#no idea what to tag this. i hope you guys like it

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

[cloudcountry]

attention twisted wonderland fans! ortho has tasked you with an important mission—give his brother the best summer imaginable!

welcome to the introduction post for my new event! i am your host, auburn! you probably know me as azulashengrottospiano, but i've changed urls ^^;

this time, i'm attempting to bring people together instead of doing an event all by myself. you'll have to forgive me if it's confusing, i've never hosted something like this before but i'll do my best and i hope you guys will have fun!

both writers and artists are encouraged to participate!

RUN TIME: this event will run from may 27th to june 10th! but you are more than welcome to post your pieces before then if you are finished or after if something came up! we understand <3

TO SIGN UP: please comment or reblog this post with your name and what you're going to be making! you don't need to have a specific idea yet, you can just whether you're an author or an artist!

when finished, please tag your works with sweet shroud summer 2024 so people can have an overview of the event's wonderful talent!

the event rules . . .

no nsfw content, i want minors to be able to participate as well if they want to.

any content is welcome aside from that! it can be romantic, familial, platonic, it can include yuu or not!

just as long as idia is getting out of his room and having a good time C: make sure you treat him well or ortho will get upset!

the company policy is open to be modified if a customer brings up a question!!

contributors and their pieces will be listed under the cut.

OUR LOVELY CONTRIBUTORS!

auburn / cloudcountry - writer.

dove / da-birb-writes-sometimes - writer.

edie / edith-is-a-cat - artist (mainly.)

cookie / cookiesandbiscuits - artist.

irene / officialdaydreamer00 - writer & artist.

cyath / cyath - artist.

identity / identity-theft-101 - artist.

mochimus / thatsadguymochi - artist.

phrog / phrowog - artist.

sapphy / shinysparklesapphires - artist.

em / musicalhistorical - writer.

zell / z3llous - artist.

silver / rxttenbxnes - artist.

sosa / miraculous-pacer55 - artist.

monimich / monimichbeingsilly - artist.

kei / keii-starz - writer.

fruity / fruity-arts - artist.

moon / moon-mage - artist.

rubia / twistedchatterbox - writer & artist.

emily / walkingoneliner37 - artist.

[tellmegoodbye]

Hello again! I wanted to get this post up so that everyone would have access to the playlists before Monday. I also want this to serve as a reference post of sorts.

I am tracking the tag 911ls music mondays, but if I don't see your post, please let me know! I want to make sure I include everyone's contributions.

Here's a quick overview on all the different ways you can participate in the Music Monday tag!

Share a song, or several if you'd like, that relate either to Tarlos or any of the other characters

Share your favorite songs from the show's soundtrack, and tell us why you like them

Share your own thoughts on a song that has already been submitted

Also, because I am the most meticulous bitch you'll ever meet, I've created a google doc for each playlist that includes what each person wrote to go along with their submissions!

Is this extra? Absolutely. I thought it was a good idea though, so without futher ado...here are the links to the playlists and their respective docs!

Tarlos -> Playlist Link | Google Doc

911: Lone Star -> Playlist Link | Google Doc

That's all from me. If you guys have any questions about how any of this works feel free to send me an ask and I will update this post. I hope we all can have some fun curating these playlists together!

Tagging everyone who has contributed songs so far. I am aware that not everyone who participated would have seen my original post, so if you don't want your songs to be included in the playlists/docs just let me know and I will remove them.

@strandnreyes @goodways @eclectic-sassycoweyes @herefortarlos @sznofthesticks

@kiwichaeng @alltheprettyplaces @reyesstrand @literateowl @bonheur-cafe

@lemonlyman-dotcom @captain-gillian @theghostofashton @fandomswonderland @goldenskykaysani

@heartstringsduet @toomanycupsoftea @reeeallygood @literateowl @messymindofmine

and @americansrequiems but tumblr won't let me tag you for some reason

[alice-after-dark]

One Day I'll Do a Proper Ship Meme But for Now Here Have My Vox Agenda

Thoughts/headcanons/rambles under cut

TW for abusive StaticMoth and Vox having been a bitch to Sir Pentious.

Alastor/Vox - Do I really need to explain this one? Are you new here? I'll just direct you to search "radiostatic" on my blog. I̸͎̝͛́ ̷͙̲̊̄͐l̴̮̲̭̍͌͆ȏ̶̜v̵̞́̑͒̆e̷̡̡͉̰̍̽́ ̷̇͝ͅt̶̡̛̬̖͓̆h̴̠͎̞͕̑e̵͕̼̜̘͆̈́̃̔m̷̤̜̒

Valentino/Vox - Again, unless you're new here, you'll pretty much know my thoughts on them. Check out my "staticmoth" tag and you'll understand.

Charlie - I see so many parallels between these two and I desperately want them to officially interact in season 2. They're on completely opposite ends of the spectrum and aaaahhhhh I just want to see Vox's cynicism clashing with Charlie's idealism and it could be so good you guys. So good. I do also really like the idea of Charlie being the catalyst to Vox realizing just how much he's changed since arriving in Hell (like he used to enjoy the TV scene for the pure creativity of it and now that's all been replaced by the cold corporate greed).

Vaggie - Honestly, I just think it would be interesting. Also I really hope Vaggie doesn't have a carbon-copy reaction to him like she did Alastor. As I mentioned in a previous post, while yes, she might be cautious, she has less of a reason to be so hostile towards him. Plus their mutual dislike of Alastor would be a bonding moment, but also presents an opportunity for Vaggie to find out more about Alastor (albeit from a biased party).

Angel - I've brought up inklings of these two before, but I think them having a very complicated relationship due to their mutual connection and experiences with Valentino would be interesting, especially in regards to how they both handle it in similar yet different ways. They both bury their pain, Angel by leaning into the sexuality, drugs, and alcohol to forget how much he hates it and Vox by refusing to even acknowledge that he's in pain at all. And Vox's refusal to acknowledge it also makes him complicit in Angel's pain as well. He could do something, could try to stop it, but he doesn't to protect himself. I think seeing the two of them try to heal side by side, both from their issues with Valentino and the issues between each other, would be fascinating.

Husk - Knew each other from back when Vox and Alastor were still friends. Husk calls him "kid" (Vox was in his 30s when he died in the 1950s while Husk was in his 60s when he died in the 1970s) which annoys Vox as he doesn't think he's that much younger than Husk to warrant being called a kid. Vox knew him as an Overlord and was very shocked and kind of sad when he found out about Husk losing his soul to Alastor some time after their falling out (just one more thing to embitter him towards the Radio Demon).

Niffty - Anyone who has been on my blog when I started posting about Hazbin Hotel knows it started with these two. I think a dynamic between them would be fun and interesting to explore. Like Husk, she knew him from back when he was friends with Alastor. I like to think that Vox was literally there when Alastor brought her home with him ("What is that?" / "I'm calling her Niffty! Isn't she precious?" / "She is actively biting your arm." / "What a darling little thing!"). He was a little weirded out by her at first, but has since grown to care for her as much as Alastor does. Despite her size and lack of power, Vox fully trusts in her ability to take care of herself...he's seen things that can't be unseen.

Rosie - Vox definitely respects her for her ability to keep such tight control of a horde of bloodthirsty cannibals and actually turn them into a polite society. Despite not being very physically strong, her charisma and drive keep her on top and well respected. I like the idea that he met her through Alastor when they were still friends and though he hasn't really engaged with her too much since the fallout, he does still hold respect for her and frankly won't tolerate anyone disrespecting her. She is the only one outside of the Vees who knows about Vox practicing using his electrokinesis to heal.

Mimzy - They're not exactly friends, but she will not hesitate to approach him if she sees him. It's Mimzy so she absolutely expects special treatment. She's way more up front with him about wanting something than she is with Alastor simply because she knows Vox operates differently than the deer demon. If she wants something, she's gotta be prepared to pay up in some capacity, but Vox is usually willing to be flexible in terms of payment because she has her uses.

Sir Pentious - Okay, so I know this one is a bit awkward cause it would involve Vox actually apologizing to Sir Pentious for the cruel things he said and telling him to unalive himself, but I really think they'd be interesting. They're both innovators and creators and the two of them combining their skills would be both awesome and terrifying. I do think that Sir Pentious, while he does think all the Vees are incredible, idolizes Vox specifically for these exact reasons.

Velvette - They're both bitches, but they love the other for it. Can snark at each other for hours. They're the two who get shit done, even if Velvette can sometimes take her bitchsona a bit too far and Vox has to reign her in. Politics aren't her strong suit, but he can always count on her to take care of the business side of things.

Zestial - Based on my recent post about them, I like the idea that Vox has a respect for Zestial that he doesn't give to most other Overlords (Rosie being the other exception). Sure, he'll play nice and professional with them, but he doesn't truly respect them like he does Zestial and Rosie. I honestly see them having a mutual respect for each other (though Zestial wouldn't say he approves of Vox's choice in colleagues) and we do see in that Zestial can be a little sassy so I 100% believe if Vox had been present during the Overlord meeting in episode 3, Zestial literally would have ignored Velvette entirely to speak to Vox about the angel's death instead (and we all know how much Velvette would have just loved that).

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

yeah so i'm falling for @weevmo's Guys... they're so neat! i dig their vibes and can't wait to see what Corduroy Stew is all about <3

[lustrecannon]

fuck it. formal time

[jack-shadow]

New DnD Class Idea: Hexers

Well this is different for me, but I just couldn't get the idea out of my head. I was thinking of what ideas for classes haven't been done, and then I thought up the Hexers (WIP name feel free to suggest better ones in the comments)

Hexers get their magic unwillingly, by some curse or magical thing that alteres their very DNA. Hexers are made of magic or it at least is a major part of their very being. As an example let's say your Hexer charater was experimented on by a crazy Artificer, or was envovled in an accident when shiftin through planes, or the classic bitten by werewolf or vampire.

Hexers are pepole caught in magical accidents and gained power from it, like Peter Parker getting bit by a spider. So now that we're clear on what a Hexer is the question is what are their spells and subclasses, and the answer is...I don't know yet.

I only have a basic idea, I know that spells will be focused on altering the caster or have the power directly come from them, as fitting with their lore. And I know different subclasses will pertain to the different ways of becoming a Hexer, like one about planes, one about Werewolf or Werewolf like beast, Maybe one about being possed Etc.

I get this may be a little similar to the sorcerer, but I feel like at least story wise they have potential. And if you want to see more of this idea so we could possibly get everything worked out and can make a full homebrew class, please share your ideas for spells subclasses and more on how we can make this possible.

I would really appreciate if pepole could reblog this if they like the idea as that shows me that I'll actually have support when making this and allows more people to see and help with this.

so uh yeah, I'm sure I'm not the only one who can think of 30 different charater ideas already after reading through this. (At least I hope so) if you have ideas for how to make the class better, please send a message to my ask box or just comment.

Edit: Hey if you want to see a later version of this same concept here ya go

[hauntingblue]

making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

[shreksstepfather]

I Go Hungry - Mother Mother

[afoxysunny]

It's been a while, but I'm back with a special!

Surprise! Here are animals that ppl other than me and my twin came up with:

• Thanks to @thehoneybunny1 for having a Honey flying squirrel as her pet in our own irl dnd campaign I just had to draw that lil guy (his name is Melzie)

• Thanks to @thealmightyscreech for leaving these cool tags on my Fish cats post

I discovered that I love drawing skunks so also thanks for that xD and the leopard came out surprisingly cool- it outperformed my expectations. The idea was even better in practice than in concept!

• Thanks to @autistic-yuri for leaving these adorable tags on my Jelly snails post, that was so sweet and I smile every time I read it. What a bombastic compliment

And drawing jellyfish comes pretty naturally to me so I ofc had to bring your ideas to life as well! I loved how naturally the jello box design lend itself to be turned into the eye like looking pattern inside the real life box jellyfish

I really hope y'all are fine with being tagged in this post.. I'm so sorry I didn't ask ahead. I wanted this to be a surprise and it's been so long since you reblogged my posts, but I only now got around to doing a collage page like this..

I don't know if I would consider these animals possible canon? As calorum is very euro-centric based and none of these animals exist on that continent. Which is one more reason I would've never come up with them and love them even more bc of it now!

Again - thank you so so so much for reblogging my art and it's such an honour and pleasure to see it inspiring you to come up with your own calorum fauna. I hope you like the lil guys I made for you and that they at least look a little bit like you imagined

[your-local-uwu-artist]

sleepover~

had a lot of fun with this, I wanted to practice poses, character interaction, and composition: + I wanted to try out a softer color scheme ...well as soft as my endless love for super saturated colors allows

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[lesbianfakir]

If anyone’s wondering why I haven’t been posting on this blog I had a breakdown, dropped out of college for the time being, moved back home, and now I’m deeply addicted to stardew valley while I wait for one of the damn jobs I applied to to call me back

[redysetdare]

I think i would like sci-fi a lot more if more stories took the evolution route to it. so many sci-fi stories focus so much on the technology side and "Let's go to space! let's see capitalist hell!" and like, yeahh those have their purpose and place in sci-fi. But personally i love when sci-fi gets speculative with biology. How will the earth change? what animals developed from changed ecosystems - which animals evolved and which ones went extinct? I want people to take the science part of science fiction and explore biology and ecology and how the planet and animals change with the world. I"m tired of it only focusing on technology and robots and being more cyber fantasy.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[emry-stars-art]

Im a little late but I think I wanna try something

This post by @kedreeva is a fun WIP Wednesday Game! I’ll paraphrase the rules here:

Post up to five file names of your wips (not titles, file names)

Post a snippet from one of them, something you’ve written in the past seven days

After you’ve posted, people can send an ask with one of your file names, and you must write three sentences in that file.

Since I don’t have five separate wips I thought I’d try posting five scenes im writing/want to write of the royal au 👑 help me decide what to work onnnnn

My scenes are:

another horse ride

first day

responsibility II

Andrew freshening up

bath

Some of these you can assume what’s happening by the names so 👀 hooray for descriptive titling

And a snippet from ‘responsibility II’:

Day came out of a side door. More of an everything room adjacent to the infirmary, used for temporary housing and storage and countless other things Andrew had no knowledge of. Day looked about to stalk down the hall, but stopped in the doorway upon seeing Andrew.

“Your Highness,” he said, and it was that same tone that he always had on when dealing with Abram. Annoyed and worried at the same time. Andrew knew first hand that Day never used it with Abram; it was only the concern leaking through when he talked to anyone else. “What have you gone and done with Abram’s hair?”

“…What about it?”

“He won’t let the dresser touch it. He won’t let me touch it, and he keeps talking about you. That it shouldn’t be his decision to cut it. Care to explain?”

If you want to participate, please go check out the original post to get the full read on it! Happy writing 🥰