#WHAT IS THE POINT!!!! WHAT DO I WANT WHERE AM I GOING!!! WHAT COMES NEXT!!!!!!
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do you believe me now? | 4
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.
part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!)
a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses
(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!
“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”
You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.
“That one is complicated.”
You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.
“You don’t know.”
“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”
“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”
“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”
“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”
Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.
You look at it.
And then you set your phone down.
“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.
Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.
“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”
Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.
“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”
“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”
“Yes, I have.”
It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.
“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”
You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.
He looks good. Almost too good.
“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.
“Something… naked?”
His grin widens and he shakes his head.
“Me naked or you naked?”
Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Mm… why not both?”
“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”
The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.
“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”
He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”
He grabs your wrist carefully.
“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”
“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”
He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”
Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.
“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”
“So business as usual?”
He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.
“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”
A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.
Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.
You cover his hand with your own.
“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.
“What? No!”
“Are you going to cheat on me?”
“Absolutely not, I—”
“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”
“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”
It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.
“Every time?”
“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.
“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”
You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.
“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”
“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”
You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.
“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”
Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.
“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”
You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.
“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”
He kisses your palm.
“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”
“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”
Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”
He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.
“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.
“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”
Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.
“You want to know what I’d do to you?”
“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.
“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”
As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.
“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”
You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.
“What are you gonna do after that?”
“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”
Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.
“Yes, please.”
He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.
“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”
“Why careful? I don’t want that.”
He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.
“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”
The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.
“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”
It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.
Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—
And then his phone rings.
You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.
He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.
“I’m sorry.”
Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.
“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.
If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.
“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.
You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.
“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”
He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.
“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”
You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.
Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.
“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”
“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”
You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.
But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.
Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.
In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.
“Spencer?”
“Hm?”
It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.
“I…”
Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.
He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.
“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.
“I forget.”
FUUUUUUCK.
Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.
He knows.
He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.
Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.
“Well, let me know if you remember.”
It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.
Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.
You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.
But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?
Maybe you have it all wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.
You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.
24 hours go by.
24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.
Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.
Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)
Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.
You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.
“Hello?”
Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you?”
“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.
“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”
“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”
“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.
“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”
A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.
“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Right.”
More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”
“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.
“What? Why?”
“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”
Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.
“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks.
“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”
Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”
“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.
“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”
When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.
“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”
“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”
You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.
“Guess whose bed.”
Silence.
“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”
“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”
“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”
“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”
Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.
“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”
“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.
“No, not you. You are always the exception.”
“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”
Spencer groans.
“You’re killing me.”
“What? What did I do!”
“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”
“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”
But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.
“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”
“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” you frown.
“Tell me what this is.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.
“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”
Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.
“I don’t know. I miss you.”
He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.
“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”
“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”
“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”
Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…
“I’m not taking anything out on you.”
“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”
Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.
“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.
“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”
“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.
“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”
“I—”
“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”
The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.
“What… what thoughts?”
“None that you need to concern yourself with.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.
“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.
“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”
“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”
“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”
“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.
Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—
“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”
You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.
“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”
He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.
“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”
“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”
“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”
You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.
“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”
It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.
“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.
“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”
You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.
“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”
The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.
“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”
“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”
“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”
“Do we have to?”
The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.
“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”
“But you’re… you’re good, right?”
Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.
“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”
“And I’m good. So...”
“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”
You groan in frustration.
“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”
“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”
“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”
The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.
“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”
“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”
“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”
You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.
“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.
“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”
“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”
He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.
“You want me to come inside you?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.
—
On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.
“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”
“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”
You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—
“’M not.”
Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.
“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”
You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.
“Where are you touching?”
“Um—over my clothes.”
Cute.
“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”
It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”
He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.
“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”
Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.
“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.
“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”
“I am ready��” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”
“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”
He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.
“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”
The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”
“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”
“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”
He gets the general sentiment.
“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Mhm!”
“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”
“Spencer!”
He knows.
“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”
The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.
“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”
“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”
He’s barely kidding.
“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.
“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”
You laugh. He blushes even more.
“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”
“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”
“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”
The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.
“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”
“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.
Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.
For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.
—
A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.
You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?
“Spencer?” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.
“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”
Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.
“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”
“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”
Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.
“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”
Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.
“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”
“But…?”
Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.
“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”
The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.
“You regret your first time?”
Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.
“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”
Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.
Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.
What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.
You want to scream bloody murder.
But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”
Maybe that’s worse.
Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.
“I didn’t realize you…”
I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.
I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.
I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.
If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.
“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.
More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.
“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”
Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?
What does one even wear to a breakup date?
“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.
Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.
“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”
“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.
“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.
So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.
“Goodnight.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic
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Careless
Summary: Part 2 of Thoughtful.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Reader
Warnings: My poor attempts at being funny. No use of Y/N. Fluff. Angst. Tony being kind of an asshole. Bucky's self-deprecating thoughts. Reader being dumb.
Word Count: 1K
A/N: I keep having no idea what this is, I have no endgame but I hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
Part 1
Stark parties are a hassle. Tony always insists on the team dressing up, cocktail dresses, tuxedos and all that.
So that’s why you’re all dolled up right now, a black sparkly floor-length gown that highlights your curves perfectly with a slit that goes up your left thigh with black stilettos, your hair curled perfectly and your make-up on point thanks to Natasha and Wanda, gold hoop earrings finishing the ensemble.
The only thing that looks like it doesn’t belong on your right now are Bucky’s dog tags hanging from your neck.
Things with Bucky have been going relatively good, you’re not really dating but neither of you let a moment pass without trying to flirt with each other. You enjoy the attention he only gives you and he enjoys making you flustered.
You’ve even managed to make him blush himself a few times.
You haven’t taken his dog tags off since that morning Bucky put them on you, and that’s not gone unnoticed by the team who have had a field day teasing you about it. Just never enough to bother you and make you want to take them off.
Until now.
“Come on, they look so out of place!” Tony says while chuckling as you roll your eyes, drink in hand while you stand in the middle of the party while talking with Tony, Scott and Maria.
“Leave her alone, Stark.” Maria comes to your defense and you give her a grateful smile. All the girls think it’s adorable that you wear Bucky’s tags.
“He’s not wrong, though.” Scott chimes in. “That’s a beautiful get up, but the tags stand out, and not in a good way.”
Anyone else, you’d be creeped out, but you know Scott is in a happy relationship with Hope and he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s more of a girlfriend at this point.
“I don’t care.” You say simply, sipping your drink. “I like them, and I’m not taking them off.”
“You haven’t taken them off in weeks.” Tony points out, a dangerous smirk starting to grow on his face. “Could it have anything to do with the particular soldier that gave them to you?”
You roll your eyes, knowing where Tony’s going with this because he’s gone there countless times now.
“It has nothing to do with Bucky, I just like them.” You say causally.
“You like him.” Tony says childishly while the other two snicker at your groan. “Maybe you even love him.”
You scoff and almost glare at Tony. “I don’t love him.”
“Then prove it.” Tony says without missing a beat. Obviously he has you exactly where he wants you. “Take them off.”
“What would that even prove?” You roll your eyes again.
“Prove to me that they don’t mean as much to you as I think they do. Take them off.” He keeps grinning at you, challenging you.
“You’re a child.” You say simply, having no intention to accept this silly challenge.
“Yes, I am.” He says and all four of you chuckle, before Tony takes it one step further. “Take them off for a week and I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”
You give him an unimpressed look. It’s not a surprise, Tony’s known to do this kind of thing all the time. He once bet Sam twenty thousand dollars if he went streaking for at least 4 blocks around the tower.
His ‘falcon’ was on the paper the next day.
“Come on, if you’re so sure I’m wrong, why not make some money off my arrogance.” Tony says with a smirk when you narrow your eyes at him, he knows you’re considering it.
“Fine.” You say after a pause. You hesitantly take the tags off and put them on Tony’s outstretched hand. It’s only a week and it doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself.
Unbeknownst to you, Bucky saw the whole thing from a distance. And it meant plenty to him.
He couldn’t hear what you were saying even with his enhanced hearing because you were far away and the party noise was almost deafening, but Bucky saw you clearly as you took off his tags and gave them to Tony.
To Tony.
Did they not mean as much to you as they did to him? Was this whole thing just a joke to you? Was he making a fool out of himself thinking you liked him as much as he liked you? Maybe you just liked the attention. Maybe you were fucking with him, having fun at his expense because he convinced himself you like him, because how could he even think someone like you actually likes him? Maybe you’ve been laughing behind his back while he’s been falling for yo-
“Hey, Sergeant Grumpy.” His thoughts are interrupted by your playful voice that just a minute ago was the single greatest sound that he wanted as the soundtrack of his existence for the rest of his life.
But right now, it’s making his nostrils flare with barely contained anger while he almost glares at you.
You think nothing of it, convincing yourself that maybe the party is making him anxious like it usually does. After all, Bucky doesn’t do good with strangers.
Or maybe Sam has been getting on his nerves more than usual tonight. Whatever it is, you want to make him feel better.
So you wrap your hand around the tie of his suit and pull him towards you a little, copying the move he’s now done countless times with his dog tags around your neck.
“You wanna hear something funny?” You ask playfully, wanting to tell him about the bet you just made with Tony and thinking Bucky will get a kick out of it and it’ll take his mind off of whatever has him in a bad mood.
But you get no chance to say anything more since he takes your hand away from his tie.
“Leave me alone.” He says with a harsh tone you’ve never heard him use towards anyone, let alone you. “Forever.”
That said, he walks off and out of the room in the direction of his quarters without giving you a second glance, leaving you to look after him, too dumbfounded as your mind tries to play catch-up.
What the hell just happened?
Requested Taglist: @marvelcasey05 @ordelixx @alltoounwellread @capswife @sapphirebarnes @rio-reid-whoreee @theunknownmarveluser @alltoowellread @a-very-fictional-girl
#bucky barnes#avengers x reader#bucky barnes x you#sam wilson#steve rogers#clint barton#tony stark#peter parker#natasha romanoff#avengers x platonic!reader#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#marvel fanfiction#scott lang#wanda maximoff#maria hill
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Forgotten Birthday - CL16
+summary: It's yours and your twin brother, Charles' birthday and no one would forget, right?
+pairing: Charles Leclerc x W series driver!Leclerc!Reader
+warning(s): favoritism, curse words, jealousy(?), mentions sexism, mentions misogyny. If I'm missing something, let me know.
I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.
She loved birthdays. Her birthday granted, she shares hers with her twin, Charles, her mother's birthday, her brother's birthday, anyone's birthday really. But to be honest, it doesn't even need to be someone's birthday for her to shower them with affection. It could be an anniversary or even something as simple as a race win. Anything is worth celebrating in her eyes.
When she looked at her phone, there was not a single message wishing her a happy birthday. 'It's still early, so maybe they haven't had a chance to message me yet,' she thought to herself. 'But then again, people have forgotten my birthday before.'
I bet you're wondering; how do people forget your birthday when you're a twin? Simple. Having parents who accidentally favored one twin over the other. She knew it wasn't done on purpose. Both of her parents loved her unconditionally, but a lot of the times she'd get pushed aside and forgotten about until someone pointed it out. And yeah, her parents would always make it up to her by going out to dinner at a place of her choice the following day, but what's the point of celebrating your birthday when it wasn't even your birthday anymore.
Come noon, the only person to reach out and wish her a happy birthday was Charles teammate Carlos, which she appreciated, but it wasn't the person she wanted to hear from. After sending a quick thank you text, she plopped down on the couch, putting on some random nature documentary.
Mumbling under her breath, "Happy Birthday to me."
All the way across the world in Austin, Texas, Charles stood in the Ferrari hospitality surrounded by Ferrari employees as they sang happy birthday to him. His birthday was actually three days ago, but he still appreciated them taking the time out to do something special. Though for the last six days, he had this nagging feeling like he was forgetting something, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He bent forward, blowing the candles out. Carlos, who was standing next to him, patted his shoulder. "What did you wish for?"
"If I told you, then it wouldn't happen," he laughed, grabbing a fork for his piece of the red Ferrari themed cake. That feeling of him forgetting something came crawling back.
"You okay, Charles? You look like you're thinking awful hard about something."
"That's because I am." he racked his brain for anything that would give him an idea of why he felt the way he did. "I just feel like I'm forgetting something."
"Well, did you wish y/n a happy birthday?" Carlos asked.
He gasped, nearly dropping the plate that was in his hand. "MERDE! (shit) I forgot to wish her a happy birthday!"
"You forgot to wish your sister, your twin, a happy birthday? Even I wished her a happy birthday, mate."
He sat the plate of cake down on the table and reached for his phone in his pocket, dialing y/n's number. Monaco is roughly seven hours ahead of where he's at, so the chances of y/n answering is slim to none. His call went straight to voicemail. He cursed under his breath and tried again, and like before, his call went to voicemail. Sunday couldn't come fast enough.
Charles found himself at his sister's apartment late Monday afternoon with flowers and a bottle of her favorite wine. As he knocked on the door, he took a step back. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't answer, but to his surprise, she did.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I'm here to make up for forgetting your birthday."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "It was your birthday, too, yet I bet you a had small celebration with Ferrari."
"Y/n-,"
"No, Charles. Do you know how I felt when the only person to wish me a happy birthday was your own teammate?"
"And there's no excuse I can make to forget your birthday since it was mine as well," Charles sighed. "But can we please continue this conversation inside?"
Y/n stepped aside, letting Charles in. "You know, this isn't the first time I've been forgotten about, and it honestly sucks knowing that you're the one mom and dad always focused on."
"What? That's not true!" Charles exclaimed.
"Really? Remember when we were six, and I wanted that new Ferrari Lego set? You ended up getting it and you didn't even play with Legos. Or when Arthur and I had to stop karting because mom and dad couldn't afford to keep you, Arthur and I going? Who was it that got to continue while Arthur and I had to watch? You." She snapped. "When I picked karting back up, you were already making your way to formula one. I was jealous because I knew I wasn't probably going to make it to F1, but then I got a great opportunity to be in the W series. But even then, it felt like no matter what I did or achieved was good enough."
Charles let y/n rant and get everything off her chest. Just when he was about to say something, y/n cut him off. “The thought of retiring from racing has crossed my mind more times than I'd like to admit.”
Her admission stunned him. Y/n? Retire from racing? That’s absolutely insane.
“You can’t just retire, y/n. Racing is your life! Your passion!”
“It is and it always will be, but when you’re constantly compared to you, it takes a toll.”
“You aren’t compared-”
“I’m going to stop you right there. My race in Miami back in May, I won. Your race in Miami you got p2 and yet your results were the center of attention in my post-race press conference. They didn’t even bother to talk about how well I drove, stats, or even how I felt when I won the race. It was you, you, you.” She flexed her fingers, attempting to calm herself down. “You should be thankful you’re still racing right now, Charles. I didn’t even get to finish my season because of funding issues. But what gets me is that you and the other drivers on the grid talk about the w series and what the impact women could have in formula one, but when it comes down to it, it's basically all talk. You guys don’t put your money where your mouth is.”
The two siblings stared at each other without saying a word. There weren’t many times he could recall that his sister had ever snapped at him like that. She was very much like him personality wise. Always thoughtful, known to say nothing mean about anyone, and is a pretty simple person who likes simple things.
“I- I didn’t know you felt this way.”
“I said nothing because I didn’t want to be rude.” she sighed, “As a woman who is in a male dominated sport, I’m expected to act a certain way. I’m not taking seriously when I talk about cars, their parts, where they go and how they operate. When I’m out on dates and I say I’m a race car driver, they don’t believe me. If they believe me, then they ask me how my boobs fit in my fireproofs. If I get mad over something that happened during the race, I’m seen as dramatic. I’m not saying you don’t have your struggles, but you have it a hell of a lot easier than me.”
“Do you feel better now that you got out of your system?”
“Honestly? Yeah. That’s been brewing for weeks.”
Charles moved closer to y/n, giving her a side hug. “I really am sorry for forgetting your birthday. I genuinely want to make it up to you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Charles should’ve known by the mischievous grin on y/n’s face that he was in for it. That was proven to be correct when the following week he stood in the Ferrari with bright pink nail polish on his fingernails. It was the first and the last time he ever forgot his sister’s birthday.
---
I had this in my drafts for MONTHS!!
tagging:
@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry @allenajade-ite @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @wcnorris @bibissparkles @cherry-piee @khaylin27 @evie-119
#formula 1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#f1 x driver!reader#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader#formula 1 x y/n#f1 x y/n
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It Was Horrible Until It Wasn't (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.
Summary: Reader comes up to her apartment after Spencer walks her home from the diner, where they spend the last couple of hours. She is still processing the night and wonders if they will meet again. Another fortuitous event makes that happen. In which terms they will part ways again?
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Mention of guns (tests to carry a gun). Mention to Reader's ex. Some strong words? IDK what else. If I forgot something, let me know.
A/N: I got very excited after your reactions and comments to "If Anything, I Find it Educative." So this is kind of part two, from Reader's perspective. I'm not convinced about a series yet, even if I have some ideas. What would you like to see if it happens?
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Reader's POV
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As I open the door, a bunch of cardboard boxes scattered on the floor greets me. That reminds me that I haven't unpacked all my things yet.
I've only been living here for two weeks, and I'm still getting used to the idea that this is my new home.
It doesn't feel like it yet.
But the boxes will be a problem for tomorrow. Now, I only want to take off these high heels and this fancy dress and call it a night - a pretty eventful night.
Not only did I have to confront my ex with his new girlfriend, but I also had to pretend I was okay with it. But how did I expect to do that? Did I genuinely think two months would be enough to be outside again to prove I got myself up?
How naive of me.
I make a beeline to my bedroom, not even bothering to look at the rest of the apartment.
Again, it's tomorrow's problem.
Retreating my phone from my purse, I plug it to charge over my bedside table as I strip from my clothes and go to the bathroom to do my nightly routine.
The entire time, my mind doesn't stop wandering. At some point, it settles on the girl I helped from choking. It was a total coincidence for me to be there. I only approached the bar for another drink when I heard that man rambling. I don't know why my ear perked up, but it did. When I look to find the voice's source, my eyes land on the man and the girl by his side.
He was talking as if the world would end if he didn't, and the girl only eyed him from head to toe, clearly not giving a damn what he was saying. I kept subtly listening to them while sipping my drink. The guy's voice had something enchanting. I would have heard him talk for hours if it were from me. It was a bad thing his interlocutor wasn't so receptive, and when she occasionally said something, it was a flirting remark that only made him uncomfortable.
What a shame.
When I noticed her fighting to breathe, swatting her hands in desperation, and the poor guy froze on the spot, I knew I needed to do something.
I didn't think much of it and wrapped my arms around her torso to help her. It worked. The oyster she choked with flew into the air, and she could breathe again.
But the next thing I knew, her palm connected to the man's cheek.
The poor guy seemed so confused, and the people talking around didn't help either. What a shitty situation. And as the good citizen I am, I tried to do something about it, only to get lashed out by the same woman I just saved from choking.
Fuck it.
Seeing the people's attention returned to them, I walked away. That wasn't my fight in the first place.
Returning from the bathroom, I hear my phone ding. It's a text from my friend Andie.
Andie: How did the gala turn out? Did you see him? He was with her, right?
Andie had insisted on me not going to the gala, although I repeated to her several times that it was okay, that nothing would happen, and that I couldn't hide forever.
Me: You were right. I wasn't ready.
It's a defeat I must recognize. I wasn't prepared to see them.
Andie: My girl, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for you.
It was, but it doesn't mean the night was a disaster.
Me: It was horrible until it wasn't. I can tell you more tomorrow. Now, I only want to go to bed.
Andie: You have me a bit confused here, but okay. I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight; I love you.
I return my phone to the charger and slip under the covers.
It was horrible until it wasn't.
I keep thinking about that. And a smile tugs the corner of my lips. Since Spencer - the guy who got slapped by the oyster-choked girl - approached me at the terrace, the night wasn't that awful anymore.
Who would have thought I would end my night in a diner, dressed to the nines and spouting details of my messy life to a stranger?
-
Monday morning comes faster than I wanted.
I spent my Sunday mostly unpacking boxes and tidying my apartment, and now, with a coffee in hand, I cross the hall to my office on the third floor of the FBI building in Quantico.
Some colleagues greet me as I pass by. I return them with a polite smile. I saw a couple of them at the gala on Saturday. I only hope they didn't notice the wreck I was that night.
On my desk, a pile of hundreds of manila folders are waiting for me.
This Monday will be a blast.
Dutifully, I reach for the first folder to start my work, as my ear perks up to two colleagues' conversation about the gala.
"Did you see them? Those hot chicks from Counterterrorism?" a male colleague says to another.
"Yeah. I heard one of them was hitting on Reid from the BAU. What a waste!" The other adds.
"And the lucky bastard wasn't able to take her home. His nerdy charm didn't even help him with that."
The mention of the BAU brings Spencer to my mind again. And I realize I don't even know his last name.
I don't think I need to know, but I can't stop my fingers from typing 'Spencer FBI BAU' on my computer.
My findings make the conversation between my colleagues intriguing. They were precisely talking about Spencer, Spencer Reid, and the girl with him at the gala. Clearly, the incident did not go unnoticed.
I don't like the tone they refer to him, either. I do not know the guy well, but I'm sure he's way better than any of the men at the venue that night.
Are you hearing yourself (Y/N)? That kind of blind trust put you in this situation with your ex in the first place.
I shouldn't grant credibility so fast, but honestly? Spencer seems to be everything but a threat. The things he said, the way he spoke. Anyway, I should stop thinking about that if I want to finish some work. Yeah, that's what I need to do.
Drowning out the noise, I return to the opened folder and continue working.
Some would ask how a task as monotonous as the one I'm doing now could be appealing to someone. The appeal for me comes from how everything fits in the right places and serves a purpose. That's enough for me, even if some people don't understand it.
My ex didn't. And as him, many others.
I'm still fighting to ease the effects their judgments had on me.
Around lunchtime, stopping the papers review, I pick up my phone to check my messages. Yesterday, I promised Andie I would have lunch with her today, so I'm checking for her confirmation and a place to meet.
Just in time, a text comes. She is free right now and suggests a restaurant just outside the building.
"Hey, girl! I'm glad you made it," she greets me as I spot her on one of the tables.
"Of course. I promised I would."
Lunchtime is only one hour, so we order quickly and go straight to the matter.
"I can't believe the son of the bitch decided to go and show off his new conquest," Andie huffs.
"Not that new, considering she has been sleeping with him in what used to be my bed at least a month before I discovered it," I correct with an annoyed look.
It's good to say these things without crying my eyes out anymore.
I tell Andie more details about how it went to share a space packed with mutuals around us and try to stay composed.
"But at some point, I just couldn't. So I retracted to the bar. I only wanted to grab a drink and be alone."
Andie nods in understanding.
"I don't blame you. So you were at the bar when you crossed to the girl to whom you did Heimlich?"
Yesterday, by phone, I told Andie the main facts regarding that, and after laughing for a solid five minutes about the whole ordeal, she made me promise to reveal more details in our lunch meeting.
That's why I'm describing what happened piece by piece.
"She slapped the guy? And she yelled at you? What a bitch! But I don't understand why he apologized on her behalf."
"Honestly? I didn't understand it, but it made sense after talking with him. The guy felt responsible, even if it wasn't related to him. It was the fact that someone had to do the right thing," I explain, with my eyes fixed on my water glass, recalling Spencer's words from that night.
I can't help but feel some fondness for his genuine worry. Andie raises an eyebrow and hums.
"The guy made a good impression on you, I see."
Andie's tone is teasing, and I know exactly where she is heading.
"Come on, don't start with that," I warn her. I'm not thoroughly annoyed, but I'm not in the mood for teasing. Andie scoffs.
"I'm just saying it's good to know there are men out there that give hopes up. That's all!"
"Sure," I mumble, not very convinced by her explanation.
The rest of our lunch follows a similar tone. When I finish telling Andie about Spencer walking me home, I know she is biting her tongue to say something to taunt me, but she holds back and opts for a question.
"Do you think you'll see him again?"
I ponder my answer. I don't know, although I remember Spencer asking, 'See you around?'
That doesn't mean we agreed to see each other again, even if I said, 'Sure, why not?'
Did Spencer mean that? Did he want to see me again?
"I don't know. Maybe. We both work in this building, so there are chances, I guess," I shrug. Andie narrows her eyes.
"But do you want to?"
That's a question I don't know how to answer, so I take some seconds to think about it.
"Let's say I'm not opposed to the idea."
A reply that could be an understatement. But not I'm telling Andie that.
She doesn't press on the matter, though. And I'm grateful she doesn't.
Now it's time to go back to work. We walk out of the restaurant to our building and separate ways at the elevator. Andie continues to the eighth floor when I hop off on the third.
Returning to my desk, I continue checking the folders piled on my desk, and my mind only focuses on that, knowing if I don't, there is no chance of getting this stack finished.
----
A good thing about the week progressing is nobody talking anymore about the damn gala. It's been a nightmare since Monday when everyone had to mention something about it. That included comments about me facing my ex there.
Of course, it was public knowledge I was dating an agent of the Criminal Investigative Division. Also, it became public knowledge he cheated on me with his current girlfriend from Counterterrorism.
But finally, it is Thursday, and everything seems to have returned to normal, so much so that the amount of work has increased exponentially. That's why I'm still at the office at seven pm.
I only assume it's time to go home when my boss pokes out of his office and calls for Andrew, one of our coworkers who distributes files and memos to the other departments.
I turn around, and it's only me at this hour. My boss notices the vacant office and is now talking to me.
"I guess I have to ask you to do this. Can you go to the sixth and drop this to Aaron Hotchner's office? I would have waited until tomorrow for Andrew, but this must be at his desk today."
I don't think I have a choice, so I pick the folder, promising to drop it before going home.
With my coat and purse, I grab the folder and stroll to the elevator.
I have been working here for four years and know every financial detail of each Quantico department, but I still need to recognize all department locations in this facility. So, floors are just floors, except the eight where Andie works.
Arriving at my destination, I walk into a bullpen, where I can see a lot of desks and offices. And just like my floor, it is almost empty. Anyway, I see one of the offices with lights on. My instinct tells me that's the place I'm looking for, and the plaque at the door confirms my suspicions: SSA Aaron Hotchner.
"Come in," a voice comes from the office when I knock.
Peeking inside, a stern-looking man is glancing in my direction. "Can I help you?" he asks with a slight frown.
"Yes, sir. I'm with the Finance Division, and my boss asked me to bring this to you," I explain as I reach out to hand him the folder. When he grabs it, realization washes over the man.
"Of course. Thank you very much-" Agent Hotchner trails off.
"(Y/L/N)," I supply, knowing he wants my last name.
"Thank you very much, Agent (Y/L/N)."
Weird.
Everyone in the finance and administrative department refers to each other only by last name. We use the 'agent' thing mainly with those who do the fieldwork, and we are used to that.
"You're welcome, Agent Hotchner," I smile politely, ready to leave the man's office. He nods approvingly.
"Hotch, sorry for interrupting you, but I'm ready with my report. I thought you wanted it-"
A man talks, entering abruptly at the office. He stops in his tracks when he sees Agent Hotchner isn't alone.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were with someone. I can come back later," he apologizes.
Wait. I know that voice.
I turn, and I see Spencer standing there. His eyes meet mine, and I feel my cheeks burn. He doesn't say anything but doesn't tear his eyes from mine.
I don't know how many seconds pass, but it's enough for Agent Hotchner to intervene.
"Reid?" he calls Spencer's attention.
"Uh?"
"The report. It's okay; you can give it to me," he tells Spencer, not without subtly bouncing his gaze between us.
"Oh. Okay." Spencer approaches Hotchner's desk, but he still directs glances at me. I want to say hi to him properly, but it doesn't feel okay knowing the man in front of us is undoubtedly his boss. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. So, I take that as my cue to leave.
"If you excuse me," I tell Agent Hotchner, signaling my departure. Spencer looks at me, and I give him a subtle smile.
"Of course. Thank you again, Agent (Y/L/N)."
"To you, sir. Have a good evening."
I walk down the stairs to the open bullpen and toward the elevator.
Before I can push the go-down button, a voice calls my name. It's Spencer's.
"(Y/N), wait!"
I turn and see him trotting towards me.
"Hi!" he says once we are face to face.
Now I feel bad. Spencer comes here to say hi, and I didn't greet him properly just two minutes ago.
"Spencer, hi. I'm sorry, I should have said something there, but I didn't know if you wanted him to know- I mean, I supposed he was your boss, and I-"
What's wrong with me?
Why can't I explain myself without stumbling with my words?
"No. No. Don't apologize. It's okay. I should have told you something, too. But I didn't expect to see you here."
"Me neither. My boss sent me here instead of one of my coworkers, who left early. I didn't know this was the BAU floor. What a coincidence, uh?" I play cool, shifting my weight from one foot to another. Spencer nods in agreement.
"Totally. It's good to see you, though. I hoped we could cross paths again."
Isn't it weird that his words have produced a funny tingle in my stomach right now?
"Is that so?" I half-breath, noticing his cheeks turn a shade of pink.
"Yes. I mean, I truly enjoyed talking to you that night," he sheepishly admits.
I more than enjoyed it, Spencer.
"Yeah, me too."
Silence sets between us. And it's time to make a decision. I could say I go home and leave him with a lukewarm 'See you around,' or say I'm leaving, but before doing so, give Spencer my number so we can talk soon. Or...
"Are you busy right now? I'm heading home now, but if you can and want, we can go for a coffee."
Wow (Y/N). Very smooth. I like you smooth.
Spencer's eyes widened, and I wondered for a second if my offer was too straightforward.
"If you have plans, it's okay. We don't have to," I relent.
"Oh, no. I don't. And I would love to go for a coffee with you," Spencer hastens to say. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"Yeah?"
"Sure! If you wait for me just a second, I'll pick my things from my desk, and we can go."
----
This time, it's my turn to pick the place.
It's a small coffee shop in the middle of Virginia, just mid-way between Quantico and my apartment.
As we get on the train, I ask Spencer about Agent Hotchner.
"Hotch? Well, he has been at the unit for twelve years now. Gideon, a former agent, told me once he didn't expect Hotch to last long in the BAU. But he proved him wrong. Indeed, Gideon left, and Hotch stayed. Honestly, I can't picture the BAU with another unit chief."
There is a fondness when Spencer talks about Hotchner. I can tell he sees him more than as a superior.
"What about yours?"
Now is my turn to talk about my boss.
"Agent Williams? He is a bureaucrat from head to toe. He had just transferred from another administrative department when I joined the financial division four years ago. At that time, he had ten years working with the FBI. The guy is a genius but lacks social skills. I'm not judging him; I'm a bit like him. But in his position, he needs to make politics, which involves talking and convincing people."
The conversation with Spencer flows so well and easily that I'm as impressed as I was the night of the gala.
When we reach the coffee shop, we sit facing each other. After ordering our coffee, we start talking about our coworkers.
"So Garcia is our technical analyst. I have to say she is like the team's heart. Besides her outstanding skills, her compassion and care are something out of this world," Spencer admits, and again, I feel the fondness in his voice.
"She seems very special," I add. Spencer nods.
"Very. I don't know what it's like to have a sister, but if I had one, I would have liked someone like her.
So he doesn't have a sister. Does he have brothers, though? We have yet to talk about our families, so this is the first piece of information I get about it.
"What about the guy who came to check what was happening with your girl at the gala?" I ask, and Spencer scoff.
"First of all, Ashley isn't my girl. I think she made it pretty clear that night. And secondly, the guy in question is Morgan, the culprit of why I was with Ashley in the first place."
That's interesting. I want to know more about that.
"How is that?" I ask, sipping my coffee.
Spencer tells me how Morgan insisted they talk to the girls - Ashley and her friends - and how he reluctantly followed him.
I'm about to make a not-so-kind remark when Spencer gets ahead of me.
"I know it may seem like he is a thoughtless person, but he truly means well. I can't entirely agree with his tactics most of the time, but he's right when he tells me I should enjoy more and work less."
"It's safe to say you weren't 'enjoying' that much there," I quip, air-quoting the word 'enjoying.' Spencer chuckles.
"Yeah. Honestly? I have more fun when Morgan kicks doors down in our field chases than when he tries to play wingman for me."
What? Kick doors down?
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the FBI had to spend thousands of dollars in repairs for third parties last year because of him?"
I know I'm being dramatic. It's impossible that just one agent destroyed that amount of dollars by kicking doors. But still.
Spencer's eyes widen.
"What? No! I mean, yes. He does that, but thousands of dollars? Last time I checked, doors are not that expensive."
I roll my eyes. That's not the point.
"Okay. I know it's not only Agent Morgan's doing, but did you know the buro's budget had increased by 4% last year due to refunds for field operations? And did you know 70% of that increase refers to agents shattering private property?"
Now, I sound like my boss. Great. I became what I swore to destroy.
Spencer looks at me with amusement. I narrow my eyes to him. "What?"
He clears his throat. "Oh. No, nothing. It's just - well, it's fascinating to hear you talking about - uh - numbers."
I can't help but snort. "Come on, how fascinating that can be?"
Spencer grins. "If anything, I find it educative," he parrots my words from that night, and we fall into a fit of laughs.
"Yeah?" I muse after the laughter subsides. Spencer nods, still a smile gracing his face.
Gosh, that smile.
"Well, I can talk about numbers all day. But I'm sure you don't want me to 'fascinate' you that much."
Spencer hums, faking be pondering his options.
"Don't tempt me. I like to know and talk about everything. But before returning to numbers, I want to ask about your coworkers. I already talked much about mine."
Even if there is not much to say, indulging him with an answer is only fair.
"What can I say? In my area, there are three: Anthony, Leah, and me. We were four then, but Andie was promoted to the eighth floor a year ago. Anthony is a good guy, a little inexperienced, but very eager to learn. We don't have a very close relationship, but he's my protegee at work. Leah is very clever and has enough experience, but sometimes she is not present, making things a little tense between us. Andie is rightfully my friend. We got to the bureau simultaneously, and although she doesn't work with us anymore, we are very close."
Spencer is looking at me with full attention. It's odd to talk about this kind of thing with someone. I don't like to talk about my bonds in general. It makes me feel vulnerable. But for a reason that I still don't get, with Spencer, it feels right.
It's night already, and we are in our third coffee.
"Do you usually drink this amount of coffee daily at this hour? I try to cut off my dosis after lunch, but sometimes I just can't," I point as I stir the spoon on my coffee. Spencer hums.
"I drink a lot of it at any time of the day, every day. It's worse when we are on cases because that shitty coffee at the precincts should not even be called coffee," he scoffs, pouring half of the sugar pot into his cup.
I have already noticed the amount of sugar Spencer has used in his two previous coffees; this third is not the exception.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," I say as my eyes dart to his sweet liquid. He follows my line of sight and chuckles.
"I love coffee, but I don't like its bitterness. I know it doesn't make sense, but for me it does."
"Fair enough."
After that, our conversation stumbles to lousy sleep habits.
"Ray hated it. Even once, he told me I purposely got up in the middle of the night to annoy him."
Spencer's brow furrows.
"Ray is your ex?"
Shit. I don't realize I'm talking about him.
Why do I have to mention him? I hate how ingrained he is still in my life.
"Yeah, Raymond. No wonder why things didn't work out between us," I try to joke because I don't want to cry about it anymore.
"An example of a man," Spencer follows my lead, and I'm grateful he doesn't look at me like people usually do when I talk about it. There is no pity. There is no that look saying, 'Oh, poor girl who got cheated on.' It's like a whole understanding. It doesn't make me feel like a failure. And that's a change—a good one.
I chuckle. "Hell, he is."
It's getting late, and it's time to part ways, even if I don't want it. Hours pass quickly with such good company.
"We should get going. It's late," I point as I glance at my phone. Spencer nods in acknowledgment, signaling the waitress to get the check. He is about to fish his wallet when I stop him.
"No. Don't do that. I invited you."
Spencer scoffs, opening his wallet nonetheless.
"No way. You invited me the other night. You can do it next time."
Next time, uh? I want to say something teasing, but the waitress returns with our check.
We are outside the coffee shop now. I adjust my coat as Spencer does the same with his suit jacket. The night is chilly, and the contrast with the warmth of the coffee shop is evident.
"Can I walk you home?" He offers. I have my doubts about that. It's not that I don't like the idea; I just don't want to use more of his time.
"You don't have to. Really," I shake my head.
"Please? You already said it. It's pretty late," he insists, looking at me with dog puppy eyes.
Why is he doing that? He is testing my resolve.
"You know I can take care of myself, right? I'm a certificated FBI agent. I can't carry a gun, but sure I could manage," I argue in a teasing tone. Spencer chuckles.
"I know you are. And I'm sure you could. Even though, why no to prolong our evening for fifteen minutes long?" I raise an eyebrow.
"So you really like my company, uh?"
I'm sure I see a blush creeping his cheeks, and it's endearing.
"I like your company. I thought I made it pretty clear the other night?" he probes. And I don't know how to respond to that.
The truth is quite curious. Teasing Spencer seems so natural sometimes, but now I don't know what to say.
I decide not to say anything and nod, motioning for us to start walking.
Spencer follows me, and we walk in silence for the first block. Then, I feel the need to continue our conversation. I want these fifteen minutes to be as good as the previous two hours.
"Did you know that I used to carry a gun? Although it took me three failed tests to do so."
Spencer looks at me, surprised. I take that as my cue to tell that story.
Once I tell him how I finally managed to pass my shooting test, he starts telling me how he also failed his test a couple of times.
"So you saved your boss life shooting an unsub?" Spencer nods.
"But I really aimed to his leg, not his head," he adds, and we burst into a fit of laughter.
Without realizing it, we are already in front of my building. The laughter subsides when we notice where we are.
I clear my throat. "Well. Uh-thank you. Again," I say, referring to him walking me home.
"No need," Spencer says. "I had a good time today," he adds, smiling.
I can't help but feel my cheeks burn. Spencer casts his eyes to the ground.
"Me too," I admit, biting my bottom lip. "I - uh."
Why am I so nervous right now? Just say what you want to say!
"I - uh. I'd really like to do this again. I mean, you know, maybe next time could be something planned?"
Spencer's eyes flick to mine. I would say he didn't expect me to say that.
"I would love that," he says, keeping eye contact. And for a moment, I think the breath leaves my lungs. Those eyes are something I didn't see in my life before. I can't describe it, but it's enough to make me speechless.
"I guess it's here when I ask for your number?" Spencer's voice is the one that brings me out of the trance.
I chuckle, mid-embarrassed by my absorption moment. I gesture for him to give me the phone. Spencer does it, and I advert his piercing gaze to focus on typing my number. Once done, I return the device with a playful smile. Jeez, I feel like a damn teenager.
A snort leaves Spencer's lips when he sees the name I used for my contact.
"Really?" He asks. I nod, chuckling.
"It's safe to say you won't forget who I am," I confirm.
"Bet I won't."
"Good. Now I'm going to come up," I gesture to the building. "Good night, Spencer."
"Good night, (Y/N)."
I turn to enter the building, and although I can't see him, I feel him standing there in the cold night until I disappear into the elevator.
Once I cross the threshold of my apartment, a ding comes from my phone. Frowning, I pick it up.
Unknown number: Are you free on Saturday at midday? We could go to lunch. Let me know. Good night. SR.
I bit my lower lip. And after typing a reply, I start my night routine before bed.
Oh, boy. What are you getting into (Y/N)?
Whatever it is, it feels so good.
-------------
A/N 2: As always, I'm excited to know your thoughts about this one!
-------------
Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#aperrywilliams#amanda perry williams
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Honkai Star Rail X Arknights | Yandere!Sunday X Sankta!Reader | Part Three
Sunday sits you down in a room that you can only compare to a conference space. You had walked through a long corridors littered with sparkling windows, golden statues. There was a room with a mini city in the centre. You didn't get a chance to look around though, Sunday was insistent that you follow close to him.
The room was round with an evenly round table, place eerily perfect in the center. Tall bookshelves that reach the ceiling cover the walls, some having library ladders next to them.
"Make yourself comfortable," Sunday says casually, running his finger tips across the top of the table as he makes his way to his seat, "We might be here for a while."
You uncomfortably shift within your seat, the cushion beneath you not as comfortable as you'd expect. Your poor ass.
"Now," Sunday interlaces his fingers, "Where should we begin, hmm? We already had polite introductions, what should we do next?"
You can't help but feel a bit uneasy; his casual demeaner is so off putting. You leg begins to bounce rapidly, a nervous tick you picked up.
You attempt to clear your throat.
"Well... let's go over what we already know," you say, trying to regain control over yourself.
You scoot a little in your chair, straightening your back and folding your hands.
"I am (Y/n), codename: Lamplight. I am a combat specialist and medical researcher in Oripathy. Uh... I'm from the region of Laterano, species: Sankta. I currently work under the association 'Rhodes Island' under the direction of Doctor Kal'tsit, Doctor Loriann, and Amiya. Uh... there's nothing really else that comes to mind... Oh! I am also highly dangerous as I am infected with Oripathy."
Sunday sits quietly, his lips lightly pursed, eyes closed as he takes in all this sudden information. All of these things... he's never heard of a single one of them. Sunday takes a deep breath before letting it go through his nose.
"Alright. Thank you for your introduction. Let us first go deeper into these statements. In return, I will explain as much and equally about me and the world around you. Does that seem fair, Lamplight?"
You nod your head, eyes slightly wide at him referring to you by your codename.
"Good. Then let's start with this 'Oripathy' you speak of. You say you're a researcher in this field while also being... infected?"
Your hands fiddle with one another, once again shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You clear your throat again.
"You just had to start there, huh...?" you say with a somber tone, "Alright, I'll tell you everything I know."
You begin to explain your home, how a powerful and dangerous material, 'Originium.' You explain the usages it has... and the horrible, deadly effects it has on the human body. You even roll up the pant sleeve to show a small collection of black crystals forming on the side of your shin. You even told him how you became infected.
"I was on a mission with Doctor Loriann when I got pierced by a Originium lump. Luckily, The Doctor was right there and was able to immediately slow and contain the growth of the Oripathy. I'm glad that I don't use Arts, or the growth would be a lot faster. You don't know just how lucky I am to have my Oripathy growth so slow. Other infected would kill to have theirs infection be so well maintained. I just hope it gives me enough time to live a somewhat fulfilling life."
Sunday's gaze during the whole time never left your form, and once you showed your leg, his eyes never stayed from the crystallin chunks that speckle your skin. He attempted at one point to touch, but you quickly grabbed his hand.
"I wouldn't, not unless you want to be infected too."
It was more of a warning than anything, of course, but you could never be too sure. You would never forgive yourself if you got an innocent person infected.
"I see... Well, let's continue our conversation, shall we?"
#honkai star rail#star rail#crossover#arknights#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere x oc#sunday#yandere sunday#sunday x reader#sunday x you#sunday x y/n#sunday x oc#yandere sunday x reader#yandere sunday x you#yandere sunday x y/n#yandere sunday x oc#sankta#halovian#hsr#hsr x reader#yandere hsr x reader
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one of the literary reason why I want Alastor and Vox to at least have boned and Alastor to be the bottom, is because I think in that position Alastor would have reached a point to have been absolutely vulnerable with Vox. Letting go of his desperate need of control and letting someone else he trusts so much to take the steering wheel. I want him to be in a position where he is so vulnerable yet so safe at the same time and if this happened after the voxal falling out or was the cause then this would be so much more devastating in my opinion. Like I really want Viv to destroy my heart. I want her to take a mallet and bash it into a million pieces.
I want perhaps before the 7 year gap, for Alastor and Vox to maybe do it, and then Alastor becomes afraid with how safe Vox made him feel. So terrified of what that could mean and if that would make him waver from his unchanging unbridled radio demon sona. And if it's after the 7 year gap and some more ups and downs come next season. If they do it then, then I want it to have reached some point where Alastor admits how much he cares about Vox, and have some of those tall walls he barricades himself with to come crashing down. I want tears. I want to see such an intimate moment express the deeply buried human side of him. I want a lot. Some that I can't even explain but I am on my hands and knees praying the Viv will deliver. I'll literally give my left kidney, Viv please!!!!
I know about the canon sexualities but please fuck me up with the literacy if possible!!!
Sorry, my desperation is showing.
#Hazbin hotel#Alastor#Vox#Voxal#Radiostatic#Staticradio#Like honestly it doesn't even have to be romantic love just that Alastor wants Vox around and will let himself be 100% vulnerable with him
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wedding night
Buck is very sweetly holding Tommy's hand as they walk to Buck's room. Tommy is half a step back, so he's watching how Buck's shoulders and hips are relaxed, he's got color in his cheeks, likely from the Very Extra Prom Night Elevator Make Out Session they just engaged in for 5 floors. But Buck's moving easily for the door, he's not nervous, he's not scared. Buck looks over his shoulder and pulls Tommy in as they get to 521, "Hey"
"Hey back" Tommy says, he's pretty sure he's delighted, and yep, only had half a glass of champagne, this is pure delight.
"So," Buck starts, scanning the keycard then stepping in (crossing the threshold!) when Tommy is in Buck drops his hand and slides both his hands to Tommy's hips, pressing him back against the door. "I've been thinking about what you said." Buck noses at Tommy's jaw, breathing him in, thumbs pressing in a little harder at the crests of his hip bones.
"Hmmm, what did I say?" because seriously? At this point Tommy has no idea what Evan is even talking about but he is very interested in where this is going.
Buck chuckles, and it's deep and warm, "You said you didn't know for sure if I was ready." He's still right at Tommy's jaw, nose and then top lip going back and forth, he smells like sandalwood and vanilla, and something that he's learning is just Evan, and it's glorious. This whole night has been one surprise after another, groom debacle, Meeting The Parents, slow dancing, but this, Tommy was expecting Evan to be going through the same angsty drama he himself had gone through. Tommy was prepared to be patient, and to hand hold, to be the man that he had needed (and had never gotten.) So Tommy's giddy, and happy to be led anywhere Evan's going.
Buck leans back enough to look Tommy in the eye. "Can I tell you what I want to do? What I want you to do?" There's that low rumbling voice again. Jesus. Where did this come from? Tommy is so worked up whatever comes out of Buck's mouth next may just put him over the edge. The most he can manage to get out is "Yep!"
"Okay, " Buck starts, he strokes his hands up and down Tommy's sides, settling them both. "We're gonna stay right here, okay?" Tommy nods.
"We're going to get undressed, okay?" Tommy, grins, nods. "Like, now, okay?" there's a bit of a chuckle there, but Buck is still very serious about this. Tommy shrugs off his jacket, unties his tie, then Bucks, and reaches over and hangs them on the knob to the bath. Buck is shirtless while Tommy is still working on his cuffs, Buck takes the moment to step in and gently places his fingertips at Tommy's belt buckle. "Can I?"
Tommy nods, and Buck closes in, and very carefully unbuckles, unclasps, and unzips. Tommy barely gets his cuffs unbuttoned because his hands have started shaking and he can't tell if he's sweaty, nervous, having some kind of coronary event, or just so fucking happy he doesn't even know who he is anymore.
Tommy's blue suit pants fall to the floor, and he steps out, pushing them to the side. Buck quicky steps out of his, eye's never leaving Tommy's. Buck's hands are back, low on Tommy's hips, thumbs stroking the skin above the waistband of his boxer briefs. "Okay. This is what I want. I need you to tell me if this is okay. I am going to get on my knees. I want you, in my mouth. I want your hand on the back of my head, in my hair. I want you to feed it to me. It might take me a minute to get it, but I want to taste you. All of you." Tommy blinks. Tommy's mouth opens. Closes. Opens. Buck lifts one eyebrow.
"'Yes, yes, we can do that"
#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#tevan#kinley#911 abc#lou ferrigno jr#oliver stark#oliver starks eras tour#first time#madney wedding#911 on abc
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Okay, so. Yesterday I received a rather extent anon message blaming me for, apparently, “not being neutral in the drama” because I’m mutuals with someone that had little involvement in the situation I think, and as I found out today, my mutual already clarified things and apologised.
I left my answer to the ask in the drafts, but today I opted to ignore the message and remove the drafted answer. I did this not only because I wanted to drop things already and not stir up any more shit, but also because I have a condition where I constantly tremble, and any extreme emotion — whether it’s good or bad — makes my shaking worsen to the point I can barely function even for basic things and I feel sick in the stomach.
It wasn’t worth going through that. I thought it would be better to answer ask messages of people ranting, or asking things about it that were within the reach of my knowledge.
Until today, that a burner account named @/quillantrophy (which, they accidentally exposed their real account in one of their screenshots), thought they could do a “call out” post... Posting my answers to anon asks & basically treating me as a hypocrite over nothing?
And they said I should explain things because since I wasn’t commenting on anything they said on the post, I was “adding fuel to the fire” (that exact quote). I didn’t have time to explain things at the moment, but I do now and I will answer bit by bit. I will do this just to avoid possible misunderstandings.
I want to clarify that I don’t feel comfortable getting involved in things that I’ve never been involved in— and if I receive more messages about the drama itself, those messages will be deleted. I feel kind of bad about this since people have only been coming to my ask box asking thing about it confuses, or seeking comfort from the moment, but like we’ve been saying, it’s better to drop things already, and focus on the good things inside the fandom.
The answer to the post is below the cut. It’s going to be long, sorry, but I prefer to clear any misunderstandings. And I will highlight something extremely important down below, besides apologising deeply for any misunderstanding. And this is the last time I will be talking about it
“there’s no issue with this, but she claims to be neutral and is currently explaining/advocating on the situation whilst adopting this stance.” I am neutral on the situation. I will eternally remain neutral because as we’ve seen, neither side is good.
As I’ve said before, Cal had little to do with all of this huge mess. From what I learned today, she already clarified and apologised about the situation. Cal was dragged through the mud by both of the groups out of nowhere, and she also fell for their shit so she was fooled by them just like lots of other people— she told me herself.
“This is bullshit, there’s no transparency” huh? what does that even mean,, I just… Literally don’t have any involvement at all? What can I say or do about it? Both groups of people were already on my blocklist since last year lmao.
“She has connection to the drama purely through this even as she apparently didn’t participate — allegedly.” I’m sorry but the allegedly part is killing me too. I wasn’t even on their Discord groups, nor talked to any of the people involved, explain why the word ‘allegedly’ was even added?
also, how the hell am I supposed to be connected to the drama if, as you said, I didn’t even participate in it, only because I’m mutuals with someone who was named in it? What kind of sense does that make?
As I stated above, I am, and always have been a neutral onlooker about the situation, who explained the situation to the confused people, even posting the links with the full info and proof to not spread incorrect information accidentally.
“Does @bucknastysbabe even know or care you’re slamming her on main and then love bombing her the next?” Cal knows about all your post, and all my answers to each ask regarding the situation.
She knows I hadn’t seen her apology/clarifying video until today. She even cheered me up when I had an anxiety attack after this person made this post, only to then delete it and deactivate the account. So, yes, she knows pretty much everything and she knows it was a mere mistake of mine.
Then, the person posted this. I will show the screenshots of what they said, and what answered ask they were referring to using their own SS.
(sorry if the screenshot pics are switched of their right places) I had no idea that was a direct quote from Cal’s apology video, because I OBVIOUSLY HADN’T SEEN IT. I don’t know how else to stress this, but I’m not chronically online, and neither I see everything my mutuals post.
Either way, I literally re-read my own response to check what I had answered, and this was terribly misunderstood. The only response I had about Cal’s statement was “why am I not surprised?”, and in the rest of my response, I tried to be as neutral as possible— in the rest of my response, I was referring to the general situation of the drama, and in fact I was mostly referring to the things Bel, Fae, Em and Ange said + did.
But nothing else, thats it, because I wanted to speak about the situation in general and I was referring to the group of people— I didn’t name names and neither I referenced Cal’s statement any further. I deeply apologise for the misunderstanding, but sometimes I explain myself awfully mostly because English isn’t my native language.
if this was considered with any possible ill intention at all, I offer once again my most sincere apologies. I never had any bad intention, and the only thing I’ve been doing was answer the asks of the people who came to my ask box inquiring about what had happened, try to offer comfort to those who felt disappointed and heartbroken, and in general just try to provide as much positivity as I could amidst the terrible situation.
Some believe I was trying to gain attention from the situation, and that I was stroking the flames of the drama. I at no cost even thought of ‘getting attention’ from it, or that I was actually getting attention, I simply answered the messages I was receiving to interact with my own followers— I mean, it didn’t feel good to leave them hanging.
I do have to take responsibility that perhaps my actions continued to keep the drama up, but again, I never had this intention, and I’m terribly sorry if that’s what my answers and interactions caused.
Please I do hope you guys understand my point of view, and that I never intended for any of this to be understood in the wrong manner. I have to admit that despite all the lovely people and fun moments I had/have in the fandom, it’s also responsible for worsening my condition the 90% of the times due to the unnecessary drama, and this situation today made me feel extremely bad physically as it automatically involved me in a situation I didn’t want to be involved in, nor have anything to do with it.
And that’s why, from now on, I won’t be answering any message related to the drama anymore to not keep mentioning the things that happened. As I said all the way above, we should currently be focusing only on the good, positive things of the fandom— and hopefully, we will all learn to not be rude or gossip about other people over mere fandoms, or fanfanfiction.
Then again, thank you for reading and understanding. If I expressed myself wrongly anywhere in here, please feel free to ask me about it and I will glady re-explain it. I hope this can clear everything, and please, I don’t want to be involved any further in anything.
#fandom rants#I hope this cleared everything out. I am as polite and as clear as I can be about the situation.#important#✧.* amiraverse
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Fates Intertwined (Noah Sebastian x F!Biker!Reader)
This work is entirely fictional involving real life people. Situation and feelings do not reflect the individuals involved in real life. Simply work of fiction and brain worm that came about after my aesthetic I made.
Tag list: @darkmxgician @jilliemiw86 @littlefoxkota
Chapter 2
A few days later, I text Noah to see if he wants to hang out. I wanna know more about him, like his job, his hobbies, his interests. Doesn’t help that he’s really cute. No no no Y/N no don’t think like that of him. As I wait for him to reply, I start to think of ideas for the next video. I look at my phone and see that Cleo is Facetiming me. I answer and set the phone down as I type on my laptop.
“Hey girl,” I say
“Hey girl what you up to?” She asks
“Not a whole lot, I texted Noah just waiting for him to get back to me,” I say and she smirks.
“Noah and Y/N sitting in a tree,” She sings and I groan.
“It’s not like that, we’re just friends,” I say and she laughs.
“Yeah for now,” She says and I shake my head.
“We just met Cleo, we’ll just see where it goes,” I say
“Anyways I have a date tonight,” She says
“Ooo with who?” I ask
“His name is Mason and he’s really sweet,” She says
“Picture of him,” I say. She shows me a picture of him and he is pretty cute, has lots of tattoos like Noah.
“Oo he’s a cutie, if you guys work out see if he has any friends for me,” I say with a chuckle. She smiles and nods.
“You got it sis,” She says. I see the notification that Noah texted me back. I pick up the phone and see what he says.
Noah: just heading to the mall with the guys, wanna tag along?
Me: sure let me just change and I will meet you guys there. Who is coming along anyways?
I see Noah is typing when Cleo grabs my attention again.
“Earth to Y/N,” She says
“Sorry Noah texted me. Going to the mall with him and his friends,” I say
“Ooo well I will let you go then. Have fun and don’t get murdered,” She says and I laugh.
“Same goes for you Cleo,” I say and she laughs.
“We have our locations so talk to you later,” She says and hangs up. I look back at my messages and see that Noah responded.
Noah: Jolly, Davis, and both Nick’s
Me: will meet you guys there in an hour 🙂
I change into appropriate clothes and grab my backpack and helmet. I text Noah that I am on my way to the mall and reeve up my bike. I make sure I have my film camera and regular one in case I wanna take pictures. As I drive to the mall, I play some Motionless in White through my bike speakers. As I drive to the mall, I wave at my fellow bikers and jam out to their music. As I wait at a red light I send a quick text to Noah that I’m about ten minutes away. As I pull up, I spot Noah and Davis out of the group and wave to them. They wave back and I park my bike and take off my helmet. I get off after switching the engine off and walk over to them.
“Hey Noah hey Davis,” I say
“Hey Y/N,” They say. I look at the three other men and the shorter one looks at me like he fell in love or something. The two taller ones chuckle at him and shake their heads.
“I”m Jolly,”
“Nick Ruffilo,”
The last one to introduce himself to me finally snaps out of it and I giggle. Aww how cute
“I’m Nick Folio,”
“Nice to meet you guys, I’m Y/N,” I say with a smile. They smile back and we walk inside.
Jolly’s POV
When we walk in, I stay in the back with Noah.
“Does she know we are in a band?” I ask him and he shakes his head.
“I don’t think she does,” He says
“Good, last thing you need is a fan to fall in love with you,” I say and he chuckles.
“I mean fans already are? Besides she seems cool,” He says
“Just don’t want you to get hurt man,” I say
“I know dude, let’s just have fun and get to know her,” He says and walks towards the front to talk to her.
“I know you don’t trust her Jolly, I don’t fully either but we need to see how this plays out before we make assumptions about her.” Davis says
“You do have a point…ok I will give her a chance for Noah,” I say
“We all will,” Davis says
Let’s hope this doesn’t end in shambles
#bad omens#bad omens band#bad omens cult#noah sebastian#jolly karlsson#nicholas ruffilo#nick folio#bad omens fanfiction#noah sebastian x reader#noah sebastian x biker!reader#biker#noah x biker!reader#bandom#ao3 fanfic#fanfic
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Helluva Boss Season 2 break down. Pt 2: Apology Tour!
I have a feeling this is how Apology Tour will start: Blitzø breaking down due to overwhelming self loathing. Possibly due to someone else going off on him. I believe the cake(? Some sort of food) depiction of him isn't real, but something he's picturing.
Honestly I don't have a damn clue how we got here, but it seems Stolas is performing at a Verosika show, them bonding over there shared heartbreak from Blitzø, made most obvious by the curtain behind them with "BLITZO SUCKS" spelled out in huge letters.
I also think its possible this is the first time we will see the Envy Ring. As the sky looks more purple here to me than in Lust. But i might be crazy.
My assumption is Blitzø crashes the show, why and how I am also not sure. I have a few theories but they aren't rooted in much. Presumably him and Verosika get into it, landing them both in jail. I think here we will see similar to in Oops him and Verosika fighting about their past, that leads to actually communicating, them both finally seeing the others side. They end up working together to escape.
Also want to point out that the window behind Verosika shows what might be a green sky. Which would be kinda strange for them to have traveled to a completely different ring. The neon light in the back of the cell seems to be more of Lust's aesthetic. So honestly who fucking knows what ring they are in anymore.
I think these take place after Blitzø and Verosika escape. Possibly them talking about his relationship with Stolas, and her pointing out the blatantly obvious to Blitzø that Stolas does love him.
I believe the close up shots of them do take place directly after one another, mostly because they are in the same outfits they are shown to be in in their respective clips with Verosika. I think again this is finally them communicating and understanding each other, and possibly here is where they officially become a couple.
I believe these shots of a fight sequence in the Lust Ring are going to be this episodes B plot. We get parts showing Millie, Loona, and Moxxie (and the cool mega man looking ass robot) but no Blitzø.
These clips are a little difficult for me placement wise. They would fit with my expected story line of this episode where Blitzø is remembering and regretting everyone he has hurt. Although I have a feeling they are actually from Mastermind, Ill elaborate on [my post for that episode]
I'm not completely sure where the shot of Millie with the broken glass fits, its been a really tricky one for me. I do not think it has anything to do with Blitzø, like how the line playing when it comes up alludes to. This episode is my best guess, but honestly it could fit a lot of places.
I want to include this background detail from Hells Belles that may have possibly been foreshadowing to this episode. The sign does say "Pride Tour" though, which AGAIN just fucks with what ring this damn episode takes place.
Again I am sorry for the shit photo quality, and possible bad grammar and spelling. I currently have the posts for the rest of the episodes nearly done so expect those in the next few hours ♡ I'd love to hear any other ideas or theories about the upcoming episodes, or anything I missed/got wrong!
Pt. 1: The Full Moon | Pt. 2 :Apology Tour | Pt. 3: Ghostfuckers | Pt. 4: Mastermind | Pt. 5: Sinsmas
#helluva boss#hellaverse#Helluva analyzations#blitzø#Blitzo#Blitz#blitzo buckzo#moxxie knolastname#millie knolastname#Moxxie#Millie#Loona#loona buckzo#verosika mayday#cash buckzo#Tilla#Tilla Buckzo#stolas#stolas goetia#vivziepop#brandon rogers#stolitz
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Trembling Essence:💙Script progress + Updates💙
Hello and welcome new followers, long time no see! I was very busy most of this month, but I am back and ready to continue from where I left off on the game! This game development post might be a bit long but I tried to condense everything! :]
"How are things going so far?":
It's going slow and steady! I haven't been able to do too much these past few weeks, however, I wrote a few parts out before I got too busy and couldn't do anything else.
I want to be very careful when it comes to spoilers but, based on your choices, some of these areas will give off immersive cozy/homelike vibes that really express Noah and the player(Y/N)'s view towards each other.
In the old 2023 script I was very new to writing so the small semi-hints of romance weren't the entire focus compared to the horror aspect but there's a better balance between both genres now and I'm still aiming for a meaningful slow burn versus it just being all over the place. :]
I liked writing them a whole bunch which lead to a lot of these taking place in the mid/end of Day 4+, they just need to be placed in specific areas that call for it. With that being said, it felt really comfy adding key details about Noah and creating meaningful sections in the game. I was even going to draw out some of the unseen script/scenes but I believe the best thing to do is give deeper lore from the [Extended Demo] first. Even though my writing style has improved I still have to fix the multiple pacing issues I wrote last year.
"Playtester's advice":
I wanted to continue working through Noah's backstory but I kept having moments where I'd get sidetracked into wanting to fix up the start of the game again. Eventually, I talked to my play testers about it and they gave me a few encouraging pointers.
To help keep my process at ease, I will fix the beginning of the game when I take breaks from writing up Noah's backstory. :]
I talked about this during early 2024 but the start of the game that leads up to the cabin is still getting reworked. I was able to get some of it fixed for the [Extended Demo] but I wasn't done.
Things are still up in the air but, I will say that I have a better view of everything than I did before. :]
Another priority that needs fixing are the backgrounds! I've improved a lot on drawing and they need to be optimized. When you first start up the game, you wake up in a holed out tree in the swamp with the choice to leave this area and possibly end up in the forest. I was going for a very immersive form of symbolism that only a few noticed but, I believe I can do a better job about this. Unfortunately I don't have any new backgrounds to show right now but maybe next week I'll have some finished up! :]
"Art process/Noah's sprite sheets":
As far as Noah sprite sheet goes, it's still in sketch mode.
I didn't draw anything since I was gone so I need to do a few warm ups before I get to them. There are some old drawing prompts I wrote down and old sketches that I never got a chance to doodle so hopefully I can get to them at some point with some attached lore. :,]
My Q&A / Ask box has been reset!
Thank you to those who have sent in asks in the past, unfortunately they all disappeared except for 1 while I was gone. I have no idea what happened but I can only guess it just got reset.
If you have any questions about Trembling Essence/Noah feel free to ask or resend them in here please. This makes it easier for me to see and answer accordingly! I would really like to hear from you guys!
This is all I have to share so far, Thank you to everyone for the continued support and patience while I was gone! I was ready to accept the interest for this game to fade out and coming back to see that it didn't happen makes me happy, I really appreciate it. :,]
#te updates#male yandere#visual novel#dating sim#yandere#illustration#digital art#murder sim#game development#horror game#art#artwork#artists on tumblr#indie game#otome#drawing#romance#anime drawing#anime art#vndev
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this is part 1 of my catholic guilt eddie/buddie wip! (working title)
i've previously posted small snippets here and here, but this one today is the opening scene!
At the end of the night, after Tommy swoops in and saves the day, delivering Chimney to the altar by chopper, after the vows and kisses are exchanged, after people have eaten and danced and drank and celebrated—
At the end of the night, Eddie finds Buck.
He’s standing alone at the edge of the garden, watching people dance. The party is starting to break up, the crowd thinning out. There’s something wistful and sad in Buck’s expression, and Eddie finds himself walking over to him before he even thinks about it.
“Where’s Tommy?”
The man had been here earlier. After the heroics, he had stayed for a while. Eddie had watched as he and Buck danced together without meaning to, drawn to the two of them slow dancing to the band Maddie hired. Eddie had caught Buck’s eye over Tommy’s shoulder and lifted his glass in a toast. Buck’s nose had crinkled in disgust. How are you drinking right now? he seemed to ask, which made Eddie’s stomach roll in turn, his hangover roaring back to life. He shook his head and pointed to the gatorade bottle on a nearby table. Eddie watched as Buck’s mouth went crooked like it did when he was trying not to laugh.
Tommy had glanced over his shoulder, then. There was something in his gaze when he made eye contact with Eddie, something calculating that had Eddie looking away.
He didn’t know what to do with the flush of embarrassment he felt. Like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He left them to it, slinking away to where Marisol was waiting for him inside.
Now, though, he’s standing with Buck alone.
“Tommy left.”
“He had to return the chopper, huh?” Eddie tries to joke, but Buck doesn’t react.
“He said…” He watches as Buck takes a deep breath. “Tommy and I—It’s not going to work out.”
Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. “What? I thought you said the second date went well.”
“It did.”
“And then Tommy flew in here, delivering Chimney to save the day. I thought you’d be into all that knight in shining armor schtick.”
“I was. Am.”
“So?”
“It’s just… not going to work.”
“That sucks, I’m sorry man,” he says lamely. “I’d offer you a drink, but.” Buck doesn’t laugh. “Do you want to come over later?”
“I probably shouldn’t,” Buck says, and there’s — something in it that Eddie can’t identify.
“Maybe this weekend, then.”
“Listen,” Buck runs a hand through his hair. Eddie resists the urge to smooth it back down when it sticks up. “Tommy said something before he left, and I—I think he might be right.” There’s a pinched quirk to his lip. “He said that it wasn’t going to work out between us because it’s obvious I’m caught up in my feelings for someone else.”
There’s a whisper of a thought in the back of Eddie’s mind that fills him with dread; he refuses to think it. “Who, Natalia?”
“No.”
“Taylor, then.” It made the most sense, it had been Buck’s longest relationship. The sting of their breakup had lingered. Her betrayal of Buck’s trust had hurt them all, and even if Eddie never liked her, it’s obvious that Buck loved her. Even though the thought of her coming back into their lives made him want to vomit.
But Buck — Buck looks at him with this look in his eye, and he’s not, not sad but more regretful. He’s anxious. Eddie is suddenly, painfully aware that he doesn’t want to hear what Buck’s next words are.
Because he knows what Buck is going to say. He’s going to say it, he’s going to name the thing Eddie’s been so carefully avoiding. Their relationship has been a minefield for years, and Eddie has gotten extremely good at picking his next move carefully, but Buck is about to throw caution to the wind and take a daring step forward without watching where he places his feet.
He’s filled with so much dread in an instant, but he’s helpless to stop Buck as he’s opening his mouth to say:
“Eddie, I think I’m in love with you.”
Buck says the words, and nothing changes.
Everything changes, really, everything that matters anyway, but — it’s not the explosion of movement Eddie is expecting. It’s like the earth stands still. The party sounds fade to nothing, the twinkling lights frozen in time. Nothing moves. There’s no wind, no insects buzzing, nothing at all.
It feels monumental, like something should be shifting. Everything should be thundering with the weight of this moment, but. Nothing. It’s like a hush has fallen instead, the world taking a pause to watch them, waiting to see what happens next, and Eddie—
Eddie takes a step back.
He doesn’t know what Buck’s expression does because he very stoutly doesn't look at him.
“Eddie,” Buck says, but Eddie is already shaking his head and taking another step.
“I have to, um,” he doesn’t even come up with an excuse before he’s turning his back to Buck and walking away.
#buddie#buddie wip#911 fic#spec i guess but like... not really#cge wip#i'm hoping by posting this can muster up some motivation to keep writing lmao#this wip is currently around 4k words and i'm estimating it'll be about 15k when done which is... intimidating#in an ideal world i finish it before thursday but i guess we'll see. place ur bets.#evan buckley#eddie diaz
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Hazbin Hotel Swap AU
This is one of the post I hate
Context: Adam is still Angel/The Leader Of Exterminator and has Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation (I just really love the idea of Adam having Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation, okay!?) While Charlie Morningstar is still The Princess Of Hell and daughter of Lilith and Lucifer. Lilith and Adam have more of a twin relationship than ex-lover. And remember... DON'T TRUST VAGGIE!!! SHE IS BASICALLY JUDAS ISCARIOT in this AU!! Anyway, I might provide more information later if I have time, but feel free to ask me anything about this AU.)
Previous + Next
[Scene cuts to Lilith's house, showing framed photos of her family and a badly drawing of her in a dark spooky room. Lilith can be heard making snarling noise as she was working on something. As the scene goes, her room is revealed to be filled with a lot of Stuffed Owl, and stacks of them filled the boxes and tubs.]
Lilith: That's it… Almost there… Now presenting… the magic-tastical back flipping Stuffed Owl! Haha! That spits fire! [Stuffed Owl eyes glow red as its shoots flamethrower from its mouth] Hoot hoot hoot! Hold the applause please, okay. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh god, who am I kidding? This sucks!
[She throws the Stuffed Owl at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her, lilith looks sad as she look at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her. Suddenly her ringtone plays. she picks up her phone, and was shocked who was calling her.]
Lilith: Adam? Adam! Brother calling?! HOOT! Uhm uh, uh hello, adam. He-ey, hey, hey Ada-ada. No, no! That's not good. Oh, this is the first time he's called you in years. This has to be perfect. [takes a deep breath before she picks up phone] Hey~ Whore!
[Intercut conversation between Lilith and Adam during the phone call from the hotel to her house.]
Adam: Hi, lilith…
Lilith: Hey! How are you? Oh hoot. Where-where are you these days?
Adam: You know where I am lilith. I've told you before. Remember?
Lilith: You have? Oh, yeah uh, well, you know, I um uh-
Adam: I told you when you called me five years ago, or did you not listen?
Lilith: No, no, no, no. Just, you know, just forgot. You know, I've just been really busy, you know…
[She look at her the boxes and tubs that filled with Stuffed Owl.]
Lilith: with, um, important things. [kicks Stuffed Owl]
Adam: Well, I'm actually running a hotel to rehabilitate my descendants. Maybe you saw our commercial?
Lilith: Oh, sadly, I missed it. heh heh. You know, I haven't been watching much TV lately. Scrambles the brain. [makes silly noises]. But hey! A hotel, fun.
Adam: (Sighs) Listen Lilith, I've got kind of a big ask.
Lilith: [coughs and sets down her tea] Yeah, of course. Anything in my power is yours for the asking. You just name it~
Adam: I need to speak to Heaven and one of the deadly sinner. Well, whoever's in charge up and down there, I don't care if it's Satan or mammon, just anyone who is above your daughter, above anybody. I need to go to the top.
Lilith: Oh, no. No~ No, no, no, no, Adam, no, no, no. That's, uh hah, sorry but that is BIG no.
Adam: [angrily as vine with thorn grow around his neck] Look Lilith! Just… [He sigh, the vines has calm down and slowly disappearing.] I don't ask you for much, I never have, but this, this is really important to me. It's the most important thing I've ever done. And I…need you. I need your help.
Lilith: I don't know, Adam.
Adam: Please! Just come see what I'm trying to do. You'll see why it's a really good idea. And Heaven is bound to agree if I get the chance to talk to them… Please, Lilith…
Lilith: Wait, you're…inviting me over?! After all I did? Absolutely! Uh, I'll be there in an hour. [hangs up] ♪ My Brother wants to see me~! ♪ [points at the Stuffed Owl below her] Take that, depression! HA!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel au#hazbin hotel spoilers#fanfic#au idea#writing prompt#hazbin hotel swap au#swap au#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin adam#adam hazbin#adam hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lilith#lilith morningstar#scriptwriting#why did i make this
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the post grad why did i get an art degree what am i even doing what do i want in life where am i going crisis has finally hit i want to. lie down in the dirt. or something
#WHAT AM I DOING!!!!#i get up i go to my stupid retail job i stick labels on bags they pay me fucking thirteen bucks an hour i come home i lie on the couch#too tired to draw in too much pain to go anywhere no energy to reach out to college friends to do anything fun#no idea where the even start with getting an industry job no clue what i even WANT at this point#trying to remember what i loved so much about comics i want it BACK i HATE this#WHAT IS THE POINT!!!! WHAT DO I WANT WHERE AM I GOING!!! WHAT COMES NEXT!!!!!!#there's no clear career trajectory i can't do freelance i need structure i can't work too much i need free time#my brain doesn't work every job requires me to move across the country the irs just took fucking three hundred stupid dollars from me#my friends live in different states i can't get a job without experience i can't get experience without a job#i can't work on my portfolio with no energy and no time and i dont have any money and everything is so expensive all the time#i can't get anywhere bc i dont drive and im too stressed to think about taking driving lessons again#and WHAT DO I WANT!#THE MOST INTERESTING THING I DO EVERY WEEK IS GO TO PHYSICAL THERAPY!#I AM EXCITED EVERY WEEK FOR PHYSICAL THERAPY!!!! WHY!!!!!!!!#anyway WHATEVER i need to go to bed#delete later#i got into spx. today. so. had to have a crisis about how i felt when i attended spx (energized. excited. a part of something. ambitious)#versus how i feel now (tired. unmotivated. kind of apathetic about art. disconnected)#i dont miss the stress of school but i miss being around other artists. ppl who speak your language and who want the same things you want#ppl who are excited abut art and that makes YOU excited about art. ppl who get you#i miss that i want that back#whatever. its 1am i gotta go shower i have an 8.5 hour shift tomorrow. wahoo. $13.50/hr lets go
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one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else
#i have to sleep a lot. i’m at the point where functioning requires 8 hours of sleep if not more#I should probably be getting 10+ but i’m a student and i work so 8 is the minimum. but then also getting ready for bed is a whole process s#the whole thing can take 10-12 hours depending how much im sleeping. just to make sure i can do anything#that is time in my day i cannot use for anything else. it’s not ‘oh but i can push through it’ because i can’t without spending the next da#lightheaded and nauseous and vaguely dizzy and with such intense brain fog I can’t think with my fatigue so bad i genuinely don’t know how#get myself to work a lot of days. my abled peers don’t have to deal with this at all. they have unlimited study time if they want to#and yeah it is a choice i’m making that’s true i could just not do. except i would lose my job and fail out of college because i would not#be able to get to classes or do my homework or think. but being told ‘but you are making choices about your life’ when i have lost so much#of what i used to be able to do because i am spiralling down and continuing to get worse is so.#literally last year i would wake up at 6:30 and then go to school till 3 and then go to my internship until 10 and get home at 11 and be in#bed anywhere from midnight to two in the morning and then wake up the next day and do it all again. i graduated with a 3.9 gpa and made it#into my top college while dealing with my cancer symptoms and then the two surgeries about it#but now i lose half my day to just making sure i can get out of bed. i can’t go anywhere because my body is physically too exhausted#any extra time goes into doing homework or occasionally time to myself#not decimating my health by doing minimum body care responsibilities isn’t freeing. occasionally i have a good day which is freeing but tha#usually goes into just. other things outside class or work or eating. I don’t go do something for myself or go do something fun on good day#because I still can’t. good days just mean i don’t want to lie down on the pavement when i’m going somewhere#I just. I don’t magically have control over my life because i try to get enough sleep. i lose half my day to doing that and ultimately it’s#just a bodily function that would have to happen anyway#this is a vent post im just having a really hard time right now because it feels like im in exponential decline. it was nowhere near this#bad last semester. my grades are tanking and i have no free time because anything outside of sleep is either work or school#vent tw#yall can rb this just ignore my tags completely#disability#chronically ill#i keep trying to explain to people how pots works because that’s all logical but there’s no way to explain what it’s doing to my body or ho#i feel all the time. the last time i felt this bad was when i had a bad flu or immediately after surgeries because i don’t react well to#anesthesia and always come out of them feeling like shit. and now i just feel like this all the time and it’s only getting worse#I can’t even stay up late anymore because my body feels like it isn’t counting the sleep even if I get 8 hours#I can deal if I have a free day the day after but that just leaves Friday and Saturday nights and I usually still have to do homework
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Bro no joke, forgetting that not everyone hates capitalism and then having to try have a reasonable conversation with someone about buying things... *eye twitch*
#to explain we will have person A - person B and then me#so person B is asking me if its ok to buy stuff from ebay - because i am a person that tries to avoid buying from amazon etc#and im like yeah should be because its independent sellers mostly - to be fair though yall. i barely buy anything online because i hate#online shopping. i try to buy things in person instead#anyways insert person A whos like 👁👄👁 oH aRe YoU oNe Of ThOse PeOpLE ThAt DoESNt pUrCHasE frOm AmAzON#yall im sighing just thinking about this conversation omfg its so stupid#anyways queue me explaining that yeah. i try to avoid it if i can because i dont like my money going to some motherfucker who doesnt need#the money (person B pipes in that jeff bezos is on the way to becoming a trillionaire which is Not Good 🙃 . thank you B now i will go on)#A then goes on to explain all the benefits to amazon “what if you want something the next day” i ask if theres really anything you truly#need right away like that. we used to live in times where you would have to wait or find it in a shop. A says “oh but its so cool and#convenient“ and i say sure. because they have the money and grew their business of being more 'convenient' than other businesses#A says “oh but the customer service is so good. if i want a return theyll do it straight away with no questions and maybe even give me#credit too“ and im like yeah. because they can afford to do that. ”sometimes independent sellers are in there too“ ok so buy from them then#If You Must but i can guarantee you mostly dont. not to mentuon theyre probably only on there in the first place because amazon has made it#so its one of the most popular places to use instead of anywhere else#and it went on. i just stopped talking eventually because it eas one of those situations where the other person was not fucking listening to#the point i was trying to make. which is that if you really have to. ok do it whatever. i get that its a bit impossible to avoid sometimes#im not gonna sit here and pretend when ive not been able to get something anywhere else i havent got it from there. but the point is to#actually think about WHY youre buying stuff and WHO the money is going to. because websites like amazon especially have created such a trend#of overconsumption. that you just buy stuff and then buy prime because oh its so cheap and useful and comes right the next day! and you dont#consider why any of these things are true. whos getting fucked over in the process. that you are one of the people getting fucked over!!!#lord i could go on but i shant#point is. genuinely do what you want like deep down i do not care it does not affect me and i know its not so straightforward#but people who just BLATANTLY and actively SUPPORT rich people (forgot to mention A kept talking about how the whole site was smart and that#Jeff was a genius blah blah) can you sit and realise that this whole system and that FUCKING Imbecile of a man are!!¡! a problem!!#i wish i could articulate it better but im leaving it at that#good morning yall xD#le text post
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