Imagine being JD Vance, who makes such a huge part of his personality being catholic. The pope himself takes time to lecture you on compassion then promptly DIES. The pope uses one of his last hours on earth to tell you that you suck at your religion on EASTER. And then DIES. Anyway RIP Pope Francis
Just read someone talking about a tiktok where the boyfriend sits with his plushies and watches and corrects his girlfriend as she teaches him as a way of studying for exam.
Maybe a PhD!student!reader x early!season!spence with this plot and he gets all cheery and claps whenever she gets a topic right idk
Hope that made sense😶🌫️
Love ya! 😘
studying — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: established relationship, fluff , reader has an exam, earlyseason!spencer <3
a/n: hi hi !! this isnt the first message i've received abt this tiktok video ( i feel like i'm the only one who hasnt seen it?) but its so spencer so i just had to write this <3
You stared at the whiteboard, its surface cluttered with half-erased scribbles, bullet points, and arrows pointing in increasingly uncertain directions.
The markers were beginning to dry out, and your brain too.
You squinted at the words, trying to will them into making sense, but they just sat there smugly, refusing to reorganize into anything remotely coherent.
Behind you, Spencer sat cross-legged on your bed, half-buried in a sea of plushies that had taken up residence there during your all-night study sessions.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.
The way your nose scrunched when you were frustrated, the way you gestured wildly when you finally connected the dots. He loved it when you taught him things, even if he already knew them.
You sighed and dragged a hand through your hair. “Okay, I give up. I’ve explained this same thing four different ways, and I’m still confusing myself.”
Spencer didn’t answer right away.
When you glanced back at him, he was gently repositioning a lopsided stuffed bear, straightening its little bow tie with delicate precision. He caught your gaze and smiled, warm and a little shy.
“You’re not confusing,” he said quietly. “You’re just tired. But I think you're explaining it better than you think you are.”
You let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, turning around to lean against the edge of your desk. “Then why does it feel like none of it’s sticking?”
“Because you’ve been at this for hours,” he said, shifting slightly and patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit. Let’s go over it again.”
You hesitated, eyeing the whiteboard one last time like it might suddenly throw you a bone. It didn’t.
You had discovered early on in your relationship that Spencer was an excellent study partner—not just because of his eidetic memory, but because of the way he listened. He absorbed information like a sponge, but more than that, he made you feel heard.
When you explained concepts aloud to him, it forced you to articulate them clearly, and his occasional corrections (always gentle) kept you sharp.
With a reluctant sigh, you crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. A stuffed alpaca flopped sideways onto your lap, and Spencer gently rescued it before it fell off the edge.
“This one likes to supervise,” he said with a grin, setting it back beside you like it was part of some official plushie committee.
You couldn’t help but smile. “He looks judgmental.”
“Motivational,” Spencer corrected with a soft laugh. “He believes in you.”
You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. He turned toward you, expression open and attentive.
“Okay. Tell me again about the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodology. As if you were explaining it to someone who knows absolutely nothing about it.”
“You do know something about it,” you teased.
“Humor me.”
You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts, and launched back into your explanation.
As you spoke, Spencer nodded, asked the occasional gentle question, and—when you got slightly off track—interjected with the quietest correction, always phrased like a suggestion instead of a critique.
It didn’t hurt that he looked at you like you hung the moon.
Every time you nailed a concept—delivered a term with confidence, or remembered an example from your research—he clapped.
Actually clapped.
Not loudly, not obnoxiously—just a few soft, sincere rounds of applause, the kind that made your cheeks flush and your heart squeeze in your chest.
“Well done,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with pride. “You’ve got it.”
You chuckled and glanced at the plushies around him. “I think they’re helping. You’ve got a whole committee of motivational support there.”
Spencer paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, they are great listeners.” He reached down to adjust a stuffed elephant’s little bow tie, his eyes gleaming with quiet joy.
You continued explaining. Eventually, your words started flowing smoother, more confidently. You stopped stumbling over the terminology.
By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you felt like maybe—maybe—you actually understood what you were saying.
You stood up again, feeling the need to walk around as you grabbed another marker and began scribbling new diagrams on the whiteboard.
“And then… that’s it,” you said, your voice more certain now as you stared at the board, watching the last piece of the equation fall into place. You took a deep breath and turned back to Spencer.
His expression was pure warmth—bright eyes, a grin so wide it almost seemed to take up half his face.
"Exactly," he said, his voice soft with admiration, before clapping again—this time with more enthusiasm.
You couldn't help but grin back, your heart swelling with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude.
That smile of his, so genuine and so full of pride, made all the hours of frustration feel worth it. He didn’t look tired—not even slightly. Not after hours of watching you scribble, re-explain, stumble, and try again.
Spencer didn’t show a hint of impatience, and that made you appreciate him even more.
In fact, he looked downright adorable sitting there—cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by plushies, still so full of energy and enthusiasm.
You let out a breath, feeling the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders. You had done it. You got it.
“I think… I might actually get some sleep now,” you said, laughing a little as you leaned against the whiteboard for a moment, suddenly exhausted.
Spencer chuckled softly, setting down the stuffed elephant he’d been gently adjusting for the past few minutes, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. But if you need to go over it one more time, I’m happy to help.”
You shook your head, a fond, tired smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I think you’ve helped enough for tonight.”
He shrugged lightly, an endearing gesture that made you feel like he was constantly giving you more than you could ever ask for.
"Anytime," he murmured, voice warm like the tea he'd made you three hours ago that now sat cold and forgotten on your nightstand.
You turned back toward the whiteboard, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of diagrams and notes that had once felt like your mortal enemy.
Now, it just looked like progress.
“I think we can erase these,” you mumbled, already reaching for the eraser.
Spencer padded up behind you, quiet as ever, until you could feel him just over your shoulder.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing just behind your ear. “Might want to keep it up for nostalgia.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Spencer, it’s a jumbled mess. Half of it looks like it was written during a caffeine-induced breakdown.”
“That’s the charm,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist briefly before releasing you just enough to grab a nearby marker.
“Besides, this little guy deserves a spot in the Smithsonian,” he added, circling a particularly squiggly doodle of a triangle that had somehow gained angry eyebrows and a caption that read ‘Qualitative gremlin.’
You laughed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder for a second. “Oh no, not the gremlin.”
“He has theories,” Spencer said solemnly.
“You are the gremlin,” you shot back, elbowing him gently in the ribs.
Spencer feigned offense, but the grin that lit up his face gave him away. “Rude,” he said.
You finally began to erase the board, slow satisfying swipes of the eraser wiping away all the hours of stress and scribbled confusion
When the last marker stain was finally wiped clean, you stepped back to admire the blank space like it was a newly renovated canvas.
“Look at that,” you said, arms crossed, satisfied. “A fresh start.”
Spencer hummed in agreement beside you. “Symbolic.”
You glanced at him. “For what?”
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. The next chapter. Your well-deserved nap.”
You let out a sleepy laugh. “God, yes. That.”
He smiled, then reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger. “Go lay down, before you try to start another lecture.”
You caught his hand before he could pull it away and gave it a small squeeze. “Only if you’re coming with me.”
Spencer’s smile widened, eyes soft as he laced your fingers together. “Lead the way, professor.”
To all the fic writers out there that are not currently writing. Either it's because of RL, health, writer's block or something has happened that have disheartened you. Thank you for what you've written, and don't ever feel pressured or stressed - fanfic should be something good for all of us; both reader and writer. You're more important than what you do, but thank you for what you've done!
Okay but one moment for female Spencer Reid / Girl Genius:
I imagine her having long big curly red or brown hair, that goes all the way down her back, and is usually a little frizzy. Her go-to outfit is some loafers, a pair of slacks, and a sweater. Topped off with her big tortoise shell glasses, that are always slipping down her face! She’s super short—like 5’0-5’2, and is a little embarrassed about it. She keeps a small A6 leather journal in her back pocket at all times, and it’s filled with quotes, poems, drawings, ideas, etc. If she’s bored, and doesn’t want to get out her book, she’ll pull out this journal. Speaking of books, she always has at least two on her! One is usually a fun fantasy, and the other a serious classic. Her favorites are The Hobbit and Anna Karenina, of course. She has three PHDs, but unlike Spencer, they focus around the humanities and social sciences. She has degrees in Philosophy, Criminal Psychology, and Literature. She also has a masters in sociology and psychology. She doesn’t have a crazy memory, or super high iq—she’s just in love with learning. Every single aspect of it. So when Spencer goes on his rambles, she’ll listen intently and write down some of his facts in her back-pocket journal. She’s an incredible listener, and pretty quiet around new people, but completely and utterly herself around her close friends. Every one who meets her finds her adorable in stead of taking her intelligence seriously, and this makes her very frustrated. Her height and age really add to people looking down upon her, especially men. Oh, she’s also an incredibly talented classical cellist. Like, been playing since two years old talented.
Her a s1!Spencer meet and just absolutely fall for each other—finally finding someone who understands, what’s it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.
reader and spencer both getting home from a really long and tough case and just cuddling and resting together 😮💨😮💨😮💨 and reader is like "spence can you lay on top of me that would just be so cozy right now " but he's like "no i dont want to crush you" but reader is like "don't worry, it'll be comfy, i promise " and they end up falling asleep like that? ☹️☹️☹️☹️ need him..
<3
-🪲
comfortable — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n )
content warnings: literally just fluff <3
a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this <333 bc i loved writing this
"I'm never getting up from this couch ever again," you sighed dramatically, collapsing onto Spencer’s worn-out couch, stretching yourself across it without a care. The exhaustion in your bones made the cushions feel like heaven, and you let out a contented breath.
Spencer chuckled softly as he followed your lead, nudging your legs just enough to make room for himself before settling in.
He gently lifted them, resting them across his lap as he leaned back. His head fell against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.
Silence filled the room, save for the faint ticking of the clock.
Spencer's fingers absentmindedly traced slow patterns along your calf. Neither of you spoke, and neither of you moved.
Then, barely above a whisper, Spencer mumbled, "We should probably sleep in bed." His voice was heavy with sleep, thick and drowsy. But he didn’t move. And neither did you.
You hummed in acknowledgment, but that was all. The bed was far. Too far. And this—this was warm.
Spencer shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the angle of his body wasn’t ideal for sleeping upright. He sighed as his hand moved absentmindedly, fingertips brushing over your knee, then back down.
Spencer shifted again, adjusting his position.
“Just lay on top of me,” you murmured, cracking one eye open.
Spencer’s eyes fluttered open at that, his brows knitting together in confusion as he turned his head toward you. “What?”
You grinned, stretching your arms out in invitation. “It’s cozy.”
He huffed a quiet laugh but still hesitated. “I don’t want to crush you.” He shifted again, clearly uncomfortable but still refusing to move to the bedroom.
“No, you won’t,” you reassured him. “Come on, give it a shot.”
He didn’t move right away, still weighing the options. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind, trying to calculate the logistics of whether this was a good idea.
“You could always just go all the way,” you teased, exaggerating the words dramatically. “to the bedroom.” You paused for effect, watching his expression. “Or you could sleep sitting up.” Another pause. “Or you could just sleep in my arms.”
Your smirk widened as you caught the way he rolled his eyes, but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him—he was fighting a smile.
Spencer sighed, long and exaggerated, before finally giving in. He carefully positioned himself above you, lowering his body just enough to hover, still holding his weight up as if afraid of squishing you.
You shot him a look.
That was all it took for him to relax, finally settling against you. His warmth seeped into you instantly, and you felt the tension in his muscles melt away. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and for a few moments, neither of you spoke.
Then, barely above a whisper, he mumbled, “This is nice.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “Told you.”
Your fingers threaded through his curls, lazily twisting them around as you dragged your nails lightly across his scalp. He let out a contented hum at the sensation, his body growing heavier as sleep started pulling him under. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, lingering for a moment before resting back against the couch.
Spencer sighed again, but this time it wasn’t out of reluctance—it was pure comfort. In response, he tilted his head just enough to press the laziest, softest kiss against your neck, his lips barely brushing against your skin.
“Are you sure I’m not crushing you?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
You chuckled, squeezing his side gently. “Yes, Spencer. I’m sure.”
He didn’t respond right away, but the way his arms instinctively tightened around you told you he believed you. Within seconds, his breathing evened out, warm against your skin.
You sighed in contentment, letting your own eyes drift shut.
just found out Pedro Pascal and Joseph Quinn are going to be Mr Fantastic and Johnny Storm. it took everything in me to not fucking scream in delight at this revelation. everyone's been talking about RDJ as Doom and it's apparently been DISTRACTING. WHEN WERE Y'ALL GONNA TELL ME
Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.
ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP PROMPT REQUEST: #34 ASKING YOU IF YOU'RE OKAY WITH THEM GOING TO HANG OUT WITH THEIR FRIENDS TONIGHT, EXCEPT THEY REALLY WANT YOU TO SAY NO.
it was late at night when you finally got home from work, past dinner time but still early enough that you couldn't wait to curl up on the couch with a good book and your boyfriend, bucky, for the next few hours until it was time for bed.
"i'm home!" you called out to him as you closed the door behind you, dropping your work bag down so you could take off your coat.
"hey." he said, emerging from the bedroom, a somber smile on his face as he moves to give you a quick kiss. it doesn't get by you that he's not in his usual clothes. bucky is wearing a nice pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt and his leather jacket, a spritz of cologne to top it all off.
"you're all dressed up." you hum a bit as you take him in.
"ah ... yeah, actually..." bucky brings his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing it softly, a nervous feeling settling deep in his gut. "sam asked me if i wanted to go out and grabs some beers with him and joaquin. i was waiting for you to get home to see if you were okay if i went?"
"sure." you say, a small smile on your face as you kick your shoes off. "tell them i said hi."
bucky's face fell immediately, almost as if that wasn't the reaction he was expecting .... or wanting. as you walked into the kitchen, you heard his footsteps following behind you.
"wait what?" he asks, leaning against the doorway. "you're not ... mad?"
"why would i be mad?" you ask while rummaging through the fridge. "am i supposed to be mad?"
"yeah ... i mean, you've been at work all day and you just got home, i'll probably be out for a few hours. aren't you upset we're not going to be spending any time together?"
"buck," you grab a hold of the leftovers from the night before. "we live together, i'm pretty sure i can spare a few hours not being together."
he was not excited by that answer, clearing his throat a bit as he tried a different approach to this conversation. his eyes dart around the room as he thinks of some excuse to try and get you to change. not that he needs your permission to do anything, but because he values your opinion.
"so, you don't want me to stay home? you don't want to spend time with me?"
you can see right through his facade, trying to pick a stupid fight, but you're not sure why he's doing it.
"don't twist my words." you glare at him, and he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "why are you so worried that i'm fine with you going?"
"i'm not worried." bucky pouts, which he so very rarely did and he would 100% deny doing. "i thought you'd want to hang out with me, that's all."
"and ..."
he sighs, throwing his hands up in surrender again.
"and ... sam and joaquin are inviting a bunch of their work buddies that i don't know, and they also never stop talking. i really don't want to go." bucky finally admits. "i was hoping if you said no then i'd have a better excuse than 'i don't want to go because i hate all your friends and you two never shut the fuck up'."
you let out a laugh as you push the buttons on the microwave, turning around to face him. your arms move over your chest as you shake your head.
"you could have just told me you didn't want to go." you say as he approaches you.
bucky leans his head down onto your shoulder and lets out a load groan of frustration, obviously not wanting to go. your hand moves to his hair, running it through his soft locks as you try to stifle a laugh.
"and i want to stay in with you instead." he mumbles against your shoulder, the neediness present in his voice. you press a kiss to the side of his head, your arms wrapping around his shoulders at the same moment that the microwave beeps.
"stay then. you don't need to ask me if you can." your voice is soft in his ear.
bucky wraps his arms around you and sighs, the anxiety of having to be social for the night quickl subsiding at the thought of falling into routine with you instead. the true place he always wanted to be.
a blurb I wrote last month inspired by a dream I had involving schlatt, a lunch club watch party, and secret moments in crowded rooms :)
notes: romantic, sfw, fluff, lunch club mentioned rip, vague timeline maybe circa 2023, x reader
~~~~~
You weren’t exactly certain how you had wound up with your eyes glued to a TV screen at a house party, but life was just full of surprises lately.
Well, no, you were actually very certain as to how this had happened.
Some drunk attendee of the party you were at (if you’d had to be money on it, you’d have said it was probably Ted) had suggested that you all watch old videos of each other in order to “break the ice” and “totally not just to laugh at everyone.” Naturally, the herd of tipsy people around you had voiced their vehement opposition to this idea, but no one was lucid enough to stop him from connecting their phone to the TV and searching for 2019-era clips of everyone.
Unfortunately for your fragile heart, the very unwitting object of your affections was the first up to the chopping block.
So here you all were, gathered in someone’s living room, watching a version of him that was long gone muck about on screen with people he no longer spoke to.
You tilted your head back, letting it bump into his chest gently. Almost instantly upon contact, you felt the muscles there tense up. You smiled.
As the version of him on the TV continued to peer down at the room, your smile grew disgustingly fond. No facial hair and skinny limbs…he really did look like a twig, there, didn’t he? Deciding that it was imperative he heard your stance on the matter, you tipped your head even further backwards and looked up at him, hoping to catch his eye.
Only to find that he was already looking down at you with what must have been a very similar expression to the one you were now wearing.
The moment your eyes met, he flushed bright red and wrenched them away, staring resolutely into the distance. This stunned you into giggles, pulling your head forward once more.
Your laughter inspired nothing but a huff of frustration from the man behind you, but you paid him no mind. He was the one who had been looking at you like a creep for god-knows-how-long. It wasn’t your fault that being caught had turned him a delightful shade of scarlet.
But suddenly, you recalled your intended task. This time, you spun around to face him fully, losing your balance a bit in the process. A hand shot down to your hip to steady you.
Once you had regained your bearings, you looked up at him once more and mouthed the words, You look 12. Unfortunately, it seemed that his lip reading skills were horribly lackluster, as he tilted his head in confusion and mouthed back, What?
Irritated now, you repeated your wordless jab, slower and in a manner you thought was clear enough for a toddler to comprehend, but the man-child in front of you still seemed lost.
You shook your head and sighed, opting to try one last time before calling it quits.
But this time, you weren’t going to leave room for misinterpretation.
Your hand snaked its way up and across his cheek, lingering for a moment in a gentle and unwitting caress before eventually finding its way to the side of his neck. He looked surprised at the contact, but not displeased, so you took it as a sign to continue.
Using your new leverage point, you pulled his head down and leaned into his ear, just barely grazing the shell of it with your lips as you whispered, “You definitely look 19 in this video.”
Even with the temporary change in his height, you still found yourself needing to get on your tiptoes just to be on the same level as him. How irritating.
You pulled back to gauge his reaction to your words, but what you found was NOT the flat irritation you had expected. Rather, it was a look of pure, dumbfounded amazement.
It was at this moment you registered his hand, still warm at your hip despite being long unneeded.
Not wanting to miss any more of the proceedings on screen, you rolled your eyes and turned back to face the front. All the while, a light pressure never left your hip bone.
It was only once you had settled back into your stance that you felt a shift, then a presence right beside your face.
“I was 20 in that, fuck you.”
All you could do in response was laugh.
Gradually, and perhaps without really meaning to, you found yourself sinking further and further backwards, straight into his broad chest.
By the end of the video, you were near-enveloped in his arms, which had now come to rest loosely on both sides of your waist in support.
It was nice, you thought, being sheltered like this.
