when they beat your ass so badly you end up in a 90′s sitcom with your dead dad.

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lydia martin doing that thing because of stiles stilinski. (insp.)

Matthew and animals part 2

Three Words, Six Letters

Author’s Note: Reid x Reader. When the Reader says “I love you” Reid struggles to return the sentiment. But there’s more than one way to say it. You just have to listen.

He can translate five languages with ease and can read 20,000 words per minute. He can recite Shakespeare and poetry and memorize entire film scripts without batting an eye. And yet, there are three words he just can’t manage to string together.

She thinks it’s a mental block, that something in his mind just won’t let it happen. Or perhaps it’s something in his heart. Something scarred, and something scared. They’d been together for six months before she found the courage to say it to him. They’d been sitting together on a park bench, watching the world go by. He draped an arm over her shoulder, and she’d nestled close to his chest, sighing. It was the most natural thing in the world, to be by his side.

“Spencer?” she’d said, glancing up at him.

“Mm?”

“I, um… I love you.” She had pulled back a bit, gauging his reaction. His eyes widened and red crept into his cheeks as he sat there stammering, looking wholly shell-shocked. “It’s okay,” she added, “You don’t have to say it back! I just thought you should know.”

Spencer had looked down, pulling at his knuckles. “It-it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that… I can’t. I’ve tried to tell you so many times, but the words, they won’t come out.” He was quiet for a few moments, before saying, “I think it’s because of Maeve.” His late girlfriend. He had told her their story a few months into their relationship, the night they unearthed the demons of their past together. “She said it to me, but I never had the chance to tell her that, and ever since then I just… I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Because I do… I really do, I just…”

His voice jumped higher and his eyes began to water. Sensing his distress she’d leaned in and silenced him with a kiss. “Shh. I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I just wanted you to know.” There’s no need to rush it. When he’s ready, he’ll say it.

Months pass, and he still cannot manage it. She’s gotten rather fond of telling him despite the sentiment not being returned. Those words seem to come so easily to her, as though trying to make up for his silence. She can’t stop telling him how much she loves him. When he shows up to her apartment with her favorite takeout food, when they’re the only two sitting in the library, between ragged breaths after he’s kissed her so deeply the world melts away.

He never says it back. And yet, he says it all the time. She just has to listen.

“I love you,” she laughs, as he finishes telling her a funny story on their walk back from dinner. He’s accompanying her back to her apartment, and the air is rapidly cooling off. She shivers, wearing only a dress and light jacket. When the sun went down, the mild fall temperatures went with it. Spencer stops and pulls off his coat, laying it across her shoulders.

“Darling, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t worry. I’m not really cold at all,” he assures her, removing his scarf as well. With care he wraps it in circles around her neck, smiling at her. Instantly the cold in her bones is replaced by warmth, and she buries her nose into the fabric of the scarf. It smells like ivory soap, coffee, and autumn. Just like him.

“Thanks.”

Spencer takes her hand once more, and they start off down the street. “Of course. I don’t want you to get sick. You need it more than I do.” He takes his coat back when they reach her building, but he conveniently forgets about the scarf, a fact which she’s all too happy about to believe it was an accident.

She hears it then.

She hearts it when he comes back after a long case, she throws her arms around him. “God I’ve missed you,” she says. “I love you so much.”

He kisses her forehead, and when he pulls away she notices the bag in his hand. “”I brought you something.”

“Why?” she asks. “It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“Open it,” is all he says. She peers inside, and withdraws a book. Staring at the cover, her mouth falls open.

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. An old, worn copy. She opens the front cover and stares at the first page. It can’t be. “But this is… this is a first edition! Spencer, it must’ve cost a fortune!”

He shakes his head. “You’ve always told me it’s your favorite book, and that you’d do anything to get a first edition copy. Well, on the case I helped save the life of a rare bookstore owner, who insisted on giving me a book as a gift. When I saw this one, I knew I had to get it.”

“Why?” she repeats. In her arms she clutches the book tight, not sure whether she wants to hug it or him more.

“Just because,” he says. “I wanted to see your smile when you opened it.” The book is temporarily forgotten on the armchair as she loses herself in kissing him.

She knows it the day he comes over to find her curled up on the couch, crying. It’s been a difficult week and her best friend, Isa, has been in a terrible accident. Things are up in the air. Isa is in the hospital. Spencer doesn’t ask any questions, he simply walks over and sits down beside her. She continues to sob as he pulls her onto his lap and wraps up her in an embrace. His heart beats through his shirt, and he runs his hands up and down her back in slow patterns, whispering gentle reassurances in that low voice he typically reserves for victims and grieving families. In his arms, she is safe. Warm and protected. No matter what the world throws at her, she knows he will be there to lift her up and keep her steady.

The very presence of him soothes her. He wipes her tears with the sleeves of his shirt and pushes her hair back from her face. They sit there in silence, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her skin until her breathing returns to normal. No words are needed at all. He knows her, knows what she needs. And she knows in her heart exactly how he feels.

She is certain of it when they’re at an event for her job, and one of her colleagues starts ranting about how medication is useless for mental illness. Robert goes on and on, saying that all people need to do is think positively and do things like yoga. Everyone is overdiagnosed, overmedicated, and overly sensitive.

Spencer feigns a sudden interest in the view from the window in the hallway as an excuse to escape the conversation. He glances down at her, quickly looking her over. “Are you okay?” he asks.

She bites her lip and inhales slowly. Anxiety has been a struggle for most of her life, and it was only with therapy and medication that she started to heal. Since college, things have been much better, but she still remembers the darker days, when she wasn’t sure how to keep going. To hear people say such ignorant things about mental health still stings.

“I’m alright,” she says. “I’ve heard worse things. But thank you for getting me out of there. I love you.”

Spencer interlaces his fingers with her own and they stare out at the city together. “I’d do anything for you. And I don’t want anyone to hurt you. What you feel is valid, and nobody should tell you otherwise.” He’s always doing that with her. Her protector, her knight in a vest and cardigan. There is no doubt in her mind that when he says anything he means anything.

They are sitting in his living room and they’ve both had a stressful day at work, and he’s making herbal tea in the kitchen. “I love you,” she says, grinning, when he sets the mug down before her. Spencer frowns and shifts uneasily in the armchair he’s in.

“Doesn’t it bother you, Y/N?” he asks.

“Doesn’t what bother me?”

“The fact that I still haven’t said it.” Oh. That. “We’ve been dating for over a year, and I still can’t manage to do something so simple. I know it must be frustrating, and I don’t want you to think I’m not as committed to you or to our relationship. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t say it yet.”

“Spencer,” she says softly, resting a hand on his forearm. The fabric of his sweater is soft between her fingers. “I know it. I know how you feel about me. You don’t have to say anything before you’re ready to. There’s more than one way to say I love you, you know. You tell me all the time. Not in those words, but I get the message.”

He seems unconvinced. “How?”

“You ask me to text you to make sure I get home safely. You call me almost every night when you’re away on a case just because you say you want to hear my voice. You hold me when I’m scared. You take me out to get Thai food even though you’d rather have Indian. You memorized every song in Les Mis because you knew it was my favorite musical. In all those gestures, I can hear it. And I can hear it when you make time for me no matter how busy you are. Sometimes you say it without saying anything at all.”

She leans closer to kiss him, softly at first, then deeper, deeper. In equal fervor he responds, and though the syllables do not fall from his tongue, his lips are perfectly capable of making the message clear. Every part of her tells her it’s true, that he loves her he loves her he loves her. No flower petal plucking needed to divine it.

One day, she’s walking across the sidewalk to hand him a cup of coffee. They’re going to walk to the Smithsonian, but it’s still early and they need caffeine before they’re ready to go anywhere. He holds the paper cup close to his face, breathes in the scent of a warm mocha.

“Ah. What would I do without you?” he says, flashing her a smile. She laughs, a grin that stretches across her whole face, and the morning sunlight hits her eyes just right at that very moment, and she just looks so adorable. Something in him lifts. “I love you.”

The smile falters, and the latte she’s holding tumbles from her hands, contents spilling on the sidewalk. She blinks. “What did you say?”

Bewildered, she stares up at him, and his heart swells. “I love you,” he repeats. He can’t explain why now or how, but the words have finally come and he can’t stop them. Months of sentiments fall from his mouth. “I love every part of you. I love the way your eyes light up when you’re excited and I love the way you laugh and I love how open your heart is. I love your patience and your hair and the way you kiss me when there’s no one else around. I love all of you. I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve never loved anyone this much. I love you, Y/N.”

It feels so good to say it.

It feels so good to hear it. Water springs to her eyes before she can stop the tears. Stepping over the puddle of coffee, she cups his face in her hands. “I know you do,” she murmurs. “You didn’t have to say it. But I’m glad you did. And I love you, too.”

In the middle of the sidewalk, he pulls her closer, pressing his lips to hers. They’re both laughing and crying and something in them has changed. She doesn’t care that people pass by, giving them odd looks as they stand there kissing. Whatever locked doors existed in his heart have finally been opened. He’s healing. He’s ready.

For him, she would wait a thousand years. No demands, no ultimatums. She has heard the sentiment before, listening carefully to his actions and reading between the lines.

But oh, how good it feels to finally hear those words out loud. And oh, how she loves him.

Top 20 Stydia scenes as voted by my followers: #12 → “Lydia open your eyes!” 5x16

Inspired by THIS post

no offense but i would die for spencer reid

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Every url that reblog’s will be written in a book and shown to my homophobic dad. 

Reblog this you little shits.

Always reblog.

Feeling for a Fever.

Spencer Reid x Reader

“You okay, Spence?” you asked your coworker. He looked pale and uncomfortable, he was noticeably shivering, and there was sweat gathering at his hairline. Spencer shrugged with a frown, “I think I might be getting sick.”

The bullpen was pretty empty except for the two of you, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch who was up in his office. A few other random people who you didn’t know so well were also scattered throughout the area but you paid no mind to them. 

You approached Spencer’s desk with a sympathetic smile as he looked up at you. You smoothed his hair that was matted with sweat away from his face, then leaned down and pressed your lips against the soft skin of his forehead. He felt really hot and his skin was sticky from the perspiration.

“What- Um, what was that for?” Spencer stammered while you pulled away, he was clearly startled by your actions. He had a huge crush on you and the small almost-kiss only made his feelings intensify.

“That’s how my grandmom used to check for a fever. Why, you’ve never heard of that before?” you asked in disbelief, it was such a normal thing for you to do. It was an instinct.

Spencer shook his head. “Well, I’ve heard that it could be more accurate than feeling with the back of your hand but really the best way to see if someone has a fever is to take their temperature with a thermometer.”

You smiled, “I know, but no one’s ever kissed your forehead to feel for a fever?”

Spencer shook his head again and looked down, “No one’s kissed my forehead ever, period.”

You frowned, “I find that hard to believe. But anyway, you feel really warm. I don’t have a thermometer but I’m sure someone does, you should see what your temperature is and go home.”

He nodded his head, Spencer rarely left work but he really did feel sick. “I think I just might.” He gathered his things quickly and stood from his desk.

“Thanks, Y/n.” Then, he hesitantly leaned in and pressed a swift kiss to your forehead to return the gesture from earlier. With a shy smile and wave Spencer stumbled up to Hotch’s office. You could get used to his forehead kisses, they were soft and intimate and you couldn’t help but wonder how his lips would feel on yours. Hopefully one day you’d get to find out.

masterlist.

tags: @hanny-bananny @millionsleeplessnights @emilyisrightiamleft @amarislestrange @hipstercinderellageek @notonceagain @milkandcookies528 @peytonnation @devilgirlsarah @amichaelgirl @queenaveocado @rawrhowlterwinchester @romanianhuntress @matthewgublers @andy-blur @breakawayfromeveryday @criminalwriting @therealmrshale @exitthevehiclenow @gublersmind

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I'm crying this is so cute

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me

When this happened I couldn't function. After waiting 6 years for Stydia to be Canon itS HAPPENINF I HAD TO WAIT THROUGH STALIA FOR IT DHDHJXJX

stiles stilinski’s hottest mixtapes ( for lydia )