Hey There! Welcome to my corner of the internet. I mainly write fics for Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds), but love to chat about Taylor Swift and books. This page will help you navigate yourself through my blog a bit. My asks (anon/not anon) are always open so come say hi.
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☆ This Is Me Rambling -- used for all text posts, general ramblings
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He'd decided it was time for a change. He'd had a beard for most of his adult life, and wanted to see how he'd feel without it. He hadn't thought to clear it with you until he'd already made the first pass down his jaw with his razor, but he quickly wrote it off thinking you wouldn't care.
Oh, how wrong he was.
You came home from running errands to find... a clean-shaven stranger sitting on your couch reading a worn-out copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. The first thing that leaves your mouth is "What the fuck, Michael?", and he looks up startled to see you standing in the door with an aghast look on your face.
He smiles and says, "Hey, Sweetheart", getting up to kiss you, but you flinch away before he can make contact, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Honey, what...?", he says, not at all understanding why you're glaring at him like he'd just kicked a puppy in the street.
You bring a hand up to stroke his bare face, your scowl only deepening when he says, "Thought it was time for a shave. Like it?"
"No," is all you say before you promptly drop your hand from his face and retreat into the bedroom, leaving Robby standing in the living room dumbfounded.
"What the fuck just happened?", he mumbles to himself, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
For the rest of the day, it's like he's trying to talk to a brick wall, because you refuse to make eye contact with him and keep your replies to him as singularly worded as possible, if you even reply at all.
He's going out of his mind by the time you start winding down for the night, and he about flips his lid when he sees you gather up your pillow and a spare blanket to presumably go sleep in the guest room.
"Sweetheart, come on, talk to me. You've barely looked at me since you got home! What did I do?", he pleads, physically blocking the door to the bedroom so you can't leave.
You still don't look at him, but a quiet murmur of, "You didn't tell me you were gonna shave your beard," leaves your mouth almost unwittingly.
Robby is completely baffled, and he says, "Seriously? I've been getting the silent treatment all day because I shaved without telling you first???", almost amused by how petulant you're being.
You shrug, and your bottom lip sticks out in a pout before you say, "I really liked your beard," clutching your pillow tighter to your chest.
His heart melts. "Sweetheart, it's just hair. It'll grow back. Are you really that upset that I got rid of the beard?", he consoles as he tilts your chin up. You're still refusing to look at him, but when he murmurs your name, you finally look him in the eye and state, "Your face looks naked."
He laughs out loud, then says, "Okay, I promise I'll never shave it off again once it grows back. Only trimming. Can you forgive me, Sweetheart?", his hand running up and down your back.
You pretend to think for a moment, then say, "I guess so. You really promise to never go clean-shaven again?", making him lift a hand in a salute and say, "Scout's Honor."
You nod, and relief floods his body before he pulls you in for a kiss. His pride is only slightly wounded when he pulls back to see you making a disgusted face. "Ew. Yeah, I'm not kissing you until there's at least three days worth of stubble on your face," you say with a wrinkled nose.
He just laughs again and kisses the top of your head. "I can live with that."
Shawn Hatosy attends the SAG-AFTRA Foundation Conversations Presents Building a Character From Scratch With 2026 Emmy Nominees event at The Meryl Streep Center for Performing Arts on August 3, 2026, in Los Angeles, California