#Would not recommend to people with morals

[awordsmith]

omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s8  category: smut  content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure...  word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet. 

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting. 

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself. 

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication. 

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits. 

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?” 

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out. 

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?” 

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered. 

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that. 

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game. 

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light. 

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table. 

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors. 

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long. 

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast. 

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether. 

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe. 

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep. 

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth. 

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so. 

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.” 

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed. 

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’? 

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact. 

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it and–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him. 

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting. 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[iteratedextras]

In my view, and I know you'll probably disagree with it...

@jambeast @feotakahari @evilsoup

I think many Democrats view media as being about control, as being about setting the message. I think many of them view institutions the same way. You can just tell people something, and then they have to believe it.

And the thing is... they don't.

And I think that view is completely backwards. Media isn't supposed to be a top-down command and control system that people obediently follow. It's supposed to be an information network. Media should be about establishing a path of connection between a person and some fact.

If you lose that, if you sacrifice it for "moral clarity" that isn't, then you haven't won. You've lost the ability to communicate with people.

Calling something "der sturmer," saying something is a "racist moral panic," throwing around words like "taken-style hero"...

None of those things will work. Shaming won't work. You've already lost the connection. Further shaming is trying to pull on a connection that isn't there.

You have to re-establish trust. And not only do you have to re-establish trust in yourself, but you have to re-establish trust in your upstream sources. That's a broken link in the connection.

I trust evilsoup locally. I trust that they wouldn't misreport what they had for breakfast today. I don't trust their upstream sources.

Who do I trust on this issue? Who do I think has impeccable credentials and has established the right commitments and allegiances over the years?

I trust Razib. What does he say? He cites the government data, noting that there was already an overrepresentation, and then mentions that the case data may be from before 2015, before a bunch of additional convictions entered the record.

You may not trust Razib. I understand that. I have not established that path to you.

But this all is partly why my recommendation is just to go with heavier sentences and be loud about it. It's easy to justify on the merits based on the some of the information that's come out.

While I have a good grasp on the political dynamics of the United States, I'd have to conduct a much more thorough study of the current political dynamics of the UK to make a more thorough recommendation.

However, if the political dynamics of the UK are anything like the present political dynamics of the US... well, there's been a tremendous amount of reputational damage to group reputation management in the United States over the past 10 years, and especially over the past 4.

I am aware, specifically, of transgender issues as being one point of difference. I've also heard of differences on academics and other statistics. (Obviously, as an American, I'm very distrustful of "hate speech laws.") On the other hand a lot of the content coming out of the UK sounds very similar to America.

Democrats and leftists in the United States would say that media is biased against them, so "the UK media is biased" doesn't do anything for me. Hate speech laws mean that UK people are potentially operating under the threat of imprisonment if they say something that's true, but demographically unflattering, so that doesn't help. And of course, US activists are nuts, so I have very little reason to trust that UK activists are truthful.

So find a path. Help me out here. How can you convince me?

It may be that our information networks do not have an overlapping path that you could use to sell the argument, or the path may be too tenuous (i.e. by the time the information reaches me the weight is too marginal to have much of an impact).

If you can't find a path, could you create one?

Maybe do a proof of work, like performing an ideological functional decomposition on the UK parties and system to explain why I keep hearing that the UK (London especially) has a housing crisis. I mean that might not really be enough, and it might require too many bits to establish the connection, but what I mean is that there may be options that can achieve traction that are farther out than you expect.

Regarding Rotherham, since it's come up again...

If I had a daughter, and a group of men doused her in petrol and threatened to set her on fire, then what would matter to me is making sure that never happened again.

This is what is moral and right. Children are small and weak. Stopping such a thing is what a parent owes their child.

If that requires changing the ideology of the entire country, then my life's work must be changing the ideology of the entire country. This is simply the work that has been entrusted to me. Whether it succeeds or not, I must attempt it.

There are people right now asking others to refrain from criticism in order to protect the reputation of the Labour government.

My contempt for such people is off the charts. But I can now see the empty space. Many of them are morally underdeveloped. What it means is that they consider Labour their tribe, and they are obediently protecting the tribe.

[marzipanlvr]

i have a toxic trait i literally check every 30 min to see if the writers that i follow on tumblr have updated anything and if they do i eat it up every time.. IT'S GETTING OBSESSIVE YALL DONT EVEN..SECOND TOXIC TRAIT...now this one is ACTUALLY toxic..i spam as anon. IM SO SORRY i spam as different types of people but it's actually me because i have a lot of ideas and they have a lot of potential but im scared to say "hey everything is from me!" so i change my typings and wordings and act as different type of anons... call me phantom but pLEASE DONT HATE ON ME A GIRL IS DESPERATE PLEASE IM SORRY im not weird i swear..

btw here's a list of good writers i recommend bcoz im a team player and i will NOT gatekeep and hopefully if u read these writers u can be inspired to put urself out there hehe becoz the same thing happened to me!! i love people's minds YALL ARE TOO CREATIVE 3EWYDUSDHSB

@taelophone - absolute SWEETHEART, tae was my FIRST LUIGI FANFIC WRITER ON TUMBLR THAT I ACTUALLY LOVED AND THOUGHT ABOUT. OMG SO YES MAYBE I AM BIASED AND IF TAE ACCIDENTALLY ALLEGEDLY SETS A HOSPITAL ON FIRE THEN I WILL STAY BY HER SIDE AT ALL TIMES AND TAKE THE BLAME MYSELF AND GET THE DEATH PENALTY WITHOUT QUALMS !!, but in all seriousness tae's writing and how every word is completely tailored to humanize luigi is amazing. the way that i literally get sucked in a time warp whenever tae tries to put luigi's character into perspective. by the way, there was this one anon that typed a rlly long paragraph about how fanfiction is a great way to show light unto all the morals and lessons that luigi is trying to teach us and tae was so sweet about it. literally produced one of most educated response ive ever seen and even encouraged anon to keep sharing??!! like what. PLEASE. id die for tae ID LIVE FOR TAE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ID GIVE U MY LEFT LUNG RIGHT KIDNEY WTV U NEED

@mrsmangi - MRSMANGI IS THE REASON I STILL BREATHE OKAY. mrsmangi is the deny to my defend to my DEPOSE YALL DONT EVEN GET IT. did yall see the pinned post it's literally a link to signing the petition for luigi btw here's the link u guys should check it out

mrs mangi does a GREAT JOB on again, humanizing luigi!! i repeat the word humanizing so much because good writers don't worry about being agreed or disagreed with, good writers worry for the need to HAUNT. i mean this because a good piece of art or literature must impact you in ALL aspects of your life to the point that you think about it even in the little things and mrs mangi does ALL THATT not to mention the fact that the community in the blog is oh so sacred because of mrs mangi's direct hospitality and open-mindedness !! literally using an already existing platform to raise awareness and shed light. and the most popular fics Past Life and Found are just amazing pieces of art im so glad i clicked on it no bcoz WTF.?? WHAT INSTANCE MADE U THINK OF THESE MASTERPIECES? that's insane. you're insane. you're mind makes me go kaboom. I LOVE YOU

@mangionebabymama yall THIS BLOG is literally HEAVEN SENT. 1) the anons are soooo creative 2) mangionebabymama literally matches the anon's freak and ALWAYS GIVES BACK WHAT IS RECEIVED. now that is a TRUE diva. 3) yall seen the recent post? literally saying THANK YOU for being apart of this community ??? excuse me?? no maam THANK YOU for being apart of this community. mangionebabymama is INCREDIBLE. and PHENOMENAL. i would pay real money and give up a piece of my brain to know what's going on in mangionebabymama's head. STOP IT. IM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS SPECIFIC BLOG. MANGIONEBABYMAMA WAS A COMPLETE GAME CHANGER. there is so much CREATIVITY that bleeds out and so much love!! it's a safe haven for all us heathens and sisterwives to be ourselves, most importantly mangionebabymama really moves and inspires people on the DAILYY the writing is top tier, the headcannons or random thoughts are SERVINGGG YALLLL MANGIONEBABYMAMA PLEASE ADOPT ME. mangionebabymama was a late find of mine but oh so precious oh my goooooooodnesssssss !! im so lucky to even be apart of this community and discover the random thoughts or words that mangionebabymama wants to say. i want to say thank you and give a MASSIVE hug but i know that thank yous and massive hugs will never EVER EVER be able to justify how much freedom i feel when i go through that blog. I CANT. if i die soon then the cause of death will be "died thinking of mangionebabymama's sheer greatness." THANK YOUS CANT SURPASS WHAT I WANT TO SAY SO I HAVE TO SETTLE WITH I LOVE YOU. shshwduyshjbsjdk

that's it. :) anw love luigi breathe luigi free luigi!!

[respectthepetty]

Hi, I'm Respect the Petty, and I love mess.

Bad subtitles and sometimes no subtitles, zany product placements, dodgy plot lines, shoddy audio, amateur acting, crass dialogue, inexplicable pacing - LOVE!

>Insert Hit Bite Love episode 2<

It's not a simple mess. No. It's a strategic hot mess:

There is a stepbrothers plot that won't be introduced until the third episode, when this is only a six-episode show because the team behind this show already knows some people are Judge Judies out there.

There is a plot that involves a sweet kid, Shokun, and his two toxic options, but it's a kink-shame free zone.

Then there is the A+ plot between these two - Burger and King

King is the BEST BOY and Burger is an idiot.

No, really, King has the brain cells in this pair. Burger ate paper and thought he was going to die, and now he is talking to King's mom, who is a nurse, about his poop.

King, with his brain cells, knows what he wants, is always helpful, and cares for his best friend (the sweet kid with the two toxic options in the kink-shame free zone)

He thought (for good reasons) that Burger liked him and decided to embrace it.

But Burger doesn't like him...yet

Like I mentioned - A strategic hot mess. 2/10 would not recommend to people with morals and actual standards.

But for my fellow trash pandas - 8/10 so far. It lost a point for having five parts each week, and another point for attempting to have a murder plot. Give me more of the art student with his paint though, and I'll give back a point.

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

Yes that’s sort of what I’m getting at, this could be “normal” & may have always been there, so I’m not even trying to moralize it or say it’s good or bad, it’s just that we NEED to get curious about it to actually know if that’s the case, & to know how best to manage symptomatic horses. If it’s something we can breed away from, that would be great to know! But it also just has implications for how we best manage individuals, if we don’t test we can’t know. Right now a lot of people will say a horse is hypermobile, and even recommend exercises for the horse, but I find strange pushback when it comes to actually checking for this disease. And ultrasounds aren’t invasive! They aren’t cheap, but MANY procedures are more cost prohibitive.

I had seen that they’re working on skin biopsies but I don’t think that’s available yet as a diagnostic test for owners to order yet…. If it is, it seems it hasn’t been available to me around here yet.

We did do muscle biopsies of my ESPA mares when we suspected PSSM2, & once I understood how invasive that procedure was, I understood why it’s not a popular diagnostic test. We had good reason to suspect PSSM with their symptoms, though, so I don’t regret the choice. A skin biopsy would certainly be easier than that 😅

My cynical guess is that breeders would need a very compelling reason to test the horses before they’d spend the money and risk tarnishing a bloodline’s reputation. With ECVM, lawsuits actually broke out over people sharing diagnostic results. Stallion owners were angry at the suggestion that their horses’ offspring had the condition, & didn’t want it to negatively impact their horses’ reputations. I recall a bit of that with Spavin, particularly if the stallions were sound & the condition didn’t bother them… it’s tricky. What would be MOST useful is a test that would be non-invasive enough to do as part of a prepurchase exam 😅

The official recommendation is to not ride ESPA horses, but studies have shown that exercise helps slow progression of the condition. I think stabilizing exercises (like basic French classical dressage work in-hand) are a great idea, & one of the vets I work with was also talking about doing things that the horses enjoy, for their mental health as well! For example Vigri finds trail rides enriching, always has enjoyed getting out to explore in the woods. I’m primarily being more mindful about how much weight he carries for how long, & avoiding excessive repetitive pounding. We’ve definitely done our last 100 mile ride, but he enjoys his hacks & can do them on the pony line or with a light rider & I feel comfortable with that for him at this stage (his vets have also approved that level of work). Managing his weight will also be extremely important. His vet team thinks he should be able to be comfortably managed into his 20s which, really, is a decent expectation for any horse. I can’t be mad about that prognosis! But that decision is also context specific to Vigri, who gets bodysore when he’s out of work, & who shows evidence of enjoying his hacks. When it came to Sylgja, she was fully exercise intolerant at her time of diagnosis (age 5) & wasn’t consenting even to hand walks, & Skvísa was not far behind, experiencing muscle tremors after walks for example. So there is a huge range of progression & severity.

It could be a topic for a whole separate post, but I think offering opportunities for consent in training could be a huge part of managing chronic / progressive conditions like this. It’s not foolproof because horses tend to be very good about telling you what’s comfortable in the moment, but can’t really understand that doing too much now might make them sore later, so in that sense consent isn’t ENOUGH. But man… having Sylgja be pure R+ trained & VERY comfortable saying “no” is what saved her a much more painful life, & honestly the reason I kept digging to understand what was wrong with her when diagnostics kept coming back negative. There was this constant question of, maybe it’s just behavioral, maybe I’m not getting through to her, why is she like this…. But she kept saying no, so I kept trying to figure out why. When we did her ultrasound, I was warned ahead of time that it might be inconclusive because of her young age - the disease might be present but might not have broken down the tissues enough to become obvious yet. So when the results were a very CLEAR positive at age 5 both vets & I just kind of sat there in silence for a few minutes like, damn. Okay. Well. That’s that, then. I was so stunned after the ultrasound that I was sort of robotic but I remember that one of the vets took me aside and said “listen, this horse could have so easily been abused if you hadn’t listened to her. I see it every day.” Imagine if I’d sold her on, or tried to push her through it when she started to resist.

I’m only just getting to feel really okay talking about it, honestly. But there is so much to learn from the whole situation, not just for me, but already it’s helped others solve mystery cases of their own. And many horses get a better outcome than she did, if we catch this early I think there is so much we can do for these horses.

Another thing I’ve been talking about with a couple of colleagues recently is that many of us (esp in R+ circles) have made careers of fixing horses that would have been culled in the past. Again, not trying to moralize that or say it’s good or bad, it’s just the world we live in now. We don’t kill animals when they fall short of expectations, in most modern cultures - we try to work with them and find solutions. That means we WILL see and discover more conditions than we used to. Even if ESPA has always been around, these fast-progressing cases that make horses lame or provoke them to behavioral problems wouldn’t have been around long enough to really examine because they’d have been culled. Until fairly recently in history, honestly. So perhaps, as welfare improves globally and we continue to evolve our thinking to respect animals as individuals with inherent value (which I think is a good thing, to be clear!), maybe seeing more chronic disease is a part of that, just in the sense that these animals now get the privilege of a full life 🤷‍♀️ I can’t tell if that’s a positive thought or a gloomy one, which probably means I should stop for the night 😅

Since my two mares got ESPA diagnosed in 2023 I feel like everyone I know has ESPA dx’d or suspected in Icelandic horses. So all I’m gonna say here is that if you have weird mystery sensitivity, the horse is kind of reactive & weird some days & fine others & you’re ruling out a lot of common causes of pain & can’t really find muscular or chiropractic causes & the horse isn’t lame on one leg or neuro but something is just weird about the horse…..

Ultrasound those suspensories, bestie!

We just did Vigri this Fall & found that he has early signs of degeneration of his suspensories, too, but at 16 & sound this is “normal” progression of the disease (as opposed to the serious degradation of the tissues we noted in Sylgja at age 5, & her mom at 13 - I still think Skvísa probably would have progressed more slowly had I not bred her, which I’d never have done if I’d known she had the disease). Since he isn’t a mare, won’t be bred, & the current best practice for treatment is consistent, appropriate exercise, I’m responding to this DX by slowing down his workload, riding him myself less, ponying him more, having my child (who is very light) be his primary rider when ridden, & keeping up with the shoe package that’s been keeping him sound & comfy with his rotational deformities up to this point. Vigri is more comfortable / happy when in an exercise program so this makes sense for him at this level of progression, but we will be monitoring closely & re-checking. This comes w perfect radiographs (zero arthritic changes to hocks, fetlocks, etc) - we literally only US’d bc when I pulled him barefoot last winter I THOUGHT I noticed his fetlocks dropping slightly more than usual, & I wanted to see if I were crazy or not 🤡

But where I’m at w this now is I think it is FAR more common in the breed than previously reported & warrants serious examination certainly for anyone who wants to breed these horses. The prevalence in Standardbreds, pasos (disease was first discovered in pasos) etc has a lot of vets curious if there’s a connection between the DMRT3 mutation & this connective tissue disease. Worth noting as well that Vigri is of no relation to my other horses, & is actually not even from the same breeding farm. Looking back, I wish I could US Glæta… I have a lot of questions about past “complicated” horses I worked with that could be answered by this disease.

It’s super worth paying attention to because of the connective tissue involved w internal organ suspension. A friend just attended a dissection of an (suspected) ESPA horse in which the liver was found to be detatched. I know quite a few Icelandic horses that were “fine” until they suddenly died of some weird medical event involving digestion. Was it colic or something else…..?

We know this disease can affect the cardiovascular system, vision, etc. I’m certainly curious if Vigri’s intermittent difficulty pulsing down - even when his resp returned to normal right away - could be related to subclinical presentation of this disease. I’m even curious if his rotational deformities at birth might have been the earliest sign! I’m quite sure it explains his unusually sensitive skin, which rubs & chafes so easily. All of which is to say, this disease goes beyond workload / performance expectations, it’s not just a (potential) soundness problem. It’s potentially something that can negatively impact organ function.

Another interesting thing I’ve learned more recently is that research is suggesting that the bodies of these horses lay down layers of fat in unusual / unexpected places to compensate / protect the lack of healthy connective tissue. On dissection that’s apparently really interesting to see, sometimes the horses don’t even palpate or look especially fat until you get into the layers of the body. My ESPA mares did have an unusual amount of body fat & it actually complicated the muscle biopsies we did to rule out PSSM2….

Anyway this is sort of a disorganized dump of random ESPA thoughts but I haven’t had the energy or time to make more coherent thoughts for Instagram / FB & I know Tumblr doesn’t care.

Bottom line is if you’ve got gaited horses & they’re having “mystery” health or behavioral issues, you might want to consider a connective tissue disorder as a possible contributing factor! & certainly if you notice hypermobility or unusual flexion of the joints.

[eggymcdegy]

He is wanted dead for interdimensional hijinx

[clockworkcheetah]

anti[character] posts are already insufferable especially when the person decides to fucking tag it, but when its that kinda post combined with 'this character bad. but this character good' are even more annoying because its a double whammy of the worst character takes youve ever seen

[storytellering]

if it's okay, would you mind sharing your art process? your style is SO gorgeous dude. keep it up spardacest nation!!!

Thank you so much anon, and of course! I kinda posted about it on twitter a while ago, but for anyone not also on there, here's a paraphrasing of what I said there! (under a cut bc it's gonna get a bit long)

(speedpaint video from procreate mostly bc like I also said in that post, it's one of the few pieces I've done entirely on procreate and thus entirely recorded kdfjhdk I usually don't do the sketching + painting parts on there but every now and then I get lazy and want to get it all done quick in one program lol! It's not as good as it would look if I were using krita to render (which is what I normally use) but it gets the idea across decently of what it is that I do)

The short version of my process is: sketch, clean up sketch for lineart, then flat colors, then paint over the flats (i make the flats my shadows and paint on the light), then a multiply layer for skin details (like lips, eyebags, etc), then an overlay layer for skin transparency details (red over the ears/nose/fingertips etc), then i do hair over the lineart, then a multiply layer with the contact shadows in a light beige/grey/neutral tone on top of everything else, and then i unify layers, paint over the details, and color correct the HELL out of it The longer version is: SO, first of all, I will say, my entire process for a finished/fully redered piece is pretty scattered and uses a lot of different apps, because after many years of trying out different drawing apps I found that I just worked better when I could incorporate the parts I liked best from each individual one rather than having to adapt to another app entirely! In total, what I use is: autodesk sketchbook and procreate for the first half I do on my ipad, then krita and photoshop on my computer when I'm actually rendering (but any photo editing app instead of ps will do, I'm just used to photoshop bc that's what I learned as my first drawing app WAAAY back in the day lol), and then meitu on my phone for color filters (also any phone editing app with filters in it will do), AND also optional just for references: blender and daz3d on computer + magicposer on my phone The actual step by step of what I do: First of all, if I want to do a detailed, well rendered piece I will start by getting my references ready. That means either just grabbing a screenshot from the game if it's like, a simple portrait, or a photo reference, taking a picture of myself in the right pose/lighting, and if it's something more complex I will recreate the scene in Daz3D to simulate a realistic lighting, OR even just blender (i have the game models for the dmc characters downloaded, so I can just pop them in, pose them and change the lighting to get a realistic idea of what shadows their faces will cast in that specific angle/lighting.) Note: references are pretty essential to me, and there's nothing to be ashamed about for using them! Personally I don't struggle a lot with the drawing/sketching part of art, but my tiny little pea brain cannot fathom how to make an object 3D in my mind, and how to visualize shadows realistically... thus the reliance on 3D programs to do that for me, and then all I have to do is draw what I'm seeing lol. My art improved significantly ever since I started making 3D refs so I could get /exactly/ what I needed - there's still a lot of leeway you need to learn though, because as realistic as the lighting will be in a rendering program, you'll never really get a fully natural looking image, as far as stuff like the body stretching/squishing/pulling when it's in movement, facial expressions, folds in clothing/fabric, etc... so really it's more a guide than something meant to be followed 1:1.

Then, once I'm confident I know exactly what I'm gonna draw/have the idea in my head, I start sketching it in sketchbook. Not really getting very in depth, just blocking out rough shapes - I like sketchbook and to be on my ipad for that because it feels very reminiscent of traditional sketching on paper to me, which while I'm not super confident on my traditional art abilities, I do get the most natural/fluid/non-stiff figures out that way. Then when I think I have the general idea ready, I export the sketch layer as a png and import it into procreate - which is where I kinda start picking at the sketch and polishing it like i'm carving it out haha. Lots of liquify tool, flipping the canvas to check if it's even, blending out some of the lineart to help out with the rendering later, and then polishing up what was once the sketch into serviceable lineart. I usually reimport it back into sketchbook at this stage - while I like procreate for drawing I don't love the brushes I can use for lineart there, and so I usually only draw the "base" naked figure in there - when I'm in sketchbook I use a hard pencil to refine the details, then on a separate layer add all the things "on top" like hair, clothing, etc - usually I can get it pretty easily in one go, and once I'm satisfied I erase the naked body under the clothes and unify the lineart layers. Then I will just do the flats with a hard brush, turning the lineart layer into an overlay layer and coloring things in with the shadow colors. At this point, I export the file as a psd and import it on my computer - I give it a once over in photoshop first to see if there needs to be any adjusting (like whether any layer that has an effect needs to have a different effect, if all the colors look right since the ipad screen isn't the most faithful, if i wanna change the background color, etc), and once I think it's ready enough, I open it up in krita, where I do the actual bulk of the painting/rendering (as to why specifically krita: it's because I've gotten very comfortable with the brush/painting brush dynamics there and cannot seem to get as good results anywhere else, it's just the goldilocks spot of a brush for me haha.) If anyone's curious, here's the brushes I usually use for painting:

The one in the middle is my go to painting brush, left one for tinier/more refined details, right one for blending out soft shadows (though I learned the hard way to not overuse it, or it will look like I went ham with an airbrush tool lol). (I don't change any of the settings on these brushes, so if you wanna try out the exact ones I use! Just fresh off how they come out the app haha) I paint on the lights on top of the shadows, and just focus on that for the time being - once I'm done with the basic painting, I'll make a separate multiply layer for details like lip color, eye waterlines, makeup if there is any, eyebags, etc, and then adjust the opacity until it feels right - then I'll make an overlay layer with skin translucency details (like, when you hold your hands in front of a light and see the tips of your fingers become bright orange - many parts of your body are always a bit translucent to the blood underneath, specifically parts where the skin is thin like noses, cheeks, joints, knuckles, etc, and I found it makes the character look a lot more alive to add that subtle coloring in) - then usually I do hair on a separate layer on top of the lineart (because that way I can add small flyaways, more details, etc, and just use the lineart as a guide) After that, I'll usually make a multiply layer on top of everything where I'll add contact shadows in a neutral color (usually pretty pale, it'll be darker anyway since it's multiply), and once I feel like I've rendered everything out properly, I save the psd and re-open it on photoshop.

In photoshop, I'll mess around with the layers a little bit more (changing hue/saturation, opacity, etc), fuck around with the background to make it look pleasing, and once I'm happy with it, I'll unify the layers and start color correcting - usually by duplicating the unified layer and messing with the curve/hsl of the image and then changing the opacity of that edited layer until it's as strong or muted as I want it to be - then I also edit the RGB curves individually and adjust the opacity of that also (because I just really like how it ends up looking if I give a bit of a red/warm tint to the shadows lol), and at that point often I will reimport the finished image into procreate for some finalizing touches! Like, blending out shadows that came out too harshly, painting over anything that came out not the way I wanted it, redefining the lineart if it got messy during painting, and adding any extra small detail that might have gotten lost like catchlights, hair shines, hair flyaways, tears, etc. I also do one last round of flipping the canvas and liquify if needed! At this point, I export the finished image both to my computer and my phone - on my phone I open it up on the photo editing app, and add a bunch of different color filters - I don't hesitate from going completely balls to the walls here, and just kinda applying as many filters as will make an image look pleasing to my eye. Once I think it looks good, I'll export the edited image to my computer - and then open both the version without filters and the one with them on photoshop, and use the filtered version as an opacity layer, and adjust it until it doesn't look as crazy anymore lol. One last step I recently started incorporating was also changing the image to grayscale after I'm done, and doing one last round of curves in greyscale to make sure the values look right, and nothing is getting too lost because the values are too similar (because i know i get a bit swept up in getting repulsed by harsh contrasting lighting and can end up washing out all of rendering if I don't check myself kjdfgk) AND that's it! Yes it's a pretty long and chaotic process, but it's coming from years of trial and error and realizing I can just let myself fo whatever makes me happier with the results, and I don't have to stay constrained to one program if I don't like every tool it has to offer/don't have to accept the final image fresh off the painting app as the "finished" image with no adjustments allowed after, lol. I don't find it takes a lot more time than if I didn't do it this way, but YMMV. Hope this was helpful and sorry for taking so long to explain! I just wanted to give a thorough explanation dfhdkhkx

[monards]

i know hoyo is setting up rhine to have good intent and whatever in her trying to 'save' khaneri'ah or whatever; but i REALLY hope they stay with the cruel persona thats been built up for her. because it would be so wonderful to see a character who had good intent in the beginning just get absolutely corrupted; with the inability to ever go back to that prior state purely because of what had happened. also because there is NO way in her turning back after all that shit

[wizzardhat]

Im rereading nona and i am baffled anew by people who listen to jod recount every single agonizing step in his slow and terrible descent and are like, "wow John was always an awful irredeemable liar and his reluctance to admit that he set off the nukes was not, in fact, him struggling to accept the magnitude of how completely and terribly he failed and became the very person he was trying to stop, but was just another calculated lie because he's a Bad Man. if it were me i would have simply not done that." I have to assume these are the same people who read "**When our backs are against the wall and everything is falling apart we rarely become heroes" and were like "huh i wonder who thats for"

**approximate quote from memory because I cannot for the life of me find the exact excerpt but it was one of Wake's "letters" that only Harrow could read while they were in the bubble

[wellhalesbells]

LIAR YOU TOTALLY WATCHED ONE SEQUEL!!! 😉💜

https://www.tumblr.com/wellhalesbells/736050291745652736/friendraichu-jackironsides

HAHAHAHA, I should clarify that I just mean for super hero-y ones. I mostly watch the first one and rarely watch the second (or anything after...... or remakes, lol), I think the only Marvel one I've seen in recent history is Thor: Ragnarok. Actually, the Spider-man franchise pretty much encapsulates how I interact with Marvel properties: I saw the first trilogy because it was new and exciting at the time, then they remade it too fast and I refused to pay for something I just saw, that was so recent in my memory from the release date I could still remember exact scenes from it (THERE WERE ONLY FIVE YEARS BETWEEN SPIDER-MAN 3 AND THE REBOOT - THAT IS NOT ENOUGH TIME FOR ME TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT AGAIN. HOW IS THAT ENOUGH TIME FOR ANYONE TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT AGAIN???), then I watched the first Tom Holland one (fourteen years I can vibe with) and nothing that followed because that's generally when the gimmicks and cameos start in lieu of good story-telling, or they make it dark and gritty because that's the only way to ground this superhuman, right (I assume a random white guy: "Should we fridge a lady? Yeah, we should probably fridge a lady"). The first one generally at least tries to have a soul because they have to introduce the character and make you care about them but many of the ones that follow (the few I've seen from when the MCU was just starting out and I had hope *coughs*Iron Man 2, Thor 2, etc.*coughs*) are just cash grabs that don't try because you already love this character and there they are, right there, so money please!

Meg 2 however..... EPIC, NO NOTES. It knows if I was a shark girl, I was probably a dinosaur girl and it gambled correctly. That's what you're watching this for? Have three sharks and an unnecessary (probably stupid expensive) dinosaur intro that is nearly completely irrelevant to the story but that you will also not want to live without and for an extra special bonus: oblivious husbands and their brilliant daughter. Like. You got me nailed, my dude. Will watch every subsequent sequel, no questions asked.

[pa-pa-plasma]

just watched Across the Spiderverse. literally cant stop thinking about Pavitr

[featherymainffins]

*potently insane* I should re-read Monster by Naoki Urasawa

[novawinter]

I really hate the trope "This real life historical woman had MAGIC but her life turned out exactly the same". Bonus points if the magic undermines her achievements in the real world.

[attila-werther]

every day I watch another show where a character is named Dino and at this point I feel like it's either a sign or an extremely funny cosmic joke