “Maybe,” he mutters. You patiently wait, knowing how rare it is for him to talk openly about his feelings. You’ve always had the impression that he’s unused to closeness, or, at the very least, unfamiliar with how others tend to express emotions.

“I didn’t want you to go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He huffs out a sigh. “Because I’m shit at this. And who am I to tell you what to do? If you want to date some pretentious fuck, why should I get in the way?”

There’s that look again — sadness, along with frustration. “Maybe I want you to get in the way,” you murmur, watching as his eyes widen. “I’m not good at this either.” The relief of being open and honest outweighs your nervousness. “I don’t know how to go from this —” you gesture between the two of you “— to something else.”

“Is that really what you want?”

You set your glass down and turn to him. “You’re blunt. And stubborn, and you always call me on my bullshit. But you’re also kind. Maybe the kindest person I know. You just have your own way of showing it. And I like all of those things. I like you.”

Levi is silent for a long moment, and you’re unsure what he’s thinking. But then he lifts his hand, reaching toward you and gently smoothing back your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear.

“You’re messy.” When you start to protest, he shushes you. “And you’re just as stubborn as me. At least sometimes. But you’re patient. Thoughtful. Not the worst person to live with.” His lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. “I guess I like you, too.”

“You guess?” Your tone is teasing. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Brat,” he grumbles, ruffling your hair before pulling away. He reaches for the remote, queuing up the show you’ve been watching together.

“Do I get to plan our first date?”

“No.” When you sigh, he says, “I already have something in mind.”

You notice that small smile again, barely noticeable in profile. And as the opening credits roll, you settle your hand close to his, in the open space between you. He covers it with his, squeezing gently.

#200 followers event #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader

218 notes · View notes