#but i am Determined to find the person doing this

[shuxiii]

yn: stay home— pham hanni

hanni pham x reader! established relationship

synopsis: yn had been wanting to go out for the night after a week of stressful office work so she decided to attend a friends party but it seemed like someone was begrudgingly opposed to that idea so hanni decided to make matters to her own hands to sabotage that.

The apartment was buzzing with the faint hum of weekend energy—the muted bassline of distant music, muffled voices echoing from the street below. yn stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, appraising her outfit with the critical eye of someone who hadn’t been to a proper party in ages. A fitted black top and her favourite pair of jeans—it wasn’t revolutionary, but it was reliable.

“You’re really going out,” Hanni’s voice cut through the room, flat and unimpressed.

yn glanced over her shoulder to find Hanni sprawled across their shared bed, her face half-buried in the pillow, dark hair sticking out in every possible direction. She looked utterly at home, her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, and her legs tucked up like she had no intention of moving for the rest of her life.

“Yes, I’m going out,” yn replied, turning back to the mirror to adjust the collar of her top. “It’s just a party, Han. I won’t be gone long.”

Hanni made a sound—a cross between a groan and a sigh—that was so dramatic it would have put a soap opera actress to shame. “You’re abandoning me.”

“Don’t be a baby,” yn said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile. “You’ll survive a few hours without me.”

“No, I won’t,” Hanni shot back, her voice muffled by the pillow. Then, suddenly, she sat up, her dark eyes narrowing like a cat spotting its prey. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll survive without me.”

yn didn’t even have time to react before Hanni launched herself off the bed with a speed and precision that could only be described as terrifyingly athletic.

“Wait—Hanni, no—”

But it was too late. Hanni tackled her mid-sentence, her arms wrapping around yn’s waist as they both toppled backward onto the bed. The impact sent the neatly folded pile of clothes on the edge of the mattress tumbling to the floor.

“Hanni!” yn protested, her voice high-pitched with a mix of laughter and exasperation.

“You’re not going!” Hanni declared, pinning yn beneath her with the determination of someone who’d just decided to stage a sit-in. “I forbid it.”

“Oh, you forbid it?” yn shot back, arching an eyebrow as she tried—and failed—to wiggle free. “And what exactly gives you the authority to forbid anything?”

Hanni grinned down at her, unrepentant. “I’m your girlfriend, duh. That’s, like, my whole job.”

“Your job is to support me, not tackle me like a linebacker.”

Hanni gasped, feigning offense. “I am supporting you! I’m supporting you by saving you from a terrible decision. Parties are overrated. They’re loud, sweaty, and full of people who think ‘vibes’ is a personality trait.”

“I don’t care about the vibes,” yn countered, still squirming beneath her. “I just want to dance and have fun for a couple of hours!”

“We can dance here,” Hanni said, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

“Oh, yeah? Are you going to DJ for me?”

Hanni smirked. “I might. I’ve got a killer playlist called ‘Certified Bangers to Stay Home To.’”

“Of course you do,” yn muttered, her voice dripping with mock disdain.

“Hanni, come on,” yn groaned, trying—and failing—to pry her off. “I told people I’d be there!”

“They’ll survive without you,” Hanni mumbled, tightening her grip. “I, however, will not.”

“I’m simply saving you from an utterly terrible decision of your life, baby,” Hanni confidently declared, no thought of letting go.

“This isn’t a decision!” yn huffed, squirming. “This is a hostage situation!”

Hanni smirked. “Call it what you want, but you’re not going anywhere.”

yn let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me,” Hanni replied, leaning down just enough to press a quick, teasing kiss to yn’s nose.

yn stopped struggling for a moment, realizing the futility of her situation. Instead, she tried a different tactic. She sighed dramatically, slumping back against the bed. “Fine. You win. I’ll stay home.”

Hanni froze, pulling back just enough to peer at yn suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” yn replied, her tone just a little too agreeable. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s order pizza or something.”

Hanni’s face lit up, her grin smug as she released yn from her grip. “That’s right. No party for you. We’re having a cozy night in.” She rolled off yn, flopping back onto the bed with an air of triumphant satisfaction.

But yn wasn’t giving up so easily.

As Hanni turned to grab her phone, presumably to start browsing for takeout, yn slid off the bed as quietly as possible. Her boots barely made a sound as she crept toward the door.

“Hanni doesn’t need to know,” she whispered under her breath.

She was almost there—her hand brushing the doorknob—when a voice rang out behind her.

“yn.”

She froze. Slowly, she turned to find Hanni sitting up on the bed, her arms crossed and her expression caught somewhere between a pout and a glare.

“You lied to me!” Hanni accused, pointing dramatically.

“Hanni, I—”

“Don’t even try it,” Hanni interrupted, sliding off the bed with a speed that was honestly a little terrifying. Before yn could react, Hanni had crossed the room and wrapped herself around yn like an octopus, her head resting firmly on yn’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Let me go!” yn protested, laughing despite herself.

“Nope!” Hanni said, her voice muffled against yn’s neck. “You lied to me. Now you have to stay. Permanently.”

“Hanni, this is absurd!”

“So is leaving me for a party,” Hanni shot back, tightening her grip.

yn huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she let herself relax into Hanni’s hold, realizing she wasn’t getting out of this any time soon. Every time she so much as shifted, Hanni’s grip tightened like a vice. Escape was futile.

Eventually, yn gave up entirely, letting her head fall against Hanni’s shoulder. “You win. I’m staying.”

“Good,” Hanni happily said, kissing you on the cheek, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over them both. “Now, pizza or ramen?”

“I hate you,” yn muttered, though her tone was light.

“No, you don’t,” Hanni replied, nuzzling her cheek against yn’s. “You love me. And now you’re stuck with me all night.”

And she was. No party, no dancing, just Hanni holding her hostage on the bed for the rest of the evening. By the time the pizza arrived, yn had to admit—staying home wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But she wasn’t about to let Hanni know that.

[skullamity]

Someone very clearly and carefully picking their words to communicate to you (general) that the reason that transphobes mistreat/harm/murder trans women is because transphobes consider trans women to be men

IS NOT an admission that the person who is very clearly and carefully picking their words to communicate the position of transphobes to you agrees with the position that transphobes have re: trans women not being women.

The point is that how transphobes perceive trans women does not actually determine a trans woman's actual gender. It doesn't matter if transphobes think that trans women are devient men, because that has no bearing on any trans woman's internal sense of self.

But, it is important to acknowledge that this is the position that transphobes have, because pretending that their motives are something that makes you personally feel less dysphoric (transphobes hate trans women specifically because trans women are women and being a woman means living a life of suffering, so this is affirming in a way) instead of their very clearly and loudly proclaimed motives (trans women are deviant men forcing their way into women's spaces for sexual reasons, while using "woke" rhetoric as a cover for their true and nefarious intentions) actively makes trans women who buy into your wishful thinking motivations theory less safe overall.

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but cis women do not generally spend their every waking hour lamenting how their lives are endless suffering because they are women--most cis women do not generally consider being a cis woman to be particularly hard overall as a baseline. They straight up don't think about this shit and if you asked the average cis woman how things are going, she'd probably have some minor complaints about the economy or whatever, but she would not break down and wail about how much suffering she's currently experiencing.

In fact, if you think about it for more than a fucking second, you will find that the only cis women you will generally hear screaming about how life, both as a woman and for women on the whole, is a pit of despair and suffering? Tend to be TERFS and/or cis radfems who hate men in general, and consider trans women to be men.

I promise you do not have to take TERFS at their word that being a woman means to suffer. That you suffering as a result of poor treatment at the hands of TERFS should not be affirming, because those TERFs DO NOT see you as women and are outwardly saying that your existence is contributing to the suffering of cis women, because, again, they do not see trans women as women.

Acknowledging that this is what transphobes think about trans women does not imply agreement with their position, and I am very sorry if that makes you feel dysphoric, but it is, in fact, the truth. Not that you ARE a deviant man, but that this is what transphobes specifically and explicitly believe about you, no matter how much you want to believe that they are mistreating you because you're a woman, and this is affirming because to be a woman is to suffer.

I promise you that you do not have to settle for a life of suffering to appease people who literally do not see you the way you seem to think they must. You don't owe anyone your own suffering! You don't have to give that to them! You can find positive means of affirmation that do not mean that you need to suffer!

Suffering is not proof that you are a woman, it is proof that people want you to suffer and are doing their best to make that happen to you. You do not have to hand that to them on a silver platter. Suffering for the sake of people who want to do you harm is not a cross you have to bear, you can literally just tell anyone who thinks that you can only be a True Woman if you hit some sort of suffering threshold to go fuck themselves.

Acknowledging what transphobes actually think does not mean conceding to their positions, it does not mean that you agree with them, and it will not bar you from being a woman.

If you can acknowledge the truth of how transphobes see you, then you can take steps to better protect yourself and you will spend less of your time trying to get them to see you as "one of the good ones" because look at how much suffering you are experiencing!

No matter how much you suffer, it will not ever get a transphobe to concede that you are a woman, because they do not believe that you are one and never will.

So don't fucking suffer for them! Go find validation from places and people who want you to thrive! Because in the end it doesn't fucking matter if transphobes see you as a man, because their opinions should not matter to you personally.

I have literally never listened to someone rant about how much suffering I'd have to do for them to accept me and thought to myself "gosh, I better get suffering then!" because that's a shitty person being excruciatingly clear about exactly how shitty they are. Why would you wanna be besties with them? Why would you want them to accept you when their opinions about your own humanity and identity are so obviously and patently shit?

They are going to be mad at you whether you are suffering or not, so actively choose not to suffer! It will make them so fucking mad to see you happy and making connections with people who want good things to happen to and for you, so you should pick that option every fucking time, even if it's just out of spite!

Velvet does not believe trans women are men, I do not believe trans women are men. It is my fondest fucking with for trans women to be happy and thriving and affirmed! Acknowledging that people who want the worst for you have shitty opinions about you isn't agreeing with them, it's just putting some nice big red flags around anyone who insists that if you just suffer enough and throw enough of of the trans people around you under the bus, one day they will be generous enough to invite you into the Secret True Women Only club.

They are lying to you! They just want you to suffer! And pretending that their motives are instead something that feels affirming is only going to guarantee that you suffer, so you need to actively choose not to suffer going forwards! And part of choosing not to suffer? Is making an active choice to not stubbornly insist that anyone who is willing to acknowledge the shitty things that shitty people think about you and people like you is proof that they agree with those shitty people and their positions. Christ.

Okay first off please don't take this the wrong way I promise I'm not trying to say trans women all have male privilege or something. I think it is perhaps important to consider that while trans women do make up the majority of trans homicide victims, generally (cis) men make up the majority of homicide victims. In 2020 in the US, men made up 82% of victims.

I think trans women being killed more than trans men isn't necessarily because of transmisogyny being so strong or w/e, but a combination of people being more okay with killing people *they view as* men, and because transfems are much more likely to be sex workers than transmascs (though that may be caused by transmisogyny). Gay men are also killed at much higher rates than lesbians, and usually most homophobic rhetoric and laws and tropes are targeting gay men specifically, but I haven't seen this used to say lesbians have it significantly better, or have structural power over gay men, the way I have seen the same used to say that about trans men

Obviously, trans women are not men and trans men are not women, but to transphobes enacting violence, they are. Imo, it's important to keep in mind that transphobes do not actually view trans people as the gender that they are, and this means that the mistreatment of us will mirror the mistreatment of the gender we are transitioning away from, not towards.

I'm not saying that trans men have it worse, or that trans women all secretly have male privilege or something, just that less overt obvious violence towards trans men does not mean we have it significantly better, just as lesbians facing less overt obvious violence does not mean they have it much better than gay men. If you argue that gay cis men have it worse than lesbian cis women because of this, fair enough, that's consistent, but you can't define male privilege as "the privilege men of any group will always have over women of the same group all else being equal" if you do. (Or you could argue cis gay men are also affected by transmisogyny, I guess?)

Genuinely please don't bite my head off for saying transphobes don't actually view trans women as women (and vice versa) and that affects how they're treated skdkfkdjxhd if you have a good faith criticism of this post I'm all ears

[gallium-spoon]

I am experiencing a Workplace Mystery

Someone in my workplace is leaving these tiny figures around the computer stations and break rooms:

They aren't particularly well made, I believe they're from some kind of mini model kit as they are too small to be toys. However, I can't find anything online that looks quite like them

A few weeks ago there were just a couple appearing, but they've been increasing. This week we've been finding at least 2 per day. No one will admit to knowing anything, though several people suspect our DON is responsible as he works late when no one else here during the day would see

I've been collecting them and holding them hostage (taping them to our message board) until the responsible party is revealed

As of now I have 21 of these little buggers

[pissfizz]

I remember why I stopped reading this fic oh my god

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know multiple of these are likely important to people, but I'm asking in terms of like - which of these do you tend to focus on the MOST, enjoy the most, that is most essential for you to actually care about the media, etc.?

(For example: someone finding "Relatability" most important would likely not enjoy a show much if they have trouble empathizing with the characters/relating to it, even if it were good otherwise. Or, someone might be able to overlook bad acting and ugly costumes, as long as the Character Dynamics are fun to them, because they value that more than Aesthetics- while for others, bad costumes would be a dealbreaker.)

Also feel free to reblog and explain your answer or more information in the tags- I've always been curious about people's relationships to media, how they conceptualize it/what they get out of it, how some people value some parts more than others, how that informs their overall taste and genres they may be more inclined towards, etc. :0c

[fandom-with-no-hope]

Bought ISAT on almost all platforms, like a normal person would. Tried to get all the achievements on both PlayStation versions. Something something about jokes writing themselves

[navree]

wayne family adventures going "we're gonna make an entire season about the joker and center literally everyone EXCEPT barbara and jason beyond the bare minimum" is certainly a choice and lemme just say, it is Not a fucking good one

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[keeps-ache]

mm i Neeed to go the beach

[yououghtaknow]

ben platt was so right when he said (to paraphrase) your heart can break so much that it breaks open and lets love in. that's 2023 to me baby.

[dottores]

bye i’m so mad and frustrated

[thethingything]

anyway I am still standing by our original quote from December that was like "either it's going to be a good year, or I'm going to find a way to make it one even if I have to claw my way through it kicking and screaming" and clearly it's gonna be the latter but luckily we find spite incredibly motivating and the worse we feel the more spiteful we get 👍

[swampsorcerer]

feeling so much better. appreciating some parts of my transition i did not expect to, and it helps alleviate some of the discomfort of being misgendered quite often at work, but it isn’t getting to me too much (i think i was expecting this, so it hurts but I knew it would happen and i have ways of coping) and the shame i felt towards the parts of me that society made me hate, like how naturally hairy i am everywhere, that i had half a goatee on my chin even before T that i shaved constantly because my ex made fun of me for it, my macro clit that guys in high school laughed about after sleeping with me because it looked like I had a tiny dick or something, that now feels like parts of me that I love.

I don’t feel such hatred towards myself. I think in part it’s just helped me deconstruct what I thought I had to be to be desired and attractive, and accept them as part of myself, and something I want to embrace. And as my belly grows and i enjoy eating, seeing the hair on my stomach darken and thicken makes me smile, more at home in my body. and even with completely changing how I present and live my life I feel more attractive and desirable than ever, the shame lifted and finding joy in the parts of me deemed ugly, and being wanted and loved for it.

more than anything i feel whole for the first time in my life, not searching for something to fill that void and constant voice that something is inherently wrong with me quieted. the pieces snapped together and i feel able to fully be present in my body and life not consumed by thoughts of How Fuckable I Look.

[shoveitevil]

ugh its starting to get a lot worse again

[inviso-bill-strikes-again]

wow i make a lot of the posts on here huh

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”