#<- he's not really all that involved but hes still There

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer struggles with a relapse in addiction after emily's death when he meets you, a person who wants to help everyone around.

𝐭𝐰: there's going to be a lot… all topics related to mental health issues, mentioning the death of a loved one, suicide, relapse into addiction, violence. stay safe guys 𝐚/𝐧: please, read before reading. this is the full, ridiculously long version of "with the light off" that I posted yesterday. i’ve never seen a fanfiction this long on tumblr, and i won’t lie, i'm fking insane.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 25k

Spencer Reid was a genius.

Everyone knew it; he knew it himself, though he didn’t always see himself that way. It’s not difficult to explain what a genius is. One defining trait was that his brain worked at an incredibly fast pace. Metaphorically speaking, of course. In any case, he had no trouble connecting facts and forming assumptions that later proved accurate. With the amount of knowledge he had about various situations and people, it wasn’t hard to predict the course of certain similar events. It was simply a matter of connecting the proverbial dots—that’s what the vast majority of his work entailed. The rest involved risking his own life, something he had recently experienced in a painful way.

Spencer knew hundreds of stories about people struggling with addiction. He had read just about every available resource on the subject, trying to help himself. He understood the topic from firsthand experience and was aware that relapses were entirely normal in the face of difficult life situations. Yet, once he had overcome his addiction, he never imagined— even in his darkest visions—that he would ever reach for Dilaudid again.

But that’s exactly what he did. Well, technically speaking, not yet. But it was only a matter of time—minutes, to be exact.

He was walking through the city with the drug in his coat pocket, as if it were an ordinary item, like a wallet or car keys. At the same time, he felt as though everyone was staring at him. A shiver ran through his body every time he accidentally made eye contact with someone. She knows what I’m about to do. He knows too. They all do.

He was acting like a complete paranoiac. 

He had a substantial dose of Dilaudid on him and knew he’d take it the moment he was alone in his apartment. Yet, he hadn’t used it—he was still technically clean. Could he call it Schrödinger’s relapse?

He started to laugh, a bit hysterically, as he fumbled to open the door. Suddenly, the key seemed too large, or maybe the keyhole had somehow shrunk? Or perhaps his hands were simply shaking so much that he couldn’t line it up? The second option seemed far more likely, though admitting it was difficult for someone as devoted to logic as he was.

Spencer pressed his forehead against the door, taking a deep breath. He was ready to break down the damn thing…

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” came a voice behind him.

He turned around. One of his neighbors had poked her head out from the apartment across the hall—a sweet-faced elderly woman with an even kinder demeanor. Talkative and prone to asking questions. Knowing her love of sensation (she really did seem to have more energy and bravery than he, an FBI agent, did), it wasn’t all that surprising she’d stepped outside the moment she heard strange noises from the hallway.

Her question, the very presence of another person, somehow brought him back to reality.

"Just fine, Mrs. Schulz," he said, forcing a calm tone.

Standing with his back to her, he closed his eyes and took a deep, slower breath. His neighbor lingered for a moment in her doorway, and even without looking, he could imagine the suspicious look on her face. But finally, he heard the sound of her door closing—she’d let it go.

He slapped himself on the cheek, trying to snap out of it. He hadn’t been drinking—he was just coming back from a funeral—but he felt dazed, as if he were drunk. Slowly, he raised his hands again, and this time he slid the key into the lock without issue.

He didn’t even turn on the light or take off his coat; he went straight to the bedroom and tossed what could only be called a junkie’s kit onto the bed. In a plastic bag were a clean syringe and the main event.

Dilaudid.

He hadn’t wanted anything this badly in a shockingly long time. He’d promised he’d never touch it again. He’d made that promise to JJ and Gideon, but most importantly, to himself. Only when he pictured their faces and heard their voices in his mind did doubts start to creep in. He couldn’t get addicted again.

But on the other hand, did using it just this once, after all this time, really mean falling back into addiction? He knew people who had quit smoking years ago but occasionally had a cigarette—just to see if it still tasted the same. They’d end up thinking, Wow, was I really addicted to this? It’s disgusting!

It should be the same for him. He’d do it once, just this one time.

He recognized that particular thought. It was the voice of addiction.

He ran a hand over his face. He’d once gone to a support group for people struggling with addiction, sitting in the back, practically hiding, but he listened intently. That was what they talked about—how to separate his own thoughts from those of addiction. It all came down to the fact that addiction had no real power over him; it couldn’t physically force him to take the drug, only tempt and seduce him.

And he had to fight it.

He ran his hands through his hair, and then, on impulse, grabbed the bag on the bed and shoved it into the small safe in his nightstand. He kept his gun and badge there, along with his most valuable belongings. And now, also, the thing that could destroy him.

Breathing heavily, he backed out into the hallway. He couldn’t stay in the apartment. If he did, he’d give in. The problem was, he didn’t really have anywhere to go. He didn’t want to show up at JJ’s or any other team member’s door; he didn’t want to admit his moment of weakness. Besides, that day had been Emily’s funeral—everyone was too absorbed in their own grief to have to worry about him too.

The only place that came to mind was the library.

In his teenage years, it had been his only, truest friend. He’d spend hours there, loving the feeling of being surrounded by walls of books. He loved running his fingers over hardcovers, as if reading a message written in Braille. And above all, he loved to read. Was there any better escape from reality?

The next hours were spent immersed in the works of his favorite authors, pinching the back of his hand every time his thoughts wandered toward Dilaudid. A red mark appeared on his skin, and after another attempt, he began to bleed, though he didn’t even notice until he accidentally stained the page while turning it. He hurriedly set the book aside, feeling guilty for damaging it.

To make matters worse, someone appeared by his side.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, you were so engrossed in your reading, but I need to close now. It’s midnight," the librarian informed him, looking every bit like the most stereotypical library worker.

Spencer looked at him pleadingly, not even knowing what he was hoping for. That the librarian would let him stay until morning? In silence, he put on his coat and headed for the library’s exit. It wasn’t a standalone building. Upon stepping out, he found himself in what looked like a hallway, with stairs leading, as far as he knew, to the laundry room, and wide-open doors to another room.

He was about to head for the actual exit when something caught his attention. A sign, like the ones warning about slippery floors. However, instead of a typical message, it had an inscription written in a handwriting resembling that of a child, with a flower replacing the dot on the letter "i."

If you feel like you can’t handle it, come in. We’ll talk, or not, if you don’t want to. But know that you’re not alone :)

He stared at the message motionless. It sounded a bit like some social campaign he would have ignored in 80% of cases. Yet, something about the simplicity of the message kept his gaze fixed.

Let’s be honest, Spencer was fucking terrified of going back to his apartment. And probably because of that, he decided to walk through those doors.

"As if I didn't have enough cleaning to do every fucking day," you muttered under your breath, moving yet another chair so you could mop the floor with the poorly wrung-out mop. A puddle formed on the old brown panels. ” I’ll be a twenty-five-year-old with the spine of a life-worn retiree. Amazing”

Even though you had been complaining for over twenty minutes, deep down you were pleased with how things had turned out. You could use this room from midnight until six in the morning and even got your own set of keys. For free. Well, not entirely. In exchange, you had to clean at the end of each day. It hosted meetings for Alcoholics Anonymous and other support groups. And anonymous chip-aholics, you thought, noticing crushed crumbs under one of the chairs.

Your earnings as a bartender and occasional office cleaner didn’t allow you to rent any space for your... let’s call it a project. However, you believed you’d rather strain your back a little and perhaps save someone’s life than spend these already sleepless nights watching shows or partying.

You couldn’t quite remember how you came up with the idea. It probably happened while reading some sprawling discussion thread on a random forum online. Reading how people argue over the best cheesecake recipe on some website was one of your favorite late-night activities (don’t be fooled by the trivial topic—the discussion included a serious threat of arson and ended at a police station). Anyway, one night, while you were browsing a forum for parents of teenagers out of boredom, you came across advice from a woman who claimed that her communication problems with her daughter ended when she started talking to her late at night, rather than in the afternoon when she got home from school.

The thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You looked into it and found that, while most support groups met in the evening, it was usually early evening. Well, that made sense—few people could dedicate their whole night to it. But you could. You’d been struggling with insomnia since college, ever since your mother passed away. After finishing your evening bar shift at eleven, you’d rush to this place, put up your homemade sign on the door, and wait. You’d catch up on sleep in the mornings. And then, repeat.

Was it exhausting? A little. Had your social life nearly vanished, with the only people you saw being your equally nocturnal roommate and the neighbor’s kid you took to daycare in the morning for a few extra dollars? Absolutely. Did it bring you satisfaction? Only one person had shown up since you started, but yes, it brought you immense satisfaction.

It might sound a bit overdramatic, but helping others was your calling.

You continued cleaning, muttering a few more curses under your breath. One earbud dangled from your ear; listening to music went against your personal code. You knew that if some desperate person rushed in after reading the sign on the door, the sight of you—the person offering them a conversation—with earbuds in might be a bit discouraging. They might think better of bothering you and back out, and you wouldn’t even notice, absorbed in the music. But you couldn’t help it—you hated silence.

So, you bent your own rules, using only one earbud.

You swung the mop in a wide arc, in perfect sync with the rhythm of the song, and couldn’t resist doing a spin. Cleaning and dancing—was there a better combination?

When you turned around, you only then noticed that someone had been watching you the entire time. Which meant they’d heard every curse word that had come out of your mouth over the past twenty minutes. And there had been... a lot. You pulled the earbud from your ear, like a teenager caught watching something they shouldn’t.

Congratulations, you idiot. Whatever’s bothering him, he’ll definitely want to talk about it with someone like you...

“Hi!" you said, in the friendliest tone you could manage. You had to somehow get rid of all those curse words from your mouth. The man didn’t respond, but you noticed his chest move, as if he was taking a deep breath. Unfortunately for him, every time the other person stayed silent, you started babbling nonsense. "Sit down if you want, and don’t worry about the wet floor. I mean, maybe worry, if you care about your teeth. I slipped here yesterday too, but luckily on my back…I can’t afford a dentist visit, do you know how much they charge now?"

"I’ve read... I’ve read the note on the door," the man said shyly, pointing his thumb behind him. Only then did you take a closer look at him. A black coat with a piece of a black shirt peeking out, matching trousers, and elegant shoes...You straightened up, still holding the mop, realizing he must be coming back from a funeral. "Can I really stay here for a moment? If so, for how long?"

The desperation in his voice tightened your chest.

"Yes, of course," you said gently, much less chaotic than before. "You can stay as long as you need."

You held back the playful remark, At least until six in the morning, because after that I’m not welcome here anymore. Humor could ease tension in tough situations, but it wasn’t always appropriate, as you had learned many times. This man didn’t look like he’d be helped by your silly jokes…

He looked, above all, lost. He must have felt that way, since his feet had led him to this place. Despite your earlier words, he didn’t move, seeming unsure of how to act.

"I…I don't have to talk to you, right? That’s what the note says…"

His stuttering didn’t seem like the result of shyness. You got the impression that his lips were refusing to cooperate, too tired to express what his still sharp mind wanted to convey.

"If you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you. But sometimes, you know, it’s better to say what’s on your mind."

It seemed like he only heard the first sentence. Completely ignoring the second, he took a seat in one of the chairs in the last row. They were arranged like pews in a church, one behind the other. Surprising, considering it was a space for support group meetings. Usually, in such places, the chairs were set up in a circle—you knew that from experience.

For a moment, you kept staring at him, fighting the urge to speak again. His appearance moved you deeply—actually, the suffering of every living person touched you. And he was definitely suffering, moving stiffly as if in constant pain, with a vacant expression on his face. But since he had decided he needed silence, you couldn’t impose yourself on him. It could have the opposite effect, driving him away rather than encouraging him to open up.

You had no choice but to return to cleaning.

Moving around the room, you tried to take steps as light as a ghost. You tucked the earbuds into your pocket. You gathered all the lost trash and items, finishing mopping the floor. From time to time, your gaze would instinctively drift toward the man. Staring wasn’t in good taste, but you couldn’t help it. He looked... intriguing?

He was definitely young, around your age or maybe a little older, but still very, very young. His skin was unnaturally pale, contrasting sharply with his black clothes. Brown hair, short but longer than most of your male friends', a bit unruly. His eyes... so much was happening in them. While the rest of him seemed cold and unmoving, those eyes were a window to all the pain inside him.

You looked into his eyes just once and knew he wouldn’t say anything more to you. You’d spend a few hours in silence— you would finish your work and take a seat in the first row, far enough so you couldn’t hear each other’s breathing, but in a position where he could see your back, remember your presence, in case he decided to speak. But that won’t happen, you thought, and you were right.

At five in the morning, the mysterious, troubled man left the room.

You stared at the door, overwhelmed by your own thoughts. Maybe you had made a mistake by respecting his request? Maybe you should have sat right next to him, taken his hands, and begged him to tell you everything? You had no idea if those few hours of silence had soothed him, or if it had been the opposite. You were afraid he might have dangerous plans for himself, but that realization came too late. You couldn’t run out after him into the street; you wouldn’t find him in the cold, December night.

All you could do was sigh, certain that you’d never see him again.

Seeing him in the doorway the next night, you thought you had fallen asleep and that it was just a dream. 

But you never slept at this time. 

Spencer couldn’t reasonably explain why he went back there the following night.

Or why he was heading there for the third time.

He also didn’t know why he was so surprised that Hotch had given them a few days off. After all, he had long since learned that behind his cold exterior lay a genuinely caring and understanding nature.

Maybe he was simply hoping for the quickest possible return to work, something that would occupy his mind. He’d even be willing to stay late at the office, analyzing some old, unsolved cases, and only head home in the late hours, when he’d be longing to collapse into bed.

He’d be so exhausted that he wouldn’t even think about the Dilaudid hidden in the safe. He still hadn’t gotten rid of it, for a deeply humiliating reason. He feared that if he so much as tried to open the safe, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.In the evenings, he was gripped by an anxiety so intense that his breathing would grow shallow to the point of causing severe dizziness. He couldn’t sleep either. An irrational fear haunted him—the fear that he might simply stop breathing in his sleep. That he’d never wake up again. In a few days, maybe a week, one of his friends, let’s say Derek, would decide to check why he wasn’t showing up to work. Derek would find him still lying in bed, his skin gray and cold, his limbs stiff.

His merciless mind seemed to be conjuring these images on purpose. Imagining Morgan over his lifeless body would send him back to Emily’s funeral, making him feel that same painful tightness in his chest.

These weren’t even flashbacks. He was almost certain he was sending himself back to that moment at the cemetery deliberately, purposefully crafting these visions. He wanted to amplify his suffering, to make a possible relapse feel more justified. It felt as though he was faking his tragic state, which made him dismiss any thought of asking anyone for help. Why would he, if he didn’t deserve it?

Besides, he didn’t want to intrude on anyone else’s grief. JJ couldn’t afford to break down; she had to stay strong for her family, for little Henry. Derek had nearly lost Emily in his arms, bearing an unbearable guilt and pain—it would be cruel to burden him with more. And Hotch was still reeling from his own tragedy; Hailey had died not so long ago, and Prentiss’s death could easily reopen those old wounds. They were the ones who truly deserved these few days off. Their struggles were real; he was just an addict—a boy supposedly intelligent.

Supposedly, because if he really were, would he keep something capable of destroying him in a safe by his bed, within reach at any moment.

Because of these thoughts, he feared the night more than anything. That’s when he became weak, vulnerable to the voice of his addiction. So, spending his nights away from home felt like the only solution.

He’d already developed a sort of routine. First, he’d head to the library, usually packed with students preparing for exams. As the hours wore on, they would disappear one by one, until by closing time, he was left alone with just the one librarian in square glasses.

He’d wander out to the hallway, glancing into the next room with the same curiosity he’d felt the first time. He wondered if that girl was still there. It seemed almost unbelievable that anyone would willingly spend entire nights sitting in silence with a gloomy stranger. Didn’t she have work to get up for? Or classes. She looked like a student—the kind who’d doze off in the front row without a shred of humility, doodle strange symbols in the margins, and engage professors in conversations on topics wildly unrelated to the lecture. And, somehow, they actually responded to her.

He stepped through the door, certain he’d find her there, yet…the room was empty. A chill ran through him at the thought that maybe he’d finally lost his mind and had only imagined her. In men, the first symptoms of schizophrenia usually appeared a bit earlier, but as everyone knew, every rule had its exceptions…

Something crashed forcefully into his back.

“Damn, sorry!” said the girl, her face obscured by the enormous box she was carrying.

She leaned it against her hip so she could see who she had just bumped into. Spencer was surprised to realize that he had been waiting for what she might say. The day before, when she saw him, she had said, "Oh, Mr. Mysterious. Good to see you, I was starting to think I made you up..." That had been their only interaction that night, and he wondered if she was going to greet him with a similar line.

But she simply smiled, adjusted the box in her arms, and walked past him. Did he really feel… disappointed?

He quickly shook his head. After all, he had asked her from the very beginning if they could not talk. He spent so much time there because it was the calmest place he could imagine, not because he was looking for new friends. He didn’t need them. New friends quickly turned into real friends, then old friends, and eventually, they only left wounds.He sat in the same spot as the previous and the one before that night. During those, he barely moved, spending those hours solely on thinking—about matters both important and trivial. This time, he brought something to occupy himself, specifically a pocket edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Even though he knew the book by heart and could recite any page from memory, he still found comfort in the story. Besides, this particular edition had been a birthday gift from Emily. He opened to the first page, but then his eyes fell on the inscription she had written by hand… As he began to read it, the words of her dedication blurred with the words spoken at her funeral. His head was filled with a ringing, and he immediately closed the book and placed it back in his pocket.

So, he was left with the escape into the depths of his own mind. He knew that most people wouldn’t be able to spend so many hours just thinking, but for him, it had never been a problem. He wasn’t sure whether it was a matter of his nature or simply a matter of habit, a skill he had mastered during his lonely teenage years.

Then, he glanced briefly at the girl still there. It occurred to him for the first time, what on earth she needed that huge box for. He found her standing on tiptoe on a chair, trying to reach the corkboard hanging on the wall. Attached to it were reminders about the benefits of belonging to a support group, etc., so people who got bored during meetings could constantly remind themselves why they were actually sitting there. The girl was trying to frame the board by pinning… Christmas lights to its edges?

Given her short stature, it was quite a challenge. Sensing that her fall was only a matter of time, he stood up from his seat. He didn’t even particularly wonder why she was hanging Christmas decorations in November.

“I’ll help,” he offered.

She looked at him, first a little surprised, then almost with relief.

“I’d like to, as any altruist would, refuse your help and say that you don’t have to…but for God’s sake, please, just do it,” she said, immediately jumping off the chair and onto the floor. “I think I’ve already told you that I can’t afford a dentist, so I’d rather not take the risk.

“You mentioned it,” Reid replied, not sure what else he could add. He stopped trying to come up with any elaborate responses. Once again, he reminded himself that he hadn’t come here to make new acquaintances; he didn’t need to present himself in the best possible light. He could afford a little blissful silence and grumpiness.

She watched his actions with her arms crossed. He reached the spot where she wanted to attach the lights without much trouble.

“I know it’s not very hygienic,” she muttered, cutting a piece of tape with her teeth. “But I don’t have scissors, and as they say, you have to make do somehow.” She handed him a transparent piece, which, though almost invisible from a distance, was meant to keep the lights from falling. He accepted it without a word.

“The owner requested that I decorate this place for Christmas,” she continued. “He mentioned something about how the atmosphere positively affects most people, so it’s best to start as early as possible. But for me, it’s a bit too soon. What do you think?”

Absorbed in the task, he hadn’t heard her question. She didn’t seem bothered by it. Leaning against the wall with one arm, she clapped her hands when he finished.

“Thanks a lot, stranger. Now that I’ve used you once, maybe we should finally introduce ourselves?”

Spencer prolonged the process of getting off the chair as much as he could. For some reason, he didn’t really want to reveal his name. In a way, he liked that, entering this room, he was just a shell without characteristics, data, or past experiences.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she added, noticing his hesitation. “Actually, names don’t really matter. I can always just call you a stranger. You could suggest some adjectives. Think it over carefully; it’s an opportunity to be, for example, a handsome stranger…”

He couldn’t help himself and chuckled. The girl’s eyebrows raised slightly, as if she had just witnessed a miracle.

“Spencer,” he revealed, extending his hand.

She shook it, offering her own name in return. Her nails were of varying lengths, especially those on her thumbs, which didn’t even extend past the tip of her finger, as if she only bit those particular ones.

“Well, considering we’ve theoretically known each other for three days, it sounds a bit funny, but nice to meet you, Spencer. Thanks again for the help. So, let’s see if it works.”

He had planned to return immediately to his seat, but the girl spoke so quickly that he didn’t have time to pull back. Instead, he found himself standing in front of her, watching as she switched on the Christmas lights, her face showing the intensity of an inventor presenting their latest creation.

“No way,” she muttered when the lights didn’t turn on.

“Probably the batteries,” he replied.

She looked at him as if he had just said something groundbreaking.

“You know what kind we’ll need?”

“AA, the thin ones.”

“Alright, then let’s go,” she decided, moving forward with determination.

“What? Where to?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or just referring to herself in the plural. It was... unexpected.

“To the store, across the street. I need to decorate this place if I want the owner to keep letting me do what I’m doing here. Since you’re a battery expert, you can tell me which ones to pick.”

“AA, the thinnest ones. I’m not an expert, it’s common knowledge. Haven’t you ever changed batteries on a remote?”

He hesitated a bit about leaving the room with her. However, she had already put on her jacket, a brown leather one, at least two sizes too big. Underneath, she wore a green, lace blouse with an asymmetrical cut and flared sleeves, giving it a slightly fairy-like style.

“I guess not, I don’t know. My mom was against television, and we watched it so rarely that we never had to change batteries. Or maybe she changed them herself, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I just want company so let’s go.

If she had phrased it as a suggestion, he would probably have replied that he’d prefer to stay inside alone, if that were possible. However, she used a command, delivered so quickly that his brain didn’t even have time to process what was happening before his body moved forward.

After a moment, they crossed the street, heading toward a small, 24-hour shop on the corner. Spencer figured he might have dropped by there once before or after a visit to the library; after all, it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar neighborhood.

Almost immediately after stepping inside, they came face-to-face with the guy behind the counter, who looked like he was counting down the hours until closing, the way prisoners count down the years left on their sentences.

“What do we need, expert?” the girl muttered to him, as if they were about to buy a part for constructing a rocket launcher, not just a couple of ordinary batteries.

Spencer asked for batteries and, after a moment’s thought, a coffee, too—the kind served in those ridiculously inconvenient cups without any sleeves, making it easy to spill and burning hot to hold. The girl glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, so he added, asking for one for her as well.

As they waited for their order, an incredibly awkward silence settled over them. It was odd, considering they’d spent the last two nights practically without exchanging a word. She stood with her elbow casually resting on the counter, while he kept his hands in the pockets of his brown coat. The harsh, almost clinical lighting inside revealed details about her appearance that Spencer hadn’t noticed before. For instance, her light-blonde bangs fell in a heart shape on her forehead, her eyebrows were slightly asymmetrical, and her eyes were the coldest shade of blue he’d ever seen. Or maybe it was the effect of the black eyeliner on her waterline?

Noticing his stare, she tilted her head in question, assuming he had something to ask. Caught off guard, he mirrored her gesture without knowing why. They were spared further awkwardness by the arrival of two coffees on the counter in those unfortunate cups.

“Thanks for paying,” she said as they stepped back outside. As the door closed behind them, he felt like muttering no problem but she beat him to it. “I was counting on it. I don’t have any money on me. That’s my way of saving—just never carrying cash.

A comment about how it wasn’t the wisest method came to his lips—after all, accidents happened, and sometimes having a bit of cash on hand could actually save one’s life. He was surprised, though, by his own concern and sense of responsibility toward a stranger.

As they left, she locked the door, then handed him her coffee to hold so she could unlock it again to let them back in.

“If it turned out you didn’t have a cent in that fancy coat of yours, I would’ve just stolen it,” she admitted in the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather. Her bluntness startled him every time. “I even considered it, but then you pulled out your wallet. Hey, you’re not a cop or something, are you?” she asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I am,” he replied automatically. Damn, he shouldn’t have said that. He’d already given her his name, and now his profession. At this rate, his anonymity would burst like a soap bubble.

From her expression, he could tell she took it as a joke.

“Oh no. Are you going to arrest me now?”

He shrugged.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

Saying this, he felt a twinge of inner humiliation. His slightly improved mood sank back to square one, as he was reminded that he wasn’t on a casual outing with a friend—he was on a forced exile from his own apartment.

She pushed open the door and stepped through first, walking backward, facing him as she went.

“I’ll take that as a no. Although, on second thought—do you have hot water in your place?” He nodded, answering her question, clueless about where she was headed. Her comments were too unpredictable. She clapped her hands together. “That’s great! They cut ours off in the building two days ago for some maintenance work, and honestly, I’ve missed nothing more than a hot shower. So, officer, maybe you should reconsider that arrest?”

She literally pushed her wrists right under his nose. For a moment, he regretted not having handcuffs with him. He imagined the shock and amusement on her face if he actually snapped them around her wrists. He shook his head, not understanding why he was picturing that—or why, suddenly, he felt so amused. Well, at least it was a relief compared to how he had felt an hour ago.

“Well, I don’t know the procedure for a cop taking an arrested person to his own home,” he replied.

“I’ve heard they do that with the worst criminals,” she said.

“Like battery thieves?”

“Every serial killer starts somewhere.”

“I don’t know of a single case where it started with stealing batteries.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know enough about criminology?” she asked, spreading her hands.

Spencer fell silent for a moment, then simply started laughing. Not mockingly, but genuinely, like he hadn’t in... a long, long time. After a moment, the girl joined him, though she couldn’t have known the true reason for his reaction. After a moment, the girl joined him, though she couldn’t know the true reason for his reaction. She tried to take the coffee from him, still holding it for her. As he was still overcome by some boyish chuckle, he flinched and accidentally brushed her pale hand. The girl didn’t even seem to notice the fleeting contact, grabbed the cup, and took a small sip of the still-hot drink. His fingers twitched, curling and stretching. He had never been a fan of physical contact, accepting it only from those closest to him. Whenever he tried to touch someone, he had an overwhelming feeling that it bothered them. Spencer considered it an incredible paradox that he worked by conducting in-depth psychological analyses of individuals, yet in his personal life, he struggled so much with understanding others' feelings.

Standing in the same spot, he watched as she approached the Christmas lights.

“Well, come on, techie. Time to change the batteries.”

She pulled him out of his thoughts. He joined her by the corkboard, this time offering her his coffee. It took him less than a minute, but when the lights blinked on, she patted him on the shoulder with such admiration, as if he had spent an entire day working on it.

It was a purely joking gesture, but somehow it still reminded him of all those pats on the back at the funeral—the last time anyone had touched him. He was really starting to hate his brain for dragging up memories like that every damn time he began to feel even a little bit better.

The girl must have noticed the slight withdrawal on his face after she touched him. He could almost see the invisible notebook in her mind, where the words never touch him again, he doesn’t want it seemed to appear. He suddenly wanted to open his mouth and explain that it had nothing to do with her, but he knew it would come out sounding pathetic.

That’s why he just sighed, like a beaten dog, wondering if taking Dilaudid that day would have allowed him to talk to her—and anyone else—with far more ease, without the heavy burden on his shoulders and the eternal tornado of painful memories storming through the depths of his mind.

“So…” the girl began after a longer pause. Her voice sounded different for a moment, stripped of its playful and cheerful tone, and Spencer almost felt as if she forced herself to bring it back. “Thanks again for your help and for unwittingly stopping me from committing theft. Oh, and for the coffee, though it’s one of the worst I’ve had in the past ten years of my life. Which is about as long as I’ve been drinking coffee at all. Anyway, if you’ve grown tired of my chatter, your lucky moment has arrived, because I need to get back to hanging the rest of the holiday decorations, cleaning the floors…”

"I can help you with all that," said Spencer’s lips—certainly not him, at least not so quickly or so confidently. That didn’t mean he disagreed, though.

She bit her lip, gently shaking her head.

“No… I don’t want you to feel obligated, like you have to help me with something. Or like you need to repay me for hanging out here. Since… let’s say I started this place, I’ve been managing everything on my own. This room is pretty small, there’s really not that much to clean. So just relax. Enjoy your book—I noticed you brought one.” She nodded toward his coat pocket, where it indeed rested. “Yeah, I stared at you for a second. Subtly, of course, so you wouldn’t notice. But don’t worry, you weren’t, like, picking your nose or anything. Not that I assumed you would. I mean, you don’t seem like the type.”

“Thank…you?”

One thing about Spencer—he often heard that he talked too much. That was just his nature. When a broad topic genuinely fascinated him, he couldn’t help diving into even the tiniest details. It always left him feeling a bit ashamed, worried that whoever he was talking to wasn’t remotely interested and was only rolling their eyes internally. For the first time in a long while, he’d met someone who made him seem like the quiet one, maybe even a bit grumpy.

The thought surprised him, but he regretted not meeting her at a different point in his life. Just a few stupid weeks ago, when Emily was still alive, and he wasn’t constantly battling the urge to soothe himself with Dilaudid. Maybe then he could have mustered more energy, started a truly engaging conversation. But now his throat was bone dry. He realized he was stuck in the belief that a part of him—the part everyone seemed to like the most—was gone, and the only way to get it back was locked in the safe by his bed.

His ears started ringing, and his own body felt like it no longer belonged to him. It was just an ordinary object with a delicate structure, cracking under the loud sound filling his ears.

The girl kept staring at him. God, he must have looked pathetic in her eyes. Was she talking to him because she wanted to, or because he came here every night and she had no other choice? He could have sworn he saw some disgust in her eyes. For the first time, he noticed that when they stood side by side in the store under such harsh lighting. It allowed her to examine him closely, and she noticed the bags under his eyes and the tired grayness of his skin. Furthermore, he spoke so little—she must have despised him.

He felt the urge to simply run out of the room, head straight back to his apartment, ignore the old neighbor on the stairs, and with trembling hands, open the safe... then it would all be over, the pain and the tension...

“Spencer?” A sound pierced the heavy dome surrounding him. His name. It was the first time she had used it, instead of some mocking label like stranger, officer, or techie “Spencer, is everything okay?”

He sank heavily into one of the chairs. It was the only way to stop himself from leaving. Not enough, he felt. Something kept urging him to stand up and go to his apartment. The apartment, the safe...

"Could you... could you say something to me?" he asked pitifully, in the voice of a beggar pleading for a piece of bread.

He had to distract himself somehow, get rid of these thoughts.

"Say something to you?" she repeated, confused.

"Anything, please. About inheritance and gene mutation, why you even come here every night, it doesn’t matter, just talk to me…"

"Okay," she said, a little feverishly, sitting down right next to him. He avoided her gaze, but briefly noticed she was looking at him with concern in her cold, blue eyes. "Okay... okay... so I'll tell you I have no clue about inheritance and genes, sorry...what was the other topic to choose? Why do I come here?"

He didn’t answer, not even realizing she had asked a question. Trembling, he listened only to her voice and her words, paying much less attention to the tone. He forced himself to listen. You’re not leaving this room, at least not until she finishes speaking. Listen. She has a nice voice, doesn't she?

"Spencer, you’ve gotten very, very pale."

"It’s okay, just talk to me. I need... to forget about something."

The girl suddenly nodded, with more readiness and understanding.

"Alright... Why do I come here? My friends, the ones who even know about this, slash one roommate and a guy from the bar, I'm not going to pretend I have a lot of friends...Anyway, they asked about it, and I told each of them a little bit of something different, but with the same general meaning. I didn’t go into details, I didn’t go into details, but I’ll tell you now, not just because you look like a dying man and I feel a bit like I’m fulfilling your last request before you drop dead on the floor. By the way, I wonder what I’d tell the police if that happened. Would you stand up for your old good friend, officer?"

His hands clenched around his knees, his head hung low, and for a long time, he had been hearing the beating of his own heart. His smile in response to the question was crooked and tired, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still a smile.

"How, when I'd be dead?"

"Oh, you like to nitpick words?"

"I just like logic. Usually."

"If I wanted to finish you off, I'd start telling you about my roommate's love life. That one's completely devoid of logic. You’d die listening to that.”

“So maybe another time? Besides, as much as I'd prefer not to die in an AA meeting room, I'd rather listen more about you."

"So listen. And breathe, deeply. You can take my hand if you want, or if it helps. Don’t you think I sound like I'm giving advice to a woman in labor? Breathe, hold my hand..."

Spencer exhaled again, followed by a burst of laughter. Her train of thought was simply exceptional, and he was genuinely curious about what would come out of her mouth next. He was beginning to forget about the Dilaudid hidden in the safe by his bed…

"Oh God, I forgot again what I was talking about, I’ll never finish telling this…" The girl groaned, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Ah, college. No, wait, something about friends. I know, why I started this place! Alright, so it all probably started in college. The need to help, not the idea. I came up with that through an internet forum and arguments about cheesecake. Anyway, at my college, we created this really small organization. It's hard to even call it that, it was just... at that time, we were all moved by a girl I shared a room with who had attempted suicide. After everything, she dropped out of college... nearly cut contact with us, and we felt the need to do something, to help someone. Young, ambitious psychology students, you know? I think it was even my idea. I was sober for the first time since the academic year began, longer than two days, and immediately started having flashes of brilliance. It was about this: late at night, when most people were contemplating suicide, we swarmed all the nearby bridges. "It sounds heroic, I know. But in reality, we intervened only two, maybe three times. I was really surprised by that, I thought it was one of the most popular methods."

"In the United States, the most common method is hanging. It accounts for 25 to 30% of cases. After that, there’s..." He felt the need to swallow. "Overdose. Especially among the young. Falls from heights or deliberate drownings are less common, but still present in the statistics."

"I'm a little concerned about your knowledge on this subject."

"I read a bit."

"Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, as someone whose favorite book is Girl, Interrupted, but maybe it’s time for some... less... devastating reading?"

"Maybe I'll think about it. Anyway, what’s next with your... project?"

The girl rested her chin on the back of her chair, recalling where she had left off. Spencer finally straightened up, and as he became more engaged in the story she was telling, his hands stopped shaking as much.

"Well, as students go, we kind of lost our drive. They left one by one. The only thing I can say in their defense is that it was a damn cold winter, and you could have gotten hypothermia just from standing on that bridge at that hour. But I... somehow got more involved in it. My mom... passed away barely a month after I started college, completely unexpectedly. You know... or maybe you don't, I don't know what the beginning of a semester looks like in college. More parties than studying. My body had a full Mendeleev’s table inside at that time. Those nights spent on the bridges were the first sober and fully conscious ones in a long time. I liked standing there, thinking. To the drivers passing by, I might have looked like I wanted to jump myself, but I never considered it... not in that particular way. I had been dealing with insomnia for a long time, so I could come there very late. And one time... I really managed to save a man. I noticed him, and we talked for almost an hour. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, but... after that time, he actually stepped down from the railing, hugged me, and walked away. I don’t remember what I said to him. I’m not even sure if it actually happened, maybe I made it all up?

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Spencer stared into her lost gaze, devoid of the false positivity that usually covered it. He wanted to... he couldn’t quite determine if he wanted to hug her. He wanted to do something, but he wanted it to be more than just a hollow gesture. Still, he flinched, holding himself back from wrapping his arm around her.

"I'm sure it really happened," he said, his voice quieter and hoarse. The girl was surprised by the certainty in his tone. "And that's because... maybe you don't realize it, but you're doing exactly the same thing now as you did on that bridge, just in a different place and with a different guy."

He saw her slowly blink, the weight of his words settling in. One of the most talkative women he had ever met was suddenly rendered speechless. They stared at each other in silence for a long time, her lips parting and closing a few times. He felt a strange tension, as if whatever she was about to say would determine something significant in his life.

"Is that... why you come here every night?" she asked finally. "To avoid standing on the bridge?"

Spencer hated metaphors, couldn’t stand when others used them, and struggled to create them himself. So he knew he had reached a truly strange point in his life when he found himself using one.

"I stand on it all the time, every moment."

Her fingers moved restlessly, her face momentarily expressionless. Then, she simply reached for his hand, the one farther from her.

"Nighttime is the hardest, isn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted. He kept the next sentence in his mouth for a long time, chewing on it repeatedly, questioning whether it tasted right and whether he should say it. He felt... that this request might be too much. Yet, at the same time, he was painfully desperate. For the first time, truly motivated to do it. He hesitated, licking his lips, and the girl followed the movement of his tongue, as if wondering what he was about to say. He finally decided to just say it. "I have something at home that I'm afraid I'll take. I know that when I try to get rid of it, I won’t be able to stop myself. I know I probably shouldn’t ask you this, but I can’t do it on my own... I don’t have anyone else who could do this for me..."

She looked at him with a cold seriousness.

"Are you trying to lure me to your apartment?"

"No!" he assured hastily, realizing it really did sound that way. He quickly shook his head. "You're right, you shouldn’t go to a stranger’s house, and I shouldn’t even ask you. We barely know each other..."

"I was joking," she interrupted, reaching for her jacket. "I want to help you, I really do."

"No, I’ve thought about it, and I think I can handle it on my own..."

"After what you just told me? Forget it. I’m not taking the risk that something might happen to you."

"But..."

Determination sparkled in her eyes.

"How far do you live from here?"

You were doing something incredibly stupid.

You were going to the apartment of a man you had met three days ago and knew nothing about except his name.

You were practically risking your life. You could have ended up subjected to excruciating tortures beyond anything you could imagine, then murdered and desecrated.

This was how Spencer lectured you the entire way, trying to convince you not to follow him, but it was already too late. You had made up your mind and tried not to think about the potential danger. It was incredibly difficult, thanks to the vividly detailed stories he kept sharing.

During the twenty-minute subway ride, he managed to summarize the biographies of six serial killers who targeted women just like you. He even called you someone in the highest risk group for assault and violence, to which you sarcastically muttered thank you and clamped a hand over his mouth—mainly because the woman sitting next to you looked like she was dialing emergency services.

“You know an unsettling amount about that topic too,” you remarked as the two of you covered the last stretch of the walk on foot. “You know, murderers and crimes.”

Of course, you had locked up your space, even though you’d never left it before sunrise. Night after night, you had stubbornly stayed until morning, even though, apart from Spencer, only one other person had ever shown up, and you’d spent most of the time bored out of your mind. Yet, you didn’t feel guilty about abandoning your post. After all, your intention from the start had been to help people in crisis—those who couldn’t or wouldn’t seek professional help, who needed more of a friendly, honest chat over a beer but without the beer.

Since the moment that man had first walked through your door, he had occupied your thoughts more than you wanted to admit. You had been incredibly afraid he’d spend every night silently sitting with you and then suddenly stop coming, leaving you with guilt and endless questions. Instead, he had opened up almost by accident.

Even though you knew far less about him than you wanted to, you felt a strange connection between the two of you. Mostly in the form of sleepless nights, the shared loss of someone dear (you guessed this from his attire during that first night), and likely a history with various substances.

Many people would look at him and refuse to believe he could be an addict. Well, aside from the state he was in after several sleepless nights in a row—exhausted eyes, a few days' worth of stubble, and a slouched posture—he looked quite respectable. But you had encountered enough people struggling with addiction to know that appearances were no indicator. Judging based on looks in such matters was simply harmful.

“As I mentioned, I read a bit,” he replied to your question.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? What, The Silence of the Lambs as a bedtime story every night?”

He chuckled but didn't press the issue further as you both reached the building where he apparently lived. He stopped, signaling for you to do the same. Above you, a streetlamp cast the only light in the starless night. Spencer was wearing a brown coat that you really liked, and a light breeze ruffled his hair.

"Maybe you should text your roommate, let her know where you're headed?" he suggested. "You know, give her the address..."

"Oh my God, Spencer..."

"I just want you to feel comfortable," he said.

You sighed and grabbed your phone, wanting to ease his worry.

"It's just common sense to do this every time you're going somewhere with someone you don't know. Or when you're coming back alone. It's not just about women."

"Now I'm starting to think you're really a cop," you muttered.

You pulled up your friend and roommate Jude's number on your phone and began typing a message.

i'm going to some weird dude's place, here's his addy. if I'm not back by noon, just know my head's probably in his fridge xoxo

Jude worked nights cleaning office buildings. She must've been slacking off because she replied almost immediately:

you little slut. 

After a moment she added:

don’t let him tie you down

if worse comes to worse bite his dick off

not as hard as it sounds

“She replied that I’m being a bit irresponsible and I should be careful. She’ll call me in an hour to make sure everything’s fine.”

Spencer seemed satisfied with the response.

“Sounds like a really good friend.”

“Yeah, the best. Let’s go in. 

As soon as you were at his apartment door, he noticeably tensed up. And when he turned on the light, you saw his skin pale again, just like earlier when you had been worried about his state. You didn’t look around too much. The apartment was definitely nicer than the one you shared with Jude, but it had been kept in a style from a decade ago, which immediately impressed you since you weren’t a fan of modern architecture.

“Where is it?” you asked, referring to the mysterious thing you were supposed to take from him.

Uncertainly, he opened the door to the bedroom for you. If he really intended to kill you, it probably would have happened right then. You watched as he approached a cabinet near the double bed. He opened its doors, revealing a simple safe. He typed the code so quickly that even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to memorize it. You held your breath as he came over to you, handing you some plastic bag. You shoved it into your pocket without even looking at it.

You didn’t want him to think for even a moment that you were judging him. Besides, the moment he handed it to you, that concern no longer mattered. He could finally breathe again in his own home.

“I haven’t taken anything for a long time,” he confessed in a quiet voice. “Actually, I thought I was completely clean. But something happened recently, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t get rid of it.”

You stood in front of him, your head tilted up, the plastic bag weighing lightly in your jacket pocket, even though its contents were virtually weightless. The silence between you became intimate, and a smile of appreciation crept onto your lips.

“You’re incredibly strong.”

“I’d be strong if I hadn’t bought it.”

“Spencer, you kept it in that safe, what, for three days? You spent nights away from home so you wouldn’t think about it? You asked me to come and take it so you wouldn’t risk giving in. Think about it. So many people would’ve broken down in your place.”

You could see that he didn’t completely agree with you, but you didn’t want to push him to change his mind. You were just sharing your opinion. For a moment, you both stayed silent, his head leaning in your direction so you could hear each other clearly despite the softly spoken words. It was as if you were sharing secrets so big that even the walls couldn’t hear them.

"I hope that by taking this, you'll be able to sleep for a bit," you said, feeling a little like you were committing a sin by breaking the silence. Spencer stepped back to his usual distance.

You knew there was nothing left for you here, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t have even the slightest excuse to stay, so you sighed and glanced meaningfully at the door. His expression was unreadable, his shoulders hanging loosely by his sides.

"Well, I’m off. I’ll drop by the place for a few hours," you said. You were really about to walk out when you cursed in your mind and finally forced yourself to say what had been bothering you. "So... even though you’ve gotten rid of it, do you still plan on coming by? I mean..."

You didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

"We’ll see each other tomorrow," he assured you shortly, but firmly, which was enough for you.

You wanted to leave with a sense of mystery, but you couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across your face. Spencer opened his mouth, probably to say something about safety and walking alone in the city late at night. You gave him a quick, caring look and disappeared through the door.

You’d been living a nocturnal life for years, aware of the dangers that the darkness held, but you’d also come to know the comforting feeling that it left behind in its embrace.

*

One might expect that after an entire afternoon at work and a sleepless night, you would collapse into bed exhausted by morning. But that never happened. Every day, you returned to your apartment in that dark green building with red fire escapes and spent two hours tackling your dreaded household chores—washing dishes or doing laundry.

You hated mornings, though you didn’t know why. Nights were loud and alive, and so were you during them. Mornings were quiet and seemed to trap you like wounded prey. They cornered you, gnawed at you, and forced you to confront... what exactly? Your own life? Your thoughts? Longing and emptiness?

One thing was certain: you wouldn’t trade your lifestyle for anything in the world.

Around eight in the morning, you would take your neighbor's son to preschool. She was a single mother, just two years older than you, earning a decent income but, as a result, constantly busy. Sometimes she left the boy with you, rewarding you generously afterward.

That was also when Jude came back from her night shift, usually dropping into bed without even greeting you. By then, you would often shut your eyes for a few hours, too—you weren’t a machine, after all, capable of functioning entirely without sleep.

And yet, you were always the first to wake up, spending an hour or two in bed with your laptop before your friend joined you, and the two of you would have breakfast. At two in the afternoon.

You spread homemade jam on your toast. Jude was obsessed with unprocessed food, and if she had the time, she’d probably bake her own bread—from flour she milled herself from grain she grew. You could easily picture her in some tiny, bygone village, growing vegetables with a scarf tied around her head—a funny image, considering she lived a thoroughly urban lifestyle and spent every weekend in a club.

“So?” she asked, walking into your small kitchen after her shower, wearing a black satin robe that revealed glimpses of her freshly pampered brown skin. Even the lack of hot water in the entire building didn’t stop her from sticking to her twenty-step skincare routine. She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How was the night? Did you have to use your mouth?”

“If you’re referring to that advice you gave me yesterday—no, I didn’t have to.”

“Probably used it in another way,” she said with a smirk.

“Sometimes you’re as gross as teenage boys in high school.”

“Sorry,” she said, waving it off while making herself some coffee. “I’m just happy for you. Lately, you never go out, never see anyone. You spend your nights acting as a free therapist in an empty room, and when you’re not at work, you’re glued to your laptop. It’s not healthy, babe. Sometimes you’ve gotta have fun and blow off some steam. So, who’s the guy? You said he’s kind of a weirdo.”

“He kind of is,” you admitted. “But in a sweet way. We didn’t fucked by the way.”

Jude turned to you, looking utterly crushed.

“Then what the hell did you do? Play chess?”

“You immediately assumed it was a quick hookup. This is a guy I met while acting like a free therapist in an empty room,” you quoted her own words back at her, slightly sarcastic.

She was silent for a moment, arms crossed, staring at you. “Hot?”

“What does that have to do with anything—”

“Well, he must be, considering how quickly you agreed to go to his place. You know what, girl? Need any help with your ‘business’?”

You snorted with laughter, swallowing the last bite of your toast.

“Whore”

“Single young woman, I prefer” 

You weren’t very talkative, your mind constantly drifting back to the events of that night. You regretted not getting Spencer’s phone number. You needed to know what happened after you left and how he was holding up, to the point that you couldn’t focus on anything else. You comforted yourself with the thought that you’d see him again that night. An intense need to learn more about him, to understand him, and a bit of concern for him lingered with you.

Jude was sipping her coffee when there was a knock at the door. You flinched, and she, stiff as a board, stopped you with a gesture of her hand.

“I have a bad feeling about this…” she muttered under her breath, nervously clutching her cup.

As if on cue, the light knock at the door turned into a loud pounding. “Jude!” a male voice shouted. “Jude, come on, let’s talk!”

Your friend hid her face in her hands as you sighed. Richard was her ex-boyfriend, and a complete psycho. They had broken up a year ago and had no contact since. Yet, every now and then, he would remember she existed and stalk her like some kind of obsessive. Then he would disappear again. You had almost gotten used to it, though you still insisted she should report it to the police. Jude, on the other hand, thought it wasn’t worth the trouble since nothing would come of it anyway.

“Pretend we’re not here,” she ordered.

You sighed again, looking at her gently. “I really think you should do something about it.”

“He’ll get bored in a week. We just have to wait. Maybe one day he’ll break his neck on those damn stairs, and we’ll be done with him.”

You couldn’t help but snort, despite the seriousness of the situation. The steepness of the stairs in your building was truly terrifying. So much so that when you went out to the club, instead of heading home in the early hours, you’d crash at some mutual friends’ place. Trying to climb those stairs drunk could end tragically. 

Jude was right about one thing. Richard quickly lost interest, and after ten minutes the knocking stopped, but you didn’t leave, afraid he might be lurking somewhere in the hall. You both left the apartment together—she was heading to meet some friends, and you were off to work.

You liked the bar where you worked. The afternoon shift started quietly, mostly with a few guys stopping by on their way home from the office, chatting calmly and not causing any trouble. As night fell, the atmosphere picked up, becoming livelier. You always finished your shift just when the fun was starting to turn into chaos and arguments. As you left, you noticed the jealous looks from your coworkers, who, after months or even years, still watched some people with fear. Well, a drunk person is an unpredictable one.

You walked back to your rented room as if wings were carrying you. You were curious about what time Spencer would show up. You suspected he spent his evenings in the nearby library, which closed at midnight. You also hoped that besides him, others might show up as well.

Once inside, you started wondering if you should move the sign from the door to a more visible spot, so more people could learn about your initiative.

 Spencer usually showed up right at midnight. Not waiting for him, you got to work on your usual chores. You were certain he’d appear in the doorway any moment, just like he always did—silently, like a ghost. As you scrubbed the floors, you kept turning over your shoulder, always convinced you’d see him there. But every time, there was no one. You glanced at the clock and went back to work, because what else was there to do?

You really regretted not exchanging phone numbers.

Sure, you had taken his Dilaudid, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that he might eventually crack and reach for it. That was the dark scenario that had formed in the pessimistic part of your brain, and it lingered there only for a moment. You remembered the determination and certainty in his eyes last night—he really didn’t want to return to addiction. Most likely, something had just come up. After all, not everyone can afford to stay up so many nights in a row. Work, studies, responsibilities... You realized you didn’t even know what he did for a living. There were so many questions.

Hours passed. You looked at the Christmas decorations you’d put up yesterday. Your mom had never liked Christmas, considering it an unnecessarily stressful time, but at your request, your home always drowned in lights and Santa hats. As an adult, you walked past such things in stores with your head down. Every association with your mom brought memories—positive ones, true, but sometimes the greatest joys also brought pain.

You sighed, catching yourself in those thoughts. This was exactly why you hated silence. It always led you down a path of sadness. You considered putting in your headphones when someone appeared at the door.

You straightened up with hope, but it wasn’t Spencer. Instead, it was a man in a burgundy sweater, glasses on his nose, and a touch of gray in his hair. You recognized him as the librarian, who sometimes left work when you were arriving. He greeted you in an extremely polite manner.

“I’ve noticed that sign on your door for a while now, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to come in. Do you work here?”

At first, you were disappointed it wasn’t Spencer, but that feeling was quickly replaced by a smile. Someone had finally taken an interest in your notice.

“It’s not really a job. More of a personal project. I sit here and listen to what’s weighing on people’s minds.”

The librarian turned out to be a kind, though very shy, man. You talked for a while; he made you laugh more than once, and the rest of the night didn’t seem as depressing. He unexpectedly confided in you that his retired wife was battling cancer. He must have felt the urge to get it off his chest as soon as he entered, maybe even as soon as he saw the sign. He tried to maintain composure, but inside, he was terrified of losing her. His aging hands trembled as he spoke about it, and you listened with a heavy heart.

When you returned to the apartment, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You sat on the fire escape, your legs hanging into the dark space, until the sun rose. You heard the key turn in the lock and jumped to your feet, rushing to the door.

“Jude, Jude, Jude!” you called to your roommate. She stepped back, her exhausted mind unable to handle such an enthusiastic greeting. Without waiting for her questions, you said, “You need to find someone for me. Get their phone number, preferably. I don’t care how, I know you have your ways.”

Your roommate wiped her eyes.

“We’ll talk after I get some sleep. And after you make me breakfast. Eggs, just how I like them.”

You agreed to the arrangement. Jude had incredible stalker skills. Once, she found an online profile of a guy just by knowing what kind of watch he wore. You didn’t want to wait until the next night hoping Spencer would show up, so you decided to track him down yourself.

While Jude was sleeping, you wandered aimlessly around the apartment, eventually collapsing on the couch with the laptop on your stomach, reading through discussions on poaching forums. Why? God knows. You just couldn’t sleep.

A king’s breakfast appeared on the table: fried eggs on toast with avocado, freshly brewed coffee. Jude sighed at the sight.

“If only my future boyfriend treated me like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, finishing off half an avocado raw. “I’m only doing this because I really need you to find someone for me.”

“Did you meet some handsome guy again?”

“It’s the same one.”

She laughed.

“You slept together and now there’s no trace of him? Sounds familiar…”

“Oh, just shut up with the toast. We didn't sleep with each other. How much longer you’re gonna eat that? 

She rolled her eyes at your rushing and deliberately prolonged eating her breakfast, just to watch the vein on your forehead throb. When she finally finished, she pushed her plate aside and placed her laptop on the table instead. Cracking her knuckles like a piano virtuoso before a performance, she said:

“Alright, tell me everything about him. Every little detail—not just his name and address. Which metro line you took, what shoes he was wearing, what type of condoms he used, everything. That’s how I’ll find him.”

“Condoms?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly. Give me thirty minutes.”

You started losing faith in the success of this plan, but when you shared the information with her—though not everything, to preserve at least some of his privacy—she actually went silent for half an hour, fully focused on her laptop screen. You waited, tapping your nails on the table.

“Ha! Got him!” she exclaimed, both amused and proud. “Oh, crap… did you know the guy’s a doctor?”

"What?"

Surprised, you shifted in your seat. Not that it was entirely implausible… actually, the more you thought about it, it kind of fit him. But his career path was the least of your concerns at the moment—you were looking for a way to get in touch and find out why he hadn’t shown up last night despite his promise.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Jude read out. “Sounds sexy. Were you two playing some kind of role-play game?”

“For heaven’s sake, Jude, I told you…”

Once again, you explained to her that you hadn’t spent the night together, but she just cackled through your entire speech.

“Fine. Whatever. You know what, you’re right—we had sex. BDSM, ropes, the whole deal. I’ll tell you all about it…”

“Okay, on second thought, I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

“So plug your ears and give me his phone number if, by some miracle, you managed to find that too.”

*

The first case they got right after Emily's death involved murders that had taken place... in another state.

They were supposed to have one more day off, but it turned out to be a child abduction case—something that simply couldn’t wait. They were called in and had to go. Unless, of course, they wanted a life on their conscience…

Spencer remained silent throughout the entire flight on the jet. He barely slept at night; after the girl left, he stared at the door for a long time, then at the empty safe where his old, despicable colleague had just been. He felt that with the disappearance of the threat, his motivation to leave the apartment or do anything had faded. He no longer viewed the place with such intense disgust, but now considered it... incredibly lonely. When she left, a silence of an unparalleled intensity settled in, causing a sharp headache. He lay down in bed, fearing it might worsen.

The news about returning to work simply terrified him. He was unable to think, at least not as intensely as usual, and after all, that had always been his role—the brain of the team. Without the ability to focus, he was useless.

In child abduction cases, the first twenty-four hours are always the most critical. Pressured by time, he stared at the case files, analyzing all the information gathered so far, and he was losing it. Inside, he was simply losing it. In the past few days, he had started to accept that due to grief and the return of his addiction's voice, he might not be as effective as usual. As a pure realist, unwilling to lean toward either extreme, he finally came to the conclusion that this state would pass. It would pass... he just had to wait.

But he couldn't afford to wait. Someone's life depended on him. A child's life.

This is how he justified it to himself. This one time, he would give in, not to satisfy some fleeting, selfish need. The reason was far more complex, morally justified, even sacred. One could say he was sacrificing himself for the greater good of the case.

"Spence," a voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see JJ with a gentle smile on her face, though it lacked much joy. "I can see you're feeling better."

He hesitated before answering. His mind was a jumble of intertwining conclusions, assumptions, and calculations related to the case he was investigating. Having been torn from his own world, he didn't quite grasp what she had said.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said that it’s clear you’re feeling better. You were really distant on the jet. I was worried."

He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by a wave of shame. If only she knew why he felt better...

Looking at her face, he felt the urge to cry, to fall to his knees and apologize to her. She shouldn’t even be worrying about him—he didn’t deserve it.

"Spencer?” she asked, worried, as he once again failed to respond.

Panic began to rise within him, the same paranoia he’d felt when returning from Emily’s funeral with Dilaudid in his pocket. Everyone knew what he’d done, they’d seen it, could read it on his face. He was as transparent as water, unable to hide anything.

And then, as if fate, weary of watching his pitiful behavior, decided to intervene, his phone rang, saving him from the situation.

"Oh, sorry JJ, this is something important," he said, even though he didn’t recognize the number.

His friend looked at him with suspicion.

Having received the call, he didn’t even have time to speak when someone on the other end beat him to it. That was enough for him to guess who was calling.

"Hello. Dr. Spencer Reid? This is the investigative department. We have a few questions for you regarding a missing woman who was last seen with you."

JJ noticed the change in his expression and surely registered how he took a few steps away so she wouldn’t hear his response.

"Very funny," he snapped. He was surprised at how pleased he felt hearing her voice. His muscles relaxed a little, like when she told him about herself at his request. "You know that the investigative department doesn’t contact suspects by phone?"

"Jerk, fool, and fun killer."

He let out a laugh so soft it sounded more like a sigh.

"You know why I’m calling, right?" she asked. He could hear her moving around the apartment, closing some doors, as if she were hiding. "I’m not going to yell at you now about why you ditched me, because it’s not exactly that you ditched me, but you kind of did. Are you keeping up?"

"Ditch me?" he repeated, surprised. "You mean... our late-night meetings?"

"No, I mean the book club where we meet every Monday."

"Something came up at work," he explained, ignoring her sarcasm. "Something really, really important, and it didn’t occur to me to let you know... Actually, I didn’t even think you’d be waiting for me."

He said it sincerely. Until now, he had thought that the girl's question during their last conversation about whether he would come was merely out of politeness, not because she actually wanted to see him.

"Of course I waited. And I was worried when you didn’t show up. You know how few people visit me, when someone finally came through that door, I dropped the mop because I thought it was you."

He fell silent, feeling a warmth in his chest. Lately, he had felt lonely, not just with his own problems but in other areas of life as well. The sadness made him think he was losing interest in things that had once brought him so much joy. Without all of that, he felt a little like a lighthouse in the sea, with nothing and no one within a few miles’ radius. On top of that, he had isolated himself a bit from his loved ones, he had to admit. It was only these late-night meetings and this phone call that made him realize he wasn’t completely alone.

By chance, he caught JJ's gaze. He wasn’t completely alone—he had friends around him—but that didn’t change the fact that he felt like he didn’t deserve them.

"Can you even talk right now, Doctor? If I’m interrupting something important, you can just say so."

"In literally one minute, I’ll have to get back to work…"

"Alright. Setting a timer for sixty seconds. Damn, I’ve already wasted like ten saying that. Never mind. Anyway, I get that something might have come up and you couldn’t make it. I’m not mad. But I’d really like to talk to you. If you get the chance, stop by. You know where."

"I’ll come by as soon as I’m back. Probably not today. I’ll call you then."

"No, don’t call," she asked. Surprised, he furrowed his brows. "Just show up. It’ll be romantic, don’t you think?"

"I hate to break it to you, but neither of us has what it takes to be a romantic," he replied gently, regretting that he was talking to her over the phone instead of face to face. It was always so hard for him to understand the intentions and meaning behind others’ words when he couldn’t see them.

"I do," she protested. "Maybe not you. You seem like the type who, when a woman asks for flowers, buys her a flycatcher."

"And what’s wrong with a flycatcher? It has an exotic and intriguing look, is a natural insecticide that helps reduce the use of chemical ones, and it’s very easy to care for. Besides, let me remind you that once you told me to take your hand and breathe, then asked if you didn’t sound like you were coaching a woman in labor. Is that your idea of romance?"

"That has nothing to do with my sense of romance. I just sometimes can’t keep my mouth shut. But honestly, flycatchers are freaking awesome. I’ve always wanted one. Still, my advice is, if you ever find yourself debating between buying a woman roses or a Venus flytrap, it’s safer to go with the roses."

"And what if I’m certain that the only woman I’d ever want to buy flowers for would prefer a Venus flytrap?"

"Deduce that yourself, Doctor."

He couldn’t help but smile. It felt strange—his cheek muscles had grown unaccustomed to that kind of effort.

"I know my sixty seconds are up," she said after a moment, her voice calmer and less chaotic. "But there’s one more thing I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?"

"How are you doing with, you know, the addiction? Was it easier for you after I took the Dilaudid from your apartment?"

The phone began to feel heavy in his hand, and the next breath was simply uncomfortable. He felt the same kind of shame as when JJ had asked if he was feeling better. The girl had been the only person he had confessed to about struggling again. His honesty on that front had made her quickly rise in the ranks of his closest people. It would have been easier to admit to her that he had relapsed. He even had a full explanation ready in his mind: he’s working on a missing child case, and had to do it to focus... He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bring himself to say it.

"Sorry, I have to go," he lied instead. "We’ll... we’ll see each other soon."

"Alright," she replied, somewhat coldly, certainly with concern. "I understand. See you soon."

He noticed that JJ had started glancing in his direction again. He hesitated, wondering if he should approach her, but he felt so bad about himself that he needed to disappear from anyone’s sight. He needed to focus on something, like the case but wasn’t sure if the fog in his mind would even allow that. 

Disappearing for a moment in the bathroom might help, and at that moment, it seemed like the only solution. And maybe it should have dawned on him much earlier, but only on his way did he start wondering, where the hell did she even get his number from?

*

That same night, you were calm. You were happy that Jude managed to get his number and that he could explain everything to you, which, in turn, made you stop worrying.

You felt the same on night number two and... night number three.

But when Spencer didn’t show up for the fourth time, you began to worry.

On the fifth and sixth nights, you called.

By the seventh, you were pissed as fuck. 

On the eighth day, you decided that since he couldn’t be bothered to call back, you’d stop acting like some damn wife waiting for her husband to come home from war. He was probably cheating on you. Well, not literally. Just extending the metaphor. 

You still spent every night in that room, but you no longer wondered whether he’d show up or not. You just did what was expected of you. As usual, you cleaned the floors. The owner of the hall called, asking you to clean the windows on both sides as well. You couldn’t help but greatly appreciate that you were on the ground floor. The cold air that made its way inside left pleasant kisses on your cheeks. The librarian came by to say goodbye. He did this every night exactly at midnight, when his shift ended and he was heading home. Sometimes he stayed to chat, but not always in the mood for it. Lately, he was feeling better and shared with you that the treatment for his wife’s cancer was showing positive results. Overjoyed, you almost fell out of the window and asked him to deliver good news to you next time when you’re actually standing on the ground.

You had always hated silence, but then it became unbearable. Through the open windows, the sounds of cars reached you, but not enough to drown out your thoughts. After a moment of hesitation, you shoved the headphones into both ears. When you felt particularly bad, you would return, body and soul, to equally painful moments. It usually happened in chronological order, without skipping even a single detail. There would be some minor inconvenience, and suddenly you were back in the dorm, banging on the bathroom door while your roommate was carving herself up in the tub. And a second later, you were at your mother's funeral, with no other family member around to hug you. You had never needed it so much before or after.

You closed your eyes. Usually, this happened in the morning, during those hated hours, not during the beloved nights. You opened them a moment later, and in the window, your face was reflected... along with someone behind you. Scared, you jumped out in a place. 

"I'm sorry," Spencer said, looking guilty. "I really shouldn't have sneaked up on you when half of you was hanging out of the window."

At first, in shock, you pulled the headphones out of your ears. You stared at him... furious. There had been no contact with him for so long, and now he appeared as if nothing had happened, looking unbelievably good, and holding in his hands...

"Is that a flycatcher?"

He seemed surprised that you were the one to ask about it first. However, he smiled and lifted the plant higher. 

"That's right."

"Shove it up your ass."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, seemingly surprised at how quickly your calm tone shifted to anger. You took a moment to examine him more closely. He was dressed neatly and meticulously in a black cardigan, the collar of a white shirt peeking out from under it, and a red tie. Over that, he wore a black coat, not a single crease visible on any of his clothes. He was freshly shaved, his hair seemed a little shorter... but his face still carried that unhealthy expression, and his eyes looked exhausted. It also seemed to you that... he'd lost weight? As if he were trying to hide what was going on inside by his outward appearance. 

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, while his fingers tightened around the pot. "Look," he began, his voice a little unsteady. "I've been going through a really rough time. Actually, it's been like this for quite a while. On top of that, work's been stressful, and then I got sick..."

You interrupted him, your arms crossed firmly across your chest. "I called," you said, your voice sharp.

“I know,” he admitted. “I saw, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to call back because... I was ashamed...”

“Ashamed that you started taking Dilaudid again,” you stated more than asked, almost certain your guess was correct. You weren’t really angry anymore, just disappointed. Not in him, or in the fact that he hadn’t been able to fight the addiction. It hurt you how much he feared admitting it.

He didn’t answer, which was confirmation.

His gaze darted away from yours as fast as his legs could carry him. You sighed and moved closer, until the only thing separating you was the flycatcher he held. Your hands rested on the soft fabric of his coat, near his elbows. Due to the difference in height, he would have to lower his head to look at you. But he stubbornly kept it straight.

"Spencer, are you afraid I'll judge you?"

A long silence.

"I know you won't," he finally replied. "You're not the kind of person who judges someone for their struggles, I know that. But it's still so hard for me to talk about it."

"Hey, remember, you don't have to explain anything to me. Or say anything now. We can focus on something else first, and whenever you're ready to talk, I'll still be here. Like every night. Unless you just dropped by for a moment?"

Spencer finally looked at you, and as he lowered his head, a few stray strands of hair fell onto his forehead. You were still holding both of his shoulders, tightening your grip slightly to reassure him.

"I've got the whole night free. We finished working on the case, and I don't have to show up at work tomorrow."

You frowned slightly.

"A case?"

"A child abduction," he explained.

Something about this didn't add up.

"I thought you were... a doctor. You know, like, hospital stuff."  You could see how much that amused him. "Don't laugh at me! That's what my friend told me. I asked her to find your number, and that's the information she came across."

"I have a doctorate," he clarified, glancing at you with a small, indulgent smile. "That's why 'doctor.' I don't work in a hospital."

"And here I was already picturing you in a lab coat with a stethoscope around your neck," you groaned. "More than once, actually. No offense, but you don't  look particularly sexy in white. So, what do you do, then?"

He scratched his nose, hesitating slightly before answering.

"I'm an FBI agent."

For a moment, you stared at him silently, your lips slightly parted like an idiot.

"So, you really are a cop... I was joking about that the whole time we last saw each other! That’s why you were laughing so much." Finally connecting the dots, you crossed your hands on your hips, still surprised. You let out a short laugh."A doctorate. Impressive. Now I feel embarrassed around you for dropping out of college."

Spencer's eyebrows shot up.

"I didn’t know that. Psychology, right?"

"Last year. I rarely admit it to people, to be honest. I just don’t feel like hearing, 'How could you drop out when you were so close to finishing?'"

"I'm sure you had your reasons."

"Well, I like to tell myself that. But honestly, I was just in a really bad place mentally."

"That's a reason too."

For a moment, you fell silent. You’d never felt particularly ashamed of it, but you also didn’t like delving too much into the topic. Wanting to change the subject, you brought a smile to your face and pointed to the plant in his hands.

"Is that my apology gift?"

Spencer handed you a terracotta pot with a young, elongated flycatcher inside.

"Something like this. You're not mad at me for not reaching out, are you?" He tried to make sure.

You looked at him and shook your head.

"Not anymore. I'm very easy to bribe. Shouldn't I water this?"

For the next hour, at your request, he told you about this type of plant with such tiny details that you started to wonder if it was possible for an average person to have such an extensive knowledge… on any subject. But you listened intently. First of all, he had that way of talking about things that you always admired in others. It was captivating, filled with passion. Secondly, you were about to become the "mom" of a Venus flytrap. You had to know everything about your baby to take proper care of it.

"Am I boring you?" he asked during his talk.

You shook your head, encouraging him to continue his lecture. Then Spencer asked how your past few days had been, and the conversation flowed on. Easy and pleasant, sometimes abruptly shifting from one topic to another, but then slowly returning to it. Comparing it to your first longer conversation here… you were glad to see how much he had opened up.

Carefully choosing your words, you managed to find out that work had been the trigger that led him back to taking Dilaudid. When he finally said how terrified he was that his distraction might cost the child’s life, you simply didn’t know what to say. Sitting right next to him, you just melted into his side, resting your head on his jacket and wrapping your arm around his back.

"You lost someone recently, didn't you?" you risked asking. "That must have been some kind of trigger too."

A long silence fell, during which you could easily count his breaths. Two long ones.

"She was a member of our team. And to me, like a sister.”

You were surprised when Spencer gently laughed at those words.

"I still carry it with me," he said, reaching into his coat. He pulled out a small, pocket-sized edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. You’d seen him with that book before. "But I just can't manage to read a single page. I'd really like to, though. I loved that book as a kid."

"I hated reading as a child," You recalled. "My mom loved it. Mostly fantasy; for my sixth birthday, she gave me all of Tolkien’s books. But I preferred the adaptations. I felt like my imagination couldn’t grasp all those beautiful images, I preferred to have them in front of me, on screen. It wasn’t until college that my roommate gave me The Bell Jar. She was obsessed with Sylvia Plath, which, now that I think about it, was incredibly unsettling. Well, you know, considering what happened later. But maybe I’m adding things in. Anyway, that’s when I fell in love with books. The ones that don’t take place in distant, magical worlds, but in gray cities or sad suburbs. About people, happy or less so, with good hearts or complete bastards, as long as they’re realistic."

"Do you have any books left from your mom?" Spencer asked, intrigued. You realized you hadn’t talked about her with anyone in a long time, and certainly not in such detail. Until now, you had considered her an intimate memory, reserved almost exclusively for you.

"I donated them to the library near our place. They’d just gather dust at mine, I don’t know if I could bring myself to reach for them. It’s not even about my dislike for fantasy… I also have two boxes of her clothes hidden in my apartment, I don’t even look at them anymore, let alone wear them. She had a wonderful style. A bit like a fairy. She was a psychologist at my high school, and everyone, literally everyone, told me they envied me for having such a mom."

"You also dress like a fairy," he said, studying you more closely. His gaze slowly traveled over you, starting from the light, ruffled blouse and ending at the heavy martens. He snorted. "Okay, like a fairy who goes to rock concerts in her free time."

"Thank you, that’s the style I’m aiming for,"

"So what’s wrong with your mom’s clothes? From what you’re saying, I gather you had quite a similar taste."

You hesitated to respond, thinking about those unopened boxes in the tiny attic of your apartment. You couldn’t even remember exactly what pieces of clothing were in them. It was just… the thought of wearing any of them for an entire day, at work or in your free time, terrified you. Your brain couldn’t separate the good memories from the destructive ones; you simply couldn’t have anything that reminded you of your mom. All the time.

You noticed Spencer was watching you. His expression was gentle, yet painfully sad.

"It never gets easier, does it?"

You realized he was talking about grief and quickly shook your head. Your words might sound incredibly pessimistic to someone who had recently lost someone.

"No. It does get easier, really," you assured him. "God, that’s probably not what you want to hear right now..."

"I want you to be honest," he asked.

"It gets easier, but it will never get easy. At least not for me. Though maybe it’s because I just haven’t confronted it yet, you know?" You laughed bitterly. "I live in constant denial, and when it gets hard, I put headphones in my ears to stop thinking. And the more time passes, the harder it is to face it.”

"So is that your advice? To accept it as soon as possible?"

"I'm not sure you can give advice on grief, Spencer. It's such an individual thing."

You saw his chest move as he sighed. You both spent some time in silence, as it seemed like you both needed it. Spencer didn’t take his eyes off the cover of Alice in Wonderland. You didn’t take your eyes off him, but your gaze wasn’t fully present, so he didn’t even notice you were staring.

You continued your conversation, and the morning arrived at an incredibly fast pace.

There was some tension accompanying the moment of goodbye, for some reason.

"I just want you to know that now, with all the work I have... I won’t be able to come here. Sometimes, sure, but not every day, no chance," he said, standing in front of you as you both got ready to leave. You threw your leather jacket over your shoulders and froze, your hands clenched tightly around the fabric. You quickly corrected yourself. What did you expect, that every night would look like this?

"I totally understand," you assured him, pretending to sound casual. "But if you need this meeting, you know where to find me. No need to announce it."

He nodded, and for a moment, silence hung between you again. You grabbed the pot with the carnivorous plant and froze, not really wanting to head toward the apartment.

"Or maybe..." Spencer started, clearly unsure of himself. "Maybe we could meet somewhere else. You know, like any other... friends. For dinner or whatever you suggest."

You pressed your lips together, feeling an even tighter knot in your stomach.

"Maybe," you said, in a very weak voice. You knew where this was heading. "But... you’re aware of what my day looks like, right? I’m busy most of the afternoon with work, then I come here for the whole night. At the moment, I’m only available in the morning..."

You didn’t have many friends, nor did you enter into long-term relationships for that very reason. Sometimes you met a fellow night owl, someone with whom you spent some good moments... but it was never forever. You never came across someone for whom the nocturnal lifestyle was a permanent state. Usually, after months or years, they decided they’d had enough of that way of life and tried to cure their insomnia. But you planned to live that way until the grave.

"There are still weekends. Though sometimes I work then too, if a tough case comes up... But let’s not think about that. I’m sure we can figure out how to make it work." You had a strange feeling that Spencer didn’t believe his own words. He swallowed with a kind of desperation. "At least from time to time, because... I really like you."

You really liked him too. But despite the fact that you deeply hoped you could stay in touch, you were aware that it wasn’t a very realistic scenario. You shook your head to stop thinking about it. You grabbed the Venus fly-trap in such a way that you could hug him goodbye. He prolonged the moment, holding you tightly with both arms, and in that gesture, there was... gratitude?

"See you then," he said, barely nodding as he did.

"Soon, I hope," you replied.

He left as you turned to lock the door. You could still feel his strong embrace around your body, and it was as if your body itself was telling you that something was missing.

 It was truly a tough morning return to the apartment.

*

"One more time, what’s the name of that bar?" asked Morgan, who was behind the wheel.

The other matter concerned the murderer targeting female students, with a recurring detail being that each victim had spent the night before their death at the same bar.

“The Tipsy Cow,” Spencer repeated, without a moment’s hesitation.

He was incredibly focused because he had taken Dilaudid. The first dose after a period of abstinence always put him in quite a pleasant state. The following doses, however, brought unwanted effects. After the first one, he didn’t even sweat. When they finished working on the search for that child, he was so stressed about meeting her that he deliberately delayed the moment in order to show up clean again, as if it had never happened. Later, he admitted everything to her anyway, so all the suffering was somewhat pointless when looked at from a broader perspective.

Though he desperately wanted to maintain their relationship... day by day, it became clearer to him that it probably wasn't possible. It was all about time. After a whole day at work, he simply couldn't afford to visit her late at night. Still, he tried to drop by even for an hour. Her mere presence gave him pleasure, the simplest pleasure in the world. He valued their conversations, loved her sometimes chaotic way of speaking, and how attentively she could listen to him. These meetings also motivated him to resist his addiction.

But in the last two weeks... something always came up. December, the end of the year, was always a bit intense.

It seemed to him that she was also drifting away from him a bit. Well, for the past fourteen days and six hours, she hadn’t sent him a single picture of how her flycatcher was growing. He didn’t know if he had done something wrong or if there was some other reason. In any case, the current case was so complicated and shocking that it looked like another week without contact was ahead…

“The Tipsy Cow,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head in disdain. “That’s gonna be the bar with the worst name I’ve ever set foot in. And there have been many.”

“A party animal, huh?”

“I used to be, yeah.”

In recent weeks, Derek had been throwing himself deeper and deeper into work, making it his top priority and always staying late. It was his way of coping with Emily's death. Spencer envied him a little for that. He, on the other hand, was so drained that sometimes, with no real plan... he would scroll through job offers he kept receiving. There were plenty to choose from. But for now, he felt he couldn’t bring himself to leave, even though the thought lingered in the back of his mind.

Together, they stepped into the small bar. The colorful, shifting lights gave the space a slightly club-like vibe, but the crowd inside wasn’t overwhelming. The music wasn’t too loud, and it was easy to move around. The noisiest spot was a small group of men playing pool in the corner, loudly cheering on a brunette in a black jumpsuit.

“We need to talk to the bartenders, find out who was on shift Friday night. Honestly, it’d be best to question everyone,” Morgan said as they approached the bar, where a burly man in a black polo shirt was busy mixing a drink. 

"Hey, man. We need a word with you."

He didn’t even look up at them.

"Order something or don’t. I’m not here for chit-chat..." he trailed off, his expression shifting the moment he saw the badge. "Okayyy. That changes things."

Spencer stood sideways at the bar, arms crossed over his chest. He was more of an observer than an active participant in the conversation, but his focus was sharp, ready to catch any details crucial to the investigation.

“Were you here last Friday, around 9:30 to 11:00 PM?”

The guy leaned against the bar with one arm, chewing gum as he thought about it.

“Nah, on Fridays and weekends, I usually come in later.”

“We need to know who was tending the bar then. This is serious, dude.”

“Damn, someone died?”

Their looks said it all.

At that moment, a petite bartender with light hair emerged from the back, carrying two glass bottles in her hands. Initially, she didn’t look at any of them, seeming a bit detached from her surroundings… Spencer straightened up completely.

 What a damn coincidence.

The bartender addressed her by name.

“You’re here Friday nights, right?” he asked.

The girl, caught off guard, nodded, only now noticing their presence. Her eyes shifted to Morgan, who was closer to her and holding his badge up. The muscles in her face tightened slightly with unease. Her eye makeup was heavier than usual—black with a touch of shimmer in the corners.

Only then did her gaze linger—suspiciously long—on him. Her lower lip parted slightly in surprise. Spencer had no idea if he should acknowledge her. He was keenly aware of how nosy Morgan could be when it came to his personal life, and he’d never mentioned his new acquaintance to anyone on the team—or in his life, for that matter.

Swallowing hard, he felt a slight panic rise, urging him to say something.

“We need to talk to you,” he told her, his tone carefully balanced between serious and gentle.

She seemed uneasy about the FBI’s presence; he could see the stress in her piercing eyes, which hadn’t left him for a second. He felt a sharp urge to reassure her, to tell her not to worry.

“But don’t stress—it’s just a few questions,” he added, his voice softening.

When he turned his head, he noticed Morgan watching him intently. He avoided his gaze at all costs, pretending to be at ease.

“Was anyone else working with you that night?” Morgan asked.

“Peter,” she replied. “But he’s on leave right now. His girlfriend just had a baby. A boy. Not that it’s any of your business,” she added quickly. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I have his number somewhere if you need it…”

She began hurriedly searching her pockets, tugging at the fabric of her black jeans. She was also wearing a dark purple blouse tied at the waist, with a deep lace-trimmed neckline and wide, flared sleeves that didn’t seem particularly practical for bartending.

“You can give it to us later,” Derek reassured her. “What we really need are the details. I want you to try to remember everything that happened that evening. If you can’t, because it’s too loud here… Reid, maybe you two can head to the back?”

There was a faint, sly glint in his eyes. Did he… figure it out?

Derek shifted his gaze to the gum-chewing bartender. “And I’ll have a chat with you.”

Spencer let her lead him to the small back room. He turned to close the door and, when he faced her again, noticed her raised eyebrows and the faint smile playing on her lips.

“Coming to work today, this was the last thing I expected,” she chuckled.

Spencer smiled slightly as well. “It’s been a while. You look good—like you’re sleeping better. Does your partner know we know each other, or are we sneaking around like we’re in some kind of movie?”

“He doesn’t,” he replied, quickly adding, “But of course, it’s not a secret. And the fact that we know each other has no impact on the investigation. By the way… I really like your blouse.”

She raised her arms, showing off the flared sleeves, clearly pleased he’d noticed.

“Guess where I got it,” she said, and without waiting for his attempt, revealed, “It’s my mom’s”

He clearly remembered their conversation on the topic, so he tilted his head with a smile.

“I’m glad you finally pushed through,” he said quietly. He, too, had something to share. “As for me… a few days ago, I started reading Alice in Wonderland. I’m not sure if you remember…”

“The edition you got from your friend? Of course, I remember. That’s good news. Are you feeling better?”

He scratched his nose, unsure of what to say. It had been hard for him to identify his state lately; things were stable, maybe even better, if not for the fact that he had gone back to taking Dilaudid.

“And how’s Steven?” he asked, referring to the flycatcher they had named together some time ago.

“He’s good. The kid I sometimes look after stuck his fingers inside recently, and she bit him. I got a little scared that his mom might sue, but it turns out she doesn’t hurt people,” she said, but then straightened up suddenly. “Wait, here we are chatting, and I think you were supposed to be questioning me.”

Spencer immediately caught himself.

“Yeah, right. So, I’d like you to close your eyes, okay?”

She followed his instructions, responding to his quiet and focused tone. He needed her to recall everything that had happened that evening, to bring back any memories that could help them catch the unsub. As her eyelids lowered, she took a step closer. Suddenly, the room seemed even smaller than it was, as if the walls were trying to pull them together, closing in. Spencer lowered his voice further, causing her face to twitch slightly.

The last time they had been this close, they had accidentally found themselves too near. Her gaze had dropped to his lips, she sighed, and kissed him. He had been caught off guard, unsure of what to say, and she... acted like nothing had happened. He felt the gradual distance between them, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. He didn't even allow himself to acknowledge how often he thought about that kiss. In fact, it had been the only thing on his mind since they entered this room and stood face-to-face once again. At the same time, her expression and behavior suggested as if nothing had ever happened. She always had a more relaxed attitude toward touch than he did, but the kiss must have meant something to her, especially since she had initiated it, right?

Not knowing what the hell he was doing, he brought his head closer to hers. He didn’t touch her, just froze in place, very close to her face. She had already said everything she knew, he’d gathered some valuable information, but still, she didn’t open her eyes. Was she aware of how close he’d gotten? Could she feel his presence right next to her?

He had no intention of getting closer to her; they were both at work. It was just… he’d been overcome by temptation and was curious about her reaction. But he quickly withdrew and cleared his throat quietly.

“That’s it. You can open your eyes,” he issued the final command. He knew it looked awkward, scratching the back of his neck, but he couldn’t help it. “Thanks a lot for your help. I think this could be important for the investigation.”

“I hope so,” she said, sadly. “They were… innocent girls. I can’t believe this man just comes here so casually now.”

“You never know what the other person is hiding,” he remarked, feeling a sudden tightening of concern in his chest. They had already left the back room and were approaching the bar where Morgan was still talking to the bartender. He slowed his pace. “Be careful when you walk alone at night, okay?”

“Am I in danger?” Worry flashed across her face.

“From this particular killer? Well… you’re not his type. But he’s not the only person with bad intentions in the world. Just be careful, please.”

She nodded, looking him in the eyes.

“For the first time, I’m glad I’m not anyone’s type,” she added after a moment, breaking the seriousness of the situation. Spencer held back a chuckle. Morgan glanced their way briefly. “Goodbye, agent.”

“Goodbye,” he replied with a short grunt. He wanted to ask if they would see each other again soon, but he knew it was highly unlikely, especially while they were focused on their work.

He never thought any relationship he had with a woman would be tested by something as mundane as differing daily rhythms. Still, he intended to hold on to the hope that it might work. Maybe something would change soon?

A sly grin tugged at Morgan’s lips as they walked back to the car.

“She caught your eye, didn’t she?” he teased.

Spencer looked at him, feigning pity.

“I’m a professional. I don’t get distracted at work.”

“Should I remind you how…”

The faint, really faint trace of a blush on Spencer's cheeks prompted Morgan to burst into laughter.

*

The owner of the room across from the library called, asking that you not come that night. Apparently, there was a meeting planned that would stretch into the early hours.

You had become so accustomed to your routine that, when you returned to your apartment from the bar, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Jude was getting ready for work; you exchanged just a few words before she left. So, you laid down on the couch with your laptop on your stomach, unbuttoning your pants for comfort as you lazily read a book review online.

Your gaze kept drifting between the screen and the flycatcher sitting on the coffee table

Earlier, you had thought about Spencer a lot, but more out of concern or curiosity. Since your encounter at the bar, however, those thoughts had shifted in another direction. He was literally occupying more space in your mind. At random moments, you even found yourself catching his scent—the same one you had noticed when he was so close.

You kissed him because you wanted to. Simple explanation. If it were up to you, you would have gone even further. But you knew that wouldn’t be good for either of you. You were already starting to grow attached, and it hurt to realize how little future you could see in your potential relationship. Potential relationship. You were imagining too much.

You closed your laptop with a resigned sigh and got off the couch. Jude was at work, Spencer was probably either working or already in bed, and the rest of your friends might not appreciate you suddenly reaching out after months of silence. But just because you were alone didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun on your own, right? You hadn’t gone out in ages. You were in the mood to dance, to have some fun, to meet someone new—a wild girl or guy for just one night, then forget about them completely. You needed that. Lately, there had been so much tension inside you.

So, you spent an hour in front of the mirror, touching up your makeup and thinking about which shoes would go best with your black mini dress. It wasn’t just any black dress—that would be boring. This one had short sleeves, exposed shoulders, and a subtle, astronomical pattern with a delicate sheen.

You left the apartment barefoot, holding your heels in your hand. The stairs in your building were too steep to navigate in those shoes. On the way, you threw a jacket over your shoulders, heading to a club you and Jude had been to before, where you both loved the atmosphere. It was there that you met a group of five friends who pulled you into their circle even though they didn’t know you, and the whole night felt like it lasted only a minute. Jude still kept in touch with a few of them. You were hoping for a similar adventure.

You didn’t drink much when you went out alone for safety reasons. You quickly found yourself lost in the rhythm of the club’s music, dancing with strangers and clearing your mind in the midst of the chaos. Hours passed, and someone tried to kiss you, pulling you into a tight embrace, but you couldn’t feel it. It didn’t bring you any pleasure, yet you had a twisted feeling that it would’ve been different if it had been someone else…

You stepped outside to get some fresh air. Your cheeks were likely flushed from both the dancing and the stuffy atmosphere inside.

The phone rang. Jude?

"Hey, girl," she said, her voice clearly worried. "Are you home?"

"I went out to the city," you replied, feeling uneasy. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing... it's just that the neighbor called me saying Richard is hanging around our door again. Be careful, okay? You know, you never know what might go through his head. And we don't even know if he's sober. At this hour, probably not."

You clenched your lips. The December chill hurt like knives, it was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t planned on staying out until dawn. From the start, you intended to head back early, maybe relax in front of the TV for a bit, and perhaps even try to sleep, since nothing else seemed more appealing. Of course, you weren’t angry at Jude; it wasn’t her fault that her ex turned out to be a psycho.

"Thanks for telling me. Don’t worry, I’m not going back to the apartment for now."

Your roommate hung up, as she had to return to work. You stood there facing a dilemma. Should you go back to the club? You felt too drained to dance, and sitting alone in a corner seemed incredibly boring.

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny. 

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger. “You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that.  He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan. 

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt. 

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours. 

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet. 

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay” 

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

*

You fell asleep.  

Asleep. At night.  

Completely normal for any other person, but for you...? The shock made your heart beat faster, painfully colliding with your chest. The blanket slid off your shoulders as you sat up.  

Spencer sighed in his sleep, the kind of breath that often heralds waking, but not this time. He was still deep in slumber, lying on his stomach, his face turned toward you. Falling asleep next to each other after sex had always seemed a bit... cliché to you. Pulled straight from the movies. It looked pleasant on screen and spared the viewer the awkward scene of putting on clothes that had been scattered across the floor in a frenzy of passion just moments earlier. In reality, who had time for that?  

For you, someone who had been struggling with sleep issues for years, it was usually just lying in bed next to a guy sleeping soundly, feeling bored. A sign it was time to get up and leave.  

You’d planned to spend the night at Spencer’s place from the start. Well, maybe not specifically in the same bed, but as his... guest. Because of Richard, of course. So when he fell asleep mid-conversation, you didn’t have many options on where to go. Besides, you didn’t want to leave. It was nice lying next to him; his face looked so innocent in sleep. You had thought about quietly grabbing a book or reaching for one of the ones in the bedroom, but that would probably wake him up. So you rested your head back on the pillow and watched him. At some point, without realizing it, your eyelids grew heavy.  

It was a very early hour, or so the clock on the nightstand claimed. It felt unreal to you. Usually, at this time, you were sitting in an empty room, waiting for some lonely soul desperate for a conversation to walk in. 

For weeks, you had been the perfect example of a situationship. The kind where you both almost openly wanted each other, but something held you back from truly committing. For you, it was fear and doubts about your vastly different lifestyles. You could try and give it a chance, For weeks, you had been the perfect example of a situationship. The kind where you both almost openly wanted each other, but something held you back from truly committing. For you, it was fear and doubts about your vastly different lifestyles. You could try and give it a chance, but... it would hurt if it didn’t work out. You’d lose a friend and confidant. A man who had come to you at his lowest point and decided to trust you, making you feel special. Someone who understood you, made you laugh, and had even given you a Venus flytrap. On top of that, he had an excellent taste in books, an incredible intellect, and, to be completely fair, was very good in bed.

Well, running away wasn’t an option anymore. You knew that when Spencer woke up, you’d have two choices: pretend nothing happened again, or have a conversation. You were both adults, so it was only reasonable to expect you’d choose the latter

You knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again. It was an anomaly, one that wouldn’t repeat itself. Still, you wanted to let him sleep peacefully, feeling guilty for disrupting his night by barging into his apartment. Before finding a comfortable position by his side, ready to lie there for an hour or two, you glanced one last time at the clock—and something caught your attention.

“Spencer,” you said softly, not wanting to wake him too abruptly. It didn’t work, so you gently shook his bare shoulder. “Spencer, your phone.”

It must have been silent, but you could clearly see an incoming call displayed on the screen.

At the word phone, he reacted as if it were a blaring alarm. He bolted upright, still half-asleep, and pressed the device to his ear.

“Hotch?” he asked, his voice rough and groggy, sounding almost like a cough. He listened to the person on the other end, rubbing his face with one hand to wake himself up, then sighing heavily as he ran that same hand through his hair.

"I’ll be there in an hour," he said, his tone laced with clear reluctance but also an undeniable sense of duty. When the call ended, he turned to you over his shoulder. The expression on his face softened.

"Hey," he said gently.

"A new case?" you guessed, trying not to let it show how much you didn’t want him to leave. After all, it was what it was—his work was far more needed by the world than by you in bed.

"We’ve been working on it for a while, and there’s been some kind of breakthrough... I’m really sorry. I feel bad, leaving like this," 

"Spencer, I understand. It must be something important. Go, and don’t worry about me. I’ll get myself together and head back home soon..."

"And what about your roommate’s ex?" he interrupted, giving a slight shake of his head. "You don’t know if he’s gone yet. You shouldn’t be going back alone."

"It’s Richard. He’s a very impatient motherfucker. He’s probably already gone," you replied.

"You don’t know that."

"So, what are you going to do?" you scoffed. "Take me there by the hand?"

Spencer was silent for a moment, looking at you as if the answer was obvious.

"Just stay here,"

His suggestion made you raise an eyebrow. Spencer shrugged.

“Well, what? It’s barely five in the morning. I don’t want to kick you out this early just because I got a call from work.”

"Kick me out?" you chuckled, causing him to look at you with a slightly puzzled expression. At the same time, he was heading toward the wardrobe, realizing he didn’t have much time and should start getting dressed. "If you call this kicking someone out, then I don’t even have a word for how other guys behave. By the way, could you hand me, I don’t know, a sweater or something?"

The apartment had a pleasant temperature, but you still had an overwhelming urge to wrap yourself in something warm and soft. The only piece of clothing you had with you was a short-sleeved dress. And a jacket, but that didn’t really count.

"In that case..." Spencer began, rummaging through the clothes in his wardrobe, his brow slightly furrowed as if he were seriously contemplating his choice. He didn’t seem amused by your earlier joke—in fact, he looked surprisingly focused.

His fingers finally stopped on one of the hangers. He pulled something out and turned toward you with a faint smile.

"I'm tremendously proud that I don't fall into the category of those other guys. You like purple, right?" he added, holding up a sweater in a deep plum shade.

"I meant just any piece of clothing. But yes, I do like purple," you said, stretching your hands out in front of you, encouraging him to toss you the sweater.

Instead of throwing it, he stepped closer to you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, especially when he stopped right in front of you, still holding the sweater in his hands.

It dawned on you a moment later, and you burst into laughter, raising your arms up so he could slide it over your head. The sweater draped over your body, proving to be slightly oversized. The V-shaped neckline awkwardly settled on your shoulder, slipping down and leaving it exposed.

Spencer, almost mechanically and with focus, slid his hands under the fabric to free your hair that was tangled beneath it. After probably half the night in the club and the second half spent in bed, it probably resembled a huge mess of hay, but you weren’t particularly concerned about it. It only just occurred to you that he had to leave soon, and knowing his work and the constant impossibility of syncing your schedules, you might not see each other again until the next few days.

"I’d like to talk to you," Spencer suddenly said, almost as if he had to force the words out, quietly taking a breath. "About all of this. About us. We don’t really have time for it now, but as soon as I get back, I’ll make sure to meet you. No matter what time it is or how tired I am, okay?"

You wanted to comment on the last part of his words, the bit about being tired, assuring him that you weren’t asking for that from him, but something in his gaze stopped you. It was funny how his eyes were both sleepy and lively at the same time. His dark iris blended with his dilated pupil, the boundary between them fading, making them almost hypnotic.

"So, are you staying here?" he asked.

A delicate smile passed over your face.

"I see this means a lot to you. Aren’t you afraid I’ll start digging through your books?" "All of them are at your disposal," he reassured, also lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

However, suddenly his expression darkened, as if some spell had been cast, taking away all his confidence. For a long moment, he stayed silent, and you tilted your head in confusion.

"Can... can I kiss you?" he finally asked.

"Do I need to remind you that we already slept together?"

"Well..."

Whatever he was about to say, you simply cupped his neck with your hand, pulling him closer. A sweet, shallow, slightly long —a typical farewell kiss.

He had already mostly dressed, with only the task of crouching down by the nightstand left, to open the safe inside. You knew he kept his gun and badge there. You tried not to look in his direction while he entered the code, just as common decency dictated looking away when someone unlocks their phone. But still, you noticed how his fingers trembled slightly.

When he left, you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. If you were anyone else, you would’ve hidden under the blanket, absorbing the scent of both of you, sinking into an incredibly peaceful sleep. However, you were aware that wouldn’t happen. You pulled a pillow under your head, lost in thought, haunted by some strange unease.

You spent a long time simply wandering around the apartment, unable to help the fact that you were one of those people who got bored quickly. Jude had just returned, you thought, as the clock struck eight. The main trait of her ex was unpredictability, but even he followed certain patterns and routines in life. He didn’t show up that early because he knew she was still asleep. He preferred to knock on the door at noon and bother her during her free time.

You started getting ready before you even made a decision. First, you made the bed, then undressed again to slip back into the dress. On top, you put Spencer’s sweater, for some unknown reason not wanting to part with it. Was this some sort of reversed sock strategy? Were you taking his clothes instead of leaving them behind?

An impulse shot through your body as you stood by the door. Not even knowing what you were doing, you simply returned to the bedroom, falling to your knees in front of the, as it turned out, unopened safe.

Spencer hadn’t emptied it completely. Inside was a dose of Dilaudid, the reason his hands had been trembling earlier.

An unexpected wave of guilt hit you with force. Recently, you hadn’t brought up the topic with him at all, assuming that if he needed to talk about it and was ready to, he would bring it up himself. But that’s not how people in addiction found themselves. They could deny it to the very end, doing anything to avoid seeking help.

You wiped your face with your hand. Should you even confront him about it when you saw him again? Well, the answer was probably yes, but the real question was how.

You came up with the idea of perhaps arranging a night in your room across from the library. That place had an oddly polite way of encouraging people to be honest, without making them feel like information was being extracted from them forcefully. You had been considering this on your way back. The heels were rubbing your feet, and after the night in the club, you had a few blisters. Before entering the building where you lived, you simply took them off, not wanting to risk your life on those steep stairs. Jude had sprained her wrist on them once, and thank God it was just her wrist.

Completely lost in your thoughts, in their aggressive waterfall, you didn’t even notice someone sitting right by the door to your apartment, leaning against it with their back. You jumped in surprise when Richard sprang to his feet.

Shit.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, clearly happy to see you. You cautiously stepped back a step, likely balancing on the edge of the stairs. You didn’t turn around, nervously glancing at the man. "Hey, do you remember me? You're Jude's roommate, right? You definitely remember me."

"I remember," you admitted uncertainty, holding yourself back from taking another step backward. Richard always had that dangerously unpredictable energy. One moment, he could circle around his girlfriend like an attention-hungry kitten, and the next, he’d be throwing plates in the kitchen. Although, theoretically, he had no reason to hurt you, you preferred to remain... cautious.

"That's great. Listen, could you let me in for just a second? I need to talk to her."

You didn’t know what to say, how to act. Of course, letting him in was out of the question; you wouldn’t do that to your friend. However, you knew that as soon as you opened the door, he’d take advantage of the opportunity and force his way inside. You could step back… the real question was whether he would let you.

"Come on..." he pleaded, trying to make a puppy-dog face, which looked downright comical on his stern face. "Please, she doesn’t want to see me. I just want to talk, to make things right. I’ve changed, really. I don’t know what she told you about me, but half of it probably wasn’t even true. Please."

Seeing that you still weren’t moving, his features suddenly hardened.

"Just open the door."

You didn’t respond.

"Where’s your key?"

He probably guessed it was in your jacket pocket, and suddenly reached for you.

"Move away, right now!" you hissed, pushing his hand away.

He grabbed your wrist so tightly that a strangled cry of pain escaped you.

You started struggling. You tried to push him away as he rummaged through your pockets one by one, still gripping your hand tightly, preventing you from escaping. A few times, you struck him with a clenched fist, shouting loudly, hoping to wake Jude or one of the neighbors.

Your attempts at defense were in vain. No one came. Richard finally found the key, and once he got what he wanted, he shoved you aside with a scoff.

You didn’t even have a chance to try to regain your balance.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t even manage to close your eyes, fooling yourself into thinking it might protect you from the pain to come. During the struggle with Richard, you dropped the shoes you were holding, your bare feet slipping off the edge of the step. Your body followed, limp, like a rag doll. In that moment, you wished you were one. Without bones, the sound of them cracking filling your ears.

Without limbs, vulnerable to breaks.

Without real eyes, still covered in the remnants of party makeup.

Beautiful, cold, and empty, as they started to fill with fog.

Forced to look in the direction your neck had twisted.

Dead. 

tagging: @lillaberry @nightfullofparadox @issy25 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @reidmarieprentiss @miriamnox @bloodredrubyrose

i'm so grateful for how many of you wanted to read it all <3

[quarterlifekitty]

Just some more thoughts on König with a clingy girl.

He’s not used to physical intimacy by any means. He’s paid for girls plenty of times, have a few flings during different leaves, but never anything sweet. Never a girlfriend.

Before you even get together, you’re clingy. You like hugs. You like leaning on him when you’re sat next to each other, falling asleep on him. Which makes him fall in love so quickly, by the way. He’s addicted to feeling you warm on his skin.

And when he does manage to sweet talk his way into the boyfriend position? He melts under every crumb of affection. Every kiss to the cheek, every nuzzle, every time you park yourself in his lap.

Man is a death grip hand-holder. His height makes him hard to lose in crowds, but he still doesn’t want to be separated. Letting go of your hand is literally like his last resort.

And let it be said. This man wants to fuck you with as much skin to skin contact as possible. Sure, he’ll never say no to a quickie, but his favorite type of sex is when you’re both completely bare and have space to get in every position imaginable. He likes you pressed completely against him— chest to chest if possible, maybe back to chest (especially if a full length mirror is involved).

And then there’s the emotional clinging. He’s very insecure about the idea of wanting you more than you want him, so it always makes him so happy when you’re the one texting, calling, or just coming into the same room as him to hang out. He loves when you contact him for no reason at all— just to check on him. One time when he asked why you called, you said “I just wanted to hear your voice,” and he almost fainted from how giddy it made him. And he doesn’t have so much going on besides work, so he really doesn’t mind if you’re the type to want to spend every hour of every day with him.

The hardest fucking you ever got from König was a few weeks after you first moved in together. He had to be on base for the day, and you had a day off. You meet him at the door— you headed there as soon as you heard the car— and wrap him up in an embrace that he gladly returns.

“So, leibling, what did you do all day today?”

“I waited for you to come home,” you say absentmindedly, just rubbing his back and pressing your cheek to his chest. You don’t notice how he almost starts trembling from your words, his heart feeling like it’s about to burst.

He needs to be inside you— can barely hold it together enough to carry you to bed like a fucking caveman. Starts thinking you need something else to cling to when he’s away… something that can cling to him when he comes home. A baby would suit you both very nicely, yeah?

[mysterymessmachine]

FINALLY, GOOD SOUP

context for my additions: I have one working eye. the other is still technically there and consuming calories like it owns the place, but I only have a tiny sliver of peripheral vision since the rest of my retina is a calcified tumor. I was born this way, so I also never knew how to see differently

- MAKEUP: oh my god, makeup. lol. I gave up years ago because "sisters not twins" was more along the lines of "distantly related cousins who don't get along but still forced to sit at the same table at the family reunion."

- further, skin stuff?? when you can't see the right side of your body very well, even in a mirror, you miss a lot. I'm sure I have freckles I've never seen before

- driving: I had to fight for my license. if I fuck up too badly they can take it at any time. this has made me extremely cautious and I've never been in a wreck that was my fault. I also created my own form of depth perception for driving (now used for everything) that involves constantly recalculating distance based off of the object's change in size proportional to itself, myself, and surrounding objects. when stationary, I often use head movements to create the different angles I need to triangulate

- shooting: not really sure how this one happened but I'm a great shot. better than my ex-wife who was in a specialty position in the military before we met. I guess not ever having to adjust to closing one eye has its benefits too lol

- my phantom sights are PEOPLE. often silhouettes but sometimes much more detailed. it was terrifying when I was a kid but the shadows and I are buds now

- you would think I would love 3D movies since it artificially creates the 3D I've never experienced but in fact, it makes me fear for how I now assume you all experience the world and I have a migraine

- sitting is the inverse of OP's point above about walking. I always sit with my blind side to the wall because when people sneak up on my blind side, I improvise entirely new forms of self defense and they're usually bad for both of us

- personally, the headcanon of Zuko sleeping with his good side buried in the pillow when he feels safe is also accurate (but I toss and turn a lot lol)

- another note on depth perception: did not develop that in time for gym class in school. consequentially, was The Worst at sports. if there was an object involved, it hit me in the face somehow, sometimes seemingly defying physics to do so. it was honestly kind of comical in retrospect

- most pictures of myself are staged, at least somewhat, so that my good eye is facing the camera, something is covering the bad one, etc etc. it used to be more obvious but I've gotten better lol. does make me feel like Bill Cipher though so, eh, I'll take it

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[midnightorchids]

fuck it here’s some dating firefighter!jason headcanons… there’s one suggestive pick up line at the very end ;(

- He often leaves your shared home in a chaotic state— hair disheveled, shoe laces untied and a piece of toast hanging from his mouth

- However despite his hastiness, Jason never seems to forget to kiss you goodbye. His lips would connect with the plump skin of your cheeks first and then travel to your lips. He’d mutter small a “I’ll see you tonight,” and send you a quick wink before running out the door

- He laughs at your jokes and always continues the bit. If you make a fire joke/pun, you know he’s about to make a million more

- “I don't need a fire alarm to tell me that you're on fire.” “Jay come up with something better please”

- Jason works late at the station, so on days where you have some free time, you bring him a shawarma from his favourite restaurant. He’s always surprised, but so unbelievably happy at the same time. If he’s not too busy, you’ll stay and steal a couple bites of his wrap while he tells you about his day

- He brags about you to his coworkers. Like a lot. They all know you by name and they often tease Jason for not shutting the fuck up, they’re tired of hearing about you (actually they’re just jealous)

- Jason is really protective over you, especially in public spaces. He always has his hand on the small of your back or has your hands interlocked. He guides you through crowds and makes sure to keep close. On the off chance that you’re not near him, his eyes will still be on you. It’s never weird or overbearing though, he’s protective, but he’s not over the top

- he regularly watches crime and law enforcement shows with you and has a habit of pointing out inaccuracies (especially when the fire department’s involved). It’s annoying because he talks a lot, but also, it’s so cute when he gets worked up over the small details

- “The fire escape isn't the only thing I want to go down on.” “JASON WHAT THE FUCK WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT…!! ;)”

[lucrezianoin]

Rating all the romances in Veilguard

For no reason that I watched them (here)/played them all. (I played Taash, Emmrich both paths, Davrin, and all the romances up till the commitment scene)

All the romances (with few exceptions) seem to follow the same pattern of: about three or four flirting moments, a missed kiss scene where you non-commit to the romance, a commitment to the romance scene and a dinner/date. All these scenes are also friendship ones and the romance extends them (with various levels of extension). Then the romance has three unique scenes: a pre-Ghilan'nain chat, the post-Fade sex scene, a final chat before the end and that is it.

I am gonna put some of these scenes in preference order! What I look for in a scene is:

If it is a friendship scene: how much the romance scene adds;

The scene tells me something new about the characters;

How well the scene sets up the tone of the romance (especially starting scenes);

Just how much I liked the scene! the tone, the movements, other added things

Every link is the scene from the same youtube channel I linked before, at the correct timestamp.

EDIT: changed the rating for Neve, she is now my second fav (I am replaying it and realized I missed something from her commitment scene)

TL TR: My favorite romances in order:

Davrin: his romance ties very well with his character development and quest. Weisshaupt and his relationship with death being confronted with losing his home, trying to stay casual and then getting attached against his own will, and then choosing a new path (a road less travelled, as he says) which also ties with the relationship with him and his Dalish clan. It is also the only romance that allows the player to decide what comes after for Rook.

Neve: I felt like her romance had its own sub-plot that I did not feel was 100% reflected in her quests (given she shows attachment to other characters and things), but there is a lot of content and like for Emmrich it all fits well in the tone of Neve's character and quests at least: it really makes you feel like you are in a detective story, romancing that one character who has a tons of protective walls around her heart. The banter and flirting was my favorite, with a lot of small back-and-forth, that I think do the heavy lifting.

Emmrich: this romance is a bit less involved with the main plot, but I thought it felt very cohesive. It is a more classical romance which sees Emmrich surprised to be the subject of Rook's flirting, to then taking them both in a very classic path of dating and breakfasts in bed. It also has a lot more content given it has technically two paths, and fits well with the whimsical sometimes humorous tone of Emmrich but also his relationship with death (fear).

Taash: Their romance is probably the easiest and fastest to get. I think the content is a bit less compared to other romances, but their inability to fully express their attachment (especially in the context of their mom's death) was a nice touch. I wish the story had integrated their personal quest (what happened to their mother) a bit more at the end, given we have a parallel of Taash not being able to save her vs being able to get Rook back.

Harding: I think her romance actually makes her character much more compelling to me. We see her dealing with her powers a bit more, and in the final scene it is all pulled together with this dialogue about how she wished the world could stay simple, but closing your eyes against the change does not mean the change is not happening. Still, I feel like she has the least amount of scenes (but my favorite romance commitment scene) especially if she dies then her romance feels absolutely incomplete. In the case of Davrin, his death makes his previous scenes much more tragic instead.

Bellara: I actually really like Bellara's romance, I just feel like if I try to look at it objectively it seems a bit all over the place. It starts very sweet and awkward, but it mainly relegates Rook in the role of someone who needs to reassure Bellara a lot, especially about not being liked. I am also very annoyed by the two mentions of "Rook makes Bellara calmer". As far as I know Bellara is supposed to have adhd, and as someone who has adhd... no, love does not "cure" you. Or make you feel calmer.

Lucanis: I am so sorry for all the Lucanis fans. I have no idea what happened here. I loved the final scene, but the rest of his romance feels strangely directionless. I admit I did not believe it could be so much short in content compared to the other romances but after playing half of it and watching the rest - it kind does. It has some nice extra banter and comments (ex. a lot of supporting Lucanis in battle), but I am also unsure what this romance is even about. His personal quest is about starting to live again and accepting Spite, but his romance seems a mix of guilt for his failure and deflections. The only thing I can come up with is that the writers were trying to convey a Lucanis who was not ready for a romance but still wanted it nonetheless?

The almost kiss:

Bellara: This one has no almost kiss, but I loved the scene nonetheless. The friendship scene is adorable (I love characters who write stories!), and the romance part is quite extended with Bellara giving us new information about her: she never really has been in a long relationship, about her ex from the Veil Jumper, and we also see her trying to act all suave and smooth and almost falling from the desk, which was adorable and sets up the awkwardness and inexperience of the romance.

Davrin: The almost kiss is interrupted by Assan, which makes perfect sense giving the previous interruptions. It also reinfornces the fact that Davrin is direct, and it tell us that there is a correlation with him chasing his romance/being direct and how close to death Grey Wardens are. It sets up an almost casual/overly-flirting and seducing tone to the romance instead of the more romantic one found in others. The scene also makes the friendship version 100% better and make it much more sense.

Neve: The friendship scene is quite cute, but after seeing the romance one I feel like the whole scene is a setup for the romance. Most of it is in the romance version, with a lot of characters moving through the room (checking the wisp, sitting on the desk, almost kissing). It also tells us a bit about Neve: she is attracted to Rook, but very hesitant to start a relationship, almost scared, and that the theme of the romance is this almost magnetic attraction that she cannot resist to. Hilarious also because of Rook looking at the ceiling in frustration when the kiss doesn't happen.

Taash: I am not a fan of the growls, but the movement, the hilarity of Taash standing up saying "yes so..." and pushing Rook against the mirror - perfect. The friendship scene also tells us something on its own and the two takes a different paths. We also find out that Taash is extremely direct, they are very open about sex, and take initiative very quickly when needed. Plus their sense of smell is very developed and connected with the breathing-fire thing. The interruption is probably my favorite here, with Taash and Rook sharing an amused glance, it builds comraderie!

Harding: The scene sets up Harding's main plot (her new powers) in the romance, which will then continue in the actual commitment scene. The scene overall tells us that Harding sometimes loses control of her lyrium while touching people, and that she is a bit awkward but also not too easily embarassed (like Bellara is). In general it is quite sweet.

Emmrich: I usually love Emmrich scenes and this is probably my list favorite in his romance. The dialogue is beautiful and elegant as always, and we find out that Emmrich romance will follow more traditional and romantic paths. We do not learn much about Emmrich himself, a part from the fact that he is interested in the romance. I also am a bit confused by the show of magic, I suppose it is seduction but what does it mean... it escapes me. I guess, another thing we learn is that Emmrich likes to take the seduction into his hands, which sets the tone for the romance.

Lucanis: the first part of this scene is Spite trying to run away. Then the scene feels like it goes from zero to one hundred very quickly, with Lucanis and Rook almost kissing, then bam, Lucanis needs to clear his head - I know it is Spite but it felt a bit strange. I am unsure what the scene is trying to tell me, we already knew Spite is a problem and often takes over/stops Lucanis from doing things (ex. starting scene by the fireplace).

Romance confirmation/commitment:

Harding: the scene expands a lot on the friendship version, so much that I almost forgot I even played the friendship version of it. We also have the continuation of Harding's touching problem, and not only it is hilarious (Harding backing away and being shocked Rook would still kiss her), but also tells us something about Rook themselves (that they are a bit of a reckless fool). The scene happening in public with all the other npcs being like "wtf", hilarious.

Davrin: The scene adds a little bit from the friendship one, with the most schoolgirl kiss in the game (which is adorable), the return of the "hunting" metaphor, and Davrin looking at Rook when he talks about Assan having "the heart of a halla". It all ties in the fact that the scene is a way to draw a parallel between Davrin and Assan - it works well given it is a romance scene and one of the parallels is about both of them finding a new path and having "the heart of a Halla". There is also a small additional banter when you go back to Eldrin, where Rook can tell Davrin "you have me too now".

Neve: So I love this scene (skipping rocks, thinking about her case), it feels very detective-like in a dark foggy city, chasing leads. EDIT: I previously put this down at n5 but I am replaying Neve romance and realized there is so much more. Not only Neve throws herself at you (for a kiss), plus a fumbled kiss, but you also get a very cute banter about "kissing a girl/kissing neve gallus" while you chase for leads. Overall, while the majority of the scene is the friendship version, the romance version changes it quite a bit.

Taash: the scene was great before the romance one, I loved seeing Taash getting to the realization and decision about using they/them. But it also felt a bit like zero to one hundred, with only a few flirtings before (pretty sure only two? or three?). But the kiss? that was the best kiss in the game for me, with Taash being like "okay bye". It follows the general theme of Taash being a bit uncomfortable to face their own feelings, and very direct.

Emmrich: one of my favorite scenes in the friendship version. To see an older than usual character remembering their parents, talking with them and introducing them their new partner is pretty rare. The rest of the scene was quite classical seduction from Emmrich, he really feels like the character who is doing the courting and the scene in general looks quite beautiful. Beautiful kiss too. The addition from the friendship version is the extra seduction with magic.

Lucanis: Zero points for payeya. The rest of the scene is very sweet, I loved that Lucanis remembers Rook's drink and that a previous choice returns in play, but the scene is so short and it seems to mainly revolve around Lucanis apologizing. It tells us that Lucanis remembers, and that probably his romantic side is more acts of service than words, but it also feels a bit like Rook is romancing themselves and jumping to conclusions because Lucanis is giving very little.

Bellara: the commitment scene was so small, and so Cyrian focused I should probably not even put it here.

Dates/dinners:

Emmrich: This is a full on date that follows the Emmrich's path of "classically romancing Rook". We have the dinner, special Mourn Watcher dialogue about the skeletons raised to cook, a kiss, and you can also exchange questions - you can tell Emmrich you are a virgin too haha - plus, Emmrich expresses worry for Rook and how much work he is taking on, which is always nice to see given sometimes Rook feels excluded in the game. The dialogue also remembers previous choices, with different options if you expressed distaste for necromancy.

Neve (scene 1) (scene 2): She has technically two, one where you can meet with Rana or Elek, and then the initial one where she takes you to eat fried fish, so before the start of the romance. Both scenes? Amazing. I absolutely love them, especially the tour of Dock Town and eating fried fish with her while looking at the sea. They felt perfectly in tone of a noir-detective romance. In the first scene we get Neve's main romance theme (the tables always turn) and feels (banter, back and forth) and in the playing cards scene we return to the back and forth banter that is characteristic of the Neve romance.

Davrin: This was mainly about Davrin being asked to take a break and him worrying about Rook working too much, which is always nice to hear! I was a bit disappointed that so much of the date ended up being about Assan and Rook not being able to do mushrooms without tripping, but the small bits of Davrin being disappointed he could not take Rook's mind off work for an afternoon felt strangely in line with Davrin's more seduction-like romance (which seems to be mainly on the casual side of things) and his attempt to make this work.

Taash: I loved Taash's mother immediately zeroing in on Rook being their partner, but sadly there is not really a romance scene. The scene is very similar to the friendship one, and it doesn't tell us anything more about the romance itself or Taash.

Lucanis: I am confused by this scene. It seems much more about Lucanis and Spite than Lucanis and Rook and Lucanis. The part taht is about Rook and Lucanis is very very short, and mainly a lovingly gazing Lucanis and Rook with not a lot of dialogue.

Bellara and Harding seems to have no date/dinner scene. Harding has a longer post Ghilan'nain scene, and Bellara has a lot of small scenes around here and there.

The fight before the fight

Davrin: similar to Taash but softer. This is also when you find out a lot about Davrin here - mainly how he made sure to never get attached - and more about his relationship with death that turns into him wanting to finally think about a future without death. I thought this scene added a lot to his character, and pulled together his whole plot arc too (the non romance one, so his attachment to Assan, his relationship with death, Weisshaupt and his new home). It also felt realistic and hopeful bre-battle, and it is even more devastating in the light of the Harding vs Davrin death choice.

Neve: the voice acting in this one is just stellar. It is also very detective-feels like a noir old movie with forbbiden romance. It shows how important it is for Neve to keep everything under control. Her voice breaking out at the end - amazing, one of my favorite lines by Neve. This does not fully connect with her arc, like Davrin's did, but it is the breaking of her walls scene.

Emmrich (Lich) (link to my twitter): As much as I love saving Manfred, I prefer this scene with Lich Emmrich and how much you can play a Rook that is absolutely extra in love and refuses to listen to what Emmrich is saying. And it is nice to have a scene where a companion actually suggests for the protagonist to not go into battle. It ties with Emmrich's fear of death, and accepting that people around him will always die now that he is a Lich. I was just a bit sad that he clearly did not fully make peace with that before his transformation, given that was one of the requirements.

Taash: classic angst and tsundere, loved that Taash refuses to admit their feelings to avoid getting hurt. This is similar to Neve and Davrin's scene, but I think it tells us less about Taash than Davrin's, and the scene is much shorter than Neve's. It feels also a bit more in line with Taash's character here given what happened to Taash's mother, but I wonder if you can still get this scene if you do not complete Taash's quests... I suspect you might, which makes the scene in that case a bit out of place in my opinion.

Emmrich (non Lich): Look, I LOVE this scene, and I love seeing Emmrich talk about their age difference, but I thought it felt a bit random placed as a pre-battle fight. I know this is about Emmrich confronting his own mortality again, and this is the main theme, Emmrich realizing he is fully in love and not ready at the idea of leaving Rook alone. I love Rook's answers, but I would have loved to expand on this way before (especially given that one of the option is Emmrich implying that Rook does not know what they want because they are too young "I know what I am getting into" / "at your age?").

Lucanis: I really enjoyed this more than I thought I would, but mainly the first part. Lucanis feeling the responsibility of the strike to protect Rook after he failed once. It ties well into his arc, being responsible of this big job, and Rook tried to show him that they are in this together. Except that then the scene kind of derailed, in my opinion with extra Lucanis' deflection. Maybe I do not fully understand Lucanis' romance and character, but the scene goes from: Lucanis' guilt and fear, "I only know death", I am not alone I have Spite, I will kill to protect you, don't promise you will survive. I am unusure what is Lucanis romance here trying to tell me, I wish they had focused on his guilt/weight of protecting Rook more.

Bellara: too sweet for my taste. The scene does not have a fight, but we get Bellara being honest with her feelings, and saying she feels calmer with Rook (which I hate, given she is supposed to have adhd if I understand correctly, and as someone with adhd no amount of romance is gonna make me feel calmer, medicate me). It also re-iterates that Bellara feels bad about who she is, and Rook makes her feel better. The scene does not seem to tell me anything new about Bellara or the romance itself.

Harding: This feels very generic. It is a "what if things go wrong", which makes sense for a scene before the big fight. It is so short, and a missed opportunity to give us a bit more given that Harding can literally die in the next mission. The point of the scene is "I am worried", Rook "It's okay we have us", Harding: "Alright".

Final romance scene:

Davrin: Look, the start makes me a bit embarassed, the shirts vanishing? the fact that Rook in the fade is barely mentioned, how Rook's size does not seem to matter at all, the Rook's breathless moaning - some of the dialogue is a bit strange, if you don't play the joke-y Rook/direct Rook. But it is also the only scene where the characters talk about their future and that to me feels like a conclusion to the romance. I was actually surprised when I got to all the other romances and I did not see the final choice of "what will you do with your LI" like in Davrin's scene. We have a Davrin who is finally living without thinking of death, we have a new choice that is then reflected in the final chat later, Rook and Davrin organize their future together (the road less travelled being one of them, which Davrin says "it is how I found you" and really summarizes Davrin's whole story with the team, Rook and Assan, but also his past with his Dalish clan).

Lucanis: I really liked this scene, both the start of it with Lucanis feeling relieved and the whole "are you falling asleep", and Lucanis asking for Rook to talk to him. It was very sweet without being too mushy, even if it felt pretty short. The scene pulls together Lucanis' attachment, showing how much he learnt to care for Rook. I am still unsure how this pulls together his whole romance (or his fight scene pre battle) more than "Lucanis trusts Rook and now Rook is part of his new life", but it is still worth it for the tenderness. And the whole kneeling part was nice, giving the whole "Dellamorte never kneel".

Taash: picking up Rook is an A+, I admit I was not a fan of the growls, but the whole discussion of their romance? lovely, even if it was pretty short. This is mainly about Taash and Rook defining their relationship, after Taash's fear of losing Rook. They are ready to be honest about their feelings, which is a nice conclusion, but I wish it had tied a bit more into what happened with Taash's quest (their mother's death mainly, especially given that their fight scene was about the risk of losing someone they love).

Neve: this is another direct continuation of the pre-Ghilan'nain scene, where Neve actually cries and we see how relieved she is. Her pushing Rook on the couch and closing the door with magic? Great, stellar. The rest of the scene is mainly about Neve finding the courage to say I love you and living day by day. It is the conclusion of her arc within the romance (tearing down her walls until she can finally admit she fell for Rook). Neve "I won't life like we are not getting one (an after)" is very sweet.

Emmrich: Lich and non-Lich are pretty similar, they are both mainly focused on Emmrich making sure there is no enchantment on Rook, then a kiss and a very humorous cute scene after they bang in a coffin. It did not add any new information to the romance, but it was still sweet, and different (given they are not in Rook's room). I just wished it had tied a bit more into their pre battle fight, or had talked a bit about their future.

Harding: I think she might have the longer scene, mainly because she does not have a lot of scenes before? I found it pretty interesting because she actually suspects for a bit that Rook is a spirit and she remembers Cole. The rest of the scene was a bit too mushy and sweet for me, and more about Harding herself than the romance. It helps define her character as someone who has gone through some really world-shattering revelations, which I think makes her a bit more compelling vs her without the romance.

Blighted Bellara coming back: I think this works a bit better than Neve's version, because Bellara and Rook generally have a more open romance. They already kind of accepted each other's feelings before, even if Bellara never said "i love you". In this scene she is trying to finally say it. It also adds a bit more about Bellara's ordeal with the blight ("you found me and saved me").

Bellara: I feel so bad for putting most of Bellara scenes at the end of each list. The final scene was very cute, very humorous for the first part. Unfortunately it felt a bit repetitive. It was clear Bellara wanted to say "I love you", through a lot of moments in the scenes and she could not say it. The whole scene seems to be about Bellara being open with her feelings and wanting to take a moment for her and Rook vs worrying about everything, unfortunately I cannot help but be annoyed at the whole "Rook makes Bellara calmer" feels I got from it. On the other hand, she is the only one who wonders if she was a regret in the fade regret prison, which I really enjoyed.

Blighted Neve coming back: The scene is the shorter version of Neve's scene, and the reverse of it (Rook is the one worried and waiting for Neve to come back). It feels a bit empty given the ordeal, and given that this happens after the game actually ends. I did not play this, but from what I see it has no "I love you" after and it ends with neve closing the door and it 100% (at least for me) makes Neve's romance feels strangely unfinished because so much of the previous scenes in it were about Neve not being able to not feel fear about losing Rook.

[del3141]

I always liked Rule 10: The audience's sympathy must always lie with Wile E. Coyote.

It's a really fascinating way to look at what is actually a very small set of cartoon shorts. 'Cuz, like... Wile E. Coyote is the bad guy in this match-up. He's trying to eat the other main character. His features, his posture, and his actions are all very villain-coded.

But he's the protagonist, because it becomes very clear to the audience very quickly that his ambition is unattainable. He will never eat that roadrunner. The entire reason he opens up that ACME catalogue is that every Roadrunner cartoon's first scene involves the Coyote being shown firsthand that there is no competition between him and the Roadrunner. In a race between them, the Roadrunner wins, and there is no second place. And even the ACME gadgets are only going to give him false hope, because they will backfire on him in the funniest way possible, even if it requires defying the laws of physics, or even the laws of metaphysics.

Wile E. Coyote seen through the lens of audience sympathy is no longer the predator seeking prey: he is a Tragic Hero, striking out with wild ambition to achieve the impossible, perhaps even knowing he is doomed. But still he persists. We no longer fear him for his aims to devour an innocent. We instead see him rage against the Sublime in every way he can, through every injury to body and pride. He never gives up, and we see ourselves in him, or want to.

tldr yeah the bird is god

Chuck Jones is the best counterexample to “the curtains are just blue” because you would not believe the amount of thought and art theory he put into his silly little cartoons

[morverenmaybewrites]

Lessons on Love | Jason Todd x Reader

What lesson about love are they still trying to learn?

Asked by @/citrussaurus

Literally everything. 

I think that Jason’s experiences have shaped him into someone who has quite an unhealthy view on love and relationships: the lack of a positive example of a healthy relationship during his childhood years, the confusing (but not entirely loveless) relationship he had with Bruce Wayne, and eventually his years of rage and isolation as the Arkham Knight. 

By the time post-Arkham Knight rolls around, Jason has a deeply unhealthy view on love and relationships.

And yet, despite this, I feel like he craves this. More than that he’s starved for it. 

I think a part of him hopelessly, desperately wants to be held dear. He wants a place to belong, someone to belong to. 

And it’s his great tragedy that he doesn’t know how to ask for it and more importantly, he doesn’t know how to receive it. Sometimes, Jason loves so quietly that it’s hard to see it as love –because God knows that no one in his life ever taught him to properly communicate. 

I picture the way Jason seeks affection like a starved street dog: there’s a hunger to it, a thirst.

(After all, if you have spent your whole life being starved of something, isn’t it only natural to seek it out, even if it’s just the bare scraps? And here you are, willing to give him your whole heart.)

But there’s also a sort of tension, then animal instinct to flee after being kicked more than several times for it.

I picture him as always perched at the edge of things: waiting, waiting for the inevitable moment where the rug is pulled out from under him, when the affection you had always so freely given will suddenly be withheld, and he will be left starving again, a hole at the center of him that he has no idea how to fill.

(But oh you are worth the fall.)

But I always think of him as physically perched on things, especially on the early days of your relationship: the edge of towering skyscrapers, hovering in your doorway just barely stepping into your threshold until you finally have to ask him to come in, your windowsill, just barely keeping himself out of the rain. He’ll try to act relaxed, but really, he’s tense as a bird about to take flight. Always, always prepared for the moment where he’ll be asked to leave.

(And yet, and yet, all he wants is that you ask him to stay.) 

He doesn’t know how to show you affection, doesn’t know how to ask for it. All he’s ever known is how to make himself useful. 

(After all, useful things don’t get thrown away. Useful things don’t get asked to leave.) 

He’ll keep you safe, which in Gotham City is no small feat, keep the villains away from your door: from the small-time crooks who target regular civilians for just that extra bit of cash to the supervillains whose plans would likely involve you (and the rest of Gotham City) as collateral.

And at first, it’s eerie: the sudden silence in your life, the feeling of peace, of being looked out for. You have never gone so long without encountering some sort of mugger or been involved in a bank robbery.

Then perhaps one day, you’ll get a text from an unknown number, asking you to stay away from Gotham Square that day. When you try to call to get more information, it comes up as Unavailable. And perhaps a week after that, you’ll get a similar text from a different, this time telling you to avoid Bleake Island.

Perhaps you solve it quickly or perhaps, not at all and it takes you a while to put together the pieces: Jason has been keeping you safe. 

And when you decide to talk to him about it, he’s cagey, almost embarrassed. He won’t deny it, but at the same time, when you try to thank him or show you appreciate him, he’ll react with confusion. 

After all, keeping his loved ones safe is second nature to him. In fact, I feel like it’s the one act of love that all of the Bats are comfortable with. 

He’ll do other things for you too. He’ll get up and make dinner after a long day, despite having just come back from a grueling mission, he does the dishes without being asked, hell, he’ll sometimes even throw in a load of laundry for you–taking a an unexpected pleasure from seeing the way your clothes are mixed in with his, the simple solid domesticity of it, at how your lives have become so intermingled that he now has to separate your socks from his. 

In short, he’ll do acts that, while on the outside seem nice, would sometimes border on servile. 

When you try to show him how much you appreciate what he does, he’ll be even more embarrassed: there’s an odd tension around his shoulders, the slightest dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

(And oh, Jason hates the way he blushes, knows the way it discolors around the brand on his cheek, the way it doesn’t redden along with the rest of his skin, but instead stands out, ghostly pale.) 

So he’ll shrug it off, barely being able to look at you. Acutely aware of how strange and monstrous he looks.

And even more so, he’s painfully aware of the reason he’s doing these things. Not only because he wants to take care of you (and he does), but because it’s the only way he knows how to be useful, how to be needed. 

How to be asked to stay.   

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

Gideon has a whole protocol for when it gets too cold for Kremy. It's just how his brain works. He solved the issue like it was some machine acting up rather than his friend having a natural reaction to the cold.

First and foremost; GET WARM FAST. Whatever the quickest way to get Kremy warm is, that is the first step. Usually this involves wrapping a blanket around both of them so that Gideon can use his own heat to help him.

Secondly; consider how close the next town is. Is it less than an hour and there's no active snow storm? Great, hot foot it to the inn. Are they actively being snowed on and the next town is half a days walk? Find best cover and set up tents, his own fire could only do so much, and it's not worth the risk at that point just to get inside a building.

Thirdly; once in a relatively dry and protected space, remove any wet clothing and replace with comfy, dry jammies. If no wet clothing, removal beyond jacket and hat is unnecessary. Simply place sleepwear near the bed if Kremy wants to change later.

Fourth; alligators are evidently still able to drink during brumation. Grab waterskin and warm it a little. This will help with internal temperatures. AVOID ALCOHOL.

If all is well, simply prepare for bed. Grab a snack to assure internal fire keeps going all night. Ideal sleeping situation has Kremy on top of Gideon to avoid cold floors if they are in a tent, otherwise just having his arms around him in any other position.

There's only been one time when any other steps were needed. Thankfully they had the rest of the Krew by that point, so Gricko was able to assist, but Gideon really hopes he'll never have to do CPR again.

[razztazzel]

Thought it would but cute to revisit this old au of mines and give it some lore!

I’m really passionate about this au specifically because I LOVE sci-fi like ALOT… so I might make a lot of content of it… OFC Helios planet will still be going on trust

Non filtered version + lore ⬇️⬇️⬇️

LORE!!!

All the toons are aliens!!! On a completely different planet (exoplanet) about 4.2 Light years away from earth. The company, C.V. inc. aka Cosmic View Incorporated labeled it “Proxima Centauri b” (Its a Genuine exoplanet that’s the closest known to earth it’s so cool) Let’s just say In this au, Earth is extremely Sci-FI like, reaching advances where it wouldn’t be really…. Possible as earth is now…

And so they developed travel though hyperspace (just to clarify, Hyperspace is a fictional concept and not based on current scientific understanding; it's often portrayed as a different dimension where normal space-time rules don't apply - google or something) and managed to land on Proxima Centauri b! The people traveling were highly advanced scientists and they were like, woahhh look at these little whimsical creatures!!! But only like 4 “handlers” went Cause it was still in development!!! So it was kind of a suicide mission to put it frankly

They didn’t die.. Thankfully!!! And they successfully made it back probably old and decrepit, just with a few aliens that totally weren’t kidnapped or anything (They done took the mains, Besides Zee(Vee) she didn’t exist on their planet since she’s a robot made by C.V. Inc.) Vee was made by the soon to be handlers in an attempt to collect direct data from the totally not kidnapped toons! Her emotions are 100% programmed but ran through an advanced ai that study’s the emotion of literally everything living that’s around her so her emotions can be pretty accurate to a certain degree before the robot part generally makes way, Her ai detects any subtle or visible emotion and collects data of it to train itself on how to process and express emotion, but she’ll never have TRUE emotion

Unlike original Vee they’re smart and makes her entirely water proof and very much heat resistant, Zee just cannot be Submerged in water. Anyway a group of.. more like.. scientists in like…training became handlers as a little hands on experiment for them since the owner of the entire thing was really really interested in the toons and wanted to be involved with data processing so she assigned newbies (ish) to be the handlers.. She herself handles Andy (Dandy)!

The toons are all kept in separate rooms similar to those of like experiments just less cruel, like SCP type shit but cooler and not evil… looking… trust trust… so they can be observed and have data recorded…Besides confinement they’re actually treated really well! Sprout learns to bake through his handler and generally enjoys it so he’s allowed to bake every now and then, Shelby (Shelly) gets loads of attention for being an alien bro does NOT wanna leave, Genesis Rock (Pebble) is treated like a legitimate dog gets walked and has play time even though since he’s a rock he probably doesn’t need it, but data is data, Andy hates it there they tried to feed him plant fertilizer once cause he resembles a flower..

Anyway Vee is the only one who’s not in confinement and is generally like a little bot helper for the company, YES!!! THE TOONS ARE ALLOWED TO ROAM!!! Those lovely creatures are not locked away… forever…

TOON TRIVIA

Andy(Dandy) Now has 4 arms!

Astro becomes spiderman ( Ok not really he just gets 6 arms and is constantly floating, Studies show that he cannot seem to stop..)

Shelby (Shelly) Is a mixture of an alienized fossil with a freaky chameleon, with more feral-ish aspects like protruding fangs and sharper hands compared to the others

Genesis (Pebble) can literally walk on air

sprouts hair is ALIVE do NOT cut it he will scream and he has awful fashion sense because refuses to take the scarf off because it was a gift from cosmo before being taken by weird tall things he didn’t know hashtag last thing he has from cosmo hashtag fruitcake angst hashtag NO MORE FRUITCAKE/j

Zee (Vee)is specifically meant to look similar to the alien toons, She doesn’t have a handler though the handlers like to let her wear a coat, they think it looks cute on her small frame…🫶🫶

Sprouts handler encourages sprout to wear the cute aprons they give him, he always refuses… one day.. one day..

Astro generally cannot stop floating, luckily for some reason gravity won’t allow him to float too high so he’s just chilling fr

I think I’ll call this au Cosmic Veiw incorporation /inc or to put it simply, Alien or space au for easy tagging

[rohirric-hunter]

I don't know if I agree that escalation is important. Another series that did this well is the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. The first book written in the series had a protagonist, Matthias. A later book focused on his son, Mattimeo. The stakes in Mattimeo's book are, if we're quite honest, noticeably lower than in Matthias'. There are still stakes -- one of the villains kidnaps Mattimeo and a bunch of other children and another one threatens their home while they are away from it, but neither villain is as threatening as the main villain of Matthias' story, and both of their evil plots are fairly localized. If they both got away with it then far fewer people would be negatively affected than in the first book.

In fact, both villains are villains that Matthias, as the hero of the first book, would easily have been able to deal with if he had just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but he's not. Matthias' failing as a parent isn't that he is bad at it. It's that his greatest strengths are also his greatest weaknesses. He's a very kind character, and this results in him letting Mattimeo get away with far more than he should, and one instance of him choosing to be kind rather than cautious kicks off the plot and all the ensuing conflicts. (Note that this is not presented as the wrong choice, per se, just an example of how unfortunately bad people can often use people's good qualities against them.)

Matthias then spends the entire book being restrained from being involved directly in either plot (which, again, he would have sorted in about ten minutes most likely) by time, distance, or cave-ins. Getting thrown into a bottomless pit. That sort of thing. There's almost a third plot where Matthias struggles against himself, TBH. His actions only indirectly and distantly affect the downfall of either villain. (This is thematically appropriate for the character, something something themes and motifs, but only tangentially related to this discussion.)

Some of the things that make this sequel succeed where others fail are these:

Matthias is present and active in the story. He is not put on a bus or killed early on; lesser writers use this tactic when they fear the new characters won't hold their own against the old ones. He is present and active; the story is simply not about him. He also passively influences the story through his past actions from the first book (kind of) and who he is as a person.

Matthias is a good parent, albeit not a perfect one. This works to the story's advantage, as Mattimeo ends up sharing many of his good traits that endeared readers to him in the first place by virtue of having been raised by him. Now they endear readers to the new protagonist as well.

Matthias has his own proper role in the story and a satisfying character arc. Matthias enjoyers still have something to be excited about in the story even though he is not the protagonist: here the writer neatly sidestepped the pitfall of alienating readers who are primarily reading the sequel in the hopes of new stuff about their faves.

Stakes really have little to do with it -- if anything the story is helped by the fact that the stakes are all deeply personal to the protagonists and not an Even Bigger Threat that will Destroy the World Even Harder than the first time.

In the case of Tolkien also doing this well, I think the most important takeaway is this: The parent figure must in some clear and important way influence and direct the child figure's story. You cannot write a sequel about a beloved character's kid where things just happen just because. There must be a clear line of narrative that makes sense between the parent and child's story.

But it takes a really talented writer to pull that off (especially if they weren't planning the sequel when writing the first book) and well a lot of people aren't really talented writers.

Generational spin-off media is like “okay, what would be the most in-character way for the previous show’s protagonist to comprehensively fail as a parent?”

[animeyanderelover]

The way of an aggressive yet very loving househusband

Tw: Yandere themes, obsession, possessive behavior, overprotective behavior, aggression but not in the way you may think, darling has periods, abduction, this is no poly relationship by the way

Can I just say that Bakugou and Barou are basically the same type of a Yandere almost down to the tee? A type which I have decided to call the aggressive househusband.

Think about it. Both are really intimidating and scary and I wouldn't hold it against you if you would be very scared of them the first time. You see how Bakugou constantly yells at people and glares at them with his red eyes. You see how Barou completely annihilates people on the field as if this was more than just a sport and notice how he towers over anyone who annoys him off whilst glaring at them with his red eyes.

So you when you are abducted you genuinely believe the worst is going to happen. That you'll be stuck with a violent and aggressive man obsessed with you who will physically harm you and beat you up.

Only for none of that to happen.

Obviously he isn't happy to see you being so scared of him. Yes, he isn't going to deny that he is maybe a tad bit scary but you're acting like he's going to undo his belt at any moment and give you a goddamn whipping.

However, despite him being quite offended that you would put him in the same category as a fucking abuser he knows that he has to give you his patience right now. Acting right into any stereotypes you have already out him into would only harm his reputation more.

He speaks quieter and tries to sound less harsh when he's talking to you. He bends down so that both of you are on the same height or he sits down somewhere so that he is actually looking up at you whilst you are looking down on him. He gives you your space. Yes, he still checks in on you because he is considerate and not fucking stupid but he doesn't invade your privacy.

His aggressive side resurfaces as soon as chores are involved but in a way you would have never expected. He is a bloody perfectionist and no matter how you clean your room, wipe the tables or vacuum-clean the floor, you somehow never do it right. There is always something that he has to criticise. There is a spot on the mirror left from when you brushed your teeth. You forgot to clean under that little gap of your wardrobe. You didn't fold your shirts right.

The list goes on.

He doesn't hit you though and yells at you that you never do stuff right and that you're useless. No, instead he guides you promptly to the bedroom, pushes you into the mattress and just bluntly tells you that you can just watch one of the 10+ Streaming Sides he pays for whilst he is going to properly clean the goddamn house. And whilst you are sitting in bed, slightly perplexed by what just happened, he is mopping the floor and mutters occasionally about how he can't believe that you can't even clean properly. That's fine though. He can do that for you.

He cooks for you. Every day. Without fail. He hates when you go out and eat some junk food. Sure, he is guilty of eating it once in a while too but it is different when it comes to you. You shouldn't enjoy greasy and unhealthy food unless it is his greasy and unhealthy food that he has prepared for you. Don't expect him to cook you that stuff every day though. He will cook nutritious and healthy food for you and you better eat what he serves or he will be very mad and grumble about it for the entire rest of the day.

You want to go an a diet? Don't even dare to attempt any bullshit diet a beauty influencer on Instagram, YouTube or other social platforms has recommended. He happens to know the one or other thing about a diet that is actually healthy and still tastes good.

You want to try a new dish? Write him down the groceries he needs and he's the next evening in the kitchen, all ingredients tidily placed in front of him as he reads the recipe through before he starts to prepare the dish.

If you want juice he is not buying the bottles but the fruits themselves and prepares fresh juice for you. If it's orange juice you want he just squeezes every last drop out with his bare fists before he serves it in a glass to you. He generally keeps a lot of fruits and vegetables in his fridge because he likes to prepare randomly a small bowl for you so that you consume your vitamins and minerals.

You, who has lived a humble life the first twenty-something years of your life, always look at price tags when something catches your eye and as soon as you notice a number far too high with what you're comfortable to spend you just turn around.

Case closed.

Or maybe not.

Because in the next moment your lover is dragging you into the store with him, grabs whatever it is that caught your eye and then asks you with a scowl on his face if there is anything else that you would like since the two of you are already in here. Do not let yourself be mislead by that scowl on his face. What he really means to say to you is "if there is anything else you want just fucking grab it because I have the money". Honestly, who do you think is he earning all his money for nowadays?

Taxes and all other paperwork is something he mainly does. You are free to help if you insist but be aware that he is most likely going to complain about something again because there is always something he can nag about.

You never have to worry about running out of pads or tampons because he always keeps those shelves filled. As soon as you're down one package a new one magically appears the next day. He's not one of those guys who feels embarrassed about buying this stuff for you. I mean, who is going to make fun of him? Most people are in general far too scared to comment about it when they see him standing in line with packages of pads in his basket.

He ensures that you have all your needed doctor appointments. A general health check. A visit at your gynaecologist. A visit at the dentist. All of that at least twice a year so that he can see it through that something is treated the moment it is spotted.

When you're sick he is the best person to take care of you. He doesn't judge you for your terrible mood, the coughs, the sneezes or other symptoms you may experience. However, he is going to bully the spoon of medicine in your mouth, is going to monitor you to see it through that you consume your tablet and will carry you right back to bed and wrap you up as soon as you attempt to do something when you should rest instead.

Scary dog privilege is real with him just as much as the saying "my girl can wear whatever the fuck she wants because I can fight". It doesn't matter at which time in which location you are at, absolutely no one is getting to you with him by your side.

As soon as he notices someone giving you a weird look or oogling at you suggestively? Then it's up to you to cling to his torso as he drags you with him, red eyes promising a burial. Luckily you manage to be a voice of reason and stop him from potentially committing a crime in public.

You realise that you have severely misjudged him. Apparently you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

[kiyo-cant-write]

Could I have request for first year? You can choose them. About reader inviting to go out with them? Anything, probably going to park or go to restaurant. I'm a sucker for romance.

inviting the first years on a date ✧･ﾟ

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Hello anon! I am so sorry this took me so long. I write fics with every character/scenario so doing the whole set of first years was a lot of fics, a lot of words. I hope each one is good! I love the first years, especially my boys Epel, Ortho, and Deuce! ^^

Thank you for requesting and feel free to request again!!

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Summary: The reader asks the first years to go on a date. Includes all first years for headcanons and scenarios. This means that it includes: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Ortho Shroud, and Sebek Zigvolt.

TW/CW: None

Notes: established relationship, the reader is Yuu/Ramshackle Prefect, they/them pronouns used for the reader, the reader is also a first-year/frosh (implied ~16ish)

Guest Stars: Leona Kingscholar, Idia Shroud, Trey Clover, Rook Hunt, Malleus Draconia

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Ace Trappola

Ace agrees right off the bat. He doesn't bat an eye.

He's even a little miffed [Name] asked him first.

He was planning to ask [Name] out, you know!

But it doesn't matter, the date's happening either way :)

Ace suggests that he and [Name] sneak out.

Something about not wanting to deal with the housewardens.

Even if [Name] protests, Ace will insist on sneaking about.

It's not a good idea but Ace had it so... it's impulsive.

"Come on, [Nickname]," Ace whispered to [Name], "You're gonna get us caught. You want to go on a date or not?"

Trying to make as little sound as possible, Ace came back towards [Name] to help them untangle themself from an unfortunately placed bush that had snagged their clothing. He held an index finger to his lips as he shushed them once more.

He still couldn't believe they asked him out first. The gall.

"If you want to go out at night like this," he continued, "Then you need to get better at sneaking around. Want to get collared?"

"I'm not part of your dorm," [Name] whispered back.

"That doesn't save you anything."

[Name] was about to retort but paused to consider it.

"Yeah," they agreed with a laugh, you're right."

Ace sighed. They were going to make this difficult, huh? If they got caught then what was it all for. Caught before they could even go on the date? That's just... kind of sad.

"Shh! No laughing until we're away from the main building."

"Fine, fine," they agreed, "We'd better not get detention for this."

The last time they had gone with an "Ace Plan" it had caused a week's worth of detention for both of them. The professors did not take kindly to Ace's schemes. They seemed almost disappointed that [Name] was involved with it too, but that didn't spare [Name] from detention.

"Relax, you worry too much. What are you, Deuce?"

[Name] laughed again and Ace covered their mouth with his hand. They moved his hand away a second later to respond.

"I like to think I've got more guts than Deuce."

"Good, then act like it," Ace told them, leading them toward the school gates, "We're gonna have an adventure tonight."

[Name] gave Ace a look. What was he talking about? Going out to the city after dark was their idea for a date. Why was Ace talking big?

"Wasn't this date my idea?" they asked him.

"Yeah, but I can't let you upstage me all the time." Ace smiled at them as he spoke, "I'm gonna get you back for that tenfold."

"For what?"

"Doesn't matter," he responded, taking their hand in his, "Let's go!"

They really loved this guy, even if it meant all the detentions and magic-removing collars in the world. Smiling along with him, [Name] squeezed Ace's hand as they let him lead their way.

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Deuce Spade

Deuce swears in front of [Name].

"Holy shit."

And then he covers his mouth right after, begging to do it over.

He didn't mean to say it, it was just his instinctual thought!!

Deuce's brain is composed of a long list of curse words and a perpetual fear of being expelled from Night Raven (again).

He tells [Name] that he would be glad to go on a date with them.

Deuce confides that he hasn't been on a date before because of his past in which he thought he was too much of a "bad boy" for that.

He's oddly excited about the date, in a way that makes him seem younger than he already is at sixteen.

Unlike Ace (previous scenario), Deuce thinks that he should ask his upperclassman, so he seeks out Trey in the kitchen.

Deuce, face burning red, led [Name] by hand through the halls of Heartslabyul Dorm. They were headed toward the kitchen to find the bespectacled man who would (hopefully) grant them permission to go on their date. Or, that was about how Deuce explained it and [Name] was just in for the ride now that Deuce had apparently broken some kind of honor student's vow by swearing in front of them.

"Please tell me you're not asking for Trey-san's blessing."

"What?" Deuce turned to look at them, "No! We need to ask permission if we want to go into town."

"We're going into town?" [Name] asked him.

This was far more than they had planned. Deuce nodded. If they were going on a date, a real date, Deuce wanted it to count. And from all the varying media he had consumed in his young life... going on a date meant going into town and doing... Uh. Cute couple-y things.

"I want this to be perfect," Deuce confessed, clearly trying to be cool but failing due to the redness of his cheeks, "You know?"

[Name] nodded.

"Right, perfect, yeah," they agreed.

The two arrived at the doorway into the kitchen of Heartslabyul.

"Clover-senpai?" Deuce asked, poking his head in to see Trey at work mixing some kind of batter, "Do you have a minute?"

[Name] poked in after Deuce, smiling at the smell of sugar from Trey's baking. They hoped they might get some of whatever it was.

"Hm? A minute or two, sure," Trey offered, smiling as he looked toward them, "What's up?"

"Uh," Deuce began, "[Name] and I..."

"[Name] and you...?"

"We were wondering if we could go on a date?"

"I mean, that seems like your decision, not mine," Trey said, teasing the boy for his phrasing just a bit, "But I assume you mean going into town?"

"Ah. Yes!"

Deuce nodded, trying to hide the fact that the redness that had faded was back in full bloom. [Name] felt a bit bad for him and decided to help.

"We wanted to make sure it was alright to go off campus," [Name] added, "Don't want to break any rules. So we came to ask you."

Trey just laughed softly at the two of them.

"It's fine with me, I'll let Riddle know," he told Deuce and [Name], "I assume you'd rather not write the essay to him yourselves."

Deuce nodded once more, looking at [Name] and urging them to nod too. Writing an essay for Riddle was never a fun task. It took more time to write the stupid essay than to do the thing you were writing the essay about.

"Thank you, Clover-senpai," Deuce said, bowing to him.

"Mhm! Thanks, Trey!" [Name] agreed as they mimicked Deuce's action.

Trey smiled at the two underclassmen of his.

"Heh, you two have fun."

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Jack Howl

Jack is at a loss for words. [Name] wants to go on a date with him?

What is the protocol here?

Part of him wants to ask Leona as an upperclassman...

But then the other guys will laugh at him!!! :(

He nods slowly, face tinged a red slightly.

He agrees to the date and says it would be rude to say "no."

Despite the somewhat gruff answer, his tail is wagging.

If it's pointed out, he will flat-out deny it as it wags faster.

Jack would rather die than let the other guys tease him about his date but God does not favor dogboys today.

In the end though... Leona is a smart guy...

Jack wasn't sure what to do. What do you do when you're asked on a date by the person you like? Do you say "yes"? He wanted to panic, just a tad. This was beyond his typical day, not something that he was used to. Did he have anywhere to turn for advice?

He could ask Leona... No, then Ruggie would laugh at him.

The wolf sighed, composing himself as he turned back to [Name].

"Uh, sure. I'll go with you," he told them.

That wasn't what he wanted to say but that sure was what he said. He had wanted to seem happier about it but his tone wouldn't allow it. Jack found that it was hard to sound how he was feeling. How did the actors in those movies do it? He couldn't express how he was feeling, how could he do that with another person's feelings?

[Name] had just smiled and him and told him they were looking forward to it before they took their leave. What did he do now? Jack was sure there was more to this whole dating business...

But where to start...

"Leona-senpai," Jack said, finding himself in the botanical garden later that same day, "Do you think that people can understand you from a sentence?"

The lion was sleeping or rather he was trying to while Jack asked him questions. It was luck that Jack had been asked to fetch something from the garden for class.

"What?" Leona offered, opening an eye to look at Jack, "Jack, I have no idea what in the fuck you're on about."

"Do you think [Name] understood me?" Jack asked.

"I mean if they're still going on the date, probably," Leona said, closing his eyes with a sigh, "This is one of those things time will tell or whatever. Just go on the date and see what happens."

"You sure?"

"I am. So stop asking me how [Name] feels and get back to class. You need it."

Jack tried to ignore that obvious snub from a guy who was skipping most of his classes on any given day. But... Leona was right. He had to go on this date and see what became of his relationship with [Name] from there. "...Thanks."

"Whatever, can you go now?"

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Epel Felmier

Epel's first comment is that he would love to go on an outing.

He isn't embarrassed and doesn't think it's a "date" at first.

When [Name] clarifies that it is a date, Epel blushes.

"Ah? Well, if ya want to go somewhere with me, let's do it!"

Even though he feels a bit shy about it, he's still enthusiastic.

Depending on the outing, his energy may return during the date.

Epel thanks [Name] for giving him an out from Vil's makeup lessons. He didn't want to learn about blending properly today.

Mentioning his housewarden he realizes he'll need permission.

Epel asks [Name] if they will help him ask Rook about it.

Epel sighed softly as he came to the realization that as a first year, he would need permission to leave the campus for their date in the mountains. There were only two people to be asked: Housewarden Vil Schoenheit... Or Vice Housewarden Rook Hunt.

"Let's ask Rook-senpai," Epel told [Name], who nodded, "I don't think Vil-senpai would take kindly to me asking him to go into the mountains instead of learn a..."

Epel counted something on his fingers for a moment, hoping that [Name] couldn't see the redness on his cheeks that had yet to fade.

"A... 45-step makeup routine."

Epel looked disgusted at the prospect of the "lesson" and [Name] fought back the urge to laugh at the cute pout on the boy's face.

"That is a lot of steps," [Name] agreed, "Where is Rook-san?"

"Watching..." came Epel's answer, "He usually does the finding."

That was a true statement. Rook usually stumbled across Epel. The use of the phrase "stumble across" is largely for the sound of it as Rook always had eyes on Epel. It was an order from their Queen, after all. He couldn't allow himself to come across the lavender-haired boy by chance, Rook needed to keep a focus on his prey beloved underclassman.

"Hmm, so how do we find him?" [Name] asked which earned a sigh from Epel, "Epel?"

"ROOK-SENPAI! I HAVE A QUESTION!" Epel shouted into the front garden of Pomefiore.

From thin air, Rook Hunt appeared next to Epel and the boy nearly jumped out of his skin despite being the one who had called out to Rook. [Name] was so surprised their scream was silent as their hand flew to their chest in startlement.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Pommette!" Rook greeted with a grin.

"Hi..." Epel said after catching his breath, "Rook-senpai..."

"Did you need something?~" Rook asked, a knowing look crossing his features, "Or were you in need of our Queen, the most Beautiful Vil?"

"No, no! Just you is more than enough, I mean... I needed to ask you somethin' if you have time?" Epel said, the sentence only barely flowing properly.

He wanted to ask the question but his mind worked faster than his lips could parse. The resulting sentence left much to be desired.

"Oh?"

Rook awaited the question.

"I want to go into the mountains with [Name] this weekend," Epel said, "Do I have your, uhm, permission to do that?"

The blond seemed to ponder this for a moment as Epel stood there staring. It was all up to Rook if he was allowed to have his first relationship. He wanted to. Epel wanted this part of a school experience too...

But Vil might not approve, and Rook was loyal to him.

Epel glanced at [Name] for a moment.

Would they be angry if Rook made him say "no"?

"Ah, merveilleux!" Rook spoke, surprising both [Name] and Epel out of their personal thoughts, "Chase after love as I do, Epel!"

What?

Epel didn't know what that meant. Well, he thought it might be approval, but with Rook, one could never tell. So he asked.

"...Uhm. Is that a yes?"

"Oui."

Epel couldn't fight the urge and pumped his fist in the air before composing himself as quickly as he could. Vil didn't see that, Vil wouldn't know... Unless Rook told him. Worries for later.

"Well, I'll see you this weekend, [Name]," Epel told them with a laugh and a sweet smile, "Let's make this one count."

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Ortho Shroud

[Name] asks Ortho if he would like to see a movie.

Ortho says that he would love to go out with a friend.

He needs to ask his brother if he can go out with you.

[Name] makes a joke that if Ortho were older and perhaps not a robot/android it could be like a "date" for the two of them.

Ortho laughs and agrees that if it were Idia, it would be.

He knows about dates from Idia's visual novel collection and the internet (remember how he has access to the entire web?)

The two decide to prank Idia and tell him it IS a date.

Ortho argues that Idia needs to be surprised once in a while or he would just only play video games and hide in his dorm room.

Idia has a near heart attack over "Ortho's first date."

Ortho is unembarrassed by the question and excited to go!

He doesn't understand what might be embarrassing about an outing with the Prefect. It's not like it's a real date or anything.

Ortho laughed at [Name]'s baffled expression. They seemed shocked that he had agreed. Had they expected some other outcome?

"What? Did you expect me to say no?" the synthetic human asked them, coming just a bit closer, "I'll have you know I like spending time with you too! It's nice to have friends to go places with."

[Name] stuttered out stray sounds for a moment before they were able to phrase anything that was understandable language.

"I just thought you'd be busy since you're always with Idia-san."

"Hehe, my brother does keep me pretty busy," Ortho agreed before pausing, "Oh, that reminds me!"

[Name] looked at Ortho as he spoke.

"We need to ask my brother if I can go with you."

Ortho explained this as if it were obvious and [Name] supposed it was a natural source of events.

"Right now?"

In response to [Name]'s question, Ortho nodded.

"It would be best to do it sooner rather than later."

"Ah, alright!" [Name] replied.

They had expected Idia's consent would be somewhere in the steps it took to ask Ortho on an outing. Hopefully, this won't be too much of a hassle, they thought. The last thing they needed was more chaos.

"Follow me, [Full Name]-san!" Ortho cheered, floating off to guide [Name] from the hallway to the mirror that entered Ignihyde's dormitory.

It was a different kind of dorm, [Name] supposed. Ignihyde did not look anything like the other dorms. Though each dorm was unique, Ignihyde looked from a different time period with some of its elements. [Name] was used to it, though. This was not their first nor last time in this dormitory, however, it was their first time traveling to Idia and Ortho's bedroom.

Without knocking, Ortho opened the door. Before them was Idia Shroud dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants while he seemed to be typing one of the longest comments [Name] had ever seen (though they couldn't make out what it said).

"Nii-san!" Ortho called out, making Idia prickle, "I need to ask you something!"

"WHAT?" came a louder-than-normal exclamation from the blue-haired boy, "I mean... Oh, Ortho... Yeah?"

"[Full Name]-san asked me to go to a movie with them this weekend. Am I allowed to go with them?" Ortho asked with a smile, speaking as though it was the most basic question in the world.

In reality, it was a fairly simple question, but not for Idia. The Ignihyde Housewarden froze, feeling the shock of the comment strike him to his core. Idia lunged forward and took Ortho by the shoulders.

"They asked you out on a date?" Idia asked him.

"They want to go to the movies—"

Ortho did not get to finish his sentence.

"A DATE, ORTHO?" Idia continued, louder, ignoring [Name]'s presence intentionally or not as he put Sebek's typical volume to shame.

"We're going to the movies—"

Ortho once again did not get to finish his sentence.

"This is just like the new anime I've been watching, but you're so... You're too young to be experiencing a shoujo anime!"

"Nii-san..." Ortho tried to reason with his older brother.

"Idia-san..." [Name]'s tone mirrored Ortho's.

"Fine, fine. I can't, like, be the opposition. That would be so uncool of me if I were to ruin the interaction between the ML and his love interest," Idia decided.

In the end, Ortho and [Name] never did get to clarify the categorization of their outing with Idia. They supposed he would just get to think whatever it was he thought until it was out of his system.

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Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek tries to refuse as he is "busy" with his work as a guard.

Malleus needs him, is his primary argument.

Sadly Malleus is quick to disprove this theory.

Sebek gawks as his master instructs him to participate in the human custom of a "date" to better his homeland.

Sebek is too offended at first to be embarrassed...

But then it sets in and his face is such a bright red it makes his hair look a bit silly with its green color.

He stutters and is unable to talk to [Name] for a minute or so.

He settles on nodding while this happens

In the end, he yells as per usual "OF COURSE I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU AS YOU CLEARLY NEED A GUARD."

Never a quiet moment with this one.

Sebek wasn't sure what to make of the words the human uttered. They wanted him to do what? That seemed highly inappropriate. Did he need to refuse this offer? He did think it was somewhat tempting, though. He did not hate this human. They were... not as irritating at the other humans at Night Raven College.

"Human," Sebek began, "I am afraid that I must refuse this invitation as I.. cannot forsake my role as a guard to Waka-sama."

He watched as their expression fell even if only slightly.

"Ah, alright then..." they managed to say before an awe-inspiring presence interrupted them.

"Sebek," Malleus spoke, his voice causing Sebek to straighten up more than he had been before the arrival of his master, "What is going on here, exactly?"

"W-Waka-sama," the halfling spoke, stuttering the first bit of his sentence from the surprise, "I was just alerting this human that I cannot leave your side for a... a 'date' of some kind."

Malleus raised an eyebrow.

So this was what it was about.

"And why can you not accompany this child of man?"

[Name] perked up at a mention of them as Sebek fumbled for an answer for the prince.

"Well, you see, I am your guard, after all..." he began, but Sebek soon fell silent under a piercing glare from Malleus.

"Sebek," the fae prince spoke in a low tone, "Will you do something for me?"

"Yes? Yes, of course, sir!"

"Guard this human on the date they have planned, this is imperative to Briar Valley."

Sebek's posture tensed even more at the order as he bowed to Malleus. [Name] stood there baffled by the sight of it all.

"AH! Of course, Waka-sama! Whatever you desire!"

Though Sebek did not notice it, [Name] could have sworn they saw Malleus smirk at the outcome. Had he done this with the intent to help them? They supposed they could always ask him about it later.

"So you can come with me?" [Name] asked Sebek a moment later.

"OF COURSE I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU AS YOU CLEARLY NEED A GUARD."

[Name] just laughed. The answer was... very Sebek.

���･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[kpopflowerfield]

Gimmie Love | jjk

ღ pairing: playboy! jungkook x desperate! fem reader

ღ word count: 5.7k

ღ genre: angst & smut

ღ rating: nsfw, mdni

ღ warnings: toxic relationship, pet names(babe,baby), dirty sex, dom! jk, needy sex, a bit of voyerism is involved (jk tries to finger reader in movie theater), unprotected sex! (wrap up), Jungkook calls reader ‘slut’ once, fingering, throat fucking, jk is sadistic and loves being a tease

ღ networks: @k-vanity @k-library

ღ summary: ex situationship comes back into your life and you can’t help but find yourself back in your old habits of begging to be loved for the right reasons

ღ author’s note: ty to @tusswrites for beta reading!!

↠ check out the rest of the tracklist here! ↞

You looked around, absentmindedly listening to your friends. "Ooh, he's hot," Your friend Mina cooed as she stared out. You looked over at the man she was drooling over. He was attractive, about six feet, with milky skin and chestnut hair. She didn't know his name, but it didn't matter as she wasn't interested in names. "What about him?" Kyujin nodded her head in the direction of someone. Tan skin, about the same height as the other one, and had beautiful black waves. You shrugged a bit; they were attractive but not enough for you to thirst over as the two of them did. "What about you, Y/N?" They both spoke at the same time, and you shrugged. "I don't really care; I mean, they're all a one-night stand." You scoped out the place, seeing who else was around.

Your heart dropped for a moment as you looked around the room. Your eye locked in on that familiar muscular back. The tattoos that traveled down from the sleeves of the shirt, hugging his skin, made your guess right. You forced a swallow down your tightening throat. "I have to go to the bathroom, watch my drink?" You barely made eye contact with Kyujin as you scurried off. You locked the door behind you and took a deep breath. You walked over to the sink and took a moment to process that he was here.

Your palms started to hurt from the way you were gripping the countertop. You shut your eyes as you thought about him. Of course, he was there, it was his friend, but you haven't seen him at the past few parties that you've attended. So why the fuck was this the night he came to the party? Your thoughts froze as there was a knock on the door. "One minute!" You called out, stretching out your hands from the tense state they took from the hold you had on the counter. You fixed your hair and unlocked the door, opening it carefully. "I thought I saw you," That voice sounded sweet, like honey, as you looked at him. "It's nice to see you too, Jungkook," You lied and made your way to your friends.

Your friends smiled. "You're back! I was about to go find you," Kyujin teased as you nodded. "I'm actually going to go home now, just wanted to let you guys know," You gave them each a quick hug. "It's so early, are you sure?" Mina questioned you as you nodded. "Yeah, I'm just tired and have stuff I need to do. I'll text you," You smiled at them and walked out, leaving both of them confused by your odd behavior. You made your way home, your hands curled into fists in your pockets as you stared down at the ground. You didn't have to walk too far before texting your friends that you made it home safely. You took off your jacket and sighed as you sat down on your couch. The notification came from your friends messaging you, and you clicked on it. Thanking them for going out with you.

That's when you went to put your phone down on the couch beside you but stopped seeing the drop-down notification from Instagram. You swallowed, getting that throat-tightening feeling like when you were at the party. You clicked on the message and scoffed, reading it.

Jungkook: It's been a while since I've seen you. You still look amazing. It was nice to see you.

You closed out the message and went to your room with the intention of going straight to bed, but you could only think of what you had with Jungkook once upon a time. The way he used to hold you close and how it made you feel protected. You would have late-night conversations about anything and everything. You honestly didn't realize it was one way until you confessed. He never felt the same way about you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that he did. Even though some of his actions were romantic and he only expected you to be with him, he never could say he liked you the way you liked him. The word 'love' would only leave his lips when he was talking about how it felt to fuck you. You fell hard for him, but he never felt that way.

You sighed to yourself and checked the message one more time. Maybe one last message wouldn't hurt? You could make it different this time, making it clear you didn't want just sex. It was something you could never confess to your friends, but you missed the physical connection you had with him. You could find someone else, but it would take too long before you could consider being as intimate as you were with Jungkook. You knew him for years before you slept with him, and even though you hadn't seen him in a few years, your heart still beat the way it did when you were close to him and spending every moment with him. Maybe it was just your hopeless romantic brain trying to convince the logical side that told you he wasn't worth more of your time.

Y/N: nice to see you, too. Maybe we can meet up?

Jungkook: I'd like that; what would you like to do?

Y/N: We can do something simple. Maybe a movie?

Jungkook: Just tell me when I'll pick you up.

You solidified your plans with Jungkook and got ready. Your anxiety was on high alert as you got ready, realizing you were actually meeting up after time apart. You promised yourself you wouldn't see him again, but that was a year ago, and you swear on everything that it would be different this time around. You walked out your door once you got a text from him saying he was outside. Your mind was wiped from whatever it was that you wanted to say as you opened the door and got in. The smell of his sweet cologne hitting your nostrils. "So, what movie were you thinking of?" He looked over at you as he drove. "Oh," You tried to think of a movie he would want to see. "You can pick," You smiled over at him. "Alright," He laughed a bit. "What's so funny?" You huffed as he looked over at you. "You haven't changed," He smiled at you and parked.

Your cheeks flushed as he got out and opened your door. "Wow, what a gentleman," You teased him as he shook his head. "Yeah, yeah." He shut the door behind you as you walked into the theater. "Want any snacks, babe?" He nodded to the wall of snacks. Your cheeks flushed hearing that sudden name. "Just popcorn," You nodded as he walked over to the counter, paying for your small bucket of popcorn. You watched him and smiled as he handed it to you. "How much?" You asked him as he shrugged. "Nothing for you," You shook your head at him. Maybe it wasn't just sexual for him to make such playful comments. You had to take that idea out of your head; it was your first time hanging out together in a while, and you shouldn't automatically assume it's what you want. Maybe it was just sexual still, but how could you tell? The two of you definitely did have a connection, but it was hard to put a label on it. You just knew that you missed it, and you were beyond grateful that you finally had a chance to rebuild it.

You both made it to the theater and sat down. Once the movie started to play, his hand crept up your thigh as you sat next to each other. His fingers were playing with the end of your skirt. Your face turned a bright red from the heat that spread. You knew what he was doing, and you wanted to stop him, but it was hard to fight it. His touch made your body warm up as he played with the lace material of your panties. He could feel the way your body was reacting and smirked. Your breath hitched as he moved your panties to the side and felt your wet slit, moving his finger up slowly. He leaned over to whisper in your ear. "You're soaked, and I haven't even played with you yet," He chuckled as you whimpered from his touch. He went to continue, and you held his arm, restraining him from going further. "I don't want to get caught," You stared at him as he shook his head. "You won't,"

You still held his arm and shook your head. "Not here," He nodded and moved his hand away from you. "Alright," He suddenly sounded annoyed with you, and you looked down, finding something else to focus on as your mind was racing once you realized his demeanor changed. The awkward tension stayed between the two of you for the rest of the movie. "Do you want me to drive you home?" He looked at you. You knew he was asking so he could most likely continue what he tried to start. You shook your head and smiled. "I have plans with my friends; I can have one of them pick me up," He nodded as you walked out of the theater. "Thank you for taking me out," You smiled at him as he nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Anytime,"

You sighed as he left and found a bench in the lobby to sit on. You called Mina, asking her for a ride and she showed up within a few minutes, and you got in her car. "How did you get here?" She couldn't help but question you immediately. "I came here with someone, but I didn't want to burden them." You shrugged as she sighed. "You wouldn't be burdening them if it was a date, you know that, right?" You nodded as she looked at you. "Who was your date?" She could sense how awkward you were with her question. "Don't tell me it was him," There was disappointment laced in her voice as you shrugged a bit. "Yeah, it was. I had a good time, though," She sighed at you again. "I thought he just wanted sex," She parked and stared at you. You fell silent as she watched you stare at your lap. "Listen, if it's what you want, I don't care, but I know you want a deeper relationship than what he has to offer."

You nodded and got out of her car. "Kyujin is upstairs; we're ordering some food, too." She got out after as you both walked up to her apartment. "Wowww, look how dressed up you are," Kyujin commented as you flushed lightly. "Where'd you go?" She questioned, seeing your skirt and makeup done. "She went out with Jungkook again," Mina spoke up; she sounded like a disappointed parent coming home to tell the other parent what they did wrong. Kyujin's face changed quickly. "Don't tell me that's true, Y/N," You shrugged her off and sat down on the couch. "Come on, Y/N, last time you went out with him, you were upset for weeks. You confessed, and he told you he wasn't interested like that, and you were heartbroken." Kyujin stared at you, along with Mina. "Guys, I know what I'm doing. I'm being more careful this time, and I won't get hurt. I promise," Your reassurance wasn't enough for them, but they didn't want to press anymore. They just wanted to enjoy the rest of the night with you.

Even though it seemed weird with your friends, you could tell it wasn't with malice but care for you. They didn't want to see you hurt again, and you understood that. That's why you were going to make it clear to Jungkook that nothing is going to be just sex. That's why when he messaged you at 11:30 the next night, you weren't opposed to saying yes. You showered and got yourself ready. Your nerves started to rack up as you drove to his. You started to plan the words that you wanted to say. Just wanting to get it out there immediately instead of waiting and letting yourself get hurt.

You walked up the steps of his apartment building and knocked lightly on his door. He opened the door after a few moments and let you in. "I'm so glad that you came over," His voice was so sweet, making your heart melt. The way he was dressed, however, made your brain flood with other ideas. The grey sweats hanging loosely on his bare hips. You tried to keep your composure as much as you could, not wanting to stare at his body for too long. "I'm glad you asked for me to come over," You smiled and walked over to his couch. "I actually wanted to say something." You started as he shushed you. "Afterwards," He looked at you; his eyes were filled with lust seconds after you walked in the door. You swallowed, remembering that dark look he always had. You closed your legs tightly together, not wanting to get too turned on just by his look.

"I've missed you," His voice was raspy as you laid down, letting him crawl on top of you and leave soft kisses on your neck. He could feel the way your core was heating up below him. His kisses continued to travel down until he hit the neckline of your clothing. His hand pushed up the loose tee shirt you had on. You let out a sharp exhale at his cold hands traveling up your sides. "Let's take this off," He slid his hands under your shirt as you sat up slightly, allowing him to strip you of your shirt and bra. Goosebumps spread across your skin from the cool air of his apartment. "How about I warm you up?" He smirked down at you; you couldn't resist nodding as you swallowed. The ache between your thighs grew as you saw his thick cock growing in his pants.

He took off your pants and moved your panties to the side. "I should finish what I started the other day," His finger teased your slit, a whimper escaped your lips as you felt him. The feeling of his rough fingers sent shivers down your spine as he pushed his finger in. "I've missed the way this pussy grips my fingers," He smirked as he curled his fingers, making you cry out in pleasure. "So loud already," He chuckled. You whimpered as his fingers moved quickly, pumping in and out of your soaking wet cunt. "J-Jungkook," A soft moan escaped your lips as he hovered above you. He pulled his fingers out and smirked, sucking them clean of your juices.

You watched him intently, your cheeks flushed as he hovered above you. God, he looked better than you remembered. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, pulling him in closer to you as he leaned down. Your bodies lay flush together as he kissed that sweet spot on your neck, biting down lightly. You let out a breathless moan as he left open-mouthed kisses down your neck. "I can't wait to fuck you any longer," He rasped and pushed his pants down and looked at you, giving himself a few strokes before pulling your panties to the side again.

He held one of your hips, letting it travel to your lower back, and lifted you so he could push himself deep inside of you slowly and inch by inch. Watching as your face started to contort from the feeling of him being inside again. "God, I've missed this fucking pussy," He groaned as your walls adjusted to the familiar girth. He held your hips close to his as he moved slowly, the rhythmic deep thrusts making you moan out. "F-fuck me," You pleaded as he raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what I'm already doing?" He started to get a bit rougher, and you cried out. "Is this what you want? You want it faster?" He stared down at you, watching your chest bounce with each slow, brutal thrust. He bit his lip, teasing the way he fucked you.

"F-faster, please," You pleaded as he chuckled. "Look at you being a greedy slut," He gripped your hips as he picked up an unrelenting pace. You cried out as he didn't back down from the pace he had started. "Is this what you wanted?" He taunted as his hips jackhammered into yours. You couldn't give a response as you sobbed out from each thrust slamming into your hips. Your back arched as your walls gripped tightly around him. "Fuck yes, baby," He grunted. "You take this fucking cock so well," He tilted his head back and moaned. "I'm gonna fucking paint you all over," He hissed as his thrusts became more needy and not as rhythmic. "Y-you fuck me so fucking good," You sputtered, your walls spasming against him.

"I-I'm going to cum," You sobbed as your chest bounced up and down. "Do it," He demanded, sending shivers down your spine. He slammed into your hips, sending you over the edge. His cock twitched against your walls before he pulled out quickly, emptying himself on your stomach. Your lower body shook as he got off of you. He grabbed a box from the coffee table and handed it to you. "Here," your brain was clouded as he looked at you, shaking the box of tissues in your face. You grabbed a handful, and he tossed the box back onto the table.

You watched him pull his pants back up and walk to the kitchen as you wiped yourself off. Placing the dirty tissues on the table as he walked back. "Here," He handed you a water as you took it. "Thanks," You smiled softly, sitting up and taking a sip from the bottle. "Are you busy tomorrow?" You looked over as he shrugged. "Not really." You nodded a bit at his response. "Well, if you wanted to, we could go grab lunch or maybe some dinner?" You held the bottle in your lap. "Maybe." You bit your lip at his bland response. "Well, text me if you think of anything." You smiled at him. "Yep." Sensing the cold shoulder he was giving you, you put the water on the coffee table and collected your clothes, dressing yourself quickly. "I'm gonna go now," You cleared your throat, taking the water bottle with you as you walked out. "Have a good night," He said as you shut the door behind you.

You held your head and sat in your car for a moment. You didn't know why you put yourself in this situation again, and it was pissing you off. You thought, then called Kyujin. "Hey, can I come over?" You sounded tired. "Yeah, of course. Mina is over right now, too," She answered brightly. "I'll be there in ten," You drove off. "Drive safe, pookie!" Mina called out in the background as you laughed and hung up.

You walked upstairs and opened the door to her apartment. You walked over and flopped down on the couch. "What's wrong?" Mina's eyebrows furrowed as you reached over and grabbed the carton of ice cream Kyujin was holding. "You guys were right," You held the spoon and took a bite. Mina sighed and pulled you in close to her. "I'm sorry, Y/N," She rubbed your shoulders. "I just went over, and y'know," Your cheeks flushed; you were always awkward talking about sex. "But as soon as he finished, he stood up and walked away. He came back with water, but still, I tried to have a conversation, and he just ignored me; he clearly didn't want to talk to me." You took another bite as Kyujin joined in and embraced you. "I have to call it quits now; I know if I don't, I'll just get hurt." Kyujin nodded. "I know, and I know that you feel comfortable with him, but we care for you too much to see you get hurt by the same guy again,"

It hurt to hear the truth, but you needed it. You couldn't text him to tell him it was over, so instead, you ghosted him, and you let a week go by, and he never messaged you. It felt a bit too smooth, but you didn't want to jinx it. You felt so much better not stressing yourself out about him and feeling like you needed him to see you in another way than just sexual. Your friends were also proud of you for not talking to him again. They just knew your heart and how hard and fast you fall for someone. They hated Jungkook for how he hurt you last time, and they never wanted to see it again; they knew it was hard for you to leave the idea of being with him, and deep down, they knew it probably wasn't the last time he broke your heart.

And just like that, you knew you spoke too soon. Your phone buzzed, and there was his profile picture on your lock screen. You tapped on it, seeing he was inviting you over yet again. You bit your lip and thought about it. You did want to talk to him in person, explain your feelings, and tell him that sex isn't the only thing you want. You gave in on the chance and sent him a text, agreeing to see each other.

You got yourself ready and got in your car to drive to his place. You took a deep breath and practiced what you wanted to say to him as you drove. Once you knocked on that door, your eyes laid upon the sight of Jungkook whisking away your thoughts. Just standing there in a towel, letting you come in. You watched him as he walked to his bedroom. He didn't utter a word, but you followed him. You watched as he dropped his towel on the ground. You stared at every inch of his body, taking him in.

The words you had set up for you to say were no longer there. "Get on your knees for me, baby," You nodded, listening to everything he told you. You carefully got on your knees; the soft faux fur rug kept you away from the discomfort of the hardwood floors. You watched as he stroked his length, making it easier for you to suck on. You watched him reach for your hand, and you gave it to him. He placed it near the base of his cock as you took over for him. His head tilted back as he felt you. You looked up at him, parting your lips and taking his thick tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. He looked down at you, staring into your eyes. You bobbed up and down slowly, not wanting to choke on him. Your cheeks hollowed against him, making a groan escape his lips. "Fuck Y/N," He bit his lip as you locked eyes with him.

He watched you. "You can go faster, babe," He instructed. You hesitated, not sure how fast you could move on him. "Want help?" He taunted; before you could really process what he said, he wrapped his fingers in your hair and started moving your head on him. "Mm," He groaned out, followed by a shattered breath. You gagged as he touched the back of your throat, but that didn't stop him as he kept moving your head on him. "God, I love your pretty mouth," He groaned. Your eyes watered from each hard thrust into your mouth. Your hand quickly grabbed his thighs, making him stop as he looked down at you. "Are you okay?" He moved himself away from you as you panted, finally being able to breathe for a moment.

"I wanted to talk," You let out softly as he groaned. "Seriously?! That's why you stopped?" His anger was bubbling as you swallowed; it hurt for a moment from the aggression your throat had felt just moments ago. "Yes, that's why I came over in the first place. You saying 'you loved my mouth' reminded me." Your voice was still quiet as he shook his head at you. "You're unbelievable," He groaned. "No, I'm not! I'm tired of coming over here and being used! I never say anything cause I don't want to lose the friendship we had when we first started!" You defended yourself. "Used?! You seem to be enjoying it just as much as I do." He scoffed. "Stop. I just wanted to fucking talk to Jungkook. I wanted to tell you I don't want this just to be sex. That's what it's been the last two times. I want a relationship."

You stayed calm as you spoke, watching him grab a pair of boxers. "Like last time?" He stared daggers into you, sending shivers down your spine. "Yes! That's all I have fucking wanted," You sounded exhausted as you spoke. "What don't you get?! I don't want that! You could've said that at the movies if that's how you truly felt. Fucking hell, Y/N," He was loud as you stared at him. "If you can't have an honest-to-God conversation with me, then I'm leaving," It was an open threat; you still wanted to talk with him and didn't think he would give in. "Go right ahead!" He barked.

You stared at him, not sure why you were surprised about his reaction. You weren't going to take it back, though. You walked out his door, slamming it behind you. Tears fell as you got into your car. "I'm so fucking stupid," You sniffed. Your hands hit the steering wheel as your body tense from the frustration of the situation you put yourself into again. You sat there, staring into space, calming down before you drove off.

Your argument must've scared him off as you didn't hear from him for almost a month. It still made you upset when you thought about him. He used to be so kind, and you would stay up for hours having conversations. Then, it suddenly turned into sex with him. You both got curious and let him take your virginity as you took his. Maybe that's why you were trying to hold onto him so close. You gave him something that you planned to keep. You trusted him enough to take it, expecting him to stay with you and take your friendship to the next level, but he clearly can't give you what you want anymore.

You checked your phone constantly, with empty hopes of him texting you to apologize. You felt shameful every time you checked. All wrapped up in your feelings, you didn't realize you were ignoring your friends until they texted you in the group chat.

Mina: Hey, are you okay, hun? We haven't heard from you in a bit.

Kyujin: If you want, we can come over, or you can just talk to us whenever you're ready. ❤️

Y/N: yeah, I'm okay. Jungkook and I officially ended it. It was just a big argument that happened, but it's fine. I'm sorry I haven't reached out.

Mina: I'm glad you're okay. We're always here for you, babes. I know it sucks, but trust me, it's for the better that it's over.

Kyujin: Dude was a dickhead. I'm happy you have him out of your life now, Y/N.

You laughed a bit at Kyujin's remarks. She always spoke her mind, which you loved about her. You knew she was the person you went to if you wanted honesty, and Mina was always there to comfort you.

Mina: Yeah, he was such a bitch. He was only horny and didn't care about feelings, which is so stupid of him. You're the sweetest person I know, Y/N, and he wasn't good enough to learn that.

You smiled to yourself at everything your friends had to say. You regret not telling them earlier, but you felt like you still needed some time to process it. It was actually over with Jungkook, which was something you weren't sure would happen. Everything was running smoother than the week that went in between last time. Your phone buzzed on your kitchen counter, and you picked it up.

Unknown number: Hey, I'm sorry for texting you like this out of nowhere. I really want to talk. I don't know if you'd want to meet up, but maybe you can call me? I just need to talk to you and actually explain my feelings. I'm really sorry.

You stared at the text, realizing it was Jungkook. You wanted to give in so desperately. Maybe for some better closure, and that's all. But that voice in your head kept telling you no. All you could think of was how disappointed your friends would be if they knew you were in contact with him again. You turned your phone over and walked to your bedroom. Every little thing you were trying to do wasn't enough of a distraction from Jungkook's sudden text. You wanted to be better than you were and not text him. You picked up your phone and stared at the message again.

Y/N: You can call me whenever you'd like. I'm not willing to meet up with you.

"Why did I do that?" You mumbled and sighed, not expecting him to call since it wasn't in person. He wouldn't have a chance to change the conversation into much more over the phone when you could hang up on him if he were being too much. Your phone buzzed, and you picked up. "Hello?" You answered as you heard Jungkook take a deep breath. "Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry to reach out so far after everything," You could hear the way he was pacing through his apartment. "What did you want to talk about?" You questioned him, wanting to get straight to the point. "I wanted to apologize for snapping at you. I should've told you then, but I just didn't consider a relationship with you. I have been thinking it over, though," He swallowed. "I would like to have a relationship with you, Y/N. If you're still willing," He cleared his throat as you stayed silent. He pulled his phone away from his ear and put it back. “Y/N?” He questioned.

"Yeah, sorry. Just processing," You swallowed. "Why have you suddenly changed your mind? Last time we spoke, you made it clear you only wanted sex." You held your forehead, rubbing your temples. Your heart felt torn hearing him finally say he did want to be with you. "I do like you, Y/N. I've just been too busy focusing on the fun and not feelings. I'm so sorry for how I've treated you." The sudden 180° change left you confused, and you took a deep breath. "Listen, Jungkook. I thank you for the apology. But that's all you'll get from me. I'm not going to put up with this back and forth. Today, you say you want to be in a relationship, but two weeks from now, you'll tell me you aren't interested at all." You pursed your lips together, trying to think of anything else you had to say.

"Please, Y/N, one chance. Let me make it up to you," He begged as you scoffed. "You've had two chances, Jungkook. I don't know how many more I can give you. You can try again in six months if you’re serious. You just can't have sex on your mind when you contact me next." You hung up and tossed your phone on the couch. It hurt to finally shut him down, especially when he sounded interested in something more with you. Tears slowly went down your face as you lay down in bed. "Thank god for closure," You mumbled before turning over.

5 months later

Even though it wasn’t a “break-up” breakup it took you a while to recuperate yourself. It was hard to move on from someone you spent years talking to. Even though it was one-sided he felt like your first love. Your friends kept pushing for you to get out more, encouraging you to speak to people they felt would be a good pairing for you.

You always told them you would reach out but you never did, it felt forced to you if you reached out after your friends begged you to. You wanted to find someone yourself. You made sure to leave your apartment often, just to go on walks and see what was around as businesses were opening left and right. That’s when you saw Hoseok just staging bouquets outside of his flower shop. You knew you had to introduce yourself. Hitting it off with him was easy. He took you out to dinner and always brought home custom bouquets of your favorite flowers for you. He was the man you’ve been dreaming of all these years. Even with all the heartbreak you put yourself through with Jungkook, you didn’t regret it if that was meant to happen for your path to Hoseok.

“Hey baby?” He called out to you. “Yes, my love?” You looked over at him as he fixed the sleeves on his buttoned linen shirt. “I have to stop by the shop, did you want to come with me? We could stop for a nice lunch too.” You nodded quickly and he smiled, watching as you changed into one of the many sundresses he’s bought you. He smiled, seeing you fix your necklace in the mirror and wrapped his arms around your back. “You’re so beautiful,” He cooed as you flushed.

You walked with him hand in hand to his store. “Y/N?” You heard that desperate voice and turned around. You realized it was Jungkook and turned back around. Hoseok noticed your reaction, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Who is that?” He questioned as you shook your head. “No one,” He raised an eyebrow at your answer, clearly not believing you. “Seriously hobi, it’s no one,” You smiled as he nodded,kissing your nose as Jungkook watched you walk away, realizing he actually let you go.

[runnning-outof-time]

“You Came.” “You Called.” | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Solomons Sister!Reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons despise each other…��.or do they?

Warnings: language, slight sexual situations, weapons, threats

Word Count: 1304

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t as long as the others have been. I need to get these requests finished and this is what I was able to come out with. I hope you’ll still enjoy! Also I’ve tried something a little different at the end - hopefully you’ll participate and not be too mad at me for it! :)

A/N 2: Oh and this is the story where the Solomons!Sister won the poll — I’m not sure if it’s angsty enough…I tried my best with it. Also I’m sorry if Alfie seems ooc here…it’s been a bit since I’ve written him and I’m rusty.

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THE STORY!

comment/message me if you’d like to be tagged!

"You came," she sounded surprised.

"You called," his response was nonchalant.

"Yeah, but I didn't call you."

The story of Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons is a long, complicated one.

To give a quick summary: they first met the day that Tommy showed up at Alfie's 'bakery. She was the first to greet him and instantly was able to realize that there was more to his motives than what he was letting on.

She was cautious when dealing with him at first, but his charm soon enough chipped away that hesitant exterior she'd put up.

Neither could help but cross the line one late evening after a successful business dinner.

She thought that that would be the end of Tommy Shelby. But now he'd shown up at her door...when she was expecting her brother.

"Where's my brother?" (Y/N) asked, looking to either side of the doorway, hoping that Alfie would be close by.

He wasn't.

"He's busy," Tommy answered.

"So he sent you?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Not exactly," he shook his head.

"I'm not understanding what you're saying. Ollie told me that he'd take a note down for Alfie and that he'd inform him as soon as he became available." (Y/N) was confused now.

"I saw the note," he began, "took it upon myself to see what was needed to be discussed."

(Y/N)'s jaw just about dropped. "Tommy, why did you...would you, you shouldn't, you..."

"My name was on the note, love," he cut off her attempt to string words together.

"Just because it was on the note does not mean you were to be involved!" she couldn't stop her voice from raising, her eyes widening as she spoke. Now she was wondering how Ollie had phrased his note to Alfie. A few beats passed before a sigh escaped her lips. She ran a frustrated hand across her face before asking, "what...what did the note say?" Her thoughts had gotten the best of her.

"It said that you needed to speak about Shelby...had some information you wanted to be made known," he answered her, his eyes boring into hers. (Y/N) opened her mouth to say something but he didn't let her, taking a step inside, making her back up in the process. "What is it you wanted to tell him, hmm?"

His close proximity made her heartrate increase. She was quickly losing her ability to think. "Tommy, I..."

"What really was your goal last night, (Y/N)?" he asked her, his brows raising.

The willpower to keep her hands by her sides and not reach out to take hold of him was leaving (Y/N) by the second.

"I thought your intentions aligned with mine..." he trailed off, raising his hand so that he could run it down her jawline in a slow, teasing manner, "at least it seemed that way when you brought me back here."

Instead of dropping his hand when he reached her chin, he grasped it; taking it between his thumb and index finger so that he could raise her fleeing eyes to match his. This action made the breath get caught in (Y/N)'s throat, and every valid argument left her mind the second her eyes locked onto his icy blue ones. All hope was lost now.

"What are your intentions with me, (Y/N)?" he asked her.

"You know them, Tommy, I.." she couldn't quite string a thought together.

"Tell me."

"I.." she paused again, interally freaking out. Think of something, anything, (Y/N), come on! "I wanted to tell him about you...about us," she decided on telling him a lie, hoping that he would take it as the truth.

"Yeah?"

She couldn't decipher what he was truly thinking from his one word response. His widened eyes didn't help either, other than making her fall deeper into his trap with each second that passed. Now she was wracking her brain to think of ways to sell this.

The last thing she wanted to tell him was that she was going to sell him out...to tell Alfie what she felt his true intentions were.

"Yeah," she breathed, nodding her head as much as she could with his fingers still holding her chin. Sell it, (Y/N)!, her mind screamed before she raised her hands up to grip his lapels. All coherent thoughts flew out the window as she leaned in and kissed him.

This wasn't a loving kiss. It wasn't a slow one, unlike the ones they shared last night. She kissed him hard, hoping that the passion she put into it would be enough to get his mind off of the damn note and seal her lie for good.

His hold tightened on her chin, but he didn't break the kiss. In fact, his other hand moved from his side to her hip, where he began bunching up her skirt in order to make contact with her bare skin.

Success.

(Y/N) also became absorbed by the passion that they both were showing. It was hard not to given the fact that he was Tommy Shelby. The night they shared was one of the best she'd ever had. Conniving business man or not, she would remember it for the rest of her life.

"What in the bloody fucking hell is going on here?!"

What (Y/N) did not remember before getting sucked into this situation was to shut the door to her home.

Her eyes shot open and she became frantic, trying to break the kiss and move away from Tommy as quick as she could. "Alfie!" she shrieked, surprise clear on her face.

"Why're you fucking kissing my sister, mate?!" Alfie asked Tommy, speaking with a seething anger.

While (Y/N) was just about shaking from the shock of her brother showing up, Tommy didn't seem to be phased.

"Alfie he...he was just..."

"No," Alfie cut (Y/N) off, shaking his head and stopping her attempt to cover for the man now standing beside her, "I asked him not you. He knows family is off-fucking-limits, so I want him to answer me why."

Tommy said nothing. (Y/N) shrunk into herself more and more with each passing second. She'd never seen Alfie this angry.

"I said fucking answer me!" Alfie bellowed, drawing the revolver he had tucked into his waistband. He wasted no time in cocking it and holding it in Tommy's face.

Tommy still didn't move; didn't even flinch.

"You're going to fucking answer me," Alfie demanded, his voice low and menacing, "yeah, you're going to fucking answer me or it'll be your fucking brains blown out all over (Y/N)'s fucking foyer."

"Alfie, don't," (Y/N) begged her brother, reaching a shaky hand out in hopes that he would see it and lower his weapon.

"She called for you," Tommy spoke, his voice level and stoic.

"She fucking what?" Alfie asked, his brows furrowing slightly, confused by why Tommy was saying this.

“She called your office. You weren’t around. But my name was on the note,” Tommy shared more details.

“And what does that have fucking anything to do with you fucking kissing my sister?!” Alfie’s anger had returned.

“It has everything to do with it,” Tommy was still level-headed. “You see, she was going to tell you about this, about us,” he then dropped the bomb, motioning between himself and (Y/N) to emphasize the point he was making.

“I can explain,” (Y/N) was quick to blurt out, her eyes trained on the gun in Alfie’s hand, which he’d - thankfully - lowered from being aimed at Tommy’s head.

She couldn’t read the look in her brother’s eyes. The seconds felt like hours as they passed. She stood frozen as Alfie rose the revolver again and…….

Ok I’m evil, I know but……..

Don’t fret, if the poll’s closed by the time you’re reading this, you’re still more than welcome (and I’d encourage you, actually) to share what you think would happen next!!

p.s….this story won’t be getting continued. I’m just curious as to what y’all think.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[bring-forth-his-sac]

All The Way

Summary: You’ve always told yourself the reason you would never hook up with Negan is because of his uncommitted, womanizer personality, but after a steamy night together, the tables turn and you’re the one running.

Is this the aftermath of a one night stand, or the beginning of something new?

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: !NSFW! smut, one night stand, morning after, emotionally stunted idiots in love, hypocrisy, alcohol consumption, shame and conflicting emotions

Everything hurts... well, one area in particular. 

Without moving, you know he’s there. His steady breath against the side of your neck tells you he’s still asleep, having not moved an inch from the night before. 

There’s a part of you that’s truly relieved to have woken up first. You didn’t really think this part through but making sure he stays asleep seems like a good start.

Despite the warm bed practically begging you to stay, you cautiously slide yourself out from the sheets. You keep your movements slow and practical, taking as much time as necessary to remove Negan’s arm from your torso.

There’s not a doubt in your mind that Negan would make this whole ‘morning after’ thing a living nightmare for you, and so taking your leave now is the best solution.

Once you grab your clothes, the rest is easy. Hiking your panties and jeans back up, you notice two empty glasses on his nightstand. You remember only having one drink last night but you nursed it throughout, wanting to take the edge off. 

Negan had about two glasses of whiskey, which made him more talkative than usual — if that’s even possible. What started off as you venting to him, slowly turned into him venting to you and then, somehow, you both ended up bed.

As much as you want to regret your choices, you can’t. There’s something undeniably magnetic about Negan, a charisma that pulls you in like a moth to a flame. His laughter is contagious and when he flashes you that big grin, the rest of the world fades away. 

That’s what last night felt like, as if it was just the two of you left in the world, too busy enjoying your bubble of shared giggles to care. Even with his reputation as a womanizer, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your chest when his attention is on you.

You know Negan wouldn’t hurt you on purpose but he’s a man with not just one, but multiple wives. He has always been vocal about having no issue with getting more wives but that just isn’t you. 

Up until last night, that’s why you were hesitant to get involved with him. It’s why you would ignore the glimmer in his eyes whenever he looked at you, chalking it up to being a part of his game.

Now that the inevitable has finally happened, here you are, scrambling to cover your tracks and trying to erase the memories of the night before. You already know that you’ll be another notch on his bedpost, another woman for him to smirk at in the hallways as you both reminisce about your short lived fling. 

Congrats, you're just another woman Negan successfully talked into bed. 

Sure, you held out a lot longer than most but it still happened. You can feel your cheeks warming up as you sneak out of his room and down the corridor. Skipping some of the steps as you hop down the stairs, you let out a long sigh…

Negan licked his lips, his voice low and husky. “You’re so beautiful when you let yourself go, Sweetness,” he encouraged, his hand moving to cup one of your breasts. As he scattered light kisses up the side of your face, he promised to make up for the “damn shitty day” you had dealing with some of the other Saviors.

Nope. You shake your head, snapping yourself back to the present. Last night is something you do not need to replay in your head. 

When you make it to the lower level of the Sanctuary, you’re met with swarms of people going about their daily business. Shit, you don’t even know what time it is!

Walking swiftly to the makeshift cafeteria, you ignore the dull ache in your lower stomach. The humid air clings to your skin, making your clothes stick uncomfortably.

As you pass the workers already prepping for lunch, you realise you’ve completely missed breakfast. A grunt escapes your lips as you see no food, not even any scraps left from the morning rush. 

Once you both made it to the bed, clothes were carelessly tossed everywhere. “Now, how about we move onto the main course, hm?” he smirked, his hand sliding down your body and teasingly brushing against your sensitive folds “That what you want, baby?”.

Negan chuckled at your eager moan in response, his fingers finally entering your wet heat. He pumped his fingers in and out, stretching your tight opening and making you perform a symphony of whimpers. He was in no hurry, knowing he had all night to take his time. Negan brought his mouth to your ear, whispering the filthiest sweet nothings you’ve ever heard.

Shaking your head, you almost tell yourself out loud to stop. Yes, it’s a good idea to think about something else to distract yourself from the hunger but don’t think about that!

Negan groaned, his cock finally pressing against your entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, filling you up. You gasped, clutching the bedsheet beneath you as he went deeper. Negan was there to comfort you, his determination unrelenting as he put his hand on top of yours, silently reassuring you that he was there with you – all the way.

Goddammit. 

Reminding yourself about last night will only make it worse whenever you inevitably see Negan. In fact, that’ll only give him the satisfaction he wants!

Frowning at yourself, you make your way outside. The blinding sun doesn’t bother you as much as it usually does, your mind too preoccupied by the simple task of trying to walk straight. But your distracted state doesn’t last long.

“Hey!” One of the newer Saviors jogs up to you and you try to remember his name “I thought you were going on watch an hour ago”. 

“Oh, shit,” you run a hand down your face “sorry about that, I’m all over the place today”. You give a small laugh, hoping to ease things over quickly. 

He huffs but doesn’t contest your excuse, simply passing you the rifle slung over his shoulder “Well, here. You’re on until dinner. DJ said he’ll watch the northern side so you’re by the fence on the east side, got it?”.

Fantastic. Now you’re going to miss lunch too.

“Hey,” the Savior snaps you out of your thoughts before you can wander too far “you with me?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah” you reply, hoisting the rifle over your shoulder “I’m good”. You give him a firm nod, trying to seem less distracted. 

“Alright, shouldn’t be that hard, y’gotta just watch the fence” he also nods, giving you a once over before he starts to walk away.

With a tight lipped smile, you stroll over to your position. 

His thrusts got harder, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips as he pushes the entirety of his cock into you, over and over again. Negan’s other hand slid down between your legs, teasing your clit. "Like I got heaven wrapped around my dick,” Negan panted heavily as he grasped your thigh, pulling your leg up firmly against his shoulder. 

“Oh god,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed. 

“Fuck, I've wanted to be buried in your sweet cunt for so long. Who’s making you moan, baby? Tell me who…” 

It’s a miracle you didn’t drop dead right then and there as the memories flash before your eyes. If you can’t even think back to last night without getting all flustered, how will you handle it when Negan is purposefully trying to get under your skin?

You shift uncomfortably at what your future encounters with Negan might be like. A small voice in the back of your mind sows seeds of doubt. Maybe the other women who Negan has managed to catch in his venus flytrap will be able to tell you’re the newest casualty that landed in his snare. 

Maybe they’ll show pity or maybe they’ll just be glad he’s done toying with you and hope he might go back to showing one of them attention instead…

No memories come flooding back this time, the dread of seeing him again overwhelming you. Wandering off to one of the quieter parts of the fence, the levity of your impulsive decision starts to set in. 

Mindlessly playing with the strap of the rifle, you wonder if you could stay out here until night or if it’s possible to avoid him forever. 

“Fuck…” you curse yourself.  

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

For the first time in a long time, Negan has a smile on his face when he wakes up. Despite all he has in this new world order, this is a rarity for him.

He may not know what’ll happen today, tomorrow, next week or even next year but he’s damn sure he knows who’s beside him now.

Negan doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s already late in the day. But who could blame him for sleeping in? Especially with the workout you both had last night.

He bucked up into you as you bounced on his cock, meeting you each time. “That’s it, baby” Negan cooed, driving his hips up erratically “Wanna feel ya squeeze me". 

He smiles at the fond memories, hoping to make some new ones once you have some food first. He’s well aware you’ll both need the energy.

Negan sprawls his arm across his bed, trying to feel for your warm body. Funnily enough, he always pegged you as a cuddler but the lack of spooning tells him otherwise.

His eyebrows knit together as he runs his arm across the bed again, unable to find you. Negan begrudgingly opens his eyes, expecting to see you somewhere on the bed but he’s greeted by empty sheets. This doesn’t dampen his mood though, if anything, it makes him think he’s picked a real winner.

You’re already up and going to grab him some breakfast downstairs? Negan knows he’s being spoiled.

"Fuck, you’re incredible," Negan groaned against your lips, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. 

A smug smile spreads across his face. Perfect. Everything is perfect. Except, if he’s to nitpick, there’s a lack of smell.

There’s no mouth watering waft of bacon reaching his nose or smell of eggs gracing his morning. Though, Negan is quick to dismiss his concerns, chalking it up to you taking your sweet ass time so you don’t drop the food on the way up to his room.

He stretches out, going full spread eagle as he lays naked and waiting. A part of him still can’t believe you finally let last night happen. If you were to ask him, Negan thinks you both did that whole ‘will they, won’t they’ thing for far too long. It was about time he got to give you a good show.

And now you can both eat some breakfast when you get back, fuck again, then Negan knows he’ll probably have to shout at some pricks, make sure Simon can handle shit for the day and afterwards, fuck you yet again. 

Now, that sounds like one fantastic day to him. 

Negan closes his eyes as he waits, feeling a strange wave of peace that he hasn’t felt in years, even when the world was still working. He thinks of you, your body, the way you came undone again and again — all thanks to him.

You stayed on his lap despite your juices seeping down from your core and leaving a glaze on Negan’s thighs. He kept his arms around you the whole time, rubbing your back soothingly. His hands slowly drifted down to your ass, gently squeezing and massaging as you rested on top of him. 

“You feel so good,” Negan murmured, his voice hoarse from exertion. 

“I don’t think I’ve been fucked that good since… well, since forever” You said honestly, pressing your lips to his. Rolling you on to your side, Negan let his duvet envelop you both. You moaned softly as you felt him slowly softening inside you.

“You give me a few minutes to recharge and I’ll be ready for round… three? Four?” Negan raised an eyebrow, the passion of the night blurring together. You giggled, tracing a finger down the side of his face “Pretty sure it’s round three. You sure you’ll be able to keep up?”.

Negan gave you a glare. “Damn right I am” he said, his voice filled with playful determination.

“Boss? I know you’re not dead because you’re not trying to bite my face off,” the not so sexy voice of Simon wakes him. 

Negan grunts, opening an eye to look at his second in command as he subtly makes sure his body is covered under the sheets.

“There a reason you’re trying to perv on me, Si?” he huffs, running a hand down his face. Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan, even with the abrupt interruption of Simon. 

Simon stays rooted at the door frame, not daring to enter his bedroom any further. “Well, the lieutenants have been up my ass wondering where you are and nobody else has seen you today so I thought I’d come check on ya… seems like you had quite the mighty night” he replies.

Negan nods, a smirk on his face as he can’t help but brag, his bruised ego from you leaving slowly recovering. “What do you expect from a guy that has more wives than shits to give?” his grin says it all.

Simon barks out a laugh, letting a short silence simmer before eventually sighing. 

“Funny, I already checked with them,” he reveals “and I’m sure those girls are fun… but they said they haven’t seen you since yesterday afternoon”. 

Negan hums, losing some of his friendliness. He hates when Simon does this. Just because he’s second in command doesn't mean he needs to overstep. Sometimes minding his own damn business is the preferable option. 

Letting his head fall back on to his pillow, Negan lets out a groan. “What time is it?” he makes a poor attempt to change the subject.

“Just past five”.

“Are you fuckin’ shitting me?” Negan grunts, huffing as he reluctantly moves. Shifting, he lets the blankets pool around his waist as he scans the floor for his clothes. 

“You waited this fucking long before coming to check everything’s alright?” He starts to lecture Simon, reaching out to yank his boxers up from the floor. 

Simon faces the door to give him some privacy. “Thought you’d need the sleep, boss,” he replies “and it looks like I was right considering you were sleeping like a log when I came in”.

Negan snorts, muttering curses under his breath as he pulls his jeans on. “Well, thank you for your concern, Si” he grumbles, his tone sharp with sarcasm. 

He stands, fumbling with his belt. “But the next time my ass isn’t downstairs for the morning meeting, you come get me. Hell, what if something was going on? Could’ve been a fucking riot for all I know” Negan continues to rant on.

Simon shrugs, his gaze trained on Negan now that he has some modesty “Everyone’s fine. No one’s started a mutiny yet.”

Negan lets out a long breath, not bothering to hide the irritation creeping into his voice. “Yeah, well, just cause it’s fine doesn’t mean shit’s smooth” He grabs a shirt from the pile of clothes on his armchair and pulls it on, the fabric rough against his skin. 

Negan runs a hand through his hair, snatching his leather jacket before pacing towards the door. He reaches out to grab Lucille and Simon moves just in time for Negan to pass by without a word. Left standing there, Simon watches as Negan storms off, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s just after dinner when he appears. You’ve slowly started to relax, the hot meal you decided to splurge your points on making you ease into the evening. And of course, just as your guard comes down is when Negan has to make an appearance.

Like a wave, all residents of the Sanctuary kneel as Negan bodes overhead, making his way along one of the high up walkways. You have to force your body to join the crowd.

Head down, knee bent and unmoving.

You act as if your tyrannical (and great in the sac) leader is a dinosaur that can sense movement. Or fear.

You stay still. Everyone simply waits. 

Negan stands tall, Lucille present over his shoulder as he peers down, trying to pick you out from the crowd. He scans his sea of followers, a frown slowly settling on his face. The more Negan thinks about it, the more apparent his annoyance is. 

After making him wait for so long, you just vanish the next morning? Not even a thank you? Negan huffs.

He has a goddamn empire to run, the last thing he needs to be dealing with is non-committed people; whether that be Saviors who can’t deal with shit when they need to or you deciding to high tail it out of his bedroom.

You can feel your legs shake, the pounding you got last night not helping your need to stay still. The more you try to force your body still, the more it yearns to move. 

The silence stretches on until finally, Negan speaks “Alright, listen up you fuckers”. 

You shut your eyes. Great, this is exactly what you need. A speech.

“I know shit’s been tough but hey, look at us! Persevering. Ain’t that the life, huh? We are doing good!” He exclaims, his eyes trying to study each person, a task that’s harder than it sounds when most refuse to look him in the eye “And I want each and every one of you to know, I am getting the job done for you! I’m getting my hands dirty, no matter how tight it might get. I go all in”.

You can’t help but shift, slightly uncomfortable at his wording. Suddenly his speeches have a certain edge to them.

His eyes immediately go to you, watching as you roll your shoulders, head remaining down. Negan smirks, no longer caring about speeches now that he’s won his game of Where’s Waldo.

“So let’s not waste any more time. Keep it tight, keep it hot and keep fuckin’ moving. Go!” he quickly wraps it up.

By the time everyone has scrambled back up to their feet, Negan’s on the stairs. His boots clank under each step, like a warning bell going off every time he moves closer. You stand and look, his eyes meeting yours in a stare off like no other.

His mouth juts out into a pout, his gaze hard and unwavering. You’d almost find the look endearing if it wasn’t directed at you.

Spinning on your heels, you rush out of the open room and into the smaller corridors of the Sanctuary. You don’t need to have some awkward confrontation, especially in a crowded room. It’s too exposing, even if the others don’t catch on to what’s happened between you both. 

You weave through the corridors of the Sanctuary, purposefully making your direction confusing. You go up some stairwells just to dart along the floor and go back down the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the building. The last thing you want is Negan to follow you.

Your footsteps echo off the cold concrete floor. The dim overhead lights casts long, flickering shadows that play tricks on your eyes. The air feels suffocating but when you stop and listen for any following footsteps, the stillness only deepens and the silence stays. 

It takes a while but eventually you manage to loop around and make it back to your room. Some Saviors mill around but you take no notice, so close to the only place in this godforsaken building you can stop running and actually breathe.

In your room, you’ll have time to think, time to plan out what to do next and how to get past everything that has happened.

You open your door, a long huff pre-emptively leaving your lips at the stresses of the day. But it’s not over yet.

There, Negan stands in the middle of your room, glancing your way as the door opens. After all that, you walk straight to him.

“W-what are you doing here?” you ask as if he doesn’t have the right to waltz into any room in his Sanctuary.

“What do you think?” he scoffs “Knew you’d come running in here to hide from me”. Negan takes a few steps closer, glaring down at you as he gently pushes the door shut with Lucille. 

That suffocating feeling comes back, running up your spine and wrapping around your throat. It’s a heavy weight when you lay eyes on Negan and the first thing you want to do is run. It doesn’t matter how silly or embarrassing it may be, the idea still seems enticing.

Yet despite your nervous disposition, Negan smirks, smug to have caught you off guard.

You freeze, unsure what to do now that you’re within Lucille’s range. Even with all that has happened between you both in the past 24 hours, you know better than to relax when Lucille is so close.

“So what’s the deal? Couldn’t even stick around to have a bedroom rodeo the morning after?” Negan says, his tone utterly mocking.

You eye the bat and unfortunately, he notices.

He lets out the ghost of a chuckle as he adds “Damn, doll, now you got me wondering if you’re that scared of commitment or maybe your scared you’ve upset dear ol’ Lucille here”.

You know Negan well enough to understand what he wants. He’s egging you on, yearning for you to blow up in his face and give him the argument he desires. It’s frustrating to know that’s his angle but what makes it worse is that you give in.

“You’re going to act as if I’m the problem?” your temper flares at his audacity “Act as if I’m the one who’s scared of commitment?! Really, Mr-Ten-Wives?”.

Negan narrows his eyes, not appreciating that comment but keeping his mocking tone nonetheless. “It’s six wives, actually. And if you took the time to actually get to know me instead of just wanting to get into my pants, maybe you’d know that” his voice is laced with sarcasm. 

At this point, there’s little holding you back from socking him in his handsome face. How dare he! First, his issue was that you wouldn’t jump into bed with him but now he’s acting as if that’s all you wanted?!

Even if there's a part of you that might be afraid of commitment, the idea of Negan of all people calling you out on it feels wrong. 

It doesn't matter if he’s right, he’s being an asshole. The last thing you want to do now is concede his point, especially when Negan will only see it as a victory thanks to his taunting.

“So what?” you throw your hands up as you begin to pace, wanting some distance from him “You wanted me to stay this morning so I could listen to you snore and then stroke your ego when you finally wake up?”.

Letting Lucille rest against the wall, Negan shrugs.

“Well, I was kinda thinking you could stroke something else,” he smirks, thinking back to how he imagined the morning going. Negan chuckles, his tongue running over his teeth as he gets lost in his fantasy. You glare, not wanting to even think about what’s going through his head.

His eyes flicker over you for a moment, sighing when he sees your stern expression. 

Pushing his lewd thoughts away, he continues “Look, sweetheart, we both know I'm not winning any ‘Lover of the Year' awards when it comes to the emotional side of things, but at least I don't skedaddle when things get too real".

This is the part of Negan you equally love and hate; his honesty. Given his larger-than-life persona, you'd expect his ego to stop him from accepting when he's wrong but instead, Negan possesses the rare ability known as humility.

It’s one not many Saviors seem to possess but that’s what lends weight to Negan’s opinion, making it harder to dismiss as the musings of an egomaniac. Besides the rare occasion, you know when Negan confronts you on something, he tends to have a point.

That doesn’t make this any easier. If anything, it makes you want to dig your heels in more. If he’s going to hold a mirror up to your own flaws, why not do the same to him?

"And if I did skedaddle,” you admit flippantly, “have you thought that maybe it’s because I didn’t want to be waking up next to a grown ass man that’s scared of being vulnerable? Of letting anyone get too close or of actually feeling anything!”.

Negan’s face hardens, his jaw becoming rigid. For a moment, you’re glad he’s no longer holding Lucille.

"You think I’m scared of feeling?” his voice drops low, dark with a mix of anger and something else “Sweetheart, I’ve been through hell and back. Damn fuckin’ right I’m careful who I let in."

A silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. You don’t fire back with some snappy retort just to fill the space. Instead, you look at him, quiet for a long moment, then finally murmur, "But you let me in".

Neither of you speak, allowing for the tension to shift. The sharp look in your eyes loses its power. The anger starts to soften around you both, like a storm that has run its course. 

It’s as if the brief pause pulls you out of the whirlwind, giving you time to stop before you say something you can’t take back. A tiny, flickering awareness that this fight is pointless hits you both.

“I did,” Negan agrees after a moment “course I trust you, baby. Hell, even after this shit, I know I can still turn to you”.

You sigh, allow your vulnerable side to rear its head. You wrap your arms around yourself as you think before you speak.

“Negan, you know I like you and I had a good time last night…” you try to get the words out “but it’s a lot, y’know? I don’t want last night to fuck up our friendship and I’m not the type of girl to get involved with a guy that has te– six wives”.

His lips tug up but this time it isn’t a smirk. It’s a small smile as he comes closer, his hands stretched out as he gently takes hold of your arms. “Hate to break it to ya, but you already involved yourself with a guy like that,” there’s a sincerity in his eyes and you can’t help but want to give him every benefit of a doubt.

“Good news is…” he continues “you picked one handsome motherfucker to get involved with, darlin’”.

You give a quick laugh but you don’t deny his claim. Nor do you try to break free from his grasp. 

This isn’t like before. Neither of you rush it. In fact, it seems like the opposite of your first time with Negan. This isn’t an intense bout of passion. This is relaxed, a comfort between you both as your lips met in a tentative kiss.

The lingering frustration dissolves with each passing second. Negan’s hands move up and cup your face tenderly as your lips meet over and over again, parting gently to allow your tongues to dance together.

The kiss is slow, a sensuous exploration that sends warmth through you. Your breaths mingle, hearts beating faster as you once again get lost in each other.

Acting on instinct, your hands go for his jacket, easing it off his shoulders as you blindly guide him towards your bed. Negan goes for your jeans, popping open the button before slowly drawing the zipper down.

Clothes scatter the room, shoes getting kicked off and t-shirts being flung onto the floor. 

In one swift motion, Negan grasps your hips and brings you down onto the bed. You land softly among the blankets and pillows, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. 

“You gonna make it up to me for your disappearing act?” Negan asks, leaning over you as he leaves rough kisses along your neck. 

“Depends,” you run your hands through his hair “you gonna make it up to me for breaking into my room?”.

He chuckles, the low rumbling sending pleasant vibrations tingling across your skin. “I guess we’ll be here for a while then…” he replies, his eyes finding yours before he continues down further.

And just like that, you end up exactly where you were the night before, unable to resist the temptation that is Negan.

As he kisses down from your collar bone to in between your breasts you try to give yourself some credit. Technically, this isn’t the exact same predicament as the night before.

This time, it’s your bed.