Cute little Mary

Marvel, DC, Star Wars, Charlie Puth, Shawn Mendes & Whatever other random thing I’m into at the moment

[cherrygarcia-07]

Cat Fights // Spencer Reid🐾💗

summary: an outsider to the team witnesses spencer and reader arguing over who gets to pick up their baby, except it’s not quite what he thinks.

pairing: spencer reid x bau! reader

genre: idk man this was just cute and funny to me

content: established relationship, not serious bickering, a glimpse of domestic! spencer

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It had been a long case and the team were all exhausted, slumped in chairs in the police precinct while they waited until it was time to leave for the jet home. One of the Chicago police officers entered the room carrying cups of coffee, much to everyone’s delight as they perked up in their seats eager for the bittersweet boost of caffeine. Silence stretched over the room, everybody too drained to even think of anything to say- that was until your voice broke through the empty atmosphere as you turned to your boyfriend.

‘When we get back would you mind taking over my paperwork so I can go and get Bella from the neighbour a little earlier?’ You asked before murmuring a thank you to the police officer as he handed you your coffee.

Spencer’s brows furrowed for a split second before he answered, ‘why can’t we just pick her up together when we’re finished?’

‘No, Spence, you know she won’t sleep in her own bed if we’ve been away for too long.’ You took a long swig of your coffee.

‘What’s the harm in letting her into bed with us? It’s nice after being away from her. Beneficial, in fact. There’s been numerous studies on the effects of-’

‘She’s gotta learn sometime, honey.’ You sighed, cutting him off because you knew you were too weak in your tired state to defend yourself against his rambling that always made you crumble.

The officer chuckled as he took a seat across the room next to Rossi to discuss the prior case, but he kept his eyes on the two of you, somewhat amused.

Spencer took a sip of his own drink, reaching into his bag for a book to read while he spoke. ‘She’ll be fine for a couple hours more. We left her with plenty of toys to keep her busy, anyway.’

‘But you know they only last her so long before she misses us and starts getting antsy and acting out. The neighbour’s been so kind to look after her again, I don’t want Bella giving her any trouble.’ You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you watched him flick through his book at lightning speed. ‘I’ll just pick her up, you’ll get through the paperwork much faster than me anyway. Besides, I bet she’s missed me the most, she’ll be happy to see me.’

At this, Spencer slammed his book shut and practically threw it onto the table, mouth hanging open as his eyebrows furrowed once again.

‘You? Please, we both know she always misses me the most. Actually, maybe I should go pick her up early-’

‘Yeah? What makes you say that, genius?’ You interrupted, scoffing at his audacity.

A smug look washed over his face as he placed his cup of coffee next to his haphazardly discarded book. ‘Contrary to popular belief,’ he began, accusing eyes scanning the team around you both, ‘I’m actually the fun parent. You’re far too strict with her, I give her extra snacks throughout the day.’

Crossing your arms over your chest, you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘Yes and that’s why we were scolded at her last appointment, doctor.’ Sarcasm dripped off of that last word as it left your mouth.

‘Ah yet when we get home whose lap is it she curls up on while I read to her?’ Spencer picked his book up in one hand, mischievously waving it in the air with a smirk, earning a light laugh from the officer who was still watching. ‘If one of us is picking her up, it should be me.’

‘You’re not even her real father, Spencer.’

At this, the officer’s wide smile abruptly dropped, alarmed by the harsh words he’d just heard and worried that this seemingly innocent domestic dispute was quickly souring. His eyes frantically darted around the room, expecting a member of your team to step in but he was baffled to find not one of them even remotely phased, not even reacting as they each focused on their own things. On edge, he turned his gaze back to the two of you.

‘How dare you, and after I’ve graciously opened up my home and accepted Bella as my own.’ Spencer tutted, shaking his head with one hand dramatically clasped over his heart.

‘Well I’m her mother, and what I say goes.’ You shrugged, slamming your own coffee cup on the table for emphasis as you rose to your feet and began heading out of the room with Spencer following in tow.

It was Spencer’s turn to scoff as he retorted, ‘well don’t call me when she’s refusing to eat because you won’t make her food how she likes it.’

‘Excuse me for actually having our babies’ dietary needs in mind. You’re supposed to be a doctor, mind you.’ A grin pulled at your lips and you couldn’t hold it back from spreading across your face.

‘I know but I just can’t say no to that little face of hers,’ he cooed, a small pout on his lips and your voices began to fade as you got further from the room, ‘it’s those big eyes…’

The officer allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief at the lightened mood, chuckling softly as he shook his head, turning to face Rossi beside him.

‘I take it Bella’s their daughter?’

Rossi sighed now, one of boredom as he’d experienced this argument God knows how many times before, and he replied- monotonously.

‘Their cat.’

-

[deerfawnn]

I just want to say that I love all of your fics! They are so sweet and cute and 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Can I please request reader meeting Penelope at like a pottery club or art class or cafe or something and the two of them hit it off and become really good friends and reader mentions that her boyfriend is coming to pick her up and just gushes about how sweet he is and how much she loves him. And then Spencer shows up and Penelope is like “oh my god!!!”

coffee — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: absolutely loved this idea tysm for ur request ! <3

You took the last sip of your coffee, laughing loudly at the story Penelope had just told you.

“I cannot believe you actually said that,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief, still grinning.

Penelope simply shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Someone had to say it,” she quipped, smirking as she took another sip of her now nearly empty cup.

You had met Penelope purely by accident—a mix-up at the coffee shop when the barista had mistakenly switched your orders. You could have just exchanged cups and gone on with your day, but somehow, the two of you ended up talking. And talking.

One thing led to another, and suddenly, you were sitting together at the same table like old friends.

Now, as you noticed her cup was empty too, you felt reluctant to let the moment end.

“We should do this again,” you said, tilting your head at her.

Penelope’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes. Yes. Most definitely yes,” she nodded enthusiastically, already reaching across the table for your phone before you could even offer it.

“I’m going out tonight with some friends from work,” she explained as she tapped her number into your contacts. “They’re wonderful people, and we’d have so much fun. You should totally come with.”

She handed your phone back, her enthusiasm contagious. You smiled, appreciating the offer, but you shook your head apologetically as you glanced at your screen.

“Can’t,” you said. “My boyfriend’s picking me up and we're grabbing dinner together.”

At that, Penelope’s brows arched with intrigue. “Boyfriend?” she echoed, her smirk returning.

You nodded, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Her grin widened as she leaned in slightly. “And? Tell me about this mystery man.”

You laughed softly at her curiosity, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well… he’s kind of the sweetest person I know,” you admitted, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Like, the kind of person who remembers all the little things—my favorite snacks, the way I take my coffee, even the books I say I want to read but never get around to.”

Penelope let out a dreamy sigh. “Okay, I love this already. Keep going.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “He’s ridiculously smart, but he doesn’t act like he knows everything. He’s just… thoughtful, in a way that sneaks up on you.” You glanced at your phone again, checking the time. “Like, this morning, he woke me up with pancakes. He burned the edges a little, but he still insisted on making them.”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “Okay, I’m officially obsessed with him. He sounds like a dream.”

You laughed, nodding. “He really is.”

Before Penelope could press for more details, your phone buzzed in your hand. You glanced down at the screen, your heart skipping a beat at the name flashing across it. “That’s him,” you said with a grin, slipping your phone into your pocket.

Penelope’s smirk grew as she crossed her arms. “Well, now I have to meet this perfect man of yours.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah,” you admitted, checking the time. “He should be outside right about now.”

And with that, the two of you stood up, walking out of the coffee shop together.

There he was—Spencer—standing just outside with his back to you, hands casually tucked into his pockets. The familiar sight of him sent a warm flutter through your chest.

“Spencer,” you called softly, excitement bubbling in your voice as you walked toward him, a wide smile spreading across your face.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his own smile instinctive—warm, genuine. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, his expression faltered. His shoulders stiffened, his smile slipping away.

Your steps slowed. “What?” you asked, brow furrowing, your arms—once ready to wrap around him—now hanging uselessly at your sides.

His gaze wasn’t on you. It was locked onto Penelope.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other, and the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Spencer wore a shocked and worried expression, while Penelope’s face was a mask of smug satisfaction.

“Uh…” you said, glancing back and forth between them, trying to decipher the sudden tension. “Spencer, this is Penelope. I met her at the coffee shop today. And Penelope, this is Spencer, my boyfriend.” You lightly touched his arm, hoping to draw his attention back to you.

And then—

“Oh my god,” Penelope suddenly squealed, her eyes practically glowing with excitement.

You turned to her, utterly bewildered.

“Spencer Reid,” she announced dramatically, planting her hands on her hips. “How dare you hide this from me?”

Spencer, whose face had somehow turned even redder, mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

Penelope, however, was having none of it. She spun toward you, pointing at him. “This?! This is your boyfriend?”

“…Yes?” you said slowly, the confusion growing.

She gasped, clutching her chest as if she had just heard the most scandalous news. “The Spencer Reid you’ve been gushing about? The one who makes you pancakes and remembers every single detail about you ?”

Your mouth opened slightly as realization dawned. “Wait. You know Spencer?”

“Oh, honey.” Penelope let out an exaggerated sigh. “Know him? I work with him. He is my Spencer.”

You blinked. “Your Spencer?”

Spencer finally let out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia…”

“Reid,” she shot back with a gleeful grin.

You took a step back, looking between them, still processing. “Wait, you’re Garcia?”

Penelope gasped again, looking mock-offended. “He didn’t tell you my name? I thought we were friends now!”

Spencer rubbed his temple. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think?” she interrupted, feigning shock. “Did you not think I would love her?”

He sighed, defeated.

You, meanwhile, had fully shifted from confusion to amusement, the situation far funnier now that you understood. “In his defense, I only knew you as ‘Garcia.’”

“Well, that changes now!” Penelope declared, looping her arm through yours as if you had been best friends for years. “Come on, we have so much to talk about.”

Spencer sighed again, but there was a small, fond smile pulling at his lips as he watched you two.

[mariasont]

short n sweet but we need one where spencer loves head scratches and getting his hair played with

Heart Nebula - S.R

summary: spencer tells you every atom in your body was once part of a star, but you think he's the celestial wonder worth studying. pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: fluff galore, existentialism, star-gazing, astrophysics inaccuracies im so sure wc: 2.1k

"You'd be so proud of me today, you know."

You scoot closer, disrupting the careful folds of the blanket. The fabric bunches beneath your legs, damp soil seeps through, not quite wet enough to be a problem, but enough to make you aware of it. A blade of grass tickles stubbornly at your ankle. You wiggle your foot once, twice, it stays. Some things do.

Your pinky grazes his, the barest of contact, but he turns his head anyway. The night seems to fold him in shadow, softens his features, makes him look almost ethereal. His eyes give him away, glinting back at you, tiny shards of cosmos blinking back at you. It should be impossible to feel jealously of the sky, and yet.

"Yeah?" The familiar crease settles between his brows, a well-loved marker in the pages of him. His head tilts, waiting, not impatiently, already certain he's going to love your answer. "Why's that?"

Your smile jumps ahead of you, swells into one of those too-big-for-your-face grins. The kind that crinkles your nose, bunches your cheeks, makes your face ache after a while.

"I learned about a nebula."

Spencer's laugh starts in his chest and works its way out, rattling through his ribs, shaking his shoulders, until the momentum knocks his knee into yours.

"Look at you," he says, all teasing admiration. "I am proud. Which one?"

"I think It was called the Heart Nebula?" You glance at him, waiting, watching, half-hoping that he'll recognize the name, that he'll give you that little nod of confirmation.

He does. You beam.

"I saw a picture earlier, and it was just—," You trail off, eyes tipping upwards, letting the sky steal whatever poetic explanation you were about to give. "I don't know. Too beautiful to be real."

Spencer had been so excited when you told him you wanted to stargaze, his eyes had practically glowed, already rattling off a dozen facts about atmospheric conditions and celestial visibility, and why tonight was perfect.

He barely took a breath before he had been launching into a dozen more reasons, winding himself up so tight with words that the only way to release them, apparently, was kissing you. Feverishly.

Like he had no other way to translate his excitement into something tangible, something felt.

It made you want to promise him everything, to tell him you'd do this forever, that you'd let him drag you under the stars a thousand times over if it meant being kissed like that.

Spencer glances at you, his mouth twitching like you've just said the punchline to a joke you don't realize you're telling. You're here, waxing about a sky full of ancient light, calling the Heart Nebula too beautiful to be real, and he's looking at you like you've missed the most obvious part.

You narrow your eyes, but he only shakes his head, like whatever crossed his mind was his to keep.

"The Heart Nebula is full of newborn stars," he tells you, gaze still pointed on the sky. "Their radiation makes the gas glow red, pink. The whole thing shifts under stellar winds, reshaping itself, over and over again."

His voice wades its way through the parts of your brain, finding its place. He has this way of explaining things, of turning something infinite into something intimate. 

And you love that. Love how he does that. Love the way he sees things. Love him.

"It's about 7,500 light-years away. Which means the light we're seeing now left before humans even figured out agriculture." A small, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "By the time it reaches us, whatever we're looking at doesn't exist the same way anymore. It's already changed. Probably unrecognizable."

His fingers twitch against his thigh, probably resisting the urge to gesture. "Space is weird like that."

"I don't know, Spence," you tease, fingers pinching the sleeve of his shirt, catching just enough of him to feel real. His dimple carves into his cheek and your heart stumbles, caught between beats. "It kind of sounds like you're telling me I can't trust my own eyes."

"Well, technically you can't." He turns fully toward you, dimple still firmly in place, eyes flicking, too quickly, too obviously, to your lips. "The human eye takes in scattered bits of light, and your brain—" he taps your temple for emphasis "—fills in the blanks. Adjusts for shadows, alters colors based on what it thinks is there. Your eyes are compulsive liars."

He pauses, tiling his head, considering. "And since our perception is limited by our optic nerves, no one really sees their own eyes the way others do. Which is a shame, because if you could see yours the way I do, you'd understand why I can't help but stare."

There are moments when Spencer says something so casually devastating that your brain just empties, and this is absolutely one of them. Your mouth opens, then closes again.

"That's—" Your voice catches, so you clear your throat, shake your head, try to reassemble your thoughts. "That's a really unfair thing to say, you know."

Spencer blinks, like he’s running back through the conversation in real time, replaying his own words to figure out what, exactly, made you forget how to breathe. 

"Why?"

"Because some of us have a very delicate hold on their emotional stability, and you—” you point at him, accusing “— just shattered it in two sentences."

"Technically, that’s the limbic system at work. The amygdala controls emotional reactivity, but the prefrontal cortex tempers it."

You would try to unpack that, really, you would, but then his hands find your waist, and suddenly the ground isn't where you thought it was. You gasp, giggle, crash right into him, catching yourself with shaking hands against his chest.

"So really," he continues, as if you aren't sprawled across him, "if your emotional stability was shattered, you should blame your neural pathways, not me."

Your fingers twist in his hair as you lean in to kiss him, deeply and thoroughly, like proof, like inevitability maybe, a thought forming in real time, one you can press straight into his skin. 

"Maybe my neural pathways are just adapting to something worth remembering," you whisper, and the way he stills, the way his lips part just slightly, makes you think you might not be the only one.

Spencer makes a small, pleased noise against your lips, something that was half sighed and smiled, and you feel it, all of it, in the way his throat moves beneath your fingertips as he swallows.

"That... might be my favorite use of neuroscience yet."

You flash him a grin. "And you thought I wasn't paying attention when you ramble."

"I should've known you'd find a way to weaponize it."

You let your full weight settle onto him, chin perched on his chest, his heartbeat a slow song beneath your cheek. Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through soft strands, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, testing a theory you already know the answer to.

Yeah. Definite reaction.

"So that's what it takes, huh?" you tease, lips curling against the material of his shirt. You scratch again to be sure, and his next breath comes slower. "Just a well-placed brain chemistry reference?"

"From you? Yeah, that'll do it."

"Noted." A pause. Then, softer. "Keep talking to me about space."

"You know, you're kind of demanding." Spencer's fingers skate along your waist before he squeezes, firm and quick, like a punctuation mark to his sentence. 

Your head lifts, eyebrow quirked, fingers hovering just out of reach, close enough for him to feel the absence. "Excuse me?"

His smirk vanishes instantly, wiped clean, replaced by something perilously close to distress. His hands twitch at your waist, fingers moving like he can pull you back, like he can make you continue if he just wants it badly enough.

"Wait, wait, I was kidding," he rushes out, voice just shy of frantic. “Don't stop."

You grin, tilting your head like you're considering it. "Hmmm. Apologize."

"I—okay, I'm sorry, you're perfect, please—" his breath hitches, his laugh a little wild, a little helpless, "please keep going."

You giggle, fingertips weaving back into his hair. His response is immediate, a low, shaky sound that buzzes against your skin, something so content it makes warmth spreads through you like a lit fuse, spilling all the way down to your toes.

Spencer smirks, fingers drumming against your waist.

"You really don't let a guy off easy, do you?" He pauses for a second, glancing past you at the sky like he's taking in his options.

"Alright. Here's a fact you might like, every single part of you was once part of a star. All the heavier elements in your body, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, they were formed in the core of ancient stars, forged under immense heat and pressure, then scattered across the galaxy when those stars died, reforming."

His words drift to you, but you don't catch them all. You're too busy watching him.

Out here, in the absence of light pollution, you can see him more clearly than ever. The starlight doesn't just touch him, it claims him, dusting his skin in silver, catching in his lashes, turning the slopes of him almost unreal. Like if you blink too long, he might disappear, slip back into the night where he belongs. A constellation carved into the shape of a person.

You used to think brown was such a simple color. But then you met him, saw his eyes, now it's in everything. Wet earth after rain, cinnamon dusted over coffee, burnt sugar on your tongue.

And now, he’s teaching you it’s also carbon and oxygen forged in the cores of dying stars, pieces of the galaxy that had traveled billions of years to become chocolate flecks on a beautiful face.

He was right, it is a shame people never see their eyes the way others do.

"But how?" you ask. "Like... how does something go from being part of a star to being part of us?"

Spencer exhales softly and you can see the way he loves the question.

 "It's a long process. Billions of years, actually. When a star explodes, it sends all those elements out into space. They mix with other interstellar material, forming new stars, planets, and eventually..." He taps a gentle finger against your stomach. "You."

"That's kind of incredible."

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, grinning, that beautiful grin, the one that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. His fingers find your temple, trail gently down to your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Then, without pause, he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"It is," he murmurs, thumb brushing against your cheek. "We're built from pieces of space, borrowed, passed down, stitched together by time."

"So you're saying we've been part of the same universe forever? That's kind of romantic, Spence."

"It's also backed by astrophysics. Science just happens to be romantic sometimes. "

"Well, good," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck. "I like knowing there's proof... but I think I would've believed it anyway."

You barely have time to register the flicker in his eyes before, he moves. In a second, you're on your back, the sky stretching endlessly behind him. The stars flicker, countless and beautiful, but right now, they might as well not exist.

Because all you see is him.

He hovers over you, gaze intent, studying you, like you're a phenomenon he never expected to witness up close. Like he's sure now, more than he's ever been about anything. Like you are the discovery of a lifetime.

"The universe has been expanding for 13.8 billion years," he murmurs, fingers trailing along your jaw. "But I don't think it's ever made anything more beautiful than you."

Heat blooms beneath your skin. "More than the Heart Nebula?"

It should sound like teasing. It doesn't.

Spencer exhales, almost like he's amused by your doubt.

"The Heart Nebula exists purely because gravity and radiation dictate that it must. But you..." His gaze softens. "You exist because of a thousand tiny impossibilities stacking on top of each other. The odds of you, of this, are so astronomically low that it shouldn't have happened at all."

Spencer just looks at you for a moment. You don't move, don't breathe. And then he kisses you.

It crashes over you, stealing your breath before you even realize it's happening. His hands tighten at your sides, pulling you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. It's not rushed nor desperate, but it is consuming, the kind of thing that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

When he breaks away, he doesn't go far, forehead resting against yours. "If the universe was capable of making something more beautiful, it would have done it by now."

And maybe that’s true. Maybe the universe, for all its galaxies and nebulae and infinite expanse, never did anything better than this. Not just you, but you and him together. 

Or maybe the universe will never quite get it right again. Because maybe this was its best work.

But it won’t stop trying. It never does. Even after you’re gone, even after you and Spencer are nothing but scattered atoms, the universe will keep going. Creating. Expanding. Changing. New stars will be born, dust will settle into something new, planets will form, galaxies will stretch apart. And maybe, somewhere, the pieces that were once you and him will find their way back to each other. And maybe, if the universe has any kindness left in it, they’ll get to love like this.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[mariasont]

What if the team has slowly been finding out that Spencer has a girlfriend, so one day while on a case they basically play 20 questions trying to figure her out. However, Spencer is struggling to answer because he’s dating reader and she works with the BAU. (sorry if that isn’t broad enough, I just wanted more of the secret relationship trope)

Dimple Deductions - S.R

summary: when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: fluff, secret relationship, i dont think there's any gender language here, reader has dimples, morgan & jj being shit stirrers wc: 1.4k

Watching Spencer read feels vaguely inappropriate. His fingers ghost over the page before settling, skimming the text like he's absorbing it through sheer proximity. His lips part, just slightly, like he's tasting the words, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down, taking it apart, making it his. The cabin light catches in his hair, making his curls glow like some kind of bookish deity.

It's distracting, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the unconscious flick of his lashes as his mind devours information faster than you can process a single thought.

He's mesmerizing in a way that feels almost unjust, a spectacle of intellect wrapped in a body far too beautiful for reason.

You don't even realize you're staring until he speaks.

"I will pay you to stop talking."

It's not aimed at you, Morgan and JJ are doing what they do best, picking apart his every move, but the sound of his voice breaks through you like a snapped thread, severing whatever trance you'd fallen into.

Morgan whistles, all amusement. "Now, why would you be so eager to change the subject, pretty boy?"

Spencer finally looks up, dragging his gaze upward with the slow resignation of a man who knows resistance is futile. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Because I value my peace?"

JJ grins, practically giddy now. "Too bad. We don't."

Your magazine is just a forgotten accessory now, lying stiff and ignored on your lap. Pulling your eyes from Spencer feels unnatural, but somehow, you manage.

You turn at last to JJ and Morgan, who are, without question, enjoying this way too much.

"What exactly are you guys talking about?" you ask, flipping the magazine with indifference, as if that somehow proves you'd been deeply invested in its pages and not making heart-eyes at Spencer.

JJ's eyes gleam with unfiltered delight. "Oh, just that Spencer here has been acting different lately."

"Suspiciously different," Morgan corrects, side-eyeing Spencer. "Relaxed. Preoccupied. Dare I say... a little too happy?"

"So, let me get this straight, you're bullying him for being in a good mood?" You cross your arms, biting your lip to keep from laughing, while Spencer looked genuinely offended.

Morgan stretches his arms behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're observing."

Spencer, who returns his gaze to his book, doesn't even flinch. "It's harassment."

"Wait. Wait." JJ points at Spencer, squinting. "Are you seeing someone?"

You tell yourself to be cool. Unbothered. Just another face in the crowd, a neutral bystander in this totally-not-terrifying conversation. You even try to breathe like you're not on high alert, but your body immediately mutinies, shoulders locking up, throat tightening, nerves snapping taut like piano wire. 

A single stupid, microscopic flinch that must, on some subconscious profiler level, set off JJ's internal alarm bells. Because she looks at you.

It's quick, so quick you almost miss it, but you feel it like a pinprick of static against your skin. A flick of her eyes, a fleeting brush of attention, there and then gone. 

Just as swiftly, she's back on Spencer.

Across from you, Spencer freezes for half a second. It's subtle enough that if you weren't staring at him, directly, shamelessly, obsessively, you might have missed it entirely.

Instead, you watch as he carefully schools his expression, turns a page, as if it matters, as if you couldn't see the calculations running in that big, brilliant brain, trying to find the most efficient escape route. 

And then, with a levelness that would be impressive if it weren't so obviously practiced, he finally says, "I don't see how that's relevant."

Morgan's smile is positively wolfish. The kind of smile that spells out, he smells blood in the water. "Oh, so that's a yes."

You watch Spencer. Closely. Nothing. Just that calm, emotionally bankrupt expression as he lifts his gaze, eyes so flat, so opaque, they may as well be made of glass.

"That's an assumption."

But Morgan isn't buying it. And then, he leans in. Hands clasped. You already know where this is going.

"Alright. First question. Is she blonde?"

"I am not doing this," Spencer says flatly.

"So... not blonde."

JJ taps her fingers against the table. "Brunette, then?"

Spencer exhales through his nose, all restrained patience, all carefully manufactured impassiveness. If you didn't know better, you'd think he still wasn't affected by the topic of conversation.

But you do know better.

He does this thing, barely a tell, not noticeable to an unloved eye, where his jaw tenses just slightly, the muscle feathering like a tremor beneath his skin. It's the same thing he does when you're being particularly difficult, when you're testing him, teasing him, saying something so unserious that he refuses to dignify it with anything more than this.

"This is ridiculous."

"You being weird about it is way more suspicious than just answering." Morgan shrugs.

Spencer clamps his mouth shut so hard, it's a miracle his teeth don't crack.

"Freckles?"

Spencer just presses two fingers to his temple like the headache they are causing him has officially become chronic. "This is — as I have said — harassment."

Morgan smirks. "Dimples?"

It stops Spencer mid-motion, like a misfire.

His fingers twitch, pull away from his temple, then hesitate midair, caught between freezing and fixing whatever just broke his expression. His mouth presses into a firm, flat line, but not before he falters, just once, lips parting like a reflexive inhale of shock he didn't mean to take.

JJ practically convulses, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh my god, she has dimples!"

"See that? That was a pause, man. You're cooked."

Spencer snaps his book shut, the sound sharp, final, entirely too loud. 

His gaze cuts to you, like maybe he's checking to see if you're as deeply mortified as he is, and then he's back on Morgan and JJ.

"Even if, she hypothetically — had dimples, that means absolutely nothing," he starts, too fast, too precise, like he's clinging to logic as a life raft. "Dimples are present in roughly 20-30% of the population. That is millions of people. Trying to deduce someone's identity from that alone is not only statistically absurd, but frankly, beneath you."

Morgan and JJ exchange a look, one of those wordless, holy shit did he just say that? looks.

"So there is someone's identity to deduce?" 

A pause. A smirk.

"And she has dimples?"

They had kept going. Of course they had. 

More questions, each one shot off like a bullet with no time to dodge. What's her favorite colors? Does she drink coffee or tea? Dogs or cats? Landmine. Landmine. Landmine.

What does she do for work?

That last one had been dangerously close to blowing your cover.

Spencer had paused. Just long enough for you to panic. Long enough for your reflexes to kick in (literally), and you'd kicked him, hard enough in the shin under the table to snap him out of it. He'd blinked once, then shrugged, as casual as ever. 

Something intellectually stimulating, he'd said.

Which was, technically, not a lie. 

And Morgan and JJ had finally, finally let up after a while, though not before making sure Spencer left with at least three lingering smirks, two unsubtle eyebrow raises, and one last dig at his mysteriously happy mood.

It had been exhausting, but that was a tomorrow problem, because now you were home. 

Spencer's couch was too big for him but just right for you, and at some point, you had stopped being separate from him altogether, folded yourself into every available space he had left vacant, legs draped over his, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheeks smushed against his chest. 

It wasn't cuddling so much as absorbing him, your entire body molding to his like a particularly determined barnacle.

"You really almost sold us out there," you murmur, basically burrowed into his sweater. Your face is half-hidden, mostly because you are simply too tired to function, but also because he deserves to be shamed for this.

"The dimples, Spencer? Really?"

Spencer sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers brushing over your spine. "I can’t help it. I really like your dimples."

You squint up at him. "Yeah, I noticed."

Spencer's lips twitch, just the faintest pull at the corners, like he's not entirely willing to let it happen. "They're cute."

His thumb presses into the hollow of your cheek, just barely, just enough to test it. Like he's confirming that, yes, it's real, it exists, and it belongs to him now.

Before you can roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he leans in.

And kisses it.

Like he's stamping his approval.

You let out a slow, lazy sigh as he pulls back, stretching out against him. "You really need to work on your poker face."

Spencer hums. "You think so?"

"I know so," you tease, shifting just enough to get a good look at him. "I mean, if I had been interrogated like that, I wouldn't have cracked."

His brows lift. "Oh really?"

"Not even a little."

You should have seen it coming, the way his fingers tighten at your waist, the way something sharp and knowing flickers behind those honey-brown eyes, but you don't.

Not until you're flat on your back with the couch swallowing you whole and Spencer braced over you, grinning in pure satisfaction.

"Oh?" His voice is smooth, as he leans in just a little closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your skin. “So if I decided to test that theory — ask you a few things — you wouldn’t crack?”

Your stomach flips.

"...That's not what I meant."

Spencer's laughter is soft but wicked, full of certainty, full of amusement at your expense. His fingers trace absentminded shapes against your hip, a contrast to the sharp intent in his voice.

"Mm. Too bad." His voice dips lower. "Because I already know you would."

Your part your lips to argue, but no sound comes out.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over your jaw. "Cracking already."

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[khxna]

Spencer x pregnant reader

How to tell a lie by @pherelesytsia

Part 2

Nesting mode by @anniebeemine

With a little help from our friends by @reidsaurora

Unsuspecting suspect by @michelle-is-writing

Amorphous by @pathologicalreid

Special diet by @gghostwriter

Cradle song by @certaimromance (this one made me tear up a bit can't lie)

What to expect by @pathologicalreid

Wavelength by @pathologicalreid

An enduring, mighty warrior by @lavenderspence

First fall of snow by @3verythingiknowaboutlove

In stitches by @murdockparker

Word of advice by @1-800-local-slut

Between letters by @dronningreid

PSA* make sure to follow and interact with these lovely writers to support their work💕

[esote-rika]

on the stroke of midnight | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: angst Summary: A pregnancy scare with your boyfriend leads to a serious conversation about the future Content: one mention of a foot fetish, pregnancy scare, talk of pregnancy and kids, established relationship, mentions of schizophrenia and mental illness, Cinderella and time as an extended metaphor and motif??? (Idk I was writing this while simultaneously writing my thesis on fairy tales oops), open ended ending  Word count: 2.2k A/N: I don't want kids and this fictional man does, so I'm making it everyone's problem. This is my first time writing pure angst, so uh, please let me know if I should continue with this genre or just go back to smut and fluff lol. Also shoutout to @notlongtolove and @darkmatilda who let me yap abt this ily girlies.

Ever since you started dating, Spencer Reid has been trying to figure out why you love Cinderella so much. He’s read through different academic papers, come up with his own silly interpretations that either make you gasp, or cry from laughing, and often leaves you marveling at his wonderful brain and all the ways it twists and turns. He likes games, you’d established that from the beginning when he ended your first date with a friendly game of chess. He had let you win twice before you’d caught on, and called him out on it.

It was on the second date when you brought up your love for fairytales, expecting an amused laugh at best, and an oh so you're one of those Disney adults at worst. However, you got neither. Instead, Spencer Reid had launched into an explanation of the cultural significance of these stories, asked you about your favorite, and then proceeded to tell you about the different versions of it across history and continents. Somewhere between the Americas, he'd cut himself off, blushing furiously, before asking you why you loved Cinderella so much. 

By then you had already decided he's perfect.

You didn’t tell him the reason that night; you thought it was too pathetic to share on a second date.

“I’ll tell you if you stick around.” you had said cheekily, hoping that maybe the temptation of a secret will allow you to keep him longer. 

He had laughed, “So you’re baiting me into another date?”

“Is it working?”

“I would’ve asked you out again regardless.”

That had been the night you got your first taste of his lips, and you’ve found yourself hoping time would stretch on forever. If moments could be bottled up, you would have done so at that moment, kept it in your pocket for the rest of eternity.  

Five months of bliss have passed since. Your theory of his perfection just kept being proven correct throughout the entire time, the way he’s trying so hard to communicate with you and make up for plans that get shelved due to the demanding nature of his job. He’d come up with different explanations for why you love Cinderella, until it became a game of its own; him searching through the contours of the fairy tale and you denying everything he comes up with. 

At one point, he’d asked if it was simply because you had a feet fetish and you had to start wearing socks everywhere because the sight of your own feet would make you giggle.

You don’t mind it, the games, the way he insists on learning this about you. Spencer Reid's mind desires to understand how everything works, to turn over and mull and analyze, and the first step to that is by keeping track of the variables. You have always found this endearing. He knows how fast you can read — it depends on the genre according to him, but it’s somewhere around 350-400 words per minute. He knows your favorite stories and music, has found connecting themes between them, and now he’s trying to see where your love for Cinderella fits in all of it. Hell, he even keeps track of your cycle for you, resulting in perfectly timed moments shared in bed where you’re ravished, and he’s chanting your name, and the two of you are gasping for a god that neither of you really believe in.

When you miss your period, he notices before you even do, quietly offering two boxes of pregnancy tests. He kept track of how long it took before the results finally appeared — one test took three minutes and eight seconds, the other one three minutes and twenty one seconds. It had felt simultaneously like three seconds and three decades. 

That was nearly six days ago. Nearly a whole week has passed, and what you had assumed to be an insignificant fissure seems to have widened into a crack. It’s a rare night off for him, a moment of domesticity that should be relished, but instead, you wonder if the cracks have somehow turned into something else. A fracture. You move around the kitchen together like magnets with similar poles, close but never quite touching. It feels like a chasm between you. 

Dinner in the oven. Only the slow tick of the oven timer disrupts the silence, though it doesn’t really disrupt as much as it joins. Background noise, a lull that seems to melt with the silence to highlight the stifling atmosphere. He’s tossing a salad, facing away from you. You both know it is ready to be served.

His name is whispered into the tense air, your voice croaking at the last syllable, “We need to talk about this.” You watch as he tenses, back uncharacteristically straight, and your heart sinks to your stomach. 

“I guess we do.” He never guesses. Spencer Reid uses words that are accurate, god knows he has the vocabulary for it. So this, to guess, the hint of skepticism makes your skin crawl. “What is this, again?” 

You scoff. He can be so deliberately obtuse sometimes, “I don’t know, Spence, you tell me. You’ve been acting weird since I took that pregnancy test.”

He doesn’t look at you, but he does answer, “I just— I don’t understand why you were so relieved about the results.”

You’ve had an inkling this whole issue is about that moment. Both of you hunched on his couch while you waited with bated breath. He’d timed it, one stick taking three minutes and eight seconds, the other three minutes and twenty one; both had contained negative results. 

You still remember it, the utter relief that washed over your body, the way you threw yourself into his arms at the confirmation that he hadn’t accidentally gotten you pregnant. You’d said thank god so quickly, face buried at the crook of his shoulder, so relieved that you hadn’t really noticed his reaction.

“Spencer,” it comes out a sigh, patient and quiet, “We’ve been dating for five months. Of course I was relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but it’s a little too soon to add a baby to the mix.” Love. That abstract concept you’ve almost given up on, before he’d come into your life. You love him, you’re sure of it. It’s burrowed deep into your bones now, which is why you’re trying to get past this. Communication is the key to making a relationship work. You remind yourself you don’t need a fairy godmother to keep this going. You have agency of your own.

His head shifts, turning over his shoulder slowly, and those beautiful amber eyes meet your own. “Is that all?”

It feels like an accusation, even though you know he’s just trying to understand. You gulp, trying not to get defensive, “I suppose not. If I’m being honest, I was relieved because I don’t really want children.” 

There it is. A cardinal sin, a sickness of modern women. You wait for his words to turn bitter, the familiar accusations of selfishness, the condescension. 

Instead, he looks at you with wounded eyes, “You don’t want children with me?”

“What? That’s not what I said.”

He pauses, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. The oven continues to hum softly in the background, its built-in timer clicking at equal intervals. In a different context, it might have given you a sense of peace, but right now it feels mocking. Your time is almost up.

“Spencer, that’s not what I said, honey.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” he turns back to the salad.

You watch him helplessly, searching for any way to bring him back to you.

“You kept asking about my mom,” he murmurs, “It’s not that I didn’t want you to meet her, it’s that, it’s—well, she’s in a home. A– a mental facility. She’s schizophrenic.”

This is not how you expected this conversation to go. “Spencer.”

“I guess, you know, that’s genetically passed down, and it’s no secret that my teammates suspect I’m on the spectrum, so my genetic makeup isn’t exactly the most desirable in terms of a partner with whom you would want to—to procreate.”

God, you wish he had been like most people and accused you of being a selfish bitch instead. 

“No,” you gasp, crossing the space between you. His hand is cold when you wrap your fingers around it. Unfortunately, you don’t think you have any warmth to give. Your own hands are clammy, but you try anyway, tugging it away from the tongs he’s using to mindlessly swirl at the contents of the salad. “It’s not like that at all.”

“It’s not?”

“No. And I’m sorry about your mom, I–I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to tell me about her.” the words feel futile, worthless. You’re entirely unprepared for something like this. He hasn’t told you much about Diana Reid, and you’d given him space, and now… now you understand why.

A beat as he considers. His body angles towards you now, his stance hunching forward into that familiar slouch you’ve come to love. You can’t tell if he’s relaxed or defeated, and that uncertainty burns in the back of your throat. “So you just don’t—”

“I don’t want kids, plain and simple. It’s got nothing to do with your genes, or your suspected autism, I just…” You falter, hands tightening over his own. You wish you could be more eloquent, but there’s so much uncertainty, so many truths being dropped in the span of minutes. You wait for more questions, for the inevitable but aren’t you worried about your legacy? Wouldn’t you get lonely? Motherhood is fulfilling for women. Sentiments you always get when you share this particular choice. 

You prepare your arsenal of responses, defenses you’ve practiced and perfected throughout the years, ready for any attempts to make you change your mind.

Somehow, he manages to choose the most devastating response instead. Muttering so quietly you almost don’t catch it, Spencer says, “But I do.”

You wonder how you got this long without ever talking about this? How had you gone five months with him, allowed yourself to let your walls down and fall in love, memorized the scars and calluses all over his body without ever discussing the topic of children? It seems silly, most people talk about that stuff from the get go, don’t they? To see if they would be compatible in the long run? 

But you’ve never had that before, the luxury of future plans. You’ve come to accept that the floor will inevitably collapse beneath your feet, that your time with someone will run out. When you’re used to having an expiry date, you don’t bother to make plans. The only way to survive is to live in the moment. Cinderella and her midnight curfew. 

“Oh.” It’s a filler word, but the silence is beginning to get to you. You stare at your entwined hands. His thumb is running back and forth across your knuckles, the action familiar and soothing, and allow yourself a moment to believe, to hope, that there’s time left for this. That time would never run out.

His next words break your heart even more, “I know it’s silly, especially with how much risk is involved. With my job, my—”

“It’s not silly at all, Spence.” you gulp, trying to push past the lump in your throat as you remember how he acts around his godson Henry in those rare times he’s had to babysit, “You’d make a great dad.”

“You’d make a great mom too.”

“Spencer.”

“I’ve seen you with your own nephews. You’re great with kids.”

“Don’t—”

“I’m not trying to change your mind,” he finally pulls you in, lips finding the top of your head, “I respect your choice, I do. I’m sorry that I seem like I’m pressuring you.”

“You’re not,” it’s even harder to catch your breath when your face is pressed against him, but you don’t make a move. Losing air seems like a fair compromise if it means you get to feel his touch. The way this conversation went has you reeling, confused. You’d been prepared to defend yourself, to explain your choices and make him understand, potentially to argue. His respect and acceptance is an entirely different battlefield, but no less vicious. 

With all the courage you can muster, you speak the words into existence even though you dread the answer. “Is this a deal breaker? Having children?”

He’s quiet. You wonder if this is even still a battlefield. You wonder if this is surrender, quiet and unassuming, a white flag raised before the fighting even began. If it is, then it stings, his soft acceptance. You almost find yourself wishing he’d try to convince you instead if it means he’ll fight for you more.

Your mind wanders back to Cinderella, the little game you’ve been playing, the way you’ve been holding out on the answer because it amuses you to hear the variety of interpretations and musings he’ll come up with. You promised yourself you’d tell him when the time is right, but now you’re afraid he’ll never get the answer. It feels useless, the cat and mouse you’ve developed, not when you’re faced with a real, human issue. A difference in life goals. Something communication potentially couldn’t fix.

His heart is drumming relentlessly against your cheek. It brings you some sick sense of comfort, knowing that he’s just as terrified as you are. 

“Spencer?” Is this the end? Please don’t let this be the end, please don’t be another good thing I lose.

The timer on the oven dings, piercing in the tense silence. Your midnight curfew has come. Dinner is ready.

Happy Valentines <3 thank you for reading, here's the rest of my masterlist

Also tagging @olderwomenenthusiast ty for the interest it is here

[victusinveritas]

Adjusting things in prison.

[nevercure]

Other things he has done while in prison:

He has given gifts to the other inmates for Christmas using the donations people sent his commissary account.

He appears to have attempted to communicate through flashing his cell lights to show his supporters outside that he could hear them cheering for him (this exact light flashing is what inmates at the previous prison did to communicate to the news that they were in support of Luigi, so he may have learned it from them and taken this form of light communication with him to MDC.)

It is rumored he is paying for the other inmates' healthcare using donations to his commissary account.

Inmates who shared time with him at the Penn prison say he 'gave them a voice' when they 'had never had one before' (in reference to the collective shouting 'Free Luigi' the inmates did.

He is writing back to supporters and is alleged to have informed one supporter that he is warm, taken care of, and will be okay. He does not want people to stay up at night worrying about him.

[batteryacidisedibleenough]

Just a reminder, we still don't know he's not the shooter, but waow based

[outoftheseine]

- SPENCER REID FIC RECS 3 -

he can ruin me and all i’ll say is thank you sir | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief, blood, addiction. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | part two | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

gideon!reader • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @atlabeth

a holiday to remember • spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

↳ by @mggslover

robin’s heart • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @luce-reid

hold your breath my darling | part two • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @jellyfishsthings

bandages • earlyseasons!spencer reid x flirty!bau!reader

↳ by @nereidprinc3ss

spencer reid except he is in love with hotch’s daughter • spencer reid x hotchner!reader

↳ by @pathologicalreid

mundane longing • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @shawty-writes-a-little

enigma | part two | part three • spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @ranunculussy

scare | part two | part three | part four • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @kisses4reid

dangerous attractions | part two | part three • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @raekensluver

opposite | second chances • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @reidsbabyhoney

the next door • spencer reid x neighbor!reader

↳ by @certaimromance

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

look after you • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @stardust-thief (fluff, hurt/comfort)

promise • post-prison!spencer reid x ex!reader

↳ by @floraisunwell (angst)

thank you’s • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @angellic4l (fluff, protective!spencer, sexism)

lovely love letters • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @amorre1989 (very fluffy)

firsts • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @endearng (some fluff, grieving)

in eternal lines • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @notlongtolove (student!reader, angst but fluff, comfort)

no one is alone • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @g4rvez-r3id (fluff, a little angst)

between letters • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @dronningreid (angst, fluff)

if we had known • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @awordsmith (angst, right person wrong time)

fingertips • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @awordsmith (kidnapping, torture, angst, comfort)

orange • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @spxfav (angst, comfort, tw: addiction, panic attack)

stay happy • spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

↳ by @enderlovez (angst, kidnapping, torture, drugs, comfort)

different this time • spencer reid x social worker!reader

↳ by @megumimania (addiction, comfort, angst)

the quiet one • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @magical-reid (fluff, kidnapping)

hand sanitizer • dad!spencer reid x mom!reader

↳ by @ladigube (fluff, first time parents jitters)

with the light off • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @darkmatilda (angst, tw: addiction, mental health issues, suicide)

what happens in la • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @ophelia-is-complex (very angsty)

pigtails and promises • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @criminalmindssworld (girl dad!spencer, fluff )

knock on the door • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @latenightreadingpdf (angst, comfort)

an enduring, mighty warrior • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @lavenderspence (pregnant!reader, fluff)

lost in the fire • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @scarletriddles (arson, angst, a little angst)

stalemate • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @finallydoingfanfics (angst, fluff, comfort)

got milk? • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @sunsherbet (fluff)

anyone else but you • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @spencahreadreid (fluff)

was i stupid to love you? • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @incognit0slut (very angsty)

waiting room • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @parfaitblogs (ex!spencer, angst)

out of town • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @megwritesriddles (smut, virgin!reader, fluff)

home sweet home • dad!spencer reid x mom!reader

↳ by @reidmania (girl dad!spencer, very fluffy)

a picture of a cat • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @certaimromance (forensic!reader, lack of communication,fluff)

how dare you think it’s romantic, leaving me safe and stranded • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @reidrum

forgiven • spencer reid x gn!reader

↳ by @reiding-writing (ex!spencer, lovers to enemies to lovers , kidnapping, angst, hurt/comfort, tw: sa)

a series of happenstance • spencer reid x house!daughter!reader

↳ by @gghostwriter (angst, tw: addiction)

mistake • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @gf2bellamy (angst, fluff)

elevator sweetness • spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @l0vergirlwrites (fluff, a little angst)

midnight moments • spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

↳ by @reginyani (smut, drunk sex, dom!reader)

say yes to heaven • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @3verythingiknowaboutlove (avoidant!reader, slightly explicit, angst)

[cherriesnkisses]

“fortunate” and “president trump” being in the same sentence when i open the tiktok app was absolutely not on my 2025 bingo card

[carsonjonesfiance]

One thing the analysts back in 2012 were right about is that they’d stop calling it “Obamacare” the second it started working and lo and behold anytime it was actually threatened under Trump it became The ACA and now Leftists who were in Kindergarten when the ACA was passed think Democrats have added nothing to this country.

[dea-certe]

I don't think a lot of people remember pre-existing conditions. Like it was a thing for a long time where my mom fought to try to avoid having my brother diagnosed with asthma because she didn't want him tagged with pre-existing condition. I wasn't officially diagnosed with autism or depression or anything because my parents didn't want to me to have a pre-existing condition when I became an adult that could prevent me from having insurance. Insurance companies could flat out refuse to pay for treatment if you had a pre-existing condition that could have caused the issue you were wanting them to pay for. That's not a thing anymore. My diagnosis of lupus isn't going to affect my ability to find insurance or use it to pay for lupus-related care if I change insurance.

Remember that bit from Parks and Rec? Yeah, that's kind of like what it was like. That was back in 2012. The ACA made it so that:

1. No insurance plan can reject you, charge you more, or refuse to pay for essential health benefits for any condition you had before your coverage started. This means that if you get diagnosed with cancer, insurance companies can't refuse to cover you. It means that if you have asthma, insurance companies can't refuse to pay for inhalers because you had it before you signed on with them.

2. Once you’re enrolled, the plan can’t deny you coverage or raise your rates based only on your health. This means that when I was diagnosed with lupus, my insurance couldn't kick me off or make me pay more.

3. Medicaid and the Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP) also can't refuse to cover you or charge you more because of your pre-existing condition. This is actually a big one, because it meant that the only coverage some people could afford wasn't able to kick you off, refuse to cover you, or charge you more because of something like a heart murmur you had at birth. That was a real concern for us when my oldest was born. They had a heart murmur and we were terrified we would never get insurance coverage for them.

Those were real things that really happened to millions of Americans. They would get diagnosed with cancer and get kicked of their insurance. They would have a semi high blood pressure reading one time and have a heart attack 10 years later and the insurance would refuse to pay for any of it.

Obamacare killed that. And the GOP fought like hell against it. Can you imagine everyone whose ever had COVID not being covered at all under insurance? Or being charged 3 or 4 times more? Or being charged 3 times more and still not having coverage for anything that might stem from COVID? Because that's where we would be without the ACA.

[covington-shenanigans]

the ACA had just passed a couple of months before my late wife's cancer diagnosis and I'm here to tell you it literally saved her life. she was actively dying and she would have died within months without the ACA. the ACA let her not only get her initial doctor's appointment, but paid for the tests and bloodwork and hospital stays and workups that eventually resulted in her diagnoses (she had more than one diagnosis).

we simply could not have gotten her even diagnosed, much less treated, without the ACA. it gave her five more years of life and that was a huge deal for our family. it also gave her a gentler, kinder death than she would have otherwise had.

do not let Republicans take one bit of credit for the ACA. that was all the Democrats, especially Obama himself.

[motleyfam]

hey! so its 4am and ive just finished my, um... fifth(?) reread of world's saddest breakfast club and like! aaahhhh!!!

do u got abything to tell us abt this story? like sbt the writing proccess or things u thought that did not make it in or hc or anything really. i dont have a question exactly, just wanted to hear you talk about it. im a bit. well. obssesed.

Oooh cool question! I definitely do!

World's Saddest Breakfast Club: Fun Facts

The opening line is a result of me angsting to @batmoniker about how I couldn't figure out how to start my fic, and her jokingly being like "I got you, bro. Ready? 'It was a dark and stormy night'" and then me just being stubborn and committing to the bit.

The story started with a vague idea of "everyone in the kitchen at 3am for different reasons and Jason channeling his inner short order cook." All I knew going in was the order I wanted people to appear, what was wrong with them (sick, hurt, insomnia, etc) and what food Jason would be making for them. Everything else I made up as I went.

If I could go back and change one thing about this fic, I'd reduce how long Jason was kidnapped to like, 6-8 days, max. 16 days seemed funny when I wrote it, but in hindsight, I feel like he'd be a little more fucked up in the story if he were really escaping from that many days of captivity lmao

I headcanon Dick as the kind of person who straight-up forgets to eat when he's preoccupied, and Jason as the kind of person who cannot FATHOM this concept. Jason absolutely will miss a meal if the situation calls for it, don't get me wrong, but he's aware the entire time he's doing it and it makes him super antsy. (This once turned into A Thing™ when Jason was like, 13 years old and staying with Dick for the weekend for some brotherly bonding and Dick forgot about lunch and by 5pm, Jason maybe sorta kinda had a minor panic attack about it. Dick was a lot more mindful of that moving forward)

Bruce's favorite food being lobster thermidor is a reference to the Lego Batman movie

I wrote this whole fic with Julia Child's recipe pulled up in one tab and my google doc in the other

At some point I realized that since I started with fresh lobsters, I was going to have to write Jason killing them, and it derailed me so hard that the fic nearly became about meatloaf instead. (Never mind the fact that Jason canonically kills human beings — that's totally fine. I just draw the line at him killing lobsters 😰)

(in the end I just kinda glossed over it and made sure they were already cooked before Damian appeared so I wouldn't have to address it 😬)

Dick's reoccurring shoulder injury is a reference to the DCAU where I swear that man has dislocated his shoulder/injured his arm at least 4x

The line about Tim being allergic/throwing up when he eats eggs was inspired by a line in chap 11 of @goldkirk's fic Hymn, which I've reread about 37x

Jason is correct— grits are fucking delicious and definitely not baby food.

My favorite line is "Okay there’s self-sacrificial bullshit, and then there’s whatever the fresh hell that is."

The idea for Cass being a big meat-eater comes from a comic panel where Steph offers her a plate of rice and beans and Cass says she needs meat and starts mischievously eying Steph's hamster. Can't find the panel to save my life, but I promise it's out there.

EDIT: finally found it!

Steph's nickname of "Zombie Boy" for Jason is borrowed from @audreycritter's Cor Et Cerebrum series (which is a fucking masterpiece, btw)

This fic was gonna be called "Creatures of the Night" until batmoniker said Steph's line made for a better title

Several people have asked me whether Jason was really cooking Bruce's lobster to spite him, or if he was actually intending to make it for him all along. The answer is... both? Like Jason's kind of an unreliable narrator in that he's trying to convince himself that he's just doing what he's doing to be a little shithead when deep down it's all stemming from his need to take care of his family, you know? Like he'll never admit it, but that's where his heart is at.

To everyone who's asked for a part 2 where the family finds out Jason was kidnapped, I'm gonna be honest: the main reason I don't think I'm ever going to write that scene is because I can't come up with a good enough joke for him to make to accidentally out himself ☠️

[pastafossa]

The Red Thread Masterlist

🔥  = contains smuttiness  🌧️ = contains heavy angst

The Red Thread  🔥  

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader* **Special note: Reader, in TRT, uses a false identity named Jane Hind (a play on, ‘Jane Doe’). TRT is still written in second person, and Matt knows Reader’s actual name. But if you see posts with readers referring to Jane, this is who we’re talking about.

Summary: It’s said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may  tangle or stretch, will never break. That’s not your experience, lucky  or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people  together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you’ve  worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to  you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever  lost people or items you’re hired to sniff out.

Then the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart.

Now the longest Daredevil x Reader fic on AO3, so remember to drink some water before starting! Updates every Tuesday.

Rating: Mostly M, occasional E. Chapters that are E will be marked at the beginning of the chapter. NSFW.

Current tags and warnings: friends-to-lovers, eventual smut (no longer eventual! It’s there!), slow burn,  canon-typical violence, blood, kidnapping and rescue, guns, angst, hurt/comfort, no use of ‘y/n’. More tags are listed on the fic itself!

For your added enjoyment: listen to the official accompanying playlist on Spotify!  

What-Ifs And Side Pieces/Drabbles:

✞ What would happen if Reader lost her memory just before coming back from her three months away? 🌧️ ✞ Soft headcanons about Ciro ✞ Melting Matt Murdock with head scratches after teasing him about it in Chapter 68. ✞ What if: Matt and Jane/Reader got a cat? ✞ Requested: Jane/Reader’s reaction to Matt’s new red and yellow suit ✞ That time Jane/Reader got stuck in a vent chasing a cat and Matt needed to get her out.

Requested Matt POVs of major events:

✞ The goodbye letter from Chapter 9. ✞ Matt’s POV of that scene from Chapter 28. (NSFW🔥) ✞ Matt’s POV/feelings on you wearing his mask in Chapter 32. (NSFW 🔥 ) ✞ Letters from the Road (letters sent to Matt, post-chapter 34): Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Letter 3 (Also collected here) ✞ Matt dreaming of you while you’re away during the Away Chapters. ✞ Matt’s POV of the 10 day period in Chapter 41. 🌧️ ✞ Matt’s POV of the mind-whammy and grinding in Chapter 47  🔥  ✞ Matt’s POV of the drowning incident in Chapter 63

Extras/Supplementary Goodies

✞A Red Thread tarot spread to try if you’ve enjoyed the tarot symbolism in the fic ✞ The offficial TRT playlist on Spotify ✞ A requested, helpful index of all the smutty bits in TRT, complete with links ✞ Is there a deeper meaning to the 3-1-2 code they use with one another?

Fan Creations Because Ya’ll Are Amazing:

✞  Art by @electricmongrel​ of Beagle!Reader and Doberman!Ciro! ✞  Art by @nerualian​ of Matt, including one of him with a red thread! ✞  Art by @acrabbybish​ of Matt in an adorable penguin onesie! ✞  A series of wonderful pieces by @phantomkindalikejaiden​ of Matt and Reader: Art 1 | Art 2 | Art 3 | Art 4 | Art 5 | Art 6 | Art 7 | Art 8 | Art 9 | Art 10 | Art 11 | Art 12 ✞  Art by ViviEkhart on Insta of Matt and Reader holding hands! ✞  An awesome playlist by @moonyinthestars​ on spotify! ✞ Badass art by @melodicmel​ of Matt with a red thread! ✞ Art by @vx-vexedvixen​, who made this awesome collage!

[pastafossa]

What is this belief that Matt Murdock can't cook?

You're telling me the man who can sense the temperature of water just by radiant heat, who can determine the exact firmness of some cooking noodles from across the room, who can take a bite of an omelette and likely tell you where it was bought and how long it was cooked based on texture alone, the man who can detect the most perfectly ripe fruits and veggies by touch AND smell, the man who can sense exactly what and how many seasonings were used in a recipe he tastes and therefore replicate that seasoning blend, the man who can tell you exactly when your pie in the oven has achieved peak golden brown flakiness because he knows what perfect crust smells like... can't cook?

Horseshit.

Horseshit.

SHIRE HORSE HORSESHIT.

You want this man in your kitchen, even when his methods are unconventional.

He tends to pick ugly vegetables others skip over because he can't see color or shape but he knows they're ripe and flavorful.

He can't reliably flip pancakes or quesadillas on his bad days because he's tired and his radar senses are worn out and he's still blind afterall, but he can always make amazing soup instead because he can toss it all into a pot and rely on smell.

His cabinets have unusual ingredients until you realize it's because he can identify all the 'secret' ingredients chefs use to make their food taste amazing.

His plating methods are a mess but no one ever cares because in those rare times Matt can afford to cook for someone else, his food tastes too good to complain.

His cookies are mangled shapes, they look like mutated goats with 5 legs if he ever tries to do anything but round balls, but who gives a shit, you come to God when you taste them.

This man does not use a timer. He is a timer, and if you're willing to trust him when he says, 'it doesn't smell done, give it another 2 minutes' even when it looks done, you'll be rewarded with orgasmic level food.

MATT. CAN. COOK.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[agentcarters]

how to seduce She-Hulk, according to Matt Murdock. ❤️‍🔥

[rylandsgrace]

She hulk episode 8 + text posts 

[idontreadheartbeats]

Okay but

can we talk about how this

is such a good callback to this

@yellenabelova for the She-Hulk gif credit

@myrpdummies for the rest

[mattmurdeaux]

A thread of how much Charlie understands Matt and how much he has assimilated several of Matt's traits from playing him for so many years:

1) In true Matt fashion, said that he would physically fight if Marvel Studios ever tried to recast the role:

2) Said that he feels Daredevil works best in a more mature rating, NOT because it gives more leeway to depictions of violence but because it means Matt's WHORENESS can be done more justice:

3) When he blew his Han Solo audition because he forgot to make eye contact 😂

4) When he requested for the training montage in S3 E1 to involve handstand and jumping push-ups instead of regular ones just for that classic Matt extraness ✨

5) When he summed up just how much flavor Catholic guilt gives Matt's character (and Charlie being raised Catholic himself!):