ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

Baby we need to talk like we used to <3

talk to me bbg

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

AGREED.

EXCEPT... at his core he's submissive. in his day to day and in his sexual life. later seasons (12+) he's mostly dominant because he likes the control and also likes making the other person feel cared for (because he doesn't feel that way) so seasons 12+ he could definitely still bottom if he trusts you. not as obvious as earlier seasons but still apparent bottoming. also don't forget when he was with cat and looked like a kicked puppy.... DON'T FORGET. whimper is forever.

and yes all flavours on my tongue at once.

OKAY HERES MY OPINION..

This is submissive. Season 1-4 is submissive. Maybe not all the way like there's still some like, I'm not gonna do everything but I will take what you give me and i will enjoy it. He whimpers and begs, overall cew-tee-pa-too-tee🩷

RIGHT HERE, is where we get into like switch territory. Here it's a bit ambiguous, maybe in rare cases soft!dom but he can also be sub still. I feel like season 5-10 is a middle ground, but a good middle ground. Still whimpers, you will never catch him being silent !

THIS IS WHERE WE ENTER DOM TERRITORY. Soft!dom, fully dominate, i feel like this is yes yes. Prison affected him super negatively but also got him to be more dominant and assertive ? YK WHAT I MEAN ?? This is like a full dom, no submission found anywhere. Still makes noise but like groaning yk ?

Long story short, I love all the flavors of Spencer Reid.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

spencer w foot fetish pls 🙂‍↕️😊

I'M SORRY I CAN'T DO IT I DON'T HAVE A FOOT FETISH AND I DON'T THINK I CAN PRETEND

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

@darkmatilda @minswriting @lovesick-all-over-my-bed @cowboylikemily

✨️ tag game ✨️

⋆ take this uquiz

⋆ make yourself with this picrew

⋆ tag some moots

thanks for the tag @godricgryffinsnore 🖤

npt: @obsessedwithceleste @pizzaapeteer @riddlesrizzler @dearmisshoney

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

THE THEME IS EVERYTHINGGGGGG

I LOVE YOU THANK YOU OMG I WORKED HARD

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

us when we have an hour to talk per day 💔💔💔

summer will save us

problematic time zone gap

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

TELL A FRIEND TO TELL A FRIEND ... SHE'S BAAAAAAACK!! we missed you princess of nereid😔

reading this when it was 30 degrees celcius today is amazing btw.

aloe barbadensis

in which you and spencer reid just want to lay around in your room after a day at the beach. the team does not respect your privacy.

fluff (suggestive content) warnings/tags: implied intimacy, someone knocks on the door as things r getting steamy, the team razzes u for getting it on hehehe a/n: @mariasont spring break event was so good I was inspired to put the whole team in one air b and b!! She is the bau vacay blueprint!! do you guys remember me...... cause I missed u...... kisses smooches ily!!!!! yayayay summery happy fluff!! I can't believe I wrote this in like two days??? I've been praying for times like this

The air smells clean and too warm, like a laundry detergent that isn’t yours, underscored by the rich, herbal scent of conditioner in still-damp hair. A ceiling fan swirls the heat and dust around the room more than diffuses it—but you don’t mind. It still feels good on your sunned skin. 

So too do the tips of Spencer’s fingers, as they drift up and down the softness of your thigh. It’s too hot for him to be pressed right against you, so he’s a little ways away—prone flat halfway down the mattress, whereas you’re sprawled out on too-firm pillows. The comforter has long been kicked to the ground. 

Carefully, you push wet hair out of Spencer’s face. It gets richer in color, when he's just out of the shower like this. More a lustrous dark bronze than his usual chestnut. Everything is more vibrant in this light, including his nose, which smolders wildfire pinkish-red. 

“You’re so burnt.” 

“Hm?” he hums, turning his face up toward you languidly, blinking against the pooling gold. You soften. It’s possible you’ve never seen him this relaxed. This healthy looking, all the perpetual winter leached from his veins—cheeks glowing, eyes shining and satisfied and low.

“I’m worried about your nose.”

Spencer pulls your hand to his lips. Doesn’t exactly kiss—just holds it there. Lets his eyes flutter closed again. Mumbles, “I’ll be okay.”

“But… skin cancer.”

“Is very treatable.”

“You’re not worried enough.”

His response comes on autopilot. Eyes still closed. Words low and honeyed, one sliding into the next, like they’d melted in his head after so many hours under the sun. 

“My body is responding to the cellular damage caused by UV rays via rapid immune response, which means increased blood flow to the dermis, which means more passive metabolic activity is required to maintain homeostasis, which means…”

It’s a cue to fill in the blank. You respond softly. 

“You’re sleepy.”

“Mhm. Very.” He kisses the back of your hand in reward. “Too sleepy to be worried.”

“But it looks like it hurts. Maybe you should put aloe on it.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. He strokes over the delicate skin of your wrist with a thumb. 

“Would it make you feel better if I put aloe on it?”

“I just don’t want you to hurt.”

“I don’t hurt, sweetness. But thank you for looking out for me.”

Your capitulation is careful and unsure. “Mhm.”

Distant crashing waves fight with the ceiling fan to fill in the silence, but only for a few seconds. You’re not relaxed. You’re emitting a frequency of your own, too low to be detected by anyone who is less attuned to you than Spencer is. You watch as he senses it, and blinks his eyes open once more. Chooses consciousness, rolling onto his side, pushing up to his elbow, and pressing a kiss to your knee before swiping it away with his thumb. 

“This is new,” he murmurs, voice sanded by a rough grit into something almost smooth. Like salted driftwood.

“What is?”

A stray hand traverses all the way up the inside of your thigh and back down, briefly distracting. 

“This freckle.”

You laugh. Eyes alight, he looks up in time to catch it.

“You’re making that up.”

Spencer tilts his head solely to give you an incredulous look. “You think I don’t know what your skin looks like? It wasn’t here this morning.”

“No, I’m not doubting your eidetic whatever, I’m just saying—I don’t believe that you paid enough attention to my knee this morning to remember that there wasn’t a freckle there, and to notice that now there is.”

“I don’t need the eidetic whatever to remember anything about you. I pay plenty of attention, and there was no freckle.”

“So you have every mark on my body catalogued?”

“All dermatological anomalies are thoroughly mapped.” He plants another kiss to the freckle. “And I am promising you with one hundred percent certainty that there wasn’t a freckle here this morning.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Spencer buries a smile against your skin. Kisses softly up your thigh and stomach—so softly you hold your breath. A breeze disturbs the drapery and you breakout in goosebumps.  

“You know, if you’re so worried about skin cancer, you should be regularly examining your body for irregular markings.”

The words buzz, tickling. Traces of SPF and coconut chapstick stain your tongue as teeth worry at your bottom lip.

“I don’t think one new alleged freckle after spending the whole day in the sun means skin cancer.”

“No. But you should probably let me check for more.” A kiss lands suspiciously close to the waistband of your shorts. “Are you opposed to a quick scan?”

You aim for dry sarcasm. Miss by a few breathless centimeters. “Not opposed. But I’m pretty sure I was thoroughly scanned in the shower by my doctor.”

“It never hurts to be vigilant. And you shouldn’t shower with your doctor. That’s egregiously inappropriate.”

You let him hook his fingers into your shorts and tug down almost past the point of indecency, painting your hips with kisses—before a knock at the door startles both of you. 

His displeasure comes as a slow breath against your skin, before he’s pulling your shorts back up into place and turning awkwardly over his shoulder to address the door. Which is locked, ideally. You can’t remember. “Yeah?”

The blatant irritation must be as obvious to whoever’s knocked as it is to you, because there’s a brief hesitation before they speak.

“Rossi made pasta. I was tasked with retrieving the two of you. If you’re not, uh, busy.”

Morgan. That burning feeling in your cheeks can’t be attributed to sun exposure as you throw your head back into the pillows and cringe. 

“We’ll be right down.”

Retreating footsteps. 

Spencer looks up at you from your hips, lips parted and pinker than ever. For a moment, there is only tense silence—then you can’t help but laugh and lace your fingers through his hair as he drops his head to rest against your stomach.

“That was…”

“It’s fine. At least it wasn’t your boss.”

“No, it was just the guy doesn’t feel a professional obligation to refrain from commenting on my personal life. Explicitly and ad nauseum.”

“We weren’t even doing anything. We were napping, until, like, one minute ago.”

Spencer sits up, half-smiling and gaze trailing after his hands as they drag down your bare thighs. “I think I blew our cover when I snapped at him.”

You reach out for Spencer, and he lowers himself carefully atop you. The light coming in from the window is hotter up here. Onyx eyes catch the fire of the setting sun and turn molten amber, throwing light back at you in dazzling, liquid prisms. 

“What if we don’t go downstairs?” you whisper, gaze flitting between either of his eyes, hard-pressed to pick just one. 

He dots a kiss to your nose. 

“I think we should probably make an appearance. Then we can retire early, no questions asked.”

“Deal.”

Mindful of his burn, you press a very careful kiss of your own to his nose. Spencer huffs, pleased and warm. Charmed by your gentle show of measured affection. His lips find yours. Just once. Just for a moment. 

And then again. 

And again.

And again.

His affections are considerably less restrained.

The two of you creep out onto the back deck twenty minutes late for dinner, in lambent and unmistakable disarray. Plates are mostly clean and eyebrows are very high, but nobody says anything as you squeeze yourselves into the remaining spots around the table. Spencer clears his throat awkwardly into a glass of lemon water. You serve yourself cold pasta and press your lips into a thin line, trying with all your might not to laugh.

“How was dinner?” Emily asks Spencer, breaking the silence. He nearly drops his glass, spluttering hopelessly as water goes down the wrong pipe.

“She was putting aloe on my nose,” he insists, wiping droplets from his chin as his entire face goes sunburn red.

Morgan claps him on the back. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

legally single - spencer reid x fem!reader

on a walk of shame after a frankly devastating breakup, reader gets stopped by coworker spencer reid and he offers her a ride home

genre: hurt/comfort wc: 1.1k warnings: break up, reader wears makeup and heels, mention of vomit, unhealthy coping, protective spencer, anxiety a/n: based off the beginning of legally blonde!!! yes i wrote this instead of my requests

Heels click on the damp sidewalk in a way that feels mocking. Like a toddler, you sniffle with a humbling pout on your pink lips. You ignore the burning in your feet because you fear it’s your punishment for having so much faith in a person. It’s ridiculous, you know, but if it wasn’t for blind optimism and high expectations you probably wouldn’t be crying on the side of the road. But you don’t know if it’s fair to hate yourself for something that’s not actually your fault at all. You’re not the one who uttered the words I think we should break up. No, that was him.

Unsympathetic too.

Each syllable took an eternity to actually fucking leave his lips. Like it was all an elaborate plan to humiliate you publicly. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

It was a long relationship that ended neatly with one very simple sentence. It feels like a cosmic joke created only for the purpose of you becoming the butt of some–any–joke. Unfair.

Every car that drives by ignores your presence. To them you probably look like you’re taking a walk of shame. Maybe, in a way, you are. One car doesn’t ignore you, though. An old one that’s white or pale yellow. You barely finish the thought that it looks familiar before you see the figure behind the wheel.

He calls your name but you don’t respond. It was embarrassing enough when you were alone.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

You just keep on walking. His eyes flick down to your shoes, dampening against the wet concrete. You can’t even remember when it rained last. He doesn’t let you go, slowly driving alongside you until you answer.

An answer he’ll get.

“Go home, Spencer,” you grumble, squeezing your hands into fists at your sides.

Unfortunately, he knows you. “You’ll ruin your shoes.”

He’s right. But you’re not happy about it.

You get in the car, never once allowing your eyes to meet his purely for the very big reason that you’re humiliated. Because of how he does nothing but simply drives, you think he’s okay with the silence. Awkward silence is discussed so often that every time nobody speaks, you feel uncomfortable. This might be the first time you’ve been comfortable in the quiet.

Whatever that means.

The silence only lasts so long, however.

Spencer glances at the smeared makeup under your eyes. “You don't need to tell me what happened but… just know that I’m sure you're better than whoever you're crying over.”

Your eyes finally and cautiously meet his.

That boyish look that shows that he simultaneously wants to make you feel better and show he cares makes your heart sink. You hate yourself for feeling. For having a reaction to what’s surely a friendly gesture. Your stomach swirls with uncertainty.

You know he cares about you, that much is obvious just by how he acts around you. Almost like he has to physically restrain himself from stepping between you and something potentially dangerous. The small kink is that, for him, everything is a threat of danger.

His mind works in a way you’ll never understand. One simple scenario has hundreds of outcomes, each one of them assessed by him in detail. With that ability, he’s able to create alternate realities within his brain. Some of which are affected by his fears. If he can think it, it can happen. So he puts himself a few sacred steps in front of you. Every time.

Because, if anyone was getting hurt, he'd rather it be him. It’s simpler that way.

So, yes, he cares about you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

It’s like the words register in him differently than they would to someone else. Because he looks at you like he wants to fix you so you never have to say thank you like that ever again.

You never thought you’d want a man to fix you.

The eyes you know so well seem to follow each microexpression on your face. While driving.

Somehow.

The familiar lead-up to your apartment building makes your stomach curdle. In a way that makes you feel like an expired bag of milk. You’re not sure why.

You think you might throw up.

That is, without company. 

Every time you look at the man to your left, you feel oddly at ease. Maybe he could be of service tonight. You mean, you haven’t been alone with a guy since you started dating your ex.

Ex.

It’s when he stops the car that you can’t hold it inside. The worst he can say is no.

“Spence… I really don’t want to be alone…,” you pause for a beat, looking down at your heels, “would you maybe want to come in?”

Your eyes anxiously survey his, searching for whatever it is that means he’ll say yes.

“Just for a minute?” you ask.

The gold in his irises is almost completely swallowed by his pupils, blown wide to accommodate the darkness. He considers it with a bitten bottom lip. His jaw stays stiff until he finally nods.

You try to hide the relief lacing your sigh and just get out of the car. After any emotional day, your advice is to simply go the fuck to sleep. Perhaps it's hypocritical of you to write that advice off as not relevant in this case. Perhaps you’re acting out because you think it’ll make everything go numb. It’s as if you have no control over your body because you know this is a bad idea. You know you shouldn’t be inviting your coworker up to your apartment when you’re in such a vulnerable state.

But you just don’t care.

When your feet hit the first step up, you can’t think of another way you’d be taking such a step. Having Spencer here feels like you have something tethering you to the outside. So you’re not just lonely in a place where you once were in what you thought was love.

That never meant Spencer belonged here, though.

His very presence makes you feel softer but it makes him feel indescribably lost. He wishes he could read the situation better or maybe even have the courage to ask you. His silhouette lingers in the open doorway like he knows he has a decision to make. A decision he would’ve made better any other time. 

But it’s after ten pm and he never said he was strong.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

legally single - spencer reid x fem!reader

on a walk of shame after a frankly devastating breakup, reader gets stopped by coworker spencer reid and he offers her a ride home

genre: hurt/comfort wc: 1.1k warnings: break up, reader wears makeup and heels, mention of vomit, unhealthy coping, protective spencer, anxiety a/n: based off the beginning of legally blonde!!! yes i wrote this instead of my requests

Heels click on the damp sidewalk in a way that feels mocking. Like a toddler, you sniffle with a humbling pout on your pink lips. You ignore the burning in your feet because you fear it’s your punishment for having so much faith in a person. It’s ridiculous, you know, but if it wasn’t for blind optimism and high expectations you probably wouldn’t be crying on the side of the road. But you don’t know if it’s fair to hate yourself for something that’s not actually your fault at all. You’re not the one who uttered the words I think we should break up. No, that was him.

Unsympathetic too.

Each syllable took an eternity to actually fucking leave his lips. Like it was all an elaborate plan to humiliate you publicly. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

It was a long relationship that ended neatly with one very simple sentence. It feels like a cosmic joke created only for the purpose of you becoming the butt of some–any–joke. Unfair.

Every car that drives by ignores your presence. To them you probably look like you’re taking a walk of shame. Maybe, in a way, you are. One car doesn’t ignore you, though. An old one that’s white or pale yellow. You barely finish the thought that it looks familiar before you see the figure behind the wheel.

He calls your name but you don’t respond. It was embarrassing enough when you were alone.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks.

You just keep on walking. His eyes flick down to your shoes, dampening against the wet concrete. You can’t even remember when it rained last. He doesn’t let you go, slowly driving alongside you until you answer.

An answer he’ll get.

“Go home, Spencer,” you grumble, squeezing your hands into fists at your sides.

Unfortunately, he knows you. “You’ll ruin your shoes.”

He’s right. But you’re not happy about it.

You get in the car, never once allowing your eyes to meet his purely for the very big reason that you’re humiliated. Because of how he does nothing but simply drives, you think he’s okay with the silence. Awkward silence is discussed so often that every time nobody speaks, you feel uncomfortable. This might be the first time you’ve been comfortable in the quiet.

Whatever that means.

The silence only lasts so long, however.

Spencer glances at the smeared makeup under your eyes. “You don't need to tell me what happened but… just know that I’m sure you're better than whoever you're crying over.”

Your eyes finally and cautiously meet his.

That boyish look that shows that he simultaneously wants to make you feel better and show he cares makes your heart sink. You hate yourself for feeling. For having a reaction to what’s surely a friendly gesture. Your stomach swirls with uncertainty.

You know he cares about you, that much is obvious just by how he acts around you. Almost like he has to physically restrain himself from stepping between you and something potentially dangerous. The small kink is that, for him, everything is a threat of danger.

His mind works in a way you’ll never understand. One simple scenario has hundreds of outcomes, each one of them assessed by him in detail. With that ability, he’s able to create alternate realities within his brain. Some of which are affected by his fears. If he can think it, it can happen. So he puts himself a few sacred steps in front of you. Every time.

Because, if anyone was getting hurt, he'd rather it be him. It’s simpler that way.

So, yes, he cares about you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

It’s like the words register in him differently than they would to someone else. Because he looks at you like he wants to fix you so you never have to say thank you like that ever again.

You never thought you’d want a man to fix you.

The eyes you know so well seem to follow each microexpression on your face. While driving.

Somehow.

The familiar lead-up to your apartment building makes your stomach curdle. In a way that makes you feel like an expired bag of milk. You’re not sure why.

You think you might throw up.

That is, without company. 

Every time you look at the man to your left, you feel oddly at ease. Maybe he could be of service tonight. You mean, you haven’t been alone with a guy since you started dating your ex.

Ex.

It’s when he stops the car that you can’t hold it inside. The worst he can say is no.

“Spence… I really don’t want to be alone…,” you pause for a beat, looking down at your heels, “would you maybe want to come in?”

Your eyes anxiously survey his, searching for whatever it is that means he’ll say yes.

“Just for a minute?” you ask.

The gold in his irises is almost completely swallowed by his pupils, blown wide to accommodate the darkness. He considers it with a bitten bottom lip. His jaw stays stiff until he finally nods.

You try to hide the relief lacing your sigh and just get out of the car. After any emotional day, your advice is to simply go the fuck to sleep. Perhaps it's hypocritical of you to write that advice off as not relevant in this case. Perhaps you’re acting out because you think it’ll make everything go numb. It’s as if you have no control over your body because you know this is a bad idea. You know you shouldn’t be inviting your coworker up to your apartment when you’re in such a vulnerable state.

But you just don’t care.

When your feet hit the first step up, you can’t think of another way you’d be taking such a step. Having Spencer here feels like you have something tethering you to the outside. So you’re not just lonely in a place where you once were in what you thought was love.

That never meant Spencer belonged here, though.

His very presence makes you feel softer but it makes him feel indescribably lost. He wishes he could read the situation better or maybe even have the courage to ask you. His silhouette lingers in the open doorway like he knows he has a decision to make. A decision he would’ve made better any other time. 

But it’s after ten pm and he never said he was strong.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

YES.

Wifey <3

It’s my dead man’s fic <3 (what do you think? It’s still in the works)

this is mysterious and beautiful

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

Wifey <3

It’s my dead man’s fic <3 (what do you think? It’s still in the works)

this is mysterious and beautiful

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

what the fuck.

"you do that thing sometimes, disappear into your own head." he waits for a response. tears prick the corners of your eyes, he sees you so easily, reads you like a book. sometimes you can appreciate it, but it's like he can see into your mind.

pushing it down and praying, s.r.

a spencer reid hurt/comfort, allusions to sex, mentions of discomfort in readers body, post-sex cuddles, based on the lizzy mcalpine song in the title, lyrics are in iralics!! not proofread, also no gender specificied

--------------------------------------

'im in bed, layin' down, naked

he's inside of me'

you're in bed, tangled in sheets that carry the weight of what you just did. spencer lies next to you, content, one hand on your hip, rubbing circles into the skin. you face the wall, not him, eyes wide open in the darkness.

'i love him, kiss his mouth'

and you do, of course you do.

but you hate the way your stomach folds when you curl up like this. you hate how quiet your thoughts get when you're intimate, but only roar back to life the second he's not looking. you tense up whenever the lights come back on, maybe he sees all your flaws.

'praying he can't see what i see'

it's not just about your body, its everything. the way you talk, the scars you don't talk about. sometimes you stare into the mirror until the reflection doesn't show the person you thought you knew.

you flinch when spencer shifts closer, like he might see too much if he looks at you. he doesn't recoil away, doesn't ask what's wrong? like everyone else does. he presses his forehead gently to your shoulder, whispers your name like it's a secret.

"hey..." he whispers, still worn out in his post orgasm haze. "you're somewhere else, huh?" you swallow at his steady voice, he's so relaxed - unlike you. you shake your head, its a lie and he knows. he's profiled you, a hundred times you without even trying. not because you're unstable and need him to work everything out, but because you matter to him. also, a lot of the time you'd prefer to push things down, ignore it until it bites you back. he knows this, and knows more about how it makes everything worse.

"you do that thing sometimes, disappear into your own head." he waits for a response. tears prick the corners of your eyes, he sees you so easily, reads you like a book. sometimes you can appreciate it, but it's like he can see into your mind.

"it's just.." your voice breaks, you feel pathetic, "sometimes i feel like if you saw me, all of me - you'd leave"

spencer doesn't move for a second. then he sits up slightly, shifting to look at you properly. you keep your eyes on the ceiling.

"well, i do see you." and that's all, for a moment. you blink, not daring to look at him.

"i see you when you laugh like you're not trying to impress someone, you make space for everyone. i know how hard it is for you to let someone in, yet you let me love all of you." he knows you're trying not to make eye contact, even in the dim light.

"i see you, and i still love you" it cuts like a knife, emotion breaks through, tears breach your waterline and trail horizontally down the bridge of your nose. you're still naked, the sheets feel so thin. they hug every curve and crevice so uncomfortably.

"what if i never stop feeling like this, spencer?" your voice is low, rolling over to face his loving eyes. all you see is admiration, spencers hand moves from your hip, to your cheek. his thumb follows the salty tear streak, trying to will away the sadness.

"i'm not leaving. no matter how you feel, i promise you that i'll never see you as anything but gorgeous." his lips brush your temple. still bare, skin to skin, its not about sex though. its about being seen, about being held in the rawness of that honesty and not having to hide. for the first time in a while, you left yourself believe - maybe he saw something in you worth loving - unlike you did.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

new sabrina drop new me

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

ty for the tag angel!

tags: @darkmatilda @esote-rika @floraisunwell @cowboylikemily @cherrriesinthespring @lovesick-all-over-my-bed

tysm for the tags @cellophane-rat-3 & @axsparkle <3

tag: search “aesthetic”, “character” & “me” and add the first photos that show up

tags: @yumclaire @bleachbambi @cigarettesincalifornia @jeante13 @queenofconeyislanddd @rosesarered444 @cryinginthechapelll @jasmin2107 + anyone else who wants to do it <3

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]