#nobodys probably actually reading these tags

[goddessofroyalty]

Hey! I binge read all of your Work/Life Balance fic last night and loved it. The way you kept them in character was amazing. For Viktor, I could hear his lines in my head in his voice.

I saw you were still low-key taking prompts for it. An idea came to mind about Viktor's own reaction to finding out he was pregnant? Especially to be about 3 months when he found out?(If I mathed correctly lol) I know you alluded to his whole "testing multiple pregnancy tests" but I think it would be interesting to see his full reaction, coming to terms with it, and potentially his failed attempts to tell Jayce because it wasn't the perfect time?

Prompt Idea: Viktor's reaction to actually finding out he is pregnant and the failed attempts to tell Jayce that you mentioned in Work/Life Balance? Idk, just kinda think it would be cute

Glad you enjoyed the fic! I think I got all the parts of these two prompts.

In the version of the final scene in my head before I wrote it Jayce actually kept going out and getting a new pregnancy test after the previous ones positive. I feel like what I’ve gone with is possibly funnier (and a lot less repetitive to write/read).

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg, thoughts/concerns about miscarriage

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

The nurse hands Viktor a pregnancy test with the same amount of enthusiasm as she had the paperwork.

It is the correct amount of enthusiasm given the circumstances.

Nobody actually thinks he is pregnant. The doctors having years ago had the conversation with him about how, with his health, he would very likely be unable to conceive. They had been so gentle with their words and moved the tissue box closer with them despite how little it had actually bothered him. Relationships and children barely worth a thought compared to his work.

Policy dictates that, as he is being sexually active, they must check to be sure before doing any scans that may harm a fetus if he was carrying one.

He’d just lie about it if it wasn’t for how Jayce’s habit of scenting him every opportunity he can means half the time the box is already ticked before he’s even handed the form.

So Viktor takes the cup and the paper-wrapped stick to the bathroom and waits the ten minutes it takes for the little negative sign to appear so the nurse can tick the box on the form that says, yes, they checked, and Viktor can return to his notepad while he waits his turn. His plans for what work he should be able to get done after his appointment is finished well-formed when the results finally show up.

Viktor grabs the piece of plastic and only pauses to look at the thing because it doesn’t seem to be the familiar negative he knows.

Probably just a different brand than they usually get.

He digs the instructions out of the bin just to be sure.

After unfolding and refolding the leaflet so just the bit with what the results mean is on the front he holds the instructions in one hand and test in the other. Comparing the results against which means what.

Pregnant.

The two lines in that exact position apparently mean he’s pregnant.

When they had first started making him take them Viktor had looked up the reliability of them hoping for some argument that they were a waste of everyone’s time. It hadn’t succeeded at his goal at the time but had left him with the knowledge that false positives were basically impossible.

He is, apparently, pregnant.

He returns to the front desk in the reception on autopilot. Standing before the bored-looking receptionist who expects him to tell her that the test was negative as expected and that she can finish checking him in for the scan.

Because he shouldn’t be pregnant.

He can’t be pregnant.

Yes, perhaps, maybe he and Jayce were not as diligent with protection as they could be. Sometimes they got caught up in their excitement of their latest breakthrough and getting the condoms the last thing on their minds. But nothing should have come from it because Viktor’s body had never been healthy enough to even give him a consistent heat schedule.

“I will have to cancel my appointment today,” Viktor says. Only realizing he had brought the test with him when he clenches the hand not holding his cane and feels the plastic dig into his skin.

The receptionist opens her mouth to no doubt ask why he would need to cancel when he’s already there for it. A flash of surprise crosses her face as she no-doubt remembers what she had had him do and the obvious conclusion of the two pieces of information she has before returning to professional friendliness.

“Of course. Let us know if you need to rebook.”

She doesn’t say congratulations or any of the other things you are apparently meant to when somebody informs you they are pregnant, which is good, because Viktor doesn’t know how would respond.

“Yes, of course,” he says with a sharp nod. “Thank you.”

The smile she gives is devoid of any excitement or judgement. The smile of a professional who has been taught that something like this can mean something very different to different patients.

Viktor shuffles out of the clinic, ignoring the bored stares of the others in the waiting room until he is out on the street. The pregnancy test still in hand.

He tosses it into the first bin he finds of course. It is very unhygienic to carry around something that has had his urine on it. Keeping it with him won’t change the situation. If he needs evidence when he tells Jayce he can always take another one.

How is he ever going to tell Jayce?

No.

No he needs to be realistic. False positives are impossible but it may be a case that an embryo was created and implanted before his body rejected it. A reminder that they should stop being lax about the condoms. There no point mentioning it to Jayce if that is the case.

No, first Viktor should book an appointment to test again under doctor’s supervision. By then if it was just a momentary thing the hormones will have cleared from his system and he can forget all about it.

There is no need to get Jayce involved yet.

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

“When was your last heat?” the doctor asks after Viktor returns from peeing on another stick that does not return the expected negative despite it having been long enough since the scan appointment that had it been an immediate miscarriage any residual hormones should have left his system.

“A year ago.” His heats had never been regular so skipping three was hardly a cause for suspicion or concern.

The doctor’s brow furrows because a lack of an obvious heat makes it harder to figure out any kind of timeline of conception.

“Have you experienced any bleeding?”

“No.” Not that it really proved anything from the reading Viktor had done after the initial positive result. If his body had rejected the pregnancy early enough it is easy for even omegas to miss the resulting passing.

“Has there been a single incident of your contraception methods failing?” the doctor asks. “For example, did the condom break during-“

“Eh-“ Viktor grimaces because there wasn’t really a single incident of a condom breaking but rather a common enough occurrence of them forgoing using one entirely.

“Right,” the doctor says, thankfully saving Viktor from having to say it. “In that case I think it is best to arrange an ultrasound to confirm if there is any evidence of pregnancy, and, if there is, how far along.”

Viktor nods as he tries to figure out where to fit another appointment in with the new project. It would be far easier if Jayce was around more instead of being dragged around by councilors and investors in wherever their whims take them.

“I also wouldn’t suggest informing anyone about this,” the doctor continues. “You may be very early into a pregnancy, and, with your other health concerns-“

There is a good chance he still may miscarry. No reason to bring it up with Jayce until they are more certain.

“Of course.”

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

“Have you told your alpha yet?” the ultrasound technician asks as she smears gel over Viktor’s exposed stomach.

“No.” there is no point considering it would likely end in miscarriage.

“Well that’s hardly fair to keep all the excitement to yourself,” the technician says as she reaches over for the ultrasound, moving it around his stomach clearly searching for his uterus.

“It is still early. I will tell him once it is far enough along to not be likely to miscarry.”

“You shouldn’t think like that!” the technician says, glancing at him quickly before returning her attention to the screen.

“I am just being realistic.” A pregnancy does not necessarily mean you will end up with a baby. Especially not if one’s health is like Viktor’s.

“So you are just going to keep it to yourself until you’re 3 months along?” the technician asks, her movements less broad. Likely trying to find any evidence of a very early pregnancy.

“Yes.” Things are easier that way.

“In that case you’re gonna’ want to figure out how to tell him,” she says before spinning around the screen so he can see his uterus and the baby-shaped blog within in. “Because three months is about where’d I put you. Congratulations.”

Viktor likely wouldn’t have believed her if he couldn’t see it with his own eyes. Which is probably why she showed him the screen. But, sure enough, there it was. Not a full baby but also not a bundle of cells of a new implantation.

“I haven’t had any symptoms.” Nothing that made him think anything had changed other than his sickness.

“Some people get lucky like that,” the technician says with a shrug. She presses a button on the screen that causes it to pause on the images while she removes the ultrasound from his stomach and offers him a tissue to wipe the gel off. Her hand suddenly resting on his knee. “I’ll arrange for a printout for you at the front desk. Maybe that’ll help you with telling your alpha yeah?”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know if a print out of an ultrasound will actually help him tell Jayce but he supposes it is better to have it and not need it than not have it.

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

Viktor stands in front of the mirror in just his boxers staring at the reflection of his still completely flat stomach. His hands running along it feeling for any sign of a swell that could be the baby that was apparently in there and finding nothing.

It always takes longer for omega men to show, the ultrasound technician had said with a laugh like he was stupid for asking how he could possibly be 3 months along without a single outward sign. Your hips hold everything a bit further back. I wouldn’t worry through. Give it a couple weeks and you’ll have a bump for you and your alpha to fall in love with.

It still doesn’t feel real though. Not even with the print out of the scan that shows the very real fetus apparently resting in his uterus.

The door swings open but Jayce immediately turns around when he notices Viktor’s state of undress.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realis you were changing,” Jayce says despite the fact they have both seen each other completely naked. The fact that they had managed to make a baby together, even if Jayce doesn’t know that piece of information yet.

“It is fine,” Viktor says, grabbing his shirt and quickly buttoning it up on himself. It’s ridiculous, if Viktor can’t see any evidence of pregnancy there is no way Jayce will. But the idea of Jayce finding out before Viktor has the chance when it is clear Viktor should know is unpleasant.

Viktor grabs his cane from where he had hung it over the edge of the desk. Shoving the scan printout under some notes as he does.

“You can look now,” Viktor says because Jayce clearly isn’t going to unless he’s told he can.

Jayce turns around immediately. Beaming at Viktor in his fond way.

“Does this mean you’ll be joining the dinner tonight?”

“What? No! I was just-“ trying to see if he could see their baby. Which, if he were to tell Jayce now, would not see the alpha attending the dinner either. And while Viktor does not actually care about stealing Piltover’s Golden Boy from his adoring fans, Jayce’s growing social requirements are an necessary evil for their progress. ���It does not matter. I will not be attending.”

“Come on Vik, please, for me,” Jayce says, coming over to wrap his arms around Viktor. He easily slots his head onto Viktor’s shoulder, the pout on his face reflected back on them in the mirror. “You can’t force me to go to another one alone.”

“I think you will find I can,” Viktor says, but leans into the warmth of Jayce’s body. “Anyway, they do not want me there.”

“I want you there.” Jayce’s grip tightens as he nuzzles against Viktor’s neck more like a young pup than the proud alpha he is. “Please Viktor.”

“I-“ could cause a scandal if he really wanted to. Drop the news halfway through the party when the gaggle of over-interested omegas swarm Jayce in the hopes of winning his attention. Have all of Piltover talking by morning. “-have work to do.”

It is hard for Jayce to argue with that. Their work as important to him as it is Viktor.

“It’s unfair you know,” Jayce says as he draws away, fixing his coast in the mirror. He looks every bit the charismatic leader Piltover imagines him to be. “That you get to stay in our lab working while I have to keep listening to the same conversation about the weather all night.”

“That is the price you pay for being the face of progress.”

“Not funny Vik,” Jayce says, but leans down for a quick kiss all the same. “I’ll try and sneak out and join you after the first round of being introduced to everyone.”

“Do not do anything that would have Councilor Kirramman unhappy with you.”

“Don’t worry – I’ll get Cait to cover for me,” Jayce promises before slipping out to head to the event.

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

Strong arms wrap around Viktor as he stands in front of the blackboard in their lab. Jayce’s head coming to rest against the top of his as the warmth of the alpha’s body seeps through the back of Viktor’s clothes.

“I missed you,” Jayce mumbles against Viktor’s hair. Nuzzling into it was if it is at all an effective way to pick up someone’s scent so far away from any of the actual scent-glands. “You smell good.”

Viktor tenses at that. Of course the pregnancy would be starting to affect his scent, making him even more appealing to his alpha in a biological attempt to keep their support there for the pregnancy and hopefully beyond. If he was as far along as he apparently was it’s surprising it hadn’t started to change already. And Jayce is not stupid. He will likely realize what could be causing it.

It might work in Viktor’s favor though. Let Jayce figure it out and claim ignorance.

All he has to do is act surprised. He can do that.

“Sorry,” Jayce says, drawing away. “I didn’t mean to break your focus.”

He didn’t think anything of the change in scent then.

“It is fine.” Nothing ground breaking had been happening. “Are you finished for the day?”

Viktor could just tell him about the pregnancy. It is not as if there is anything he cannot pause for the afternoon.

“I wish,” Jayce says with a whine. “I have another meeting in an hour. I just wanted to come check on- ah- our work!”

There will be no telling him today than.

“In that case there is something I wanted your opinion on,” Viktor says because he will take what he can get of Jayce’s mind before he has to hand him back to Piltover’s elites.

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

“Jayce do you have a minute?” Viktor asks on what is becoming a rare afternoon where Jayce can just stay in the lab without having to run off to some social engagement or investors meeting. Nothing that he need not be distracted for.

“Yeah, of course,” Jayce says, dropping what he is working on to come over. He leans over Viktor’s shoulders to examine what he is working on, expecting it to be about that. “What do you need?”

“What I need is to tell you something.” Viktor can feel how Jayce almost freezes at it. The alpha’s attention now fully on him.

Viktor wonders what Jayce thinks he’s going to tell him. Likely not that he is pregnant.

Before Viktor can find the words the door to the lab swings open and Mel hurries in with a hustle that is as close as Viktor thinks he’s ever seen her do to running.

“Oh good you’re here – I need you to talk to the new investor.”

“What? Why?” Jayce asks, craning his neck to look over to Mel but not moving from where he is leant over Viktor.

“He has concerns about the safety of the Hexgates and is threatening to pull funding as a result.”

“That is ridiculous. The Gates are perfectly safe!” Heimerdinger wouldn’t have let them go ahead if they weren’t.

“I know that! But he isn’t being convinced by me. I have him in a room and he’s agreed to discuss with you first, but, we do not have much time before he walks.”

“Go,” Viktor says before Jayce can think about refusing. “My news can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The pregnancy isn’t going anywhere but the investor apparently is.

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

“You deserve this more than I do,” Jayce says, holding out a drink to Viktor now they have both returned home from the investors meeting where they displayed their latest prototype. An identical glass in his other hand. “You did more of the work than I did.”

“You kept the investors happy.” Viktor would also rather Jayce in the lab with him but somebody has to be the face of their work and Jayce is far better suited for it than Viktor. “And, ah, none for me.”

Alcohol and pregnancy do not mix. Not that Jayce knows about that fact yet. The two barely getting to spend more than a moment together the last few weeks.

“You can take one night off to celebrate,” Jayce says still holding the glass out.

They do have the night off. The project finished and investors and council happy. Nothing that needs to be done that cannot wait until morning. Nothing he might be taking Jayce away from by telling him about the pregnancy.

“It is not that,” Viktor says, meeting Jayce’s eyes and the adorably puzzled expression. “I cannot drink at the moment on account of, eh, being pregnant.”

The surprise that overtakes Jayce’s face is exactly what Viktor expected all the times he thought about telling him.

“What?”

“I am pregnant,” Viktor confirms.

“Really?” Jayce asks, glancing down at Viktor’s stomach which remains completely flat.

“Yes. The doctors are quite sure.” Viktor wouldn’t be telling Jayce if they weren’t.

“The doctors?” Jayce asks before realization crosses his face, because he does actually know of Viktor’s frequent medical appointments – partners and all. “Right. Of course just-“

Jayce puts the two glasses back on the counter and runs a hand through his hair and this is exactly why Viktor hadn’t told him right before he had another obligation. It would be cruel to send him into a council meeting in the level of shock he is in.

“I-“ Jayce starts, before swallowing and nodding, having made up his mind about something. “Wait here.”

“Wait- what?” Viktor asks as Jayce grabs his coat and heads to the door. “Jayce where are you going?”

“I just need to get something. Don’t go anyway!” Jayce says before racing out the door leaving Viktor alone in the apartment.

“Don’t go anyway. Why would I go anywhere?” Viktor asks to nobody but himself. Sighing before making his way over to the couch to sit and wait for Jayce to return. Setting his cane down beside him.

He is sure Jayce will return and not just because it is his apartment Viktor currently is in. Yes, he’s heard stories of Piltover alphas seeming head over heels for an omega in Zaun only to vanish as soon as a pregnancy is in the picture, but Jayce isn’t like that. Their work, at least, is far too important for him to abandon.

“Can you not inherit his recklessness?” Viktor asks his still flat stomach as he leans back on the cushions and waits.

The door swings open at Jayce’s hast when he returns. The alpha not wasting time taking his coat off, instead rushing to where Viktor is and all-but slamming a handful pregnancy tests on the coffee-table.

“I know you said the doctors are sure,” Jayce rambles before Viktor gets the chance to say anything. “But please, for me?”

It makes sense with Jayce being who he is that he would want tangible proof of his own. And, really, it is not that arduous for Viktor to indulge him this.

“Can I have some water first?” Five tests will require a rather high amount of urine from him after all.

[sonarpup]

i rly just want to be a good dog, but there are all these human things i don't understand and human expectations of me.

i want to be told its ok if i fucked up - i tried, i'll get it next time

i want to know what i want that isn't just reactive to trauma

i want to feel like i'm more than a reflection of others

i want to be a person, in my own way. i want "me" to actually define something

dog is feeling bad abt itself/its ability to meet expectations/exist. it could rly use nice words pls.

it feels like i dont contribute anything except sharing stuff from elsewhere. I only create a single thing and that's writing that nobody reads. idk how to interact anymore and it feels scary and isolated and i just don't want to feel like this.

[nostalgia-tblr]

"are people not into that?" i ask, after posting my weird niche shit to the internet, despite knowing it to be weird niche shit.

[seth-burroughs]

I will not stay silenced any longer. I really cannot relate to the badass girlboss Yomi truthers crowd. I'm sorry but constantly being so obsessed with proving your prowess and supposed superiority via [gestures at every single time he appeared in the game only to act like an insecure manchild who has to continuously reassert his authority he feels entitled to with continuos self-praise, lashing out with petty insults, violence or even pettier wackier violence] are not the acts of someone who is at all secure and confident in their abilities and themself,

[tree-of-olives]

okay hi its me im here for the aforementioned criticism of

disclaimer: i only watched the first half of this movie before leaving in irritation so there is likely more to be added to my points. or less. who knows

this isnt even going to be a criticism of the horrible animation. the movie looks like it was made on an overmodded game of the sims 4 at best. that is pre-established, one glance at this atrocity and you can tell the animation quality is a giant issue for something marketed as a movie. my biggest thing though is the names.

ohh my god. holy shit. THE NAMES.

first of all let me establish my undying love of minion from megamind. i admire that guy with all of my heart. if the original megamind movie was solely about minion i would have been just as if not far more happy with it.

now obviously the copyright joke is relating to despicable me/the minions. but here’s the thing: they didn’t stop saying minion. they just went from calling a primary character minion to calling a DIFFERENT, NON-PRESENT CHARACTER MINION. WHAT.

like. how does just having a character get sued for his name resolve the (real?? nonexistant???) copyright issue????? going from calling the character minion to having all the characters start saying “Actually We Cannot Call Him That Because of Mr. Minion’s Meat Sticks™️” DOES NOT STOP THE FACT THAT THERE IS A CHARACTER CALLED MINION.ITS JUST A DIFFERENT CHARACTER NOW.

But okay!! you know what? i can get over that, right? to anyone who does not yet know where this is going, do me a favor and come up with any name you think would better fit minion from megamind. got your answer? guess what! you automatically win!! because anything you could have said is better than

OL. CHUM.

listen. if they were going to make minion trans i would be all for it. from minion to like, samantha? go for it! we’re all here for you. BUT TO RENAME THE GUY OL CHUM IS JUST PLAIN BULLYING?? WHO WOULD WANT TO BE CALLED THAT.GENUINELY.

that’s. it’s. i cannot deal with it im so annoyed by it it’s not even funny. blood is boiling.

moving on though!! on a less horrible note the one character who kept me on the edge of my seat (not because i was invested, but because i liked this character juust enough to keep myself from getting up and leaving for my own mental health’s sake) was the knight! who is named-

w. wait a second. is. is that.

is that night knight? from toby fox’s undertale?

wow haha!! what a coincidence!!! because this doom syndicate guy’s name just so happens to be nighty knight!!!!!

crazy right? apparently not crazy enough to warrant a cease and desist, but crazy!!

this guy doesnt actually piss me off, he was the least insufferable out of everyone. plus im a sucker for any characters with an even vaguely celestial theme soo he wins.

also i dont really remember but im pretty sure he had some other issue with his name?? but thats not relevant to my point here so im not looking into it. this has gone on long enough.

my last note on this is that he is actually just dark laser from the fairly odd parents which also should have warranted a cease and desist

anyway!! rant over. the moral of the story is i hate whoever decided it was funny to rename minion to old chum because IT WAS NOT.FUNNY

[bakafurai]

good day to all 5 people who ship Clemmy have this shitty ass no effort me meme

[izzy-b-hands]

I will be forever grateful i can be on this new med. it's one a lot of folks also need and can struggle to have access to! It's important i be on it, especially if i start doing any vid collabs

(some of which, really, all of which, i unfortunately actually need to cancel that were in the preplanning stages, bc the election results have me wanting to wait and see how the general atmosphere of the country is before i agree to meet up with anyone. I feel bad for cancelling, but also i just can't know for sure how safe things are/might be going forward and I'd rather avoid the potential of. ya know. various not great things that could happen at a meet up, tho i would certainly hope they wouldn't. i don't feel like actually addressing them rn, u guys know what i mean)

That said, if the truvada initial side effects could fuck off asap would be so lovely. three weeks at worst, then they should be gone/much better or so i am told. really hope that's true bc losing my mornings to being dizzy and nauseous is Not Working for me lmao. im on week two, and now understand why my new doc said to call if i needed any 'cheerleading' and support to get thru the side effects, bc apparently she's done that for several ppl to make sure they actually make it thru the three weeks and keep on it (lovely of her!!)

[thethingything]

we have a dentist appointment tomorrow and on the plus side we're not really anxious about the appointment itself because the dentist was so nice last time and actually took our medical trauma into account.

unfortunately though we do have to have anaesthetic which makes us feel like shit for at least the rest of the day, and no matter how considerate the dentist is, having a medical professional touch us at all does still trigger certain trauma and then I end up having a bunch of panic attacks at some point within the next few days and it's a really shit time. I really don't wanna have to deal with that and the concept of it is making me nauseous

[heksen-sabbat]

I hope you enjoy Robocop if you actually watch it! It’s in my top ten stupid action movies for sure

Hi I just finished it!!! Very good very silly very violent. Especially loved the robot who ate shit because he was too big to use the stairs lol

So far my second-favourite Paul Verhoeven movie out of the three I've seen. I've really liked all of them so far but sometimes I just think he doesn't address the impact of things that happened in the film enough yknow. idk they're all good I just love thinking about potential all the time lol

[aquariium-ediits]

figuring out who's edit accounts are who's is honestly so funny to me because I go and check a mutual's rentry and then find out their qpp is literally the person who inspired me to start editing and make this account.

there's other stories like that but that's the funniest/most interesting one. but still there's just something of being like "OH right you're this person"

[baejax-the-great]

Doing Snippet Sunday and WIP Wednesday every week forces me to look at what I've written over the past few days and see if any of it is ready to be seen by other people, and if not, then it forces me to edit it, and that's one of the reasons I like doing it every week.

[itsalwaysdark]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

��I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[bingusbongusminghiskinghis]

Dang I look fucking horrific holy shit

[lesbienneanarchiste]

Currently back in my nonfiction zone and I am thriving I'm telling ya. I wish I could find a better balance between fiction and nonfiction but tbh if following my natural inclinations leads me to reading mostly nonfiction by a large margin then I am no longer going to fight it. I started trying to convince myself to read more fiction a couple years ago bc it had gotten to an 80/20 point and there were novels I wanted to read but just did not pick up bc I'm really only motivated to pick up nonfiction but then I swung in the opposite direction to reading mostly fiction and I just don't enjoy it as much! I've read a lot of good books but like, I find my reading so much more fulfilling when I'm reading mostly nonfiction. That's just who I am now, which means I need to stop buying novels I'm not gonna read bc most of my physical tbr is fiction 💀

[fruitcakebin]

wrote the smallest excerpt (basically started with the end) of a little story i’ve had rattling in my mind for a while.

i’m no expert but i’m pretty satisfied with it so maybe i’ll get around to actually writing it once i get a new laptop, i don’t expect anybody to read it lmao but i need the practice cause a big part of my major centers around writing 🫠 (care to guess?)

it would be chan centric with changbin as a platonic soulmate and . lots and lots of angst. sorry in advance

love you my fans (me from the future reading back on this)