Bre

Everything I post is a repost 20s

[bideogaymes]

that Natasha doll shit that’s big in Asia rn (China, Indonesia, Korea, etc.) is emblematic of why we say antiblackness is global. abusing a Black baby doll to relieve stress, in violent and pedophilic ways, & then going out of their way to take pictures of irl Black, African, and half-Black Asian children to brag that they found the “IRL Natasha doll”? and comments under posts on Xiaohongshu saying they want to “punch” it (an irl Black child) up?

and in Spanish speaking circles online they sharing gore pictures of dead African babies in online chats so much it has a label named “BND”? Another Black teen was murdered recently by an Asian American store owner convinced he was stealing despite putting items back. He shot him in the back.

yall dont deserve nothing from Black people in any part of the diaspora, irdc. this shit makes me so angry but the demands for an expectation of actionable organizing and dismantling of the white supremacist project that is the US is laid at our collective feet and no one else’s is so crazy to me. how are Black ppl supposed to generate trust for nonblack ppl that hasn’t been demonstrated in a sustained, recent, manner, without us having to force the rest of the world to see us?

Idpol is divisive until it’s time to self adopt the moniker of the Global South and that often doesn’t include & backseats Black African exploitation/extraction. it’s hella transparent how nonblack leftists only mention Sudan, Congo, Somalia, etc. as afterthoughts to their awareness and solidarity posts focusing on Palestine but feel entitled to call Black leftists “zog slaves” for not making dedicated media to the issue they feel the most important, regardless if to these Black leftists making Black issues their focus and niche.

fucking crazy so many of yall got the nerve to posture moral superiority.

[vatio-nuked]

Donate to Justice for Cyrus Carmack-Belton, organized by Todd Rutherford

We have started this GoFundMe to help support the family of Cyrus Carmack-Belton and … Todd Rutherford needs your support for Justice for Cy

the upcoming civil case is going to be his family's next chance at legal justice, but the legal feels are going to become TREMENDOUS

[glitchy-haha]

INCREDIBLY CONCERNING SPIKE IN ANTI-BLACKNESS IS HAPPENING RN.

Some of yall may have heard some of the shit that has been going on right now. I'm gonna give a quick run down of some of the stuff that has been happening. Note, this is not all, and it may never be all as much as I will try to update this.

(I am going to try and compile and briefly explain these as much as I can. There may be misinformation. Please inform me if I got something wrong.)

(This will also be updated with additional information and new topics added.)

1) Racist Chinese Dolls.

There are these dolls in China that are being called "Natasha" baby dolls. These dolls are not only very obvious caricatures of black people, but they are being advertised as a "stress relief" in which the people who buy these abuse it in various ways.

This links to a video of a compilation of the various "uses" of the doll. There are more in the replies of the tweet. (Another link to the same tweet just incase)

2) The Mocking, Abuse, and Dehumanization of Black Children.

Apart from the aforementioned doll, there are apparently people going around mocking, abusing, and dehumanizing black children.

Some people have compared black children to the doll.

Others have been going into African countries and have found ways to mock, abuse, and dehumanize black children for clout.

(Source 1 + Full Video) (Source 2)

There are more videos surfacing.

3) Black people are going missing.

Black people, especially children and teens have recently been going missing at an alarming rate. Some of these same people are turning up dead, deaths being ruled as "suicides."

While it generally unknown why many of these people are going missing, many suspect that their disappearances, deaths, and even lack of coverage is rooted in anti-blackness.

The following is a list of black people that have been reported missing as of recently. Please note that this is not a complete list (it may never be completed due to the fact that many of these disappearances will still occur as time passes) this may contain inaccurate information. Please inform me if that is the case.

By the time you see this, some of these people may have already been found either alive or deceased. This post will be updated overtime.

It is also heavily encouraged that you reblog this with more links to recent cases of missing black people if you are aware of any that aren’t included on this list.

Alexis Shaver

Payton Diver

Nasir Tacuma

Ka’Laya Cooper

Makaila Monae Adam

Moriah Kerre Smith

Uchechi Chijindum Nkemdirim

Victeria Uriah Spear

Rilen Wade (Found. Is Safe)

Leara Sessoms

[blackjame]

Viral Instagram post highlights disproportionate number of Black children reported missing in Virginia

A viral social media post stating there have been 63 Black children reported missing in Virginia since April 1 underscores a serious issue i

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Weak pull out game || Jack Abbot ||

A/n: Squeal to 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬

The apartment is too quiet when the Pitt crew arrives , it's the kind of quiet that only happens when chaos has finally exhausted itself.

The door is unlocked.Which is the first red flag.

Robby nudges it open with his shoulder, coffee in hand, already mid-sentence. “I’m telling you, if Jack doesn’t stop lifting patients like he’s still twenty—”

He freezes.

Everyone freezes.

Because sprawled across the couch is you, very visibly pregnant again, dead asleep with one arm hanging off the cushion and your face smushed into a throw pillow like you lost a fight with exhaustion.

Next to you sits Jack.

Shirt wrinkled. Hair a mess. Dark circles under his eyes.

And attached to his prosthetic leg like a tiny feral animal?

Your toddler.

Gnawing on it.

Full mouth. Determined. Holding it with both hands.

Just going to town.

There’s a long, stunned silence.

Then Robby slowly lowers his coffee.“…Jack.”

Jack doesn’t even look up from the phone in his hand.“Yeah.”

“You do know,” Robby says carefully, “that your child is actively chewing on your leg.”

Jack sighs tiredly.“She’s teething.”

Whitaker blinks. “On your prosthetic?”

“She prefers it,” Jack mutters. “Cold. Rubber texture. Apparently better than the twenty-seven teethers we bought.....it's not like I can feel what she's doing anyway..."

The toddler lets out a pleased little growl and chomps harder.

Robby stares. “It that not....concerning for you?"

Jack finally looks up, eyes bloodshot.“Buddy, after the first time she licked it in Target, nothing feels weird anymore....you're welcome to try and pull her off...see where it will get you."

Dana presses her lips together, failing not to laugh.“Oh my god.” Her head turns away as her shoulders start to shake.

Cassie whispers, “She’s like a tiny beaver.”

Right on cue, your daughter gnaws enthusiastically and makes a proud little noise like she’s accomplishing something important.

Jack pats her head gently.“Easy, monster. That’s Daddy’s leg, not corn on the cob.”

She ignores him.

Robby slowly scans you, the bump, the exhaustion, the chaos.“…wait.”

His eyes widen.“Pregnant again?”

Jack exhales like a man who hasn’t slept in weeks...because of course he hasnt.“Yep.”

Silence.Then chaos.

“You’re kidding.”

“Already??”

“BRO.”

“Jack!”

Dana bursts out laughing. “Oh you two are brave.”

Jack deadpans, “Or incredibly stupid. Jury’s out.”

Robby rubs his face. “How far along?”

“Almost four months.”

Whitaker’s jaw drops. “And you didn’t tell us?”

Jack gestures vaguely to the scene.

“Was gonna. Then she started biting furniture. Then your girl passed out standing up once. Then I forgot what day it was.”

Right then you shift in your sleep and mumble, half conscious,“Jack…if she eats the leg again I swear to god—”

Jack gently steadies the toddler before she tips over.“She’s not eating it. Just tenderizing.”

You groan and bury your face deeper into the pillow.

Robby loses it.Full laugh. Almost spills his coffee, the man feeling lighter than he ever did.“This is the most Jack Abbott family moment I have ever seen.”

Dana wipes her eyes. “You two look like war survivors.”

Jack nods. “We haven’t slept since Tuesday. It’s Friday. I think.”

Dennis crouches near the toddler. “Hey sweetheart."She looks at him, smiles then snaps at him , Dennis jumps back eyes wide. “She's a bit...feral.”

Robby shakes his head in disbelief.“So let me get this straight. You’ve got a teething menace, a pregnant wife passed out cold, and you’re just… accepting leg consumption as a lifestyle?”

Jack stares at the ceiling.“This is my life now.”

Dana pats his shoulder. “We brought food.”

Jack’s eyes almost water.“You’re angels.”

Robby smirks. “We also brought coffee. Strong enough to wake the dead."

Jack finally smiles.“Marry me.”

“Y/n will murder me,” Robby says. “But I’ll babysit.”

Your daughter immediately growls at him protectively over her prosthetic prize.

Robby slowly backs up.“Never mind. She is feral.”

Jack sighs fondly.“Yeah. But she’s ours.”

He looks at you sleeping, then at your belly, then at the tiny gremlin chewing his leg.“Tired. Broke. Covered in bite marks.Worth it.”

From the couch you mumble sleepily,“Jack…if we have twins this time I’m blaming you…”

The whole crew bursts into laughter.Jack closes his eyes.“…please don’t put that into the universe.”

Jack lets out a slow breath through his nose, the universal sound of a man being judged by his coworkers in his own living room.

Langdon is still staring at the toddler like she’s a scientific anomaly.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I still cannot get over this,” he says, gesturing wildly. “Teething rings weren’t an option and really… you got Y/n pregnant again? You need to stay off of her. How old is your child again?”

Jack’s jaw tightens.“It’s not like I’m feeling anything,” he replies flatly, eyes locked forward. “It’s a prosthetic leg.”

He absolutely does not answer the age question.

Everyone notices.

Santos narrows her eyes immediately.“Oh. You’re dodging. That means the number is bad.”

Melissa leans forward nervously as the toddler chomps harder.“Shouldn’t someone grab her? I’m concerned about her teeth. And… your leg. Mostly her teeth though.”

“She’s fine,” Jack mutters. “Doctor said cold pressure helps. And she refuses frozen fruit. Trust me, we tried.”

The toddler growls proudly around the prosthetic.

Whitaker whispers, “She sounds like a raccoon defending trash.”

Langdon rubs his face.“Jack. How. Old.”

Jack exhales like a man walking into his own execution.“…ten months.”

Dead silence.

Then Santos explodes.“TEN MONTHS?!”

Melissa’s hand flies to her mouth. “JACK!”

Langdon shouts, “BRO THAT ISN’T EVEN A YEAR!”

Santos points accusingly.“She’s what, almost a year and you already got her pregnant? You have a weak pull-out game, Abbott.”

Jack finally snaps his head around. "First of all....rude. Second...we were tired, okay? Third,it only takes once.”

Langdon cackles.“ONCE?? That’s what every man says before a second baby shows up!”

From the couch you groan in your sleep and shift, one hand automatically resting on your bump.

“Jack… tell them to stop yelling… the baby’s gonna start doing gymnastics…”

Everyone freezes.

Whitaker whispers, “She said baby singular.”

Santos gasps. “Oh thank god.”

Jack sighs in relief. “Yeah. One. We’re not that cursed.”

Melissa squints. “Yet.”

The toddler chooses that moment to clamp down harder.

Jack flinches, his prosthetic leg jostles from his daughter's enthusiasm. “Okay — see...that one was personal.”

Langdon laughs so hard he has to lean on the wall.“I really need to pay attention more,” he says between breaths. “How did we not realize she was pregnant again?”

Santos gestures broadly at the scene.“We were distracted by the child eating medical equipment!”

Melissa shakes her head.“You two look like exhausted raccoons in love.”

Jack stares lovingly at you.“Accurate.”

Langdon sighs dramatically.“I can’t believe this is your life.”

Jack shrugs.“Yesterday she tried to lick a grocery cart. Last week she bit a firefighter. Today it’s my leg. Growth.”

Santos smirks.“So what I’m hearing is you should invest in knee pads.”

Jack throws a pillow at her.“Get out of my house.”

Everyone bursts out laughing as the toddler squeals, you mumble something about pancakes in your sleep, and Jack looks around at the chaos with tired affection.

“…yeah,” he says softly. “This tracks.”

Robby blinks at the scene one more time — the gnawed prosthetic, you dead asleep, Jack looking like a man who’s fought a war against teething — then finally exhales.

He steps forward.

Before Jack can react, Robby gently but confidently scoops the toddler up.She makes an offended little noise.

“Hey, hey,” Robby murmurs automatically, rocking her like he’s done this a thousand times on shift with tired parents. “I got you, tiny menace.”

She immediately tries to bite his sleeve.

Robby jerks back. “—Okay nope, we’re not starting that habit with Uncle Robby.”

Jack watches with mild awe.“She usually only goes for me.”

“Lucky me,” Robby mutters, bouncing her until she forgets about violence.

He glances at you, out cold, breathing slow, hand resting protectively on your bump.

Then back at Jack.

“I’ll watch her for a bit,” Robby says softly. “Let you two, uh… rest.”

Jack’s shoulders sag in visible relief.“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah that’d be great.”

The toddler immediately settles against Robby’s chest like she’s clocked out for her own nap shift.

Traitor.

Robby looks down at her, then back up at Jack with a smirk.“And Jack.”

“Yeah?”

Robby pauses dramatically.“After Y/n gives birth to this child… please stay off your wife.”

Jack closes his eyes.“Robby—”

“Or,” Robby continues, dead serious, “invest in condoms. Or better pull-out timing. Or a calendar. Or a priest.”

Santos snorts.“Preferably all four.” She mutters.

Melissa adds, “We’re begging you.”

Langdon crosses his arms. “Your fertility stats are terrifying.”

Jack groans.“We get it. I’m potent..."

Robby laughs. “Potent isn’t the word, man. You’re a public health concern.”

The toddler snores lightly against his chest.

Robby softens instantly.“…okay but she’s actually really cute when she’s not gnawing on medical equipment.”

Jack smiles tiredly.“She gets that from her mom.”

Whitaker nods. “The feral part or the cute part?”

“Yes.”

Robby starts pacing gently with her.“You two sleep. I’ll run interference for a bit.”

Jack’s voice cracks just slightly.“Thanks.."

Robby smirks.“Next baby shower I’m bringing birth control.”

Jack mutters, “I deserve that.”

From the couch you mumble sleepily, body turned slightly, half aware,“Robby… if he touches me again I’m buying a lock…”

Everyone laughs.

Jack buries his face in his hands.“…I’m in danger.”

Robby grins while rocking the toddler.“Finally learning.”

The apartment settles, softer now, baby secure, mom resting, Jack breathing for the first time all day.

And the Pitt crew?

Still roasting him.

Relentlessly.

Because some things never change, and it is what family does.

[ladyorlandodream]

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

Got You On My Radar !! .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪𖤐

➽──────────────❥

Super mysterious, very alluring. It might be unprofessional, but who said you couldn’t find love in a butcher shop?

AKA: Text’s between you and your favorite late-night customer ✮⋆˙

Ft. J. Nyras !! ✶⋆.˚

You Are Here -> !! Pt 1 !! Pt 2 - Pt 3 <<

➽──────────────❥

➽──────────────❥

Reader trying to impress Brooklyn 99 detective trade:

[gav-san]

Cosmic Joke Masterlist

ONE PIECE Masterlist

Main Masterlist Here

Summary: You’re a normal person with the unfortunate position of having him as your soulmate. You’ve never met the guy, but you’ve been hearing his inner thoughts most of your life, and he should absolutely be locked up.

There were a lot of ways to discover your soulmate in this world. Some people got matching marks. Others shared pain, memories, and dreams. You? You got an internal monologue. And he is deranged.

AO3 Link

Taglist- join Here:

HERE IS HOW THE COSMIC JOKE WORKS!

Characters are chosen by poll & the author's choice. All are welcome to ask for a character not below, but please check on my search page to see if I’ve already replied. You’re also welcome to send ideas, and I’ll credit you if I use them; however, this is not a certainty. I try to cycle through popular and less popular characters.

Finished Characters:

'Firefist' Ace D. Portgas Extra

'Heavenly Demon' Donquixote Doflamingo: One, Two, Three Extra, Ep One & Two

'Hawk-Eyes' Dracule Mihawk : One, Two

Trebol: One, Two

Buggy the Clown: One, Two, Three

Rosinante Donquixote: One, Two Bad Ending

Charlotte Katakuri: One, Two, Three, Four

Donquixote Mjosgard

Shakuyaku "Shakky"

Gol D. Roger Extra Alt Ending

'Surgeon of Death' Trafalgar D. Water Law: One, Two, Three Extra

'Black Leg' Sanji : One, Two, Three

Kaido, King of the Beasts: One, Two, Extra

'Mountain-Eater' Scopper Gaban Extra

'Demon Child' Nico Robin

Marco the Phoenix: One, Two

'The Supersonic' Van Auger: One, Two

Rob Lucci: One, Two Extra

'Kizaru' Borsalino: One, Two

'Dark King' Silvers Rayleigh: One, Two, Three, Four Five Extra

Edward ‘Whitebeard’ Newgate: One, Two AU Rescue, Ex

Shiryu of the Rain Epilogue

'Gold Emperor' Gild Tersoro: One, Two

'Sharpshooter' Benn Beckman: One Two Three Four Five

Fisher Tiger 'Hero of the Slaves'

Coming Soon:

Shachi & Penguin for @thisloserhere and @11037-leon-danganronpa

'First Son of the sea' Jinbe for @physics-of-one-piece

'4th Commander' Thatch for @ocean-mochi

Flame Emperor Sabo for @sourberrey

Yamato for @redpool

Eustess 'Captain' Kid for @peachycheekz

Saint Charlos for @strangerdcd

Izou for @izouizouletdownyourhair

The List:

'Red Dog' Sakazuki Akainu for @murdermorder

Vista for @whiteplates

'Green Bull' Aramaki for @blue-batty-coco

Massacre 'Soldier' Killer for @thisloserhere @thatanonymouschocolate

Denjiro for @echosact

Paulie for @sam-aint-here & @oatslove12

‘White Hunter’ Smoker for @trouble-sistar

Kaku for @heartclock-20

Basil Hawkins for @sbratsbrat

Koby the Hero for @liqura

King the Conflagration for @physics-of-one-piece

'Demon Sheriff' Laffitte for @mort-alicious

Magellan for @05102021

Perospero for @spiced-apple

Limejuice for @pango-rango

Iceburg for sorasails and @spicykimchistew

Hongo for @hajangaworthy

Caesar Clown for @catchingsumzzzz

Shephard Sommers for ????

Rimoshifu Killingham for @doodledeerest

'Supreme Ruler' Imu for @kosavak & @physics-of-op-main

Gladius for Fizzzyyyyyy

Charlotte Perospero for @spiced-apple

Charlotte Cracker

'Hero of the Marine's' Monkey D. Garp for @pastaparker @thatanonymouschocolate

Sengoku the Buddha

'Pirate Mercenary' Hadjurin for @www-c4sper

Cavendish of the White Horse

'Champion of the Arena' Diamante for Guitar Anon

Vinsmoke siblings

X Drake for @ES0

Enel the "God" of Skypiea for @zephyrneko

Bartolomeo the Cannibal for @emeraldbriarwritings

Spandam for @wontknowbetter

'Iron Man' Franky for @wontknowbetter & @whirlybirdjnr

'Soul King' Brooks for @whirlybirdjnr

Gecko Mora for @boowiththewind

'Rebellious' Dragon for @imactuallylosing it & thesmolestsage

Rocks D. Xebec for @imactuallylosingitt

'Red-Leg' Zeff for ???

Lucky Roux for @theivorywriter

Yasopp for @kezibear

Kikunojo for @forbiddenshamblerknight

Bogard for @ari-chan18

Shiki the Golden Lion for @Mollys--stuff

Specials:

Garling Figarland for @chocolina99

Kuzan Aokiji for MYSELF

Monkey D Luffy for @thatchickwithfoodintheback

'Blackbeard' Mashall D. Teach for @directioncomet

Red-Haired Shanks for @la-dee-dumb

Sir Crocodile for Clarence98 & @oatslove12

Shamrock Figarland for @the-tiniest-breakfast & @mooniekins

Accursed Prince Loki' @dona-teresa @dudesorriso

(- Roronoa Zoro for @dearlymrme)

[enabianca]

[quarterlifekitty]

Cw: infidelity, reader is verging on OC here, very light physical description (wears glasses, is shorter than soap)

Regency!AU where you’ve just entered an arranged marriage with John MacTavish, and you’ve already heard whispers from servants and nobles alike about the girls he’s entertaining on the side. You sigh, disappointed but not surprised.

He’s never shown any interest in you. Not during your debut, not in any courting season, and certainly not now that you’re married. Quiet, studious, with no interest in socializing beyond a small circle. If anything, you’ve only ever been an obstacle to him— your desire for quiet and to study the flowers has robbed many a late night garden tryst of its privacy at social galas.

Not to mention your spectacles. He’s never understood some men’s taste for those.

But your family was of no small renown (distantly related to the royal family, some gossiped), and his had connections overseas. The match made sense. Well, to anyone but the people who had met you both.

He’ll admit you’ve piqued his curiosity when you invite him to speak with you privately. You couldn’t mean to confront him regarding his dalliances, could you? Because it wouldn’t do you any good. He needs some kind of stimulation in this dull, countryside manor.

You smile at the maid as she departs, having just set down the silver tea tray and chatted with you for a spell while you awaited your lord husband— late as usual. He’s always found it strange how you keep such a closer rapport with servants of all people.

You stand to greet him as he enters the garden, smiling like you don’t have a care in the world. Sweetly. You tuck a strand of hair back into place. That is, right before you slap him across the face. Hard.

And the poor man, he’s reeling— feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Since when could you hit harder than some of his mates? That train of thought ends when you grab him by the lapels and yank him downward to eye level. The fury he sees cannot be overstated.

“You think I care that my man-whore of a husband wants to wet his cock? I don’t. But should you wish to keep your manhood, you’ll do so in private,” you grit out, teeth bared at him. “I’ll not be humiliated by you. I’ll not be the subject of pitying gossip. Do not provoke me. Am I clear?”

He nods hastily once he re-learns how to move his head. You let go, but not without a slight shove that he sheepishly struggles to recover from. “Good. Now leave me be.”

You proceed to arrange your skirt suitably and sit at the garden table, picking up a cup to sip from, opening a journal and perusing it as if he isn’t even there.

Johnny leaves the garden quietly, retreating to your (scarcely) shared chambers to catch his breath.

And for a week or two, no words reach your ears about his liaisons. It’s a blissful time, but your satisfaction doesn’t last for long.

Because your husband has suddenly become nauseatingly affectionate. Scarcely leaving your side when he has his way, prompting you to sneak him improper kisses, holding your hand so he can kiss his way up your wrist in a most unbecoming way.

More than once, you hear of his former paramours. Humiliated, snubbed by him seemingly out of nowhere when you’d only told him not stick his hands up their skirts in plain view of others. Now he seemingly only has eyes for you, calling you bonnie and darlin and all other manner of sickening pet names. He’s even taken to playfully plucking the spectacles from your face— sometimes to clean them when they fog up from a hot drink, other times to hold them behind his back for ransom while he demands a kiss in exchange for their safe return.

My god, and the vile things he whispers to you when you find yourselves alone. Begging you to let him lift your skirts, to see that cute little cunt and give it a good licking, telling you about how he stroked himself in the bath last night thinking about you, how you should join him tonight—

Worst of all, he’s asking all manner of inane questions. Namely, which room you want to become the nursery.

[meadowdough]

⏾⋆.˚ Magical girl yuri?? On WEBCOMIC DAY?? ⏾⋆.˚ HONEY AND THE MOON is a magical girl webcomic about a depressed teenager's friendship with her bubbly classmate who has already accepted her own fate! It's queer, funny, and is only gonna get crazier from here!! SYNOPSIS: Magical-girl-in-denial Anusha doesn't feel like she can be anybody's hero anytime soon! But her classmate Ellie has fully accepted her own magical girl fate, and although Anusha is scared of the responsibility (and danger!), Ellie is excited to have a new friend with such a special thing in common with her! Friendship and love blooms, but so does uncertainty. As Ellie and Anusha uncover a mystery, they begin to wonder-- are they meant to be, or is this dream team doomed to be star-crossed forever?

READ HONEY AND THE MOON HERE!! ⏾⋆.˚

❤︎ Tapas

❤︎ Webtoon

❤︎ Official Site

❤︎ Ko-fi Early Access

[ru-valentine]

So dragon!reader who joins the team and is enamored with Vampire!Ghost. You wanted, no needed add him to your hoard. Mating season was coming up an a couple of months and you were set on Ghost being your partner.

You’d slip him jewelry, a few gemstones and shark teeth you’d collected. But they’d always turn up right back at your door or in your hoard. It was a little discouraging but you were already very attached and in love. Dragons were stubborn by nature and territorial so it’d take a lot to dissuade you from pursuing Ghost. The one thing would be if an older, more powerful dragon already had claim to Ghost, and that was the case.

Ghost already belonged to dragon!John Price. At a little over a month into you joining the 141 Ghost came to Price a little concerned for all the effort you’d been putting in to court him.

This morning you’d shyly given him an onxy spear head attached to a necklace rope chain. You’d made him a necklace that looked like you’d spent all night on it. Based on the dark circles and exhausted but proud look in your eyes it had taken multiple nights.

He knocked and came into Price’s office. “John? I think the new dragons is try’n to court me” Ghost dropped the onxy spearhead necklace unceremoniously on Price’s desk. Price stared at it taking it into his hands and feeling it. You’d obviously used your talons to do it and lots of time and love…He had a problem, sure he gave you the benefit of the doubt you didn’t know Simon was his mate but it still made him growl. Simon gave him a look and took the necklace back. “I’ve been trying to turn em down by not acceptin’ their gifts but young dragons are tenacious and they won’t give up…you need to talk to ‘em John” Price sighed, knowing Ghost was awful with emotional situations, if he made Ghost do the confrontation he’d probably cause you to fall into depression or he’d risk you getting aggressive. Young dragons were fairly aggressive, not that a strong vampire like Ghost couldn’t handle you but he’d rather avoid an all out brawl.

Price sighed and nodded “I’ll talk to em, let them down easy” Simon kissed him making John give a pleased grumble. “It’s probably because spring’s coming up. They’re looking for a partner so it’s probably just hormonal and a stern talking will do the trick” Price hoped it was. He hoped your were young, dumb, and very shallow that you’d hook yourself on another young hybrid on base. How wrong he would be.

Seeing your behavior towards Ghost trying to get him into your nest for the spring was a little bittersweet. Price’s hope you were shallow died quickly as he watched you. You were serious about Ghost. Even if he found you sweet, you weren’t taking a part of his hoard, not now not ever. Price called you to his office after a sparing session where you just ogled at Ghost causing you to loose to him.

He sat you down in his office and explained to you. He couldn’t figure out how to start the conversation so he left the words tumble from his lips. “Ghost is apart of my hoard. In fact he’s my mate” once the words left his lips he watched your face fall. Although seeing you sad made Price feel awful he couldn’t just let you take Ghost from him. “I of course didn’t expect you to be aware of this, it’s not public information. Normally dragons settle this in brawls but since you didn’t know i’m giving you a chance to back off. Find someone else for spring”

He dropped your courting gift in front of you unceremoniously watching your face twist from anger to disappointment. Then this empty and heartbroken expression fell upon your face. “I’m sorry” you weakly forced out an apology and quickly left the room before bursting into tears. That could’ve gone better…

Part 2

[chongoblog]

ITS APRIL 13 YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

FETCH ME NEIL

[chongoblog]

[chongoblog]

HAPPY BIG TWENTY NEIL

[pink-disco-bears]

“Aw… it’s a puppy!” You gasped, dragging your friends along as you wandered to the tree line encapsulating your small town. You had just started walking home from a day spent shopping and hanging out when you suddenly spotted the most beautiful stray you’d ever seen. He was laying down by the forest that separated the town from a military base, his unruly light fur almost glowing in the slowly rising moon.

You paid no mind to the wet grass below you as you got on your knees beside the dog, petting him like he was your childhood pet. He didn’t move, just letting you pet him as your friends tugged on your bag.

“C’mon, it probably has like, a hundred diseases,” your friend said, eyeing the dog with disdain–as she did with most animals.

You were about to shoot back with a huffed retort when the dog started growling. You jumped back, and decided to follow your friend’s advice as you all rushed back to the main path and head home.

Later, on the other side of the woods, Ghost walked into the base with a scowl. He plopped down with a beer and said nothing as he sipped on it with a tense jaw. Soap poked and prodded at him, attempting to reveal what made him so pissy. He usually was in a pretty good mood after being able to shift and race through the forest all day.

Ghost gave him nothing but a few choice words that made Gaz laugh from nearby, souring his mood further.

He had been lathered in attention from that sweet towns-girl, only to ruin it by growling at her friend. He would try again, and each attempt where you rushed away–thinking he was going to bite you–he would return to base, dejected and ticked.

Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6

[midnightfragment]

✰ squirt agenda

✰ Summary: Sam goes full nerd: researches squirting like it’s his next law school paper, force-feeds you water for 72 hours, eats you out until you see god, then methodically fucks you until you squirt on his cock too—just to “confirm the hypothesis.” ✰Warnings: smut, squirting, edging, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, hydration kink(?) if that’s a thing now, messy sex, wet sheets

Sam disappears into research mode for like three days straight.

You catch him at 3 a.m. with seventeen tabs open: “Physiology of female squirting: a review”, “Role of G-spot stimulation and pelvic floor contractions”, “Does hydration status affect squirting volume?”, some sketchy Reddit threads titled “I made her gush 911”, and an actual peer-reviewed article he printed out and highlighted. With different colors. Because he’s Sam.

He starts operation “hydration protocol” like you’re training for a marathon. Every time you turn around there’s a new glass of water. “Baby, you need to stay hydrated.” “Sam I’ve had four liters today.” “Yeah but that was before lunch.”

He’s so earnest about it. Keeps refilling your bottle with that soft little “I’m doing this because I love you and also science” smile that makes you want to both kiss him and strangle him.

Then night falls.

He’s been edging you for an hour already—slow, filthy, focused oral like he’s writing his dissertation with his tongue. Forehead glistening. Hair falling in his eyes. That little furrow between his brows he gets when he’s concentrating really hard. He’s got two long fingers curled inside you, pressing that spot that makes your thighs shake, and he’s sucking your clit with this rhythmic pull that’s actually insane.

You’re begging. You’re crying a little. You’re definitely soaking his chin.

And then it happens.

The pressure builds different this time—sharper, fuller, almost scary—and he knows. He fucking knows.

He pulls off just enough to rasp, “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Let it happen.”

You do.

You arch so hard your back leaves the mattress and you gush—hard—right against his mouth. He groans like he just won the lottery. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps licking through it, slower now, helping you ride the aftershocks while he murmurs, “That’s it… fuck, look at you… so fucking beautiful…”

You think he’s done. He is not done.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with intent, and says—very seriously, like he’s presenting his thesis defense

“I need to know if it’s just oral or if penetration can trigger it too.”

You blink. Still panting. “Sam—”

“It’s for science,” he says, already hard and leaking against your thigh. “I have a control variable now. I need to test the independent one.”

You’re too fucked out to argue with Winchester logic.

He flips you onto your stomach first—because “angle matters”—slides in so slow it’s torture, lets you feel every inch while he’s whispering anatomy facts against your ear like dirty talk. “See how deep I can get… right against your anterior wall… that’s where the Skene’s glands are… fuck, you’re so wet already…”

He builds it again.

Deliberate thrusts. Deep. Focused. Changes the angle every time your breathing changes until he finds the one that makes you sob into the pillow.

His hand snakes around to rub tight circles on your clit at the same time and—oh god.

You’re shaking.

You’re pleading.

You’re definitely going to black out.

“Sam—Sam I can’t—”

“You can,” he growls, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna do it again. For me. Come on, baby, give it to me—”

He slams in hard one last time, pins you down with his whole body, fingers relentless on your clit and— You break.

It’s louder this time. Wetter. Messier. You squirt so hard it soaks his thighs, the sheets, probably the fucking headboard. He loses it. Groans your name like a prayer, fucks you through it with these wild, desperate thrusts until he’s coming too, buried so deep you feel him pulse inside you.

When it’s over he collapses half on top of you, both of you drenched and panting.

Long silence.

Then, in the tiniest, most smug voice:

“…Hypothesis confirmed.”

You wheeze out a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles against your shoulder, already kissing the sweat off your skin. “But I’m your insane.”

He reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand without even looking.

“Drink,” he says softly. “Sam—” “Hydration protocol isn’t over yet.”

You’re never going to survive this man.

✰ a/n: sam would deadas keep a little notebook “she reached squirting threshold at 22:47 via combined digital-oral stimulation” “penetrative squirting achieved at 23:12 after 17 minutes of consistent G-spot pressure”

he’s so proud of his data

you’re so in love with him it’s disgusting

It was 3 AM i couldn’t get it out of my head and i wrote it so sorry if there are any typos)

[jnw1813]

Никто is watching you

A Nikto/Reader story.

You’re getting stalked by a giant Russian soldier.

Obviously, you’re into it.

(Aka, Nikto stalks you, and upon approaching you, things go very well.)

Warnings/tags: NSFW/18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, stalking, dark romance, dark fluff, mentions of canon-typical stuff (murder, torture, etc), military inaccuracies, smut (penetrative sex, oral, grinding), loss of virginity, dark thoughts, ambiguous penetration/ambiguous sex for gender neutral reader, brief animal abuse, reader has vague familial issues, Google translated Russian.

32k words | AO3

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

[amerlcanapparel-deactivated2020]

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

[straighthater]

when guys objectify women and expect them to send nudes

[timelordpillbug]

when someone asks you about your nuclear plans for russia

[hikingnerd]

When Russia sends you nudes

[dr-thackery]

[dismantlerepaired]

[ilovepretzelrods]

[thegingerbalrog]

[onwardwall]

[miss-jaxon-flaxon-waxon]

#what the fuck happened here

[her-eyes-dared-me-with-danger]

This is my favorite post in all of tumblr

[kyloschuyler]

reminder that this post is now illegal in Russia

[tree-of-blue-squirrel]

reblog it, because Russia can´t

[maradaisykat]

Thanks Obama 

[my-sisters-eyeball]

Wtf

[roomba-with-knives-taped-to-it]

When Russia makes this post illegal

[earthnicity]

I HAVE ONLY SEEN THIS IN SCREENSHOTS

[dovahdez]

I will reblog this every goddamn time I find it on my dash

[a-wondering-thought-deactivated]

I have a piece of tumblr history on my blog now

[hellsitegenetics]

String identified: atgctactttaatcaaaaattcaTattattatttgaagtcaacatTaaataattgaATCTgtgattaaacttg

Closest match: Bombyx mori BmN4 cell DNA, chromosome 24, sequence Common name: Domestic Silk Moth

(image source)

[willifolts]

When the domestic silk moth sends you nudes

[scp-threats-is-back]

Domestic silk moth is just being friendly

[yoink-a-doink]

Now the moth is banned in Russia

[fantasylover4538]

…well what the fuck is this

[kingofkaumidy2]

Art.

[shower-thoughts-last-responder]

[sodom-hussein]

Old iconic tumblr posts gather gimmick blog comments the way DNA mutations accumulate over time

[daysleftofsecondterm]

1,026 days left

[monzabee]

i read "when did you get so hot?" and i think about them two some time later, soo can i ask you for request? maybe they’re in a relationship. spencer being the responsible guy, do the dishes, assemble a chair from IKEA *wink wink*. anyway, love your work!!

tears run down (on my thighs) - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist || part 1 - when did you get hot?

Summary: spencer reid would not use sex to convince you to come back to the fbi... or would he?     

Pairing: laterseasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.9k 

Warnings: flirty reid, like it’s probaby incorrect characterisation but i honestly do not care, also gossip sesh with the girlies, penelope and jj having absolute time of their lives watching the reader suffer, of course talk about sex (obvi), manipulation, sex as a manipulation tactic

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“I need to talk to you,” you announce, walking into the room uninvited—and frankly not caring about the lack of decorum on your part. Not that Penelope would mind, of course, she has done the same to you multiple times over the past however many years of your friendship, after all.  

“I need to talk to you,” you announce, walking into the room uninvited—and frankly not caring about the lack of decorum on your part. Not that Penelope would mind, of course, she has done the same to you multiple times over the past however many years of your friendship, after all.  

Penelope turns to you on her swivel chair, her eyebrows rising with surprise, “Hello to you... too?” 

You blow out a breath, hands on your hips. “Sorry. Hi. Hello. Greetings. I’m great. How are you?” 

Penelope narrows her eyes at you like she’s running a full psychological evaluation, and then, much to your dismay, a wicked smile widens on her face. “You’re flustered.” 

“I am fine.” 

“You’re lying.” That one is accusatory, not that she’s wrong, but also not something you expect. 

You groan. “Penelope, I need to talk to you.” 

“Oh, okay,” she chirps, rolling her chair closer like she’s about to conduct a deposition. “Is this about the thing? Or like… the thing?” 

“Penelope,” you warn. 

She gasps dramatically. “It’s the thing.” 

Before you can respond, another voice cuts in from the doorway. “Who’s talking about a thing?” JJ walks in holding two files, looking far too perceptive for your liking. 

“Oh perfect,” Penelope beams. “You’re just in time, we’re having a crisis.” 

“We are not having a crisis,” you snap. “No crisis. Zero crisis. Negative crisis.” 

JJ raises a brow. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re going to burst into flames if I say Spen-” 

Hands still on your hips, your eyes narrow as you look at the two blonds in front of you. “Listen, do you guys want to hear how Spencer Reid is using sex to convince me to come back to the FBI, or not?” 

There is a beat of utter silence, then: 

Penelope slams both hands onto her desk. “YES.” 

JJ nearly drops her files. “I—okay, hang on—what?” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Don’t make me say it twice.” You’re not above begging, and thankfully, it seems you won’t have to.  

Penelope leans forward, elbows on her desk, and chin in her hands. “Oh, you’re absolutely saying it twice.” 

JJ sets her files aside and crosses her arms. “Start from the beginning. And don’t leave out details,” she mentions you to sit, “have a seat, girlfriend.” 

The BAU has been understaffed for months. They’re drowning in cases. Emily asked you—gently, in that soft voice she uses when she knows she’s asking for a huge favor, though also respectfully, consider coming back. You’d said you’d think about it. That was three weeks ago. And after three weeks of sexual manipulation delivered in absolute precision of your boyfriend, you don’t know whether to curse or thank Emily Prentiss for the best sex of your life. 

It had started so innocent, or that’s what you thought. After spending the first couple of months of your relationship in your own bubble, it was easy to forget the world outside of it—Quantico, cases, the constant weight of being needed. You’d left the BAU for a reason, whether it was because of burnout or grief. Or perhaps a quiet, desperate need to be something other than useful.  

And Spencer knew that, of course, he did.  

That’s why he never talked about why you left. 

And ever so foolishly, you thought you had an understanding between the two of you: he keeps the horrors of the office at the office, and you keep your peaceful, civilian life at home. But Spencer Reid doesn’t play by the rules when he’s determined, and apparently, he’s determined to have you back in a tactical vest beside him—and he is not afraid to play dirty to get what he wants. 

“He’s using psychological conditioning!” you hiss, pacing the small, tech-cluttered space. “It’s subtle. It’s genius. It’s… it’s exhausting.” 

Penelope’s eyes are practically vibrating with excitement. “Explain. Give me the data points. I need a spreadsheet.” 

“Two nights ago,” you begin, counting off on your fingers. “I was telling him about my new job—the one with the reasonable hours and the zero chance of being kidnapped by a serial killer. He didn't say a word. He just started kissing my neck, right behind my ear, and whispered that my brain was clearly suffering from a lack of ‘environmental stimulation’.” 

JJ lets out a suppressed snort, trying to hide her reaction behind a well-timed cough. “He did not.” 

“He did! And then he told me, while his hands were doing things that should be illegal in at least twelve states—that the adrenaline spike of a high-stakes case is the only thing that truly satisfies a mind like mine.” You stop, breathless and red-faced. “I almost agreed to sign my reinstatement papers right there on the headboard.” 

“Oh sugarplum,” Penelope sighs, “that would’ve made our poor Unit Chief Prentiss a very happy lady.”  

“Emily would probably give him a medal for recruitment,” you groan, finally collapsing into the ergonomic chair Penelope practically shoved under you. “It’s not just the talking, it’s the methodology. Last night, I told him I was looking at weekend getaways, and he started tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb. He looked me dead in the eye and said that while relaxation is a biological necessity, my specific cognitive profile thrives on the 'bonding through shared trauma' that only the team provides.” 

JJ leans against her chair, an impressed smirk playing on her lips. “He’s rewarding the thought of the BAU with dopamine, kind of like Pavlov’s dogs.” 

“He’s rewarding it with a lot more than dopamine, JJ!” you cry out, gesturing wildly at your own flushed face. “I went to his place to stand my ground. I had a whole speech prepared about work-life balance and the beauty of corporate consulting. I didn't even get past the foyer before he started talking about the 'unmatched neurological intimacy' of working a joint profile.” 

“And?” Penelope prompts, leaning so far forward she’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. “What happened to the speech?” 

“The speech is in the trash. Along with my resolve. And probably my dignity,” you mutter. “He backed me against the door and whispered— literally whispered into my skin that if I came back, we wouldn’t have to waste twenty minutes every evening catching each other up on our days because we’d have lived them together. Then he showed me exactly what he meant by 'efficiency'.” 

There’s a beat of silence in the room. Penelope looks like she’s just witnessed a miracle, and JJ is shaking her head in disbelief. “I always knew he was a genius,” JJ says softly, “but I didn't realize he was a diabolical genius.” 

“I honestly don’t know whether to be happy about all the ‘fulfillment’ I’ve experienced, or file a formal grievance with the Bureau for unethical recruitment tactics,” you finish, burying your face in your hands. 

Penelope lets out a sound that is half-gasp, half-giggle. “I wouldn’t file that grievance, honey. Keep that gift horse, and its extremely high IQ, exactly where it is.” 

“It’s not a gift!” you protest, though the way your heart flutters says otherwise. “It’s a trap! A beautiful, six-foot-one, sweater-vested trap. He’s making me associate my career with my… my physiological satisfaction.” 

“I think you mean your very specific needs,” JJ clarifies with a wink, her eyes dancing with an unholy amusement. “I’m sorry we’re enjoying your suffering,” JJ finishes, clearly not sorry at all, “but this is objectively fascinating.” 

“Fascinating?” You repeat weakly through your fingers. “He’s weaponizing emotional intimacy.” 

Penelope tilts her head thoughtfully. “Counterpoint: he’s using his natural gifts in the service of love and workplace retention.” 

“That is not better!” you groan. 

JJ pushes off the desk and begins pacing slowly, slipping into the same thoughtful cadence she uses when they’re building a profile. “Okay, let’s look at the facts. Spencer is patient, highly strategic, and—” 

“Dangerously persuasive,” you interrupt. 

“—and deeply attached to you,” JJ finishes calmly. “So, from his perspective, getting you back at the BAU solves multiple problems at once.” 

“Name one,” you challenge. 

Penelope raises a finger. “One: he misses working with you.” 

Another finger. “Two: the team misses you.” 

JJ adds a third. “Three: you’re extremely good at the job.” 

“And four,” Penelope says brightly, “he gets to see you more often and apparently continue his… conditioning experiments.” 

You stare at her. “You’re both the worst.” 

Before either of them can respond, a familiar voice drifts in from the hallway. 

“Well, technically it isn’t conditioning.” And suddenly, all three of you freeze—because the voice doesn’t belong to either one of you.  

Spencer stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a stack of case files tucked under one arm and a deceptively mild expression on his face. He looks every bit the boyish professor in his layered knits and slightly oversized messenger bag, but the way his eyes lock onto yours—dark, focused, and humming with a terrifyingly sharp intellect—suggests he’s heard much more of this conversation than you’d like. 

"Technically," he repeats, stepping into the room with that rhythmic, long-legged stride that usually makes your heart skip for all the right reasons, "it’s a form of positive reinforcement designed to strengthen a specific behavioral response. Conditioning implies a lack of agency, whereas I’m simply highlighting the natural, symbiotic relationship between your professional fulfillment and your... personal well-being." 

Penelope lets out a sound that is dangerously close to a squeak, her hands flying to her mouth. JJ just leans back against a server rack, crossing her arms with an "I told you so" smirk that you would love to slap off her face. 

You point at him slowly, horror creeping up your spine, as you accuse him. “You were eavesdropping.” 

Spencer blinks once, an innocent smile creeping on his face. “I was walking to Garcia’s office.” 

“You stopped.” You narrow your eyes at him. 

Spencer shrugs, “Yes.” 

Penelope lowers her hands from her mouth. “For how long, exactly?” 

Spencer thinks about it. Actually, thinks about it. “Long enough to hear the part about the headboard.” 

You make a strangled noise. JJ presses her lips together again, her shoulders shaking. And you can practically hear Penelope’s internal scream. “Fantastic,” you mutter, dropping back into the chair. “Great. Wonderful. I’m thrilled.” 

Spencer doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. Instead, he sets the stack of files down on Penelope’s desk with a deliberate thud, his fingers lingering on the manila folders as he turns his full attention back to you. The fluorescent lights of the technical suite catch the amber in his eyes, making them look warmer—and far more calculating than usual. 

“The headboard comment was an interesting data point,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Though, if we’re being academically rigorous, I believe your exact words were ‘signing reinstatement papers’ on said headboard. Which, from a legal standpoint, would likely be contested due to the... distracting nature of the environment.” 

“Spencer!” you hiss, looking at JJ and Penelope, who are both vibrating with the kind of glee usually reserved for closing a serial killer's case file. 

“I'm just saying,” he continues, stepping closer until he’s effectively boxed you into the ergonomic chair. He leans down, bracing one hand on the armrest and the other on the desk behind you. The scent of old books and his specific, clean soap hits you like a physical weight. “If the environment is the variable that's working, why fight the science?” 

JJ clears her throat, picking up her files and nudging a dazed Penelope. “Okay, I think we've reached the ‘too much information’ threshold for a Wednesday evening. Penelope, don't you have those encryption keys to rotate?” 

“Rotating! Yes! Rotating so fast!” Penelope squeaks, grabbing her coffee mug and power-walking out of her own office behind JJ. 

The door doesn't even fully click shut before Spencer’s gaze intensifies. He doesn't move away. Instead, he reaches out, his long fingers tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, but it sends a familiar, treacherous spark straight to your core. “You told them I'm weaponizing intimacy,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. 

“Aren't you?” you challenge, though your voice lacks the bite it had five minutes ago. “You're trying to Pavlov me back into a bulletproof vest.” 

“I’m reminding you of who you are,” he corrects softly. He shifts, his knee brushing against yours, and the proximity is suddenly overwhelming. “You’re a profiler. You see patterns where others see chaos. You crave the resolution of a complex puzzle. I'm just ensuring that your physiological rewards are aligned with your intellectual strengths.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Think about efficiency, like I said. No more debriefing over dinner. We can use that time for... other things.” 

You try to find your voice, your ‘civilian life’ resolve crumbling like wet paper. “This is unethical. You’re a doctor. You should know better.” 

“Actually,” he whispers, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, “as a doctor, I’m highly concerned with your lack of adrenaline-induced endorphins. It’s a health intervention.” You think he’s going to give in this time, and actually kiss you. But instead, he continues talking, his lips so close yet so far away, “And I’m not that kind of a doctor, darling.” 

The problem with Spencer Reid, one of many, really—is that he can say something deeply inappropriate in the same flat, academic tone he uses when discussing statistical anomalies. It makes arguing with him nearly impossible; half your brain is busy being offended, while the other half is trying to process whether you’re being seduced or peer-reviewed. 

Right now, it’s a deeply unfair combination of both. 

“You are unbelievable,” you manage, leaning back just enough to put a few inches of desperately needed oxygen between your faces. 

Spencer doesn't move. He just studies you with a quiet, clinical curiosity, like he’s observing the heat signature of a particularly volatile chemical reaction. “You came to Quantico,” he points out mildly. 

“That’s not—” You exhale a deep breath, frustrated, “That’s not the point.” 

“You came to Garcia’s office,” he continues, his voice dropping into that rhythmic, unstoppable cadence of a lecture. “Which is located in the BAU wing. This suggests that, subconsciously, you still associate this environment—and by extension, the people in it—with safety and familiarity.” 

You know, deep down, that what’s he’s telling is true, of course. Because when has Spencer Reid ever been wrong? But if he thinks you’re going to give him the satisfaction of being right, he’s wrong. So, in a bored voice, you contend, “I came here specifically to complain about you, Spencer.” 

“Still counts as exposure therapy.” 

Your jaw drops. You search his eyes for a flicker of a joke, but they’re wide and earnest. “Did you just turn my frustration into a clinical case study?” 

He tilts his head, a stray lock of hair falling over his brow. “Statistically? It was the most logical way to frame the interaction.” 

“Ideally,” you start, “I’d like my boyfriend to stop profiling me.” He tries to argue, but you stop him with a mere raise of your eyebrows. “you know exactly which buttons to push to get the results you want. That’s profiling, Spencer. You’re profiling me.” 

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, his nose grazing yours in a torturously slow movement. “I’m not profiling you," he murmurs, his voice vibrating with a low, steady confidence. “I’m appreciating you. There’s a significant difference in the neurobiological intent.” 

He lets his hand slide from the back of your chair to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The pressure is just enough to keep you grounded, just enough to make you forget why you ever liked the idea of a quiet office job. 

“If I were profiling you," he continues, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he speaks, “I’d mention that your pupils are currently dilated, your heart rate is likely exceeding 110 beats per minute, and you’ve stopped mentioning the 'beauty of corporate consulting' entirely.” 

“I hate you,” you whisper, though you’re already leaning into him, your hands finding their place on the soft wool of his sweater. You also find you hate the fact that he can reduce you to this— a breathless, flustered, and entirely incapable of remembering why you were supposed to be angry in the first place. 

“The thin line between love and hate is often just a misinterpretation of high-arousal stimuli,” Spencer retorts, finally closing the gap. 

The kiss isn't the soft, gentle thing he usually offers in public. It’s possessive and intelligent, a physical manifestation of his refusal to let you settle for a life that doesn't challenge you, and completely unlike the Spencer Reid you know. It tastes like coffee and victory. When he pulls back, just an inch, his eyes are dark with a playful sort of triumph. 

“Emily's office is down the corridor, up the stairs,” he reminds you, his thumb smoothing over your lower lip. “She’s leaving for a meeting in ten minutes. If you sign the paperwork now, I’ll take you to that Italian place with the dimly lit booths. We can discuss your... orientation.” 

He steps back, breaking the physical contact and leaving you feeling suddenly, frustratingly cold. He picks up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual grace that makes you want to scream. 

“I’ll be at my desk,” he says, giving you one last, lingering look. “Timing is everything in a case, after all.”