#this is so difficult for me and no one ever thinks about that

[midnite-c6]

we need desperate withdrawal needy namgyu smut🙏🏻🙏🏻

he was begging and EVERYTHING. like he was looking up at someone half of the time and it was so HOT. no proofread :<

｡⁠☆ you got thanos’s "special" cross necklace, hiding it from nam-gyu, and when he finds out you have it, he'll do anything for you to give it back!

warnings: 18+, sex, nam-gyu x fem!reader, needy!nam-gyu, dubcon, degradation || ♡

⊂•⁠.⁠✧ you find the cross necklace during the hide and seek game, right there on the floor. you knew nam-gyu had taken a hold of it ever since thanos got eliminated, but maybe it was for the best if he didn't have it, he was way too crazy and blood-thirsty when he was consuming those pills anyway.

without those pills, he was a mess! hands constantly rubbing on his blood-stained face, ruffling his own hair, and finishing his water bottle in a matter of seconds, he lived for those pills.

and when he sees you, during lunch time, eyeing a familiar piece of metal right on-top of your bed, he was speeding to get to you. you immediately notice him, and the best thing you could do was hide it in your pockets.

"fuck, i-i know you have it." you shake your head, feigning ignorance, "what?" you tilt your head to the side. "the- the pills! the fuckin' necklace, i know you have it! just give it to me!" he grabs your hands, though he was fairly weaker without the courage of ecstacy. you shake your head again. "we can share? c'mon just, please." he gets on his knees, knuckles clenched as he looks up at you with pleading eyes, you'd almost feel bad. "please, i'll do anything, anything!"

"well, can you do me a favor...?"

"what do girls like you even want in return?" you want to win. you want to live. you want to get out of these games alive. "y-you lookin' for uh- uhm, pleasure? yeah, can fuck you real good, just... just give it back in return." you were actually thinking about him being your guard to win the final game but— "really, is that the only thing you think girls want?" he manages to smile, "what else?"

"you look deprived. tired," he continues, ironic how he was the deprived one. "and i think you choose to be stubborn about giving it to me," he places both of his hands on either side of your legs. "cuz' you know i can force it outta’ ya..." you furrowed your brows, looking down at him, he was still in control. "i can make- make you feel good, just give it. you're so fucking difficult."

"m'having a fucking hard time." "we all are-" "yeah, but i'll die, might die without it, so please.. are you telling me you'd kill me?" you don't answer. "you're a heartless bitch, you're better than that, please?" he was so persistent in begging, like he'd forgotten how egotistical he was just a few hours ago, just because of withdrawal and sobriety.

what's the best next thing to drugs? sex. what were you supposed to do when he was so good at pleading his case?

you both manage to go inside the bathrooms, sharing a single bathroom stall. he's fucking you into the wall, hands gripping your waist, guiding you against his bucking hips. dick ramming in and outside of your dripping cunt. it wasn't hardcore or rough, it was sloppy and needy. the perfect amount of fast and pleasurable. he for sure needed to taste the drugs again, the feeling of your cunt is just an added bonus. "yesss... i bet- i bet you're feeling just as good as i do when i drug out." the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, for some reason it felt more pleasurable than painful than you'd originally imagine. maybe you were actually hungry for dick. nam-gyu was just the perfect guy for it.

he fucks you desperate, and it's honestly a win-win situation for him. he's glad you're the one who got it, since you're so easy, so easy to please and play with. "you're g'nna.. give it to me-" plap! plap! plap! "right after this-" plap! "yeah?" plap! "m'so good for you, and you're so good to me... fuck!"

he continues to fuck you, with no proper rhythm, just whatever feels right. mouth latched onto your neck, leaving not-so-subtle hickies all over, he's suddenly claimed you. "hope— they hear you, the guards- hope the other stupid fuckin' jerks hear you, moaning-" sometimes, he'd pull out his dick all the way, just to shove it all in again, just for that ecstatic feeling, he knows you like it, what else are you moaning for? "guess i know why stupid thanos would keep talking about a bitch like you- you feel good."

"and, after we win, yes, we're teammates now," he grins, looking down at you as he continues to mark your neck, the stinging pain being somewhat aided with his tongue licking the bites. "...don't forget it. since you're so sweet— wanna fuck you again, okay?" he gets the cross necklace from your pockets, fixing his pants and everything as he leaves you. poor you all messed up on the floors of the men's bathrooms.

in the end, he wins. he always does.

oh namgyu fans were fed this season . writer freedom is cray.

[avaricefics]

the winner takes it all | kimi antonelli social media au

| Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader

| Fans are starting to believe that Kimi's girlfriend, Y/n L/n, is a bad luck charm at races- he happily proves them wrong

| This is my first ever smau, so I'm still learning all the formatting and such. Please be patient!

f1updates

f1updates Kimi Antonelli's girlfriend, Y/n L/n, posted on her story about arriving to the Canadian Grand Prix. The last time she went to watch a Grand Prix live, at the Spanish Grand Prix, Antonelli DNFed. Should Mercedes fans be scared of a bad luck charm in the garage this weekend?

comments

user1 Still not over Spanish GP... maybe Y/n actually is bad luck lol

user2 the more you think about it the more it makes sense

-> user3 Her first in person GP since Kimi was in F2 and he DNFs...

user4 Always said he shouldn't have dated her

real life

You scrolled through your phone, barely blinking as all the hateful comments and mean words flashed past on the screen. You should be used to the hate, having dated Kimi since his F2 days, but it still made no sense to you. These people didn't even know you, and yet they thought they could say whatever they wanted about Kimi and your's relationship.

You tried not to let it phase you, you tried to pretend like it didn't hurt each time someone on the internet called you a 'terrible girlfriend' or a 'bad luck charm'. Formula 1 was Kimi's dream, and you hated the thought of ruining it with your own selfish insecurities.

It also bothered you how much the fans looked down on you for missing so many grand prixs at the beginning of the season. You hadn't meant to, but your older sister had given birth prematurely to triplets a couple weeks before the season started, and you had stayed at your family home in Italy to help out for those difficult first months.

Kimi supported you fully, of course. He understood the need to stick with your family, and help them when they needed it. Between races, he had even stopped by the house to help with the triplets himself.

You and Kimi had both been so excited for the Spanish Grand Prix, but clearly that didn't turn out so well. And honestly? With how much hate you were getting for attending the Canadian Grand Prix, you were half-tempted to fly back across the ocean to Italy to help change diapers.

You scrolled past another negative post, one that wondered why Kimi would date you if you were so basic looking. You shut off your phone and resisted the urge to chuck it against the wall.

"What's wrong, vita mia?" Kimi called from the other room of the hotel, noticing you despondently laying starfished across the bed. You couldn't help but smile at the Italian nickname.

"Just stupid people on the internet," you replied. Kimi walked out of the other room, holding a leftovers box with spaghetti and meatballs that he had been warming up in the hotel microwave. Even if the spaghetti wasn't as good as authentic Italian pasta, it reminded both of them of home just a bit.

"Are you looking at the bad luck posts again?" Kimi asked, upset. He hated that there were people who called themselves his fans who treated his girlfriend so cruelly. You nodded.

Seeing your face, Kimi didn't say anything, but instead set the leftovers down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed, his body angled towards you. You sat up, scooching towards Kimi so you could rest your head on his shoulder as both of you leaned back on the pillows.

"I'm sorry this is happening," Kimi said softly. "I got so caught up in my own dream, I hardly payed attention to the toll it was taking on you to be there, too."

"It's not that," you said, trying to think of a good way to describe how you felt. "I love supporting you, and getting to be a part of that dream. I just... wasn't prepared for the fans to not want me to be a part of it."

"Oh, carissima," Kimi whispered. He pulled you closer to him with his right arm, and rested his head on top of yours. You didn't even realize that tears had started to fall until he reached up to brush them away.

"I love you," you spoke quietly. "I love you, and it sucks that people don't see that."

"I love you too." Kimi reached over your side to grab the leftover pasta, handing you a fork and taking one for himself. "I'll fix this, amore. I promise."

kimi.antonelli

liked by yourusername, mercedesamgf1, user74 and 134, 092 others

kimi.antonelli Y/n and I have been together for years, and I am shocked and horrified to see with my own eyes people who call themselves my 'fans' turning against her. We love each other, in sickness and in health, in the happiness and in the hurting, and through both good fortune and bad luck.

Anyone who doesn't see that and respect our relationship, and my girlfriend, isn't a real fan by any means.

comments

yourusername <3

comments restricted on this post

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, georgerussel63, user10 and 184, 309 others

yourusername Mercedes 1-3 at the 2025 Canadian Grand Prix! I'm so incredibly proud, congratulazioni a entrambi! Let's go Kimi!!! (Something something bad luck charm... yeah, right. My boy is too good for luck :))

comments

georgerussel63 I see how it is... you get P1 and not even a picture

-> yourusername Gotta support the bf

->kimi.antonelli I'm her favorite 😇

->yourusername That too

[sashaforthewin]

[Oops, wrote a follow up]

Steve Harrington was surprisingly difficult to catch alone. One or more of his cronies were always glued to him, vying for his attention. If it wasn’t Tommy H. then it was one of his teammates or one of the popular girls.

Eddie got it, Steve was handsome and rich and, to top it all off, he was really nice. He had always been generous with his time, his attention, and his good fortune. Some people were just destined to be popular because when they paid attention to you, you felt like the most important person on earth for a little while. Nobody was immune to Steve's charm, even the people that hate him on principle. 

Eddie never hated him, though. He was sad that Steve had started ignoring him when they ended up at the same high school. But if Steve walked up and grabbed his hand again or pulled him up to his room to play like old times, Eddie would immediately forgive him all of his slights. Eddie didn’t know why Steve had decided to ignore him, but he felt in his heart that if he could get Steve alone, he could fix it.

It was so hard to get Steve alone, though, that he eventually resorted to hiding out in the boy’s bathroom near Steve’s last class. It took three days of hiding out before Steve actually came in, big clunky wooden hall pass in hand. Eddie quickly ran over to lock the door and block the way so Steve couldn’t escape without listening.

“Um, are you jumping me?” Steve asked, looking over from the urinal.

“Do you ever think about when we used to play together?”

“What? When did we play together?” Steve asked, confused. 

“When my uncle used to babysit you.”

“I don’t know your uncle, dude.”

“Wayne? He would always bring his nephew to play with you?”

“Oh, wait, you mean Eddie?”

“Yes,” Eddie said, “I'm that Eddie!”

“...isn't your name Freddie, though?” Steve asked, confused. “Yeah, you're Freddie Munson.”

“What, no! I'm Eddie Munson and we used to play together.”

Steve continued to stare, disbelieving.

“Uncle Wayne babysat you. Wayne Munson.”

“I didn't know he had a last name. I thought he was just called Wayne. Like Cher.”

“Whatever, I’m the boy you used to play G.I. Joes with.”

Steve cocked his head at him, assessing. “I can’t believe you're Eddie. I used to want to marry you,” Steve laughed.

Eddie couldn’t help the small smile from blossoming onto his face. 

“Yeah, well I used to find you really annoying. You always wanted to hold hands and were always kissing me and trying to cuddle.”

Steve looked down bashfully as he laughed. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t know that stuff wasn’t okay. Sorry.”

“No, I’m only sorry I wasn’t into it back then, I’d kill for that now.”

“Well, too bad I don’t do any of that anymore,” Steve admitted, sadly. He thought back on his dad and all the lessons he’d eventually managed to hammer home for Steve. He knew better now.

“If you ever wanted to do that kind of stuff again, just in private, I would gladly volunteer. Nobody would have to know,” Eddie shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound, he might as well take the shot. 

Steve fought to keep the smile off his face as he looked down at his feet, but then he glanced back up and could no longer fight the small smile as he responded.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Any time, day or night! I'll give you my number and my address! I'll give you Wayne’s schedule if you don't want him to know!”

Steve laughed and shook his head. 

“Quit being cute and get out, I still need to piss.”

“Your wish is my command! Day or night,” Eddie insisted as he unlocked the door and headed out, smiling and practically skipping on his way to go get some paper and a pen.

“Steve, your babysitter is here! Behave, don't make a mess, and we'll be back home around bedtime.”

Steve watched his parents greet an old man on the front porch, then leave. The old man had very little hair on top, but he had a friendly smile. As soon as his parents' car was gone, the man tapped on the window of his truck in the driveway and an older boy popped up.

“Steve, I'm Wayne and this is my nephew Eddie. I didn't have anyone to watch him and I didn't want to leave him alone, so I figured I'd bring him along and you two can play together.”

“Okay!” Steve said, excitedly. He grabbed Eddie by the hand as soon as he had climbed out of the truck.

“Uncle Wayne, I don't want to play with a baby!” Eddie complained.

“He's only about a year younger than you.”

“Which makes him a little kid,” Eddie pouted.

Steve was undeterred as he pulled on Eddie's hand to get him into the house and up to his room.

“My dad said I can't play house, so do you want to play G. I. Joe?”

“Sure,” Eddie shrugged.

“Okay, I'll be the mommy and you can be another mommy,” Steve told him.

“Wouldn't I be the dad?”

“No, dads are always mean but I don't want you to be mean.”

Eddie thought about that and decided Steve was right, dads are always mean. Even in TV shows they're usually mean to the mom.

“Yeah, alright, but we can still be married.”

“Obviously,” Steve stated, like it would've been truly dumb to think they wouldn't be married in this game.

Steve handed Eddie a G. I. Joe swaddled in a dish towel and they proceeded to carry them around like babies and pretend to feed them and change their diapers.

After a couple hours, the boys were called downstairs to have dinner. Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve knocked over his drink and then proceeded to cry. Wayne gave Eddie a warning look, though, so he didn't call Steve a baby out loud, he just thought it as loudly as possible. Then he felt bad for not liking Steve when he gave Eddie all the chicken nuggets he didn't want to finish and insisted they hold hands under the table. Despite thinking Steve was just a dumb little kid, he didn't hesitate running back upstairs to play after dinner. They were in the middle of a fairly good game, after all.

“Steve! Your parents are on the way home, you start cleaning up and getting ready for bed. Eddie, help clean up and then get your things!” Wayne called up the stairs.

“You should come back every time Wayne babysits, you're fun!” Steve said. He jumped towards Eddie and wrapped him in a big hug and leaned in to kiss him.

Eddie tried to wiggle out of the hold and away from the kiss, but Steve was decently strong, so he got hugged and a pair of puckered lips briefly pressed to his cheek. He made sure to wipe his cheek dramatically so Steve knew kisses were gross. Didn’t this kid know about cooties?

Then Eddie went and hid in the truck when Wayne told him to, and a few moments later, he heard Steve's parents pull up. They asked Steve if he had fun and Steve had proudly declared that he had played G.I. Joe all night and that he wanted Wayne to babysit every time.

[chuhees]

𝗘𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨୨୧

𝗕ℰ𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 prof! jake x fem! reader 爱. smut 18+ nsfw, praise kink, unprotected sex 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝑖𝐎

爱 : was a bit lazy to do my other layout so this is from my other account. lowkey wanna turn professor jake into a collection so send requests on diff scenerios.

A CONTINUATION OF PROFESSOR JAKE

𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙒 𝘾𝙐𝙏 (18+) 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄

you were confused, heart broken, and ready to cry. you weren’t sure what had upset you so much. the fact that professor sim was on a date with another female, or that you were thrown to the corner after he found someone better.

both thoughts stung worst than anything.

jake never gave you a label, just late night meet ups, incredible orgasms, obscure messages, his mouth on your most sensitive places. now he’s with someone else? taking her to a fancy restaurant and probably back to his place when the night is over.

your heart raced in your t-shirt, jake’s t-shirt. you pulled the covers over your body and tried to sleep, sleep off the aching feeling in your heart. he told you it’s just you and him, so why were you having such a difficult time believing it?

when you closed your eyes, trying not to think of it too much—a knock at your apartment door wakes you up, followed by a text from jake.

professor sim: open the door now.

you don’t waste a second, you jump out of bed and pace towards the door. you open the door, seeing jake standing there. his black button down showed a good portion of his chest, his dark dress pants hugging his bulge too perfectly.

“don’t ever say shit like that. you hear me?” jake breaths.

“like what?” your fingers shake gently against your door.

jake grabs your jaw, titling your face up to his view. “like how you’re not enough.”

your back hits the door, jake’s hands slide up your shirt—feeling every inch of your bare skin beneath. his voice drops low, sending shivers down your spine.

“i left her at the fucking restaurant. didn’t bother to go inside. got a speeding ticket on the way here—just to get to you.”

your lips part, words long forgotten. “y-you did?”

“now i’m gonna fuck you so deep, you forget anyone that isn’t me.” jake growls low.

jake drops to his knees, bunching your shirt around your waist. his eyes flicker upwards—dark, filled with obsession.

“no panties?” he whispers against your skin. “good fucking girl.”

jake’s mouth hits your folds, his warm tongue against your achy clit. he moans against your cunt—the taste of you is enough to make him cum in his pants. “fuck.” jake groans, one arm wrapped around your thigh to hold you in place.

“you’re dripping sweetheart. was this for me? or were you thinking about someone else.”

you don’t answer. you’re too busy grabbing his hair, pushing his face against your pussy—whimpering for more.

“you don’t need to think baby.” he murmurs against your clit. “just cum like you fucking mean it.” your legs shake, your head throws back against the door. you moan his name as you reach your climax, desperately.

jake stands up, his lips shiny. without saying anything, he picks you up—wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to your bedroom.

“you thought you weren’t enough.” he tosses you onto the bed, starting to unbutton his shirt—tossing it aside carelessly. “you drive me insane. you ruin me.”

jake kisses you deeply, his hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. his hands go barely above his knees, he’s desperate to be inside of you. jake lines himself up with your entrance, pushing inside without any notice.

“no teasing tonight.” he growls against your neck. “no slow. no gentle.”

you nod. “i can take it.”

“i know you can sweetheart.”

jake growns low against your throat, savoring the moment of being buried within your tight cunt. “you’re so fucking tight” he moans. “made for me, only me.”

jake starts to move within you, setting a punishing pace. his thrusts are deep, leaving you crying for more. his hands grip your waist, scared you’ll slip away.

“you think anyone can make you feel like this?” jake pants, voice breaking within every thrust. “you think any of those boys in class could fuck you like this?”

“no.” you cry out—in both pain and pleasure. “only you.. only you.”

“say it again.” jake licks your jaw.

“only you jake–”

jake leans in close, his lips nearly touching yours. “that’s my girl.”

your legs wrap around his waist, causing the angle to change. suddenly, jake’s hitting that sweet spot within you—leaving you crying, whimpering for more.

“cum for me baby.” jake coos, lips on your neck once more.

your body arches, your vision goes blurry. jake curses, slamming himself one more time in you before collapsing against your chest. his cum spilt all inside your hole—leaking ever so slightly from your folds.

you feel his lips press against your collarbone, leaving gentle kisses. “i didn’t want her.” jake murmurs. “i’ve never wanted anyone else.”

you turn your head, your eyes going soft.

“i want you.” jake says, his voice raw and low. “i’ll keep proving it if i have to. every damn time.”

the next morning you’re in class, legs crossed too tightly, tapping your pen against your note book carelessly. you can barely focus, especially from the night you had. now you had to come back to school and act normal? as if your professor wasn’t balls deep in your pussy?

jake walks in, his sleeves rolled up, hair a bit messy, shirt button undone—leaving a view fit for your imagination. a smirk on his face as he sees you squirming under your desk, he walks up—whilst your classmates continue to communicate with each other.

“something wrong?” jake asks, casually kneeled down beside your desk. “you look distracted.”

your eyes snap, you internally snap.

“i can still see my marks on your thigh. sit still baby before everyone sees.” he teases, knowing after this lecture—you’d be bent over his desk, moaning for more.

[m4mmonthebest]

oooo i need a fic where the reader is slobbering on Chance’s dick and he’s a moaning mess. ALSO MUTUAL MASTURBATION WITH CHANCE OMG

All very valid and spicy options.

You'd be playing with Chance, a common occurrence by now, usually dealing with a lot of flirting during your playtime. You decide to be very bold when he says if you roll the dice over 18 you can do anything you want.

You roll a nat 20. You aren't sure if that was your luck or if Chance had something to do with it. Either way he seemed happy enough, congratulating you with a slight blush coating his face.

"Anything I want?" You ask.

"Anything you want! You roll the dice, all is fair game..."

"I want to blow you."

He stays in the same spot for one minute. You begin to worry until he gives you the biggest grin, glasses shining with determination.

"W-well! Who am I to deny your well earned action! .... Uh.... Guess I should... T-take my pants off haha..."

He tries to look as if he isn't being affected. After all he was the one that brought the whole thing up. He is usually very bold with his advances, but one thing is saying stuff and another thing is committing to it.

He slides his pants off rather clumsily. You thought he should've been wearing underwear although thinking about it you don't see the reason why.

You kneel in front of him, hands resting over his big thighs. Seems like all the flirting up to this point was working, as he is already half hard.

"Excited?" You say with a sultry voice.

"Yes!!! Um- I mean- yes. Yes I am."

You begin to tease his inner thighs, licking and biting softly into the sensitive skin. He can't help but to give small grunts. You go further up and up leaving a trail of kisses which just makes him get increasingly more worked up.

You're now face to face with his dick. Not long but rather chubby, although you know with your drive it will get a bit longer. You lick a stripe down his cock and he whimpers, though he quickly covers his mouth.

Masterful licks make his semi hard dick into a full erect one. It's glistening with your saliva, which now clumps at your hand as you stroke him slowly. You put the tip to your mouth and suck and lick. You can feel his muscles tense under your hand resting on his thigh. He lets out small moans, cute ones which just make you want to see him break even more.

You pick up the pace, your head bobbing into the length as your hand massages his balls. He becomes increasingly louder, calling out your name in the process, he begins to pant, reminding you of an excited puppy.

"Hm! Ah-ngh...."

Looking into his eyes you can see his dilated pupils looking straight at you, his face is entirely red, and covered in sweat. He places his hand on top of your hair, not daring to pull on it.

You command him to keep his hands to his sides, which he quickly does apologizing.

You take him deeper and deeper, each time eliciting deeper and whinier moans. He bucks his hips on accident and the look you gave him made him shiver.

"S-sorry... I'm sorry..."

You decide to let it go this instance, but you are determined to overstimulate him now. As a little punishment of course.

You begin to concentrate on the head of his cock, which makes him twitch and jump on his seat, his hands forming fists on each side of his thighs.

"Ah-! P-please-That's-too much!!"

You keep abusing his head, stroking the rest of his cock faster and faster. You can feel it pulsating, ready to burst at any moment, you are also able to hear it, as his moans are louder than ever.

"I-I'm gonna c-"

You stop every single movement.

He looks like a kicked puppy, which is cute to you.

"Beg me to let you cum." You begin to stroke him slowly, painfully so.

"P-please..."

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum! I'll be good!! P-please? Please! I won't m-make ah! Make you angry ah! Again!"

You can see tears forming on his eyes as he bites his lip.

You decide to spare him, for now, and begin to work your magic again. It's not difficult to bring him to the brink again, quite easy actually.

He cums inside your mouth, which you don't swallow as you have a better idea. You caress his face and kiss him deeply, your tongue playing with his, sharing his own seed with it. He moans deeply into the kiss, liking the degrading bit of it all.

"Good boy Chance. Good boy."

(Not sure if I will be making the other one you asked, but I'll think about it! Please enjoy)

[petrichoravis]

In between history. | s.r.

★ part i

★ to the SERIES MASTERLIST here

summary: you help the team with a history related case, all while trying not to reveal your relationship with a certain doctor and fellow professor to his teammates.

word count: 3,1k

what to expect: spencer reid x history professor!reader, fem!reader, post prison!spencer duh, case details (abuse, grooming), fucked up timeline cause hotch is here and tara, luke and matt are missing (I love them, I just don't feel like I can give them justice), abrupt ending bc I didn’t feel like writing the take down, not proof read, English is not my first language.

a/n: she's here, I'm so nervous!! my first series.... it's all a little rushed bc of exams and bc I wanted to give it to you as quick as possible. I hope you enjoy it!!

──── ᝰ.ᐟ

He dreaded that this moment had come. He always knew that it would at some point, but he still wished it away.

They weren’t exactly stuck; Spencer didn’t have to consult you, but he knew that having you to spark ideas and bounce off of would be helpful. And the fact that you had niche knowledge of historic events that Spencer only had surface-level knowledge on certainly helped, too.

Not only did he not look forward to it because the team didn’t know you existed—not to mention that you were together—but also because he really did not want to drag you into the dangerous world that was the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI.

He had excused himself from the conference room ten minutes ago already and knew that he had to make a decision soon, or the team would get suspicious.

With a sigh, he pulled his phone out of his pocket for the third time, your number already lighting up the small screen where he had typed it in moments before.

When he did build up the courage to press the green button and pressed the small device to his ear, a part of him hoped that you were in a lecture. (He knew you weren’t; he had your lectures memorized.)

“Hey, Spence,” your voice greeted him from the other side of the line.

“Hello, love. How are you?”

“Better now.” He could practically see the amusement light up your eyes. “I had a really fulfilling conversation with one of my students today. Are you okay? You don’t usually call me in the middle of a case.”

Ever observant you, a thing that he usually loved you for. “No, no, everything’s okay.” He tried being vague, but it came across as an unconvincing lie.

“Do I need to decipher that for some kind of FBI code?”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders waning. It was just like you to quieten his worries with just a few soothing words. “No deciphering needed, I promise. The case is just a little difficult to figure out.”

“Can I help in any way?”

More than you knew, Spencer thought. More than you should have to.

“Yeah, actually.” Spencer cleared his throat, playing with the end of his tie. “The UnSub seems to have a fondness for history.”

“Oh, well, I think I can help with that.”

“Yeah,” he huffed, but quickly added, “you don’t have to, of course, we can figure it out by ourselves if you’re too busy.”

“No, it’s okay. Should I come to the office or…?” He could already hear you shuffling around your office in search of your jacket.

Spencer glanced up at the clock, 6:47 pm, “If that’s okay? We’re at the Quantico police department. Most of the team is still here.”

It was a quiet way of telling you that it was okay if you weren’t ready to meet them yet. You had been dating for almost half a year now and the conversation about telling and meeting the team was always something you communicated clearly.

The intention wasn’t to hide your relationship or feelings; it just didn’t feel like something the team had to know, given that they didn’t know you.

Spencer liked having a life separate from his work life and, while he loved the team, he didn’t want to have to share everything with them.

Now, with you potentially meeting them, the not-hiding part changed. Either you would have to act like you didn’t know each other past both being professors at the same university, or you would have to tell them you have been together for quite a while.

“I’m sure,” you said, shaking him from his thoughts, your voice reinforcing the statement. “If I can help catch a killer, I will.”

Spencer sighed as the call ended a minute later. He was worried, to say the least.

Things went wrong in the field every day and people suffered severe burnouts because of the things they saw. And now he was putting you into these situations for the sole purpose of catching an UnSub.

He left the room to find Emily and Morgan in the entrance area next to the coffee machine.

“There you are, pretty boy, we were starting to worry.” Morgan grinned, slapping Spencer on the back.

“Sorry,” he replied, wringing his fingers like they were doorknobs, “I had to make a call.”

Emily and Morgan looked at him, a bewildered expression on their faces.

“I, um, called a…consultant?” Spencer continued. God, this was gonna suck. “About the case, and she has agreed to help us. I just need to talk to Hotch—” He was already turning towards the stairs before Emily interrupted him.

“Whoa there, Spencer,” she stopped him before he could slip away from them. “Who is this consultant?”

“I would also very much enjoy that information.” Morgan crossed his arms.

Spencer suppressed a groan, turning back to face them. “She’s a professor at the university I teach at.” He said shortly, hoping it would be enough.

Of course it wasn’t. “A professor?” Emily had a way of sounding curious, all the while her eyes shone with mischief. “And you think she can help?”

“She specialises in history and historic texts. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have an expert's eye on the letter the UnSub wrote.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but he had a feeling he wasn't doing a very good job with that.

Morgan looked sceptical, but he let it go. But not without a smirk on his mouth. “Well, I’m very interested in meeting the mysterious professor who makes you pick up your cell phone.”

“I second that.”

They won’t ever let this go, Spencer groaned in his head. “Well, you will meet her if you would let me talk to Hotch.”

His tone wasn’t lost on them, but they let him go, anyway.

As he sped up the stairs to the unit chief's office, he could feel the teasing looks burn on his back.

He didn't dare to look over his shoulder as he knocked on the door and, upon call, entered and closed it behind him.

—

When you arrived at the PD, Spencer was already waiting outside like he had been there since the call ended.

Based on his body language, you could deduct that he was nervous, and looking over his shoulder you could see why. Two sets of heads were trying not to look like they were spying on you.

So you would have to go without the hello hug and kiss today. No problem, you could act as the acquaintance.

“Hello, Dr. Reid.” You said with a polite smile.

You could see the relief flicker across his face as he greeted you with your title as well, shaking your hand. His fingers lingered on yours a little too long to be friendly, but thankfully, his frame blocked the team's view of your hands.

As you walked into the PD, Spencer explained the case details that they had so far. “The UnSub places coins into the mouths of his victims after their death and dumps them near a river. We think it might be connected to the Ancient Greek tradition, Charon’s obol.”

You nodded along as he went on to tell you more. "I will look at it and try my best to see more useful information, but I am in no way as good as your team."

Spencer's look told you as much as to shut up. Lovingly, of course.

As you stepped into the building, you were greeted by Spencer’s team. It was almost surreal, like storybook characters coming to life in front of you.

They all greeted you with polite smiles and handshakes, introducing themselves by name as you did the same.

After the round of introductions came to an end, they led you into the conference room.

Cork and blackboards littered with crime scene pictures stood all over the room, a big table with files stood tall in the center. You could feel Spencer’s hand brush your arm in apology.

“We have a little bit of a slow spell at the moment.” JJ’s voice came from behind you. “Thank you for taking the time to come here and look at what we’ve got.”

“Of course,” you smiled at her as you finally all stood in the room. “As I’ve told Spe—Doctor Reid, I’m glad that I can be of assistance. Can I see the pictures?” You asked.

Emily nodded and handed you a picture of a man, his skin almost gray as he lay in the riverbed. Another photograph showed his mouth wide open, a silver coin placed on his tongue.

It was nauseating, to see a body folded up into a position it naturally shouldn’t be able to fold into, but you grit your teeth and tried to look at it as a statical thing to asses.

“The coin placed in the mouth is definitely referencing Charon's obol.” You agreed with Spencer’s earlier statement, looking back up.

Before the others could answer, the door opened and a female officer came in, a file in hand.

“Thank you,” Rossi said with a smile as she handed it to him. Flipping it open, he read, “The first victim's name was Gabriel Treuden. He went missing in April two years ago.”

“Which means the UnSub kept him for about ten months. Just like his last victim.” Said the blond you came to know was Jennifer.

“Ten months you said?” You perked up. “Does he keep all of his victims for ten months?”

“That’s the assumption we are working with.” Morgan nodded, frowning a little.

“I think I know what he is doing.” You stood up quickly, walking towards the whiteboard and picking up a marker out of habit. Once a professor, always a professor. “Have you ever heard of Ostracism?”

Your hands fiddled with the pen after you finished writing the word on the board. Standing in front of the team you had only heard good things about turned out to be even more nerve-wracking than teaching a lecture in front of university students.

Spencer’s eyes lit up with recognition and he looked at you. “Of course, why haven’t I thought of that?”

Morgan and Emily glanced at each other without saying a word, but it was clear to both of them what the other was thinking: you and Spencer were made for each other.

“Care to explain to us illiterates what you geniuses are on about?” Morgan teased.

“Oh, sorry.” You said quickly. “Ostracism was an Ancient Greek tradition. It primarily took place in Athens, but other Greek communities had things similar to it, too. They would vote for a person once a year and if you won, you would be exiled for ten years, as a way to eliminate a threat identified by the community.”

“He shortened the time. Probably because his urges are too strong. A vote, most likely made by himself, a month apart instead of a year and the time he has them exiled for is ten months instead of ten years.” Spencer continued.

Hotch nodded, “Rossi, Morgan, I want you to speak with the Treuden family. Garcia, search for connections between him and the other victims and try to find out as much information about Gabriel as possible.” He told the technical analyst over the phone. Then he turned to you. “Would you be open to staying here in case anything happened?”

You nodded, smiling politely, “Of course, Mr. Hotchner.”

He gave you a small smile and looked at Spencer. Without even having to open his mouth, Spencer knew what he was going to say.

“I’ll stay, too.” He nodded.

His boss gave him a knowing look behind your back before departing.

—

The files and crime scene photos had long moved to the back of your minds as you and Spencer were left to yourselves in the conference room.

“I’m sorry for having to involve you in this situation,” Spencer said in the way he did when he was afraid of hurting people around him. “It was never my intention for us to have to hide, much less meet the team under these circumstances.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, “Spence, I really am happy to help, I promise. Your team has been so nice to me and this is why I became a professor, anyway.”

“To hide your relationship with an FBI agent from his team?” Spencer joked, tilting his head to the side.

“To be paid and valued for my rambling,” you grinned lovingly, “but, yeah, I might have had an ulterior motive when I chose my career path.”

Spencer had a look when he was happy: a small but proud smile and soft eyes. He looked at you like that now and even though you were in the middle of a police station, with the possibility of his team coming back any minute, you felt the irresponsible urge to kiss him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Spencer huffed, fiddling with his hands.

“Like what?”

He rolled his eyes a little, “You look like a teenager in love.”

“The whole secret relationship thing has been getting to my head a little.” You laughed softly. “Sneaking around, kissing in broom closets, hiding from the adults. Those are all things my students do.”

Spencer tried his best not to squirm in his seat. You had the fascinating ability to turn him right back into the awkward nerd he thought he’d shed in prison.

It felt refreshing in ways he never thought it would. After those three month, he was convinced no one would ever make him feel like a blushing fool again. And he had never much felt like a teenager, either.

He could never tell you how thankful he was for you, no words in the English language have been invented to explain this amount of gratitude.

“We haven’t kissed in broom closets.” Spencer tried to sound as flirtatious as you, but had the feeling that he sounded more like he had no idea what to say.

“No,” he saw the way your eyes shone and already knew what you’d say next would make the flush creep higher up his neck before you said it. “But we have a few more minutes of your team being gone.”

“I guess we do.”

—

The sun was rising and your lips were bare of any lipstick, red for an entirely new reason.

The team came back just the hair of a second after you sat back down at the round table to start pretending you had gotten any work done in their absence. Bless Spencer’s feel for timing.

They weren’t able to figure out much more besides that almost all of the UnSub’s newer victims’ children went to the same high school at some point.

Just as they weren’t sure what to do next and Hotch was going to send them home, an officer stormed in. “They were able to identify the last victim. His name was Charles Smith, forty-three, also married with children.”

You glanced at the board, where the victims' pictures and personal information were pinned. They were all over forty years old. A memory came loose in your brain, but you couldn’t quite shake it free.

Older men with families…UnSub being in his early twenties…

You replayed the case details they told you in your head.

Charon’s obol…Ancient Greek…

“What is it?” Spencer asked as he saw the creases between your brows.

It clicked just as Spencer’s eyes met yours.

“Nothing, I just...The UnSub has only targeted married men over the age of forty so far, right? And you profiled that he would be about twenty years old?”

You were met with nods and looks full of confusion.

“It could be a coincidence, but given that he has made other nods to Greek mythology…We have many records that same sex relationships were something that the Ancient Greeks used as a mentorship kind of thing. The ideal relationship was a teenager and a married man with a family, so the older man could serve as a mentor to the younger.”

Spencer’s eyes had wandered to your lips while you were talking. You quietly cleared your throat with a teasing smile and Spencer’s eyes jumped back to yours.

His eyes widened. Being subtle really didn’t turn out to be his strong suit. He cleared his throat and looked away from you, but you caught the rust of blood that painted his cheeks a rosy pink.

You pretended that you didn’t notice JJ and Emily looking at both of you.

“He probably read books about Greek culture and it grew into a delusion of living in Greece in that time period. It must have been the way he coped with the abuse.” Spencer theorized, rubbing the side of his neck.

Hotch pulled out his phone. “Garcia, cross-reference the students of the high school with people who were groomed by married men while they were in their teens about eight years ago.” Hotch told Penelope. Or, well, the telephone-Penelope.

“Already done, sir.” She chirped back, keys clicking in the background. “And,” she dragged the word out as the computer loaded. “A Lenard Phillips fits the profile like I fit into Derek Morgan’s bed. Which is to say perfectly, if I might say so.”

Morgan laughed. “Address, sugar.”

“You should know by now that I'm not an amateur. The address will be on your cells quicker than you can say ‘you are out of this—”

“You are out of this world, baby girl.” Morgan grinned as he said the words at the same time as her.

You looked baffled. Spencer would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “I thought I warned you.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Has anyone ever filed a complaint?” You asked quietly.

Spencer shook his head. “Even if they tried, I think it would go nowhere.”

Hotch got up from his chair and the others followed suit. “We have no time to waste. Let’s go. Garcia, search for more on Phillips and brief us in the car.”

You watched them get into motion like a carefully choreographed stage play, all of them slipping into their roles as agents.

Following them towards the door, you found Spencer’s hand and squeezed it as a small act of love and support. He turned to look at you sorrowfully. He hated leaving you for a case, even if it wouldn’t be for long this time.

“I have to go.” He said sorrowfully. “I will call you when we've got him in custody.” He promised.

“Be careful,”

“I will.” He hesitated, eyes lingering and searching your face.

You shook your head with a smile. “You do your job and think about your well-being, don’t worry about me.”

He walked towards the door, his hand staying in yours until the distance got too big. As he walked out of the doors of the police station, you could have sworn you heard him mutter a quiet “that’s impossible” under his breath, just before the doors closed behind him.

──── ᝰ.ᐟ

thank you for reading! feedback is very much appreciated and keeps me motivated! 𝜗𝜚

🏷️ @yourlocalconfusedhomo

[veal-exe]

As a heads up this is extremely difficult for me to read because the lack of line breaks does not play nicely with my vision issues or my ESL status, so hopefully I've parsed it correctly.

Well you see, step one is he needs to shut up and listen to trans men before he even opens his mouth to apologize. And I’m going to be very honest, in my opinion, anyone saying “but how will he learn if he can’t speak?” are acting like “shut up and listen” means “no cis person can ever speak to a trans person again,” when what it really means is “don’t center yourself in a conversation you don’t belong at the center of.”

PDB wasn’t asking respectful questions. He wasn’t confused and trying to learn. He was very confidently telling (black) trans men they aren’t oppressed because (white) trans women are more oppressed, as if oppression is a single file line. And he was doing so while parroting a TRF-aligned narrative that dismisses transmasc oppression as either imaginary or self-inflicted. That’s not curiosity. That’s conviction, and it’s harmful.

This “but he needs to have conversations to learn” angle falls apart the moment you realize that none of what happened looked like learning. It looked like a white cis man deciding which trans people he personally found more trustworthy, and then speaking over everyone else using their words no critical thinking, no curiosity, no self-reflection.

And even if he had been asking questions, I’m going to push back on the idea that marginalized people are obligated to be the educators of people who are harming them.

Cis men are not incapable of learning quietly.

There are trans writers, scholars, educators, public figures, activists, archives, zines, panels, blogs, entire books and video essays made specifically to help people learn without putting the burden on individuals.

So no, I don't have to have a conversation with him, I'm not his mommy or his daddy or his middle school teacher, so even if he weren't blocking every single transmasc person who, very politely, have tried to educate him, which he is, then I still wouldn't have to be personally responsible for taking him gently by the hand and babying him through no longer being a raging bigot.

And even if we set all of that aside: this conversation is about intercommunity dynamics. PDB did not just speak on a “trans issue,” he inserted himself into a long-standing conversation between trans people about relative visibility and treatment, and decided to name himself an authority as a cis man. That’s the part that should’ve stopped him cold.

So no. The problem isn’t that people are being “too harsh” about cis people speaking or whatever the implication here is. The problem is that the bare minimum of allyship is “learn who this conversation is for, and whether your voice is actually needed in it,” and the bar is not too high for people to reach without being handheld.

The only place white cis men have in trans discourse is sitting down, being quiet, learning, and standing up for trans people against their fellow cis people.

That also means not blindly parroting hateful transphobic rhetoric from other trans people, because some trans people are transphobic (TRFs, Transmeds, Truscum, etc), as an example, if you were a white cis man and you had a trans friend who was constantly telling you that say, and I’m gonna make something up here that hasn’t happened, but say you have a trans friend who’s constantly saying people who don’t want to start HRT aren’t REALLY trans.

you would have no business thinking, repeating, or pushing that. You’re obligated to listen to the whole community, not just the ONE trans friend you have spewing bigoted rhetoric. This goes doubly so if your bigoted trans friend is white because then they should also be sitting down and listening to the poc in the community.

Cis White Men have no place giving their thoughts and opinions about how the kind of trans person they like less isn’t oppressed. They definitely don’t get to say they ‘have tboy swag’ while being actively transphobic and uplifting TRFs, stop, cis white boy, stop, etc.

Cis white women don’t either ftr, no cis person does, but this is about a specific event.

[leviathanspain]

you know i’m no good

jack abbot x resident!reader

synopsis: after regretting what happened between you two, you come to realize that it’s not always all about you

it was an incredible kiss. granted, jack abbot was incredible at everything he did. it shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. under the cold exterior of a jaded war vet doctor, was tenderness.

his salt and pepper hair was gripped tightly between your fingers, his hands tugging at the drawstring of your scrub pants.

you halted his hands and laughed softly, “jack-“ you said his name to grab his attention, watching as his hands fumbled nervously at the strings. you had never seen him nervous, ever. not even in the thick of it in the pitt, he hardly broke a sweat.

jack looked up and parted his lips. you put a finger to them, and helped him undo the strings.

you couldn’t remember the last time that you had worked so late. it had been a few weeks or so since your request to switch from night to day shifts. you’ve been avoiding jack. as difficult as it was, dodging his calls and crossing all your fingers and toes that you don’t run into him during shift change- you realized that you couldn’t do this forever. switching shifts was only a temporary, if you even wanted to call it one, fix.

especially when you had days like today.

it was your day off, you had been sleeping off the last twelve hour shift when your phone started going off. you answered, unaware that you would be walking into a total shitshow. a shooting had occurred at pittfest, and they needed all hands on deck. being in your last year of residency, you valued your days off like the holy grail, but you never failed to show up when needed.

“oh thank god-“ your eyes started snapping mental pictures of all the chaos around you, only settling on robby when he spoke, “mass casualty protocol. red zone, go.” he barked his orders and you nodded, not even taking a second to blink before finding the dozens of injured patients with red tags.

“dr. l/n.” his voice dragged with surprise. his expression was unreadable, and you weren’t going to start dissecting it when you had work to do. you acknowledged him, “dr. abbot, nice to see you.” there was a stiffness in your voice and he took a second before blinking, “yeah.” jack was clearly upset now, and furrowed his brows before turning back to his patient.

you cursed mentally, and cringed. you couldn’t have caught a better break than hearing your name shouted from across the pit.

it was hours until you saw jack again. you hadn’t needed his assistance, as you had stayed with robby up until one of the med students pulled you away. now you were walking back to the pit, weariness heavy on your bones. the most critical patients were moved upstairs and into surgery.

dana saw you first, waving you down, “day shifts gotta go, wrap it up and head out.” she rubbed your arm, giving you a small smile. she had noticed your mood, but didn’t push it. you’d come to her when you were ready, they always did. you nodded, and started clacking away at the nearest keyboard, adding the final touches to your patients’ charts.

“we need to talk.” you saw his veiny forearm first, slung across the counter as he planted himself behind your monitor. you pursed your lips, to help you retain your composure but also because you felt stupid for thinking that he wouldn’t confront you.

“let me finish this first.” you continued to clack away and expected him to leave but he remained in his spot. you two were going to talk, no matter what.

jack opened the door to the rooftop for you. such a gentleman, always was. even going as far as to give you his jacket, knowing you never brought your own. there was a strange taste in your mouth, realizing that he still had this kindness for you.

“i-“ you didn’t even know where to begin, “im sorry.” you wanted to fade away into his jacket, his warm yet thick jacket that he never wore. it smelled like him regardless, of his soap, his aftershave, his cologne, him.

jack didn’t say anything, just moved closer to the edge of the roof, he remained still, “what happened?” he said it like he had spent weeks trying to figure out what he did wrong. you walked towards him, staying behind the rail, and hesitantly grabbing his hand. you half expected him to pull away, but he didn’t.

“it’s me, jack.” you felt the wind blow coolly at your face. how he was not freezing was beyond you, “i don’t know. i thought i could handle it but i can’t i- i just know im no good for you, jack.” your hand clutched tightly at his. you wanted to be close to him, your body yearned for his.

even with this rail separating you, you could feel his warmth radiating. as if he could feel your eyes on him, he turned, his hand falling from yours.

you stepped back as he swung his leg over the railing. he didn’t say anything as he reached for you, grabbing at your waist and kissing you roughly. you didn’t move as you kissed him, he was desperate, hungry for you.

you pulled away, putting your hands on his chest to catch your breath. he stared at you, eyes searching in yours, until he breathed in, “that was the dumbest fuckin’ thing i’ve ever heard you say.” the serious inflection to his voice surprised you.

he shook his head, “don’t ever say that to me again, it’s bullshit and even if it was the truth, it’s too late to start caring now.” jack abbot was hooked on you, you some resident who thought it would be cool to flirt with her attending, not knowing it would end up where it did.

you laughed, a dry laugh but a laugh nonetheless. you hit his chest with a gentle force. “so you’re just forgiving me for ignoring you for weeks?” you raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, “not after you switched shifts to get away from me.”

you couldn’t help but grin, “mm, that really was the cherry on top wasn’t it? at least i’ve been learning a lot from robby.” jack rolled his eyes and feigned jealousy, “as if that old man could teach you anything.” you scoffed, “yet somehow i continue to learn from you?” jack couldn’t help but laugh at that, grabbing you to kiss you once more.

[cvrnelians]

maps - chapter two

Carmen Berzatto is your best friend—well, was. You’ve begun to distance yourself from him, and he is determined to figure out why. When he finally confronts you, he finds it’s not quite what he thinks it is.

depression, angst, 18+ only

CHAPTER ONE // CHAPTER THREE

Chapter Two

🐻 Ten years ago 🐻

“Who taught you how to do this?” you asked, flipping through the pages of the sketchbook. Carmy’s fingers twitched as you did so. He was allowing you to see his artwork, albeit reluctantly. With each page you turned, he felt increasingly more anxious. He felt the need to scoot closer towards you and peer over your shoulder, all so he could justify himself.

I was having a bad day when I drew that. That’s why the linework is so shaky.

That was just for fun. I wasn’t being serious.

I used charcoal for that. I wasn’t used to working with charcoal. That’s why it turned out a little messy.    

“Do what?”

“Do this,” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who taught you how to draw?”

He shrugged. “Myself, I guess.”

“Really?” you asked. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I know they’re a little rough—”

“The best artists are always self-taught.” 

You smiled at him as his cheeks turned red, shoving him slightly.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a small book of your own, passing it to him. “It’s only fair, right?”

His eyes widened as he opened it. He flipped through each page slowly and carefully, as if he was holding something made of glass. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You raised your eyebrows, amused.

“Who taught you how to do this?” he asked.

Irrespective of talent, drawing was a shared talent of yours. In your eyes, your art couldn’t compare to Carmy’s. You were good, sure. But his illustrations were sharper, clearer, more detailed. He saw the world differently than other people.

His brow furrowed as he turned to a page in your sketchbook, a page you’d forgotten about. It was one of your moodier drawings. A woman screaming, caught in the center of a tornado of letters—words.

NOT GOOD ENOUGH. 

Your stomach dropped. 

He paused for a moment, then turned to look at you.

“You can tell me things, you know,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t judge y—”

“It’s just a drawing, Carm,” you said simply, pulling the book from his hands. 

And you feigned a smile. 

🧸

💌 Present day 💌

It was never fun to be on the receiving end of a Carmen Berzatto meltdown. 

Carmy was a fairly mild person on an average day. Endlessly anxious, sure, but subdued. Shy, even after all these years you had known him. But every once in a while, he had times where everything became too much, and he’d snap and fall apart. He would completely unravel at the drop of a hat, lashing out at whoever was closest to him. It wasn’t difficult to tell where he’d gotten it from. His childhood had been utter chaos. And so, he’d done this to you a handful of times. Yelling, screaming, talking with his hands. 

Tonight, at approximately 9:35pm on your 28th birthday, was one of those times. 

You were outside your apartment smoking a cigarette when he approached, flowers in hand. Violets. Your favorite. You couldn’t avoid him if you wanted to.

And god, did you want to.

It had been a little over a year since you’d last seen him. 

It was nothing personal. Not really. You were in the thick of it, battling the most intense depressive episode you’d ever had. Over time, you began to slowly isolate yourself from the ones closest to you. Your parents, your sister, your friends. Carmy was just one of many casualties. No one was safe. It was too painful to be around him, to be around anyone. Because in your eyes, you didn’t deserve to have friends. You didn’t deserve to have anyone. You simply weren’t good enough. 

Of course, you had no idea how to explain this to him.

And so, just as soon as you saw him, you were scrambling back towards your front steps.

“Hey!” he called out, a touch of anger in his voice. “Hey!” You started to speed walk, avoiding eye contact. 

That was a mistake. 

He ran out in front of you, preventing you from going back inside. You got a good look at him as he stood there. Carmen. Your Carmen, with his messy hair and dark undereye circles. He looked tired. Weathered.  

It wasn’t at all unusual for him to appear stressed, but it felt different this time. Because this time, it was your fault. You were causing him to feel this way, and you knew it. You of all people. His supposed best friend, the one who used to cheer him up when he was sad. The one he used to cook for, make drawings for. The one he shared his secrets and innermost thoughts with. You felt a sharp stab of guilt as he came closer towards you, a pang of dread. Carmen was sensitive. You knew you hurt him, and for that, you felt worse than you already felt. A difficult feat to achieve, given your current state of mind. 

“Are you serious right now? What, you’re just gonna run back inside? Seriously?”

“I–I didn’t see you,” you stuttered, eyes wide. 

He scoffed. “Right. You didn’t see me walking right in front of you. What the fuck?”

“I didn’t see you!”

“Bullshit!”

“Jesus, Carmen. I’m sorry, okay?”

Your apology only seemed to escalate him further. “Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry? Do you wanna know how long it’s been since I last saw you? Over a year. You’ve been avoiding me for over a year.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you!” 

Another mistake.

His face began to turn red. “No? What exactly have you been doing, then?”

You stared at him for a moment, lost for words. Because you had been avoiding him, and you had no clue how to tell him why. It was too…big. Too embarrassing. Too scary. The words raced through your mind.

Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“It’s late, Carm.”

“I don’t care!”

You shushed him. “I have neighbors,” you said, keeping your voice low. “People can hear you. You want to talk? Fine. We can talk, but it’s going to be just that. A talk. But if you don’t stop screaming, this conversation is over.”

He rubbed his hand across his face, taking a deep breath. 

“Alright?” you pressed. 

He sighed. Nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”  

You sat down on the porch steps. He shot you a look, eyeing the door as if to ask why you weren’t inviting him in, but quickly regrouped and sat down next to you. 

You broke the silence.

“Cigarette?”

He shook his head. “I quit.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You?”

“A few months ago. You would know that if you—” he stopped himself, taking another deep breath. You moved away from him slightly, recoiling. Preparing for the next blow. He sighed and nodded again. He didn’t like upsetting you. “Yeah. I’ll have one.”  

“Trade?” you asked, motioning towards the bouquet wrapped in plastic. He chuckled in spite of himself, taking the cigarette and lighter from you as he gently passed you the flowers. 

He cut straight to the point. “You gonna tell me what I did wrong now?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you sighed.

He scoffed. “Alright. So this is what we’re gonna do?”

“What?” you asked, confused.

“No. No. You always do this,” he said, his voice cracking. “You always do this!”

“Always do what?” The plastic in your hands made a crackling noise as you gripped onto the bouquet, knuckles white. 

“Why can’t you ever just say what you need to say?”

Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

You had to get him to go away somehow. 

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” you said, raising your voice.

“I thought you said you wanted to talk,” he snapped. 

A neighbor opened his window, yelling. “We can hear you, you know!”

You were both quiet, waiting for the window to close. He sighed when it did, putting out his cigarette and standing up. “You want to keep avoiding me? Fine. It’s already been a year, why not aim for another?” 

“Carmen—” you said, eyes filling with tears.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong, you know where to find me,” he snapped. “Happy birthday.”

And then he walked away, taking your lighter with him.

[certaimromance]

𝄢 Last Kiss.

Spencer Reid x Ex gf!reader

speak now; mini series | chapter one, two, three, four

Summary: Ever since he found out about your boyfriend, Spencer has been dreaming about you telling him that you broke up with him. Unfortunately, just when he thinks it's about to happen, something unexpected occurs.

Words: 4,4k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a mini series, so make sure you're on the right chapter. fem!bau!reader. mentions of serial killers, injuries, weapons, hospital, and marriage. suggestive themes. angst. love triangle?. second chance romance. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Don't hate me and trust me, I promise this will be good and beautifully dramatic at some point! I always fix my messes.

Spencer Reid cared about everything.

He cared about how you felt and whether you’d remembered to eat that morning or if you were running solely on coffee and nerves again. He cared about the soft tremble in your voice when you were tired and the way you tried to hide it behind a smile. He cared about the color of your clothes, how you always wore that pale blue sweater on rainy days, and how you wore his favorite one, the one with the tiny embroidered stars, on his birthday every single year, even after you’d broken up. He cared about the way your hands shook when you kissed him goodbye for the last time, a year ago, the day the two of you sat in his car in silence for ten minutes before finally saying the words: we can’t do this anymore. The day you promised to be friends, even as your voice cracked and your heart didn’t believe it.

But more than anything, he cared about your arm: about whether the wound you’d sustained three months ago during that chaotic confrontation with an unsub had truly healed. Not just the surface, not just the skin, but the muscle beneath. The way you favored it now without realizing. He cared about your comfort when you stepped into the bullpen for the first time in months, about how the welcome-back party felt to you, and whether the pastel pink balloons, the ones Garcia had so carefully picked out, were too bright or too childish or just right. Whether the fresh flowers on your desk—tulips, your favorite—weren’t hidden by paper stacks or the giant “WE MISSED YOU” card signed by the team. He cared that you felt safe, surrounded by people who loved you. People who had waited for you.

And—God help him—he cared, maybe most of all, whether you were still with him. Not him Spencer. Him, the man you’d started seeing six months after the breakup. The one who worked normal hours, who didn't have to ask you for time in the middle of a difficult case because he was overwhelmed, who was the kind of doctor everyone listened to, who could hold your hand in public without risking an internal investigation. The one who was, in every practical way, perfect.

“Would you like some cake, Spence?”

Your voice pulled him back like a soft tether, gentle but impossible to ignore. He blinked, realizing just how long he’d been staring: at the tulips on your desk, at the fading scar beneath your sleeve, at you. At the quiet miracle of your return and the way you somehow still looked like home, even in this too-bright conference room.

You stood beside him now, close enough that he could count the delicate flecks of frosting on your wrist from where you’d accidentally brushed the edge of the cake. It made him ache, the domestic intimacy of it, the memory of a hundred ordinary moments you used to share without thinking. And that scar…it still pulled something sharp and helpless from the center of his chest every time he looked at it.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Sure. Thank you.”

You handed him the plate, your fingers grazing his. The contact was brief, but enough to steal the breath from his lungs. For a second, everything folded in on itself—time, memory, the hollow distance between now and then. It felt like before again. Like your laugh still lived in his apartment. Like your toothbrush was still by his sink.

And God, he wanted to hug you again. Not the careful, too-brief one from earlier when you stepped out of the elevator. Not the one that was polite and practiced, the kind you give to coworkers returning from medical leave. No, he wanted you, your arms around him like they used to be, like he could hold onto you and never let go.

You both stood quietly now, shoulder to shoulder, angled toward the break area, watching the rest of the team. Garcia was dramatically scolding a stack of rebellious napkins that kept catching on the air vents, while Emily crouched beside her, trying to weigh them down between fits of laughter. JJ had a photo of Henry as a baby in her hand and was showing it to Morgan, who burst into a wide grin and said something that made her roll her eyes fondly. Hotch and Rossi were nowhere to be seen, probably tied up with some quiet bureau matter behind one of the closed doors.

Everything looked the same. The lights, the voices, the energy. But standing beside you, Spencer felt how different everything truly was.

“Three months is a long time,” you murmured, your voice soft. “Feels like I forgot how to be here.”

He glanced at you, his chest tightening. “You didn’t.” His voice was low and certain. “You just paused. Now you’re pressing play again.”

You gave a half-smile, tilting your head. “That’s a very you way to put it.”

He smiled too, but there was something else behind it. Something unspoken. Something fragile and too big for a room full of unspoken rules and people pretending not to watch.

You took a bite of the cake, slowly, as if you weren’t even tasting it. Then you set the plate down on the windowsill. You didn’t look at him when you said it.

“I was going to call you. A couple of weeks ago.” Your breath hitched a little. “I had something I wanted to tell you.”

His pulse jumped. “Why didn’t you?”

You hesitated. “I didn’t know if I had the right…or if you were busy with a case.”

He turned toward you then, fully, plate forgotten in his hand. “You always have the right. Even if I’m busy. Even if…” He trailed off, too aware of how close you were. “Especially if it’s something important.”

You finally turned to him then. Your eyes met his with a softness that stunned him. It wasn’t the tired, cautious gaze of two people trying to stay in each other’s orbit after a breakup. It was something else. Something warmer. Braver.

Your lips parted slightly, like you might say it right then. Whatever it was, whatever had lingered in your chest for weeks, you looked ready to say it.

And Spencer leaned in, just a little. Drawn by that pull he thought he’d finally trained himself to ignore. But he hadn’t. He never could. Not with you.

His chest was tight with everything he’d missed: your voice in the morning, your shoes by his front door, the way you always touched his shoulder when you passed him in the kitchen. He saw all of it in a blink. And something else, the tremble in your fingers. The same tremble you’d had the first time you’d told him you loved him, whispering it across the space between your bodies like you were afraid it would break the world if you said it too loud.

“Agent,” Hotch called from the hallway, his tone low but expectant. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

You blinked, breath hitching, and stepped back like the sound had broken a spell. Your hand fell from the windowsill. The words disappeared again.

“Of course,” you said quickly, brushing your hands off on a napkin. You glanced at Spencer, apologetic. “I…I’ll tell you later, okay?”

You touched his arm gently, nervously, and then you were gone, moving toward Hotch with a practiced, measured pace. He stood there, frozen in place, the imprint of your touch burning through his sleeve.

A few seconds passed before Morgan appeared beside him, holding a second slice of cake and chewing thoughtfully.

“You okay, pretty boy?”

Spencer startled slightly. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Morgan gave him a look—the kind of look that said, Don’t lie to me; I’ve seen you lost in a footnote, and this isn’t that. He followed his friend’s gaze as it lingered on the door you’d disappeared through.

“So. That wasn’t about the frosting, huh?”

Again, Spencer tried to play dumb, but his voice came out rough, like someone who hadn’t spoken in hours. “What?”

“Don’t even try it. You’ve been stuck on her since she walked back in here. What happened just now?”

Damn, that was the biggest problem of working with profilers.

Spencer didn’t look at him at first. Just exhaled slowly. “She was about to tell me something.”

Morgan stood next to him, arms crossed loosely, cake in hand but forgotten. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, “I figured.”

Spencer nodded, then shook his head once like he was trying to clear it. “It felt like something…real. Something important. The way she looked at me, the way she kept hesitating. I—I thought she was going to tell me she—”

He cut himself off, embarrassed suddenly by the hope in his voice. The part of him that still believed maybe, after everything, you were still his.

Morgan waited a second, then said quietly, “You’re still in love with her.”

Spencer didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“You never stopped.”

It wasn’t a question. Just the truth, spoken gently.

He finally looked at his friend. His voice was soft. “Do you think it’s stupid? Holding onto something that ended a year ago?”

“No, man. Not when it looked like that.” Morgan met his eyes.

After a beat, Spencer spoke again, quieter now. “Do you…um. Do you know if she’s still with him?”

Morgan glanced sideways at him. “With who?”

“The…guy,” Spencer said, awkwardly adjusting his grip on the plastic fork in his hand. “The one she was seeing. The emergency medicine fellow with the curly hair. She mentioned him once. Or Garcia did. I can’t remember who told me first because my brain blocked it. But I remember his name was Sean. Or Seth.” He paused. “Something statistically overrepresented among men born in the 1980s.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, just a little. “I haven’t heard anything. But that doesn’t mean much. She wouldn’t exactly come to me for relationship talk.”

In truth, Derek didn’t know much about everything that had happened in recent months, not the full story, anyway. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t volunteered, not because you didn’t trust him, but because some things were too raw to say out loud. Besides, he’d always been closer to Spencer than to you, always protective of him in a quiet, loyal kind of way, the way older brothers sometimes are without needing to announce it. And maybe that made it harder. More complicated. It felt strange, almost disloyal, to bring your heartache to him when he’d been one of the first people to believe Spencer deserved someone who really saw him. Someone who would stay.

It was ironic, really. Morgan had been the one who nudged you toward him in the first place: subtly, kindly, with that knowing glint in his eye and a playful shove that masked how deeply he understood the way Spencer’s heart worked. He saw it before you did. The way you looked at Reid across the jet. The way Reid lit up when you said his name. He knew that you were meant for each other even before you did.

“I thought…I thought maybe she was going to tell me they broke up.” Spencer finally confesses.

Morgan studied him for a long second, the joking absent from his face for once. “What makes you think that?”

Spencer shifted. He hated that he sounded so transparent. So hopeful. “She looked like she wanted to say something. And then she didn’t. But her body language: her hand trembled a little when she touched my arm. That’s a nervous gesture. One she usually only makes when she’s unsure or emotionally overwhelmed. The last time I saw her do that was the night we—” He stopped. Swallowed. “It felt…significant.”

Derek let out a breath. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a year,” Spencer said before he could stop himself. The words slipped out, raw and quiet.

Morgan’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease, didn’t smile. He just nodded once, like he understood something Spencer hadn’t admitted aloud before now.

“You want her back,” Morgan said.

Spencer nodded slowly. “Yes. But only if she wants it too. I just…I don’t know how to ask. I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to ask. If I ask and she’s still with him, I ruin whatever peace we’ve rebuilt. If I say nothing and she was going to say something—” He shook his head, his voice tightening. “I don’t know which mistake is worse.”

“Well, if anyone knows whether she’s still with him, it’s probably JJ, Garcia, or Prentiss. But if you want my two cents?”

Spencer looked at him, waiting.

“I saw the way she looked at you,” he said simply. “That wasn’t small talk. That wasn’t just friendly. She looked at you like there’s still something there.”

Spencer looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the paper plate, then up at the door again. “What if I just imagined it?”

Morgan gave a small, steady shrug. “Then you imagined it. But if you’re right, and I think you are, don’t let the moment pass you by again.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. His brain was running too many simulations, too many outcomes, each one stacked with what-ifs and quiet disasters.

But even through the tangle of doubt, one thought kept rising above the rest:

She almost told me something.

And for the first time in a long time, he wanted to believe the almost still meant something.

You hated secrets, especially big ones.

It wasn't even your goal to hide anything from Spencer. God, why would you hide it? Yet, you couldn't help doing it and keeping your hands free in front of him.

And he also hated secrets.

But your first case back at work had been too chaotic and horrific to put into words, too raw to discuss without the unsettling presence of bloody testimonies and haunting images etched into your mind. Though the darkness wasn’t new to you, the scenes still struck with brutal clarity: shattered lives, desperate screams, and the cold, unyielding facts of violence. You were, unfortunately, accustomed to this grim reality, yet it never dulled the ache deep inside. The horror of it all still gnawed at your stomach, erasing any appetite for dinner afterward. But despite the gut-wrenching aftermath, the case was still justifiable, because every harrowing moment was a battle fought to save an innocent victim, to pull someone back from the brink. That thought was a fragile lifeline, the only thing steadying you amidst the chaos.

It wasn’t unusual for a case to stretch beyond a single day. The team was used to booking last-minute hotel rooms, catching fragments of sleep between long hours of profiling and chasing shadows. It was part of the job, expected. But tonight felt different. The silence in your hotel room was too loud, the sheets too cold despite the heat of the day. Sleep wouldn’t come, not because you hadn’t tried, but because the case had burrowed under your skin in the way the worst ones always did. The brutality of it lingered behind your eyelids each time you closed them. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping you awake.

He was.

Spencer.

It's not that you hadn't gotten over him—

You had a new boyfriend. For months now, actually. A doctor—despite the fact that you’d never really trusted them growing up, never liked the way they looked at people like they were puzzles to solve. But Seth was different. Kind in a practiced way, gentle in a learned one. He was perfect in all the ways you used to think mattered. Attentive. Accomplished. Predictable. The kind of man who answered your texts within five minutes, who brought you dinner without being asked, who called you “darling” like it was a language he’d always spoken.

You met him a few weeks after everything fell apart with Spencer. After the break-up, it had never really felt like a choice. You’d just wrapped a brutal case—one that left you hollowed out and bone-tired—and were driving home when a car ran a red light and collided with yours. Nothing fatal. Just enough to land you in the ER with a concussion and a fractured wrist. Seth was the on-call physician. He was the first face you saw through the haze. Calm. Capable. Steady.

Later, you crossed paths again at the hospital while questioning a witness. A shaken woman with blood on her hands and trauma in her eyes. Seth had been there again, clipboard in hand, speaking gently to her like he had all the time in the world. And when he saw you, he smiled like maybe the universe had planned this twice.

You told yourself it was fate. That maybe you deserved something easy for once.

So you said yes when he asked you out for the first time.

But fate was fickle.

Because the next time Spencer saw you, you were laughing at something Seth had said. Your hand briefly on his arm. Your body tilted toward his in a way that used to belong to Spencer. And Spencer—God, Spencer—he didn’t say anything. He never did. But you felt it. The way he stilled. The way his eyes lingered too long. The quiet shift in his shoulders, the sudden sharpness behind his silence.

“You fell asleep, darling?”

The voice pulled you out of the haze like cold water to the face.

Shit.

You blinked. “No, sorry. I was…I was thinking,” you murmured, realizing your phone was still pressed to your ear. Your thumb had gone numb around it. “I must’ve gone to another planet.”

“I asked if you told them,” Seth said again, more slowly this time. But you were still only half-listening, distracted by the soft chatter of hotel hallway voices. “Did you do it? You told them?”

“Told…what?” You asked, genuinely confused. The case had scattered your brain like paper in the wind. The exhaustion made everything blurry.

“About us,” he said, gently but clearly.

Your stomach tightened.

You turned onto your side, fingers curling in the hotel sheets. “Uh…not yet.”

A pause.

“Oh.”

You reached for a reason. “The case was intense. Everyone’s tense. I am too. It didn’t feel like the right time.”

“Maybe good news could help, then,” he offered, voice still even. Still patient. “I’ll let you sleep, darling. Try to get some rest.”

“Okay,” you said softly. “You too.”

You ended the call and stared at the ceiling, the phone still warm in your hand. The room was quiet again.

But in your chest, something restless refused to settle.

Finally, the knock came just after midnight.

Two short taps. Precise. Hesitant.

Spencer sat frozen on the edge of the bed, the glow from his bedside lamp casting golden light across the pale hotel walls. He’d been staring at the same sentence in the case file for the better part of an hour, his mind anywhere but focused. Mostly on you. On what you almost said before Hotch came in. On the soft way you looked at him on the plane. On the idea, the delusion, that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something again.

And now, you were at his door.

When he opened it, you stood there in the soft, humming silence of the hotel hallway. Still in your work clothes, though your blazer was gone and your blouse was wrinkled slightly from the long day. Your sleeves were pushed up to your elbows, revealing the faint scar on your forearm, the one that still made his chest tighten when he looked at it. A strand of hair had slipped free from your usual tucked-behind-the-ear neatness. You didn’t fix it.

You held two paper cups, steam curling between them like breath in winter air.

“I brought tea,” you said, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure. “Chamomile. I figured…neither of us would be sleeping.”

Spencer’s heart clenched in that same painful, familiar way it always did around you. Like it remembered things before he did. Like it still hadn’t accepted how much time had passed.

He nodded. Stepped back silently to let you in.

You walked past him without a word, the soft floral note of your perfume lingering in the space between his breath and his chest. You made your way to the small circular table by the window and set the cups down with a gentle thud. Then you turned, leaned against the edge of the table, arms loosely crossed, and looking at him.

There was something about your face—tired, soft, almost apologetic—that made his stomach twist.

And then he saw it.

The ring.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t even obvious. Just a slim gold band, delicate, elegant, with a small, tasteful diamond that caught the lamplight as you shifted your hand.

His breath caught in his throat like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

You noticed. Of course you did. You always did.

You didn’t hide your hand. In fact, you lifted it slightly, then let it fall again, your fingers curling back in on themselves before resting at your side.

“I was going to tell you earlier,” you said softly, eyes dropping.

Spencer blinked once. Then again. He could already feel the words sinking like lead into his chest. “Tell me…what?”

You exhaled, like it physically hurt to say it out loud.

“Seth proposed. Last week.”

The words hit him like a punch to the chest.

Proposed.

Last week.

You said it so gently, like you were trying to lessen the blow. But it didn’t matter. There was no soft way to say something that broke him.

You turned your face slightly toward the window, away from him. “I said yes.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating.

It draped over the room like snowfall: quiet, soft, devastating.

Spencer’s eyes dropped to your hand again. To the ring. To the fingers he used to trace absentmindedly under blankets, the hand that once reached for his across bustling sidewalks, that had tucked itself into his coat pocket on cold nights without needing to ask. The hand that used to write him little notes during briefings just to make him smile. The hand that had trembled in his hair the last time you made love.

That hand now wore a promise meant for someone else.

“That’s…” he started, but the words scraped in his throat. He cleared it. Tried again. “That’s…amazing. Congratulations.”

You looked at him sharply. As if you didn’t believe him.

He pushed a smile to his face, fragile and fraying at the edges. “Really,” he added, louder now, like maybe volume could make it more believable. “I’m…I’m happy for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, not in anger, just in knowing. You knew him too well. You could see the fracture spreading across him even as he stood there, still, hands loose at his sides, smile practiced.

“I didn’t want to blindside you,” you murmured.

He shook his head quickly. “No. No, of course not. Why would you? We’re friends first, right?”

You didn’t respond.

“I want you to be happy,” he added. “And if he’s good for you…then this is good. It’s great. Really.”

He moved toward the table, reaching for the cup you’d brought him. The lid was slightly loose. His hands trembled a little as he adjusted it. He turned his back to you and took a sip, hoping the bitterness would anchor him in the present.

Behind him, you were silent for a moment. Then, you said quietly, “He’s good to me.”

Spencer nodded once. Still facing the window. “I know, that’s why it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Because he remembered everything.

He remembered how you used to steal his scarves and wear them even in spring. How you kept a list in your phone of books you wanted him to read aloud to you someday. How you had once fallen asleep mid-sentence during a documentary about black holes, your head on his shoulder, your hand resting lightly on his chest like gravity itself had chosen to settle there.

He remembered how you once said “I love you” in the middle of an argument. Angry, exasperated, crying, and still choosing love first. He remembered the way you clutched his hand in the elevator after a particularly brutal case, both of you too shaken to speak but unwilling to let go.

And now…now it didn’t care anymore.

You stepped up beside him again, and for a moment, he thought you might say something more. That maybe this was just a test. That maybe you didn’t mean it. That maybe—

But your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You glanced at it, then sighed. “Hotch wants us to regroup in the morning. 7 a.m.”

Spencer nodded.

You didn’t move right away. He didn’t either. The space between you was closer than it should’ve been. But not close enough to fix anything.

Finally, you offered a small, strained smile. “Thank you. For being happy for me.”

He nodded again, mechanically. Then, unable to stop himself, he pulled you into a hug. It was brief. It was too long. It was too much and not enough. He tried not to cling too tightly, not to memorize the way you still fit against him like a missing part. He tried not to count the seconds.

When he pulled away, your smile was even softer.

“Goodnight, Spence.”

You turned toward the door.

And then he saw it again, the glint of the ring as you reached for the handle. Catching the light like it belonged there.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

The door closed behind you with a soft click.

Spencer stood still in the center of that silent room, staring at the empty space where you’d been. The untouched tea cooled beside him. The shadows shifted with the late hour.

And when the weight of it finally settled, when the finality carved itself into his chest, he sat down at the edge of the bed, covered his face with both hands, and cried harder than he ever remembered crying.

Not because you chose someone else. Not because he feels like you forgot him. Not because now he has to see your life in other people's photos.

But because, deep down, he understood why.

And he never stopped loving you anyway.

[diabolicalevil]

Sanguinius, Fulgrim and Magnus relationship headcanons

gn!reader

was originally an ask but I lost it anon im so sorry T^T. I might follow up w the primarchs some time. my knowledge of Magnus is very limited so bear with me. nsfw at the end

Warnings: NSFW at end, magnus has slight dubcon stalker headcanons

Sanguinius

Adores small things and quiet signs of devotion. Things he didn't really need to do but does without thinking because he loves you.

A romantic at heart. Leaves love letters for you, jewellery made with his feathers, so so many flowers. Sanguinius already had a garden, mainly to sit and seethe, but it's expanded rapidly to accommodate the sheer number of bouquets he gifts you. Each unique, each planned by him, and many with extremely rare flowers.

If you're against public gestures he'll refrain but really he wants his whole leigon involved with caring for you. Not just for protection and being delivery boys for his little gifts. You stand at his side as he rouses his troops, every Blood Angel is commanded to treat you as they would him, you are the other half to his soul and Emperor help whoever disrespects you.

In private he enjoys wrapping a wing around you. Does it publicly too, mainly if you're standing too far. But when you're alone he just wishes to cradle you. Sanguinius does appreciate that you care enough to worry you'll hurt his wings but he wants nothing more than for you to lean on them and fall asleep.

Doesn't wear his hair braided but he simply adores having you sit and braid it for him while he works.

You Are A Lap Cat Now, Enjoy! Your weight is basically nothing to him but it's enough that having you rested in his lap is very grounding. He'll lean down to kiss you, let his hair fall around you and cover your back with his wings as he cocoons you from all the horror the world has to offer.

Fulgrim

Fulgrim's lust for perfection could never stop at himself or his legion. Say what you will about dating him, you'll never ever look scuffy or slovenly again. not for lack of trying or wanting to, but because Fulgrim has banished anything that might make you appear anything less than ethereal to the shadow realm.

He loves openly and makes it difficult to ignore. While Sangunius is happy to tone it down Fulgrim would be hard pressed to go a day without picking you up and twirling you in the middle of the hallway.

Big fan of perfumes, he is. Perfumed letters, signature scents etc. Frequently gets you perfumes in a never ending quest to find the one that he thinks perfectly encapsulates your beauty and charm.

Never a dull moment really, before he is your lover he is your best friend and a gossip. Second to the Alpha Legion's information gathering is Fulgrim's nosey ass.

Magnus

His methods of affection are sometimes dubiously consensual. It's all very reliant on him allegedly knowing what's best for you.

With that being said, noticing that you're stressed and invading your mind to clear it is technically an affectionate gesture that at least comes from a place of love.

Enjoys a little bit of puzzles with his romance unfortunately. His library is a maze and he is endlessly happy that you are willing to take the risk of getting lost in it to come find him

and loves QUIZZES if u haven't read the books he's recommended he'll know. like psychically but also has a pop quiz prepared for every book in the universe it seems.

Carries you around like a doll. Mainly for convenience sake, he is gigantic, but it's almost another way of imparting knowledge on to you. Giving you, quite literally, a whole new perspective on the world.

Often watches you from afar, maybe in a creepy way and often without you knowing but he's just fascinated. For once to him it's far more interesting to observe real human behaviours than read about it in a book.

NSFW

Sanguinius

Sex crier. Sorry. Quietly and into the crook of your neck as he finishes but the pearl sized tears are unmistakable. Tells you he's just overwhelmed with joy as you wipe his tears. But mostly, it's mourning that he'll have to part with you afterwards.

A begger too. pathetic loser boy. Sanguinius lays between your legs, kissing up your thighs and begging to be allowed to go down on you.

And when he does? Could go for hours, only stops if you've had enough or are simply begging for him to be inside you.

Surprisingly into hair play. While holding his hair out of his face you accidentally yanked too hard and you could've sworn he almost finished then and there.

Fulgrim

Not a virgin, of course, but tries to keep it mostly on the down low. He doesn't want you to become uncomfortable with your experience gap. If you yourself are a virgin he makes little comment on it, and he'd certainly never mock it.

A highly responsible freak. Very receptive to any requests of kink or bondage but he always puts an emphasis on the safe of safe, sane and consensual.

Very upset that he heals too fast to openly wear bondage marks or hickeys, so he gives you extra. "You'll wear it for me, won't you?" He coos as he fastens you against the bed in purple rope. "You'll wear them beautifully in my place."

Despite all this he loves tender, sensual sex. Candles, rose petals, silk sheets, the works. Every now and then when you both need to decompress you'll tangle together in bed, with and worrying about nothing but each other.

He has the vibe of a scandalous victorian courtesan exchanging letters with her lover. Portraits he painted of himself amd in various states of undress and erotic letters he gifts when his schedule is unkind to him.

Magnus

Mindfuck sex. Feedback loops, showing you exactly what he sees and hears, interchanging your current memories with previous ones. He just likes the way you look when you're overstimulated and confused.

Far more into giving than receiving. Cradles you in his lap and pleasures you with his hands. Or he'll manually bounce you on his cock if you beg nicely.

Not a fan of undergarments or lingerie. Even if you're about to have an hour of foreplay, he needs to see you fully stripped down. Every part of you has already been memorised but that's not the point. You're no longer uncharted territory, you're truly his to view as he pleases and that is what he craves most.

thank youu for reading. honestly these r all characters I don't write for very often so it was a bit of fun to think about them. wherever u are anon I hope u enjoy this, sorry again LOL

[boopboopedoop]

hi love!! omg your message made me emotional fr 😭 thank you so much for taking the time to say that —you have no idea how much it means to me. i’m so honored to know anything i wrote inspired you to start your own stories... like?? what do i even say to that except thank you times a million. i’m genuinely so excited for you 𖹭𖹭

i took a look at your rules and i was wondering if you’d be up for writing a yoongi x reader one-shot where he lets them play with his hands while he’s rambling about something he loves—and he starts stumbling on his words or getting distracted bc of the physical affection GOD I’M SOFT RN

Track 03: You

Pairing: Idol Min Yoongi x gn! Reader

Genre: Fluff, slice of life, gentle intimacy.

Word count: 1,479

| Summary: Yoongi can’t help but fluster when you touch him so gently.

CONY’S note: I know my writings not there yet. I’m still learning and trying to find a style that fits for me. But I can’t deny the joy I felt writing this for my fav fic author so I really hope she enjoys this!

Masterlist

There’s a routine the universe complies to. One that we overlook daily, like the birds flying high in the sky or the mourning leaves crushed under our boots. When the sun rises in the morning, and the moon beckons us goodnight. A farewell meant to recognize the end of the day, a whisper of goodwill meant to help us slumber.

There’s a gentle routine to Yoongi's life too. One that escapes his notice when you appear before him. The stutter of his breath when you're close enough and he catches your scent. The way his eyes follow the curve of your lips when you smile. It’s a routine he follows unknowingly. One that his body accepts as if it was made personally to deliver such commands. Yoongi thinks his body was meant for loving you. Like how the moon was made to whisper us goodnight.

The early mornings stick in his head as he writes lyrics dedicated to the curve of your shoulder, hidden between sheets that hang off your curves. Yoongi makes music to the flutter of your eyes when you eventually wake up to the careful hand he lays on your back.

Yoongi does not solely exist for you.

But there are times when he feels that if you weren’t here on this earth, he would live the rest of his life in search of a piece of his soul that does not feed off his melodies alone.

Yoongi mumbles a curse of frustration as he stares at the monitor in front of him. The hook of the song he's writing feels weak — like it’s clutching its thin fingers to the edge of a seriously high mountain of stability. The beat is something he's proud of. Its simplicity feels deserved; it doesn't need much to sound appealing. He worries if he's overdoing it. What if the lyrics are too corny? What if metaphorical memories are too difficult to understand?

He sighs as he leans back into his chair. The cold coffee that sits on his desk is almost empty, and the ice has started to separate, creating an unpleasant sight. He was thirsty a second ago — now he's just trying to figure out how he’s ever going to fall asleep tonight.

The sound of a soft knock interrupts his thoughts, and he hums a low,

“Come in.”

before turning toward the door.

It’s you. A takeout bag in your hand and a sheepish smile on your face.

“Thought you’d be hungry by now. You’ve been in here for a while.”

Yoongi's small frown dissipates immediately at the sight of you coming closer to sit on the small couch a few feet away from his desk. The scent of his favorite lamb skewers fills the makeshift studio in his apartment.

“Thank you. Could actually use a break right now. I don't think I’m making any progress.”

You make a soft sound of acknowledgment before beckoning him over to sit next to you — and he does.

“I’m sure you're just overthinking it, like you always do, Yoongs,” you say before reaching over to grasp his hand, running your thumb over the back of it. Yoongi’s breath stutters slightly at the simple gesture of your affection.

“I know, but I feel like anything I write just doesn't feel real enough. I want people to understand where I’m coming from, you know?”

You smile at Yoongi softly, your hand still grasping his. You take care to massage his sore fingers from what must have been hours of running over a keyboard again and again.

“You’ll get there, honey. I know you will — you always do.”

Yoongi blushes slightly at your gentle reassurance, his hands warming under your careful attention to his palm. He exhales slightly before nodding at you, eyes fixed on the way your hand meets his.

“What are you working on that’s got you all cooped up in here, anyway?”

You question Yoongi, an eyebrow slightly raised in curiosity.

You rarely ask — out of respect for his privacy. Music is Yoongi's first love. He breathes life into lyrical messages that force people to listen to what he has to say. Some are meant to hide away after a particular stroke of genius, and others are meant to be shared with the world.

Yoongi's music is deeply shaped into his character. There are times when he leaves his studio with red-rimmed eyes and tears threatening to spill over. You always wonder what kind of music he makes in those moments, but you never dare to ask. Sometimes, music is made just to build an escape — and that escape can be just as temporary as any sandcastle. Even with all the love and care that goes into making it.

Yoongi takes a second to think before replying.

“It’s just some side thing I’m working on. Nothing concrete. I doubt the label will let me put it on an album or anything.

It’s just— I feel like I need to make it perfect. Like there's no going back after it’s done, and I need to keep pushing forward before the words escape me. I know it sounds stupid—”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Yoongs.”

You cradle his other hand.

“I get what you mean. It means a lot to you, right? That you express yourself clearly.”

Yoongi blushes harder involuntarily before nodding.

“I promise you’ll get there. I’ll try to offer advice too, if you’re willing to let me hear it — even though I don’t really know what I’m doing. But I have ears, and I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

Maybe it’s the way you're gripping his hands slightly harder to show how willing you are to help him. Or maybe it’s because of that look in your eyes — that both gentle and stern look you give him when he expresses any doubt in himself.

But Yoongi can’t help but be flustered by you.

You’re still holding his other hand, but now you’re giving attention to the one you haven’t massaged yet — and Yoongi’s heart melts a little further into his chest. He’s sure that if someone peeked inside his chest cavity right now, all they’d see is the way his body has formed into an unattractive pile of goo, barely managing to keep him afloat and attentive in your presence.

You notice his sudden silence — and of course you do. You always notice the little things about Yoongi. Like the little nose scrunch he does when he’s trying not to laugh. Or the awkward way he stands when he’s not sure he’s welcome in a group setting. You always notice the things no one really seems to care to dissect about him. And maybe that’s part of why Yoongi loves you so much.

“You okay, Yoongs?”

You smile and giggle lightly as you question him, noticing the red tips of his ears that almost always appear whenever he’s flustered.

He grumbles stubbornly, averting his gaze to the window in his studio.

“I-I’m fine,” he mumbles.

You start to laugh — not unkindly, but unbearably fond of the way he tries to look at everything else but you in this moment. Your shoulders shake as you lean back into the couch, your eyes lined with tears of mirth as he dramatically pulls his hands away from your lap.

Yoongi eventually starts laughing with you when he sees you nearly fall off the seat in your haze of laughter. The loud screech you let out as you almost hit the floor. The studio soon fills with the sound of your embarrassed cough and his cackle of pure joy at seeing you in his shoes.

Eventually, the laughter dies down and you lean back into the sofa again — this time with the remnants of happiness across your face. Smiles painted across both of you.

“Are we going to eat those lamb skewers now?”

Yoongi questions with a raised brow.

You scoff, but you’re still fighting the smile off your face.

“Of course.”

Yoongi eventually forgets his troubles as you sit side by side on the old, worn couch he’s been meaning to replace for years now. The light sounds of chewing fill the room. He hums gently when he’s done eating. Words begin to work themselves into his head for that new hook.

This time, he thinks he knows what he’s going to say.

There’s a routine that Yoongi’s universe complies to. Like the way your eyes flutter open to the careful hand he lays on your back in the mornings. Or the way you never fail to spark creativity into the dark cloud that can be his mind if he’s not paying too much attention. Sometimes Yoongi can’t help but think his best music is written when it’s you that he has in mind.

And maybe the universe made it so.

Like how the sun rises in the morning, and the moon beckons us goodnight.

When you silently give me a light smile / Only then, I feel a little relieved

SNOOZE - AUGST D

[undyingdecay]

(not requests! just thoughts) GAWD I cannot stop thinking about john. I hate that man SO MUCH!!!!! but freeuse!john being busy, attempting to finish a mission report late at night and drunk!user legit just finds him and rides his face until content. He doesn't even bother to argue about it, shutting his eyes and planting his hands on their hips while eating them out until they're shaking and has a droopy smile plastered on their face. OR... AND STAY WITH ME... Perv!user being caught in his room........ either huffing his boxers or humping his pillow, I don't know, but I can just imagine him grabbing them by the hair and forcing them to look at him while he just absolutely insults them, saying how they're such a slut, so nasty and gross, how they make him feel repulsed and user just absolutely gets off from it.

anyways, love your writing! make sure to take breaks bc you're legit my fav author and it'd kill me to see you burnt out <3 -🧣

perv!reader is precious to me bc they’re so pathetic and so genuinely strange about it, so warped in their own little world where it makes perfect sense to do the most deranged shit in the name of love, even when no one asked. especially john — especially a man like that, mean and careless in ways he’ll apologize for with a kiss to your temple and a slap on the ass before going right back to it.

and of course you start worrying. because that’s what you do, right? pacing the kitchen at night while he’s out too long. staring at your phone. wondering who he’s talking to, who he’s thinking about. and he’ll always come back, eventually — but what if one day he doesn’t?

that’s when the jar happens.

it starts without a plan. a little leftover in a condom he couldn’t be bothered to tie off, a streak of it across your stomach you wipe up with trembling fingers. you should clean up properly. you don’t. because it’s his, and it feels wrong to wash it down the drain. so you scrape it up, gather what you can, glass jar trembling in your hands.

and it’s disgusting. it’s pathetic. it’s the sort of thing no normal person would ever dream of doing. but you’re not normal, are you? you’re his.

it doesn’t take long for it to become routine. an ugly little ritual you tell yourself is harmless. collect it in the dark when he’s asleep, when he’s gone, when he pulls out to finish across your stomach with a grunt and a slap of your thigh. sometimes you even bait him into it, mouthy and difficult until he’s pinning you down and using you like he’s angry about it, which he probably is. you act like you hate it. you don’t.

the jar fills slow. little bits at a time. cloudy white streaks clinging to the glass. and you tell yourself you’ll stop soon, you’re just being cautious, just a backup plan. but then comes the night he leaves for two days without telling you.

and that’s when you break.

pour a little inside you, trembling fingers slick with it. tell yourself it’s to calm down, that you’re just keeping him close. it’s not even fresh but it doesn’t matter. feels good. feels like possession, like some sick little claim you get to keep when he’s not there to fuck it into you himself.

and you sleep better like that, full of him.

when he comes back, you don’t tell him. you just fuck him mean and desperate, biting his shoulder when he calls you a crazy bitch because he still comes inside you anyway. still tells you you’re his when you make him. still leaves you aching and ruined and grinning into the pillow.

ANYWHO THIS GOT TOO LONG LOVE YOY MORE DW IM IMMUNEE TO BURN OUT,

[letterlifter]

A Long Diary Entry About Me and Recent Events

I wasn't planning on posting, but now that things have settled a bit, maybe i've changed my mind .... i dont know ... i am a very quiet person online. but it turns out i have a lot to say right now. So maybe it's good to put out a little blog every once in a while. maybe this will prove to be unwise ...

Intro

this will be fairly personal and not professional and not well written, so please do not over analyze it or think too hard. i only have good intentions, i promise. im also not a very organized thinker so this might be a mess. being perceived anywhere makes me profoundly nervous, so if you misbehave, i will continue to cease existing publicly online, and i shan't perform for you again... *disappears in a mist*

ahem...herm...

*comes back on stage, taps mic... clears throat... straightens papers...wipes away my blackened, exploded hair...*

this will be a little look into my world, and very honest... maybe a lot of what i have posted previously during my time at clash was overly sanitized cause i felt like i couldnt say anything publicly without repercussions.

hi, i hope you are all doing well... im mail but i geuss you knew that already. i haven't been on the clash team since functionally early last year due to various medical problems. i prefer to keep all of these things to myself, but, i feel that it's relevant to mention.

i have disappeared everywhere because of all of the "stuff" going on with me. this may be the first time some of my friends have seen signs of life from me in months, and i am so sorry about that. i care about you and think about you often. social media is still difficult for me to use right now, but i am trying to get better with it, and this is a step in that direction, maybe…?

there's other factors to me leaving clash of course (some of which have been mentioned by former staff recently). It’s freeing to speak so openly about corporate clash, especially its internal workings, because I felt like i couldn't say much here while actively being on the clash crew. it's why "nothing i say is canon" is plastered weirdly everywhere. it was probably, mostly, just my own nerves getting in the way though

ok well i'm taking it back everything i say is THE COMPLETE TRUTH!!!!!!! (i am joking) what i will say is true is that whatever you headcanon about any character i designed gets my HONEST AND TRUE stamp of mailman's approval. i am reclaiming them (Jokingly) (Lovingly) so that you can have them instead (Telling the truth) i also have not played toontown in like two years. If someone says you're a liar you can screenshot this and said "Mailman said so" and I won't  care It's not like i'll be there. also i genuinely believe some of you are more qualified than me or anyone to speak on these beloved and often lgbt characters. Please consider yourself to be the only correct source of clash information from now on. i have no real authority here, but neither do they ... 'cause like what're they gonna do ....

Anyways Whew! Glad that's over! No offense i am just joking around...i went through a lot but overall, Clash changed my life for the better. in some ways i am a bit sad that this chapter of my life has ended. but i will always love toontown and gay furries forever and ever. i am so, so happy that people like what I have contributed so much to.

oh and of course, i agree with the statements from former staff. like 90% of them are my friends after all so maybe i am a little biased here... i prefer to keep personal matters to myself but i experienced a lot of trauma there. im sure it was accidental on the part of others and i would never blame just one person for it. theres something that is just foundationally not working with their structure and it is hurting people, and I hope they're able to mend whatever that is. i am sure you leaderships are reading this, so, hello, i hope you are doing okay. im sorry about how stressful this all must be and i hope things improve. its true that most of us 1.3 developers left, but for those of you who knew me on the team, hiii i hope you are well

but ummm hmm how do i say this.

*Gets a puppet out to speak for me so i can remain blameless for whatever information i say because it may or may not be true*

and i am just a little puppet after all, using comedy to deflect any accusations of personal wrongdoing.... But this is my theory.

Because it is not a professional project, corporate clash will always be ran by volunteers who have never worked on a project on this scale. I think this results in accidental mismanagement. It’s really difficult to run a volunteer video game like this when it isn't structured like a close-knit friend group. In fact, “volunteer video games” do not really exist in any other context, so there’s nothing to reference. The more people there are, the more they may get neglected. so, i am sympathetic about how difficult it is to keep this game continuing and to be a lead for it. Especially on volunteer time.

Who said that. Throw that freak in the trash.

BOOM...

...

...

*Mailman returns and is picking off pieces of garbage*

well anyways. you have to imagine this has been a really strange, difficult, weird, upsetting, past couple of weeks for me. Especially me, who really doesn't like being perceived at all, being perceived... the horrors... i am still trying to return to normal, but it feels like something has changed in a cosmic sort of way, and i cant stop feeling it.

Clarification

ive been thinking about whether or not to include this next section, but i have decided to do so as briefly as possible, because i feel like it is important for me to clarify it. this piece of context feels important to me. please be responsible with it, and please don't use it to hurt others.

as you are all probably aware, stuck the duck did a stream recently covering the statements made by former staff. of course i agree with former staff, as I am former staff myself and i share some of their experiences, and many of them are friends of mine. i think stuck is really cool and he is a very kind person.

at the end of his stream, a statement was made regarding a situation where i was allegedly receiving poor treatment from cranky during a severe bout of illness.

i was not involved in making that statement, it was based on someone else's perspective on how i was treated at the time because i do not remember the situation for myself. i was so sick that i do not really remember what happened in detail.

all i remember is really wanting to complete the illustration because it was important to me, i wanted the community to have it with its corresponding update. i feel like cranky's statement regarding it is probably more accurate to my memory but i didnt read it in detail because these past few weeks have been a little nerve-wracking. i have been told by others that the situation appeared worse than what I remember, but again I cannot verify any of this.

but with how hard i worked on that illustration through illness, i do think it was disappointing and a little hurtful to forget about it until one of my friends reminded them it existed. but i understand things slip through and i have also made mistakes. i truly don't hold grudges because i lack the emotion of anger. I just get really scared.... . i am not completely happy with how the picture came out anyways, but thats probably because i was so sick when making it ….

i cant say whether or not it's true, or if cranky's participation was somewhat exaggerated. i think as community lead (?) he was in control of its distribution though. the only part i can verify is that they didnt use it for a long time despite my working very hard on it. but things happen in development all the time, and i am not really interested or comfortable in being centered in this situation.. i actually do not really want to receive any attention at all but i would feel bad ignoring this statement.

but please also understand this. cranky may have made mistakes in leadership, and he may have hurt people, including my friends, but based on what i know, which of course is not everything, i really don't believe he's an evil person, and i would ask that you please do not publicly attack people you do not know. i believe that everyone working on clash has its best interests in mind, even if i don't agree with all of their approaches. they are there, working for free, because they care about it.

there is a difference between attacking someone and sharing information with others. this is just my perspective, but as ex-staff, we are allowed to speak on this because we knew them, and these are our experiences, i hope you understand where i'm coming from here. a game of telephone starts happening and dishonest things are said by mistake. it may be best to just link to an individual's statements. Please treat all clash staff fairly.

with all of this unfortunate stuff going on, i saw someone i do not know claim that some clash staff would make fun of me behind my back, which is sad if true. but i dont know if its true or not so i wouldn’t hold it against them. at this point i have grieved about clash over and over again so there’s not much grief left to have. I only mention it because i hope its not true, and i have no way of knowing, because for the most part, i like everyone at clash, and i just want whoever allegedly said those things about me to know that.

i am not perfect either though. i try to do right by everyone nowadays because it's all i can do. so of course i would forgive them immediately.

thats all i have to say on the clash situation. thank you for listening to us. many of us thought these stories would never be heard. so i appreciate you listening if nothing else.

Me and What I am doing Now

i always felt like i would have a lot to talk about once leaving clash, but i actually dont. i dont have anything to say that i, or others, havent already said. once again i agree with the majority of ex-staff / my friends, but im talking about even casual stuff about development or whatever. i dont think its all that interesting to people that weren't there, and i'm not interested enough in clash anymore to make posts about it publicly.

i would post my personal work to other accounts, that could be cool, but i don't have much to say, and Im not able to make as much stuff as I used to. … i also do not get anything out of seeing a big number (Likes Or Reposts) on my drawings. so id be posting maybe once every four months ... or once a year … i have really bad time blindness which doesn't go well with social media. maybe i'll get back into it anyways some day. it's theoretically possible that a few people would like to see my drawings, but yet i post nothing ever, and thats a little sad.

if i do make a brand new account, i will probably be stealing this url. Sorry for any potential confusion in the future.

most of the time i am just doing my own thing working on my original, personal projects. i really love my characters and i do a lot of stuff with them. i make comics, stories, drawings, 3d models. You know how it is ... im working on a 3d model right now that i will probably go work on after i post this. i plan on integrating the 3d model into a little website that tells you all about the character and i think that will be really fun. I love making interactive stuff with my characters. youll be able to rotate it all around and stuff. i definitely wont be able to do that for all of them though ...  i'm probably not capable of making as much stuff as i used to in general, but i am at peace with that.

i also plan on making this  next 3d model into a VRchat avatar (like i usually do) but this time hopefully itll be my "main" model so i can feel less embarrassed logging in to hang out with friends. maybe You and Me can play vrchat some day. i am really shy online though so we’ll see. anyways its going to be  a really cute dragon thing and i'm going to make it wear my clothes. i like to collect vintage clothing from thrift stores and i have an outfit in mind. He's actually just one of my regular characters that i turned into a cute dragon, but i'm forcing him to represent me for now.

umm what else has been going on with me ... i played a lot of "fantasy life i" recently. and deltarune. i watched a lot of deltarune theory videos on youtube. i watched a whole documentary the other day and i have memory problems so i only realized at the end that i had already seen it before. I recently customized my web browser and im using “zen” now its kind of cool. Just now, I wrote a lot about these two metallica concerts i went to a few months ago (after much preparation) but I decided to delete all the stories from it in favor of just mentioning that i went.

anyways. it probably goes without saying, but i am not a social media person, and i cannot make as much stuff anymore, so all the stuff i make now is either for myself or is for one of the various projects im working on.

i will now talk about one of the various projects im working on. this one isn't a personal project though because im making it with my friends, many of whom made up some very large slices in that 1.3 pie chart:

FriendOS

So. Of course i am still a game developer. i really love working on games, and i dont think that will ever leave me. 3d modelling and animation, making assets, and character design are among the many things i do and want to continue doing. i suppose you could just consider me the "lead 3d artist" for this project.

my main project is now "FriendOS", a really advanced furry character creator with 3d platforming and bullethell battles.

I mean, a 3d platformer with bullethell battles and a really advanced furry character creator.

our game has a lot of cool stuff in it. For instance, we put a lot of work into the really advanced furry character creator, ensuring that you can mix 'n' match whatever pieces you'd like. And this time it's fun

I will give you a rundown as quickly as possible before you lose interest.

in friendOS, you play as a "Friend". Friends are a species of "digital avatar" that navigate a world made to represent an operating system.

Friends are wild, technically indestructible, and poorly mannered creatures. We are still researching their natural behaviors, but we do know that a friend has never been reported dead for long. They cause problems, yet they are the problem solvers, tasked with exploring the deepest parts of a computer to cleanse it of its rotten, virus-infected core.

Within FriendOS, the computer is accessed via "Bliss", an interactive 3d interface known for its heavenly lands full of rainbows, flowers, and files. It is a safe pasture for which the friends shall graze. The residents of this utopian town are very curious themselves. I heard one of them claims to have been a racecar driver, but I think he's lying.

Astron is our beloved god dog. He takes out the trash and tells the truth

Who is this  and why is he doing that

This world is very real to the residents of "Bliss". There's a lot of unique struggles that come with knowing you are living inside of a computer and being okay with that.

So, you are running around inside of an old computer. It's a land full of mysteries, collectables, gay people, very customizable little friends, and minigames. Minigames including fishing.

Yes Everyone in this game is gay and no one is going to get mad at me for saying that. In what way they are gay is for you to discover or decide for yourself.

I would go into more detail, but we still have a lot to work on, so it will probably change a lot. However I encourage you all to roleplay in a lobby some day. It's really fun

if you're actually reading this entire thing and send me a suggestion with some type of item you think friends would look beautiful wearing, i can't say it won't influence me. which, thanks for reading all of this by the way, it's very nice of you. the way i have designed this 3d artstyle is so that assets can be created as efficiently as possible, considering our team is very, very small. its all round and flat so they can be made quickly.

it's so nice to work on a team where we really get each other. now that i think about it, we've been making games together for like four years. we are all very confident developers which makes us very efficient at making things. everything we do is highly collaborative and we're always listening to each other.

i have been working on friendOS for like 8-10 months and we haven't fought over anything this entire time. its so beautiful. im sure that we will continue to only ever agree with each other, our team will remain motivated, and nothing bad will ever happen.

If you are interested in following the development of friendOS, I encourage you to join the official friendOS discord server. We have a long ways to go, but it’s read only, so you can comfortably ignore it at the bottom of your server list for as long as you want!

Closing

there is a good chance i will not be very involved in toontown after all of this. Clash was a little traumatizing for me and my friends. at various points in the timeline, things happened that i cannot talk about. i was treated poorly, my friends were treated poorly, and i'm sure no one did it on purpose, but it still happened. things happened that made me cry on behalf of others, which i haven't told many people.

but you know... there isn't much more that i want to make for toontown anyways. i feel like 1.3 was already my "dream update." i'm uninterested in working on any toontown private server in the future because i already know exactly what i would be doing, and i have done enough of it. I appreciate the freedom i have in creating whatever i'd like. for both myself and friendOS, i can make whatever designs and items and characters i want, and that's really cool.

clash has taught me so much, and it has even made me grow better as a person, but i feel like i need to move on as an artist. i'm thankful for what i have learned there and I apply it every day.

i hope that doesn't make anyone sad, because it doesn't really make me sad. I think it’s an exciting thing. i will probably always be around in some way, and clash will continue on in whatever way it chooses for itself.

I have been into toontown since around 2007. as of 2025, i think thats like 18 years of my life. Jeez ... so i have watched this game go through "cycles" a few times now. the first time was when TTO closed. then TTR opened in like 2014. then everyone felt like it was dead again, and clash opened in like 2017, then they released 1.1, and 1.2, and somewhere in there, TTR released field offices. and now we're working on friendOS, which is not toontown, but saying we are taking zero influences from our previous work would be an obvious lie. ....honestly in some ways, it is too similar for comfort....

and now, with all this stuff going on, and all these things being said, people seem to be low in spirits again. so i will give you some words of encouragement as a guy who has played this game for far too long:

you have a lot to look forward to. i mean, you certainly have more to look forward to regarding this game than i did in 2015. clash has gotten through many "difficult" circumstances and it will probably have more. there were points during 1.3 where i didn't know if it would even come out. but they are still here working on stuff. and of course, there are other private servers too. i am sure EVH will put out something really cool. some of my friends worked on "grindworks" but i have not played it for myself. TTR is still working on their next thing i'm sure. the game will probably always exist in some way. toontown has a much bigger fanbase than many of the things i'm into, which is really kind of crazy!

yes, as that one blogpost article pointed out, many of us 1.3 devs are gone. clash still has a team full of new, passionate people working on future content and im sure they will continue to create cool stuff. i hope you will support whatever they put out just as passionately.

in all truth, i care about you all much more than clash. mostly the gay players, and the furries, and all the artists, and the few of you who draw sexy duck shuffler on twitter. but of course, i am biased towards my own kind. i too am just some gay artist on the internet. you are the people important here, who are keeping the game alive. so remember that your passion is what fuels your game (all of toontown) to continue. i have never, not for a moment, taken any of you for granted. i am just some guy so anyone interacting with stuff i work on is amazing to me. i hope im able to buy a keychain from you some day. i don't even know if its possible for me to see all the fanart of the characters i designed but i still love and appreciate it all. ive seen quite a bit though. including some i saw on accident that i dont think you wanted me to see. Sorry

and the creative team. i am by no means perfect and i make my share of mistakes as we all do, but i always did as much as i could. you guys are the best and your contributions matter. every asset you create will forever be a gift to clash from you.

There are many people i could list out individually to thank, but i wouldn’t want to miss anyone. Because of my spontaneous health problems, I never got to give a formal goodbye to the clash crew so i couldn’t say thanks to anyone myself. I suppose none of them really know how i feel about any of this in general…. So if you worked with me on clash, i think very highly of you to this day.

for now i will leave you with this.

i love you very much.

thank you for playing our game.

thank you so much for loving the characters i put so much of myself into. it has not gone unnoticed from me.

please continue to be kind to the volunteers who work on clash.

please thank the moderators who moderate corporate clash. They see *everything*.

please be kind to yourself, be respectful to each other, and forgive yourself, and just for me, remember the poor Parrots who are going extinct due to the destruction of their habitats and homes (They are my favorite animal) and adopt don't shop. thank you.

[sha-brytols]

i have a question feel free not to answer but i promise it's not in bad faith. i agree with u with just about everything in dragon age and respect your opinions, but ive been an aveline hater for sooo long. i see your points about the misogyny which i think is the number one #anti aveline thing people point out, but i was wondering your takes on some of the others, like her guard favoritism, rejecting carver from the guard despite his job insecurity and not throwing out the records of fenris squatting in hightown? do you think it's like, a control thing? i admit ive been in a bit of an echo chamber and never heard someone talk about that that wasnt coming from already hating aveline. i can appreciate a morally grey character for sure, but i think her "my hands are tied" centrism always irked me more than isabela and varric's more carefree and charismatic outlooks

i get it LOL fandom has a tendency of influencing personal bias to an extreme and it's hard to see past the echo chambers. i think this is what causes characters like sebastian or sera to get such extreme levels of hate despite people very rarely actually interacting with them in game or making an effort to understand their perspectives. i don't think disliking aveline is bad, but i do think the disproportionate hate she receives compared to the other companions is like. silly. They're All Bad People.

so bioware writes women, ESPECIALLY women who don't conform to stereotypically feminine traits and roles (read: female warriors) very poorly, and i think that's really important to keep in mind in meta discussions because it does absolutely play a key role in how "palatable" they are. a lot of aveline's personality is directly informed by this odd insistence on making her a big scary unattractive Mannish brute, because the writers have no concept of femininity outside of soft and gentle and sexy. and i say this because this plays a huge role in her characterization as a big authority figure who Does Not Take Your Shit. it's one of those things that makes meta analysis very difficult because i feel like there isn't a single part of her character design or writing that wasn't affected by it (for both good and bad) and people tend to take it for granted.

like, we Know anders' characterization as the creepy possessive borderline-stalker guy is directly informed by jennifer hepler's bias against bipolar disorder. it absolutely works as a character trait and it IS an important part of him, but it's still important to acknowledge just how Caricaturized the whole thing is and how much of that is narratively purposeful and how much of that is hepler's own lack of empathy for the disorder. that's the way i see aveline's writing. bioware thinks "masculine" women are abrasive and unattractive, therefore they give aveline the most severe personality in the whole game. because that's just what women like that Are Like, according to bioware.

i keep fucking writing harvard essays in response to these asks i'm so fuckgjfnd sorry. more under the cut.

but you know like. from a watsonian perspective i think that just speaks more to her insecurity than it does to her as a person in the story. i talked about it before, but a big aspect of aveline's character is how she's been constantly at the mercy of people who were meant to be her leaders, people she was expected to follow without question, only for those people to misuse or even outright abuse their power. loghain abandoning everyone at ostagar cost her her home, her husband, her friends, everything she ever had. she comes to kirkwall with this newfound sense of "i will never let that happen again," which makes her very protective and overbearing. we can tell by her attitude with hawke and the other guards that she considers all of her people her Family and she refuses to compromise their safety for anything. they trust her, they rely on her. she won't be another loghain or another jevan.

it's not by any means a positive trait. it's both her greatest strength and her greatest flaw. she cares too much about the people she's responsible for and happily sacrifices the good of everyone else in favor of her own comfort without even realizing. and who does that remind you of?

our own protagonist is among the most important and powerful people in the game, and the whole narrative is essentially built on hawke bending and breaking every law they possibly can to keep their own family as comfortable and safe as possible, even at the cost of others. she's hawke's parallel. she forces the player to reflect on how easy it is to say you're a good person and you want to help everyone when you have the means and the power to actually make a change, but how quickly that self-assurance goes out the window the second you actually have to make the tough calls. it takes hawke 9 literal years to even Feebly voice their public support between the mages and templars, and they spend the entire game flip flopping between working for one's interests and then the other's because of that refusal to actually take a stance and commit to their morals. you can headcanon your hawke as the Radical Revolutionary but that isn't the character we see in game. we see the person who's too afraid of confrontation and losing the fragile stability they've built for themselves to actually stand up for what's right until their hand is forced. that's the position aveline is in.

this is one of those things where i keep saying people should rival characters more. all those traits you hate in aveline are the ones that become challenged through hawke's constant rejection of her authority, and what makes the rivalry routes so fascinating is how they give you a unique insight as to Why your companions are the way that they are. all these things i've mentioned aren't just excuses for why she's like this. it's all in her rivalry route! she's terrified, insecure, she has no idea what she's doing, she feels completely alone in a city where she has to constantly prove herself, and this causes her to overcompensate in the only avenue where she actually has a modicum of control.

as for the stuff with carver and fenris. i think people tend to look at those with very narrow lenses and fail to see them within their context. like, the stuff with carver is pretty easy. that isn't even an issue of favoritism or corruption, it's a matter of "the guy who i know for a fact is a hotheaded kid with authority problems only wants to be a guard to feel important and i'm not putting someone like that in a position of power." you can disagree with that assessment, but she didn't just reject carver out of nowhere, she knows him well and is well aware of the fact that he has a massive inferiority complex. like, i think it's silly that carver is seen as this innocent victim in that situation for being turned down as guard, when most of the time these same people who condemn her for it also hate her specifically because she's a guard LOL. if you dislike how aveline handles her authority, how do you think CARVER would handle it? his templar path to me seems like proof enough that he only sees these positions as avenues for validation and isn't actually fully prepared for what these positions actually Entail

and for fenris. people misunderstood that banter i think LOL. first of all, people mix up her banter about fenris squatting with banter about formal complaints about him. it was the latter she didn't throw out, and this is only after you finish her quest where you help her expose the previous captain's corruption. she's the guard captain. the complaints go to no one else but her. all she's doing is proving that she isn't going to be the next jevan. plus, i think this gets overinflated a lot LOL her and fenris are like two of the most amicable party members. she changes patrols around his mansion to give him some peace of mind, she warns him when he's drawing too much attention to himself. i don't think it's a fair assessment at aaaall to say aveline is somehow neglecting or endangering fenris, because it's literally the exact opposite. she protects all of her friends, even the Fucking Abomination Who Does Nothing But Antagonize Her LOL

this got long. erm. teehee. it's not a big deal if you don't like aveline LOL i mean we all have our favorites and least favorites and it's not like i expect everyone to love her. i just feel like these opinions Are sometimes worthy of reflection. do you give the other companions the same scrutiny? are you really judging her on her own merit or are you judging her on the purity test we tend to subconsciously apply to female characters in general, even if it's a subconscious thing? like i could try to name the amount of male characters in dragon age that share the same flaws as her and it would end up an even bigger post than this LOL. do you like gorim? duncan? sten? what makes aveline so much less sympathetic than them? that's all. and if it does turn out to just be a taste thing then i obviously can't brainwash you into loving a character LOL

if you somehow read this whole thing you are braver than any us soldier. here's the funniest picture of ricky i have in my album.

[anothermansjeans]

I think singer!reader would sometimes join Spencer on a case, like when she's writing her new album. Cause who gives a fuck is she writes from her own home or a hotel room.

So after a tough day at work with a particularly difficult unsub, he gets back to his hotel room and she's just laying in beb humming some lyrics while tapping her hand on her leg

And everything is just so sweet and fluffy

<33

-XXX-

~W~

OH ITS BEEN OVER A YEAR SINCE I'VE GIVEN THEM SOME ATTENTION!!!! i promised something and ITS HERE!! it's been a while since i've written pls be kind LMAO

also! the song referenced is Count On Me by Ashe

wc: 889

cw: cm case stuff, suggested nsfw stuff

singer!reader masterlist

++

Spencer was exhausted. The team had flown out to Washington state to help the Seattle police department on a case. It was grueling, truly. Involving kids, too much death, and a very persistent and hard-to-tame unsub.

This unsub was unlike anything he's seen in all of his years on the team. Yes, there were always the most heinous people they've dealt with– some people affecting those on his team– his family– but something about the man they had locked up made his stomach churn. Why would you ever want to hurt children?

His thoughts ran rampant on the subject as he sulked through the hotel lobby, into the elevator, and into his room. The stupor he’d been in shattered the moment he opened the door and a soft strum of a guitar played.

“Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da… Da-da-da-da”

He took his satchel off his shoulder and placed it on the chair by the door while toeing off his shoes. You were sitting on the bed in nothing but one of his shirts and socks (the way he left you this morning), while a guitar sat on your lap, pen in your hand, and notebook in front of you. He watched as you would hum and play before jotting down notes in the book. You were ethereal.

You had a small break in your tour schedule, and you were luckily also in Washington the same time the team was. Because of this, Spencer had practically begged you to stay with him while he was there for the short week. It took very little convincing before you were sprawled out on his sheets and whispering sweet nothings to each other.

You continued the pattern of singing and writing as Spencer made his way over and gently sat down, leaning his body to lay on the pillows behind you, eyes instantly closing at the melodic sound.

His presence caused a pause in your actions, and you turned to face him a bit. “Hey…” Your voice was soft– truly the perfect pitch for the setting you've created– and you placed your hand on his forehead, brushing the hair from his face. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, clear with stress. “Do you want to talk?”

He shook his head slightly, nuzzling his face closer to your thigh and gently placing a kiss. His arms sluggishly wrapped around your waist, squeezing the tiniest bit before he spoke, “no… just want to listen to you.”

You just about melted into him. You knew there were times where he was affected by a case more than he normally would be, and those days, you'd be curled up together as you work on your new album. Today was one of those days.

“You want to hear the newest song?”

He turned his head so that his cheek rested on your thigh, but his eyes still met yours. He let out a soft “mhmm” as an excited glint appeared in his eyes.

“It's not done– clearly– and I think it'd sound better on piano, but the working title is Count On Me.”

Your fingers softly strum the guitar as Spencer lightly taps on your leg where his hands rest from his arms around you. A smile makes its way to your face before you start singing.

“This could be our last night together

We may never know

'Long as I'm alive, you'll never be alone

You'll never have to learn to take it on your own

I hope you die first so you'll never know

What it's like

Without somebody

To lean on”

You continue to play, and Spencer holds onto you tighter. You look down quickly to make sure he’s okay, but all there is is a look of adoration beaming from him.

You give him the same look, and then pick up on the strumming.

“Count on me

And I'll be there

Whenever you call me

Oh, I will come running

I'll be

On the next plane home

Whenever you need me

Oh, I will be there

Count on me

Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da”

Your fingers begin to slowly fade out on the guitar, and once you stop, you gently place the instrument to the side, and give Spencer your full attention. “So?”

He pulls you down so that you're laying with him, and he maneuvers himself to lightly lay between your thighs, his arms still around you. “I love you.”

You chuckle and drag your fingers around his forehead to go down his cheek. “I was talking about the song.”

He hums with a smile– a smile that reaches his eyes– and he leans up a bit to capture your lips with his. The kiss is light, but it speaks more than a thousand words. When he pulls back, nothing but honesty litters his face. “That might be my favorite one yet.”

“Really?” You search his eyes for an inkling of a lie, but again, you find nothing but the truth. “I love you, too.”

His forehead goes to rest on your chest and he’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”

His thanks confuses you. “For what,” you ask, as you run your fingers through his hair.

“For everything. Loving me, making me feel safe, making me happy.”

His words are simple, but they make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Well then, thank you, too.”

++

singer!reader taglist:

@itsleilabxtch @hopeless--romamtic @taylorswiftilovecowboylikeme @marshatesthisreality @ladylincoln @delightfulmakerpiegiant @chericherrypie @punksnotdeadbutiam @stillhere197 @laddywitch @httpstoyosi @obi-wansgirl @amandareids @mynameiskelly @charismatic-writer @aremuslupinsimp @loverliner

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!