Lana

[brainsanalysis-deactivated20210]

Hello please reblog this if you're okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[sincerelybubbles]

s. reid x fem!reader \\ sweet daydreams

warnings: none

He smells like old paper and coffee, like something faintly sweet beneath the bitterness, something that lingers in a way she can’t quite place.

It’s distracting.

She notices it when they’re in close quarters—pressed together in the backseat of a car, leaning over case files spread out between them. When his elbow brushes hers, when his breath ghosts against her temple, warm and absentminded.

She notices it most when he’s close enough that she could tilt forward, just slightly, and press her mouth to the hinge of his jaw, just to see if he tastes the way he smells.

The thought catches her off guard.

She swallows hard, curling her fingers into fists against her thighs, grounding herself in the rough fabric of her slacks.

“Are you okay?”

Spencer’s voice cuts through the hum in her head, quiet, careful. His gaze flickers over her, studying.

She exhales slowly, shaking her head like she can shake the thought loose.

“Yeah,” she lies.

But later, when she’s home, alone, she presses her fingers against her lips and falls into a daydream she's convinced herself she can never have.

His mouth parts on a breath when she presses him back against the wall.

It’s an accident. It has to be. There’s no way she meant to stumble into him like this, no way she meant to back him into a space where there’s nowhere left to go, where the only thing left between them is heat and air and the sharp, undeniable edge of want.

But she’s here now.

And so is he.

And the way he’s looking at her—wide-eyed, lips parted, breath coming shallow—makes something in her stomach twist tight.

Her gaze drops.

His tongue flicks out, dampening his lower lip, and she watches the way the muscle moves, watches the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

She doesn’t mean to chase it.

But she does.

His breath catches the moment their mouths meet, the moment she presses in, the moment her tongue slips past the seam of his lips and finds his own.

Spencer makes a sound—a quiet, wrecked thing, caught between his teeth—and his hands twitch at her waist, hesitant, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

She pulls back just slightly, enough to see the way his pupils have blown wide, enough to watch his tongue dart out, like he’s already searching for the taste of her.

It’s the most unholy thing she’s ever seen.

And she wants more.

[kiasbarse]

i dont care if he killed people hes still my babygirl‼️💥💥💥‼️💥‼️💥💥‼️

[ask-me-later23]

Happy happy new year!!!!!

The baulders gate to dragon age pipeline is real. I can’t get enough of my egg head and brown eyed demon man.

[spencersbabymama]

Santa I would like to have him under my tree pweeeeaaaase 🥹❤️💚❤️

[ask-me-later23]

Weathering the Storm.

Spencer Reid x Reader in which Spencer comforts reader while they work through their intense storm anxiety.

Warnings: severe anxiety/fears of thunder and lightning.

A/N: I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea but hurricane is currently hitting FL and this is how I am coping. It might not help everyone but it helped meeee.

The noise was too much. It was all too much.

Between the quick flashes of light, the intense roars that followed, and the incessant scraping of branches against your window, it was all just too much.

It didn’t start off slowly, as you were used to with storms. No, this morning it seemed like the perfect fall day when you went to get coffee just down the block. You could even remember enjoying the soft breeze that brushed against you as you walked. This all seemed so far ago, so far away. 

The clouds rolled in quickly, followed in suit by the zips of lightning in the distance, and the grumbling that seemed to mock you. You hardly made it back inside before they began taunting you in full force. 

At any other moment you might have found this scene humorous. You’ve seen true horrors everyday, come face-to-face with real life monsters on a regular basis, yet here you are: sobbing and quivering over a thunderstorm. Brought to your knees by mother nature. 

But it is not any other moment. Right now you can’t even think straight. All you can focus on is how loud everything is. You clamp your hands over your ears in attempts to muffle the world around you, but it seeps through. It always does. 

A loud rapping at your door startles you, forcing out a loud whimper. Panic begins to set in. What happened? Is someone hurt? What’s going on? All questions you had no answers too. You hear the raps again, softer this time.

Suddenly, through the panicked haze, you remember Spencer was supposed to come over and drop off some case files. You attempt to move towards the door from your corner, but find all of your limbs refuse to answer to you anymore. Your fingers remain clenched to your head, and your legs are stuck curled up in front of you. Another whimper escapes your lips.

A moment passes and you think he gave up on you and left, but then you can hear the soft creak of the door being opened. How did he get in here? What if it isn’t him? What if it’s an intruder? What if-

“Y/N? The door was unlocked, I thought I heard something. Are yo-” Spencers concerned voice suddenly halts and footsteps begin rushing over to your currently hunched over body. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You feel him kneel down next to you, a warm hand places itself on your knee, but your body jerks away from the sudden contact. His gaze burns a hole into the top of your head, but you can’t force yourself to look up and open your eyes. 

Suddenly another loud BANG goes off outside, sounding every single alarm inside your head once more, and you recoil from the noise. You hear Spencer readjust on the cold floor.

“The storm,” he whispers. Despite the softness to his tone, there is no question or uncertainty to his voice. 

You hear more shuffling, followed by footsteps walking away, and are suddenly worried he’s going to leave you. He didn’t sign up to be here for this, for you. He just came to drop off files. You might have a close bond but that does not mean he’s obligated to help. A soft sob escapes your lips, and then you hear the footsteps coming back towards you. 

“Shhh… It’s okay.” You feel him sit back down next to you. “You know it’s actually a myth that lightning can’t strike two places in the same spot. There are hundreds of places where lightning can strike twice. The Empire State Building gets struck about 100 times a year.” He moves closer. “Astraphobia is the actual name for an intense fear of thunder and lightning, and it is the third most common phobia in America. However, your actual chances of being struck by lightning are about 1 in 12,000.”

Slowly, you feel him brushing your back gently. This time you do not flinch. 

“In 1955 there was this huge thunderstorm in Belgium that set off over 40,000 pounds of explosives left over from the battle of Messines in World War 1. But the only casualty was a single cow.” You are enveloped in warmth that you didn’t know you needed as he slowly places a blanket over your shoulders. 

You can slowly start to feel yourself relaxing as you focus on his words. You stop shaking and your breathing begins to slow. “There’s a thunderstorm that forms regularly over Tiwi Islands that they named ‘Hector the Convector’ from September to March.” He pulls you in closer, hugging you tightly with one arm through the blanket. You slowly regain feeling into your limbs and lean into him. 

“Aristotle used to believe that thunder was caused by a collision of the clouds,” he continued his rambling as he cupped his other hand across your face.

“Thank you,” you manage to croak out. He wipes the tears away from your face and you finally manage to look up at him. His disheveled curls looked all over the place, yet framed his face perfectly. His brows were pushed together and the corners of his lips turned down in concern. “You don’t have to stay…it’s okay.”

As if wanting to make you seem a fool, mother nature sent another loud roar your way, causing you to shrink right back into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.” His arms gripped you securely. 

You both stay there for the rest of the night, even after the clouds dissipate and the storm calms. You don’t say much, just sit wrapped in each other’s arms in comfort.

[ask-me-later23]

I’m just a gorl as I’m having a visceral reaction to videos of Aaron Hotchner’s arms

[txmriddlx]

Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.

[ilovesadiesink]

<criminal minds as b99 quotes3

Spencer: You were mugged? Why would you keep this from me?

Hotch: Because they're injured.

Y/n: I wasn't injured. I was lightly stabbed.

Spencer: I'm sorry, you were stabbed??

Y/n: lightly stabbed.

[ask-me-later23]

Can you write a little blurb about reader having a sleepy cuddly afternoon with Spencer?

Soft rays of light drifted through the curtains and across your face, a gentle reminder from the sun of its limited time with you. As much as you wanted to continue your adventures within your dreamscape, you were quickly stolen away, back to the real world. Back to the too small couch currently hosting you and your too tall boyfriend, Spencer. 

Afternoons like this were rare with him, he was always on call and even when he was home you both were typically too busy to spend an afternoon doing nothing. You both got the afternoon off and while you had said it would be just a few minutes of rest, those few minutes turned into a few hours, which had developed into the entire day.

Spencer was still asleep, you try not to move too much and wake him. His insomnia refuses to let him sleep for more than a few hours, so you know he needs what rest he can get.

This was also your favorite time to look at him, when he had his guard down and looked the most at peace. The beams that drew you from sleep now dance across his curls, making them shine a golden color that reminds you of honey. Freckles are sprinkled across his skin. You remember how you used to make a game of kissing each of them when you first got together. The memories bring a soft smile to your face as you listen to his snores. 

As if realizing he’s being watched, Spencer finally stirs. His eyes flitter open, revealing the rich, brown color that always reminded you of dark, vintage books. The corner of his lips tilt up into a smile and he pulls you in tighter. 

“Good afternoon sleepy,” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck.

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I can having to listen to your loud ass snoring,” you tease, sitting up to check the time on your phone. 

Spencer rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arm across his face to cover the light. “45% of adult males snore on a regular basis, and it only gets worse with age. You should really get used to it.”

“Guess I’ll just have to go find somewhere else to sleep then.” You act like you’re going to stand up, only to have Spencer jump up from his resting position and drag you back down with him, his grasp unusually strong for a man of his stature. 

“Not gonna happen.” His grip holds firm as you attempt to wiggle away, giggling.

“We really should get up and be productive,” you murmur into his chest where he currently has your face stuck.

“Productivity is for tomorrow, today is for sleeping and comfort.”

While your mind tells you that his logic is faulty, you can’t ignore how his sweater smells strongly of books and laundry detergent, or how comforting that smell is. You also cannot ignore the circles he is currently rubbing on your back, just underneath your own sweater. So, instead of protesting, you nestle in closer and shut your eyes once more.

“Sleep it is.”

You both drift off to sleep again, locked in each other’s arms and isolated from the outside world. When you inevitably wake again and hear Spencer’s soft snores, all you can do is smile.

[cpidspence]

ngl my eyes are on his hands