Dyke

(they/them, 22)  FREE PALESTINE - LIBERATION FOR ONE CAUSE MEANS LIBERATION FOR ALL

[sexy-necromancing-bird]

Is the guy in the cuck chair supposed to stay quiet or is he allowed to clap and cheer

[foxgirlmindcrank]

he's supposed to take notes and make an intrigued hum when an interesting plot point occurs

[conspiracydeerist]

[blu3str1k3]

[thisarenotarealblog]

one is getting cucked by the bottom and the other is getting cucjed by the top. Subject matter experts discussing the sex like a sports panel

[morganoperandi]

One cuck always lies, the other always tells the truth. You have one question to determine who’s a top and who’s a bottom.

[whumpster-fire]

[replicated-archive]

I do in fact have that summertime sadness

[ohangeleyes]

⤷ ゛𝐖𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 ˎˊ˗ ִֶָ་༘ ࿐ 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 smut. nsfw content. set in s2. witch!female reader. spells. wet dreams. secret crushes. male masturbation. sammy is very very desperate and down bad. one single use of y/n. small plot-ish. lowercase intended. english is not my first language and idc if there are any mistakes. this is not ai. :)

˖Ი𐑼⋆ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 i lowkey rly hate this but i just wanted to get it out and also i got the spell from reddit lmfao

the first thing sam registers is the softness of your skin. he's trailing his hands down your body, your warm, welcoming and pliant body. your naked body. he's gripping the skin just hard enough to leave marks and drive those velvety whimpers out of you.

then it's your voice. your lips close to his ear, enough to make him shiver. you're moaning out his name and sam feels like you're luring him in a place that he can never escape from.

then it's the warmth and tightness he feels around his cock. he looks down and it's the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. you're practically split open under him, for him to use as he'd like, to do whatever he'd want to.

your hair is falling perfectly in your face as your eyelashes flutter to look up at him. you look angelic. but you sound even more beautiful. "i'm all yours sammy, you can have me however you want", you say and sam almost falls apart.

he doesn't know how he got in this position, but whatever satisfaction he is feeling is enough to overpower anything and everything.

"you know i love you, right?" sam's voice breaks near your ear and you nod. "i know... i know, baby", you respond with a husky voice, your fingers gripping his hair, "i love you even more."

then sam wakes up.

he wakes up in cold sweat. his eyes flushed. pupils dilated. breathing heavy and shaky.

he looks around frantically. it's dark. very dark. the only light he notices is the moonlight illuminating in the room from the open window.

right. he's in his motel room. with his brother.

with his brother. dean.

shit.

he glances over dean's bed. he's passed out on the mattress, his bedding all messed up between his legs, with his mouth ajar and sam immediately feels a sense of relief for not waking him.

another thing he feels is the sticky, wet substance coating his underwear and his shaft.

his head drops back on the pillow under him, an annoyed and embarrassed sigh leaving his lips. he's rubbing his eyes, but your image is still not leaving his mind.

it's like he can still feel your presence. it's like he can still hear you.

"you can have me however you want".

sam shakes his head, shutting his eyes so hard it almost hurts.

he finally removes the covers off his body, as he sits up on the bed, his feet touching the cold floor. he feels a shiver run down his spine. his head lazily drops down.

sam is embarrassed. ashamed. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.

he wants you right there next to him. for you to put your arms around his shoulders. to kiss his neck, his jaw, his lips. he wants to run his fingers through your soft hair, touch your soft face, kiss your soft lips.

his hands fist the bedding.

he wants to feel you. to touch you. he desperately wants to touch you. he wants to dig his fingers in your skin, not the sheets underneath his hands.

he sit up from the bed, quiet enough not to wake his brother.

he wants to have you however he desires. and right now he wants you on his bed, maybe dressed in just your undergarments, or his t-shirt, or nothing at all.

he grabs his clothes from his duffel bag and enters the bathroom.

he wants to show you how he feels. to show you all the desire he has for you. all the longing, all the craving. he also wants you to feel the same way, even for just a tiny bit.

his hand reaches to turn the water on. he undresses himself and throws his dirty clothes on the floor. the water is cold when it hits his skin, opposite of how warm your touch felt. it's like a punishment for him.

he washes the shame away from his skin, but his mind is still getting flooded by you.

the most embarrassing thing for sam is that this isn't the first time something like this happened. sam can't even count how many times he has ended up in the shower after dreaming about you.

it has become a routine for him now. go to sleep. have you in his dreams. wake up. take a shower. try falling asleep again. fail. go on a walk. be sleep deprived the rest of the day.

it's like you're a ghost sam is touching every single night but still can't quite fully reach.

but still, he prefers being exhausted and having you like that, even if it's a dream, than have nothing at all.

3 months ago, sam saw you for the first time at the harvelle's roadhouse. and he felt immediately captivated by you.

dean got busy talking with jo. and you and sam got busy having a drink together. that night was the first time sam lost multiple rounds of pool to someone else.

you were beautiful. magnetic. you had a smart mouth. and a smart brain too.

2 months ago, the brothers joined you on a hunt.

they happened to stop by the roadhouse again. where, of course, sam wasn't dying to see you. after 2 drinks, he asked ellen where you might be. she told them that you were hunting down a ghost just 2 hours away with a small smirk on her face.

he managed to convince dean to check on you, which, of course, wasn't suspicious at all. he was just worried, right?

the second he saw you, he felt captivated again. you were like a breath of fresh air.

and the second you parted ways again, sam felt weird. really weird. he felt miserable. and alone.

1 month ago, the dreams started.

it started pretty innocent at first. you and sam doing casual, everyday things. hunting together, grabbing coffee together, research together. he kissed you in his dreams for the first time and sam woke up with a feeling of longing weighing heavy on his chest.

then one night it took a drastic turn. for better or for worse, sam still hasn't figured out yet.

the last thing he remembered is turning all the lights off and going to bed. exhausted. but what he was feeling in that moment felt so real.

he was walking out of the bathroom when he saw you sitting on his bed. he was dressed in his pajamas and you only had your undergarments on. they were black, lacy, hugging your body just right. your cheeks were flushed and the soft yellow light from the bedside lamp was hitting your face in a way that made you look angelic.

sam stopped dead in his tracks. he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"come closer." you whispered, but it felt like your voice was everywhere. it felt like a siren.

sam's feet moved on its own. he stood right in front of you, staring down to you.

your eyes fluttered to look up at him. you took his hand into yours and moved it on your chest, your gaze never leaving him. his rough, calloused hand covered your breasts and sam shuddered.

you trailed his hand lower. slow and careful. making him feel the soft skin of your stomach, your waist. then you moved it on your thigh, making him dig his fingers in your flesh.

your other hand reached to the back of his neck, slowly moving his face down to yours. your touch was featherlight, but sam was on his knees in front of you in a second.

there was barely an inch of space separating both your lips. but you weren't kissing him. not yet. not on the lips anyway. you mouthed right below his ear, your breath hot and heavy on his skin, it was making his own breathing shaky.

"touch me" you whispered, like poison, your bottom lip grazing his earlobe. if sam was awake, he would most definitely freeze right then and there, but this sam, the bold and eager sam, moved his hand between your legs. his fingers felt the wetness pooling in your panties, the way you started grinding your hips against them, the way your hand gripped his hair tighter.

your body laid back down on the mattress, your head resting on the soft sheets, your lower back arching, making him feel your clothed cunt even more. both his hands moved to the sides of your underwear, slowly pushing them down your legs and discarding them on the floor.

he hooked his arms under your legs, making you rest them around his shoulders. that's when your scent hit him, so close to his face, so magnetic and yours. his tongue immediately moved to your slit, licking up to your clit and, jesus christ, you tasted so divinely sweet.

he mouthed and sucked on you like you were his last meal. oh, and the voices you were making, the soft whimpers, the repeated "my god-, sam", they were music to his ears.

his gaze never left your face, your body, the way your chest moved up and down so perfectly on his bed. your fingers desperately clawed at his hair and sam could swore in that moment that you were his salvation.

that was the first time sam made a mess in his bed by dreaming about you.

that night, he finally admitted to himself that maybe, maybe, he had a crush on you.

next time it happened, you were on your knees for him.

his hands were gently removing the stray hairs from your face and wiping the tears away from your face, as you gagged on his length, drool dripping down your lips. you kissed the tip of his dick and that alone was enough to make sam cum all over your face and tongue.

next time, sam was fucking you in the cramped backseat of the impala. then in the abandoned house, where you both were hunting down that ghost. then back in his motel room, but this time it was soft and so loving. the latter did the most damage to him. he barely talked for 2 days.

tonight, in the shower, sam finally admitted to himself that he definitely is in love with you.

the water is still cold when it hits his skin, he doesn't even bother to reach for the handle to make it warmer. all he can think about is you and the pain of not having you.

if sam didn't know any better, he would think that you were doing something to him. but he actually doesn't know any better.

what sam doesn't know is that these dreams didn't appear out of nowhere, or just because he was thinking of you every time he went to sleep. or, to be fair, every minute.

no. sam is clueless.

he doesn't know that you're not so cold-hearted to him as he thinks.

he doesn't know that hunting's not your full time job either. not really.

he doesn't know that a month ago you dug deep into your grimoire, deep into the spells and the ancient latin.

all you needed was a piece of his beautiful hair, a red skull-shaped candle and a full moon. you put some herbs in a bowl, light the candle and drew your blood over his eyes on his picture and sam was completely gone.

that's when his dreams started.

you redid the spell every full moon.

he thinks it's only because he's obsessed with you. he really has no idea. he's completely unaware that everything is going according to your plan.

he scolds himself as he dries his body. he thinks he's a disgrace as he puts a new pair of boxers on and goes back to bed.

and he thinks he's miserable when he's not able to go back to sleep. couple hours later, the sun starts slowly shining on his face from the window. he spent the whole night thinking about you again.

he thinks you have no idea.

the next day goes by relatively easily.

they found who the vengeful spirit might've been, found his grave and burned his bones.

both of them were supposed to go back to a bar close to their motel (because dean just wanted a beer, not to talk to that blonde waitress who gave him her number), but sam was so tired.

dean just ended up dropping him off to their room and drove straight to the bar.

sam opened the door thinking of you. he took a shower thinking how pretty you would look with water droplets on your face. he dressed himself thinking how good his shirt would look on you.

he turned the lights off and got in bed thinking how soft you would look next to him, under the covers. jesus christ, he was going crazy.

sam closed his eyes, trying not to go insane by imagining you in the same bed as him. and as he slowly felt the exhaustion take over him, his hand instinctively reached out to where you were supposed to lay.

he opened his eyes again, but this time, he saw you.

you were already looking at him, a small smile on your face, your hair messed up in the most perfect way. you were wearing his shirt, he felt the familiar cotton feeling from where his hand laid on your waist. the sheets were barely covering your bare legs. the moonlight was illuminating on your face in a way that made you look like a work of art.

sam felt like the heaviness on his chest disappeared the moment he saw you. somewhere deep down in his heart, sam knew this wasn't real, but lately he's only every felt good and normal in his dreams, with you.

"missed you", sam whispered, barely audible. you reached your hand to his face, thumb caressing his cheek.

"are you feeling okay?"

"only when you're here." he admitted, his hand tightening on your waist.

you raised your upper body, resting on your left arm. "want me to make you feel better?" you whispered, bringing your face closer to his and sam nodded immediately.

you kissed him so softly, your lips so sweet against his. you put your hand on his abs under his shirt and sam could feel his cock twitching in his boxers.

your lips moved down to his neck, kissing up to his earlobe, as your hand trailed down to his clothed shaft, touching him. sam groaned near your ear, his hand shaky as it gripped your shirt.

you put your hand in his boxers, pulling his hardening dick out and moving your palm up and down around him.

"i love you so much", sam confessed, "i don't like not having you close to me."

"then have me however you want sam."

then he woke up. again.

a wave of disappointment and frustration washed over him. he checked the clock on the bedside table. it has only been 40 minutes since he went to bed.

he moved his hips against the mattress and that's when he noticed. he awoke earlier than usual. his dick was still hard and aching.

he groaned immediately, his breathing heavy. he could barely open his eyes, let alone properly take care of his situation.

but he couldn't help it. his hand covered his shaft instinctively.

he rubbed his clothed dick first, exactly like you did in his dream a minute ago, then he pulled his rock-hard dick out, precome dripping down his length . his hand started moving up and down in a fast pace. he was desperate for relief.

but that alone didn't satisfy him. not really. so sam closed his eyes and imagined it was your warm mouth that wrapped around his dick instead of his own hand. he imagined his hand holding your hair up for you, maybe pushing your head down to gag on him if he was feeling a bit selfish.

he imagines all the things he would do to you after that. "then have me however you want sam", your voice still lingers in his head and he almost combusts.

sam wonders if you have ever thought about him like he does, if you have dreamed about him. or if you have touched yourself thinking about him. god you would look so beautiful, your fingers working on your clit, your back arched, mouth slack. you would probably be loud. if not, he would drive out every single moan and whimper out of you.

he thinks how beautiful his name would sound if you screamed it out.

he felt his thigh muscles tighten immediately, as he stroked himself one last time. whispered curses and your name fell from his lips repeatedly as he came all over his boxers.

sam feels relief everywhere in his body as his head drops back down on the pillows, chest moving up and down franticly.

but then again he feels shame, he feels guilty, because of course he does. it's sam winchester.

if only he knew.

he goes in the shower again, washing away all the sweat and humiliation.

as he exits the bathroom, he hears the door click open.

dean comes in the dark room, his cheeks rosy, evidently satisfied and a little tipsy.

"i thought you were exhausted" he speaks and sam almost drowns in his shame.

"couldn't sleep" he barely gets the words out, but it was enough for drunk dean to not suspect anything.

"pack your stuff, we're going to nebraska" dean reaches for his own bag and clothes.

"what's in nebraska?"

"ellen called. said they got a lead on yellow-eyes."

sam let out an exaggerated sigh as he sat on the corner of his bed. "can't this wait till morning?"

"nope. get your ass up sammy, you can sleep in the car."

it's not that sam didn't want to go. or wasn't interested. he just didn't give a fuck about anything right now other than you.

"oh and guess who found the lead" dean turns to look at his brother. his tired, irritated, annoyed brother, whose head just dropped down dramatically.

"who" sam replies, his voice muffled and barely audible.

"y/n. she's at the roadhouse already", dean speaks.

sam's face immediately shots up. you? you were there at the roadhouse?

he was gonna see you? in a couple of hours?

"i'm telling you man, she's one hell of a smart girl." dean exits the room, leaving the door open, walking to the impala parked right outside.

sam feels like someone threw a bucket of ice over his head.

"don't take all night now, grab your stuff." dean yells out. but sam can't really hear him. he isn't really listening anymore.

sam was going to see you.

but how the hell was he supposed to look at you in the eyes? after all of... this.

"shit" sam breathes out.

he was fucked.

hated this but ykw.. at least its not ai. i CANT promise pt2 but... we will see...

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. @mostlymarvelgirl @charliesangel67 @videwly @everythingisaspectrum @that-stanford-girlie @wvyik @sequoia-roots @samsswife @multiversefanfics @rxi-pop @southernimpala @filthgf @a-gay-alien @odessabram @firstlyferrari @stonersampilled @iigummysharkii @lunaleah @girlblogger-04 @brainspurvhs @abigolemess @cup1dssorrow @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows @heapingfern @lavend3rdust @sunnyteume @spac3cowgir1 @bambisbabydollhouse @marlsvii @castielscaplan @sullengirlinterrupted @madelynneb @unabashedlyinlovewithyou @cvntyvampi

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[beardedmrbean]

[lonestararchive]

Dakar, Senegal 2024 shot by me 🇸🇳

[thestuffedalligator]

Dragons are fireless until they undergo the Hroom, the traditional draconic ceremony where a fledgling dragon will go out into the world and make a bargain with a spirit of elemental fire to live in their soul in a state of mutual symbiosis. The spirit receives shelter and nourishment, while the dragon receives a source of elemental fire, which it can only now use to defend itself.

In many draconic cultures, the Hroom marks a dragon’s coming of age, a time to recognize that a dragon is now of a proper age to hold a weapon and defend itself. Some dragons believe that it is only by bonding with an elemental spirit that a dragon has a soul, and that a dragon is only a whole dragon when it has both the mortal shell and the inner spark.

There has been a backlash to this in recent centuries, of course. Fledglings these days are going out and making bargains with all kinds of things. This is usually spirits of elemental lightning and ice, but more than one dragon has come back to their clutch with a fairly bewildered witch.

[thestuffedalligator]

#Does the witch live inside the dragon's soul after...?

Metaphorically, yes. One dragon had married the witch she brought back to her clutch, and she said that meant their two souls had become one, which was basically the same thing.

The other dragons in her brood said it didn’t work that way, but she was able to breathe pure magic afterwards, so it at least worked that way for her.

[pocketss]

widehead

[bethanydelleman]

Maybe it's naive of me, but whenever I see portraits like this, with just a father and daughter, it restores my faith in humanity a little. Because people seem to love this idea that fathers never loved their daughters in the past and only saw them as bargaining chips for marriage or whatever, but look at the guy in the first portrait on the left, he loves that little girl! And the dad trying to do his work while his daughter bothers him with an Old Timey Barbie. The man teaching his daughter geography, his expression is so soft! The way the man in the last portrait holds the little girl's hand! And none of these are incidental, these aren't photographs, someone (probably the father) paid good money and sat down for hours so that they could have a painting of themselves and their daughter. Probably because they loved their daughter.

From left to right: 1795 Michał Jerzy Mniszech with his daughter Elżbieta - Marcello Bacciarelli; Christopher Anstey and his daughter Mary Ann by William Hoare 1776; A Musician and His Daughter by Thomas de Keyser 1629; The Geography Lesson (Portrait of Monsieur G. and His Daughter), 1812; Jean-baptiste Isabey And His Daughter; Portrait of a Young Girl and Older Man by William Harrison Scarborough

(this is probably somewhat related to my other favourite genre of painting, Husband With Multiple Kids Making Come Hither Eyes At His Wife)

[janeeyreofmanderley]

oh I love those! People being people is one of my favourite kinds of paintings and an important reminder that people in past times were not all that different. There were dads who loved their daughters fiercely. There were fathers who happily looked after their babies too. The German reformer Philip Melanchton for example had a cradle in his office. His wife was busy organising a household for 20 people- she was out and about, he mostly worked in his office, it made sense for him to look after their babies too babies while she dropped by at snack time.

in fact often if it was kind of safe dads had the babies in their workshops for just that reason as we can see in these paintings:

The left is “the busy father” by Theodore Weber, the right one is “At the china repairer’s “ by Wenzel Tornoe. All dads who are actively involved in childcare and a painter who thought it was a cute topic rather than anything ridiculous.

[obi-troll-kenobi]

I raise you:

First Lesson by Akseli Gallen-Kallela (1865 - 1931)

Un Coup De Main (The Helping Hand) by Émile Renouf (1845 – 1894)

Italian Winegrower And His Daughter by Francesco Baratta (1590-1666)

[h0lym01y]

have you ever tried this one?

chapter four : freak

series masterlist ao3 notification blog

pairing : virgin!spencer reid x maneater!reader

summary : you return to work with spencer after your weekend together, hopefully he is super normal about your situationship!

wc : 9k

tags/warning : enemies to enemies with benefits, pornwithplot, coworkers, inexperienced!spencer, experienced!reader, oral f!receiving, more talking about sex, teasing, light exhibitionism, spencer is a shit, semi-public sex, more jerking off, reader is experiencing lots of complicated feelings rn, dom+sub undertones but there's no clear dom or sub they just keep going back and forth

a/n : oh my man i love him soooooo

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 

Spencer is insatiable. 

Which is absolutely marvelous. 

You honestly aren’t sure how you’re going to go back to one night stands after this little experiment, he’s perfect. He doesn’t get bored, all he wants to do is please you, you hardly have to lift a finger while he’s in your apartment. 

And he’s funny. 

Which is an earth shattering discovery. It isn’t always intentional but he always seems to find ways to make you laugh. 

The problem is that you should have sent him home last night, or at the very least, this morning. 

But he makes it so hard, because every thirty minutes he’s shoving his knees between your legs, or his hand between your legs, or his stupid perfect cock between your legs. And by the time he’s done you’ve forgotten all about telling him to leave. 

Even worse, you aren’t even sure if you want him to leave. 

It doesn’t matter what you want though, all you know is that you’re setting a precedent by letting him stay. This is all uncharted waters for you. You haven’t had a boyfriend since high school, and you have no desire to change that. You’ve also never had a consistent fuck buddy, you aren’t sure what the protocol is on essentially living together for four days. 

You choose to indulge yourself just this once and let him stay, it’s only two more days. What’s the harm?

You spend most of Saturday on the couch, sitting in the dark, forcing him to watch your favorite movies in between rounds. He’s starting to get more comfortable in the non-sexual moments between you. At the very least he doesn’t flee to the other side of the couch, he sits beside you, never making the first move but he always sighs in relief when you touch him.

You’re sitting in silence, watching as the horror movie unfolds before you when he clears his throat. 

“I want to try cunnilingus.” The way he says it makes you laugh, the proposition takes all of your attention away from the movie. 

“Cunnilingus?” 

“Oral sex performed on someone with a va-”

“I know what it is, Reid. I just don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say that word out loud.”

“What else am I supposed to call it?” He throws his hands up. 

“Why don’t you ask me if you can eat my pussy.”

“Can I eat your pussy, please?” He rolls his eyes when he says it, he knows you won’t say no. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” You twist your body so you're sitting with your back against the arm of the couch, your bare legs stretch across his lap, you’ve been in a shirt and panties for most of the day. “Do you know how to do it?”

“I don’t know why you keep asking me that, I’ve done more than enough research, and you seem to be plenty satisfied with my performance so far.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes as he shoves your legs apart. 

“Brief me on your knowledge of cunnilingus, Dr. Reid. What have you learned from your hundreds of hours of dedicated porn watching?” He shifts forward, moving to lay on his stomach, his legs hang off the end of your couch.

“Under twenty percent of women can climax from solely vaginal stimulation, which makes sense, the clitoris has over ten thousand nerves, if the goal is an orgasm that’s where the focus needs to be. But many women enjoy dual stimulation and find that enhances the experience. With that information, combined with videos that I’ve watched I think I should be able to perform sufficiently." 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him. 

“How long does it take the average woman to achieve orgasm?” You like asking him questions, you never used to ask him anything unless you absolutely had to, but it’s better than just googling something because you get to watch the gears in his head turn.

“In this hypothetical situation let's say the focus is on the woman and the focus is on her, with a partner it’s around fifteen minutes." He never stares directly at you when he’s recalling information like this, it’s almost as if he’s somewhere else, retrieving it. 

“What if she isn’t with a partner?” 

“In cases of masturbation, it’s about eight minutes.” 

“You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.” You don’t say it like it’s a bad thing, it isn’t.

He only shrugs in response, resting his head against your knee. 

“How long do you think it will take you?” You grin when you ask, challenging him with an eyebrow raise. 

“I’d like to aim for ten minutes. I like to think I’m more intelligent and more determined than the average male. That isn’t counting foreplay of course.”

“So, counting foreplay, maybe… twenty minutes?” 

“Sure, that sounds about right.” 

You look down at your phone for a moment, waiting for the time to change, when it does you smile at him. 

“Okay, let’s see it then.” You say as you show him your phone.

7:26 p.m.

He wastes no time as he turns to kiss your thigh.

Slow and precise, and ever so gently, he kisses you just above the knee, moving further up with each kiss. Until he’s dragging his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pelvis. It makes your hips twitch, which he notices because he notices everything. 

That little reaction is enough to have him licking and biting at the spot until you’re crying out and practically pushing him away. When that happens he simply moves to another spot, sucking the skin of your inner thigh into his mouth before sinking his teeth into you. Leaving an angry red mark that he quickly soothes with a drag of his tongue.  

Someone in the movie screams and you flinch, without taking his eyes off of you he reaches towards the coffee table, feeling around as he sucks a dark mark into your flesh until he finds the remote, his finger slides to the top of the remote and the movie blinks off the screen, leaving you both in a darkness that is only broken up by the dim light coming from your bathroom down the hall. 

“Did you know that sensory deprivation doesn’t actually enhance your other senses, especially in the short term but I figured it might set the-”

“Less talking, more touching.” You lift your hips, sliding your panties off. 

“Yes ma’am.” He mumbles as he scootches forward, until you can feel his breath against your cunt. You're left in silence for a moment. You can’t see him but you’d be willing to bet money that he’s making his thinking face. Brows furrowed and lips a little pouty.  

When he finally presses his mouth against your center it’s to plant a kiss against your clit. 

You don’t get a lot of time to dwell on how strangely sweet it is because only a few short seconds later he slides his tongue between your folds, slow and sweet and a little unsure. He starts with small laps of his tongue before he buries his face between your legs, pressing himself deep into your skin as he maps out your cunt with his tongue.

The ever efficient Spencer Reid figures out what he’s doing pretty quickly. He doesn’t see your reaction but when he spreads your legs further with his hands and shoves his tongue into you your eyes roll into the back of your head as you groan. 

“Oh my god.” You let out a strangled sound as he moves upward, finally dragging his tongue over your clit. 

He does everything.

Starting slow, with his tongue flattened against you, then drawing lazy shapes, it almost feels like he’s spelling something with his tongue, quicker and quicker until the room is filled with the sloppy wet sounds of his mouth and your strained moans. His hands grip the back of your thighs, spreading you open as he hums against you, sending a jolt of vibration through your center. 

Your fingers find his hair, tangling themselves in his locks. It takes a conscious effort to not pull hard as he licks from your entrance up to your clit before refocusing on your hole. The bridge of his nose rests against your clit as his tongue presses into you, his movements a little frantic as he groans into you. 

“Spencer…” You squeeze your eyes shut as you inhale sharply. Trying to form a single thought right now is proving difficult, especially with his nose bumping against the single most sensitive part of your body as he tongue fucks you. “Spence, I’m-” Your grip tightens in his hair as you pull him up a bit, until his mouth is back on your clit. He consumes you as his tongue flicks across your bundle of nerves until you can hardly breathe.   

You hate and love that he’s just as good at this as he thought he’d be. The pressure low in your stomach builds more and more as you struggle to find any words beyond his name and few curses. 

Until you can’t say anything at all, you just moan until your thighs squeeze around his head and you come, he doesn’t let up for a single second as your head falls back and your entire body tightens and releases. As you come down off of your orgasm you have to push him off of you. Your cunt buzzes between your legs, overstimulated and hypersensitive. . 

He reaches behind you, grabbing your phone as you fight to catch your breath. He taps the screen before turning it in your direction. 

7:44 

“Only took eighteen minutes.” You can’t see him in the darkness but you can hear his smile. 

“Show-off.” You let out an airy laugh as he leans forward, lips catching yours as he swallows the sound. 

He pushes your thighs up against your stomach, effectively folding you in half as he slots himself between your legs and pushing into you, something he’s able to do with relative ease now.

“Good job, pretty boy.” His hips stutter when you say it, 

“Say it again, please.”

“Good job? I’d be happy to tell you how good of a job you’re doing, is that what you want to hear?”

“Mhmm.” He hums and you wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him closer to you.

“You did so good, Spencer. You made me feel so good.” It doesn’t take long after you whisper for him to whimper and finish inside of you, when he’s done you reach back, clicking a lamp on. He stays inside of you, wrapping himself around you as he lays on top of you. Eventually he turns his head to face you, a dopey smile on his face.

You’re waiting for him to say something snarky or obnoxious but he just grins at you.

And you smile at him, enjoying the sight of his pretty smile in the dim light of the living room. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Spencer enjoys going down on you more than any man you’ve ever met. You know he isn’t just doing it out of obligation because he doesn’t even seek out his own gratification afterwards half the time. (Although you’re pretty sure he’s come in his pants a few times.) 

You’re so glad you didn’t send him home. 

Although Sunday evening is its own harsh reality. 

You suddenly find yourself hit with a wave of anxiety. 

You’re going to have to do a damn good job acting like everything is normal if you don’t want the team to sniff out your new situation with Spencer. 

He’s going through your bookshelf as you read a book you’ve been meaning to get to, he flips through your shelf, clearly unimpressed based on the dramatic scoffing he’s been doing. 

Until he gets bored and gets into bed next to you.

“I don’t want to go back to work tomorrow.” He rolls over, facing you, and diverting your attention from your reading. 

“Why not? You love work.” You set your book on the nightstand, he’s clearly demanding your attention, and you’ve got no reason not to give it to him.   

“How does anyone get anything done? I mean seriously, how do you all not spend all day every day just doing… this?” He inches himself closer to you, his fingers play with the edge of the blanket. 

“Fucking?” 

He nods.

“I’m sure it doesn’t feel like it right now, but there are things more important than sex, like putting away bad guys.” You sit up a little straighter as his fingers drift up and down your stomach. 

“I disagree, this-” His hand slips under the sheets, his fingers roughly sliding between your legs, as you hiss through your teeth. “is more important to me.” 

“It’ll be even better after a long day of work, when you’ve had to wait for it.” You tilt your head to rest against his.

“I don’t want to wait.” How quickly he goes from demanding to whining.

“You’re so needy.”

“Do you want me to stop?” His eyes widen, almost daring you to act like you don’t want this.

You don’t have a response so you just stare for a moment blankly before you speak. 

“You’re getting an attitude already. Should I be worried?”

“Can you blame me? I’m furious. I recently discovered that I’ve been willingly denying myself of life's greatest pleasures.” He sits up, pulling the blanket off of you as he slides between your legs, laying on his stomach as he stares up at you. 

“You can’t act like this at work.” You grab him by the chin as he grins, you’ve seen him smile more this weekend than ever before. 

“Obviously, you think I don’t know that? You care too much about what everyone thinks.”

“I do not care too much, I care a normal amount for someone who wants to keep her job.”

He scoffs in response, resting his cheek against your thigh. 

“Hotch isn’t going to fire us for having consensual sex.” He mumbles.

“He isn’t going to fire you because you’re his golden boy.”

“Nothing bad would happen if people knew.”

“This is just sex, Reid. It’s fun and it’s easy, it doesn’t stay that way if people know about it. So, if you want this to keep happening, you’re going to behave.” 

“And if I do, can we keep doing this?” His fingers dance along the edge of your panties as he rests his head against you. 

“We can do every fucked up thing you can imagine if you keep this a secret.” 

“You keep saying that but I feel like I can think up a few things that you might not want to do.” He stares at you with those big doe eyes. 

It’s your turn to scoff at him.

“Like what?”

“Like… what if I wanted to tie you up?” He props himself up on his elbow as he rolls onto his side. 

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“What if I wanted you to tie me up?” 

“I’d be happy to.” You do your best to hide your excitement at the potential of that. 

“What if I wanted to be… rough?” You laugh the moment he says it. It’s hard to imagine Reid holding it together long enough to be rough. 

“I think I’ll be okay with that.”

“What about something like somnophilia? Or CNC?”

“I’m shocked you even know what that is.” 

“I have access to the internet.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I’d pay good money to see what your search history looks like.”

“BDSM?” It’s extremely jarring to hear these words coming from Reid’s mouth. 

“I love it.” When you lean forward he rolls back onto his stomach, moving himself further between your legs, so his head is resting on your thigh. 

“Roleplay?”

“I’m a wonderful actress, Dr. Reid.” Oh he likes that. You watch as his hips dip down, grinding against your mattress. 

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. 

“What about anal?”

You gasp, putting your hand over your mouth.

“Spencer, watch your mouth.” You grin as he rolls his eyes.

“Is that a no?”

“Of course not, you can fuck my ass as long as I can fuck yours.” He cocks an eyebrow at you as you say it. “Enough hypotheticals, assume everything’s a yes. I want to hear more about your internet searches.”

“What about them?”

“You hate technology, you must be looking for something pretty important if it’s driving you to willingly use the internet for recreational purposes.” You run your fingers through his hair, playing with a stray curl. 

“I’ve had a lot of free time, and nowhere to take out my sexual frustration.” He gives you a theatrical pout as you laugh. 

“Clearly.”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re trying to think of what else you could ask him but he clears his throat before you can say anything to him. When you look down at him he looks a lot more serious than you feel. 

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice is noticeably softer. 

“Sure.”

“How long do you think we’ll do this for? Like how long will we be a thing?” He chews on his lip when he finishes speaking. 

It’s a bad question. 

It’s the kind of question that makes you feel itchy and wrong because it implies that this is a thing at all. You shouldn’t even humor this kind of question, you should tell him that this isn’t anything, it’s just two adults having fun and he’s ruining it. 

That’s what you normally say to guys who ask for a second date.

But you agreed that this would be a long term thing. 

Medium to long term. 

“Until one of us gets bored. Or until one of us wants to stop.” You shrug, not looking at his reaction as you turn away from him. It’s a vague bullshit answer but you don’t have anything better to say.

“Are you feeling bored?” You despise the subtle hope in his voice that you’ll say no, that’s the downside with men who are eager, they want validation. And unfortunately for you, something about his desperate need for it is pulling on the heartstrings you thought you cut off years ago. 

“No, Reid, I’m feeling rather entertained.” There’s another beat of silence before you speak again. “I just… You understand how important it is to me that no one finds out about this, right?” 

“I do. As much as I think it doesn’t matter, I don’t want to do anything to potentially jeopardize your career.”

It frightens you that you don’t care that he stayed, that you sort of liked it. This is more than a one night stand, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted less than a boyfriend, and more than a one night stand. Maybe that’s what this is, and maybe that’s why you didn’t actually want him to leave. 

“I… appreciate that. So you have to act exactly the same as you always do tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be the same annoying, creepy Spencer I usually am.” He does a shitty job of mimicking your voice as he says it. 

You want to tell him that you don’t think he’s that annoying anymore. And that you don’t mind the staring so much anymore either. Sadly that would just serve to lean into a narrative that you care how he feels at all. And that wouldn’t be fair to either of you. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

He wants to throw your alarm clock out the window.

Better yet, he wants to murder your alarm clock. He wants to murder your alarm clock so violently that he terrifies the local police department. He’s going to go on a spree and kill alarm clocks across Virginia, until the BAU has to get involved and figure out who is gutting all these alarm clocks. 

Your alarm clock is signaling the end of the single greatest weekend of his life. 

Your hair is a mess as you jolt up, and he loves it. He did that after all, his fingers were twisted in your hair, and you said his name so sweetly when he did it. 

“Reid, up.” You grumble as your hands shake his shoulders. 

“I’m awake.” He takes your hand as you slump back over onto him. He likes that you aren’t a morning person, it gives him more time to watch you as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

“We’ve gotta get up,” You rest your head on his chest, making no effort to move as your fingers play with the fabric of his shirt. “you have to leave before me, you always get to work before me.” 

“Okay.” It’s all he says in response. He doesn’t want to leave before you, he doesn’t want to leave at all. He wants to board up the door to your apartment so neither of you can ever leave again. 

Your breathing steadies as your eyes flutter shut, your mouth just a little open as you breathe, he doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t care if you both don’t show up to work today, why would he? Maybe the team will find out, then you’ll realize no one cares. And then all he’ll have to do is figure out how to get you to stop being so scared of commitment. 

How quickly his view of you has changed now that he’s spent just a little time with you, you aren’t entirely unpleasant. 

You’re actually so pleasant that he’s decided he’s going to make this work. He’s quite fond of the view he has currently, you, with your hair everywhere, starting to snore on his chest. 

He’s going to show you that this can work, he can tell that you don’t think it will. Your body language is so guarded, all the time, it must be exhausting.

Even as you sleep there’s still a defensive nature about your position, your slight pout, the way your shoulders tense. He’s about to reach out to try and smooth the line between your brows out but you shoot up again.

“Time to get up.” You actually manage to shamble out of bed this time and he knows the weekend is officially over. 

It’s a frantic mess of a morning, he’s throwing things into his bag as he dresses himself. By the time he’s smoothed his hair out and gotten fully dressed for work you’re still staring at him like you’re only half awake. 

You both stand in your bedroom, staring at each other, he’s got his backpack over one shoulder and his satchel over the other.

“Can I… nevermind.” He starts to speak but he’s quick to shut his mouth, there’s no reason to ruin things now. 

You immediately cross your arms in front of your chest, staring at him expectantly. 

“Oh come on, I’ve given you everything you’ve asked for so far, why would I start denying you now?” He sighs in relief when you step forward and rub his arm. 

“That’s just not true, you’ve denied me several times.”

“I always give you what you want eventually.” You give his arm a squeeze as you smile. He wants to make you smile for the rest of his life. 

“Can I take a pair of your panties?” He whispers the words quickly, hoping he isn’t about to overstep right at the end of the weekend. 

“Sure.” You smile even harder and all he can do is stare slackjawed. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not, I’m gonna go brush my teeth, just grab a pair from the drawer.” And just like that you disappear and he’s given free reign of your dresser. Five days ago he would have killed a man for a pair of your panties, now you’re just giving him one.

He knows exactly which ones he wants, you did laundry yesterday morning and when he slides open your drawer the pair of pink panties you wear every Monday is the first in the neat little organized row. 

Pretty pink cotton panties with a little bow, a present just for him. He shoves them into his pocket, slamming the drawer shut. If he focuses on your underwear for too long he’s going to be hard the rest of the day and he really doesn’t need that considering how difficult today is already going to be. 

When you return you’re half dressed, your fingers pop the buttons of your blouse into place as you kick off your pajama pants. 

“You need to leave, like, right now. You need to clock in early, like you always do.” You grab him by the arm, dragging him through the apartment until you reach the door. He kneels, tying his converse as you check your hair in the hallway mirror. “Jesus I’m a mess,” You mumble as you pull it back with your hands, trying to find a style that works. 

He doesn’t want to leave. 

He wants to call in sick.

He wants you to call in sick.

And he wants to stay in this little apartment for the rest of his life. 

But you’re fixing the buttons on your blouse, and turning to him to straighten his tie. For a second you just look up at him, your hand resting on his shoulder, your eyes flicker around his face and it almost seems like you’re leaning in. 

He decides to push his luck. 

“Could I kiss you?”

The flicker of your eyes towards the floor answers his question, you give him an apologetic smile. 

He shouldn’t have asked.

“Spencer…”

“Nevermind, it was a stupid question.”

“It’s not a stupid question. This just… this isn’t that kind of thing.” You stand on your tip toes, giving him that sad smile as you hold his face and kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you at work, if you wanna hang out again text me later what nights this week work for you.” 

Every night for the rest of his life, if you’d have him. 

His cheeks burn a little red as he nods. 

“See you at work.” 

“Goodbye, Reid.” 

And just like that he steps out of your apartment and you shut the door behind him. 

For the first time in days he’s alone. Standing in the hallway outside your apartment, dressed for work as if his entire life didn’t change this weekend. 

He runs his thumb over the little bow on the front of your panties as he grips the bunched up fabric in his pocket. 

He’s only just gotten a taste for you and you’re already trying to slip through his fingers, he has no intention of letting that happen. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You’re uncomfortable the second you step out of your apartment. You’re uncomfortable when you drive to work, and you’re uncomfortable when you step out into the bull pen and see the smiling faces of your coworkers. 

Spencer managed to take the pair of panties that you specifically wear on Mondays. They aren’t even that sexy, they’re the most basic cotton pair of underwear you own, yet you couldn’t find them when you dug through your drawer this morning.

So you’re stuck wearing a purple thong that isn’t even that uncomfortable, it’s just not the comfortable pair you rely on on a Monday morning. It’s thrown you off of your rhythm. Even worse, you’re running ten minutes behind because you spent so long searching through your drawers.  

Derek's sitting on your desk, grinning from ear to ear as he whispers something to Penelope, who seems to have gotten a little sunburn from their trip. 

“Look who finally decided to show up.” He calls across the pen, prompting Emily to roll her chair over until you’ve got a small group waiting for you. “Must have been one hell of a weekend.” 

“Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Weird, we take the same main road to get to work and I got here twenty minutes ago.” Good to see Reid is acting just as annoying as he always does, as irritating as it is right now, it’s also a bit of a relief to see no difference in his behavior.

“A lot can change in twenty minutes.” You grumble. 

“Enough about the traffic, I want to hear about your weekend, I didn’t hear from you again after Wednesday night.” Emily rolls her seat over so it’s directly next to yours as you sit down.

Shit.

You should have planned for this, you have a story every Monday, you should have made something up on the car ride over. Especially because they’re all staring at you expectantly, even Reid, sitting back in his chair with his eyebrows raised. 

And he’s wearing his glasses.

Why is he wearing his glasses, if it’s to torment you it’s working.   

“I’m sorry to say I took a weekend off from maneating.” The second you say it Emily groans, letting her head fall backwards. 

“I spent a weekend in the most boring place possible, praying, you’d have something exciting to tell me.” She gives you a dramatic pout. “The shirt seriously didn’t work?” 

The shirt worked a little too well. 

“I didn’t go out again, I decided I needed a couple days to just relax.” You scan their faces, they all seem to buy it, except for Spencer, who seems to be concentrating on a book. “I’m very excited to hear about how your trip to the sex island went.” You turn everyone's focus towards Penelope and Morgan as J.J. approaches. 

Derek tells an animated story about ‘an unbelievable redhead’ and a rush of relief washes over you. Penelope’s cheeks turn a nice shade of pink as she talks about the sun and the sand, she allegedly came home with half her suitcase full of seashells. When the group disperses after Hotch walks past and clears his throat, Emily lingers. 

“You really didn’t take anyone home with the perfect tits top?” She whispers, leaning in. 

A part of you wants to tell her what happened. 

She’s your best friend, you know she wouldn’t tell anybody. 

“Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” You give her half a smile as she taps her pen on your desk. “How was the retreat?” 

“Boring. Relaxing, but boring. My mom signed us up for three yoga classes a day, I nearly killed her.” You laugh as she tells you stories about bland salads and funny sauna interactions until Hotch does another loop around the bullpen and glares at the two of you until she rolls herself back to her desk. 

You finally get to focus on your work, but when you stare at your computer screen all you can think about is the way the lace digs into your hips. It’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t bother you on a Thursday or a Friday, when you had plans to hit the bar after work. But on a Monday you wanted stretched, reliable underwear. You still can’t believe that’s the pair he went with, you’re ninety percent sure they have a period stain on them.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, you want to blame Spencer for this but he couldn't possibly have known the effect he’d have on you when he chose those panties. 

Regardless, you can’t help but glare at him like he did it on purpose. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

He thought it would be harder to survive a day without sex after the weekend he just had but it’s been surprisingly easy so far. 

His fingers play with the lace of your panties in his pocket while you squirm at your desk across from him, giving him something to focus on as he wonders which panties you wore instead of your pretty pink ones. 

He intends to find out before the day is through. 

At one point you lean forward, put your head in your hands and groan. He doesn’t dare react, who knew you were so set in your routine that something this small could throw a wrench into your day. 

He couldn’t be happier.  

He leaves you alone like he would on any other day. Typically he would spend Monday mornings trying to look down the front of your shirt, he doesn’t do any differently today. 

When Hotch calls for a conference room meeting in ten you look about ready to kill someone. 

“You look pretty uncomfortable for someone who supposedly spent all weekend relaxing.” He mumbles it, quiet enough for only you to hear.

You stare at him, your lips pull into a thin line he’s familiar with and your eyes squint just a fraction of an inch as you focus in on him. He’s seen that face a hundred times. It's the expression you make when you’re profiling someone. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know why I’m so uncomfortable, would you?” You say it so quietly he has to read your lips to put the sentence together. When he smiles in response your eye twitches. “I don’t understand how you could have possibly known any of this.” 

“You continue to severely underestimate the things that I do and do not know.” He returns his focus to his book.

“You're a dick.”

“Yup.”

“How did you even know?”

“I’m observant.” 

“You’re a stalker, it’s actually a little concerning.”

“You like the power imbalance. You’re attracted to people who like you more than you like them.” He looks up from his book, making eye contact with you as he says it. “Do you want them back?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s trade.”

“What?” 

“Let’s trade, you give me the ones you have on and I’ll give you these ones.” He nods down, gesturing towards the pocket his hand is currently in.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry then, I can’t help you. You said I could have a pair, it really wouldn’t be fair to make me give these up without something in exchange.”

“You can raid my drawer next time you come over.” He loves hearing you say there’s going to be a next time. 

“I don’t want any of those, I want the ones you have on.” 

“You don’t even know which ones I have on.” 

It’s true, he doesn’t, but he could probably figure it out. 

Looking you up and down he chews on his lip. 

You were in a pastel bra this morning when you got dressed, periwinkle to be precise. You like to match, it’s another layer of your obsession with control. It would have looked cute with the pink, he looked through your drawer just this morning, it’s easy to recall the few pairs he flicked through. 

You had other pink pairs but they were more of a hot pink, it would have clashed with the bra, unless you changed your bra. He tilts his head to the side, shamelessly staring at your chest. You’re in a white button up, he can see the faintest outline of the lace pattern on the underside of your breasts. It matches the lace pattern of the bra you wore this morning, and it would be obvious if you changed your bra to something bright, you’re definitely still in the periwinkle. So you’d have gone with another pastel to match. You had a baby blue thong with thin straps with a rose on the front and a lacy lavender thong with a butterfly pattern in your drawer this morning, both would look nice with your choice of bra but the lavender was closer to the front of the drawer. 

“Purple, lace, butterflies.” He knows he’s dead on when your jaw drops. 

“You’re insane.” 

“I will only trade these for a pair that is purple and lacy.” 

“Unbelieveable, those are my favorites, this is cruel.” You clearly aren’t that distraught because after a quick glance around the bull pen you lean forward in your seat, an imperceptible act if you aren’t paying attention. Fluidly, you reach down, seemingly to scratch your ankle. When you straighten back up you cock an eyebrow at him, holding something in your hand.

He doesn’t bother trying to hide it as he adjusts himself. 

Right as you open your mouth Hotch’s voice rings out across the bull pen. 

“Conference room, now.” 

He doesn’t look your way as he stands but he can hear the squeaking wheel of your chair as you do the same.

As he makes his way across the floor you knock your shoulder against his before shoving something into his pocket, he has to fight the urge to grin as he tilts his head to look at your frowning face. 

“There you go, maybe you can use it as a bookmark, can I have what you promised now?” 

“Sure.” He whispers as he holds the conference room door open for you, simultaneously he presses the pink pair into your palm, you realize pretty quickly that you’re about to be stuck holding onto them for the rest of the meeting, as you move around the table he can see you stuff them into your bra. If looks could kill he’d be dead and you’d be arrested for murder. 

“Dick.” You mouth the word at him as you take a seat at the conference table. 

If you were willing to do this he’s pretty sure he can get away with a lot more. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

This might be a little bit of a problem. 

Not the panties thing, you don’t mind not wearing panties at the meeting, your skirt is long enough that you aren’t in danger of flashing anybody. It’s more so the way your body is reacting. 

You should be genuinely mad at him. You told him you didn’t want to mess around at work and he immediately started messing around at work. 

But he’s right. You like that he likes you more than you like him. 

You like it a lot. 

You liked hearing him say it, you liked the way it sounded, and you like the way the knowledge feels in your brain. You keep quiet for most of the meeting, trying to not draw too much attention to yourself as you take notes. 

J.J. hands out individual files as she speaks. 

“We’ve got a serial arsonist in Aberdeen, South Dakota. The local fire department is begging for our help but the police are refusing to cooperate. I’ve been assured by the fire chief that we’ll be getting a call from the sheriff within the next forty eight hours and we’ll be invited out.” Everyone quietly flips through everything, it all looks pretty standard, you could write up a profile on this guy in your sleep.

It’s a younger male, likely in his mid to late twenties based on the level of impulsivity you’re seeing, none of his targets seem predetermined, it’s just whatever was convenient. 

You’d be willing to guess that he set his first fire on accident, and he liked it so much he just couldn’t stop himself from escalating further and further. 

He’s going to keep doing so until somebody stops him.

Everyone's lost in thought as Hotch clears his throat. 

“I’d like everyone to stay by their phones tonight, the second we get approval from the local PD we’ll be in the air, is that understood?” Morgan groans, none of you like surprise late night takeoffs, but most of the group nods. 

“Yes sir.” You stare at Spencer when you say it. 

It’s a short and sweet meeting. You stay back for a few minutes with Emily, she has dinner plans tonight she’s really hoping she won’t have to cancel on. Eventually you disperse, she’s on her way to Penelope’s nook to see if she can get some names listed of people who were at the scene of each fire. You plan on doing some research on the selected locations for the rest of the day, specifically the first one. 

It must have been one hell of a first fire to incite the wrath this guy is inflicting upon Aberdeen. 

When you return to your desk after the meeting you find your notebook closed, with furrowed brows you sit, flipping back to the page you were on only to find a pink sticky note stuck to the middle of the page. 

You squint at the mess of squiggles until you realize it’s a shitty doodle of two people sixty-nining, with scribbled text underneath it. 

Have you ever tried this one? 

Immediately, you snap the notebook shut. 

You’d recognize the handwriting anywhere. 

Spencer doesn’t so much as look up from his paperwork as you glare at him, he must feel your scalding gaze though because he’s smirking to himself. 

This is a small, manageable problem, if you can take control of this situation and set some boundaries you can fix this before it becomes a serious issue. 

You shove your notebook into a drawer before you storm off to the bathroom, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching you put on your panties at your desk. You’ve done enough damage today just by taking them off at all.

Your face flushes as you lock the bathroom door behind you, a confusing mix of emotions dance through your head. Irritation is at the front of things, followed by a little bit of confusion and something warmer. 

This is not good.

You shouldn’t feel confused, you don’t like feeling confused. You should be irritated and nothing more. Staring at yourself in the mirror you see the woman you’ve fought tooth and nail to become. Put together, assertive, and fearless. The woman in the mirror is put together, she doesn’t look like the kind of person who slips her panties off at her desk just for the thrill of it. 

Even if it’s the hottest thing that’s happened to you in a long time.

Pull yourself together. 

When you leave the bathroom he’s miraculously there. 

Of course, where else would he be if not constantly tormenting you. 

Standing at the end of the hall, chatting with someone from another department. You storm over to him, grabbing his arm and dragging him down an empty hallway.

“We need to talk, now.” You grumble as he grins like an idiot, calling out a rushed goodbye to whoever he was speaking to. When you’re certain the coast is clear you shove him into a utility closet with an Authorized Personnel Only sign. He puts up no protest as you slam the door behind you. 

“Hello.” He’s still smiling from ear to ear as you glare. 

“Don’t hello, me.” You hiss. 

“Why not? I’m just happy to see you.” 

“You can’t act like this at work.” 

“Why not, no one knows.”

“Our entire job is to know, if you start doing shit like this then they’re going to figure it out. We agreed we weren’t going to do shit like this.” You poke a finger into his chest as you say it. 

“Exactly, our entire job is to know, so we know exactly how to act to keep them from finding out. Besides you started it, you took your panties off in the middle of the bullpen, you could have gone to the bathroom but you wanted to do it where everyone could see it.” You had expected the embarrassed, meek Reid you’re used to. When you lash out at him he typically gets quiet, even if he’s still snapping back at you, he shrinks down. Not anymore, apparently you woke up some sexual demon inside of him that has a serious attitude problem. 

“Reid, I-” You’re going to kill him, maybe this was all a mistake. 

“I think you like it.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your breathing got heavier when you took your panties off, I could see the flush on your skin. You looked like you might start moaning during that team meeting. And you wouldn’t have done it in the first place if you didn’t want to, you had a perfectly good pair on, you did it because you wanted to.” Never once does he reciprocate the anger you’re showing him, he speaks calmly, as if he were discussing facts about a case. 

“Reid-”

“I get it, you want to have the upper hand in this relationship, you’re a control freak, that’s fine. But I think that you like this, you like getting away with something.”

“You’re an idiot.” You start to move past him but he grabs your wrist. 

“You like knowing that you’re smart enough to fool a room full of profilers. I get it, but you aren’t going to fool me. You’re probably wet right now just thinking about it.”

You actually gasp in earnest. 

“Who taught you how to talk like that?” Your eyebrows furrow. 

“Hundred of hours of dedicated porn watching, I also read about fifteen of your dirty books this weekend.” He shrugs.

“You’re insane.”

“There’s a really simple way to prove me wrong.” His fingers start to pull on the waistband of your skirt but you push his hands away, unfortunately if he checks between your legs all he’ll find is proof that he’s right. The last thing you need right now is for him to be any more amped up than he already is. 

“This job is the most important thing in the world to me.” You whisper now. 

“I feel the same way, thankfully, this closet has a lock on the inside.” He clicks it shut to prove his point. “It’s basically asking to be used for dirty secrets.” 

“Reid, we aren’t doing this. We said no messing around at work, we can’t break that rule on day one.”

“Okay, then leave.” He takes a step back, unbuckling his own belt. “Besides those were your rules, not mine.” 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for you to leave so I can jerk off onto your panties.” He takes your purple thong out of his pocket as if to prove his point. 

“Gross, Reid, what the hell has gotten into you?”

He looks offended that you’d even ask.

“You know exactly what's gotten into me, you spent a whole weekend begging me to be this, telling me you want someone as exciting as you are because men are so boring. I seem a lot more exciting than you right now. If you don’t want to utilize me that’s fine but I’m certainly not going to deny myself.” When you don’t say anything he cocks an eyebrow and abandons his belt, returning his focus to your skirt. “I heard a lot of woe is me this weekend from you about how no one is as fun as you are, or adventurous as you are. So far you are neither of those things.”  

“Reid, I-” You don’t push him away as you try to form a response. 

“If you aren’t going to tell me to stop I’d advise you to stop talking.” He kneels in front of you as he speaks, playing with the hem of your skirt, his knuckles brush up against your knees. 

“Spencer, you’re being ridiculous, I mean seriously-”

“All you have to say is stop, I won’t be mad at you if that’s what you’re worried about. Just say stop, one word, and I’ll stop.” 

He knows you won’t. 

He shoves your skirt up towards your hips before throwing one of your legs over his shoulder so you’re forced up to tip toe on your one remaining planted foot. 

“Reid-” 

“S-T-O-P, do you know what that spells?” You scowl down at him, not humoring him with a response. “Either tell me to stop, or be quiet, I thought you didn’t want anyone to hear?” 

When you don’t respond, that stupid smirk of his only grows. 

“See, I knew you wanted this.” 

“Shut up, or I’ll change my mind.”

“Go ahead, I’ll get off either way.”

“You’re disgu-” The words die in your throat as he hooks a finger around the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side as he shoves his face between your legs. 

He pulls back just long enough to take a breath and grin at you. 

“I think my time is getting better, I can probably get you out of here in seven or so minutes. Maybe less if this is as hot for you as it is for me.” You grab him by the hair and push him back between your legs to shut him up. 

He’s got your body down to a science. 

With the hand that’s pulled your panties to the side he slips two fingers into you almost immediately. Your own hand flies to your mouth as you bite down onto the meat of your palm to suppress your moan. 

Those two fingers do gods work as he angles them just so, and your vision goes blurry. He flattens his tongue against your clit as he pistons his fingers in and out of you. He’s a perfectly automated machine designed to get you off, that stupidly smart brain of his knows the pace, the depth, the patterns, everything it takes to drive you towards your orgasm.

At the sound of his belt you look down to find his free hand unbuttoning his pants, when he’s freed his cock he wastes no time as he starts to stroke himself. The sight alone makes your head spin as you whimper. 

It’s too much at once, his unrelenting fingers inside of you, his tongue against your flesh, and the sight of him getting off on all of it sends you over the edge before you’re ready for it. The hand that isn’t twisted in his hair clamps over your mouth as a string of muffled curses leaves your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you grind yourself down against his stupid smug face. Your stomach tightens as you clamp down on his fingers and come undone, his pace doesn’t let up for a second.

He keeps his face between your legs after you finish, his tongue laps at your entrance as he continues to fuck his hand. You don’t mind the slight overstimulation; the problem now is that he’s loud.

“Please-” He mumbles against your cunt. 

“You need to be quiet Reid, I mean it.”

When he groans into your cunt you yank on his hair harder, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to shut up but it only serves to make him moan louder.

“Oh my god if you don’t shut up I will leave, I mean it.” Your threat does nothing to quiet him so you shove his face away as he whines, nimble fingers still wrapped around his cock as he stares up at you from where he kneels. You adjust your skirt, straightening it back into its proper place 

“Are you really gonna go?” He looks like he might cry if you do. 

“No, I'm waiting for you to finish.” When he starts to slide his free hand back up your leg you shake him off, clicking your tongue. “But you're done touching me, since you can’t control yourself.” He pouts as you shrug. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You said if I left you’d just jerk off anyway, so go ahead, finish yourself off.” You stare down at him, on his knees in front of you as you cross your arms in front of your chest. 

You sort of hope he’ll show some remorse, a sign of regret for putting himself in this situation. At the very least you hope to see a bit of embarrassment but all you get is that handsome little half smile as he stares up at you, never breaking eye contact as he strokes himself.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for him to come, making a mess of the floor between your feet. 

“You’re disgusting.” You don’t intend for it to sound so mean but you’re irritated with yourself right now for letting this happen at all. 

“I’ll clean it up before I go.” He doesn’t sound bothered by your tone as he shoves himself back into his pants, grinning the entire time. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You mumble as he stands.

“And you just can’t help yourself.”

“Stay in here for a few minutes after I leave, jackass.” You roll your eyes as you unlock the door and slip out, rushing back to the bathroom. 

You sort yourself out quickly, straightening your clothes and smoothing your hair out as you glare at yourself in the mirror. 

Pull yourself together for Christ's sake. 

When you return to your desk he’s returned to his own, he glances up at you with a neutral expression before returning his focus to whatever he’s reading. 

And for a few minutes everything is normal, as if nothing happened. When Derek starts a conversation with Emily on the other side of the bullpen Spencer breaks the silence.

“What are your plans for tonight?” He doesn’t look up from his book as he says it, it’s the perfect amount of uncaring. It’s exactly the kind of small talk he’d make on any other day. 

He’s scarily good at this. 

You should say that you’re busy, that you’re having dinner with Emily to catch up on the weekend. 

Instead you look down at the sticky note in your notebook. 

You have tried that one, and you like it, you’d like to try it again. 

“I’m free.” You eventually reply after a long silence. 

“Cool, me too.” 

There’s another long beat of quiet between you as you type on your computer and he writes something down on a file, just two people working for the better part of an hour until he clears his throat. 

“I’m gonna go make coffee, do you want some?” It’s the first time today that he’s loudly said something he normally wouldn’t say to you. It’s so inconsequential you know no one will notice, just a coworker offering their deskmate coffee. 

“Sure.” You nod, returning your attention to your computer as he stands, He slides a face down sticky note across your desk as he walks past. You wait until he’s out of sight to flip it over. 

It’s an address, presumably his. 

And you smile. 

You catch yourself immediately, slamming the little note into your notebook with the other one as you turn to see if he saw, thankfully he’s long gone. 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Maybe this was a mistake, you’re starting to feel like you might have opened Pandora’s box with Reid. You’ve released a lot more than you originally expected.

Maybe it’s a good thing.

Maybe losing his v-card was exactly what he needed to get the confidence he suddenly seems to have. It might help him finally get a girlfriend. 

He’s always been cocky, but this is different, he seems so sure of himself, so sure of you.     

When he returns with two mugs, setting one down on your desk he returns to his reading without another glance in your direction. 

Staring at your own mug it’s a light color, and it smells like your favorite flavoured creamer. 

You need to see him tonight so you can discuss boundaries. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself when you grab your go-bag on the way out of the office. It’s also what you tell yourself when you type his address into your phone and pull up the GPS. And it’s what you tell yourself when you knock on his door. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for updates!!

if you wish to further support me i have a kofi! ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[crabussy]

just saw a chair so photogenic I had to reevaluate my feelings towards plastic furniture

[crabussy]

do you see this. beyond ridiculous

[crabussy]

what are our thoughts

I understand your feelings for the chair robin crabussy

unpost this right now you strange strange man

Voting ended onAug 12

[crabussy]

I hired a wizard to cast png on it. effervescent

[meowcygracie]

She doesn't mean it she's just a bit stressed at the moment

[recoverr-a-deactivated20210530]

here is a compilation of some of my favorite resources, workbooks & apps for people who cannot afford going to therapy, but would like to improve themselves in any way:

therapistaid has many, many worksheets for skills from dbt and even a self care assesment!

cbt worksheets from psychologytools.

coping skills for anger, managing difficult thoughts, getting better sleeping habits, etc.

mental health resources for kids & teens.

DBT skills training (pdf)

DBT skills workbook (pdf)

wysa app offers a wide range of skills, from a personalized AI chat where you can vent to a compilation of your emergency contacts. (only available on google play as of feb 2021)

sanvello app (google play + app store) allows you to track your progress, identify which self care habits you need to improve and guives you monthly reports of your overall state.

feel free to add more!

[kaijuno]

Even when people have Alzheimer’s or dementia they don’t ever lose their humanity. My grandma had really bad Alzheimer’s in the end and even though she didn’t know any of her family anymore she was so kind and gentle with my baby nephew. It means something, I think, that caring for others is so ingrained in our psyche that not even disease could make us lose that

[pleasanttrashsheepies-deactivat]

One of the most profound moments of my life was when I was walking with one of the Alzheimer patients through the gardens at the assisted living home I worked at a few years ago. He was a scientist, he was from out west. He'd done foundational research on the aftermath of the Mount St. Helens eruption. He looked up at one of the pine trees and misidentified it, thinking it was a California pine tree (yeah, apparently there are east coast/west coast variants) and as we got closer, he sort of frowned and said, "No, that's <insert scientific name here>." And he looked at me and asked, "Wait, am I in the South?" And he looked so confused and scared and I nodded and said, "Yeah, you moved here a couple years ago." And his face got all serious and he didn't say anything else for a minute. I could see the panic and the dread and the embarrassment starting to rise.

So I asked him about the plants, about their scientific names, about what role they played in the ecosystem, what the shape of their leaves said about their evolution, what kind of bugs lived on them, whether or not small animals made nests and homes in them. And he just talked and talked, told me everything I wanted to know.

If he forgot something, he didn't get embarrassed because he was just thinking about some old plants, just some old plants, who can keep track of all those latin names anyway? He'd think of it later.

And it didn't teach me to "respect everyone no matter their mental ability," and it didn't make me realize that "all people deserve respect," because I was already there, I already believed that. But, as he started smiling, telling me all he knew, rolling his eyes when I didn't understand something, thinking carefully about how to explain in lay-terms, as the stress and fear that threatened to crush him evaporated as quickly as it appeared, I received an absolutely critical life lesson like a ten-ton epiphany:

We were made to help each other.

As cheesy as it sounds, the absolute true meaning of life, outside of religious beliefs, scientific theories, political movements, outside of all of it, the only thing that matters at all is whether or not you made a real, tangible difference for the better in someone's life. Big or small. Permanent or brief.

Make a difference, be the change you want to see in the world; it doesn't make you Gandhi, but it might help someone have a better day, and isn't that nice?

[honorthegods]

"...humans were made to help others. And when we do help others — or help them to do something — we’re doing what we were designed for. We perform our function."

Marcus Aurelius

[kaijuno]

Even when people have Alzheimer’s or dementia they don’t ever lose their humanity. My grandma had really bad Alzheimer’s in the end and even though she didn’t know any of her family anymore she was so kind and gentle with my baby nephew. It means something, I think, that caring for others is so ingrained in our psyche that not even disease could make us lose that

[pleasanttrashsheepies-deactivat]

One of the most profound moments of my life was when I was walking with one of the Alzheimer patients through the gardens at the assisted living home I worked at a few years ago. He was a scientist, he was from out west. He'd done foundational research on the aftermath of the Mount St. Helens eruption. He looked up at one of the pine trees and misidentified it, thinking it was a California pine tree (yeah, apparently there are east coast/west coast variants) and as we got closer, he sort of frowned and said, "No, that's <insert scientific name here>." And he looked at me and asked, "Wait, am I in the South?" And he looked so confused and scared and I nodded and said, "Yeah, you moved here a couple years ago." And his face got all serious and he didn't say anything else for a minute. I could see the panic and the dread and the embarrassment starting to rise.

So I asked him about the plants, about their scientific names, about what role they played in the ecosystem, what the shape of their leaves said about their evolution, what kind of bugs lived on them, whether or not small animals made nests and homes in them. And he just talked and talked, told me everything I wanted to know.

If he forgot something, he didn't get embarrassed because he was just thinking about some old plants, just some old plants, who can keep track of all those latin names anyway? He'd think of it later.

And it didn't teach me to "respect everyone no matter their mental ability," and it didn't make me realize that "all people deserve respect," because I was already there, I already believed that. But, as he started smiling, telling me all he knew, rolling his eyes when I didn't understand something, thinking carefully about how to explain in lay-terms, as the stress and fear that threatened to crush him evaporated as quickly as it appeared, I received an absolutely critical life lesson like a ten-ton epiphany:

We were made to help each other.

As cheesy as it sounds, the absolute true meaning of life, outside of religious beliefs, scientific theories, political movements, outside of all of it, the only thing that matters at all is whether or not you made a real, tangible difference for the better in someone's life. Big or small. Permanent or brief.

Make a difference, be the change you want to see in the world; it doesn't make you Gandhi, but it might help someone have a better day, and isn't that nice?

[honorthegods]

"...humans were made to help others. And when we do help others — or help them to do something — we’re doing what we were designed for. We perform our function."

Marcus Aurelius

[lesvegas]

A few years ago while trying to find ways to commit suicide as painlessly as possible, I came across a PDF of Dr. Paul Quinnett's The Forever Decision. Thinking it might go into actual methods of suicide (I read an article once that actually did that and was trying to find it again) I started to read it, and I think I only got about two pages in before I was crying too much to actually see the words.

I downloaded the PDF to my hard drive and I open it again whenever I'm feeling too suicidal to do much else, but not enough to start booking a ride to the hospital. And every time without fail I only go up to a few pages before backing off and choosing to live another day just because suicide suddenly seems even more unbearable than whatever the hell upset me in the first place.

All the book really does is [I'm pulling a summary from GoodReads here as, again, I've read no more than 5 pages] "discusses the social aspects of suicide, the right to die, anger, loneliness, depression, stress, hopelessness, drug and alcohol abuse, the consequences of a suicide attempt, and how to get help."

But it also starts with the author kindly asking the reader to complete the book before going through with anything, and for some reason I'm compelled to really just try to read it all before finalizing everything. Despite not yet completing it (hopefully never will) I think I can safely say it's saved my life at least a few times now.

It's intentionally legal to copy and redistribute this book to keep it as accessible as possible, and it's very easy to find, but here's a link for it anyways.

[blodwyrm]

snapshot from one of Oscar’s memorial paintings i did last year!

[aroace-ryland-grace]

Hi guys! I thought I should just share my whole mini little library of Project Hail Mary-related things so they're all in one place:

It includes:

A digital copy of the movie (with English soft subtitles)

My transcript of the movie (more on that here)

Audio recordings of the movie

A PDF of the book

An EPUB of the book (for e-readers)

The full audiobook

A copy of Andy Weir's doc on Eridians

A copy of Andy Weir's spreadsheet on Astrophage physics (among many other things!)

A draft of the screenplay for the film from 2022

An audio recording of the director's commentary

My transcript of the director's commentary

The subtitle SRT file

The audiobook, audio recordings, and commentary all have their properties programmed so they (should) work just like songs with a track number, album cover, artist, and so on if you download them.

There are two audios of the movie, one is the entire film untouched and one is that same audio cut up and broken down into separate scenes for convenience.

Additionally, there are two versions of the movie transcript, one with time stamps that match the audio recording and one without. The time stamps (+ their titles from the audio) are outlined in that version, so if you double-click on that tab or click "show outline," they'll all show up and you can pick a specific scene.

Similiarly, there are two different versions of the director's commentary transcript. The first is made to listen along to the commentary, while the second is more intended to be read on its own. The first is a direct transcription of everything that's said (an attempt, at least), while the second is slightly cleaned up for easier reading, meaning things like jumbled sentences and stuttering were removed or reorganised, but nothing has been actually paraphrased. Both are broken down into different scenes based on how their conversation goes, and the listening version includes timestamps. 

The first few seconds of the commentary are missing unfortunately as my US friend who was kind enough to record it for me had some technical difficulties at the start, but the she paraphrased the part that was missed. The commentary starts at that first red shot of Ryland Grace's face in the coma suit 32 seconds into the digital copy.

There's also a google doc with some instructions to follow if any of the files aren't working, which usually happens when too many people try to access or download something at the same time.

As always, if anything's not working right or you notice any mistakes in anything, please let me know and I'll fix it as soon as I can!