Ratio had always prided himself on his sharp intellect, his ability to solve even the most complex of problems with a mere glance. But as he stood just outside the library’s archway, listening to the whispered confession escaping your lips, he found himself at a loss.
“I know he’s arrogant,” you murmured to a friend, a book clutched tightly to your chest, “and he talks like he has all the answers. But… I can’t help it. There’s something about him. The way he sees things, the way he challenges everything… I admire him.”
His name was never spoken, but there was no doubt who you were talking about.
Ratio stepped into the library, his usual composed expression giving away nothing. “It’s a shame,” he said, making you stiffen. “For someone so observant, you fail to recognize the most obvious of truths.”
You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What—”
He stepped closer, voice dropping into something softer, something edged with amusement. “You assume admiration is one-sided?” His piercing gaze met yours. “Perhaps, if you were to look at the variables again, you would see the solution has always been within reach.”
You blinked, heartbeat racing. “Are you saying…?”
Ratio smirked. “I’m saying, if you were to confess again—this time to my face—I might just be inclined to give you the answer you’re hoping for.”
Sampo had an uncanny ability to be exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be.
Which is how he found himself eavesdropping outside a supply room, arms crossed as he listened to you, of all people, admitting something rather interesting to Natasha.
“I don’t know why I like him,” you groaned. “He’s frustrating, sneaky, and probably lying half the time—but somehow, I just… do.”
Sampo’s grin widened. Oh?
He waited a beat before dramatically pushing the door open, wearing the most innocent expression he could muster. “Well, well, well! What’s all this, huh? Talking about little old me behind my back? I’m flattered!”
You spun around, color draining from your face before returning in full force. “How long have you—?”
“Long enough!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Gotta say, sunshine, I had no idea you felt that way.”
Natasha sighed, unimpressed. “Sampo, get out.”
“Ah-ah, not before I get a proper answer!” He leaned closer, voice teasing but eyes searching. “So? You like me, huh? Care to make that official, or should I start wooing you properly?”
You groaned, covering your face. “I take it back.”
“Ah, too late! No refunds, no returns,” he chuckled. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”
Aventurine always knew when people were lying. It was a skill he had honed to perfection, a survival instinct as much as a talent.
But what fascinated him more was when people told the truth without realizing it.
And tonight, as he leaned casually against the grand casino balcony, he had just stumbled upon a rather delightful little secret.
“I know he’s dangerous,” you admitted to someone, your voice lost in the buzz of music and chatter below. “But that’s what makes him so compelling. It’s like every conversation is a game, and I… I can’t help but want to play.”
His lips curled into a knowing smirk. Oh, darling, you’re more than just playing—you’re already all in.
Slipping out of the shadows, he chuckled as you jolted at his sudden presence. “Now, now. What’s this I hear? Someone’s got a little crush?”
You gasped. “You—!?”
Aventurine tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You wound me, dearest. How could you not tell me sooner?” He tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Should I make this interesting? A gamble, perhaps?”
Your breath caught. “What kind of gamble?”
He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. “A kiss, if you win.” A pause, then a smirk. “And if I win? Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take that kiss myself.”
Boothill had been called many things—reckless, ruthless, a dead man walking. But blind wasn’t one of them.
Which was why, when he overheard your conversation with an old friend in a dimly lit saloon, he wasn’t exactly surprised.
“You ever tell him?” your friend asked, swirling their drink.
You scoffed. “Tell Boothill? Please. He’d probably laugh in my face.”
At that moment, the infamous cyborg cowboy made his entrance, heavy boots clicking against the floor. “Now, sweetheart,” he drawled, teeth flashing in a shark-like grin, “what makes you think I’d do a thing like that?”
Your eyes widened in horror. “You—!? How long—!?”
Boothill tipped his hat, sliding into the seat beside you. “Long enough to hear somethin’ real interestin’.” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Now, tell me true—was that just some whiskey talk, or do you really got a thing for me?”
You glared at your friend, who was conveniently looking the other way. “I hate you.”
Boothill just chuckled. “That ain’t an answer, sugar.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples. “And if I did?”
He smirked. “Then I reckon you just made my day a whole lot more interesting.”
Feeling a little better thought I'd post something funny
(Spencer Reid x fem!reader)
The first incident had been embarrassing enough. The team walking in to find Spencer shirtless, oiled up, and groaning under your care had provided them with enough ammunition for weeks of teasing. But even with all their jokes, Spencer was still Spencer—unflappable in most situations—and you both thought the worst was behind you.
You were wrong.
Spencer came home from another grueling case, this one involving multiple days on the road and more stress than usual. He walked into your shared home looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his slender shoulders, which you noticed were slumped with tension.
“Babe,” you said softly, crossing the room to meet him. You cupped his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “You need another adjustment. You’re completely out of alignment again.”
He nodded without protest, too tired to argue. “You’re the best,” he murmured, letting you guide him to the office once more.
This time, you were determined to work out every knot, every misalignment. Spencer’s job might be to solve complex cases, but yours was to fix him afterward, both body and mind.
---
Meanwhile, the team, riding high after a case closed, decided once again to check in on their favorite genius. They’d teased him mercilessly last time, but Spencer’s reactions were half the fun.
“Think he’s going to yell at us this time?” Emily joked as they approached the house.
“Please,” Derek said with a grin. “Boy Wonder doesn’t yell. He pouts.”
Penelope giggled. “I just hope we get another peek at shirtless Spencer.”
“Oh my God, Garcia,” JJ muttered, laughing despite herself.
They knocked, but the door was unlocked. Derek pushed it open, calling out, “Reid! You home?”
No response.
The team wandered farther into the house, following the faint sound of conversation that led them to your office once again. As they reached the doorway, they were immediately greeted with Spencer’s voice—low, drawn-out, and laced with something suspiciously close to pleasure.
“Ohhh, God, Y/N… Right there… Do that again.”
The team froze.
“Spence, relax,” you said, your tone entirely professional. “I can’t get this spot if you keep tensing up.”
“Sorry, it just—ahhh! Oh, that’s the one,” Spencer groaned, his voice so borderline sinful that Derek and Emily exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Is this… happening again?” JJ whispered, her hand covering her mouth.
“Guys,” Penelope hissed, fanning herself. “This is so much worse.”
But they couldn’t look away.
You were leaning over Spencer, your hands pressing into his back with practiced precision. This time, though, the team wasn’t met with just the sight of an oiled-up Spencer—they also heard the unmistakable, sharp crack of his spine realigning.
“Oh, wow,” Rossi muttered from the back of the group, clearly impressed despite himself.
“Holy… Did you hear that?” Emily whispered, her tone oddly fascinated.
“That sounded so satisfying,” Penelope admitted, biting her lip as another crack echoed through the room, followed by Spencer’s drawn-out groan of relief.
“Stop enjoying this so much,” JJ hissed, though her eyes remained glued to the scene.
Another series of cracks came, each one louder than the last, and the team collectively shuddered. It was oddly satisfying to hear, even as the situation screamed awkward.
Finally, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye and turned, your hands still on Spencer’s shoulder blades. “Oh, come on!” you exclaimed, glaring at the group.
Spencer lifted his head from the table, a blush already creeping up his neck. “Are you serious?”
“Listen,” Derek said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I came here to clown on you, but I gotta admit—that cracking sound is amazing.”
“You guys have to stop walking in on us,” you said, gesturing at the door.
“You have to stop making it sound like—like that!” Emily shot back, pointing at Spencer, who groaned in embarrassment and dropped his face back into the cradle.
“You all clearly need to leave,” you said firmly, stepping back from the table and crossing your arms.
But Penelope clasped her hands together. “Y/N, just one question before we go.”
“What?” you asked, exasperated.
“Do you take appointments?”
"OUT!"
Spencer groaned louder, and this time, they burst out laughing.
