#'he wants to be understood' !!! but it's so hard for him to LET himself be understood

[rosenclaws]

XXX.Com || Pornstar Worst!Logan Howlett smut

summary: Logan needs money and work is hard to find when you're from another universe, luckily he lands himself a job as an adult film actor. Lets just say, he's a natural.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!!, 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, porn (obvi lol), jerking off, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cream pie, scratching, oral f!receiving, rough sex, fake professor x college student (its the porno they're filming), he calls you teach in the porno, reader has a stage name (sunshine), flirting.

a/n: This was inspired by the delicious pornstar logan fics by @bpmiranda I wanted to try my own twist on the trope but plz go check out their fics they are amazing!!

Coming from another universe had its fair share of problems. For one his other self was a very well known hero so people were constantly staring. The other issue was working. He needed money if he ever wanted to move out of this god forsaken place. He’s sick of seeing wade walk around naked at 8 in the morning.

He needs his space and to get that he needs money but getting a job with none of the required paperwork was hard. He had to settle for doing odd jobs that paid cash under the table. Those were fine but he needed something more stable.

When Wade suggested he turn to adult films he rolled his eyes at another attempt at shitty humor from his roommate but the more he thought about it the less it seemed like a joke. The money was good and hopefully they didn't ask too many questions. So fuck it. How he found the right place was a long story but he ended up getting hired pretty quickly.

As the director put it. He's sexy and big in more ways than one. To Logan's surprise they didn't seem to care much that he was from another universe but they did have to make sure he wasn't a total creep which he understood.

The first video he was assigned to was pretty basic. Just fucking a girls brains out or something. Whatever the hell people were in to these days, he didn't really care. As long as he got paid. He had to get used to the prying eyes of the cameras.

Still he said his lines, albeit it took him a couple takes to say them naturally. His gruff voice and rippling muscles skyrocketed him to the top. Despite being a rookie he attracted a lot of attention and even garnered a reputation within the studio. No one could deny the raw animal magnetism this man seemed to have.

"Logan! Good news, your next video is going to be a with one of the most popular stars in our studio." The directors over the top enthusiasm makes Logan's eyes roll but he grunts out a response.

"Her name is Sunshine. Look her up. Anyways be here tomorrow by nine." Sunshine? Logan chuckles to himself as he leaves the studio.

Fake names are not uncommon but he's yet to find one that sounds so...perky. Still his curiosity gets the better of him as he steals Wades laptop in the dead of night. Searching in the name and scanning the results. Logan works with many attractive people in this job but the moment he lays eyes on you something shifts.

You aren't just attractive, you're drop dead gorgeous. He clicks on a video and his cock tightens in his pants. The faces you make don't look over the top or rehearsed. They almost look real. But Logan can tell you're faking it.

Your moans are sweet but he can tell whoever this boy is that's got his cock in you isn't doing his job very well. Still ever the professional you are you make it work. He falls down a rabbit hole of video after video. Shutting the laptop as the clock reads two in the morning. His cock is hard and painful as he puts Wades laptop back on the counter.

Fuck he needs a shower.

The ice cold water hits his back but it's not helping. He wraps his hand around his cock. Keeping his noises to a minimum as he jerks himself off to the thought of you. He bites his lip as he thinks of every way he can make you scream tomorrow. Show you what it's like to be fucked by a real man.

The sinful thoughts that fill his head drive him over the edge. He slams his hand against the shower wall as he comes. The water running down his back as he catches his breath. You've already got him interested, he just hopes he can put on a real show tomorrow.

-

When Logan gets to the studio the director tells him the "plot" of this video. Plot being a very loose term here. He's supposed to be the failing college senior while you play the hot young professor. They hand him a white button up a size too small and some fake glasses. He laughs as they place the glasses onto his face.

"No one's going to fucking buy this." The buttons threaten to bust open as they start to fix his hair.

"I don't know, you look pretty convincing to me." He looks up to see you smiling at him.

Already dressed in your shoot clothes with your makeup and hair all done. He shamelessly looks you up and down, licking his lips as his eyes settle on your cleavage.

"I'm a little old to be playing a college student don't you think?" You shrug and walk closer to him. You take your hands and run them through his hair, trying to flatten the parts that stick up but they don't want to listen.

"Don't think any one is watching these for the realism Logan." You wink as you then move to fix his glasses.

He clenches his jaw as he tries to contain the raging boner. He shouldn't be hard yet but here he is. You're driving him crazy.

"Promise to go easy on you, don't want to scare my new favorite coworker." You tease. Your nails scratch along his jaw, just for a moment but it's enough to drive him wild.

"I'm your favorite already Sunshine?" Logan says with a grin.

"For now, don't prove me wrong when the cameras are on us." You walk away and Logan enjoys every second of it. Oh this is going to be fun.

-

"Come on teach, your class is the only one I'm failing. I need to get a C to graduate." Logan's massive frame towers over your desk. His lines come out much more flirty than its supposed to but you roll with it.

"You need a lot of extra credit to make up the missing assignments Mr. Howlett." You stand up and walk over to where he was standing.

Pushing on his chest to get him to sit. You smirk when you see the buttons on his shirt fighting for their life. You sit on top of the desk and pretend to think.

"I'll do anything you want. Anything" Logan growls, his hand resting on your thigh now. Slowing inching up your leg, stopping right at the hem of your pencil skirt. You place your heel onto his shoulder. Spreading your legs so that Logan and the camera can see your lack of panties.

"Well, lets see how bad you want it." You taunt.

Your voice is smooth as butter and it drives him nuts. Logan gets on his knees. Ripping your skirt apart with ease making you gasp. That wasn't in the script but fuck it made you wet. His muscles are bulging in that damn shirt and you want to see what's underneath in person. Sadly that was going to have to wait as he trails kisses up your legs. Wet and sloppy as his grip on your hips is ironclad.

The camera moves to capture Logan's face. Seeing the primal hunger in his eyes as he grabs the hem of your panties with his teeth, dragging them down. He stands up with them still in his mouth. You grab onto his shirt and rip it open. Raking your nails down his very toned chest. You grab your underwear out of his mouth and toss it to the side.

"Good boy." You purr as you push on his shoulders.

He gets back onto his knees and wastes no time diving into your cunt. You fall back onto the desk as Logan takes you apart with his tongue. Moans and whimpers fall from your lips with ease. There is no need to fake your pleasure with him between your legs.

He's hungry, ravenous. Logan can't get enough. He holds your legs apart, keeping you from closing them as he zeros in on your clit. He's ruthless. Refusing to give you a moment to breathe as he loses himself in your pussy.

"You taste sweeter than I imagined." He growls off script. If he wasn't bringing you to orgasm you'd wonder what he meant by that. You wonder if he watched your videos just like you had.

"Logan!" You moan as your legs start to shake under the intense pleasure.

"That's it teach, let me taste you come on." His dirty mouth makes your head spin.

Your eyes squeezing tight as he pushes you over the edge. You barely even notice the camera as it positions itself over Logan's shoulder. Logan resist the urge to break the damn thing as it gets in his way. He feels a push on his shoulder and he growls. Reluctantly he gets out of the way and uses his thumb to rub your clit.

"I have an idea teach," Logan purrs. He pulls you off the desk. Wrapping an arm around you and grinding his clothed cock against your thigh.

"For every orgasm I can pull out of you, you raise my grade by a letter." He breathes into your neck, inhaling your scent. You sigh as his hands start to grope and squeeze your breasts.

"What do you say?" He grins as he feels you squirm under his touch. He unbuttons your blouse and tosses it to the side. Mouth watering as he buries his face in your breasts.

"You better get to work then Mr. Howlett. You're at a D right now." You turn around and bend over the desk. His hands run along your body before he unbuckles his pants.

"I'll show you a D." He grumbles. You have to stifle a laugh at his words.

The camera moves to show your face as Logan slides his cock inside of you. He throws his head back in pleasure as he gets to feel your tight cunt. Now this is what he was waiting for.

"Come get a shot of this." He whispers to himself.

He drags his cock out slowly. He watches in awe as your cute pussy just sucks him up. Your hands are digging into the desk, clawing at the wood as Logan's massive cock pushes its way in. You knew he was big but to actually feel it in person. Fuck.

"That feel good? You like my big cock hm?" Logan's cocky tone makes you moan as he picks up his pace. He's pummeling your poor pussy with no mercy. Your moans are as real as they can get as you cry and whine with each thrust.

"Logan oh god!" Your eyes cross as his cock hits a sensitive spot.

No one's ever hit that before. You're falling apart. Your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath but your moans quiet down because of it. Logan doesn't like that one bit. You groan as you feel his hand grab your hair. He pulls you up so that your back is arched. His cock somehow pushing its way deeper.

"Come on baby, don't hide from me." He whispers in your ear. He wraps an arm around your chest to hold you up. Your nails dig into his arm to ground yourself.

"Feel so fucking good, jerked myself off last night to your videos." He mumbles so only you can hear. You don't understand how a man can have so much stamina. He doesn't even seem tired.

"So fucking close I can feel it baby. I can feel the way your cunt clenches around my fat cock. I can hear her pulsing for me." His eyes grow dark as he feels you start to lose it.

His rough fingers sliding down to play with your cunt. It's a filthy sight to watch. You've forgotten about the cameras and the crew. The only thing you can feel is Logan. He's taken over your mind, your senses.

"That's it pretty girl." He bites your shoulder and the pain mixes with pleasure.

"Fuck!" You wail as you come hard around his cock. Logan groans in pleasure and comes before he can really stop himself. Filling you up nice and full as you babble incoherently. You can barely get your lines out as you float between the real world and cloud nine.

"You got your C Mr. Howlett." You've never been this wrecked after a scene before but Logan has completely ruined you. You grin at the feeling of his cum seeping out of you.

"You know, I've always wanted an A." He's grinning like the devil as he thrusts his hips once more making you cry out.

He's still fucking hard. He really is every porn studios wet dream. Hot, sexy, can go for round after round. The director calls cut but Logan doesn't let go of you. You've got this dazed look in your eyes and he gently lays you down on the desk.

"You alright?" He grunts as he slips out of you. His cock still standing straight as someone brings him a robe. He grabs a towel from one of the PA's and gently wipes up your legs. You whine as the rough material brushes against your poor pussy.

"Sorry." You just smile in response. You haven't had a fuck this good in a long time. A crew member brings you a robe and you put it on.

"You really know how to use that thing. For a second I thought you were the seasoned professional." You joke as you try and get off the desk. You stumble and Logan is quick to catch you.

"What can I say Sunshine, you made it easy." He flirts. The director calls his name and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't keep him waiting Logan. I'll see you soon." Another crew member comes to help you as Logan lets you go.

Thankfully this was all you had for the week and you could go home and soak in a bath. Your poor legs are going to need it. After signing a few things and getting next weeks shoot list you can finally go home.

"Sunshine, hope I didn't fuck you too good." Logan says with a wink. He's waiting outside of the studio, a cigar in his mouth.

"I regret whatever I said before, your ego is going to get too big." You joke. He shrugs and puts out his cigar on the ground.

"You got any plans?" He asks. Your dressed in normal clothes now, nothing remotely revealing but Logan still thinks you look gorgeous.

"I could take you to lunch, if you're interested." He offers.

You haven't thought about dating since you started working in this industry. You didn't need a partner and it could be hard trying to find one who understood your job. But Logan flashes that handsome smile and for some reason you can't resist.

Maybe your working backwards here. He fucks you and then you go to lunch but hey, nothing about him is conventional anyways.

"Yeah, lunch sounds good."

Its just lunch, you tell yourself. It's only a meal with your hot coworker. If things were to go further though you wouldn't complain. Certainly not when he's as handsome as he is. You definitely wouldn't mind taking him back to your place and you're certainly okay when he promises he can go for more rounds away from the prying eyes of the camera. But for now it's just lunch. He pays and you give him your number.

Logan and you part ways and he prays he sees you again. Not just at work but outside of it too. You've got him hooked. The video gets uploaded and explodes in popularity. Praising how realistic it felt and how hot both of you were. He gets a call from the director, expecting another update on his next shoot.

"Great news man! Sunshine wants to do exclusive shoots with you. Oh this is going to make us so much money." He tunes out the rambling as his phone dings. A smirk appearing on his face when he sees a text with your name pop up.

Want to rehearse our next scene? my place 7pm <3

[fastandcarlos]

Forgotten Thing : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you know just how busy max is, and you understood too, only now you're starting to feel like the forgotten thing in his life

The sound of light snores greeted you as you walked into the apartment, unable to stop your eyes from rolling. Your heart raced as you slipped your shoes off, dropping your bag to the ground with a loud thud, not caring about the figure asleep in your living room.  

“Max,” you called out, standing to the side of the sofa with your arms folded across your chest. 

The sound of your voice had him stirring, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. A smile was on his face for a moment until Max noticed how nice you looked, eyes going wide in horror when he remembered that he had promised to pick you up from work. 

“That was a lovely walk home,” you sarcastically told him, taking a seat on the end of the sofa, “at least you got some rest though, that’s what matters, right?” 

The frustration was clear in your voice as you found yourself let down by Max again. It was becoming a pretty normal feeling for you, to be given empty promises and assured of things that you knew that Max wouldn’t be able to follow through. 

“Don’t be mad, please,” Max asked of you, sitting himself up. “I only planned on closing my eyes for a few minutes, and then I just lost track of time. I mean, all you had to do was walk home from work, it’s hardly the most difficult job in the world. 

Your head shook at how dismissive Max was. “The walk home didn’t bother me Max, it’s the fact that you promised you’d be there. You keep promising and not delivering, it’s like I’m some forgotten, unimportant part of your life.” 

Max brushed his hands over his face as he tried to wake himself up, not quite understanding what you were so fed up about. “I’ve been so busy at work recently I obviously just needed the sleep. We can’t all have a job like yours, some of us are working nonstop.” 

“I see, because my job is a walk in the park, isn’t it?” You scoffed. 

You couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing from Max, he’d always seemed to be supportive, but now you weren’t so sure. It was like the two of you were in competition, with Max clearly feeling like he was winning. 

“It’s not the same, how hard I work and how hard you work is very different. I’ve got a flight to catch early tomorrow morning and you’ve got the next two days off, so I’d say I’m slightly more important,” Max argued. 

Your mouth went wide in shock, letting go of a gasp. You didn’t recognise the man in front of you, the man who usually was so caring and sympathetic had turned into someone who couldn’t care less about you. 

“I’ve always looked after you Max, done absolutely anything for you. It’s a shame you can’t do the same for me. I might as well just leave, that’s how you make me feel,” you spoke. 

Max’s eyes widened once again, his body tensing up. You stood up, feeling Max's eyes watching your every move, slowly backing towards the front door. 

“You wouldn’t actually leave,” Max sniggered. 

“Why not? What is there to make me stay anymore?” You challenged, your voice getting louder. “Why shouldn’t I go somewhere where I actually feel valued and appreciated rather as if I’m nothing.” 

“Love,” Max whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel that way, it’s just been so hard for the past couple of weeks. I really did intend on picking you up, I set an alarm and everything, but I must’ve just slept right through it.” 

“If you were tired or stressed Max, you should’ve told me, I’d never have expected you to pick me up if I knew,” you sighed, walking back into the room again. 

“But you’re right, I do keep making promises that I can’t keep, so I wanted to pick you up to prove to you that I care.” Max tapped the space beside him on the sofa, inviting you to sit beside him as his hand rested against your leg. 

“I know that you care about me,” you assured him. 

Max’s head shook, “but I’ve not shown you that, when you’re constantly here caring for me, I just take it for granted, we’re supposed to care for each other.” 

You smiled weakly across at Max, knowing better than anyone just how hard he worked. For all his faults, you could never fault how loved he made you feel, even if his mind was elsewhere sometimes. Your hand reached out and pressed against the side of his face, lips pressing against his cheek, unaware of the way Max’s heart raced with relief at the feeling of your lips on him.  

“If you’re free this weekend, do you fancy coming to the race?” Max asked you, “I’ll make sure that we can spend some time together when I’m not needed at the garage. We can explore, have a proper look around.” 

Your head nodded at his suggestion, excited by the thought of being at a race again. It had been a while, you were never quite sure if Max wanted you there or not, but now he couldn’t imagine himself going to the race without you. 

“You don’t need to do this, I know how hard race weekends are,” you assured him, squeezing against his hand, “I don’t need anything to be made up to me.” 

“But you do,” Max defended, knowing just how badly he’d treated you. “I want to make sure you know that I care, I’m going to make sure that we have the best weekend together too.” 

Max moved his free arm around your frame as he pulled you into his side, pressing several gentle kisses against the top of your head. The hold he had on you was more loving than anything you’d felt from him in a while, letting you know just how sorry he was. 

Once he was done, Max kept his head resting on top of yours. “Whatever you want to do whilst we’re there this weekend, we’ll do. I’ll even drive you around and pick you up from the paddock.” 

“Max,” you whispered, but he quickly shushed you, knowing what you were about to say. 

“Don’t tell me that you understand that it’s alright, because it’s not,” he laughed, reading your mind perfectly. “I’ve been a terrible boyfriend and that needs to be put right.” 

“I do understand, you work so hard.” 

“And so do you,” Max responded, “I never should’ve made it sound like your job doesn’t matter, because it does, you’re the hardest working person I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologising,” you grinned, pressing your head further into Max’s side, “I know how sorry you are Max.” 

A hum came from him as he leant back on the sofa, cuddling you into his side as he draped his legs over the top of yours. 

“Let’s sleep for a bit,” you suggested, placing your hand on his chest, “I know how much better you sleep when you’ve got someone to cuddle.” 

Max nodded in agreement with you, “you can’t be telling anyone how much I love being cuddled to sleep, people won’t think I’m cool anymore.” 

“Leave me stranded at work again and I might just reveal all your secrets,” you teased. 

“You wouldn’t,” Max challenged, watching your head nod out of the corner of his eye. 

“You wouldn’t want to find out.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[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

[foolishaetherguardian]

“… and be sure to report any further unusual tectonic activity. Dismissed.” Bats finally finished the report. Why was he here? Right the first five minutes had been about the possibility of magic having been used. This really should have been an email he just ignored or left Zatanna to deal with. Bunny girl was better at feigning interest than he was after all. “John, Zatanna if you would both remain.”

Damn the brat. Why did the inter dimensional brat decide today to bug him? John knew he could pop up at literally any point in time like it was normal. It was revenge. For what offense he didn’t know. Or maybe he hadn’t even done it yet. Stupid fifth dimensional traveling.

“… stantine. CONSTANTINE.” “Bugger off.”

“John.”

Shit. Okay first names were bad with the cape. Like find a new existence and disappear off the face of the planet bad.

“Right sorry mate just, distracted.”

“The fact that an eldritch horror from who knows where was hanging off you like a scarf actually had some effect on you? You must be getting sentimental in your old age.”

“Love we both know that if it was weighing on me I wouldn’t be around to talk. You wouldn’t be either.” John had some respect for Zatanna. She was a good mage. Understood the proper importance of a cigarette and a blokes need to keep up appearances. Usually at least. “Got a cig?”

“Those will kill you someday.” The disapproval and sarcasm rolled off her tongue as smooth as the honeyed lies the lass would use with magic. John wanted to quip back but settled for a death glare as the big bad bat threatened to perfect his own death glare on him. Why did the bat have to be such a stickler? Rules rules rules. Rules don’t save lives when they shackle you from good. Damnit. Why were all the big dogs so damn… good?

“Hrm.”

Right the bat. The bat that right now probably wanted to string him up by his ankles and let the archdemons sort out how to cut him into nice even thirds if his damned rules didn’t stop him. Why did he have a cigarette?

“Uh bats?”

“Hrm.”

Just as loquacious as always that cape. Keep that thought inside. Definitely keep the thought inside. Especially as you take that stupidly expensive cigarette.

“Thanks. I could really…” The cig was hard. It was candy. The bat almost had an actual expression under the cowl, there was the slightest tightness of the lips. A smirk. He was smirking. ”You know what? Fuck you.” The fake cig crunched in his mouth. It actually tasted pretty good. Not that he was going to ever let anyone know that. “I’m going home. Hopefully to eat my leftovers. The brat isn’t a threat. If you want to know just ask the lass about the between or the Infinite. Or better yet go ask Grundy about The Protector.”

God he needed a drink. And a smoke. And maybe another drink. John was pretty sure that his food was gone too.

“How old is he?”

Dammit lass. Why did you always know just what to say? “14…. I think.” John replied stopping at the door to the stupid tech magic tubes that Supes had insisted on. “He’s some other world’s hero.”

The lass had to think on that one. Not every day you meet an alternate. “Is he… okay?”

“He’s doing alright. Insists his parents couldn’t understand though, so he always carries it alone. Protects people that way, or so he says.” John finally let himself laugh. It was a fitting description of most of the capes who worked with the league. And himself. If he was generous. Pity he couldn’t afford to be generous with himself anymore. “I’m just his fallback. And debit card.”

“It would do him some good to meet others. If you can invite him to the next picnic.”

John blinked slowly. Then turned. The Bat had a smile. A proper smile. Soft and understanding. How? The man was almost certainly just a mass inhuman muscle and brains with the bare minimum speech capability bundled into a bat suit. “I’ll make sure to offer it. But he’s still weird about his… abilities.”

“I’ll get him added to the budget.”

“Budget?” Now this was sounding promising. While the league did pay it wasn’t much more than rent for the closet he used to access the house.

“For young heroes or metas under league guidance. One of the points Bruce Wayne insisted on when he decided to find us officially. So they have a safe place.”

“I’m a safe place?” John’s incredulity was finally outweighing his paranoia. A hefty feat considering even he considered himself to be 90% paranoia by volume.

“Sure sounds like it mate.” Only the lass could say something so damning like it was a good thing.

“{Guess so}” Why did he understand the grunt? Are the grunts some secret dad cape speak? Why was he suddenly qualified for…. Nope. Nope. He’s going home. Sleep liquor and maybe a bit of tele. No he wasn’t tearing up. And no one could see his face to tell you otherwise.

Danny has met Constantine.

Constantine has a coat.

Danny regularly pops out of it to say hi or when Constantine calls him for something.

Nobody in the JL knew this, so when Danny popped right on out in the middle of a meeting.

Well.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Blue Magic

How I imagine the lads men (pre-relationship) react to you verbally enjoying them gently greasing your scalp. A/N: This one is specifically for my black girls and anyone with thick hair who understands what it's like to have to grease your scalp. Also for those who understand what it was like growing up with your momma and aunties brushing your neck, ears, forehead, and inner most thoughts. Getting popped with the comb for moving too much and the dread of knowing they’re about to pull out that hot comb. [Requested by: Anon]

Summary: He was always curious when you would turn down plans because you needed to wash your hair. He never understood why you had Wash Days instead of just a quick wash while you're showering. Since you had a crush on him you took the time to explain how your hair is different from his and how there's no such thing as a quick wash while showering for you. You decided to let him see what all goes into your Wash Days. Now here you were sitting crisscross on the floor in front of your full length mirror surrounded by all your hair tools. You just finished blow drying your hair in four sections and it was a relief to drop your arms and relax them for a while. You hung your head knowing that you had one last step to do before you could lay down.

“Do you need some help?”

Zayne

Zayne would be so meticulous with his hands as if he were actually doing surgery on your hair. He would be so gentle gliding the rat tail comb through your roots and gently spreading the grease on your scalp and slightly massaging as he went. “I’ve never had someone be this gentle with my scalp” You couldn’t help, but sigh however your sighs seemed to come out as soft whimpers. “Right there, scratch right there” he did exactly as you said and felt his ears getting hot in the process. Hearing you moan and whimper out soft “That feels so good” and “wait wait massage right there” followed by the most sultry sound he’s ever heard come out of you.

Nearly halfway through he's standing at attention. His nerves are on edge and he doesn't want you to see him like this. "I’m sorry, but I have to head home I have an early out-patient to attend to in the morning" You turn suddenly making him jump. "We're only half done" Your words came out more whiney than you intended.

You’re a little confused at his sudden need to leave, but you nod and stand to walk him to the door. "I'll make it up to you. Good Night." You don’t miss the very obvious bulge in his pants as he quickly grabs his coat and slips out your front door.

Rafayel

Rafayel is unintentionally rough as hell when he starts parting your hair. “Ow! why are you tugging so hard?!” You smack his hands away opting to do it yourself, but he begs to try again and you give in to those big puppy dog eyes he has. “Be gentle!”

Second time around he’s so gentle it almost feels like a lovers touch as he massages the section of your hair before going through with the rat tail comb like you showed him. You can’t help the noises that escape out of you as he smears just the right amount of grease on your scalp. “Are you always this vocal during this process?” He asks in almost a whisper. You try to turn to look at him, but he quickly snaps your head back towards the mirror, hiding his face behind your head. “It feels good when someone else does it” Another sigh leaves you as he keeps going “Please don’t stop” Once he reaches the last section you end up leaning slightly back into him and thats when you feel something poking your lower back.

Y/N: Raf are you…..are you turned on? Rafayel: You’re the one moaning my name while im doing this! Y/N: So it’s my fault? Rafayel: YES Y/N: pokes it Rafayel: do that again and im calling the authorities

He quickly excused himself out of the room while you cleaned up your mess of hair products.

Xavier

Xavier is hanging on by a single worn thread while he’s greasing your scalp. He can barely make it through the first section before he’s already nearly panting listening to you moan “Thank you Xavier” Hearing his name on your lips like that had him near feral. “You’re welcome” He whispered in a raspy tone. You feel him constantly adjusting his position and clearing his throat while he slowly works his way through the next section of hair. “Right there rub right there” You whimper and he inhales deeply as he does as you say. “Right here?” His voice is low and gravelly it actually sends tingles through your body.

Xavier literally can’t take it. His composure was slipping the minute you sighed his name. He managed you finish the job only to turn and tilt your head back to look in your eyes. The tension was always thick between you two. His gaze bounced from your eyes to your lips and you melted when he whispered “Can I kiss you?”

Sylus

Sylus is outing you right then and there he don’t care. The minute you whimper from his fingers gliding across your scalp he’s smirking. He’s so gentle while he does it you almost forget this is a Mafia Don that you have greasing your scalp in the middle of the night. “People would get the wrong idea if they could hear you now” He teased in that sultry voice of his. You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you that quickly dissipated the second he started massaging your scalp again. “It just feels so good” You whimper again while he slowly works his way through your hair. “I can tell”

He would be able to hold his composure throughout the entire process and by the time he’s done you can finally think clearly. You quickly slip your bonnet on and turn to face him thats when you notice his red cheeks and ears. “You’re never going to do this for me again will you?” You see the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.

He’s enjoying this.

“I don’t mind making you moan again” You shove his shoulder and he just chuckles as you pound your fist into his chest. “You owe me a scalp massage now sweetie”

[bones4thecats]

┗ A Star's Shield; Starscream × F! S/O ┛

Characters: Starscream (Transformers One) A/N: This was a lot of fun to write, though I do believe it could have been better, I do think it turned out pretty good. Anyways, sorry for the long wait for this. Enjoy <3 Trigger Warnings for: Kidnapping, corrupt government, assault, unwanted advances. Sentinel is just his own trigger warning at this point. ⇘ Summary: After being captured by Airachnid and the Cybertronian Government, you were thrown into a room with the rest of your captured High Guard members and two miner bots. As you were handed over to Sentinel Prime by his right-hand, you notice your sparkmate, Starscream, watching you in an attempt to keep you and himself calm. But, when Sentinel begins to speak, not even B-127 could keep himself calm. Italic words = past memories

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💫 A cozy set of rays from the sun began to cover Cybertron. Another day, another restless amount of hours trying to sabotage Sentinel Prime beyond what his reputation could save.

💫 The steps of a seeker made you look up from the surface floor of your base's exteriors. There, walking up to you, was Starscream. He had been leading your guard, the High Guard, for so long that you could hardly keep count, and that says a lot.

💫 Starscream looked at you and nodded. You responded the same as you looked back outside. It was hard to see without expert optics, but, far out in the distance, was Iacon City. Your optics narrowed as memories you once made there popped up. Anyone who understood your real self knew why that bothered you so much.

"I heard from Wreckwave that the Iacon 5000 is happening tomorrow." Starscream said.

"I did too. Why does it matter? Are we planning something big during it or something?" You questioned back.

"No. Though, it would be of expert insight that at least some-bot goes there to check on how the city is holding together after all this time."

💫 His optics slightly shut as he chuckled. He then lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he laid his helm on top of your own. As seekers, you were both fairly tall, though, you were just about a head shorter than the masculine one next to you. Fortunate for him, unfortunate for your short self.

"Let me guess, Scream'. You want me to go down there with you?"

"I knew your processor would lock in sooner rather than later!" He smiled.

"And, what happens if, I don't know- a member of the guard sees us snooping around? You know that Sentinel and the High Guard aren't exactly friends, and most definitely not close to frenemies."

"That's the thing. I have spoken with Shockwave, and he has a device that shall last for, around a third of a cycle. Are you in or out, my dearest Y/N?"

"Is that even a question?"

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆

💫 Your optics went online as you groaned, pain covering the back of your helm as you looked around. You reached up and felt the back of your helmet, and once you felt the liquid, you froze in fear. You remembered what happened now.

💫 It was when those four bots were brought to your base. A blue and red one, a grey one with a Megatronus Prime sticker on his shoulder, another with a yellow-colored frame, and the only feminine one, whom was colored pink with some white here and there.

💫 They, well, the red and blue one at least, proposed that they were on the same side as you. They wanted to reveal Sentinel Prime as the traitor to Cybertron that he was. And honestly? You thought it was a pretty good deal. Starscream on the other hand? His own beliefs clouded his judgement of the four.

💫 When the grey one, whom the blue and red one called D, tried to walk out of the base to locate Cybertron's leader to punish himself, Starscream obviously was taking a hit to his own ego. Shocker.

💫 As he was chocked to the point that his voice-box was beginning to be crushed, making what was once a smooth and slightly-raspy voice begin to go from pitch to pitch with a highly artificial tang being added on top of it all. You had been able to slightly alter it, bringing the pitches down slightly, but fixing it fully was beyond anyone's abilities.

💫 While your memories came back, a dark figure stepped inside with golden-Cybertronians following suite. You looked up towards the helms of these people and scoffed. You recognized the tallest one. It was Airachnid. The heap of scrap that was somehow still alive well without any scratches. How disappointing.

"Get her up. I'm sure he's going to be very pleased to see his favorite old friend here." She said, grazing underneath your chin with one of her elongated insect-legs.

"Good to see you as well, Airachnid." You said.

💫 Airachnid rolled her optics and began walking away, a guard at both sides of you as you followed. Unwilling was one word to describe the entire journey through the tower's halls. Until you found Starscream and got the others out to safety, you needed to keep these fearful thoughts of yours out of sight and out of mind.

💫 Sentinel looked at a statue and glared, those Primes that tried holding the planet back from compromise. He did the right thing. Of course he did, how could his judgement be bad?

💫 The Prime looked over his shoulder and cocked a brow, wondering why Airachnid was bringing in some random seeker. So, in his true, straight-forward nature, asked the insect-themed Cybertronian about this.

"I'm sure you'll love to find out who this is."

"Yeah, yeah. Get to the point."

💫 The mask that covered most of your helm released pressure as it was unlocked by a guard. You grimaced as light hit you all of a sudden, seriously, a warning would be amazing sometimes.

"It can't be. Y/N?"

"...Y/N?"

💫 Sentinel's optics were wide as he stepped up to look closely at you. It just couldn't be you. There was no way in the name of the 13 Primes that you were alive and standing right before him.

"I almost forgot just how beautiful you were. Though, you looked better on the ground, kneeling before me." Sentinel smirked before allowing his hand to drift across your face, to your shoulder, and down to your sides. "Go ahead and undo her cuffs. I'm sure she won't claw me without orders."

"Are you sure, Sir?" A guard asked.

"Completely."

💫 Your brows furrowed as you glared at him. The clicks of your cuffs coming undone hit everyone's sound-receptors, and before anyone realized it, you had launched yourself at Sentinel, grabbing one of his wings and tugging on it to draw some sort of pain.

💫 Sentinel just glared and wrapped a servo around your neck, lifted you up in the air and chuckled darkly. Everyone, including the guards, shivered as he crushed your neck slowly and delicately, almost as if he was enjoying this pain he was drawing out of you.

"How did I know you were going to do that?"

💫 Crash.

"Y/N!" B-127 yelled.

💫 You yelped as your back made contact with the nearby wall. The pain that overtook your system was immediate, and it only worsened as a guard picked you up and threw you back at Sentinel to keep torturing.

💫 His servo wrapped around your neck once again, this time from behind as he held you flush against his front. Sentinel smirked and wrapped his opposite roam around your waist as you struggled to free yourself.

"You know, if you had just stayed by my side we could've been the perfect duo. Leading Cybertron into the future."

"Like hell I would've-" A gasp came out as his grasp on your vocal cords tightened.

"Had the most perfect model family unit. Two young sparklings filled with potential. Little Quartermaster and Artillery. Sounds just right, wouldn't you agree, lovely?"

"Get your servos off of her!" Starscream yelled.

"Oh?" Sentinel hummed. "I forgot just how dear you two held one another. Almost as if you were together for eons before I met you."

"We were, and still are! So, I will warn you one more time, Sentinel. Get your energon-stained servos off of my sparkmate!"

💫 Sentinel rolled his optics and latched another pair of cuffs on you, securing your violent impulses. He got near your sound-receptors once again and said quietly;

"To bad your love for that pitchy seeker kept that future out of my grasp."

💫 Starscream kneeled back down as you were thrown in front of him, dents in your frame as he looked you over. Fear was in his optics as he looked you over. And, as Sentinel moved onto D-16, Starscream paid attention to you, keeping the guards and Airachnid away from your frame. No more pain was going to come to you while he stood beside you.

💫 But, unknowingly to you both, that future was soon to be completely changed.

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆

"There is no way that Starscream yelled at Sentinel Prime!" Blitzwing said.

💫 You smiled at the bot holding two sparklings in his lap, acting like the older brother figure that he was for them as they've aged.

"Well, believe it or don't, I know for sure that he did." You said, turning around to look at the Second-in-Command of the Decepticons as he planned with Megatron the next move in the war.

"And I'm thankful every passing moment that he was there for me..."

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Author's note: smth for my angsty people. Inspo from amazing writer of all times @rssmary

SAM MONROE thought he'd never find someone who truly understood him. Then there was you—brilliant, kind, and everything he didn’t think he deserved. You were his lifeline, the one who believed in him when no one else did. When you told him you were pregnant, he was terrified, but your excitement and unwavering faith in him made him believe he could be better for you—for both of you.

But life is cruel.

The labor was supposed to be hard but worth it. Everyone told him that once he heard the baby’s first cry, he’d forget the pain of waiting. But when your hand went limp in his, and the machines blared around him, he forgot everything else instead.

Time stopped as they pulled him away, shoving your baby into his arms while they tried to save you. The nurses told him to hold on to the little one, to stay strong, but all he could do was stare at your lifeless body through the window, his mind refusing to accept the reality.

You were gone..

You

Were

Gone

He tried to understand the meaning of the words

Days bled into nights as Sam sat in the nursery, the small bassinet feeling like a cruel mockery. The baby—their baby—was beautiful, with tiny fingers and your nose. But every time he looked at them, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. It was like holding his heart outside his body and knowing it came at the cost of losing his own soul.

The funeral was unbearable. He didn't appear at the ceremony, hell, it pained him to even think about going there. Yet, he still did. Out of respect and love he had for you.

He stood there alone hours after the ceremony, staring at your casket, tears streaming down his face. 'I can’t do this without you' he whispered into the silence.

Because who he was? A random guy who wore eyeliner and constantly did drugs now to raise a child alone?

Yet, still, he had to.

The first night without you was the longest of his life. The baby cried and cried, and Sam had no idea what to do. He was a mess—fumbling with bottles, pacing the floor, begging them to stop screaming. At some point, he sank to the floor, the baby against his chest as he sobbed into their tiny body. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

His mother was all supportive, helping Sam to do the stuff he never thought he'd have to do, but Sam refused to let anyone fully take over.

'They’re all I have left of her' he'd constantly say, not letting anyone to his room

Every milestone felt like a knife to the chest. The first time they smiled, he saw you. The first time they babbled, he heard your voice. And yet, he celebrated it all because he knew that’s what you would’ve wanted.

Sam made sure they grew up knowing you. He told them stories about your laugh, how you used to tease him, and how you were the bravest person he’d ever known. “Your mom,” he’d say, his voice holding onto the life to not break, “she was magic..wherever she is right now, she definitely loves you so much”

But there were nights when the grief swallowed him whole. When he’d sit in the nursery, the baby fast asleep in his arms, and cry silently. He’d whisper to the darkness, wishing you could see them, wishing you could see him trying so hard not to break.

“Why’d you leave me?” he asked once, his voice cracking as he rocked your baby in his arms. “How am I supposed to do this without you?”

He'd often find himself doing something so out of character to him - each week he wrote you long letters about the baby, about new stuff they did or how he got peed on while changing the diaper. Letters were hidden properly under his bed, becoming a mountain of folded papers. It was therapeutic to him, but also he felt like he owe you that, to let you know how his life's going without you, how he still lives - for the sake of your baby.

As the years passed, Sam became a father you’d be proud of. He was there for every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every school play. He wasn’t perfect—he had days when the weight of your absence was too much—but he loved fiercely.

Still, most of the nights, when the world went quiet and the baby-turned-toddler slept peacefully, he’d sit by their bed and mumble quiet “I miss you.” as if you could hear him

And he did.

Every.single.day.

Because no matter how much time passed, the hole you left in his heart never healed. You were his first love, his only love, and even though you were gone, you were everywhere. In the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, in the baby’s laughter, in the quiet moments when he closed his eyes and pretended you were still there.

And though it hurt more than he could ever put into words, he wouldn’t trade a single second of it. Because loving you, even in your absence, was the greatest thing he’d ever done.

And he’d spend the rest of his life making sure your baby—your legacy—knew just how much they were loved by the most extraordinary person SAM MONROE had ever known.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan

(if you want to be on the tag list or don't want to be, don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[cryptid-killjoy]

Everything was going wild. Everything seemed fun and pretty typical until they couldn't decide if they should try and cover up the body or not. The Laveaus weren't the types to let a little crash and burn disrupt their fun. It was all part of it. Anywhere else they understood the usual rules though. They knew the aftermath murder code. Autopilot had a way of taking over. Still, if they could get away with not doing things the methodical way they'd take the out.

Scout was focused on her phone waiting her dad's answer out. Grinding someone down and eating them up was a messy and time consuming task. If they could get out of it they'd like to know for sure. Logic was telling them maybe in Feral where rules were lax it might just be okay to not go through the usual precautions. They also didn't want to do anything wrong and upset their hosts either. They just weren't used to the Feral rules, if there were any.

While all these converstions were going on between Koda, Chip, and Dale, and Jetsam not giving two shits all hovered over the stranger digging one of their eyes right out of it's sockets. Old habits died hard. He might have been dead but he noticed they were a cool color and couldn't help but want to harvest them as if he might add them to the collection he didn't have anymore. Maybe he'd start a new one?

"Weenie-balls." He was laughing. "That's the name of my new collection. I'll get a new set every Halloween. Keep 'em at your place, Chipper."

Scout broke in, "I can do it. I can keep them for you, Dad." She was trying so hard to be a part of it still wanting to be a part of his life as she watched Jet shove the wet thing into Chip's hand.

Then there was Koda who was trying to hold up under Chip's arm since he'd just been through a wreck. Chip was also still in slow-mode. Zombie-ish mode. His reflexes weren't back. He was looking at Scout like he wanted to respond but nothing was coming out. Jetsam took his silence as a yes because his hand held onto the eyeball unable to do much more quite yet.

Then there was GoGo. She came in and Dale was gazing at the sky when she came in out of nowhere and Smack!

Incoming.

Thack!

"Hey?!"

GoGo went off. She was practically barking at him. She kept going.

Dale's sore arms went up trying to protect himself but it was too late. She'd already hit him before he managed to sheild himself at all. A bloody third WOMP.

"Damn it!" Dale's body rolled and cringed away ready to jump up and ... and do... do something... he wasn't sure what... stop her he supposed but she stopped herself as he managed to roll over onto his side.

Scout stared at her as Dale managed to push himself off the ground holding his ribs, covered in the dismembered arm's splattered blood, and got his feet. It happened so fast. It had every hair on the back of her neck standing straight up. Then GoGo even yelled it out. Something about loss. It was bone chilling.

Once Dale was on his feet he limped over, red faced, wide eyed.

Dale's initial reaction was anger. Pain and anger.

Then he saw her face.

Okay, maybe he was still angry, but fuck. Then he just pushed through the pain, stormed through it actually. He hadn't wanted to move at all. The adrenaline had made him jump up and next when he saw her face, he rushed forward and forced a hug on her.

"Fuck you. Are you trying to finish me off, GoGo?"

Damn, the hug hurt. Yelling hurt. Breathing hurt. He didn't care. He squeezed her in.

"Fuck you so hard."

He groaned over her shoulder, "You push me away. I'll squeeze harder. So fuck right off. I'm staying here."

All Scout could see was the fragility of human life, something she wasn't anymore. It was scarier than it used to be. It was the sort of subject she never thought about until her family fell apart. They used to feel so indestructible. Thomas built it back up so strong. She wasn't sure what this feeling was watching her brother and GoGo. Next to them was her zombie bit brother touched by death who caused the crash. Next to them was her actually dead parental who she'd been dying to see for years now, missing him, and conflicted feelings were still stirring. She watched him not pay attention fully focused on gouging out that second retina from the socket.

Before she could get much deeper in those thoughts her phone went off and Thomas's text came in. It shook her back to the present.

"Okay guys. Dad says it's not a big deal to just dump it here. GoGo's probably right. We can just blame it on a zombie. Looks like we don't have to take the time out for disposal here. We're good guys." She said taking the lead on the situation which under normal circumstances would have been a much bigger situation had they been anywhere else.

Jetsam stood up with his second eyeball in his hand grinning, "Told ya guys. Fuck it all." Then he kicked the corpse's eyeball-less head.

She saw Koda looking behind him and she gave him a little peace sign with her fingers, bursting the bubble with her tongue. She watched her own rearview mirror and playfully moved to swerve next to the VW, her open window meaning that she could reach across and ruffle Dale’s curls.

After that, GoGo sped on ahead, feeling her groove the same way that Kuzco did when he had a guitar in hand, the same way that Valerie did with a microphone, the same way that Delta did when she had her wings out, the same way Frank did as he kicked at a suspended reporter, making his body sway on the hooks while he read.

GoGo had been a girl who fell in love with cars, a real engine geek, and didn’t have much love left over for people. Not even her family. Once it was clear that they weren’t going to understand her, that they were going to try to dictate her life as if she was anyone else, she had given up on them. They became roommates. They didn’t do family dinners, or going out together, or even celebrations of birthdays.

It had taken a while for the Laveaus to permeate through that. It wasn’t even as if Go-Go had big walls up, the way that Elsa did, trying to protect herself or thinking that she was protecting others. She just hadn’t even realized that there was a door that they could even knock on. But it had opened and - now, she couldn’t imagine a world without them, the same way she couldn’t imagine a world without cars.

Loud music coming out of stereos, the noises blending together during the split seconds that they were near one another. Her eyes would dart over to see who it was, and would make faces over at Scout if it was her, and then would chuckle to herself. Her heart was beating with the engine, almost feeling like they were one. As she went up in speed, plowing through a zombie or two, only flipping on the windshield wipers as her reaction, she thought to herself, ‘This is better than masturbating.’

Unlimited speed. No cops. No sirens. No one telling her to slow down. If someone got in the way, hit them. This is just what the Autobahn must be like.

The sounds of gunshots weren’t even unwelcome. They echoed through the empty streets, with no one looking out windows, or running for cover. They would be heard up from the tower, where Frank and Delta were busy, but weren’t bothering them much either. As long as it wasn’t pointed towards them, or their people, Frank didn’t give a fuck. He was too deep in … well, a fuck.

She would have kept going when Dale was out of the window, but realized a moment or two later when there weren’t any more headlights in her rearview mirrors. Curiously, she turned her own car around and encroached on the scene. She had her own window down and climbed out through her window, exactly like Dale had been sitting when he had been ejected.

It was rough seeing Dale laying on the ground, like a piece of roadkill. It was rough seeing Chip behind the crumpled hood of the car, the windshield broken, pieces of glass. It triggered something in her. She couldn’t move for a moment. It felt like she was underwater. She could just about hear the garbled voice of Dale talking to Scout, and Chip’s eyes being open as Koda got him out of the car.

Tadashi. The outline of him, the silhouette, against the fire as he had run in like he thought that he was fireproof. Like he was immortal. Like he was a goddamn hero. The situations were different but the feelings were the same in that moment, a clenching around her heart and her stomach, a sense of loss. Everyone was, thankfully, preoccupied with the twins and the body and texting while she had her moment or two of panic before she felt like she was able to breathe again.

She wasn’t thinking the clearest though. She climbed off of the car door, walking around the glass-littered ground, the blood-soaked asphalt in her bare feet, and approached Dale, still on the ground. The panic was still in her eyes, the tenseness of her bones, all of it. And what she did was lean down and gave Dale’s head a smack.

“You don’t get to come close to dying, do you hear me?” She said, and then realized that her own little hand was barely going to do anything to Dale’s head, not through those curls anyway. She took a short march towards the dead body, picked up an arm that had been driven over, detatched at the shoulder, and then used that arm to hit Dale again. “You stupid, egg-headed shitpuddle!”

After hitting him a third time with the arm, she threw it down and then ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face to try to calm herself, taking deep breaths. “I’m not losing another friend,” She said in a quieter tone this time. It was only then that she seemed to realize what she had done. That there was a detatched arm beside her that had been attached to a body only seconds ago. She leaned down and then wiped her hand on Dale’s shirt because she wasn’t going to do it to her own dress.

While this was happening, Scout’s phone would get a text. Thomas was paying attention to his drunk wife, but also to his phone because he had meant what he had said when he offered to pick Ches up, all she had to do was text. Same with Scout, but that went without saying.

‘If Chip doesn’t want to eat it, I’m sure just tossing it into a sewer or something is fine? Just don’t leave a big mess.’

Go-Go was coming down from that short-lived panic attack. It hadn’t gone full blown, just enough for her to go full-throttle rather than her more subdued self. She was a bit embarrassed so decided to gloss over what she had just done rather than address it, and move onto the next topic.

“If anyone asks, zombies did it?”

[wrathofrats]

Seeing Blind (you’re too good to be all mine)

Chapter 5. Mature, 2.4k. Read under cut or on Ao3

(Part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

As always thank you to @divine-misfortune for writing this with me <3

Rain whipped around. Confused to see Dew running up to him from the side field, brushing debris off of his overalls. They had never spoken before, at least not directly like this. Small quips and comments when he finds himself at Swiss’ side that sound like they’re meant to be digs directed at him despite the fact Dew barely acknowledged his presence.

“I’m sorry?”

“I think we should have a talk“

It’s Rain’s turn to barely sleep in Swiss’ arms. His head swimming with a tirade of thought. Was he not good enough? Did he do something wrong? Go too fast? Maybe Swiss just didn’t want him in the same way he did?

He could feel how hard he was against his back for a good portion of the night. Rationally, most of that couldn’t possibly be true. Why would Swiss assume he wasn’t ready for it? None of it made sense and it left a strange, conflicted feeling in him. Not quite dejected but certainly confused.

At least he could finally sleep comfortably beside him, in a bed, like real people who like each other do.

When the sun threatens to crest the horizon, Swiss is shifting behind him. Moving carefully. Thoughtfully trying not to jostle Rain awake, no reason for him to have to adhere to the ungodly early schedule Swiss kept. It’s a hopeless effort but it was the thought that counted. Rain stirred as the arm beneath his head began to retreat, making a soft sound he could only describe as a chirp. His eyes fight to open, drooping despite himself, as Swiss slipped from the cozy little cocoon they’d made.

“Shh tadpole…Go back to sleep”

Cute. Rain looked beyond adorable and Swiss suddenly understood the meaning of ‘cuteness aggression’. The messy hair and blush coloring his cheeks the loveliest shade of pink was entirely unfair, but the way he managed to bat those pretty eyelashes was playing dirty.

“Just’a couple more minutes Swiss, ‘lease” Rain mumbled his way right into a yawn, tugging at Swiss’ shirt like he might just drag him back into bed like this.

“I’ve gotta go, I can’t be late. But come see me on my break, ‘kay?”

Swiss smoothed the hair from his forehead, dipping down to kiss the little crease between his brows before Rain’s head dropped back to the pillow with a small whine that he gives up on committing to when the comforters pulled back over him. Hard not to snuggle back in, harder not to bury his face in the other pillow to inhale the comfortable lingering scent like he might just pretend Swiss was still beside him.

Didn’t stop him from pouting though.

Leaving Rain was a real test of his will but dutifully Swiss dragged himself away. It was safer for him to duck out as early as this, less of a chance of being caught by the wrong person. He woefully stuffed his feet back into his muddy boots abandoned by the front door and trudged outside towards his truck.

He prayed it was too early for anyone else to be lurking about, and if it had to be anyone, let it be Mountain.

But God had a sense of humor, apparently.

Dew and cirrus were waiting for him with wolfish grins near the tractor, immediately trying to prod him for answers.

"Well well well, smooth talked your way right into his bed huh?" Dew laughed

"Didn't take him for easy.” Cirrus folds her arms looking over his sorry, disheveled state.

"So how was he? Did he even know what he was doing? Was it embarrassingly bad? That why you're doing the walk of shame before the suns even up?" Dew gasped at the promise of scandal, hanging off of Cirrus’ arm with a smirk like he was pleased with himself.

Swiss couldn’t tell if he wanted them to die or if he'd like a stampede of cattle to take him out then and there. Honestly, didn't know if they even deserved a response. Probably shouldn’t. All their senseless prodding, he shouldn’t dignify it but God Dew was too fucking annoying to ignore at times.

“We didn’t do anything” Swiss pushed past them to make the hike back to his truck so he could at least change. Boss might give him weird looks for showing up in yesterday's wrinkled clothes.

“Oh, sure. Totally. So, tell me, he invites you in and you spend the night doing what exactly? A kiss on the cheek before turning off the lights at nine on the dot so you can sleep on opposite sides of the bed with both hands above the covers?” Dew questions incredulously, with an oddly specific example. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever fucking met, Swiss!”

Swiss winced at the volume of his voice, nervously eyeing the farmhouse standing silently as he gestured aggressively for him to shut the fuck up. Rain would be mortified if he knew the others were talking about him in this fashion.

“Love that Swiss thinks he can lie his way out of shit like this, as if you of all people don’t know what he looks like after a long night.” Cirrus snickers behind her hand and Dew suddenly looks appalled.

“Oh my fucking god it was one time!”

“It was a couple times actually-“

Like a thief in the night, Swiss uses their endless bickering as an excuse to slip away from their interrogation. He climbed into the backseat of his truck and rummaged under the passenger seat - working a job like this, he learned early on to keep a change of clothes on hand. It was awkward to say the least. He was not a dainty man and the back of his truck was far from spacious but he managed to climb out only having smashed his elbow into the window twice. Seemingly just in time. The crunch of gravel and the sharp squeaks of a poor suspension announced their arrival before the truck branded with an all too familiar logo rounded the bend.

His head snapped around alarmingly fast, met with mischievous grins from the both of them. He bristled. “Not a fucking word or I’m telling him to drug test you two.” Swiss hissed, both warning and threatening. Dew made a face, opening his mouth to retort but Cirrus was faster. Sticking out her tongue in his direction before grabbing him by the arm and leading him away to where they would pretend to work for the next two hours.

As they left him standing beside his truck, Swiss watched Rain’s father get out of the truck with clearly stiffened limbs. His throat felt tight as he looked his way, fearing that just maybe he knew but the man just regarded him with a curt nod and a gruff good morning, then headed inside.

Swiss wanted to close his head in the door of his truck, multiple times.

It was going to be a long fucking day.

Rain slipped out the back door an hour or so after lunch. Wearing exhaustion and semi untamed curls, a brand of disheveled he’d never sported before. He was off the schedule they’d taken to over the last few weeks. Swiss’ lunch break was a little before two, and it was currently well past. Swiss could sigh and huff all he liked about him sleeping in and shirking his fruit picking responsibilities, as well as what he’d woefully described as ‘kiss withdrawls’, but Rain truly couldn’t be faulted for sleeping in. His sheets smelled like warm tobacco and aftershave, a little bit like hay and whatever it was truly encompassed Swiss. It was hard for rain to leave in the morning, silently hoping it would linger until he got back that night.

“Rain! I’ve been looking for you!”

Rain whipped around. Confused to see Dew running up to him from the side field, brushing debris off of his overalls. They had never spoken before, at least not directly like this. Small quips and comments when he finds himself at Swiss’ side that sound like they’re meant to be digs directed at him despite the fact Dew barely acknowledged his presence.

“I’m sorry?”

“I think we should have a talk, can you come here for a minute?” Dew kicked some rocks and pursed his lips at rain who looked more than confused. He looked around for Swiss, to see if this was one of his shenanigans or could at least save him from whatever was happening.

Dew knew their routine. Knew exactly how to intersect Rain’s path before he could go attach himself to Swiss like an overgrown leech. It was almost too easy for him to find and stop him. If Rain had any more confidence in himself he would’ve told Dew to leave him alone, return the same disdain Dew had regarded him with from the start, but he was alarmingly forward. Grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him with surprising ease towards the tractor for a bit more privacy. Less of a chance they’d be interrupted.

Dew, and the other workers by extension were far from fond of him. Swiss was the outlier. Rain knew fighting him on this would cause nothing but trouble.

“Where are you going by the way? Thought you didn’t have to do your small share of work till later.” Whatever over sweetness he’d greeted him with dropped from his tone, borderline sneering at him instead.

“Dad asked me to check on one of the cows, said she looked in bad shape this morning.” Rain readjusted the bag on his shoulder, eyes flitting towards the field with a silent prayer that Swiss might just happen to pop up. Save him from whatever he’d walked into.

“Bullshit,” Dew barely stopped himself from laughing at his lie. “He would’ve mentioned it to us, not you.” Dew crossed his arms, leaning on the tractor. Casually and subtly blocking off Rain’s easy exit back to the yard.

“Ok…Then what do you think I’m doing?” Rain scoffed and rolled his eyes. This was dumb, they both had better things to be doing.

“Considering that brown paper sack in your hands, and the little birdie that talks about you in the barn, I’d say you’re bringing Swiss a snack for his break” it’s the slight flick of his eyes that answers the silent accusation.

“I don’t see how what I do with my time is any of your business” Rain's voice was almost entirely confident, almost. The faintest waver under his incredulous stare. It was hard to hold steady when someone as intense as Dew was interrogating him like he was caught about to do something downright sinister.

“Well I just think it’s funny how much time you spend with him. All of your breaks, sneaking out to go to the bonfire, spending the night?” He practically hissed his last point. “Thought your dad didn’t like you spending too much time with people like us. Weird, huh?”

“I’m not like that, I’m not my father.” Rain felt almost guilty as dew continued to stare at him like he was disgusted. Had he really been that bad? He didn’t think he was that much of a priss before Swiss came around.

“Oh you aren’t? Rain, all you do is sit on your throne and occasionally feed the animals or pick fruit for daddy’s approval. I’ve heard what he’s said, what you’ve said.”

His face, with whatever increasingly anxious expression he’d been sporting, fell instantly. Comments from his father over the years rooted in overworked frustration when profits didn’t balance out costs, when equipment turned up broken, when the work wasn't done to his standards. Blindly throwing blame on his workers. And Rain, a teenager vying for his parent’s approval, stupidly echoed the sentiment more than once and turned his nose up at them and the work they did. Even went out of his way to avoid the lot of them at the behest of his father.

“Dew, I’m sorry…I never-“

“All I’m saying is don’t fuck around and break Swiss’ heart just because you’ve decided to enjoy the attention from the peasants” Dew spat. His tone growing increasingly more frustrated as the months or years of indignation began to finally bubble to the surface.

“That’s not-“ A finger is held up before he can begin to explain himself, effectively shutting him up before he could stammer any further.

“Save it princess, I don’t want to hear it! I’m warning you to stop fucking around with him - Swiss doesn’t deserve to be some passing fancy till you’re able to go back to that prestigious university of yours.”

Rain opened his mouth and quickly closed it when he couldn’t manage any sound. Dread filled his stomach and began clawing its way up his throat. Choking him.

Is that really what they all thought of him? Is that what Swiss thought all of this was?

“You’re a smart guy, yeah? You should be smart enough to know not to cross this clear line in the sand that you and your dad drew a long time ago. Go back to your fucking tower and stay there.”

And as quickly as his tirade began, it ended with Dew turning on his heel and storming off with his fists clenched at his sides. He’d said more than enough for Rain to get the message; none of them wanted anything to do with him, Swiss just didn’t know it yet. They all harbored a level of resentment Rain hadn’t quite comprehended apparently.

Rain didn’t walk after him. Stays rooted in place watching Dew stalk off towards the fields until the vague shape of him becomes blurry. Tears burned in his eyes. All he could do was shrink into himself and return to the house where he promptly shoved the paper bag to the bottom of the trash can. At least there, he could pretend he’d never made it to begin with.

Was he stupid? He felt like an idiot for ever thinking he could really have something as genuine as this.

Heat radiated within his chest and made itself known in the form of blotchy redness in his cheeks. He retreated to his room, bag dropped steps in front of his door in order to throw himself onto his bed like a teenage girl with a broken heart. They weren’t anything and yet it felt like his rib cage was caving in. Guilt, shame, and humiliation danced inside him. Mingled into a single sensation that made his throat painfully tight.

Rain hiccuped over a half sob, shoving both pillows off the bed and onto the floor. He didn’t need the reminder. With both pillows out of the way, he was met with the cotton candy blue shark he’d stuffed into hiding the night before. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and pulled the plush against himself. Childish comforts.

Dew was right, telling him the things he was too selfish to acknowledge. None of them wanted him around, and maybe Swiss didn’t really either. Did Swiss only humor him because he was the boss’ son? Placate ‘the princess’ to keep his job. Dew was right. He didn’t deserve Swiss.

[butchvamp]

turning over my final thoughts now that i've finished the game... my interpretation reconciling with the game we got and my big takeaways on agency and choice and redemption... Solas and Varric have always been contrasts of each other, with Varric focused on the here and the now-- he's made mistakes but he keeps it pushing, he wants to help the people he can, and he knows he can't do that if he gets hung up on all of the "what ifs." while Solas, on the other hand, is completely compelled and consumed by his regrets and desperately wants to fix his "mistake," regardless of the cost, regardless of how selfish it ultimately is. and now with the reveal about the titans you get an extra layer of guilt from Solas in these interactions with Varric in inquisition, questioning why Varric does the things he does, and why isn't he more angry? why doesn't he care? all the wrong questions to ask Varric, who does care, but Solas is projecting his own feelings of rage and despair (and, of course, guilt over the titans).

this whole game is about accepting your mistakes, taking responsibility for the choices you make, but also letting go of your regrets and respecting other peoples' choices, too-- thinking particularly about what's said in the Fade prison about Harding (or Davrin) choosing this path, about Varric choosing to care in the way that he does and trying to confront Solas at the start, and how Rook blaming themselves and shouldering this guilt as the sole responsible party takes away their agency and their choice to do these things, their choice to live in this world and to try to make it better. i think it really wraps up nicely with a few of the other companion quests, like Emmrich's, accepting death and honoring others' sacrifice and letting them rest. Harding's quest, where she can harness her anger and compassion and choose to move forward, rather than turning inward like Solas and obsessing over before.

and then of course there's Solas, who we know never wanted a body, who was forced to fight and twisted from wisdom into pride-- who never chose this, and what choices he did have were always between a rock and a hard place. i think this is part of what skews his view of the world and makes it hard for him to accept both Varric's and Rook's perspective-- this loss of his humanity and autonomy through violence. but he does have a choice now, even if he doesn't realize it, and he's choosing to hold onto this idealized vision he has of the world before, he's choosing to ignore Rook and Varric and the Inquisitor before them and act like he is both solely responsible for what happened and also the only one able to fix it.

but there are people in this world now who are doing things to fix it, Neve's entire plot is about how much Dock Town sucks, she's cynical about it but never ever would she abandon it or choose to destroy it. there are people here that are living fulfilling lives even in this horrible world and they deserve to have that choice. it's not Solas's to make. Varric understood that the best, having lived in Kirkwall and seen all the things he has, the good and the bad. and either way bad things are going to happen, people are going to die-- as Solas said, people are always dying. but Varric wanted to make it better regardless, he didn't want to start over, because there are things worth saving even in a bleak world like Thedas. people like him and Neve and Harding and Davrin and the others will always choose to keep moving forward and try to make it better for everyone, regardless of their mistakes in doing so.

Solas tries to justify himself by holding his own mistakes over his head-- he even says "To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far." the inquisitor interjects with "Even if those you've wronged ask you to stop?"-- the inquisitor who had something similar happen to them, forced into a role and forced to make choices between a rock and a hard place.

this is one of my favorite exchanges in the game. and then Mythal appears and breaks his chains-- "I free you from my service." and faced by Mythal, the Inquisitor, and Rook (and by extension, Varric)-- all people he betrayed-- he can no longer hang onto that justification, and he is forced directly to face his regrets and the horrible things he's done (things everyone standing in this circle has done)-- and find peace with it as they have, accept their forgiveness, and ultimately make his choice. i do think Solas's redemption is well-earned, especially after playing through inquisition and now veilguard in these leadership positions, making choices that do result in people dying, no matter what-- the Inquisitor especially has potentially felt exactly what Solas has felt. but you have to choose, you have to move forward, and you have to keep choosing over and over and over again and it's not easy and there will be consequences, but there are things worth fighting for and there are others choosing to stand beside you that will share the burden and help, if you just let them.

[nyacoart]

Promise Keeper

(VERY BIG DISCLAIMER) I wrote this for hell of it (or that fact it been living rent free in my mind and IT NEEDS OUT) It's short, no clue if I would continue. But it kinda fun, so I might continue? (side eye my IQ and ABO fic)

After being taken back to their mansion, they had gathered in the living room. The atmosphere was heavy and quiet, no one dared to speak a word. After witnessing everything that happened but no longer existed. There were no words to describe the experience. The happy days that are now bygone days. The sad days that are etched to the very soul. The horrors that will continue to haunt him. All they could do is watch helplessly, wishing for all to be untrue. Yet they all understood that all this was real when the proof is right in front of them.

How did he feel?

Lost in a world completely unknown to him. 

How did he feel?

Betrayed by the people he loved so dearly. 

How did he feel?

Watching the people he loves die, eventually succumbing to his own despair.

They wanted to speak to him, tell him to not worry anymore. That they are here to help. But what can they do? How can they ease his worry, his fear, his sadness. Could they carry the burden that he had to carry all this way?

No.

It is not a question if they could. They have to. Not out of guilt, but out of love. For the person who fought so hard for them, it was only right for them to fight for him too. How can they give up now?

“...Subaru,” Emilia broke the silence. Everyone in the room turned to look at her at the same time.

“Yea?” Subaru looks up instinctively; finding himself faced with Emilia's determined face and his heart felt a tight squeeze.

“I won't ask you for anything that you don't want. I know it's been reeaally hard on you,” Emilia takes a deep breath to compose herself, shivering as she did. “No matter what, we will stand by you. That's why, I hope you will stand by us too.”

Subaru’s eyes widened, tears threatening to fall as he bit the bottom of his lips. What can he say in this situation? That he died because he wanted to? That is not entirely true, he never liked to die. He was scared of death, even more so than anyone he feels. Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to know? Why did Satella allow this to happen? There is just so much he wants to ask that he just knows that he would never get an answer.

“Mm,” Subaru hummed, the words caught up in his throat. Is he happy or is he sad? He couldn't really tell right now. He was scared of what they would think of him when they realised he was a fraud. 

‘Ahh, here comes the waterworks’, he thinks realising he could no longer hold his tears anymore. His vision turned blurry. He looked away, the feeling of shame coming back full force.

Emilia’s heart broke watching her knight cry. A part of her wonders if she should look away because she knows he disliked letting her see him cry. But a small part of her is glad that he is crying. At the very least, he no longer have to hold back around her anymore, right? Maybe then he would be willing to rely on her more. She had no way of knowing, but she wanted to have faith in her knight. She moves closer to Subaru.

“We can do this together, I am sure of it,” Emilia leans on Subaru, her hand hesitating slightly before holding his hand and giving it a light squeeze. “So just this once, leave it to us, alright?”

He wanted to believe in Emilia, in everyone. He so badly wants to be freed from it all. Yet, his traitorous heart couldn’t help but wonder. 

Can you really leave it all to them?

.

.

.

I swear the title is plot relevant, I just couldn't think of a place to cram it in here.

[purposefully-lost]

The way Vi's face lit up was worth all the anxious tension in his chest. Charlie tried to return it, but instead he was falling into a nervous laugh as Vi pulled him close again. He'd always been a little anxious when it came to touch-- it'd nearly been a problem when he was still touring, the way fans wanted to press close or sweep him up into a hug when they met. He understood the impulse and he'd wanted to leave a good impression, but it'd always put him on edge, too. Hugging Vi wasn't like that. It felt good to be pressed against him, and it was a weight that calmed some kd the nerves he felt over what he'd just agreed to.

It felt good to kiss him, too. Charlie hummed in surprise when their lips met, and he had to force himself to breathe when Vi pulled away. He laughed, then nodded, his head feeling sort of light. He didn't quite feel like he was on solid ground anymore. Victory Scorza had a crush on him-- had just asked him for a date. "That, u- uh, sounds good. I'll- just let me know when," he tried, finding himself unable to take his eyes off of him. His heart was pounding hard against his chest. "Though, uh, any time works, really.."

He got out only a choked laugh at being pulled to his feet before Vi's lips were on his own again. And it was a much different kiss than the first; slower, much more open. Charlie hummed when he felt Vi deepen it, and his hands found a place to settle against his sides, his thumbs tracing over warm, soft skin. Now that he had a moment to focus on it, tasting Vi on his tongue was sending an electric shock across his skin. It'd been a while since he'd been touched like this and he'd forgotten how good it could feel.

He let out a soft breath when they parted and glanced up to meet Vi's gaze. His whole body felt warm and buzzing with energy, and he had no doubts that his face had grown as red as it possibly could by now. The question only made it worse, not helped by the fact that he had no idea. One part of him wanted to wince away and hide. It was too much, too fast, he had still barely processed what was happening between them. The other part.. was hungry. And it wanted to please Vi, because he had a smile and a touch like nothing else. The only suitable answer he could think of was kiss him again.

Charlie leaned forward to take his lips again. He hadn't known what he wanted, but the moment their lips met, it was clear he'd been starving. He whined again into the kiss and let his arms slip around Vi, holding him all the closer while he tried to indulge him. His heart was beating so hard it was a wonder if Vi couldn't feel it through his chest.

Victory checked his phone again, opening the messaging app and confirming for the hundredth time this was the right spot. He'd pulled off some kind of miracle in the last month, not only getting in contact with one of his favorite artists, but managing to keep it going almost regularly. And now he was standing outside of an unfamiliar building on an unfamiliar street in the middle of Appalachian nowhere, getting ready to meet him in person.

He'd dressed down for the occasion, mostly for his own sake, but for Charlie's too. His own success was leading to more and more people clocking him while he was out, and he doubted dressing like Elton John would help him blend in in a place like this. The bleached hair he'd been sporting recently was tucked nicely under a baseball cap, his extensive ink work covered by a baggy sweatshirt. He'd even taken his earrings out in a rush, storing them in his pocket when he realized he'd forgotten to leave them in his hotel room. The last thing Charlie needed was to be bombarded because he agreed to meet him.

In the middle of using his phone screen as a mirror, his eyes widened as it lit up with a text. Vi quickly shoved it in his pocket and gave a quick sweep of the area. He frowned for a moment, but before he could pull out his phone again, his eyes landed on a familiar face, his own quickly brightening into a grin. Bouncing on his feet, he laughed as he waved his arms to usher his pen pal over.

Charlie Reimes. Cane Corso had been a staple on his playlists for years, and here was the frontman in the flesh. -- All because he'd gotten drunk and too bold, sending him what was an embarrassing DM expressing his admiration. It was a testament to maybe not all of his questionable choices led to questionable outcomes.

Beaming, he practically hopped the rest of the way over to him, his smile toothy, cheeks pink, and his eyes crinkled. "I can't believe it! I don't think you understand how massive this is to me." He said, babbling a little in his excitement. "I can't even begin to thank you. You've been such an inspiration to me forever and-" Oh! Oh, shit. Face flooding with color, he lifted his hands to wave off the starstruck gibberish, and instead offered him his palm. "I-I'm Vi." He managed, "It's nice to see you in person."

@purposefully-lost

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny Has Bat-wings

Part 2

Clockwork would regret the day he taught Danny shapeshifting. The ancient time ghost thought it was wise to educate the prince/apprentice to change his appearance at will to better blend in when he traveled across universes.

Add that to the fact Clockwork has been very lenient with the prince and let him cross as amny universes as he desired.

Danny had learned how to make small alterations so far. He started by making himself taller than clockwork but after struggling to cope with low ceilings he stopped. He resorted to using tails and ears of many kinds. He usually took the time to study any animals he wanted to copy and use their traits after figuring out how they worked. He is still years away from a full transformation as this mentor said but he was determined to master at least one.

Danny's greatest discovery so far are wings. He made a full set of wings, bones and all. Although he hasn't figured out feathers (look they are more complex than patches of fur!) so he has bat wings.

Danny was more than proud to show them off to clockwork, practically bouncing off the walls as he darted back and forth.

"Very good Daniel." Clockwork said putting a hand on Danny's head and stopping the boy from moving. "Perhaps you can focus on learning to use your extra limbs now.."

Danny rolled his eyes. He already knew how to fly. He was literally doing it now. Is it really that hard to flap your wings?

Danny took it back, flying is hard.

He had found the rooftops of Bludhaven a good place to practice. Danny understood now why birds pushed their chicks out of the nest as he had to jump off roofs to get enough air to fly. Well, he wasn't flying, yet it was more flapping wildly until he could soften his landing.

Bat wings aren't really made to sit on your back comfortably so Danny had to wrap his wings around his body like a weighted blanket.

Danny learned quickly that dropping down alleyways and having his wings covering him caused people to panic and run. He didn't even get a chance to say sorry. Other times they attacked him calling him "The Bat" or "Batman", which is first off rude, and second, they could have at least called him a vampire or something.

News traveled quickly in Bludhaven right to Detective Grayson that Batman was in town. Which was weird because Bruce should be on a case right now. So it was Nightwing's job to see what was going on.

This "Batman" was clearly not Bruce. Any Gothemite worth their salt could tell that but the people of Bludhaven aren't familiar enough with bats. Speaking of bats, the "Batman" was more of a bat boy. Had ManBat had a kid, probably not.

The kid darted around and jumped from roof to roof with ease. After a few hours of practice, he'd wrap his wings around him and take a quick nap.

Usually, Bruce would demand a file be made on the kid and give him the 3rd degree on why he's here but this was Nightwing's territory. And he thought the kid was harmless if not a bit goofy.

Dick decided to stay quiet on this and letting Bludhaven have its own little Bat Boy. What's more entertaining to watch the kid learn to fly and failing when he tried to land.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon was seething. Never had he been so viscerally angry, his temper dangerously towing the tight rope that was his self control. You’d almost been killed. You’d been shot, and you were damn lucky that it hadn’t been fatal.

He found you on the roof later that night, no longer hiding the pain the bullet wound in your side had caused once you thought you were alone. It took all of two seconds of him seeing you hurting like that for him to snap.

“The fuck were you thinking out there, Y/N?!” His voice echoed in the night air, causing you to flinch slightly. “Do please tell me you’ve got a reasonable explanation for what happened.”

“Simon, please just calm down for a minute.” Your voice was soft, too soft, and it only fueled his anger more.

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” Simon bellowed, his self control rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “You almost fuckin’ died, Y/N!”

Simon hated the way you flinched, hated the way you backed up ever so slightly away from him, but he couldn’t control himself. He had almost lost you.

“I know that, Simon. I know. But I don’t regret what went down.” You forced your voice steady, your eyes not leaving his as you attempted to stand your ground. “I-.”

“You don’t regret almost getting shot? Y/N, you’re not on this team to make reckless decisions. If I knew you’d be making choices like that, I’d have had Price kick you off the team months ago! Almost dying, for what? For what?!” Simon moved closer to you, the red in his vision nearly blinding, and this time you didn’t back away.

“For you, asshole!” You screamed, your hands reaching for Simon’s chest, pushing him as hard as you possibly could. Simon barely moved an inch before you screamed again. “For you! If I hadn’t taken that bullet, you would’ve died!”

Simon’s world stopped in that moment, the red vanishing from his vision, his heart coming to a slow halt in his chest as he absorbed your words. For him?

“He was aiming at you, Simon. If I hadn’t stepped in the way, we would’ve lost you. And I.” You trailed off, unable to look at the hulking man in front of you. “I don’t know, I didn’t hesitate, it was as if it was just instinct for me.”

Simon could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the soft thud thud thud the only thing keeping him grounded. You’d saved him. You’d risked your life to save him.

You, the sweet soldier who always put others first. You, the one who’d always patched him up late at night, laughing at his shitty jokes. You, the one who understood him like nobody else. You, the one person in this godforsaken world that got him to lower the never ending walls within him. You, the one he’d unknowingly loved for years. Saved him.

“I know it was stupid, and if you want to kick me off of the team for it, fine. But I’d do it again.” You threw your hands up in the air, and Simon didn’t miss the way you winced from the pain in your side. “I don’t regret it.”

Simon only stared at you, his eyes betraying none of the inner turmoil that he was currently experiencing.

“I couldn’t lose you, Simon.” Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, your eyes falling on the lower half of his mask. “Not now, not ever. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that bullet hit you.”

Simon’s eyes found yours as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt heavy, incapable of moving. For the first time in his life, he truly didn’t know what to say.

He watched as you chewed your bottom lip, your eyes leaving his yet again as you looked down at your feet. God he wishes he could say something, anything, but as always words failed him around you.

“I’ve got to go report in to Price.” You said, slowly turning away from him to face the door. “I won’t apologize for what I did, but I’m sorry for causing you to doubt my ability to support the team. Have a good night, lieutenant.”

Watching you turn away from him had finally stirred something within him, his heart rapidly beating in his chest. He had to make this right.

“Y/N.” Simon found his voice as you reached the roof’s door, causing you to turn to face him. “Wait.”

Your heart practically stopped beating upon finding Simon’s mask discarded, his face now fully bare for you to see. You weren’t sure what you had expected, once you’d finally seen him, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He was simply beautiful. Every scar, every small freckle, dimple, wrinkle had formed his face impeccably well, and you couldn’t help but stare at him as your mind ran completely blank.

You’d fallen for the masked man long ago, his dry humor, loyalty and bravery were something that’d you’d found yourself drawn to. You’d meant what you said to him about not regretting taking a bullet for him. You loved him. And truthfully couldn’t fathom a life without him.

“Now you see me.” Simon breathed, his eyes softening as he watched you take in every inch of his face. He should’ve felt vulnerable, shy even. But he didn’t. Not with you. He wanted you to see him, every imperfect inch of him.

He bared himself to you, let his face and eyes tell you everything he didn’t know how to express with words.

“I’ve always seen you, Simon Riley.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as your hand softly cupped his cheek. “Always.”

And that was all it took for Simon to know he loved you.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.