#fanfic writers I love you

[clownbloody]

Hey Fanfic writers that do TBBxMale Readers. I owe you everything and I fuckin boogie wonderland like crazy when yall post. My enclosure can't contain me, I need to be sedated. There are only so many times I can role-play as a voluptuous big-boobed woman when I am in fact a skinny adult man.

[shjack180]

I am up to three months behind on fics or fic authors I'm subscribed to. Three months!!! And we're not even gonna talk about how many never even touched fics I have tabbed up on my phone's browser. It's overwhelming but I wanna catch up and read them alllll 😩 Once again wishing I could just jack into a chair and near instantaneously consume content and learn new things like in The Matrix

[binxsthings]

so glad someone knew what fic i was talkin about dear lord 😭 i was going insane trying to remember the specific fic of maura getting attacked by hoyt and it was chapter 14 of the detectives wife, now *my* wife won’t have to hear me going crazy trying to find it

[sobedoodles]

My favorite Mando Fanfic updated…that means I return to tumblr to scroll through the fanart tags😀👌

[bufftat-junkie]

​it is an honor and a privilege to spew my messy thoughts into the comment section of a fanfic chapter

god bless anyone who comments on ao3

[melliemikey]

AND AND IT HAS 10K+ WORDS AND IS STILL BEING UPDATED?!?

[readeroony]

Okay so I hear that writers like to have their work reblogged not liked, so here I have made myself a little sideblog in order to do just that! Hopefully this is helpful or at the very least not unhelpful

Fanfic writers I love you! Thank you for your service!!

Reminder that once again despite the Harry Potter content on this blog JK Rowling is a nightmare person and I won’t buy a thing that gets her money ever again

[destiel-wings]

people who leave comments on AO3 I LOVE YOU

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

One of my favourite parts of reading fanfic is writing comments. It's so good, you guys have to try it. You write these incomprehensible paragraphs about the chapter and then read the next chapter and do the same thing there and it's AWESOME!!!! and then sometimes the author reply and are like "these comments have made my day" and you get to do a little happy dance because you returned some of the joy!!!!! It's such a good feeling!!!! Try it!!!!! Find that 100k+ multichapter behemoth fic and comment on every chapter!!!! It's literally the best!!!!

people who let me wake up to this get a special place in heaven. firefly_fox how does it feel to hold my life in ur hands....

[blackynsupremacy]

black girls,

make the content you want.

i’m serious.

idc if you think it’s gonna flop.

idc if you think you’re a terrible writer or artist.

idc if you believe that character/celebrity/athlete/whoever likes black girls or not. (who cares what the fandom says anyway!)

idc if you’re the first and only one to start that _____ x black reader tag.

make the content you want to see!

do it for you most importantly! (you will inspire others ofc)

in conclusion, you won’t get it if you won’t make it.

[histerek]

Stiles: [sobbing bc he can’t save the puppy* who is going to FREEZE in the cold]

Claudia and John, who know this is absolutely NOT a dog: [trying to wrestle the pup out of Stiles’ deceptively strong three-year-old grip]

*Derek, not a puppy but a wolf cub who is admittedly tiny for his age: [head empty no thoughts, enjoying the scent and warmth of Stiles’ scarf]

Talia, watching this all go down behind a tree: [plotting how to save her son for the FIFTH TIME THIS SKI SEASON who she’s beginning to suspect doesn’t want to be saved]

[vee6lolz]

2:34 am .

imagine you’re dating spencer and instead of him not being able to keep his hands off you, he can’t keep his hands on you. during sex he’s always to scared to put it in because he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he substitutes by sticking his pretty little face between your thighs and cleaning your messy cunt with his tongue and running your a warm bath afterwards. on your honeymoon, you guys had p in v sex for the first time and he did not hold back. it felt so amazing, but he ended up bruising your cervix and he wouldn’t touch you for like 3 weeks afterwards. he always muttered ‘i’m sorry- i’m so sorry-’ whenever he even thought that he was going too hard inside of you, he promises to be gentle at first but the pace he goes is always too underwhelming for him so he ends up fucking the lights out of you, only to feel guilty about you being cock drunk; barely being able to form a coherent sentence. he always tells you how pretty you are afterwards, begging you to forgive him. and you love it.

[wecantalktomorrow]

.

[bababaka]

Yall need to interact with fanfiction author's more.

So. After the ddos attack on ao3.

I was encouraged to write more comments and make my love known to fanfic writers.

I dont really like commenting. Because im a bit shy and soooo lazy.

Now though. I am writing more comments. And dude. This is so heartwarming. Ya'll need to treat writers better. They are doing the lord's work.

Take for an example, couple of days prior, i was searching for something interesting to read, and found an oneshot quite compelling.

I read it. At the end of it, i was blown away by how good it was. It promised me something and it went beyond my expectations. But then i saw a crime, zero fucking comments!

At that moment, i wasn't feeling up to writing a comment. Because, normally i like to write huge paragraphs. But because im lazy i decided to be brief.

Next day, the author answered that the comment lift their mood for the whole day.

That warmed my heart.

Duuuuuuuude! Write comments! Suport the writers of the fics you like! No need to be something super elaborate. Just give your thoughts. Freak out. Ramble. Ask something. Make theories. Compliment. Make a joke about how you wished to give kudos every chapter but ao3 sucks(not true bby) and won't let you.

Truly. Just. Comment. It can make someone's day. And that is part of the apeal of writing fics. Interacting with people.

Just give love to fanfic writers yall. They deserve this and so much more.

[thief-of-eggs]

writing a fic in a completely different fandom than you usually do, and then still catching some of your regular likers in the kudos section is so wild to me

like- wait you also like this random obscure fandom?? we are so similar?? our tastes are superior??

[imreidswifey]

♬♪♫♩𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬٫𝐋𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬٫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 -𝐒.𝐫. 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟- ♬♪♫♩

Summary: Famous singer-songwriter [Your Stage Name] and FBI profiler Dr. Spencer Reid have been secretly dating for four years, having met before her rise to stardom. As their relationship remains hidden from the public eye, an unexpected series of events—including an enthusiastic Penelope Garcia desperate for concert tickets—leads to their secret being revealed.

Warnings: Fame-related themes: Mentions of paparazzi, invasive media, and public scrutiny. Mild language, Romance, and Emotional topics

———————————————————————————

Spencer Reid had always considered himself a creature of habit. He liked routine. He liked predictability. But four years ago, he walked into a tiny café in Georgetown, and everything he thought he knew about his life changed.

The café had been unassuming—just a place he stopped at to recharge after an exhausting case. He was halfway through a book on early Mesopotamian cuneiform when your voice floated over him, soft but commanding. Spencer looked up from his page, his focus immediately stolen by you, standing on a small makeshift stage with a guitar.

You weren’t just good. You were breathtaking. Your lyrics were raw and poignant, carrying an intimacy that felt as though they’d been written from his own heart. You sang about vulnerability, love, and the fear of being misunderstood—concepts Spencer knew all too well.

After your set, he intended to leave quietly, but you stopped him.

“Did you enjoy the show?” you asked, your voice warm and inviting.

Spencer stammered, unused to being addressed so directly. “Uh, yes. You’re… very talented. Your lyrics—there’s an honesty to them. It’s rare to see someone articulate emotion so effectively.”

You smiled, charmed by his nervousness. “Thanks. It’s rare to meet someone who can actually articulate their feelings about my music.”

From that night on, Spencer was hooked—not just on your music but on you. You exchanged numbers, and what started as casual conversations about art and literature blossomed into something deeper. For two years, you were each other’s anchors, finding solace in each other’s differences.

Then, everything changed. One of your songs went viral. Record labels came calling. Your debut album skyrocketed to the top of the charts, and suddenly, you were everywhere—magazine covers, award shows, and the playlists of millions.

Through it all, Spencer remained your constant, your sanctuary. But fame brought scrutiny, and you both agreed early on to keep your relationship a secret. It wasn’t just for his privacy but for yours too. You wanted what you had with Spencer to stay pure, untouched by the chaos of your public persona.

Two years into your stardom, life was a whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and sold-out shows. But at home, things were wonderfully ordinary. You and Spencer still spent your evenings debating books, watching obscure documentaries, and writing songs that you sometimes teased were “for an audience of one.”

One evening, Spencer sat at his desk in the BAU bullpen, immersed in paperwork, when Penelope Garcia burst into the room, her energy as vibrant as her brightly colored outfit.

“Oh. My. God,” she announced, clapping her hands together. “I just found out that [Your Stage Name] is performing in D.C. next month! It’s like the heavens are smiling upon us, you guys!”

Spencer froze, his pen hovering over the paper.

Emily Prentiss raised an eyebrow. “You’re really into her, huh?”

“Are you kidding?” Garcia exclaimed, practically bouncing. “She’s the voice of a generation. Her lyrics speak to my soul. But,” she sighed dramatically, “the tickets sold out in seconds. So now, I’m doomed to live vicariously through concert clips on TikTok.”

Spencer hid a small smile behind his hand. That evening, as you sprawled across the couch, humming the melody of a new song, he recounted Garcia’s predicament.

“Poor Penelope,” you said with a chuckle. “She sounds like such a sweetheart. I wish I could give her tickets.”

Spencer hesitated. “You could…”

You turned to him, grinning. “Tell you what. You give them to her and say a friend got them for you. She’ll never have to know the truth.”

Spencer tilted his head. “You’re really okay with that?”

“Of course. She’s my fan! Besides,” you added, smirking, “I think it’s adorable how much she loves me. Almost as much as you do.”

A week later, Spencer handed Garcia two VIP tickets.

“A friend had extras,” he explained casually.

Garcia stared at the tickets as if they were made of gold. Then she threw her arms around him. “I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite genius!”

On the night of the concert, the BAU team arrived at the venue, buzzing with anticipation. Garcia had outdone herself, wearing a sequined jacket with your name bedazzled across the back.

Spencer stayed a step behind the group, his heart pounding as he saw your name in lights. It wasn’t his first time attending one of your shows, but it was the first time he’d be here as just another face in the crowd.

When the lights dimmed and you took the stage, the arena erupted into cheers. Spencer watched, mesmerized, as you commanded the audience. You were magnetic, effortlessly moving between heartfelt ballads and upbeat anthems.

Then, you paused, your eyes scanning the crowd. “This next song is special,” you said, your voice warm but tinged with vulnerability. “It’s about someone who sees the real me, even when the world doesn’t.”

The first notes of the song filled the air, and Spencer felt his breath catch. It was his song—the one you’d written just for him.

Backstage after the show, the team was led to your dressing room, courtesy of the VIP passes. When the door opened, Garcia froze.

There you were, your arms around Spencer as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You’re…you’re dating [Your Stage Name]?” Garcia squeaked, her voice high-pitched with disbelief.

Garcia blinked at your outstretched hand before letting out a high-pitched squeal and pulling you into a hug. “Oh my gosh, you’re real. And you’re dating Spencer?! This is the best day of my life!”

The rest of the team quickly recovered from their shock.

“Well, Pretty Boy,” Morgan teased, crossing his arms with a smirk, “you’ve been holding out on us. How’d you land the biggest pop star in the world?”

Spencer adjusted his glasses nervously, but you just laughed, slipping your hand into his. “He doesn’t have to do much. He’s Spencer Reid—how could I not fall for him?”

The group spent the next hour chatting, and you made sure each of them felt at ease. You even invited Garcia to play with some of your stage props, much to her delight.

The next morning, photos of you and Spencer together backstage leaked online. A fan had snapped a blurry shot of you holding hands and posted it with the caption: Did anyone else see [Your Stage Name] with some mystery guy? Who is he???

At first, it was just speculation. But the internet quickly did what it did best—digging. By mid-afternoon, Spencer’s name was trending, along with side-by-side comparisons of the two of you. Fans pored over your lyrics, analyzing them for clues.

The BAU team tried to shield Spencer from the chaos, but he wasn’t bothered. You, however, were worried. “Are you okay with this?” you asked him over the phone, pacing in your living room. “Your life is so private. I don’t want to ruin that.”

Spencer’s voice was steady. “You’re not ruining anything. If this is the price of being with you, I’ll pay it. Besides, they’ll lose interest eventually.”

But they didn’t. Within days, reporters camped outside the BAU office, hoping to catch a glimpse of “Dr. Love,” as the tabloids had started calling Spencer. Fans flooded his social media accounts with messages, some supportive, others invasive.

Two weeks later, you decided to take control of the narrative. You posted a picture on your Instagram of you and Spencer sitting on your couch, a book open between you.

The caption read: For years, I’ve kept this part of my life private because I wanted something that was just mine. But this man—this incredible, brilliant, kind man—has been my anchor through it all. He’s my person. And I couldn’t be prouder to share him with the world.

The response was overwhelming. Fans flooded the comments with love and support. Many praised how grounded and genuine your relationship seemed, calling it a “real-life fairytale.”

The next day, Spencer was stopped on the street by a group of your fans.

“You’re Dr. Reid, right?” one of them asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Uh, yes,” he said, awkwardly adjusting his satchel.

“Can we just say… you’re, like, the cutest couple ever? She’s lucky to have you.”

Spencer smiled, a little overwhelmed but touched. “Thank you. I’m the lucky one.”

Over the next few months, you and Spencer found a new rhythm. It wasn’t always easy—paparazzi were relentless, and internet trolls occasionally reared their heads—but you faced it together.

The BAU team became fiercely protective of Spencer, treating any criticism of your relationship like a personal attack. Garcia even started a fan page called “Team SpenStar,” which quickly gained traction.

Through it all, your bond only deepened. Spencer began accompanying you to red carpet events, looking dashing in his tailored suits. You started spending quiet weekends at the BAU office, bringing donuts for the team and brainstorming song ideas in the corner while Spencer worked.

One night, after a particularly hectic gala, you curled up on the couch with Spencer, your head on his chest. “Do you ever regret this?” you asked softly.

“Never,” he said without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Not even the crazy fans?”

“Not even them. You’re worth it.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as his arms tightened around you. Fame had brought its challenges, but in the end, love—real, enduring love—was stronger than any headline. Together, you could handle anything.