Nails Done | Jack Abbot- The Pitt. Fluff, light spice.
The Chronicles of a Touchstarved Genius and his Coworker | Spencer Reid- Criminal Minds. Fluff.
Spencer- you’re closest friend- grows comfortable to show affection. To you. Like, strictly to you. Not in a weird way (very endearing, actually) because he doesn’t realize it.
Nom-Nom | Tobias Eaton- Divergent. Fluff, Sexual Implications
Gender neutral reader bites Four’s bicep! :)
𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 :
Alive and Breathing. | Spencer Reid. Angst.
Spencer get’s a phone call. (female welder reader)
Synopsis: You are the only human on Erid. And for three years, you stay the only human on Erid. Until, one day, your friend’s mate arrives… with another human.
Warnings: possible out of character Ryland. Obviously Reader isn’t coming up with the same name for Rocky’s mate as Grace does. To clear confusion: Adrian=Shuri. ‘Shur’ is short for ‘Shuri’, pronounced as ‘sure’. Fluff, such small and minute angst it is literally barely even there. Awkward Ryland Grace and Awkward Reader (…they haven’t spoken to a human in like 3 years. Obviously they’ll be awkward at first.) Slight romantic hints near end, nothing explicit. Ryland calls reader ‘pretty’. Bad science. The xenonite suits can do whatever I want since I’m the author. Take that!
Author’s Introspective Musings: I had great fun writing this, even though it’s a pretty impossible scenario. I hope you enjoy :p ‘Original idea: Ryland x AU!Reader where the reader has somehow found their way on Erid way before Grace showed up and they meet and are like “human?!?” From @soupiemeowmeow’
It literally all happened at once: you were walking out of work, cursing at the rain, when you slipped. Your arms rose as you tilted, legs giving out, brain frozen in shock and fear. Your eyes closed, preparing for the pain that would erupt in your back. Then, just when you thought you were about to make contact with the puddle in the concrete below you, the ambience changed.
Instead of the hum of a car driving from a distance, the constant sound of raindrops hitting the ground, and faraway chattering of a group of friends out to eat was replaced with pounding heat, all kinds of musical trilling, and a kind of quiet clicking. You opened your eyes, confused, and blearily looked around. The ground under you was hot—uncomfortably so. You squinted, seeing… spiders? Bulky spiders? Your eyebrows knitted in confusion and your head was spinning around and around. With a choked whimper, you blacked out.
☄︎₊˚⊹☆
“Hi,” you greeted to the Eridian in front of you. “I’m ready for the day, boss.”
Irina trilled a happy noise. “Good good good! We will make good day!” She jumped around excitedly, circling your bulky frame as you followed her to the jungle gym you’d help create for the younglings. You were getting new suit fittings from Shuri weekly: she was always working on making fixes to your equipment to further incorporate you into Eridian life (as if you hadn’t been there for almost three years if you were correct). You named Shuri after the character from Marvel: her need to improve things reminding you of the intelligent and witty character.
Irina scuttled to the barrier of the property, seeing little Pebbles climb up and down and into and around the rock formations you’d helped design. Irina had noticed your affinity for the little things and had advocated for you being with them when you’d first started your life on an entirely different planet.
It wasn’t all parks and baby rock spiders and happy chirps, no. When you’d woken up, you were in tears trying to understand what the musical rocks were saying. You wanted your home: your shoddy apartment, plush bed, warm blanket, and friends. You didn’t understand why you were on a literal different planet with a literal animate rock formation and no clue how the hell you got there. Truthfully, you didn’t even know how you were even alive.
As time passed and you clocked the patterns of the music and actions that came from the intelligent creatures, you slowly adjusted. Of course, you were separated from them: your own livable habitat being completely different from theirs, but you learned to carve pictures, tap characters, and interperet all kinds of dances and actions from the other species. The first time you held a conversation with the familiarest of friends, you laughcried for a couple minutes.
Now, you were familiar with many Eridians: names for each of them, personalities that reminded you of people from your home, and had even become a version of a godmother for Irina’s pebbles. You had your own livable habitat, highly based off of Twilight: a forested, green expanse with a medium sized house surrounded by a teasing mist. It stored trinkets, clothes, and other things that showed your unbelievable existence on this planet you were never supposed to be at.
You and Irina spoke for awhile before Shuri bounded toward you. Free from her lab work, she chittered excitedly. “Good feeling,” she said. The large, green being shook with excitement. “So good feeling!”
Irina, mirroring her friend, started to dance with happiness. “Happy, happy! Why happy?”
“Do not know. Possible mate arrival? Excite, excite, excite! How are my friends?” She patted her large three-fingered hands on top of your protective suit. “How is my human?”
“Good, good! No busy day, watching younglings for now.” Irina informed the larger creature.
You nodded. “Suit is good.”
Shuri let out a displeased noise. She clicked quietly and you knew she was very intent on echolocating any weak spots in your suit or body. Shuri was very much a protective thing… but really the entire species was very protective. “Typical answer from y/n. Does follow your movement well?”
“Yes, it does. Very well, actually,” you answer truthfully. The last suit had been more temperature resistant but was a struggle to move in. This new suit was nearly as resistant but let you move particularly freely—something that you personally really liked. “This is one of your best yet, Shur. Thank you.”
The creator did a shimmy. “Happy, happy, happy! Happy day. I see you later. Bye my human, bye my Irina.”
☄︎₊˚⊹☆
You woke to pounding on your door. The sound of your muffled name sounded urgent through the material of the building. Swinging your legs from your comfy bed, you padded to the door. “What’s—?”
“Human! Human, human, human! Human! Suit! Now! Dress and we go!”
You stumbled backwards a suited Irina bounded past you into your house. Her jumping shook the frame of your house and vibrated the remaining tiredness out of your body. “What?”
Irina, comically, slumped to the ground in a pile of limbs surrounded by a glinting suit. “Y/n needs understand. Human. Now. Shuri’s mate arrive. We go, you see human, Shuri’s mate. Go! Fast, fast, fast!”
As you reviewed your clothing adornments, you paused. The first human being in three whole years. You hadn’t had contact with anyone even remotely near Earth in three. Years. It was a wonder you hadn’t gone insane. Or maybe you already did. Finally, you shrugged. Your sleepshorts and shirt were decent.
You followed a bounding Irina out of the biodome. Again you thinked your stars for Shuri and her ability to create something that allowed you to jog to catch up to the friend in front of you.
Shuri’s lab was surrounded by Eridians: friends, family, and others. You’d known about the journey that Shuri’s mate had been on. It was about half a full human lifetime ago when the team was sent out and every year on the day of the launch, Shuri had her closest friends to her home to dance. (When you inquired about why dancing was occuring, a friend of Shuri’s explained that her mate was to be remembered with fondness for his bravery. You reasoned to yourself that it was also a kind of way for the Eridians to keep hope for their family against the unknown of space.)
You fit through the crowd easily, Eridians from far and wide knew of you—obviously—and your relation to the people around you. It was hard to miss an outlier among a crowd, anyway. A ship was spotted in the distance, something you recognized vaguely from one of Shuri’s carvings.
Excited trilling buzzed around the atmosphere and you heard the song of your name being sung. You wove through small and large Eridians, green and blues and rusty red creatures who parted with more kindness and empathy than most humans on your home planet. Bizarrely comforting, really. With Irina bounding excitedly in front of you, the pair of you swiftly saw…
“Another human,” you murmured. You ceased all movement immediately: the pure shock had you genuinely paralyzed. Your time as an alien had given you much time for introspection. Quite frankly, you understood that you may never go back to Earth and were genuinely okay with it. Along with that fact came the realization that you will never see another human again. Though, you eventually accepted that you had to take the wins (annoyingly protective and curiously caring Eridians interested in your fragile wellbeing) with the losses (never seeing another homo sapien and never clocking into work again).
Ryland was listening partially to Rocky’s rapid introductions and excited words and partially being overwhelmed by the amount of Eridians around him: some towering over him by twenty feet, some smaller than Rocky. He mused to himself how interesting it was to see a positive response from such a large crowd… something pretty foreign back home. Finally, Rocky got Grace’s attention when he extended one little finger into the crowd and then he saw you.
A faded Pink Floyd shirt stood stark against the reds and browns and greens and teals. You were still, eyebrows widened in a kind of surprise that Ryland was sure he was mirroring. He saw you swallow, blink, and swallow again. He was about to lift his hand in a wave when an Eridian a little bit bigger than Rocky—a forest green—repeatedly bumped your thigh. You softened and your hands rose as you began to talk with this Eridian. With no equipment. Ryland’s eyebrows crept even further up to his hairline: this human had been here long enough to know and speak Eridian.
“-Adrian say another human! Grace have other friend than Rocky. Hm. Is okay. Adrian like other human much much much!” Rocky tells Grace. “Talk to human friend. Go go go. Rocky save Grace social life! Good friend Rocky.”
Ryland peers at Rocky sideways. “There’s nothing wrong with my social life. I’m offended, Rock, honestly.”
Rocky chittered. “Human brain funny. I hear heartbeat fast. Go talk. I miss my mate, my family. Least you do is talk to only other human.”
At Rocky’s sudden seriousness (and his own curiosity… and you walking up and leaning against Adrian’s hulking form), Ryland swallows his anxiety.
“Hi Shuri,” you whistle.
Shuri/Adrian trills. “Y/n! Y/n, meet Grr-Ayce,” the Eridian says to you. When Grace blinks at you, you tilt your head.
“You don’t know Eridian do you?”
Ryland shakes his head. “Uh- no. No, I- I made a kind of transition device. Rocky’d say a word, I’d record it. It was… I don’t know Eridian.”
You nod your head. “I can help.” You lean your helmeted head on Shuri/Adrian’s leg. “Shur, is this the mate you tell me much about?”
Shuri/Adrian quirks up and down. “Yes! Yes yes yes!”
Ryland falls back and observes you conversing easily with some talking rocks. You smile and lean your head back when Rocky says something the follows a little shimmy. You soften at the way Rocky gestures to the circle of Shuri-colored stone embedded in one of his arms. In a way unfamiliar to Ryland, he feels a warmth just above his navel and a haziness at the back of his head, above his neck. He can’t wait to talk to you.
It’s only when you stand up from Shuri’s form does Ryland step forward. “You want to take a shower, maybe get some sleep in a real bed? I let Rocky and Shuri know you can stay with me for awhile if you want.”
Ryland nods. “Yeah! Yes, I’d honestly love to shower. I think anything is better than the water pressure on our ship.”
You nod. “Follow me and be amazed,” you say, running your fisted knuckle up your forarm to Shuri (Adrian?) and Irina. “So… Adrian? Is that what you call Rocky’s mate?”
Ryland nods. “Yeah. I obviously didn’t have an exact translation, so I just picked one. I like Shuri, though. Very intelligent character,” Ryland says.
A smile pulls at your lips. Someone that knows about the Marvel Cinematic Universe. “Yes! Shur really embodies the ‘okay but we can always make it better’ energy.”
Ryland nods. He is significantly slower than you: his bulky suit nothing compared to your slim, able one. As embarrassing it is to have you walk slower, Ryland is happy because it gives him the opportunity to talk to another human! Speaking of which— “So… pardon my blunt curiosity… how the hell did you get here?”
His confusion hightens tenfold when you start to laugh. “Uhh… well! That’s kinda the million dollar question. I… I really don’t know.” You look at him and shrug. “I remember that I tripped and was falling backwards, then I passed out. I woke up and…” you raise your palms and gesture at the world around you, “I was in a hamster ball surrounded by rock spiders that made very pretty music. The rest, I guess, is history.”
“How long have you been here?”
That question makes you sigh. “About three years. I dont have an exact date, but I know I’m going on three years. Enough about me. Perfect timing, too! This is my home,” you say. A large expanse of Xenonite stretches further than Ryland can see. “Shuri was convinced I needed more room than necessary. Anyway, when you want to enter the biodome…”
☄︎₊˚⊹☆
You were lounging on the couch that Shuri had made (firm enough to support your joints and just soft enough to make you sleepy), using the constructed paper, ink, and pen to sketch out a bird. The feathers were your favorite: a cohesive mess of lines and self-made softness that could be used to propel such a small body into the air to soar. You liked birds a lot, often frequenting animal shelters to help your mental health, observe behavioral patterns, and enjoy what Earth could give you. You liked how they had their way of communicating despite the inability to express words like humans. You liked how excited a bird would get when it’s wing was fixed and healed enough to fly. You liked watching the birds dance in the sky and on the ground. You liked the kind of freedom they symbolized: despite gravity constantly pulling them down they always found a way to surpass constraints and fly.
“Hi.”
Your back tensed and your head whipped up. Standing in front of you was Ryland Grace, looking sincerely apologetic and… adorable. His damp hair was messed up and surrounded his head like a scared kitten. He was wearing a shirt and pair of pants that you hoped would fit him (Irina had worked with you to formulate shirts in all sizes so you would have ‘maximum happiness’) and looking at you with wide eyes. “Hi, sorry.”
Ryland shook his head. “No, no, I scared you. I’m sorry. Can I sit?”
You nodded. “Of course. Was the shower nice?”
Ryland nodded, a genuine smile cracking open on his face. “Yes. It was great. Thank you, again.”
You nodded. “You don’t have to be so formal, you know. I’m not going to bite.”
Something in your chest squeezed when the blond man let out a laugh. It rumbled his chest and highlighted the pecs under the worn out shirt. “Sorry. I’m just…”
You offered “Awkward?” at the same time Ryland said “nervous.”
This time the both of you laughed. Ryland shrugged easily, shoulder sinking as he relaxed further in your company. “I mean, awkward works. But mostly I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“Uh, I mean, you’re the only human I’ve spoken to in I don’t know how long. You’re… really smart and pretty and also on a foreign planet. I’m just pretty nervous all around, I’d say,” Ryland finished.
You nod. “I get the foreign planet one. I’m not that smart though.”
Ryland’s mouth drops. “You know Eridian.”
Blinking, you nod.
“Figuring out a language based entirely off of yourself and no translation device is genuinely very smart. I’m very impressed. And—not to make this about myself—but clearly I would know something about smart if I was sent up to save the stars in the milky way. Also, I have a PhD, so if you don’t take the compliment, that’s… dumb.”
You laugh brightly at Ryland’s rant, finding his offensive reaction to your words about yourself endearing. “Guess I’m dumb,” you say, egging him on.
Ryland throws his hands up and melts against the couch with a loud groan. “This is going to be a long rest of my life if you argue like this about everything!” He complains.
Your giggling, though, makes Ryland smile against his hands. “It’s okay, you’ll get used to it!”
Ryland turns his head to look at you. He’s still lying against the couch like a pile of limp noodles but he doesn’t quite mind the ache in his neck because something in your smile invigorates a feeling in Ryland’s body he hasn’t truly felt in a long time: belonging.
Ryland Grace who gets BONERS from KISSING. Walk with me…
pre/post PHM, doesnt matter.
Ryland turns when he feels the weight of your gaze prickling at the skin between his shoulderblades and scalp. Your head is tilted a little bit, a smile on your face as you watch Ryland move toward you.
He barely murmurs a small “hi” before he’s got his lips on yours, feeling the rushing blood under his fingertips as he brings his hands to your waist. Slipping his hands under your shirt, Ryland feels the warmth radiating through your lower back and feels a pulsing in his own body. Feeling you, here and now, hot and loving him was just… an answer to a prayer he’d forgotten he’d asked for.
You do that thing where you press your front to his after your pointer finger sloooowwwly pulls him closer to you by his belt loop, and damn is Ryland a goner. You groan a little into Ryland’s mouth when he pulls you up and towards him: the sheer tangibility of his want only adding to the lust in your mind. You feel the little spikes of his hair as you slowly bring your hands up to the nape of his neck to feel him and then the smoothness of his skin as you bring your hands to his face in any attempt to mold you two impossibly closer.
Only when you start to feel your head physically weigh heavier and when you hear the loud whooshing of your blood behind your ears do you force yourself away. Panting, you see Ryland’s eyebrows screwed up. He whines and rests his forhead on your chest: how could you be so cruel as to pull away from him? Ugh. “I’m hard,” he whispers.
You chuckle breathlessly. “What’d you say?”
Ryland looks up: the epitome of want and desire and undercover eroticism. “I’m fucking hard.” His hand reaches for yours and he palms the back of your hand. Eyes locked on yours as he brings your hand to the crotch of his pants to make you feel just what you do to him. The way his throat vibrates with a barely withheld whimper when you palm him makes you want to drop his pants right then and there. “Y/n.”
An evil glint is in your eyes. “I love when this happens.”
Ryland groans, this time from embarrassment. “I love that you love it but I- it happens so often.”
You exhale a laugh throught your nose as you lean in to kiss him again. “We’ll take care of that, honey.”
Warning: stepcest, pulling out. reader is scared of bridges. or heights. idk take ur pick MDNI
part2
ugh i just know he’s got a vein running up the right side of that dick
How about youre in a car. Your friend picked you and your stepdad up for a beach day, but the car is full. So, your friends pressure you into sitting on your dad’s lap! Nothing weird, you did it when you were younger, right?
So boom you’re in the car, sitting on the far right side. Ryland’s right hand clutches desperately at the handle on the side of the door and the other is wrapped around your stomach, pressing your warm body flush against his chest. Speaking of body, you’re wearing a bikini and a sheer white little coverup: the two colored triangles covering your bouncing tits are both a boon and a threat. Ryland, frankly, is grateful for them being there because if he saw just a little bit more of your skin he would probably do something very unsavory…
Oh but then comes the bridge. Your shoulders tighten as your friends keep yelling along to the music. Ryland feels you stiffen and he leans forward, a rumbling “what’s wrong, kiddo?” He feels a pulsing warmth under his stomach when you say “bridge” and turn into him.
“Let me try something, baby, okay?” Ryland asks. When you nod, he inconspicuously pulls his boner from his swim trunks. Thank fuck for your chattering friends—if they weren’t this loud and obnoxious, he doesn’t think he would get to do this with his pretty baby. He guides his hardening dick under the short fabric of your cover-up and stalls when he feels the swimsuit bottom at the top of his fist. “This alright?”
You turn and a wry smile is on your face: you’re fucking scared of bridges, but you know your caring daddy is tryin to make you focus on anything but the fear. “Put your cock in me, daddy,” you whisper teasingly.
Ryland knows you’re being a little shithead, but it doesn’t matter because he could make you regret it just be not letting you cum. So he doesnt give you any warning, just lining his cock up with your entrance and pulling you down with out warning. Your molars grind as you try to keep quiet. As you naturally bounce and grind and squirm around from the car, Ryland wraps both arms around your stomach to keep you right where he wants you.
When he pulls out about three minutes before you arrive, you’re relaxed and eased at having came on his cock and feeling his spend warm your thighs after pulling out. You know today’s going to be a good day, and you hadn’t even made it to the beach yet. :p
welder!simon making you those pretty metal flowers. welder!simon who loves when you pack lunch for him because its so domestic and he’s out of the house by 0400 in the morning anyway. welder!simon who talks about you to all the down-to-earth guys that come through and have a job for him. welder!simon who always showers right when he gets home because he know how you get when he gets thise little curls of steel that latch onto his shirt on the couch or get dirt on the bed.
mechanic!simon who always gets your vehicle in and out before anyone else though possible. mechanic!simon who offers to fix things up at your house/apartment for free because he (wants to spend time with you) knows how expensive things are… and he is your friend, so why not just do it out of the kindness of his heart? mechanic!simon who is friends with you long enough to know your favorite animal/song, so he casually gets a tattoo of the animal silhouette/lyrics because he has tattoos anyway so why not get one that reminds him of you?
electrician!simon who always jumps to offer his work skills if you need. electrician!simon who always lets you know the latest gossip that he hears on the job if you want to know. electrician!simon who always calls you after a work accident/scare: he fell about twenty feet and landed on his back and his first thought was of you, simon got shocked by a live wire and asked for you to come cook him dinner because he burned through some skin tissue (and he knows you’d do it).
Uhh. Hey! Let me order some stepcest with stepfather ryland grace…
part1
wanring: stepcest, cunnilingus, mdni
you’re just setting your keys on the counter, noticing your mother’s keys gone: typical. “Fuck,” you cuss, opening the fridge door. Today’d been grueling, dealing with a blood drive the student council sponsors left to the seniors to lead—notably without previous communication.
“Language!” Ryland chides. He peers around the fridge door at you. “Long day, kiddo?”
You nod, closing the door. Gotta head to the store, you thought, since my own mother can’t be bothered to feed anyone but herself. You lean into Ryland’s chest: he’s a hugger, you’re not. So you compromise. You find your shoulders sinking as he wraps his arms around you. He smells comforting: coffee, old paper, and… a woodsy smell that reminds you that your kind, understanding, doting stepfather is still a man.
“Wanna relax? Watch a movie?” Ryland offers, seeing your eyes flutter closed. “There’s this comedy one of my students recommended. Looks good.”
Somehow, Ryland unashamedly giggling at some of the jokes being said led to him apologizing to you for laughing with led to you straddling him and quieting his unnecessary apologies with your lips. You loved how Ryland Grace talked: you liked how he stood up for you, asked you questions, empathized with you, and talked when you didn’t have it in you. But you loved his mouth and sounds when he was eating your pussy, talking to you and vibrating your clit just right, saying that ‘it didn’t count because no biological reproduction is occurring’.
Synopsis: Reader has an anxiety attack. Jack comes to your aid without hesitation.
Warnings: anxiety attack. Established romantic relationship.
Author’s Extra Introspections: After reading multiple articles and other research, I’m understanding the difference between a panic attack versus an anxiety attack. I dealt with my only anxiety attack with people I wasn’t close with and I guess I wrote this because this feels like the thing that would have helped me the most. You are so loved, reader. Stay alive |-/
Jack knew of your anxiety. He knew what you’d told him: the overthinking, the constant planning ahead for the worst, the anticipation of everything going wrong, the emotions that ruled your sternum and controlled your breathing, and how you coped. Well, you were less clear on how you coped, but Jack knew you were visiting a therapist and he had learned quickly that there were times he needed to encourage you and other times he needed to drag you into the door. In any case, Jack knew it was something you lived with.
Being said, Jack hadn’t been around for any of your anxiety attacks. In your nine months of dating, Jack had never guided you through that sea of emotion. But when you had a panic attack for the first time, Jack was thankfully off work to hear your shocked gasps of breath when it happened. In the aftermath of that, you’d looked at him with a fake nonchalant expression on your face as you tried to say “if it— if I’m too much— I’m sorry” to which Jack shut you up by physically placing his palm over your mouth and pulling your shoulder into his chest. “If it happens again, I want to be the first one you call. Because you love me and I can help you and I, quite frankly, very selfishly want to know that you know I am someone you find safety in. You’re never too much. Never. And I never want to make you feel that way.”
Your poor facade of carelessness crumbled as you dissolved into choked sobs: this time tears of contentment instead of suffering.
When Jack’s phone rang at work, he was on his way to the break room for a quick coffee break before the wave pulled everyone under. His face softened as the picture of you sleeping on Dana’s couch filled his screen. Your contact name—‘Mrs. Ma’am💍♥️’ flowed across the top. Jack accepted the call and pressed it to his ear as he closed the door. “Hey honey,” he greeted.
His heart stalled at the sound of your labored breathing on the other line. “Jay? I’m- I can’t-“ the sound of a thud sends him in action. He flies out of the breakroom, eyes wildly identifying someone he can trust.
Ellis looks at him with a furrowed brow. Jack shakes his head and says “I will be back.” Nodding, Ellis offers a thumbs up before taking over for Jack.
“Hey there, honey,” Jack cooes over the phone. “I’m on my way to you, okay? I’m coming.” He fondles his pockets and retrieves his keys as Jack approaches his vehicle. “How’re you doing, honey? Where are you?”
Ten miles away, you’re unable to see with how hard your eyes are closed. You’re getting lightheaded, now, from how much you’re hyperventilating. It’d taken you longer than necessary to call Jack. “De-Deck,” you finally answer, your head pushing against the glass door as tears travel down the peaks and valleys of your face. “Jack I can’t-“
Jack clenches his jaw. “I’m about five minutes out,” Jack tells you, very much driving over the speed limit. He couldn’t give two shits— let alone one, though. You came first. Every time. A speed suggestion bore no real weight to Jack. “Why don’t you breathe with me, honey?”
Every panic attack usually centered on helping you remove yourself from one specific place. Jack had seen what happened the first time he physically picked you up and sat with you outside. He imagines, after mush introspection, that the physical contact paired with the different environment helped to show you were not isolated and stuck in a spiral you could not break yourself. In any case, it worked then and it worked the next time, so Jack wasted no time gauging where to take you when it was all too much.
You attempted to match breaths with Jack, but your own breath count increased even more as you got more frustrated you weren’t doing it like Jack. “I can’t. Jack, I can’t do it,” you choked through tears.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I promise. Just keep listening to me, okay? I’m almost there and then we can fix it together, okay?” Jack whipped his turn harder than anticipated but it truthfully didn’t matter because Jack was about 100 meters from home. “I’m pulling in the drive now. Do you hear the garage door, honey?”
You did. You heard them and knew Jack was there. You heard the garage door open and then you heard a car door shut. Next was the footsteps. The call ended just before you felt a light touch on your shoulders.
“Hey, you,” Jack greeted breathlessly. Your eyes were closed and you turned your shaking sternum toward Jack’s. “Can I hold you, honey?”
In all honesty, Jack didn’t know what the fuck to do. Usually your eyes were wide open and darting every which way, your hands would pull at the front of your shirt like it was obstructing your breathing, and you’d be more physically pliant. All signs pointed to an anxiety attack: muscle rigor, hyperventilation, closed eyes. The only problem was Jack didn’t know how to help you.
That doesn’t mean he sure as hell wouldn’t try.
You nodded weakly, neck jerking forward like it was weighing you down. Jack immediately filled in the space between you. He sat down on the deck with you and took your hands in his. “I feel like… I’m about to pass out,” you said. “Jack?”
“Yeah, honey?” Jack answered immediately. You hands were tense: the pads pinky and ring fingers pressed against the palm of your hand, the middle finger nearly tensed up like the others. He wished with everything in his soul that you never had to feal this kind of pain.
“Pull me up,” you said, leaning forward. “Kitchen chair.”
Jack nodded. “Okay.” In the blink of an eye (…Jack’s eye. Yours were still closed and dripping tears.), Jack wrapped a hand around your back to the other side of your underarm and hand you pulled up against him. Your breaths—thank fuck—slowed down a little as soon as you leaned you full weight against him. He guided you through the patio door and to the kitchen with ease. “Okay I need you to sit down, honey.”
You slumped easily into the seat. Jack pulled a chair over by you and held your wrists. You leaned your head forward to put your head down, down where it was darker against your eyelids. “Talk to me. Quiet. Please.”
Jack watched you, breathing turning less erratic by the minute and felt his chest release a bit of tensions. “Okay. So…” he murmured. “I had a girl come in today, about nine years old. Completely flipped over her bike. Like, brakes pulled, cartwheel over the front, bad landing. The poor thing had injuries bad enough to make some fully grown men cry. When I asked her, you know, why she braked so hard, she shrugs her little shoulders and tell me that she saw a birds nest on the ground and she thought she was going to run over it.“
Jack’s story was only partially comprehensive to you. You were hearing his voice but not listening to the words. In truth, you wanted him to talk because hearing a voice you trusted was a kind of achor in the raging waves of your body and emotions. Hearing his voice meant you weren’t alone, and things were always easier when you weren’t alone.
“Were they… okay?” You ask, feeling your hands tingling. The weight of your head seemed to subside as you focused on Jack’s story. “The girl and the birds?”
A laugh sputtered out of Jack. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, they’re all okay. She said that she put it in a little knothole of the trunk.”
You nodded. “I’m cold.”
“Okay.” Jack slowly retracted his hands and closed the patio door. He jogged over to grab the thick green chunky-knit blanket you’d bought from your nephew. Draping it over your shoulders, Jack grabbed you your water bottle from the kitchen counter and opened it for you to drink. “Drink.”
You shook your head, pulling the fabric around you. You sat up in the chair, finally taking Jack in. He held the water out in front of you with a genuinely stern expression. “Y/n you need to drink some water. I won’t ask again if you just have a little sip.”
Sighing heavily, you leaned forward and closed your lips around the straw. You pulled the water up the straw and earned a brief sigh from Jack—probably off relief that you didn’t put up much of a fight. When you finally pulled away, Jack wasted no time in setting your water aside and opening his arms out to you.
“C’mere, honey. I’ll put you in bed and then I’ll be back later, okay?” He cooed as you reached your own limbs up to him. Your legs shook with tension as Jack swept his hand under your knees and hoisted you into the air. “There’s my girl,” he murmured. Your chest stuttered as you inhaled: something you always did after you cried or depleted your energy. “I’m proud of you for calling me, y/n, genuinely. Thank you for trusting me enough to help you.”
You tilted your head up to look at Jack. “I… Thank you for being someone I trust.”
After the attending physician helped you slide under the quilt, he thought about the casual delivery of that powerful line. He slid back into the seat of his vehicle, feeling the hum of the engine rumbling, and thought of the vibrating tension in your hands that didn’t pull away from his. Jack strode back to work with a kind of renewed vigor: all because he’s someone you trust, unconsciously and by choice.
The Chronicles of a Touchstarved Genius and his Coworker: Injured
— Synopsis: Part 2 of ‘The Chronicles of a Touchstarved Genius and his Coworker’! Before you and Spencer go out on a movie date, you get injured.
— Warning: possible OOC!Spencer. Nondescript injury.
More often than he used to, Spencer occupies his time with romance books. Yes, you heard this correctly: Spencer Reid consumes a form of media that does not have any intellectual value other than to entertain.
Of course you had everything to do with it.
It started the day you had fallen asleep on him on the plane ride home. Spencer had none of the usual worries he had when anyone else touched him when you had molded into his side. Your book- a romance novel- had fallen open on your lap and so naturally Spencer’s eyes landed on it. And naturally Spencer read the page.
It was true that Spencer had read and recommended books to you and you to him, but never had he read the same book that you read. There was something to be said about the giddy kick in his chest as he realized how… intimate this feeling was: you sleeping on him, him reading your book, and liking it.
And when Spencer finished reading the open pages and finally urged his shockingly perverse mind to not turn the page and lose your place, he eventually fell asleep with the pleasantly familiar scent of your perfume and the comfort of knowing you were sleeping safely at his side.
After the plane incident, Spencer had made your interest of romantic plotlines his own.
This meant books, articles, movies, short films- the works. And after about a month of polishing his knowledge about the genre, his brain made a revelation as he passed the movie theater you and he attended- a romantic comedy you’d mentioned earlier in the week was showing on the Friday evening the team had off: the perfect coincidence!
Asking you was easier than he anticipated. He just got you a medium of your usual coffee order and- instead of leaving it on your desk and fleeing- Spencer left it on your desk and waited for you. Luckily, you both arrived at nearly the same time since your schedules and lifestyles were so similar.
“We haven’t seen a movie in awhile,” Spencer said in greeting. You nodded and sipped your coffee before reaponding.
“I agree! Is there anything you’ve been wanting to see? I think I picked last time,” you offered, moving your stuff so Spencer could lean comfortably against your desk.
Spencer willed himself to be collected, calm, and chill. “Uh… Nothing comes to mind… But there’s this romance movie that’s being advertised down the street. Seems like that would be your style.”
The response was immediate. Your eyes shine and your smile gets so bright Spencer thinks he just discovered electricity. “I know exactly what movie you’re talking about!” Your short and giddy laugh makes Emily and Morgan raise an eyebrow at each other. “I didn’t think you liked those kinds of movies though?”
Calm. Be calm, Spencer tells himself. “Some of them are decent. I guess everyone needs a change of pace,” he answeres with an innocent shrug and you, excited and shaking, don’t question your best friend’s answer.
The two weeks leading up to the movie were exceptionally normal until a case had sent the BAU to a little down in Arkansas. To sum up the actions of a sicko: women were kidnapped, slowly injected formaldehyde into their veins, and forced to dance for hours until they fell. This cycle would be repeated until the women could no longer handle the chemicals, i.e.: they die.
It was the car ride to the hotel from the police department when the bomb went off.
You were beside Hotch in the front, lazily tracing your finger down the side of the window. Spencer would’ve done close to anything to see that thoughtful gaze and minute upturn of your lips—something you often did when you were officially sleepy or bored. Spencer’d go as far as to say you were sleepy.
The suddenness of the blast gave no one any time to react: the car flew backward, airbags popped open, Hotch’s arm shot out in an attempt to keep you from slamming your head on the dash, the crack of bone, the shriek of brakes. Then the car horn.
You remember thinking about how ironic it was that you could hear the singing cicadas and chirping crickets as pain engulfed your head an neck. You also remember the blackness creeping in your vision like an unwanted vignette. Iron filled your mouth, so thick and potent that you gave a body shaking, pain creating cough. Colors blurred together in a mess of van Goh inspired painting and—joining the hymn—was a very painful ringing in your ears.
—
“Spencer?”
The brown-haired man’s head snapped up from where his head was resting on your hospital bed. He took in the sight of you that he would have nightmares about in the future: pale, unmoving, bruised. Your eyes were peering down at him with so much concern, Spencer truly believed his heart would fall right out of his chest. “Hey, you,” he greeted soothingly. “Let me- I’ll get you some water.”
Blinking, you watched Spencer bustle around the room. The bright lights of the room made the dull ache behind your right eye socket throb painfully. Paired with the smell of chemicals and sterility? You felt ready to vomit. “Spencer, what happened? Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?”
Oh that did it. Jaw clenching tightly, Spencer tried to ignore the emotion that made his brow furrow and his chest tighten. If you could see yourself… “There was a car accident. Most of us got lucky. You and Emily got the brunt of the damage, but everyone else is mostly alright.” Spencer offered a small cup with a straw and tried not to focus on the shake of your hands. “How’re you feeling?”
After you downed the plastic cup of water, you leaned back against the bed. “I… don’t know. I’m in pain but— Did we catch him? Was he—?”
“Answer my question first, okay? You don’t need to stress yourself out after being in surgery for ten hours,” Spencer cut in gently. He knew what you were going to do: ask, ask, ask, ask, guilt trip, and than accept that you weren’t going to be getting any answers. Sure, you were 100% going to be salty, but Spencer didn’t want a stress-induced injury—especially when you literally flatlined on the table (according to the doctor).
“I’m fine. Where’s Hotch?”
Spencer nearly smiled. Switching tactics with the hope that Hotch was going to answer your question. Unlikely.
“He’s currently with Emily and Derek. I’ll let him know you’re up, though.”
You nodded slightly. “Okay.”
Spencer didn’t know what else to say. As he nodded awkwardly and swallowed the lump in his throat, he looked down so his apprehension was shown on his face. Spencer was just about to close his hand around the cold metal handle when he stopped and turned around—
“Spencer—“ you began and the same time Spencer started with “I just—“
“Uh… you go,” you offered with a raspy chuckle.
Spencer nodded. “I just… I’m really glad that you’re okay. Recovery won’t be easy, but I just… I want you to know that I’m so happy youre okay and I don’t know what I’d do without you. So. Thats all,” he finished quietly.
You swallowed and stared at Spencer for so long, he was worried he said something wrong.
“Please come back. I want you with me,” you said. “Please.”
A smile—weary and true and watery—pulled at Spencer’s lips. “I promise.”
The Chronicles of a Touchstarved Genius and his Coworker
⌖ Spencer- your closest friend- grows comfortable to show affection. To you. Like, strictly to you. Not in a weird way (very endearing, actually) because he doesn’t realize it.
⌖ I love my sweetie baby. I just want to protect my little boy from all the evil in the world and keep him locked up in my basement. Anyway; I hope you like this because im drafting a second part.
⌖ navigation.
You’d think that the infamous genius- that happened to be a germaphobe- Spencer Reid was not a clinger. But that, folks, is not true.
It started small, like this:
You and Spencer have always got along swimmingly: challenging each other to chess, offering pointers on case notes, book recommendations, and even taking the other to coffee or dinner if they reacted particularly negatively to a case.
The pair of you got along so well that you didn’t think anything of Spencer’s uncanny habit to show up where you were. That, and he did tend to follow you to… hell, everywhere.
He was constantly in-step with you whenever you were on the cusp of a breakthrough, interviewing witnesses, and sliding into the passenger seat of your car when you were ordered by Hotch to take twenty minutes to clear your head (since you had a horrible habit of working yourself to metaphorical death).
Usually Spencer went on a spiel about something you mentioned earlier, occupying the car with a comfortable voice. He had recognized that your agitation in complete silence multiplied compared to a voice that (Spencer trained to be) soothing to you. In other words, Spencer had become your white noise machine when you were on time-out and he felt good about being relied on for more than just paperwork and statistics.
And when your twenty minutes up or when you had recuperated enough to engage with what Spencer was saying, he would tilt his head and say something like ‘you’re doing what you can, y/n. I know you are hard on yourself but believe me when I say that this team is proud of everything you’ve done and everything you are.’ Then Spencer would wait until you nodded solemnly at him to get out and walk to your side of the car slowly so you could wipe away your tears- if you had any trailing down your cheeks- and open your door.
Gradually, Spencer’s acts of service to you became more than just being present.
It’s kind of ironic that I write that because Spencer did take to leaving you a present nearly every week. Not anything super duper crazy, but a donut in a neat container on your desk, your favorite coffee from your favorite coffee shop, a CD from that band you like because it was on sale, or even a fresh copy of a book you’ve mentioned eyeing.
If you were to ask me this is Spencer’s way of thanking you for always offering him that bottle of hand sanitizer you have in your pocket, offering him that little bag of disinfectant wipes whenever Spencer’s lips downturned, and being one of his best friends and confidants over the years.
But I think in the back of his mind, Spencer just wanted to feel worthy of the acts and affection you had given to him even before getting close.
All of these things, the wordless ‘I see you’ in every cup of coffee, the constant supporting presence Spencer offered when the world was a little too much at once, and the murmured “I know an Indian place that’s open late” when he’s the only other person awake on the plane had been the most affection that Spencer had grown fond of- to look forward to.
And every single unphysical act of affection had led to now. Something small to you- the reader who may not completely know who Spencer is and know his quirks- but something groundbreaking to the team nonetheless. An intentional touch from Spencer meant you were clean, safe. Some (read: me. I would.) would say that meant… home.
But Spencer letting you sleep on him? Your skin on his own? Unthinkable, right? Ha! Wrong. Indeed, you were dozed on Spencer’s shoulder with his own head resting over yours: intentionally. Spencer did not simply fall asleep while touching another human and the fact that he let you rest on him- let alone fall asleep himself on you…
Morgan, bless him, had to watch the scene for a full six minutes before taking a picture and slapping J.J.’s arm without looking from you and Spencer. Now, Derek was not blind. He had seen how Spencer’s own smile grew just a touch when your face lit up at the coffee on your desk and how Spencer’s emotions were uncannily receptive to yours. Yes, his homeboy had a crush.
Up until now Derek thought nothing would happen with the way Spencer acted but after seeing you sleeping peacefully on Spencer’s shoulder, Derek was so proud of Spencer Derek may have made that picture his ownwallpaper.
“Hi! What can I get for you today?” You ask, not looking up from your tablet.
“Uh…”
You look up, a smile on your face. Your shift had just started and you had an astronomical amount of patience- you felt like it would be a good day the moment you woke up. When you looked up, your eyes widened. In front of you stood one of the finest, tallest, and smartest looking beanpoles that had ever came by your great aunt’s quaint coffee shop.
His bottom lip was caught between his astonishingly bright teeth as he scoured the paper in his hand. “Sorry, I’d like a… I’m sorry, can I just give this to you? My friends sent me to get them coffee and I…” he looked up. The man’s voice trailed off: his eyebrows relaxing on his face as his mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’.
Tilting your head slightly, you smiled. This guy was somehow smoking hot and adorable at the same time. “And you…?” you prompted.
He blinked. “I’m- I’m so sorry! Uh, ca-can I just give this to you?” A hot pink Sticky-Note was offered to you that you excepted.
Selfishly, you were happy there were no other clients in the café- you wanted to interact with this guy as long as possible. “I can definitely do that for you,” you inform the man, typing in the order for a few of your usuals. “Your total is… $18.57.”
“Here,” he tells you, handing you a twenty. You hand him his change and start working on the orders. Swiftly and methodically, you complete the four orders like clockwork.
When you finally set down the coffees on the table, you are not surprised to see the hot guy still standing awkwardly near the till. “Would you like a carrier?” You ask.
“Please,” he answers with a nod. He takes the cardboard carrier and fits the cups snugly in the cupholders. “Thank you…” he reads the nametag on your apron, “y/n.”
“You’re welcome…?”
“Dr. Reid. Spencer- Spencer Reid,” he answers with a nod.
“You’re very welcome Dr. Spencer Red,” you tell Spencer with a sweet smile.
It would be a lie if you said you weren’t disappointed when Spencer gave you one last endearingly adorable smile and bid you goodbye. You watched his long legs carry him out of the building and busied yourself cleaning equipment until the bell rang and another customer came in and the world moved on.
The bell rang- signaling a customer- and you frantically dried off your hands to tend to them.
Words died on your tongue as the Dr. Spencer Reid strode up to the till while brushing his hair back. “I- Sorry if this is too forward- is there any way I can get your phone number? I’d love to get dinner with you sometime- or coffee or lunch or whatever you want- and get to know you more? If not, I can- I can just leave, it’s no problem-“
“Spencer,” you interrupted him gently. Red bloomed all over his face an ears as he visibly deflated as he waited for your reply. “I’d love to have dinner with you. I can write down my number for you.” You patted down your apron pockets for the pad of paper you kept for special orders.
Spencer watched you with bright eyes. Your kind smile, voice, and demeanor had struck him breathless. You wrote down your name and phone number with a little heart and smiley face beside the last digit. You handed the slip of paper to him with a bashful smile. “Thank you,” Spencer told you.
You replied “you’re welcome” with the same sly smile as moments before.
“I- I need to go to work,” Spencer stuttered out to you after checking his watch. “I’ll text you, y/n!”
“I’ll be waiting, Spencer!” You called out to him as he scrambled out the door.
You were, in fact, right about today being good.
Bonus:
‘xxx-xxx-xxxx’: It’s Spencer from the coffee shop. I’m in town if you want to get dinner tonight. :)
‘You’: Hi Spencer! Can i call you spence? I’d love to get dinner tonight!
‘Dr. Spencer Reid :)’: Call me anything you want. Does Italian sound good? I can pick you up or we can meet there.
‘You’: Send me the address and time and I will be there!
Morgan loomed over Spencer’s shoulder during the entire conversation. Deep down, Derek felt honored Spencer cared enough to ask him how to respond to you charismatically and that was proud his ‘little brother’ was putting the moves on the ladies.
boyfriend!michael robinavitch who has a sixth sense about your period before you even check your app
“Put that in your bag, honey,” michael says while toothpaste foams in his mouth, nodding towards the tampons/mentrual cup/pads you use for your cycle.
You raise an eyebrow at him, going to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. “I don’t think it’s today. I get my period at the end of the month.”
Robby shrugs. “Just put ‘em in your bag. Trust me, sweetheart.”
When Robby checks his phone two hours into his shift, he sees you text him. When he opens your thread, he chuckles lightly when he sees four unread messages.
Future Wife: Red devil
Future Wife: Robinavitch how the fuck did you know
Future Wife: I’m mad and a little turned on and hungry
Future Wife: Im so glad we have tomorrow off because youre eating it like youre drinking wine.
Me: I think I’m the real winner if I get to eat you out
Clicking his phone off and shoving it into his pocket, he orders your favorite pasta (which will be kept in the fridge until he makes you eat) and a drink. Robby knows everyone’s got about seventeen minutes of happiness until your hunger turns into hanger.
just think and laugh at the image of a hulking,six foot three inch military man averting his eyes whenever his precious love rips him a new one after repeating the same thing three times. you’d told him that your concert was very important and that you wanted him there. in fact, he missed three concerts— not consecutively, but three in the span of four months. it would be accurate to say that you were more than a little irked at the fact that you didn’t have your good luck charm in the audience, ready to take you to dinner and then eat you after your performance.
frank didn’t take it personally, no, but he did make sure to never make you yell at him over an issue twice. it was difficult being an… ‘antihero’ (or whatever Matt had told him), but Frank sometimes didn’t realize how little time he was spending in his own life with the woman he intended to marry. but hot damn did he like seeing you yell. yelling at him, though? even better!
the first time you full on finger-pointed, red faced, steely-eyed yelled at him was a boner more painful than frank had ever experienced. when you had come back after cooling off for an hour or two, you were going to apologize to frank, actually consider going to therapy like you’d been meaning to, and see how upset he was about your outburst. imagine your shock when Frank’s large hands grabbed your hips and pulled you right smack dab onto the bulge in his jeans with a shade of urgency you weren’t used to. “Frank?” You asked into his mouth as he kissed you like he would genuinely die without your touch. He only grunted in response, lifting you up. “Frank, I’m sorry,” you murmured, engaging with his kisses now. “Fer what?” He asked, opening the bedroom door. “Screaming. At you,” you said, pulling away from his lips to see him.
And boy was Frank a sight to see. Pupils blown wider than the goddamn rings of Saturn: wide, alert, aroused, following you. His mouth was parted slightly, your mixed saliva making his lips glossy and kissable. Frank’s chest heaved lightly— no doubt ragged from the intensity in which he was moulding his mouth to yours— under his tight black shirt. “‘S fine, baby, I’m not mad,” he said lowly.
You leaned back just before his lips met yours again. “Frankie I want to do therapy.”
frank just nodded. “Alright. We’ll get you a brain picker after I’m done with you, hot head,” he said, dropping you on the bed. Maybe, you thought as Frank ate you out, men like to be yelled at more than they let on.
