#but at least I’m not dumb enough to project that

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The post about people putting hamilton and basic-bitch pop songs on Spider-Punk playlists as legit ruined my night.  Irreparable psychic damage.  I can’t focus on anything else.  At least listen to The Ramones.

[plaid-maniac]

If you ever get the urge to make a game or a mod of a game: DON’T

[kuiinncedes]

;-;

[jarofstyles]

Flower

Hello… here is another mini series I started even tho I have other things I definitely need to finish…. But I’m kinda obsessed with them so I hope you guys like them 🫢

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 2 and 180+ exclusive writings!

WC- 2.8k

Warnings- y/n being oblivious, stupidly sweet h, things alluding to masturbation

“Y’know that isn’t normal for him, right?” Gia murmured as she came up next to Y/N. The low light of the bar had her squinting slightly, but thankfully the rock music wasn’t blaring too loud over the speakers over here. Coming after work, she had looked forward to meeting up with her friends for some much needed socialization- even if she was exhausted.

Confusion painted her features, looking at her friend with furrowed brows. “What are you talking about?” 

“Harry. He’s like, all over you. All the time” She looked over to the man  with a smirk, who had previously excused himself to participate in this round of pool. Y/N wasn’t much for the game so she stayed back in their seats, taking a moment to decompress. Or, try to. Sometimes it got a bit overwhelming with so many people talking at once.

“He’s just touchy, isn’t he?” Y/N had only known Harry for a few months, moving here to teach and one of her coworkers so kindly helped integrate Y/N  into her friend group. Harry owned a contracting business, actually, and Y/N had been getting lots of help from him on a variety of projects. Specifically, the latest project regarding his expertise in what sort of bannister she should have for the staircase. It was antique, and she didn’t want to be like those flippers she saw online who ruined the charm of old houses. If she wanted a brand new build, she would have bought one. “See?” 

Harry had his arm around Mitch, laughing about something probably a little dumb. The man was borderline tipsy but he’d just started his water rounds. He seemed to be an affectionate person, cuddly. At least to her and Mitch and Niall, all of whom seemed used to it. 

“Yeah, but not with women. He’s more reserved when it comes to them but not with you. Like… what was that before?” Her cheeks flushed slightly as dhe knew exactly when her friend was talking about. Harry had come back from the bar with their soft pretzel and another drink for her, and when he sat down she was promptly dragged into his lap. She’d let out a yelp but it turned into a laugh, settling in his thighs. Of course there was no admitting that her stomach had erupted in butterflies and she felt them kick up every time he rested his chin on her or squeezed her a little tighter to him. That the scent of his cologne had become something that grounded her anxiety in the moment, and it was weird how he seemed to be an anchor for her every time he pulled something like that. Somehow he just had that sort of effect on her.

Now that she mentioned it, she had noticed Sarah’s eyes widening when he did that, but she had assumed it was just for the pure audacity of a man manhandling a woman into his lap and ripping off a piece of cheese dipped pretzel and bringing it to her mouth. 

Y/N knew Harry was a cuddle bug. He was needy, like a pup, nosing and pawing his way into peoples hearts. But she assumed he did this sort of stuff with everyone. Maybe she wasn’t paying enough attention, but she had been too nervous to allow herself to think of his touches as flirtation. It would bring down the wall she’d tried to set there to not get her hopes up and look too deep into things. It had gotten her heart bruised a few times already. “Oh.” She replied, looking at her slowly emptying glass. “I, um, didn’t really think about that. He’s been pretty handsy for a long time.” He was also a flirt. Said things on purpose to make her flustered, but only in her ear so she’d get even more worked up. That was something he really liked to do- whisper in her ear or close to her to share something only with her. 

“Babes, you need to open your eyes. That man is completely gone for you. Smitten kitten. I was convinced you guys were secretly banging but I was trying to mind my business… but you mentioned a dating site earlier and I got confused.” She’d wholeheartedly thought they were already an item. “You need to talk to him or make a move or something. He’s all but pissed on you to claim you from the rest of the group, and he keeps looking over here to check on you. He acts like your boyfriend already, but there are more benefits you can cash in on if you just go for it.” She wiggled her brows making Y/N groan, hiding her head in her hands. 

She was way too sober for this conversation. 

Of course she had interest in Harry. Some feelings, even, but he’d never expressed interest in dating anyone. How could she not? He was almost unreal, checking loads of boxes she had in her mental list of ‘what my dream man would have’, including the dimple thing. The fact that he always said he was “waiting for the right one to find me”  when she’d ask floated back into her mind, clearing a bit of the fog that usually surrounded her when she thought about him. Had he been trying to tell her something?

Y/N could admit she wasn’t the most perceptive at times. She was a little oblivious, some could say, and didn’t read into signs well. The trait was something that used to get her into trouble when she was younger, her head always off in the clouds instead of where it needed to be according to the adults around her. It was possible she missed something, but she wanted to find out how to rectify that. 

“Speak of the devil…” Gia whispered, moving over a bit with a snicker as Harry seamlessly slipped back into the booth and ran his hand over her hair. Y/N felt his presence like a blanket, face turning to look at him and his concerned features. That little wrinkle between his brow she always noticed when he was upset or focusing heavily on something.

“Hi, petal. Something wrong? Headache?” He asked delicately in case the answer was yes. She got migraines frequently, as much as it sucked- but Harry had brought her some pain relievers while she was at work once to save her ass. God, her head was a mess but it wasn’t from the migraine this time around.

“No, I’m okay.” She lifted her head, feeling his hand slide under her hair to hold the back of her neck. Hopefully he wouldn’t see the chills settling on her skin as his thumb rubbed over the side of her throat, concern still etched on his features. “Was just a bit dehydrated but I’m fine now.” Her smile must not have been as convincing as she tried, his lips pursing as he shook his head. 

“Got t’be careful with eating the salty chips and then having the drinks… one glass isn’t gonna be enough.” He sighed. “Stay here for me, yeah? I’ll be right back, let me get you some water.” Without thinking he leaned in and pressed a peck to her temple, sliding back out of the booth leaving the spot tingling. Sitting there with rapidly blinking eyes, she watched the stretch of muscles flex under his tee shirt as he made his way towards the bar to order said water.

Okay. Yeah. Now that she mentioned it, she definitely knew he didn’t press little kisses to the rest of the girl’s heads, or give that amount of attention to her but… again, she had tried to ignore it. Tried not to get her hopes up.

“Girl… you’ve got to see it now.” Gia’s brows were raised up. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” 

Maybe she was right. 

——

“I’m okay, H. I promise.” Y/N laughed out the words as he brought the straw back to her mouth and gave her a look. “Fine. But I’m gonna have t’piss soon if you keep force feeding water down my throat.” She shook her head as she took another drink, making a show of swallowing it. “See? Done.” 

Harry’s eyes had dipped down to her throat when she swallowed and back up to her mouth, taking a beat too long to respond. “Good. You… we can’t have you feeling poorly tomorrow. Are y’still up for it?” His hand was traveling around her body. Not in a sexual way, not really, but over her shoulders. Rubbing her arm. Cupping the back of her neck. Fiddling with her hair. For the first time, Y/N could consciously see what Gia was talking about. Maybe it was sad she needed someone else’s validation of it first, but now that she had it she didn’t feel as crazy for the emotions she felt. 

“Of course.” Harry was taking her to a sick used bookstore that he had helped remodel a few years back. When he found out she had gotten back into a reading mood lately, he’d suggested it immediately over text under the table, which now that she was thinking about it…. It was obviously to ensure it would be just the two of them. No one else.  He wanted to take her by herself, a little outing for just the two of them.

Stupid butterflies kicked in overdrive. “I’ve been dying to grab some new books.”

“I know. I remembered it when the owner called me a few days back about something and knew I had t’take you.” He grinned, leaning in a bit as he tucked the hair behind her ear. “I really hope you’ll like it.”

Y/N didn’t have much time to respond before the chatter got louder and the group that had gone back up to the bar for more drink ambled back and climbed into the booth. This time it wasn’t as much of a shock when she was scooped up into his lap, but it still made her hot under the skin. Her tummy swirled as he wrapped one solid arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, the other running over her thigh. It wasn’t suggestive, closer to her knee as he began to rub his thumb over the soft skin there. 

For some reason it was getting to her, making her worked up. The gentle touches, the wholesome nature of it made her feel a bit ashamed as she felt herself throb between her thighs, but it only got worse when he adjusted her in his lap, lifting her like it was nothing. Of course he had strength, the man hauled lumber by himself and did all sorts of superhuman shit when it came to construction, but it still shocked her every time she got to experience it first hand.

Taking a moment to think about it, it was always apparent that he was a beautiful man with a beautiful body. One thing that she really liked were his arms. Just as a whole. Hands, arms, how they’d built out a bit from all the hands on work. His hands could be a little rough with some callouses from those tools, but her grandma always did tell her that was the sign of a hard working man. It wasn’t something she focused on before because she had tried to deny the possibility of not only rejection but not being able to be in the friend group if things went sour..  At the moment she was past that. 

She could see the vein in his arm just a bit, near the anchor tattoo. His hand curled over her knee, almost possessively. This entire position was him claiming her. Realizing now he’d never pulled any of the other girls as close as he did her made her head spin. Hell, he really didn’t do much than give a friendly hug or hand to help them if they were stumbling. Fuck, he could actually feel something for her. Far past friendship.

“You’re quiet.” His words were so close they almost vibrated in her ear, making her startle a bit. “Shit, sorry Petal. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The little smile given to her made its way into her bloodstream, heating her up the longer he looked at her. “Why are you in your head, hm? Tired?” 

The way he spoke to her was so tender and sweet… gah! Now that she was allowing the possibility to be a thought, it was shaking her up. 

“Yeah, getting tired.” She wasn’t lying.  Her Friday classes had been a handful. That was the truth. “Need to take a long shower and sleep until an hour before you come to pick me up.” 

“Sounds like a good plan. What kind of soap or shampoo do you use?” He asked, a noticeable shift in his voice. A little deeper, softer for her ears only. It was intimate, she realized. How he spoke to her privately with her tucked in his lap. Her body melted further into him, but the lump in her throat had expanded from the realization. “You always smell fuckin’ amazing.” His nose skimmed over the side of her jaw making her exhale shakily. He was taking an inhale of her as he hugged her body against him. Her poor vibrator was in for it when she got home. 

“Uh- it’s like a coconut citrus mix?” She had to think about it. It was hard to focus on anything with her revelations at hand and the man of the hour touching her so liberally. Like she was his to touch. It wasn’t disrespectful and she knew he was the first person to read her body language- hell, he probably could read her mind better than she could process her own thoughts. But it was still sinking in, the feelings gripping her stomach. “Thank you. I try my best. No one wants to be stinky.” Nose crinkling in disgust, she felt him shake his head against her. 

“Trust me when I say you’re the best smelling person I’ve met. Wouldn’t complain if all my things smelled like you.” Oh? He didn’t elaborate, but there was a barely there kiss to the hinge of her jaw rendering her speechless. His reaction was to place his chin back on her shoulder, interjecting into Niall’s rant while Y/N sat there trying to process what that was. 

Deciding to test something made her really nervous, but she wanted to see what he’d do. While he was always the affectionate one and she never pushed him away, she didn’t usually return it as much. He always sought her out and she reciprocated but she wasn’t one to initiate a lot… so she wanted to see what he’d do. 

Letting out a yawn, she leaned her head against his shoulder and let her head nuzzle into his neck. Without saying a word, her hand went for his on her thigh and weaved their fingers together, pulling it further up her thigh. Holding his hand, she could feel his body stiffen ever so slightly for a mere moment and his heart rate pick up. His other arm around her tightened, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “Comfy?” He mumbled to her.

“Mhm.” She nodded, letting his hand squeeze hers. He was just solid and sturdy. She could lean against him and feel protected in a way. Why she hadn’t tried this sooner she didn’t know, but she could hear his mood get better as he spoke. It was palpable, like he was vibrating a little bit, squeezing her hand every once in a while to remind her he was there. Or maybe it was for his own mind? 

It continued like this for a bit until everyone decided to get going, Harry being the last to stand. He was gentle about helping her off his lap, beating her to get on his feet and offered his hand to her to help her up. “C’mon, sleepy Flower. Time for your shower and sleep. Can’t have you too tired for the selection of books, hm?”  His hand steady on the small of her back, he led her to the car with a bit of a delay as they said good, a hug tight and lifting her off the ground a bit as he did so before having her promise to text when she got home. 

She fulfilled the promise, as well as her guilty vibrator session thinking about that tiny kiss on her skin and his hand on her knee, hoping that would make her chill out. It didn’t. 

[push-the-heartbrake]

𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪 (𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙄𝙣 𝙈𝙮 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩) // 𝙎.𝙍

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Summary: “I’m not supposed to do this, but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.”  — or the one where Spencer really likes the library for its books, the chess, and the girl working the night shift.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.9k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Cm typical violence, Spencer gets injured but nothing major. Mention of bullying, sick parents, and addiction. Takes place sometime after he got clean, so S4 perhaps? No smut, but talk of sex. Spencer being an insecure virgin and reader having used sex as a coping mechanism in the past.

A/N: Hello!! New blog, new fic. I'm too dumb to write for Spencer, but I tried my best. Reader probably has too much personality and backstory but I stopped caring midway through. No physical descriptors used though, except for some wacky clothing. Tell me what you think? Please? Love ya, bye.

You wouldn’t think it was possible, given how most Americans viewed paying taxes, but for some reason, in some way, a very persistent person at some board meeting somewhere had managed to get through the idea that at least one library in D.C. should be open all hours of the day. 

Spencer, for one, couldn’t be more pleased with that decision. 

He had fond memories of spending long nights in quiet libraries when he was working toward one of his many degrees. Now, his longing for the silence and solitude stemmed from insomnia. He guessed most people his age spent sleepless nights out at nightclubs or in the never-ending search for love or just a one-night stand to suffice some sort of primal need. Spencer wasn’t like that. Never had, nor ever would be.

The library was a better place in every sense. He grew bored out of his mind by being alone in his apartment for too long, but he also got tired of having people around him. His job was social enough. The library was a perfect mixture of the two, requiring silence but still had people in motion so that he didn’t feel entirely isolated. 

He’d browse the shelves, searching for things he hadn’t read. Quickly getting through many books in an evening with his way of processing words. It got to the point where there weren’t enough books about his usual interests, so he would pick up books about old cars that Rossi mentioned and learn about their engineering or read some wacky poetry that Emily had recommended that she loved as a teenager. 

Sometimes he’d bring whatever knitting project he was working on and join some old ladies who met up at the library to knit and discuss romance novels. Spencer didn’t bring much to the conversation, but he liked hearing them talk. He wasn’t much for gossip, but made-up drama between fictional characters was surprisingly entertaining. 

He would also borrow one of the computers and play online chess for hours until his eyes had grown tired from the bright light and he finally thought he might be able to go home and force himself to sleep. Eric, one of the chess players that he frequently met in a local park, showed up sometimes, when he wasn’t swamped with homework or had a curfew to keep. Maybe he should make some friends his own age that weren’t his colleagues, but Eric, at age fifteen, was also the best chess player that Spencer had ever met. 

So, the quietness, the books, the knitting, and the chess were all perks of spending time at the library. The cute girl sitting at the front desk, working almost every night shift alone, was also somewhat of a perk.

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure how it came about or why he was so enamored by even just the idea of you, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger for a little bit too long whenever he walked past the front desk or saw you organizing books at some shelf in the library. 

That was a lie. Spencer knew exactly how it happened and why. 

It started with simple people-watching. He liked to imagine wild backstories for people he only saw in passing. Probably a result of being a profiler. 

With students he would wonder about what project they were researching late at night in the library and what their majors were and if he could notice patterns in their appearances and behaviors. 

He’d connect the dots with the old women knitting and their opinions about the romance novels to actual experiences in their own lives. One had been cheated on in her youth and found any sort of love triangle to be awful, while another couldn’t understand certain writers fascination with sneaking in unplanned pregnancies because she had never wanted kids herself. 

And while Eric and he played chess in silence most of the time, he still picked up on how Eric didn’t like how strict his mother was on him and how his sisters got treated differently, more easygoing, than him. 

And then there was you, the only other person who would frequent—well, you worked there—the library so often that Spencer could start to piece together your backstory. 

His first impression was that you were cute, in like an objective way. The same way people would look at Garcia with some sort of childlike awe of how uniquely herself she was. You had that same thing about you, with colorful cardigans and ribbons tied in your hair. 

The second thing he noticed was that you probably didn’t work that much. You were sat at that front desk all night, organizing what needed to be organized and helping those who needed help, but then you were left to yourself for the rest of your shift. You read a lot, but Spencer never got close enough to see what exactly. You also had the news playing really quietly on a little radio, perhaps to not go completely insane from the silent nature of the library. 

At first he thought you weren’t too talkative, but then he observed an interaction you had with a student. A young mother who came to the library to study while her child peacefully slept in their stroller. Spencer wasn’t one to judge. If the child got to sleep and the mother got to study, it was a win-win situation, although unconventional. 

When he saw the mother and baby leave, going up to you to check out some books, he saw just how talkative you were, practically spewing out words about the subjects she was researching and cooing at the baby who was then awake, calling it adorable and quickly playing peekaboo. 

Now, as Spencer sat in a chair, not too far from the entrance and the front desk, acting like he was reading a book he had already read through, he observed you inconspicuously. 

You were fronting books on a display shelf that was the first thing you saw when you entered the library. Usually seasonal books, or that followed a current event or a theme. It was Halloween this time around, and you fought with the mess that was fake cobwebs. A garland of little black bats hung over the shelf and plastic jack-o-lanterns acted as bookstands. He could spot certain covers of books he recognized. Goosebumps, for the children. Stephen King, for the horror fanatics. Edgar Allan Poe, for the poetry lovers. 

You quietly cursed under your breath as your fingers got stuck in the cobwebs, and Spencer had to cover his laugh with an unnatural cough. That was when he saw that your nails were painted a pumpkin-like orange and your black cardigan had a little skeleton pattern. You were going all out with the theme, even if you barely saw any people during the night shift, telling Spencer that you were doing it all for your own enjoyment. 

As you stretched to place books on the highest shelf, he noticed your trousers, and Spencer was only a man—granted a little peculiar and different—but still a man, with working eyes and needs. You wore slacks so well-fitting he wondered what tailor you went to or if you could sew yourself. And Converse, always dark red Converse. You dressed like him, but in a more colorful, feminine way. 

He saw you pick up a book and judge it by its cover, then instead of placing it on display, you put it in a tote bag placed on the cart you had to pick books from. He’d seen you use the same tote bag before, when you were organizing the shelves, placing books back or collecting ones loaned online. The album cover for Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside was on it, not because Spencer knew of the album but because the text was printed on it. 

You used it to pick out books for yourself, Spencer noticed in the moment. While rolling the cart around with books for others, if you saw one that you wanted to read during your shift, you’d place it in the tote bag to not lose it in the masses. 

You were filled and covered in idiosyncrasies, making you nothing but enchanting to watch. And cute, in both the aforementioned objective Garcia-esque way and also a subjective Spencer-esque way. Not in the sense that Spencer found himself subjectively cute, but that you were subjectively cute in a way that felt catered to him and his attractions. 

Spencer thought all of this about you, while he had never even spoken a singular word to you. He would fantasize about what your initial interaction would be like, but he never had the courage to actually do something about it. He wouldn’t say that he was shy, and he normally didn’t find it that difficult to speak to someone, but something about your subjective cuteness made you terrifying. 

And it didn’t come naturally. He had a library card; he didn’t need to talk to you to check out a book. And asking for directions to a certain book seemed pointless when he had the shelves memorized. 

Spencer stood up from his chair to place the book he’d pretend to read back on the right shelf, passing by his favorite section of classics translated into their original languages. He was grateful that D.C. was multicultural enough and filled with diplomats and embassies so that the library found it necessary to take in books that weren’t in English. 

He stopped to browse the Russian selection, his finger grazing the spine of Война и мир. 

Wait… Certain rare books had to be checked out at the front desk. 

And while he already had this book at home, annotated and analyzed, you didn’t know that. He could totally loan this to compare to the version he had at home. This was an earlier copy than his own, and maybe certain parts of the Russian language were different. 

Yes. That could work. He was going to talk to you.

With the book in hand, he willed himself to approach the front desk you were now sitting at after finally winning the wrestle match against the cobwebs. 

You looked up from the computer as you noticed him, the soft glow of overhead lights casting shadows over the high points of your face. A welcoming smile, although well-rehearsed in a customer service-like manner, stunned him as he placed the book and his library card on the counter. 

“War and Peace… in Russian?” you asked, raising a brow as you grabbed the book to scan it. The way you viewed it showed that you recognized the book from the cover, but not the Russian language. And then you looked right up at him, not afraid of keeping eye contact. 

Spencer cleared his throat, suddenly hyperaware of how intently you were looking at him. “I’m rereading it to compare to the English version.” 

“Are you by any chance from Russia?” 

“No,” he said with an honest smile. “I’m from Nevada. But I know enough Russian to get by.”

You let out a low hum of appreciation, your fingers quickly typing something down on the keyboard after having scanned his card. Your nails weren’t only pumpkin-colored, but on them were also minuscule little pumpkin faces. 

“To each their own. Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive.” 

“Have you read it?” Spencer asked, his curiosity slipping through. 

“No,” you admitted with a laugh. “I picked Infinite Jest as my designated brick of a book that I’ll never finish but still spew opinions about.” 

The honesty of your response caught him off guard, and a small chuckle escaped before he could stop it. 

“Which is embarrassing to admit to someone who actually can read said bricks,” you added. 

“Even worse as a librarian,” he teased, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess them.

“Hey,” you said, your tone mock defensive. “I mostly recommend things to kids anyway. I know all about Daisy Meadows and Captain Underpants.” 

That Spencer was twelve years old when he discovered Tolstoy was something he kept to himself. He understood that most kids wanted something funny or imaginative to read, like underpants or fairies—not Russian realism. 

“How long until you gave up on Infinite Jest?” he asked instead, leaning slightly on the counter in a way that felt more natural than he anticipated.

“I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.” The quote escaped you easily, like you actually had it memorized, but the way your smile cracked through revealed that you were painfully aware of the ironic implication of it. 

“That’s the opening sentence,” Spencer pointed out, fighting the urge to laugh outright.

“Captivating, right?” you quipped. 

Spencer kept his smile tight as he enjoyed your sarcastic humor. He would’ve never assumed that Infinite Jest was the beast that broke you. Stereotypically, he thought it was stoners and annoying philosophy majors thinking the world was doomed who enjoyed that book. 

You didn’t look like either.

But there was also the huge amount of guys who kept it in their bookshelves and had it on display when they had girls over, as a conversation piece, although they hadn’t read a word from it. Maybe you had fallen victim to one of those guys and decided to give it a try on your own, at least getting further than they ever had. 

“So you’re more into modern literature?” he was quick to ask, keeping the conversation going. 

He wasn’t even sure if David Foster Wallace was considered modern. Contemporary was probably a better word. In comparison to the Russian mellow kind of realism, Wallace was hysterical. Spencer had read it for the sake of saying that he’d read it. After all, it didn’t take him that long. While he was comfortable being the guy who read Tolstoy in Russian, he wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable being the guy who had Infinite Jest as his holy scripture. It made some interesting points about substance abuse and addiction, but that was about it for Spencer, if he was going to give a literary review. 

“Not really, I adore some classics,” you admitted, before pointing to a small stack of books behind the counter. The ones you’d snuck into your tote bag. “Now I mostly read poetry, though. All kinds, as long as it’s short and impactful.”

“Oh, you’d hate this then,” he said, like a realization, meaning War and Peace. 

You scrunched your nose, nodding softly. “Mhm, and Infinite Jest too.”

There was a beat of silence, not uncomfortable but charged with the kind of potential Spencer wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“Alright, Tolstoy,” you said, sliding the book over the counter in his direction. “Enjoy your comparative studies.” 

“Thanks,” he replied shortly. 

As he walked away, book in hand, he couldn’t help but glance back once, catching you fiddling with the edges of your cardigan as you returned your focus to the computer screen. If you wanted to hide your smile from him, you weren’t doing that good of a job. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer wasn’t sure if he had overthought it, read too much into it, to the point where nothing was making sense. A conversation with a person loaning a book at a library that you worked at probably wasn’t that noteworthy to you, even if it left you dumbly smiling after he’d left. 

So, he didn’t dare walk up to you again. He couldn’t justify it in his head. Maybe when his War and Peace loan expired, he’d find an excuse to check it out again, but until then, Spencer didn’t know how to talk to you. 

On one afternoon, when the unit had just finished up a case in rural Virginia, Spencer had taken the train back home to D.C. and gone to the library earlier than usual. It was more crowded, with students cramming in some last-minute studying for their finals and parents taking their kids for a little after-school adventure. 

He sought refuge in a quiet corner—a cluster of armchairs nestled between the history books and autobiographies—where he could read in peace even though it was busy. But on his way, he was stopped in his tracks. Walking past the kids section, a voice he had begun to recognize caught his attention. 

You sat cross-legged on a colorful mat, a worn picture book spread wide in your hands. Your voice carried the story with a mix of humor and animation as you brought the story to life, reading aloud to an audience of tiny faces. Children leaned forward eagerly, their eyes wide with fascination, while a few younger ones had already succumbed to the comforting cadence of your voice, their tiny bodies sprawled across cushions in peaceful slumber. You held the book up for the kids to see the illustrations, pausing occasionally to add exaggerated voices that sent giggles rippling through the group.

Spencer lingered, a faint smile tugging at his lips, before he walked away to not get noticed. 

As time passed, the library emptied out. He saw people leave, tired from a long day. For him it was the opposite. Now was when his favorite time of day began, if he wasn’t stuck in the limbo of trying to get himself to sleep. But he had the day off tomorrow and could spend all of it sleeping if he wanted to, so tonight he wouldn’t be anxious about the lack of sleep he was getting, and instead fully indulge in the quiet sanctuary that was the library. 

Spencer sat in one of the armchairs, a book open on his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in over fifteen minutes. Something heavy about the history of Nobel Prize winners in chemistry. He was lost in thought, the events of the day fading into memory. 

Footsteps broke the silence, rubber soles squeaking against the linoleum floor, growing louder until they stopped just beside him. He looked up to see you standing there, two steaming paper mugs in your hands.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” you began, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “but you’re the only person still here, so I made us tea.” 

You placed both mugs on the table in front of Spencer before flopping down into an armchair of your own. You had dungarees on and a soft maroon sweater underneath, matching your Converse. Spencer blinked, unable to form a sentence as he watched you get comfortable, picking up a book from the tote bag you always seemed to carry. He didn’t necessarily recognize the cover, but he knew of the author’s name.

“John Cooper Clarke? You’re into punk?” he heard himself ask before he could think twice about it. You didn’t even get the chance to start reading. 

You tilted your head. “You know who he is?” 

“I have a colleague who used to be goth in high school. Full on Siouxsie Sioux. And she has told me about JCC,” Spencer explained. 

Emily. She was the reason he knew about the “punk poet”. He still couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her yearbook photos from high school. Even less so when she would quote the same poem every single time they had to wait for something—the jet to get ready, blood samples and lab reports, Rossi to catch up when they had to run somewhere. Whatever it was, she would quote Evidently Chickentown. 

“Makes sense,” you replied. “He performed on the same bill as a lot of those early post-punk and goth bands.” 

Spencer smiled, quietly reciting, “The fucking train is fucking late. You fucking wait, you fucking wait.” 

“You’re fucking lost and fucking found. Stuck in fucking Chickentown.” You chuckled, picking up the line seamlessly. Spencer sounded like cursing was something alien to him, as if the crude words didn’t belong to his vocabulary. You found it sweet, yet unusual. “That poem is in this book! Along with the weird one about being someone’s vacuum cleaner, do you know that too?” 

“Uhm, no. I don’t think I know that one,” Spencer admitted, silently begging for you to read it to him. He would be just as excited as the children hearing you read aloud earlier. 

“If I’m annoying or distracting,” you said after a moment, “you can tell me to leave. I just sort of go insane spending all night here alone in silence.” 

He’d been sitting by himself, looking like he was reading a book about chemistry breakthroughs, and maybe that didn’t come across as someone who wanted to be talked to. Spencer at least assumed that was your thought process when shyly admitting that you were seeking company. 

“No, uhm, it’s okay. Thank you for the tea,” Spencer was quick to say before grabbing one of the mugs and taking a small sip. He didn’t want you to leave. If you were voluntarily talking to him, that was better than any made-up War and Peace-related plan he could come up with. 

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” he added. 

You told him your name in return, pointing to your name tag—a little yellow one with Winnie-the-Pooh on it—before reaching out your hand to him. He hadn’t noticed the tag before, and maybe that was because he didn’t want to get caught staring at your chest. 

He looked at your hand, the germaphobe in him coming to life as he observed your dainty fingers. At least in comparison to his own. The orange nail polish was gone and replaced by a simple black coat. Even your hands were cute to him, yet covered in bacteria. 

“Oh, I don’t do handshakes,” he said and took in your reaction, your smile fading as you retracted your hand and hid it in your pocket. 

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss,” he felt the need to explain. It was a simple fact, yet he didn’t think of the implications. Spencer’s eyes widened at the sound of his own voice, and he stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, “Uh… not that you and I—I mean, you know what I mean.”

You acted like you didn’t mind, keeping the conversation going without noticing the huge bump in the road that Spencer thought he had created. 

“But doesn’t the other person’s bacteria stay in you forever after you’ve kissed them?” you wondered, a crease forming between your brows as you thought about it. “Don’t quote me on it, but I’ve read that somewhere. It’s like eighty million bacteria exchanged on average in a french kiss, and that some of them stay and colonize, becoming part of your own… what’s it called?” Your voice trailed off, searching for the right word. 

“Microbiome?” he supplied. “The community of microorganisms found living together in one habitat?” 

“That’s the one!” You lit up with realization. “It’s horrifying and poetic that, after you’ve kissed someone, they become part of you forever.” 

He thought of the bacteria, while you thought of the internal battle of someone you’ve kissed staying with you forever. He blamed his background in STEM and his lack of experience with kissing for not seeing the big deal. 

“I’m sure it’s not in any way that’s noticeable to us. It’s modest at worst,” he tried to reassure. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what research you were referencing when mentioning the eighty million bacteria, or if it even was scientific research. Knowing a little bit about you, it could possibly be poetry about clinging to something or someone for too long. But he knew enough about microbiomes and their complexity that one exchange of saliva wouldn’t alter them majorly. Maybe in a constant way, but never majorly. 

“In the sense of bacteria colonizing?” you wondered, seeing Spencer nod. “Well, it’s still psychologically fucked up.” 

Spencer raised his eyebrows at your frankness, urging you to keep talking. 

“I would like to forget the fact that I made out with Cody Parker in ninth grade, but no, he’s stuck in my microbiome. That’s fucked up,” you laughed, gesturing with your hands in frustration. 

“Now, what was so bad about Cody?” 

You huffed before answering. “Captain of the football team. Is that enough of a reason to hate him?” 

Spencer could’ve guessed it from his name. Cody. He could imagine what he looked like and why you would’ve kissed him. Hell, Spencer would’ve probably kissed a guy like him too if given the chance at that delicate age of self-discovery. Just to have it done early, and as a bragging right for the future. His first kiss had been at a college party that he was too young to attend really, with some girl who probably saw him more as a little brother to care for rather than someone she was actually attracted to. 

“Do you also have a deep hatred for anyone that ever played high school football?” Spencer asked with a small, curious smile. 

“You could say that,” you admitted, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “I lost my virginity to Cody the same night, and then he stole my underwear and stuck them to my locker with a note that said I was up for grabs.” 

You laughed after you said it, but Spencer couldn’t help but wince. He understood why you laughed, a response to make something uncomfortable feel less serious, but he couldn’t believe that someone had done that to you. 

He was an annoying, know-it-all, little boy when he was in high school and had internally justified the bullying he had gone through by telling himself that football players and cheerleaders were just jealous and stupid, probably still stuck in their cliques, in Vegas working dead-end jobs. But you, you shone like light itself, and someone had still found a reason to humiliate you. It didn’t make sense. 

“The football team at my school tied me to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of a girl I had a crush on,” Spencer shared softly. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing. Not to make it seem like he’d had it worse, but to show that you had similarities. 

Your head turned sharply to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Not that we’re competing, but I think you win the bully-off we just had.” You straightened up in your seat, lifting your legs to sit criss-cross. “But you’re cute, though. Was the girl at least nice to you?”

Spencer looked down at his hands, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. You’d called him cute.He thought you were cute. It shouldn’t be the other way around. 

You stared at him like you were questioning his sanity while he reacted to the compliment.  It wasn’t him you were questioning, but the eyesight of all the people Spencer had around him, because why wasn’t he used to being complimented? It didn’t even necessarily need to be about their eyesight. They had to be deaf too, because just from hearing him talk, you were fascinated by the way his brain worked. 

“I graduated high school at the age of twelve, and she was like sixteen, so no, she didn’t care much,” he answered slowly, keeping his cool. He knew now that he never had a chance with the girl anyway, but twelve-year-old Spencer had been heartbroken, and, of course, humiliated. 

Your eyes turned even wider as he spoke. “Huh? Is that legal? Are you some kind of genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory,” Spencer admitted matter-of-factly. He didn’t know why it felt like a secret to tell people just how smart he was. In an academic sense, that is. 

“Certified genius,” you declared with a grin. 

“And I do introduce myself as Dr. Spencer Reid when I’m at work,” he added, emphasizing his name.

“You’ve got a PhD?” you asked. The crease between your brows seemed permanent at this point. 

“A few.” 

“More than one?” 

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. BAs in psychology and sociology,” Spencer rattled off, glancing at you cautiously to gauge your reaction.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “I would’ve hated you just as much as those football players.” 

“Not in the sense that I would’ve tied you to a goalpost,” you added quickly, “but more so that I would’ve been insanely jealous. I might still be jealous; the jury is out on that until you explain further.” 

Spencer gave a soft laugh, believing that you wouldn’t have been a mean girl. “Do you want to get into the reasons why certain people are smarter than others?” 

“No, I just…” Your voice trailed off, and you paused to take a sip of your tea. “Do you ever get freaked out over how people’s lives are vastly different even though they’ve spent the same amount of time on earth?” 

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“Like, we look similar in age but probably have very few shared experiences because you were born a genius and I was born…” you gestured vaguely, searching for the right words, coming up with nothing in the end. 

You were born… how exactly? Spencer tried to fill in the blank, but his guesses seemed almost offensive. “You don’t appear to be dumb,” Spencer countered gently. “You seem to be socially smarter than I am.” 

“Because I’m sat here oversharing high school stories with virtually a stranger?” you teased, almost self-deprecatingly, like your easy way of talking was a fault. 

And maybe that was true. Spencer knew what it was like to say too much at the wrong time, or have people turn uninterested mid-sentence when he was speaking. But he thought that stemmed from how bad he actually was at talking with people. And you were good at it, with a fluidity and humor to your speech that not many people had. 

“I’m not good with words, and you obviously are,” he settled on saying, earnestly. 

“No, not really. I was never good at anything. Always a straight B-student. It’s a damn mystery how I managed to get this job without a master’s degree,” you said with a shrug. “When I realized my own mediocrity in high school, I stopped trying. I thought it was much more fun to do drugs and get railed in the back of some college boy’s car. Spoiler alert, it’s not.” 

“R-railed?” Spencer stammered, nearly choking on his tea.

“Too crude of a word for you?” 

“No, I just would’ve never assumed—” 

“That I was a slut in my youth?” you retorted, staring him down. “I’m only messing with you, Spencer. Now I’m sober, and boring, and in on a three-year-long dry spell.”  

“We’re more similar than you think, so you don’t have to be freaked out about our lack of shared experiences,” Spencer said softly as realization struck him. 

“You also got railed by college boys?” you quipped, and Spencer let out an unexpected laugh, his cheeks reddening.

“No, uhm, I meant being sober from drugs, and the dry spell too,” he clarified quickly.

As the conversation stilled, Spencer noticed he still had the book on Nobel Prize winners opened in his lap. He shut it quietly and placed it on the table, carefully looking at you as you sipped your tea. Your own book was long forgotten too, sliding down the side of your seat. You ran your fingers over your knees, still sitting cross-legged, nails rasping against your denim dungarees. You weren’t scared to look right back at him, not scared to be with him in silence for a moment. He watched as your eyes drifted to his book, struggling to read the title upside down.  

“What does an actual genius do for a living? And why can he spend so much time at a library in the middle of the night?” you asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, turning the book to see. 

“Do you want to guess?” he asked, not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because he sensed you were about to guess anyway. 

“You’re probably some sort of professor, teaching and researching something I couldn’t even begin to fathom,” you speculated, resting your chin on your hand, flipping through the pages. “You’re also away for like a week at a time and then back here for a week, so you must travel. Maybe you go to conventions and guest lectures. Have you ever done a TED talk?” 

You noticed his patterns. That he had noticed yours was no surprise. He noticed everyone’s. But you had noticed his, meaning that you cared enough to mind when he was at the library multiple nights a week and when he wasn’t. What did that tell Spencer? Absolutely nothing he could make sense of. 

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not a professor, though I have done a couple guest lectures,” he explained, waiting for you to continue guessing. 

“Do you work for some tech company then? Are you secretly a billionaire?” 

“Nope, I make a humble living compared to the work I put in.” 

“So, the public sector then,” you deduced at the same time as a bell could be heard. 

You quickly whipped your head around, straining to see the front desk, where an awfully stressed-out student could be found, holding some heavy book on human anatomy that Spencer knew had to be checked out manually. 

“Oh, fuck—” you muttered, quickly standing up, momentarily lost. “I should probably get back to work.” 

“Don’t forget your bag,” Spencer hurried to say before you could leave without it. The Kick Inside. Was that a reference to pregnancy? Maybe Spencer should look into Kate Bush to have another thing to talk to you about. 

You picked up your book and paper mug, slinging the bag over your shoulder, and gave him one last smile. “Do you know you have the face of a genius?” 

“W-what?” he questioned, unsure of why you’d said that. 

“It’s a lyric from a song on this album. It made me think of you,” you said, pointing to the bag, before walking away to the front desk to do what you were paid to do. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The next time Spencer talked to you was exactly two weeks and one day later. They’d been on a case in California, which naturally led to him not seeing you. But then when he was back, you weren’t working. He spent three days filling out reports at the office, waiting for time to go so that he could take the train home and go to the library, and when he showed up, you weren’t even there. 

Two weeks he planned what to say to you. The last three days of those felt like torture, not knowing where you were. On the fourth day, you were finally back. And Spencer wasn’t shy. And he could justify his reason for talking to you. Two weeks and one day ago, you had talked to him first. 

It was early December, and the first snow fell softly outside as he walked into the warmth of the library. He knew immediately that you were back working because you were the first thing he saw. Perched on a small stool near the front desk and the display shelf of seasonal books, you were stacking books into a makeshift Christmas tree. Carefully selected covers in colors of red and green were stacked into circles, narrowing as you built upward, creating somewhat of a tree shape.

You hummed softly as you worked, occasionally glancing down at the growing stack with concentration. As you reached for another book, you were stopped in your tracks by the telltale sound of footsteps against the library’s linoleum floor. Footsteps that could only be made by a pair of Converse. 

“I listened to The Kick Inside.” 

Looking over your shoulder, you found him standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a small smile on his face. Your hands paused mid-placement as you looked down at him, brows lifting in surprise. “You did?” 

“Creative use of resources, by the way,” Spencer mentioned, picking up a book from the pile and handing it to you, his long fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. “Did a song about incest really make you think of me?” 

“Oh, no. Just that singular lyric.” You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s inspired by some old English folklore, I think.” Balancing on the stool, you placed the book carefully onto the stack, leaning back to eye the structure.

“A murder ballad called Lizie Wan. Her brother got her pregnant, and then he killed her.” Spencer supplied, his tone instinctively slipping into lecture mode. He stepped closer and shed his coat to drape it over a nearby chair as he continued to hand you books. 

You made a face. “Well, did you like it? The album, I mean. Not the incest.” 

“I understand why youlike it. It’s very… you,” Spencer explained, hoping it made sense. It was theatrical and wacky. Feminine too, in a brutal way, only archivable in lyrics written by an adolescent girl. Spencer wasn’t a music lover by any means, but even he could hear that it was undeniably good, just not his taste. “Is Wuthering Heights perhaps your favorite classic novel?” 

“No, not at all. I think it’s a stupid book and a stupid song,” you said. 

Spencer handed you another book, his eyes darting between the growing tree and your face. The grin you put on betrayed your monotone voice. 

“Okay, no. I adore it,” you admitted. “It’s a nightmare to read, and I fully believe Emily was clinically insane, but I can’t help but love dark and twisted women. One review at the time when it was first published questioned how she could’ve finished writing it without committing suicide. That’s badass.” 

“Do you know that Kate hadn’t even read the book when she wrote the song? She just watched some TV adaptation, which is why the names are all messed up,” you continued as you perfectly balanced the book he gave you onto the others. You’d soon be done at this pace. 

“I did notice that she sang Cathy instead of Catherine, and Cathy is the daughter, right?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “So if you know the book, the song totally reads like a love song between Heathcliff and his dead lover’s daughter.” 

“That’s disturbing,” Spencer concluded. “I can’t help but think that Brontë would’ve loved it.” 

Your lips twitched into a smile, but you didn’t comment further, too focused on your Christmas tree. He handed you another book in silence and saw how your nails were now painted red with little white snowflakes on some of them. He wondered if you painted them yourself. You were back to wearing your usual slacks and cardigan. This time a white one that looked terribly comfortable and wintery. In your hair you had a red ribbon tied into a bow, matching, as always, your red Converse. 

After a moment, you spoke. “You were gone for a while, again. Who in the public sector travels that much? I hope you’re not a politician.” 

“No, I’m not,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’m with the FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

You blinked, looking down at him in mild shock. “You’re a profiler?”

He nodded.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. And it’s scary as hell. No wonder you’ve got insomnia, probably messed up from all the murders you’ve solved.” 

“I’m not making fun of you,” you added quickly. “I’ve obviously got it too; I wouldn’t be working the night shift voluntarily otherwise.”

Spencer handed you the final book for the top tier, his gaze steady on you. “You weren’t here for a couple of days either. I had to talk to Omar, and he’s not as good of a conversationalist.” 

You snorted. “Period cramps from hell,” you said casually, knowing it was the fastest way to end questions. 

Spencer also knew that it was a common lie told by women to men. And he wasn’t the kind of person to be grossed out by basic biology. He might have issues with pathogens and handshakes, but he had no issues talking about the human body. 

“Bold move to lie to a profiler,” he remarked, tilting his head slightly.

“I didn’t necessarily lie—” 

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth.” 

He waited, silent and expectant.

You sighed, and for once your gaze was scared to meet his. “I’m kind of…depressed. Probably just seasonal, I fucking hate the winter. Spent three days on my living room floor, in some sort of verbal shutdown, just staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’m even human.”  

Spencer’s brows knit together, concern flickering across his face. “Do you feel better now?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you said, forcing a small smile.

Before Spencer could respond, the precarious stack of books wobbled. You tried to steady it, but the entire top layer you’d just finished collapsed in a cascade of covers and pages, books tumbling to the floor in a loud crash. You stepped down from the stool quickly, and Spencer instinctively grabbed you by the hand so that you wouldn’t fall. He didn’t even have time to think about germs. 

“You’re legally allowed to shoot me in the head,” you said with a disbelieving sigh. 

“You can’t consent to murder,” Spencer replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“But you can consent to bodily harm, right? So maybe you can shoot me in the foot at least?”

“That’s more reserved for sports and medical procedures. Shooting you would still be a crime even if you coerced me,” he explained. 

“Sadomasochism too, right? You can consent to sexually inflicted pain?” 

“Ehm—” Spencer mouth got dry, and his cheeks flushed red. “Well yes, technically.” 

“So you really can’t figure out a way for me to not have to work another day this year?” you asked, leaning down to pick up one of the fallen books.

Now, if Spencer was as socially smart as you were, he’d notice you were flirting. Maybe even insinuating that you’d be okay with a sexual injury that resulted in you staying home from work the rest of December. But Spencer was surprisingly dumb for having such a high IQ. And his ears sort of started ringing as soon as you mentioned sex, so he wasn’t sure he’d even heard you correctly. 

“Not if you need the money, no,” he replied, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips.

“Some kind of genius you are, Spence,” you teased, shoving the book in his hands before crouching to start rebuilding the tree. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

After that conversation, Spencer helped you rebuild the Christmas tree. He’d handed you book after book with a quiet determination, his brow furrowing slightly as if the arrangement were a problem he needed to solve. Occasionally, he would pause to ask you a question about your favorite winter-themed books or share an anecdote about an obscure author. All throughout December, Spencer became a constant presence during your night shifts.

You found him fascinating to listen to, even if he seemed to doubt himself midway through every tangent. His voice would falter, and he’d look up at you with a quick, “Is this boring?” or “Am I rambling?” as if he needed reassurance that you were still interested.

You always were. At this point, he could probably recite the yellow pages, and you’d still find it captivating. Knowing him and his eidetic memory, he most likely could do it on the spot if you asked him.

December always moved slowly for you. Students crammed into every corner, poring over their textbooks and laptops as they prepared for finals. The library was busy, but there was a strange liminal quality to your evenings, the dark winter nights stretching endlessly as you walked the halls, organizing books and straightening shelves.

You wouldn’t admit it to yourself just yet, but because of this heavy feeling, you found yourself sat at the front desk, waiting for Spencer to walk through those doors. You now knew that he was a busy man—a brilliant, busy man with a job more important than yours, so you stopped expecting him to show up, getting positively surprised every time he did instead. 

On the 23rd of December, Spencer walked through the entrance at exactly 9:32 p.m. You knew the time because you’d been watching the seconds tick by on the digital clock of the computer’s screensaver.

You straightened your back, softly smiling as he made his way up to you. Sometimes, you had to go on little treasure hunts to find him in the library, but today, he didn’t appear to be shy to approach you first.

With a soft thud he placed a heavy book on the counter, one you immediately recognized as War and Peace, in Russian. Your heart lifted slightly. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been waiting for the day the loan would expire, so that he either had to return it or extend it. 

“Have you finished comparing them now?” you asked, eyeing the book.

“No, uhm,” Spencer hesitated, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Is it possible to extend it?” 

“I’ll have to check,” you replied, tapping at the keyboard. “It’s quite a popular book. A lot of Russian diplomats in D.C.”

You pretended to eye the screen, searching for whatever you were searching for, when you already knew that it wouldn’t be an issue to extend the loan. He didn’t have to know that, though. 

“Are you doing anything special for the holidays, Spencer?” you asked, to make it appear like small talk while you were tapping away at the keyboard, mindlessly clicking between pages of the software you used.  

“I might make it to Las Vegas to see my mom. I don’t know if I’ll have the time, though.” Spencer’s lips quirked in a small smile. “What about you? How will you celebrate Christmas?”

You knew by now that it was a dumb question to ask if he had a lot of work to do. He didn’t have a normal schedule, sometimes getting called in the middle of the night to fly across the country. 

“I’ll probably be here,” you admitted. “We’re closed for two days, and then over New Year’s, but otherwise I’ll be working. Might go see my dad if I have the time and he’s feeling up for it. Nothing major. Do you have plans for New Year’s, Spence?”

He opened his mouth to respond but paused, tilting his head slightly. “I, uh— Sorry, what’s that on the radio?”

You cocked your head, listening to the faint news broadcast filtering in from the staff break room that had caught his attention. You always had it on to not go insane from the silence. All afternoon it had been occupied with the same emergency broadcast. “Oh, you haven’t heard about it? I honestly thought you’d be working the case.”

“What case?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Some senator was kidnapped, and another one was shot. Apparently no one heard or saw a thing, but they can’t figure out how since the neighborhood has, like, crazy good security.” 

“Kidnapped in his own home?” 

“Mhm. I think they used the helipad, but Janice and Charlotte didn’t believe me.” You gestured toward the corner where the two older women usually sat knitting and reading romance novels. “Y’know, the regulars?”

“You think the kidnappers used a helicopter, without being heard or seen?” Spencer asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. “How would they even get access to a helicopter?” 

“If you know how to find and operate one, certain helicopters are easier to steal than cars. No locks in the way or keys needed,” you explained as if it were common knowledge. 

Usually, this was the point in a conversation where you would shut up, thinking that you’d crossed into boring territory. But by the look on Spencer’s face, he just wanted to hear more about it. 

“And if the security guards are all at the entrance to the gated community, I think you could go unnoticed. It’s close to the air force base, there are probably aircraft flying there on the daily.” You shrugged, a little self-conscious. “This job gives me a lot of free time to overthink things.” 

Spencer smiled in slight disbelief. “How do you know how to steal a helicopter?” 

“My dad was in the air force,” you explained. “From Fork Union to Master Sergeant. With today’s standards he’d probably be diagnosed with autism, but back when he was working, he was mostly just known as the guy who knew everything about every type of aircraft.” 

You scrunched your face at the thought of your dad. You adored him, you really did, but he hadn’t given you the easiest of childhoods. That meaning being stuck with your mother because he was away a lot for work. 

“What was that look for?” Spencer asked, because of course he realized stuff like that. 

“I have tried so hard all my life to not be like my mother that I unconsciously picked up my father’s personality instead,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Spencer’s expression softened. “I despise my father, so I’m doing the opposite. Turning into my schizophrenic mother.” 

“My dad got sick too,” you said quietly. “That’s why he stopped working. And why my mother divorced him. He lives at a care facility by the coast now.” 

Before Spencer could respond, a buzzing noise came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

“Duty calling?” you asked. 

Spencer hesitated before nodding.

“I don’t think I can extend this, by the way,” you said, picking up the copy of War and Peace, placing it behind you on a shelf with other returned books. 

“That’s fine—” he began, but you cut him off.

“I do, however, have another solution,” you said, standing up from your chair to go into the staff room. With quick steps, you grabbed your tote bag, the one with the Kate Bush album on it, and walked back out. Spencer stared at you in confusion as you pulled out a book, not wrapped in paper or anything special, but there was a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around it. 

Spencer recognized it immediately as the same type of fabric you often wore in your hair.

“I have no one else to buy gifts for, so I thought I might as well. You won’t have to keep loaning it over and over again,” you said with a shy smile, handing it to him. 

Spencer stared at it, his hands hesitating before taking it. A Russian copy of War and Peace. A nice one too. Hardcover with gold leaf embossment. “Thank you…” he said softly. “I feel bad now. I don’t have anything to give to you.”

“You’ve made my night shifts a lot less depressing these last months,” you replied. “That’s enough of a gift to me, Spencer.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue but closed it again, nodding instead. “You know I’m not good with words,” he said after a pause, “or sometimes I think I might be too good with them. I say too much too quickly—”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” you interrupted, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “A d-date?” 

“Y’know, we go somewhere, maybe get some food, and then we talk. And if it leads somewhere, it leads somewhere.” You hesitated, your confidence wavering. “If I misread this entirely, that’s fine. You don’t have to say yes. But I’d like to keep your company during my night shifts, if I haven’t ruined that completely now by admitting that I find you attractive.”

“No, no, uhm—” Spencer stammered, his cheeks now fully pink. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked out this directly before.” 

You held your breath as he gathered himself. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

A grin broke across your face. “Good, so how about those New Year’s Eve plans?” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The D.C. police office buzzed with activity despite the late hour. Phones rang, officers rushed past with files in hand, and the muted hum of fluorescent lights filled the air. Spencer stepped into the building, his scarf still loosely draped around his neck and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold December air. From the side of his messenger bag, a red ribbon could be seen peeking out. 

“Spencer, where the hell have you been?” Morgan’s voice rang out from across the room. He strode toward Spencer, his brow furrowed with equal parts concern and frustration.

“At the library,” Spencer replied, unwinding his scarf as he spoke. His tone was calm, almost as if the answer were obvious. “I came as soon as I heard.” 

Morgan crossed his arms. “At ten at night?” 

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze darting briefly to the floor before meeting Morgan’s eyes again. “There’s one open all hours of the day.” 

Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Spencer’s lips twitched as if suppressing the grin threatening to break through. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat in an effort to sound composed.

Morgan tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. “Uh-huh. Sure it is. Library must’ve gotten a whole lot more interesting since the last time I was there.”

Spencer ignored the comment, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We should look into stolen helicopters in the area. I think that’s how they got in.” 

Morgan’s smirk faded as his professional demeanor returned. “Helicopters? That’s a hell of a theory. What makes you think that?”

Spencer adjusted the strap of his bag, his fingers fidgeting slightly. “The location of the kidnapping is close to an air force base. Certain small helicopters are relatively easy to steal—no locks or keys required. If the neighborhood security was focused on the main entrance, a helicopter could bypass them entirely. Given the proximity to the base, it’s plausible they used the airspace to their advantage.”

Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, genius, I’ll get Garcia to pull up any reports of stolen aircraft in the area. Nice ribbon, by the way, really pulls your outfit together.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––

If December in general was slow for you, the holidays were fucking dreadful. Your dad had a cold and could not receive visitors, so you ended up spending Christmas Eve at a party—two hours sober between drunk friends, and then you had enough. Christmas Day was spent on your couch, watching all five hours of Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander, eating your body weight in Chinese takeout. 

You did get a postcard from your dad, a pretty coastal view on it that was of the beach he lived by. He also sent a pair of hand-knitted socks, a hobby you knew had been forced upon him by the older ladies he lived with at the care facility. His squiggly writing was harder and harder to decipher with every year that passed, but it still filled you with immense joy that his mind seemed to be bright even if his body wasn’t. 

From your mother you also got a postcard. A pretty coastal view was on it too, from Bali, where she was spending Christmas with her new partner. Hers wasn’t handwritten, instead only printed with a generic Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. No thought put behind it. 

You placed your father’s on the fridge, hung with a magnet you knew he’d gotten you when he was abroad for work in England. Your mother’s ended up being a perfect makeshift and temporary coaster on your living room table. Within days you had to throw it out because the paper had been ruined by tea stains. 

When you were back at work, the library was even quieter than normal, which honestly was to be expected. Janice came by to borrow some new romance novels to have over New Years. Some poor students had deadlines due first thing in January. But still, so calm you might even call it boring. And you loved this job. 

You sat at the front desk, flipping through a worn-out copy of a poetry collection by Patti Smith. You’d fallen down a hole of punk literature ever since you talked about JCC with Spencer. He didn’t seem like the kind to like said literature, but he had talked with you about it anyway. It was a tradeoff maybe, quid pro quo; he got to geek out about Tolstoy and Nobel Prize winners, and you got to talk about British bands and Vivienne Westwood. He’d actually really seemed to enjoy the irony of her bringing French 18th-century aristocracy into clothing worn by the most alternative and radical people in punk-era London.  

Deep down in thought, you barely heard when the entrance door opened. It was a gust of freezing cold wind that made you look up from your slouched position. In walked a man, obviously bothered by the weather, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room as he walked forward. He was followed by… 

“Spencer?” you wondered, standing. “You should be in Vegas.”

Spencer didn’t even have time to answer before his companion did. “Serial killers don’t care about the holidays, miss,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “SSA Derek Morgan.”

“You’re working the senator case, aren’t you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. “It’s turned into a serial case?” you rambled before shaking your head. “You probably can’t tell me the details anyway.”

Morgan gave a tight smile. “Not exactly.” He gestured toward Spencer. “We need your help with a quote. Spencer said you were the only person he could think of who might know it.”

“I didn’t say that—” Spencer tried to explain. 

“Don’t you have search engines and databases for things like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We do, but nothing came up,” Spencer replied. “And I don’t recognize it for the life of me.” 

“Must suck to be a genius, Spence,” you chuckled. “What’s the quote?” 

Morgan pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter. Written in bold, smeared letters that looked disturbingly like blood were the words: Whoever is strong must also be good. 

“Jeez, give a girl a warning,” you muttered, grimacing slightly as you studied the photo.

It answered your question about whether or not it had turned into a serial case, because this was a place where someone had been murdered, and it wasn’t some fancy senator mansion this time, but more what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

“Ehm… I honestly don’t know. I mean, it’s a very simple quote. I could come up with that.” You tilted your head thoughtfully. You weren’t sure why Spencer had thought of coming to you when faced with this problem. You knew of a bunch of books and quotes, sure, but you were honestly mostly known around your workplace as the one who knew all about children’s bo— 

“Oh, oh! It’s sort of similar to a quote from a children’s book, but very badly paraphrased in that case.” 

Morgan straightened. “Can you show us?” 

You were already walking out from behind your desk when he asked, making your way to the children’s section with quick steps. The two taller men following. “Ever heard of Pippi Longstocking?” you questioned over your shoulder as you walked. 

Morgan looked skeptical and Spencer for once, too, like he didn’t recognize the name at all. 

“I would assume that you had a more refined taste in literature as a child and did not waste your time with translated Swedish fairytales about the strongest girl in the world,” you added, finally reaching the right shelf, filled with thin books with bright yellow covers.

As you ducked down, you practically disappeared out of view for the two of them, squatting on the floor while picking out the right book. 

Spencer perked up, smiling gently. “My mother is a professor in 15th-century literature. She used to read to me a lot.” 

“That’ll do it,” you concluded, flipping through the pages. “We use it sometimes for kids’ reading hours, that’s why I recognize it. Popular with bilingual and immigrant children too since it’s been translated to over 70 languages.” 

Spencer knelt down beside you, reading over your shoulder. You knew he was a quick reader, but when you knew what you were looking for, you were quicker. 

“Here!” you pointed out on a page, disturbed by the look of your chipped red nail polish. “The quote in English is ’If you are very strong, you must also be very kind’.” 

“That’s oddly similar,” Spencer agreed. 

“It might be translated. I can look into our non-English books.” 

You didn’t even wait for an answer before you started walking again, forcing Spencer and Morgan to follow suit. Down a corridor of shelves with children’s books, around a corner, to a new shelf, and then you ducked down on the floor, quickly scanning the spines. It was all children’s books divided into different languages. You picked whatever yellow spine you could see, collecting them in your arms before you sat down right on the floor. You knew the cleaning lady, she was great at her job. 

“The story is from the 1940s but still relevant. Pippi is an orphan living in a big yellow house with her horse and monkey, and has to fight with adults and authorities, saying that she can’t survive on her own. Honestly quite progressive,” you explained as you gave Spencer a copy in Russian, trying to hand a different one to Morgan before realizing that not all agents had the skills of Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“How’d she get the house?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms.

“Her dad is a sea captain and a king over some fictive island. She’s rich,” you replied matter-of-factly.

As you sat there on the floor, books spread around you, searching and comparing to the English version, talking about the pure feminism and boldness of a female author creating such a character during that time period, Spencer found you fascinating. Like a dancer, you had moved through the rows of shelves, with a grace and a crazy smile, firing you up. 

He had sensed it as soon as the unit stumbled upon the issue with finding the quote, that if someone was going to know this simple, moral-of-the-story quote to feed down the throats of children, it’d be you. 

“I don’t think it’s Russian,” Spencer said after finding the right page. ‘Kind’ didn’t turn into ‘good’ like it had in whatever way the unsub had paraphrased it. 

Morgan gave Spencer a sidelong glance. “Do you even need me here for this conversation?”

You ignored the comment, pulling out a book and flipping through its pages. “The missing senator has a German surname, right?”

Both Spencer and Morgan turned to you with confused faces. 

You shrugged. “I watch the news, okay? I’m alone here all night!”

With the German version in your hand, you scanned the pages for the quote. “Oh, look! My high school German might finally be paying off.” You read aloud, “‘Wer stark ist, muss auch gut sein.’”

You stood up and showed the book to Spencer, pointing to the quote. “‘Kind’ turns into ‘gut’, which can translate back to ‘good’,” you explained, even if you felt like he probably didn’t need it. Morgan might’ve found it useful at least. “Whoever is strong must also be good, right? That make sense?”

Morgan leaned against the shelf, rubbing his chin. “So, the quote is from a Swedish children’s book, translated into German, and then badly paraphrased into English? What do we do with that?”

You shrugged, closing the book. “I just know what it says. I don’t know what it means.” 

Spencer paced as he thought out loud. “The unsub has to be a woman.” 

 “Who speaks German?” Morgan added, mostly out of confusion. 

“And she most likely identifies with the abandonment issues of the girl in the book, and having to be independent at a young age,” Spencer added, a light in his eyes shone like the stereotypical picture of a lightbulb turning on when an idea was formed.  

Morgan glanced at Spencer. “Reid, didn’t the senator have a daughter?” 

You watched them as they spoke, unsure if this was even new information to them or something they were reciting to jog their own memories of the case. 

“So, wait, was I helpful?” you asked a little self-consciously, looking around, seeing the mess of bright yellow children's books on the floor. 

Spencer nodded, his excitement bubbling over. “Yes, yes, your brain is unbelievable! Thank you so much.” Without thinking, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you in a brief but firm hug. You felt him stiffen slightly, his germaphobe instincts clearly battling his enthusiasm, but he didn’t pull away immediately. You knew he didn’t do handshakes, so the thought of him hugging you felt even more abnormal. His voice was soft as he added, “I mean it.”

Before you could respond, Morgan cleared his throat, a teasing grin on his face. “Alright, Romeo, we’ve got to get moving.”

Spencer stepped back quickly, fumbling with his feet. “Right, of course.”

You hesitated, looking up at Spencer’s flushed face, before softly hurrying to ask, “Are our plans for New Year’s Eve still on?” 

He grinned, walking away. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Spencer did miss it. Or in thirty-two minutes he would. He watched the clock on the wall in his hospital room with an anxious feeling. The fragments from a bullet had just been removed from his arm, and yet his biggest worry wasn’t the lingering ache in his arm—it was you.

“Your first date with her was supposed to be in a park at midnight? Do you realize how creepy that sounds?” Prentiss’s voice broke through his thoughts as Morgan had just explained why the first word they heard from Spencer as they had been allowed to enter his hospital room was your name. 

“Could you stop yelling at me while I’m literally in a hospital bed?” Spencer shot back. He wasn’t one to complain, and he could hear the humor in her voice, but if he were to complain, now wouldn’t be an awful time. 

Morgan leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smile playing on his lips. “They’re both insomniacs and were going to watch the fireworks. It’s sort of sweet.”

They hadn’t been able to just get the unsub when they figured out who it was. It had taken them days to plan their attack, knowing that the daughter would kill her father if they ambushed the place. A senator being killed because they had rushed their strategy wasn’t a defense that would hold up in any internal investigation. 

So they waited and waited, mapping out the place where he had been taken, trying to get the daughter to leave. But she persisted, and an ambush was in the end the best choice anyway. Spencer hadn’t been shot directly. The daughter’s boyfriend had fired a shot, landing in the wall behind him, which left fragments flying all over. Some grazing his right arm, leaving it now fully bandaged. He’d also managed to hit his head on a beam while being lead out of the building afterwards, so he had three stitches on his forehead and blood in his hair. 

It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He’d been through worse. Which was why he now felt restless in the hospital bed, just waiting to be discharged. He wouldn’t make it in time to see you anyway, but maybe he could at least call you and tell you what had happened so that you didn’t wait outside in the cold for him. 

He didn’t even have his phone on him, now that he thought of it. Or your number. 

Restless and impossible, the situation was. 

He had Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Garcia all in his room. Just restlessly waiting too. Hotch was somewhere talking to a nurse about getting him out of here. Garcia was anxiously knitting. Rossi was half asleep while standing. Prentiss and Morgan were bickering about whether or not his date plans were cute or creepy. There was a radio in his room playing some sort of New Year’s program, almost taunting him by mentioning how time was closing up on the clock striking midnight. Some sort of reverse Cinderella, that was what he felt like. 

With a slow knock on the doorframe, Hotch announced that he was back. “They don’t know when they can release you, and, uhm…” he began, poised as usual, though he was fighting a smile. “Look who I stumbled upon in the reception,” he continued, stepping aside as you appeared in the doorway.

It was probably all over the news that the senator case had been solved and that officers and agents had been harmed in the process. And you listened to the news, like religiously. 

“You got shot…” you whispered, your voice trailing off as you took in the sight of him, pale but upright in the hospital bed.

“Oh, oh, is this her?” Prentiss asked as the entire unit watched as you entered the room.

They already knew your name. Now they knew what you looked like too. 

You were all done up. Date ready. For Spencer. You had on a black coat, covered in little snowflakes from being outside, but underneath he could spot a dress that sparkled like diamonds. You had red ribbons in your hair like usual and your Converse, squeaking from being wet against the hospital floors. No tights, and while Spencer worried you might be cold, he also knew from Garcia that you just couldn’t wear tights with certain dresses. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Garcia said, practically swooning. She nudged Spencer playfully. “Spencer, she’s gorgeous.”

Rossi stepped forward, clapping a hand on Garcia’s shoulder. “Maybe we should give them some time alone.”

Hotch, ever the professional and hopeless romantic, nodded. “We’ll be down the hall if you need anything, Reid.”

“Or pressed up against the door to eavesdrop,” Garcia added, earning a pointed look from Hotch as they all filed out, leaving you and Spencer alone.

The door shut with a click behind you as you stood flat on your feet in the middle of the room. You looked almost scared to move. 

“We were supposed to go on a date, and you got shot, Spencer.” 

The words left your mouth in nothing but shock. You didn’t even have time to be embarrassed over his colleagues being there and almost making fun of the situation because all you had in your head was the ringing sound of a gun firing and Spencer being the target. 

“I’m okay, I promise,” he reassured gently, reaching out his unharmed arm to you. 

You tentatively moved forward, almost in an inspective manner, seeing where he was hurt and not. With his hand reached out in your direction, you assumed he was fine with you touching it. You grabbed it gently, and Spencer spotted that your nails were just as sparkly as your dress. 

“You. Got. Shot.” You emphasized every word, scooting to sit on the side of his bed. “Like a bullet penetrating your skin kind of shot. That’s insane.” 

“It didn’t actually penetrate the skin, more like grazed me with fragments after it hit the wall behind me,” Spencer tried to explain. The bandage looked dramatic but all that was under it were scratches, basically. 

“But still—” you began, but he cut you off.

“You look very pretty.” 

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Don’t change the subject.” 

“But you do. I like you in red,” he insisted, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I always wear red,” you pointed out.

“And I guess I always like you then,” he replied simply. 

You tilted your head, a teasing grin forming. “Did they give you something strong for the pain? What kind of smooth talking is this?” 

“I, uh— I got nothing for the pain, y’know—” He gestured vaguely.

“Drugs and that?” you filled in. 

“Yeah.” 

You didn’t press further. He figured you understood. Not that you had talked about it more than briefly. But you were sober, and he was sober, and breaking a sober streak even in a hospital setting was nothing easy. The pain from the fragments being removed was only temporary. The aftermath of any sort of prescription painkiller was a long-term thing for people like him. And maybe you. 

In silence, Spencer moved to the side of the bed, a way of notifying you that you could come sit higher up beside him. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you grabbed his, and when you scooted to sit so that your right arm touched his left one, he felt himself tense up at the closeness. While you still had your coat on, it was like a fire spread through it to his hospital gown and in turn his skin. 

You toed off your shoes, kicking them on the floor, as you lifted your legs to place them alongside his. “So, was it the daughter? Did she shoot you?” you asked, turning to look at him with wonder in your eyes. 

“Her boyfriend did. Helicopter pilot, by the way,” Spencer answered, gaze stuck on how your hand held his, perched in his lap over a thin blanket. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “No fucking way. I was right?” 

“You’re smarter than you realize,” he replied, his tone earnest.

You looked like a child on Christmas with the way happiness spread across your face. A happiness of being right, not over the situation. That was a given.

“It was the same old tale about a rich man abandoning his child and them later seeking financial compensation for it, thinking they’re entitled to their parents wealth after they’ve practically been left to live on the streets,” Spencer explained. Journalists would’ve figured out the motive as soon as it was public that is was the daughter, so he didn’t think he was breaking any protocol by telling you. 

“And those are the good kind of senators,” you quipped, earning a small laugh from Spencer. You could see that his tired body didn’t react particularly well to the sudden vibration in his chest. 

Your hand dropped his, only momentarily to soothingly caress his chest. He moved to hold yours again, keeping his held against his ticking heartbeat. You were so close. 

The second he could think that, you whipped your head around at the sound of a thud. It was outside, a flashing light coming through the window. 

“Oh my god, you can see the fireworks from here too,” you whispered, jaw dropped. 

Spencer turned his head, following your gaze. Bright colors lit up the night sky, faint booms audible even through the thick hospital walls. Both hands on the clock were on twelve. 

“It’s also a lot warmer in here than the park would’ve been,” Spencer mused, squeezing your hand in his. 

He could almost feel you relax as you watched the colorful explosions go off in the night sky. You leaned into his side, the side of your face carefully placed on his shoulder. In this cold, sterile hospital room, you filled him with tepidity. He glanced down at your face; cute was the only word that came to mind. The subjective Spencer-esque way of defining it. You had silver glitter on your eyelids that twinkled whenever you blinked. Your lips had been glossy but were now mostly bitten raw from being anxious. 

Spencer could only think of one thing as he took you in. 

“Would you mind me becoming part of your microbiome?” he whispered. 

You blinked, startled by the question, looking right up at him. He hadn’t even wanted to shake your hand when he introduced himself that first time. But kissing was, according to him, more sanitary anyway. You hadn’t been nervous for a kiss since you were in high school, yet this paralyzed you. It was terrifying, looking at him, feeling an invisible force pulling you towards him, towards his face, towards his lips. 

“W-what if some bacteria from Cody Parker becomes a part of you now?” you joked, buying time to collect yourself.  

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he replied easily, his face now dangerously close to yours. 

Your breath caught as he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours. You were both tentative at first, his hand still holding yours clasped over his chest. With your other hand, you pushed his hair from the side of his face, cradling his cheek as you deepened the kiss, touch by touch. 

Spencer had never had a New Year’s kiss before. He wasn’t sure this was considered one either. The clock was probably 12:07 if he were to estimate. 

From the hallway, Garcia’s voice could be heard through the door. “Oh my god, he kissed her.”

“Shut up, Garcia, I’m trying to see,” Prentiss whispered harshly.

You pulled back, laughter bubbling up as Spencer’s cheeks flushed deep red. Despite his embarrassment, a shy smile lingered on his face. The fireworks outside continued, unnoticed by the two of you, as you leaned in to kiss him again. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––

The apartment was quiet as you stepped inside, the muffled hum of the city beyond the windows the only sound accompanying your footsteps. Spencer moved carefully, his movements stiff and hesitant from the pain radiating from his arm. Two pairs of Converse stood on his doormat. One pair of simple black ones. Another pair of smaller, red ones. 

“You need to shower, Spencer. There’s coagulated blood in your hair,” you said, setting his bag down on the floor before reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, it all sticking together in a knot. 

He groaned softly, glancing toward the bathroom, then at the inviting sight of his bed just a little bit further down the hallway. “When I, for once, feel like I could fall asleep just looking at a bed?” 

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. 

“No, you’re right. I just—” He hesitated. “How am I going to do it with this on my arm?” 

“I’ll help you,” you offered immediately, then Spencer could see the realization hit you. “O-or maybe we can call Morgan, or someone else that you trust—”

His face twisted in mock horror. “I’d rather die than have Morgan wash my hair.” 

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, firmer than intended. 

“You don’t have to pretend around me.” Your expression softened. “When was the last time you were naked in front of someone?” 

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Ehm, I—” 

“Never?” you asked, far from in the teasing manner he was used to. 

“Do doctors count?” he muttered, his face flushed.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands together, stepping back slightly. “We’ll work around this to make you comfortable. Do you have swim shorts?” 

“Yeah, that could work.” 

Spencer retreated into his bedroom while he saw you go into the bathroom. It wasn’t easy for him to get out of his clothes and into the shorts, but he managed in the end. He spotted himself in his full-length mirror just as he was about to exit the bedroom. Tall and scrawny. Bandaged all over his right arm. Dressed in light blue shorts with flamingoes on them that Garcia had gotten him, as a joke he thought or she could have been completely serious. You never knew. 

This was about to be the closest he’d been to another person while wearing so little clothing. And that was terrifying. No other word for it. It didn’t matter that you had kissed. Twice at the hospital. Once in the taxi home. Another small one as you helped him unlock his front door. Still terrifying. 

It wouldn’t get easier the longer he waited, so he stepped out of his bedroom, too self-conscious to look at you, already rambling before you even noticed him.  

“Don’t laugh, Garcia bought them for me when we had a case in Florida—”  

“They’re cute,” you simply said, sat on the edge of his bathtub. 

When he lifted his gaze to see you, you’d also changed. Or maybe undressed was a better word. Your dress was gone, and left were a pair of spandex shorts he imagined you had on under for comfort and warmth, maybe? And your bra. A simple black bra. 

“You—” Spencer couldn’t form a sentence. 

“I thought I’d make it even,” you shrugged, standing up. “Can you get in the tub without hurting yourself further?” 

Spencer pressed his lips together to keep his posture. He nodded, as he at least though he’d be able to sit down on his own. But no. His balance betrayed him as he had both feet down on the porcelain, trying to lower himself down into a cross-legged position. 

You were there within seconds, your hands trying to help him from falling. With an ungracious thud, he was sat down. 

You sat halfway on the edge of the tub, turning the water on, waiting for it to get warm. As you did, you reached to comb through his hair with your fingers, but he stopped you before you got the chance. 

“Just wait,” he said quickly, putting his hands up so that you couldn’t touch him. “For a second, will you?” 

“Cause you’ll pop a boner if I touch you now?” you teased, shockingly how easy dirty words fell from your mouth. 

A baffled laugh escaped him. “You’re so…” 

“Rude?” 

“Honest,” he replied. “I’ve been having a hard time keeping it together since you kissed me.” 

“Nuh-uh, you kissed me,” you shot back with a grin. “You’re a good kisser, by the way.” 

Spencer didn’t say another word as you started to wash his hair. Feeling slightly pathetic, he sat there in the bathtub, water falling from his head like a wet dog. He didn’t know how to make the situation less awkward, so he just accepted the way it was. 

At least it was comfortable, having your fingers untangle his hair and massage his scalp with shampoo. When you were done, you helped him stand up, handing him a towel, but not before quite obviously eyeing his body up and down. 

“You’ve turned pink all the way to your stomach,” you pointed out, and before Spencer could react, you added, “Don’t worry, it’s hot,” like that would make it any easier for him to process. 

Later, Spencer was sitting on the edge of his bed, his damp curls sticking to his forehead as you helped him dry his hair. You moved gently, careful not to jostle his injured arm. 

He’d been able to change into a t-shirt and pajama pants on his own, with you trying to hold in your laughter from the other side of his bedroom door when he would stumble and hit his shin on his bed frame due to the lack of balance he had with only one working arm. 

“I can sleep here, right?” you said, tossing the towel into his hamper of dirty laundry. “It’s like 3 a.m. and I totally get if you wanna throw me out—” 

“I want you to sleep here,” he said softly, looking up at you. “With me.” 

No words left your mouth, but the smile that cracked through was unmistakable. He gave you a t-shirt to sleep in, something with an old college logo on it, and then he watched as you swiftly removed your bra from underneath it, like magic. 

He settled under the covers, making room for you on the side where he didn’t have his injured arm. Spencer hadn’t shared a bed like this with anyone before, so to say he was surprised when you laid beside him, snuggling into his side like you’d done it a million times before, would be an understatement. 

“Am I hurting you?” you mumbled, your head resting in the crook of his neck. 

“No, not at all,” Spencer squeaked out, trying to find a natural spot for his hand under your body. 

As you took in his room, your gaze landed on his nightstand, and your breath caught. Sitting neatly on the surface were three copies of War and Peace. One was pristine, the Russian copy you’d gifted him. Beside it was a well-worn English version, its pages annotated and creased. And then there was… another Russian copy, similarly worn and filled with notes.

Your hand rested lightly on his chest as you began to laugh. “You—” you started, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “You only loaned it from the library to talk to me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered between you and the nightstand as he realized that you had realized. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a smile. 

You chuckled a little, reaching up to kiss his cheek before relaxing back down again. He’d been so tired before, as were you. But now it was like he could feel every nerve in his body, running through him like electricity. Just because you were here with him. 

“Is it—” Spencer whispered, unsure where his words would lead him. “Is it weird to sleep in the same bed as someone without having experienced the sexual aspect that is usually the reason couples share a bed for the first time?”  

Shit, he’d called you a couple. Maybe not directly, but definitely indirectly— 

“No, not at all,” you hummed against him. “Do you think it’s weird?” 

“I haven’t exactly done this before, so everything feels new and weird.” 

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, makeup-free and squeaky clean. “Most men that I’ve been with never made me feel like a woman—like a ladylike presence they cherished. I’d sleep with them too quickly and they’d get bored, or I wouldn’t put up with it, and they’d call me a prude.” 

Your voice sounded fragile in a way he’d never heard before. He’d picked up on little things where he assumed you weren’t exactly inexperienced, but the fact that experience could be something bad wasn’t necessarily something he’d thought about before. 

“Whatever this is, whatever weird order we are doing stuff in, feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before when it comes to love,” you continued, stuffing your face back in his neck to hide. 

Shit, you’d said the word love. Not even indirectly, like fully pronounced it, no mumbles. 

“It’s not a dry spell if you’ve never done it, by the way,” you joked, and he melted at the sound even though you were trying to embarrass him. “You’ve never gotten it wet for it to become dry.” 

Spencer stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip. “Can you not make fun of me?” 

“I’ve used sex as a coping mechanism all my life, allow me to be a little amused about someone going over 25 years without it.” You gently laughed again. “It’s sort of sweet.” 

On the side of your body, you found his unarmed arm placed all limp. With a bold move, you intertwined your fingers with his, taking both of them up to place against your chest. He was now embracing you, and he couldn’t even begin to think about the soft, ample flesh that could be found under your t-shirt. 

He let out a faint groan, mumbling, “You’re not making it any better.” 

Your expression softened further as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “We’ll get to it,” you said, your voice low and steady, “when or if we both feel like it. Don’t stress about it, okay? I don’t care.”

Spencer swallowed, his eyes darting to yours before quickly flickering away. His voice came out quiet, uncertain. “That’s something—” He hesitated, his brows furrowing as he searched for the words. “Is that something you’d want to do with me?”

You smiled, kissing his cheek again. “You just indirectly called us a couple, and I mentioned the word love, so don’t act clueless. I know you’re not.”  

His face turned a deeper shade of pink, and he ducked his head, letting it rest on his pillow as the ceiling yet again became very interesting. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt warm. He felt at home in your presence, no matter how foreign it was. His hand was still grasping yours, tucked against your chest. He could feel you fiddling with his fingers. 

“Can’t sleep?” Spencer asked after a long moment of silence. 

“I like ’em,” you murmured, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles. 

“My hands?” he wondered tiredly. 

“I like everything about you,” you answered simply before closing your eyes. 

Can we all pretend I posted this on New Years? Yes? Thank you. And thank you for reading. Title and beginning quote is from Purple by Wunderhorse btw <3

[chloessleepystories]

School Daze

Miss Schism walked into the empty lecture hall loaded down with books and papers. She scattered her desk with plans and textbooks, and sat dutifully for a long time, writing and researching, making notes, glancing at the clock frequently and increasingly fretfully. Finally, she rested her forehead on the cool desk, and whimpered.

After a few quiet minutes with her eyes closed—which didn’t help—she leaned back in her chair, wanting to cry with frustration. “There’s only a few days left before I have to give the final, and I’m not even done creating it!” she wailed to the empty room. “And there’s still so much left to do!!”

“Like what?”

She gestured to the mess before her. “I’ve got to grade the last two weeks’ worth of work, create a rubric for the final project … " She suddenly stood, and walked to the blackboard, grabbing the chalk and making frantic notes to herself. “Not to mention skimming through three months of discussion notes for questions … ”

“—planning what you’re going to wear the last day, and what debauchery you’ll get up to on vacation … ”

“—downloading and organizing and printing and planning … ”

“—dressing and undressing and squeezing and sucking … ”

“Stop!” she told the Voice, dropping the chalk in the tray, but not turning around. “I can’t—I can’t be thinking about that right now. I need to focus.”

“You certainly do need to focus,” came the Voice, which was deep, and male … and persuasive. “Focus on the tingling in your breasts, focus on how hard your nipples are getting … ”

“No … " moaned Miss Schism.

“They’re so aroused. You’re so aroused … ”

She put both hands on the chalkboard, bending over, squeezing her thighs as she felt herself getting warmer. “Please … I c-can’t … ”

“But you can. You need to. You need to focus, that’s what you said. Focus on what your body needs … Turn around.”

She whimpered an almost-protest, but pivoted to put her hands on her desk, leaning over further and scanning the empty room, the rows of bare chairs, with eyes blurred with growing lust.

“Oh my! Look at that … You weren’t very focused when you got dressed this morning, were you? I bet you haven’t even noticed what top you put on, by ‘accident.’ How sheer that blouse is. How it’s almost … invisible.”

She looked down and gasped. It was, indeed, so sheer as to show the white lace on her bra. “Oh no! I can’t be out in public like this! … At least I have a bra underneath it … ”

The unseen Voice seemed to move from one side of her to the other as it chuckled. “No you don’t.”

She looked down again as she felt her erect nipples brushing the silky fabric, swaying suddenly. “Oh no! What was I thinking!?” she gasped, covering her breasts with one arm. “This is totally, like, see-thru!”

“You weren’t thinking,” said the Voice. “You were being dumb.”

She chewed her lip, shaking her head bashfully, girlishly. The beginnings of a grin began to show. “Nuh-uh.”

“Like a dumb bimbo.”

“No I wasn’t!!” She dropped both arms to stamp a foot. “I was, like … . I mean, I am! Like, smart!”

“Much too dumb to be a teacher … ”

“Stoooop … .” she whined. “Yer mixing me up!! I gotta find something to put on before somebunny sees me!!”

She hurried to her bag beside her desk.

“It’s too late. Your whole class has seen you. Look.”

Sure enough, there they were! Every seat was filled! When did they get here??? A student in every seat, and every single one of them, boys and girls, wuz LEERING at her!!

“My goodness, what they must think of you … " said the Voice, right in her ear now. “A sheer top, and no bra … Oh and look, you forgot your skirt as well … ”

She didn’t need to look down, she FELT the scratchy tweed disappear from her thighs, and her fingertips. She watched as the boys in the front row leaned forward, their gaze growing hungrier.

“I’m having a dream, it’s a terrible, terrible dream … " she murmured.

“Nonsense!” came the Voice, but now it was coming from the doorway. Miss Schism looked, and saw an older man walking toward her, with a beaming smile, his arms out. “It’s not terrible at all … ”

“Principal Grossman!” she cried. “What a relief!”

The man was pudgy, and mostly bald, with a horseshoe of white hair. A relaxing presence, even in these circumstances. She didn’t think to cover herself, but moved toward him as if he were an oasis in the desert. “They’re all lookin at me!!” she whispered, her voice moving up the scale as if on helium.

“Poor girl,” he said tenderly. “You’re so confused. Did you think you were teaching this class? No, no, you’re the experiment.”

“I am?”

“And you’re doing very, very well,” he said, grasping her forearms reassuringly.

She beamed proudly. “Oh goody!”

He turned her, facing the students. “Such a silly girl.” He unbuttoned her blouse, stripping off the wispy material. She stood, topless, her nipples hardening, as the boys licked their lips and rubbed the crotches of their jeans. The girls uncrossed their legs, spreading their knees, revealing the lack of panties under their short skirts as they slouched in the chairs, eyes hooded with lust.

“Silly girl, you can’t be a teacher. You’re much too dumb.”

“I am?”

“Dumb and slutty,” he said into her ear, and the word “slutty” echoed through her empty head, sweeping up so many thoughts and feelings and memories. He cupped her breasts from behind, fondling them, offering them to the students. “Aren’t you, my dum-dum dolly?”

A wave of pink fluff went through her brain as he said that. And a wave of golden sparkles tingled through her body. “Uuunngghhh … .” She staggered a little. “Yes … ”

“A slutty, horny, dum-dum dolly?”

Her pussy ached with sudden need, drenching her sodden panties. He was pinching her nipples now, and tingles raced through her body, not just from his touch but from his words, his triggers … “Yes, Principal Grossman.”

“Are you sure?” he said, and his voice changed. “Look again.”

She blinked, and turned, trying to focus on the man whose hands were running over her belly, her hip, as she heard and felt the students shift hungrily in their seats.

And it wasn’t the principal at all!! He was taller, and muscular, and dark as rich chocolate!!—with shaved head and trimmed beard, but the same gentle smile …

“Coach Brickhouse!!!!”

“That’s right, little girl. And you’re my suggestible bimbo snowbunny, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh!” she grinned, and “Ohhhhhh … " She moaned as her eyelids fluttered, as the word ‘snowbunny’ stole more of her IQ points. Oh, it felt so good to let go.

The coach caressed her cheek as he hooked one dark thumb under her panties, at the hip. The other thumb slid into her slack mouth, and she sucked it eagerly, her eyes closed and her mind eclipsed. “That’s my docile, suggestible idiot,” he murmured in his rich baritone, as she sucked dutifully on his thick, black, powerful thumb. “It feels so good to drop, and obey, doesn’t it … ”

“Mmmmm … " Miss Schism, her mind delightfully fractured, leaned her blond head against his hand, mindlessly sucking, awaiting orders.

“Then why don’t you get on your knees, and show me how much you love being cockdumb.” She giggled as she dropped happily, and took his massive member in her little white hands. It filled her lips with its intoxicating meaty taste, and she stuffed it into her throat until her jaws ached with pleasure. She looked up at him with big eyes, reveling in his kind gaze as he stroked her cheek and hair with his strong hands.

“Then we’ll see how many of these nice boys and girls want to play with your body, and break your little brain with pleasure. How does that sound … Mmmmm, imagine a silly girl like you, thinking she was a teacher. You’re just a slutty bimbo airhead, aren’t you?”

She nodded happily, and kept sucking his hard, gorgeous member, her eyes rolling back and her eager cunt gushing with grateful pleasure.

***

Abigail slurped happily on her husband’s cock, humming peacefully and mindlessly to herself, two fingers stroking her sopping pussy.

Jack stroked her dark hair lovingly, and throbbed in her mouth. He glanced over at the bedside desk, strewn with term papers and textbooks.

She could finish the rubric in the morning, he knew, and still have time for everything else before finals next week. She deserved a break.

And fortunately, she’d long ago given him the tools to give it to her.

“What a good slut,” he murmured. “Look out, here comes that football player with the big dick … He’s holding your hips, getting ready to slam it into you … ”

Her eyes met his, her cheeks sunken in with sucking, and suddenly her eyes … WIDENED … and her body moved with the first thrust of the phantom cock. She squealed in pleasure, and her husband knew that meant “thank you.”

“My goodness, look at these hot co-eds who want to suck on your tits while you’re being spitroasted … ”

[betterinvienna]

" unprofessional " ; nanami kento

synopsis — nanami's patience grows thin in the office, but it's not because of the project you keep putting off | (nanami x gn!reader)

song inspo — i've never been in love before by laufey

tags — fluffish(?), office romance, flipping perspectives

content warnings — mention of stalking, gender neutral but reader does use a female marketed perfume and wears lipstick

word count — 2k

authors note — i miss u nanami come back home ill take u to malaysia. anyway this was more agonizing to write than i expected it would be i hope someone out there likes it

You make rational, well-thought-out, calm decisions, and always put your career first. If not, what else did you work so hard for?

If that stood true, you wouldn’t have been borderline teenage-esque awkward beside your coworker, Nanami Kento, as your boss went on and on about a new team project. In fact, maybe your mind would’ve been clear enough to hear an adequate chunk of the project so that you wouldn’t later be stuck in the sparsely decorated office of the aforementioned coworker as he criticized your contribution (or lack thereof) to said project, talking about – what again? – Right. See what I mean? Pay attention.

“Are you listening?” Nanami rumbles, causing your stomach to flip as you place a hand on your temple, nodding.

A pause. “Yeah – I mean – yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t get a lot of sleep and my car –”

However, he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not interested in personal matters.” Here – I’ll give you a quick spoiler. He’s lying. “Please complete this part,” – a gesture to his computer screen – “of the project by next month, or I’ll have no choice but to report to HR about this sudden lack of awareness in the office. Do you understand?” It’s clearly rhetorical because he gets up immediately after – you’re not that dumb — so you don’t attempt to respond. Nanami pops the manila folders into a wired organizer on his desk and exits his creaky seat to escort his guest out.

A nod and an uncomfortable, brief smile. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Kento.” 

. . . 

Eros Pour Femme. Versace. 

Top notes: Sicilian lemon, pomegranate, and Calabrian bergamot.

Shocker. Looks like he is interested in personal matters. It’s unmistakable. This is not regular knowledge; however, Nanami gets mind-numbingly high off your perfume. Obviously, he searched it up on Fragrantica last night, drunk off a “pinch” of whiskey and missing you. Don’t look at him like that – he’s normal.

If you’re still unconvinced, he’s at least as normal as a guy can get watching the epitome of his standard waltz around the break room, oblivious of her deafening effect on him. Nanami spots you filling up a lipstick-stained mug at the new Keurig coffee maker – the previous one had to be replaced after Haibara somehow flipped it on its side while it was running and left it like that – mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

He only realizes he’s staring once you’re staring back.

You give a formal “good afternoon” smile and return to what you were doing, but he spots the faint red tainting your ears and the nails digging into your palm. He’d love to massage the crescent indents they left, yet he looks the other way to avoid acting on it. He looks down into his coffee and stirs it, checking his watch. It’s good to know he has that effect on you, but he soon regrets the fleeting thought after he turns his head and watches you spill at least a third of your coffee all over your chest. 

If getting caught staring wasn’t enough embarrassment for the day, Nanami adds another regret to mull over tonight by getting up and offering a paper towel to you.

“It seems hot,” he muttered a faulty excuse to you (though more to convince himself) pale hand outstretched.

“Thank you,” you laugh awkwardly. “This is embarrassing. Please excuse me.” You start in the other direction, clearly humiliated. Luckily for you (and him – he doesn’t want anyone eyeing you) Nanami is gentlemanly enough to not let a lady walk cold.

“Take my jacket.” Without much thought, Nanami shrugs his pinstripe suit jacket off his broad shoulders and drapes it over yours. “It’s fine. I have a lot more at home.” He offers a tightlipped smile, keeping the professional piece together. Unfortunately, you look up and smile at him, saying something about a button-up shirt that flies past his ears and has him staring at your lips.

Again, he only realizes he’s staring once you’re silent. How’d he make it this far this absentminded?

“Is there a problem?” You prompt, and he clears his throat.

“No.” Tightlipped, formal smile again. Ugh, he’s so good at this. He needs a raise. And you. But he’d like that raise too.

. . . 

This week at the office has been as discomfiting as ever. Not because you have the matter of the team project at hand – though you want to keep your job, so you’ll make good progress on it later, perhaps – but because Nanami Kento keeps looking at you. Not in a “Get the project done or I’m gonna bash your head in with my signature mug” kind of way, but possibly a different way you can’t quite seem to put your finger on. For a man who so evidently boasts a simple, straightforward life, he’s harder to read than an elementary picture book. Like, The Very Hungry Caterpillar sort.

Sorry, that level of specificity seems uncalled for. Let’s resume.

Incident Number One: The Office.

If you told your friends this story, they wouldn’t believe you. It happened on Monday, a week after the Coffee Incident. Wait – maybe that one should’ve been marked as Incident Number One. Regardless, Nanami’s demeanor seems to have changed around you. This isn’t the surprising part, however. The atmosphere around anyone will change once they see you completely dehumanized by some espresso. 

Yet this atmosphere was less… tangible at first. Sitting in your fishbowl of an office, you’re conjuring up a monster of an email to the local manufacturing company for getting the fundraiser t-shirts all mixed up when you look up and notice Nanami Kento – 6 feet, one-seventy-something pounds, by the way – hiding behind the water cooler like an elephant behind a thin Saharan tree with a file in one hand and a mug in the other, taking two side glances into your office before walking off with the same, bored expression once he realized you witnessed the ordeal. Had you not seen him aggressively rub his jaw like he was bothered as he walked off, you would’ve thought you’d done something wrong.

Okay. Let’s put two and two together. Is it crazy to say Nanami Kento is irked by your presence? Are you full of yourself or just observant?

Say we go the observant route. That would explain Incidents Number Two to a Million: The Parking Lot.

Nanami is infamous in the office for leaving exactly when dismissed – no need to stay around when you’re as efficient as he is. However, you’re notorious for the contrary. You stay late often times, as you handle financial disputes – and there’s a million of them.

The sky darkened as you shut your laptop and checked your watch – nearly midnight – and popped your head outside your office. To your surprise, Nanami’s office light was on, and even if you strained, you couldn’t hear keys clacking. Okay. Weird. Packing up your stuff, you put on your shoulder bag and breeze past his office.

The instant you’re in his line of sight, Mr. Kento begins to pack up his essentials as well, shuffling behind you until you both reach the elevator, where the two of you stand in silence until you reach the ground floor, where you go to your car and unlock it, driving off as Nanami does the same. But rewind. The moment you step out into the chilly night, he lingers behind and there’s a burning set of eyes on you until you reach your car. Had this been a coincidence, you would’ve shrugged it off and counted it as a gentlemanly gesture he’d done in the heat of the moment.

But it wasn’t.

Because it happened on the next day, Tuesday.

Then Wednesday.

Then Thursday.

Now, it’s happened on Friday.

Now we’re putting four and four together. It is not crazy to say Nanami Kento is looking out for you. Obviously, you’re not complaining about 6 feet of gorgeousness stalking behind you each day, but those two incidents combined? You have a bold assumption to make, but it’s going to take a bit more evidence to assert it.

. . . 

Nanami Kento is a patient man, but you prove to be pushing his limits.

For the first time in a long time, Nanami Kento felt giddy over someone. Like, he’s excited to see you. He thinks himself to be a genius of sorts, surreptitiously escorting you to your car when you stay late and sneaking glances at you when you aren’t paying attention.

He even feels nervous. Clearly, he doesn’t show it – age has refined his Herculean ability to suppress showing emotion in great quantity – but he feels nervous around you.

. . . 

Remember the evidence you needed? Thankfully, Nanami Kento gave you exactly that – and more – after the obligatory employee meeting. Your boss swears up and down it was originally for team bonding, but when he begins to complain about the progress everyone has made on the team project, you realize it’s going differently this time, again. 

“If we don’t get this done, we’re going to lose a couple thousand. I don’t know how much longer I have to drive the point home,” a snarky glance to you, “but no other assignment is more important than the task at hand right now.” Is he serious? A loss of a couple thousand for a million dollar company is peak stinginess. And a call out in front of the whole staff?

It only gets worse after the conference when Nanami pulls you aside and informs you, once again, about your work on the project. 

“Excuse me for this, but as the subunit leader, I do have to inform you that you still haven’t made much progress on the proj–”

You cut him off, worn out. “I don’t need you on my back, Mr. Kento.” An annoying smile from you, so that you can drive the point home that the workload has been too heavy this month – and entirely too important – to be focusing on something you can get done in 2 days. “I can get it done. Please have faith in my skills.” An eloquent way of saying “Shut up and leave me alone.”

“I understand, however, external assignments cannot be tolerated right now. Please trust me, you’re not the only person in this subunit who hasn’t completed their fair share. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re excluded.”

Now the air feels hot and you aren’t sure if it’s because of your proximity, anger, or both, but you mumble something you regret, channeling your previous teenage energy. “Yeah, well you seem like you sure are excluding me. I told you to get off my back.” Nanami’s face hardens, seemingly mildly irritated as your mouth, unfortunately, decides to keep running, louder this time. “You and Mr. Whats-His-Face can’t leave me alone. I apologize for my insane informality, but I will get it done. You cannot expect one person to juggle so many tasks at once. I’m already multitasking, and that –” you make a dismissive waving gesture with your hands, “mediocre – again, I apologize – project is the least of my worries. I can get it done. Just – please. It’s like you all want to be this needy, overbearing boyfriend at this point.” At the end of your rant, you sigh heavily and look up at him, and his expression is once again, unreadable, yet stunning. There’s not a single beat of silence before he responds.

“I do, though.” What?

“What?”

“I do.”

You throw your hands up in the air and huff, still confused. “You what?”

“I want to take you on a date. Not be needy and overbearing, though. Don’t mistake me.” He does not apologize for the bluntness, but instead for how sudden it was.” I wanted to do this in a more romantic and ceremonious setting, but it appears that you have me blurting.” He rechecks his watch like the sudden confession isn’t anything big. “And I apologize for the constant probing – on both ends.” Your heart thumps in your ears. He gives you a lopsided smirk, expectant and unnaturally awkward for Nanami Kento.

"Nanami…” 

“May I take you out on a date?”

[tropacant]

soooooo I saw this post by someone in the spn amino im in and I had to draw it. Or at least, drawing it was the original plan. that quickly snowballed, however, and I ended up making a full project of it.

I drew all the frame in IbisPaint, put them together in FlipaClip, downloaded all the sounds I wanted, and the, shlammed them all together in CapCut.

I absolutely hate flipaclip bc I’m not an expert animator and the GUI is dumb, but I think this turned out really well!

I also tagged Misha on tik tok for funsies bc my dumb half askew brain thought it would be funny- but I’m not brave enough to do it here lmao

[bomertheshark]

Begging

A top male reader X Billy Lenz

Short

You’ve been working on putting together the final presentation to present to your sister companies boss. Both your company and its sister company had been working on putting together a new idea to bring both of the companies together, you so happened to be the team leader for the project and had been going through the presentation and preparations for days.

It wasn’t ideal but you had to make sure everything was perfect for tomorrow so everything you hadn’t finished had to be all crammed into tonight. “Oh my god..” you sighed out looking at the rest of the things you had to accomplish before you were done for the night. Several hours had passed and you were finally almost done, you looked outside to see it was dark already before checking your watch. “Huh, it’s pretty late, and it’s awfully quiet as well..”

You see you lived with your partner Billy, you had bought an old sorority house so that you had a place to stay and work in while having room for friends and family if they wanted to stay over. When you bought the place you had no idea that it came with a very horny and needy man as well, but that happened a year ago and you had grown used to the man, even dating him for several months now. You were very aware how mad he’s been getting with the lack of attention and affection as of late, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

You only had the last few slides along with some invoices before you were done so you decided to go get some water and a snack from the kitchen. As you walked down the hallway you listened for Billy to hear where he was but you couldn’t hear him in the house at all. You dismissed it thinking that maybe he went to sleep in the attic since you were busy and it was getting really late. As you returned from the kitchen back into the office more energized and ready to finish your work you saw Billy laying over the desk, panting. “What are you doing in here Billy? I thought you would’ve gone to sleep.” You said walking towards the front of the desk so that you could see his face.

“B-billy couldn’t wait for you any longer! P-pretty piggy won’t love Billy right now and it isn’t fair!” Billy yelled out in frustration clutching onto the front of the desk almost trying to reach out to you as his face became red and he started visibly sweating and shaking. “Billy we talked about this, while I’m working I can’t spend much time with you but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” You said walking closer to him as he started gripping at your shirt looking up at you. “Please piggy! P-please! Just throw billy around for a little bit! That’s all he needs!” Billy was yelling up at you, you took his hands off your shirt and walked around to stand behind him.“Y-you’ll fuck pretty Billy dumb won’t you?” He said with a look of desperation as he wiggled his hips trying to entice you to ravage him on the desk you had been currently working on.

This has been going on for days, almost a week. You had to get your work done before the deadline which was tomorrow, you couldn’t afford to be late with this project, you had worked to hard to just mess it up now, at least that’s what you told and reminded yourself. “I can’t believe your still doing this Billy, I’ve told you time and time again, I cannot afford to miss this deadline, if you were patient enough I would’ve given you a reward this weekend. But obviously someone is to needy to even try.” You said getting more and more aggravated with his partners behavior. “Billy can’t help it!” He whined face clear with embarrassment but with a look of lust and desperation in his eyes. “You make Billy feel so good! And Billy’s been waiting forever! Billy will be good! But pretty Billy just wants to be destroyed by little piggy!” He said still bent over the desk slightly lifting up his shirt so that you could see his torso and chest. “Just touch Billy, please!”

Your heart rate picked up and you could feel your member start to harden in your slacks, he had been wearing a lingerie laced bra, it was green and made his eyes pop. “Billy.. what are you wearing?” You said to him slowly moving to turn him over so that he was on his back and you could see his chest in the bra as it hugged his chest beautifully. “I-I thought piggy might’ve liked me if I wore it.” He said all flushed avoiding eye contact. Acting shy.

Of course that didn’t last long, it never did. He brought his hands to take his shirt completely off and take your hands into his so that you would fondle his chest. “Billy, you know exactly what you’re doing to me don’t you?” You said fully hard grinding on him as he wrapped his legs around your waist bringing you closer and whispering in your ear “Billy can take you just fuck me.” He leaned back gradually getting louder as he moved his hips to meet yours “F-fuck me hard and rough with your fat cock! Fuck Billy with your fat juicy cock! Please!” He got harsher and needier in trying to meet your thrust into his hips. “I’m not happy about not finishing my work but I’ll make sure your satisfied.” You said before taking off all your clothes and the remainder of his but leaving his bra on. You were getting on your knees when he stopped you. “You don’t have to prepare Billy! Billy already did it when you were busy! Just stick your juicy cock in me!” He said bending over and opening his legs before spreading his ass with his hands so that you could see his hole that had an all to familiar plug in it. “So you did.. we’ll then I won’t go easy on you.” You took out the plug before letting it fall on the floor. You entered him deep and harshly making sure you hit him in all the right places in a continuous rhythm not letting him take a second to get used to it, obviously he didn’t mind it as he was screaming and moaning begging for more, drooling all over the desk.

You pulled his hands behind his back to continue thrusting in him moving around until you could find the place that made him lose his mind. “O-oh god! Please!! More! Please fuck me harder!!” He screamed louder and louder, it made you glad that the house was fairly far from the other houses. You pulled his hands to your waist before hugging his chest and fucking him while both of you were standing. “O-oh god yes!! Billy is so full! So full of piggy!! Please!! Yes! Agh!” His face was gorgeous, he had tears and drool running down his face cum staining his stomach as he had already cum twice and yet still not satisfied. His eyes barely open as if he was fighting to keep them open. “Billy I'm getting close.” You panted in his ear as your thrusts got sloppier. “Please!! Fill me with your dirty seed! Please Billy wants it!! Please please please please!!” He was begging to be filled to the brim and who were you to deny him? This continued until he was satisfied and passed out.

Now he was laid down in your shared bedroom after he was done and cleaned him up. “Oh Billy what am I gonna do with you?” You sighed out walking back into the office to deal with the damage hoping that the desk and laptop were still okay letting out a loud sigh.

Hope you guys like this! My first time posting an actual short on here. 🫶

[taegimood]

epic need for your own thoughts on craveverse.. assign some kinks to the boys hehee

OMG WAIT WAIT RAHHHHHHHHHHHH i’m scared to get their characters wrong cuz they’re yours but i’ll try omg this is exciting wait

(edit: i accidentally added some plot in there lmao sorry also this is LONGG and these kinks aren’t anything taboo [for us at least 💀] but hopefully it’s still interesting~)

yeonjun: okay, do we need to say it? breeding kink. wants you to belong to him forever. wants your tummy full of the evidence that he was there. exhibitionism, he wants everyone to know you’re his and how good he can fuck the daylights out of you; he shamelessly fucks you around the others all the time, possessive as all hell, since he makes you share the living room together. also kisses you constantly, possessively, tongue in your mouth if he gets so much as an inkling that another member has their eyes on you when it’s yeonjun’s turn to keep you to himself, maintaining eye contact with said member as he kisses you until the younger backs down submissively. idk if there’s a name for this (is it the same as dumbification?) but loves it when you get into subspace.. loves knowing he fucked you completely dumb and has all the power over you. he loves spit.. always spitting in your mouth, spitting on your pussy before he rails it, spitting on his cock as he shoves it down your throat. loves it when you suck on his fingers and whine for him too <3 anything that shows you’re even remotely enjoying it, he’s all over that shit.. it helps aid how toxicly and utterly convinced he is that you belong together, forever. some could even argue that out of all of them, yeonjun might just have the most screws loose — you’d just never know it until you wake up one day and then suddenly you do.

soobin: SOOBIN… soobin is a closeted freak… if yeonjun saw half the things that went on in his submissive little member’s head, he’d be outraged lmao. although soobin doesn’t fuck you as often as some of the others do, he wants you just as much - he just doesn’t show it. has this fantasy of marking you, and covering your entire body too; he just wants to bite and nibble you everywhere and is always trying to scent you in small ways just subtle enough that yeonjun won’t notice and be set off. in his mind he’s making you his in his own tiny little ways. soobin is more possessive than you’d think (flashback to what i sent you about him shoving beomgyu to the floor) and as sweet as he is, he‘s also got a guilty pervertedness to him when you come crying to his bedside asking to be held… that’s right, I’M the one she needs. he also has a cockwarming kink for sure. will pump his cock into you nice and steady before keeping you there <3 whispers in your ear how your pussy was made just for him, but don’t tell yeonjun~ and of course i will forever be on the sticky cum soobin agenda - he has a fat creampie kink that he shamelessly exhibits every time he fucks you, will literally overstimulate himself just so he can keep fucking more and more and more of his thick cum into your little hole~ but he’s also just a sweetie and will kiss you all the time during sex too, taking full advantage of the moments when he can finally let his affection loose as opposed to his usual awkward demeanor when it comes to things like kissing outside of sex. leaves your lips swollen and wet from all the sucking and nibbling hehe

beomgyu: dacryphilia. wants to see you sob. also a breeding kink tbh for the pure sake of OWNING you, not about the actual outcome of pups.. like yeonjun, he loves when you get into subspace, but unlike yeonjun, there’s no affection there. it’s just the pure ego boost of knowing he can mold you into his own little cocksleeve. he has this secret cuckolding-esque fantasy of fucking your brains out while all the other boys sit and watch, while only he’s able to touch you.. sigh, if only yeonjun would let him. obviously has a degradation kink, he’s projecting onto you all the shit that he was constantly belittled with by his past female alpha </3 he’s so toxic lmao but — this may be controversial — deep deep DEEP deep DEEEEEP down…… there’s a part of him that really just wants to be seen. wants to be held. wants to be someone for somebody. it’s just so buried beneath all the rage and hurt and spite that you’ll never know it; and HE’LL never know it either tbh, so blinded by himself and his hatred. (the closest thing you get is when he pretends to be asleep so you can card your fingers through his hair and then grumbles about it later <3)

taehyun: sir kink? 🫣 ohhhhhhh….. taehyun. mr difficult to decipher. you’re convinced he hates you and he actually does except — he kind of doesn’t. as mean as beomgyu is, taehyun is nasty. sometimes it seems like he’s fucking you more out of anger and spite than out of the desire to get off. but he’ll be damned if he ever admits to you or anyone else how hard he actually gets when you clutch onto him desperately, the force of his thrusts shoving you up the bed, leaving your hands flying to grip onto the nearest stable thing, always choosing his firm and solid figure. he wants you to need him. he has a power kink, but not like some of the other boys.. he’s the most level-headed of the group, with an innate need to protect, that goes beyond basic possessiveness. so his size and strength kinks come into play when he can manhandle you any which way, even holding you right up in the air, practically folded in half as he fucks you stupid. he likes the fact that you can’t even overpower him if you tried. and deep down under the hate, he likes the fact that he can protect you against anything that tries to hurt you. so sometimes when he isn’t making you sob and cry from the nasty spite that oozes out of him as he pummels your pussy, he’s actually — don’t point this out to him or he’ll rip your head off — pretty focused on making you feel good in his own taboo way, just so you know it’s him that makes you feel this way, it’s him with all that power and strength who’s capable of all the worst and all the best that you could get.

kai: oh boy. kai is an anomaly. easily the sweetest member, while also easily the most RABID (not literally 😳) because like you’ve said, he’s still learning how to control his wolf. he has all these big emotions and senses that can stretch so far out of his grasp sometimes, he just can’t get a hold of himself… so when he’s in his rut… you better fucking prepare yourself. he wants all of you, everything he can get, so selfish and needy and ravenous when his cock is pistoning itself in and out of your pussy without restraint, holding your hips down with your ass up and face buried in the sheets, skin red and bruising from the force of his skin slapping against yours from behind; don’t know if this counts as a kink, but he’s constantly flipping you into different positions. it’s like he just can’t get enough. he’s a starved man when it comes to you AND - he’s one of the only members who has a massive pussy eating kink. he’ll overstimulate you into high heaven until you’re clawing at him and begging him to stop with your hips in the air as he eats you out like it’s his best and last meal. but when he’s not in rut, he loves to hold you down in his lap and finger you sweetly, licking and kissing at your neck and shoulders as you keen around his long agile fingers <3 loves his hair being played with but unlike grumpy gyu, he’ll actually admit to it and even ask for it after sex :’)

anyway… crave!txt has me in a death grip that i do not want to escape. all hail mother lia.

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[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.25

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

A/N: This is the last chapter of the story. There's gonna be a trivia section/chapter, maybe a bonus chapter if enough people want.

First - Prev - Bonus Chapter - Trivia

CH.25

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, The Author of the Journals; my brother!”

“...Stanley, you don’t have to do that every time I come upstairs.”

“Sure I do! The Journals are The Mystery Shacks most popular exhibit!”

“Woah, there’s another Mr. Mystery?”

“Nah, I’m the only Mr. Mystery. That’s Dr. Mystery.”

“Oooh!”

“Can you take a break from your tour, Stanley? I need to talk to you about this trip I’m about to take.”

“Yeah yeah, just lemme pull the red ropes on the mirror maze room.”

(...)

“You swear your portal gun is stable this time?”

“So far it’s restricted to the continental United States, but soon enough I should be able to tweak it to include the western hemisphere, and then the planet, and then-.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now, poindexter. You had to hitchhike your way back home last month. From Albuquerque.”

“It is not going to be like that, I will be back tomorrow. Promise.”

“Mhmm. Take your emergency travel bag with you just in case.”

“That isn’t-.”

“Ford.”

“Alright, dear brother of mine. If it’ll quell your irrational concerns.”

“You’re getting a little better at sarcasm, sixer. Can you tell me where you’re going?”

“Just a quick, overnight trip to Washington. Mothman tipped me off about a Batsquatch there. It’d make a great addition to Journal Four.”

“I can’t believe you still hang out with that thing.”

“I don’t need to hear that from Mr.‘But the Multi-Bear has good taste in music, Ford’.”

“Ya got me there. Hey, could ya project into my dreamscape tonight?”

“You said you didn’t need help traversing it anymore.”

“I don’t. But I wanna show ya something. Can’t while we’re awake.”

“Is this you trying to trick me into going to sleep at a reasonable time?”

“...It’s not a zero percent chance. But, really, I wanna show ya something.”

“Alright. Did Fiddleford call today?”

“Yeah. He’s got a conference this week though, so we can’t bug him about anything. Something about linking personal computers together.”

“Shame, I wanted to consult him about… Well, that doesn’t matter right now.”

“You could always come with us to that Jazzfest thing in a couple months.”

“Absolutely not. Last time I went to a concert with you two, you invited the Flesh Curtains ‘for old times sake’, then Fiddleford got drunk and almost evaporated the entire venue with a death ray because Sanchez put an arm around you.”

“Yeah, we really need to work on his jealousy. I really thought he’d stop after they built that giant death robot together…” 

(...)

“You’re sure Time Baby won’t know about this?”

“I made sure to schedule this during that dumb babies ‘tummy time’. We’re golden, Fordsy. Well, I’m golden at least. You’re more carbon-based than that.”

“Right. Normally, I’d take Stanley’s word for it when it comes to matters like this… But I need confirmation before I move forward with the next step.”

“Sure thing, sixer. Say what you need, specifically, so there’s absolutely no doubt what your intentions are.”

“Project us into the mindscape of Agent Powers, I need to confirm if he truly intended to kill Stanley.”

SNAP

(...)

“Get the hell away from my car, Powers! We talked about this, it’s paid off dammit!”

*Powers turns away from Stanley’s El Diablo, holding something in his hands behind his back*

“It’s a garbage car and it is still too good for a dredge on society like you, Pines.”

“Actually, it’s ‘Alcatraz’.”

“It doesn’t matter what fake name you’re using this time - we both know who you really are. Stanley Pines.”

“I’m afraid I dunno who that is. Now get away from my car before this turns into another fight.”

“Hmph. Another one you can’t finish?”

“Fuck off, pig.”

*Powers walks away, but slips a strap cutter, hose cutter, and screwdriver into his pockets*

“I see… this wasn’t a misunderstanding nor a crime of passion. He methodically planned on killing him and making it look like a tragic car accident.”

“So, IQ,  you’re saying he fucked up?”

“He fucked up big time, my muse.” 

(...)

Crackle

Crackle

Crunch

“Who’s there?”

“Agent Powers, lovely campsite you have here.”

“What-... Stanley Pines?”

“Close, but no cigar.”

“...You’re the other one. You’re that twin he had a picture of.”

“In the sun visor of his car? The one that you sabotaged?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Hm. Strange. You haven’t taken a leave of absence in six years; and yet, you started an extended leave months ago, suspiciously around the same time that Stanley Pines reported himself to the authorities as alive?”

“It was close to the holiday season.”

“And yet… Here you still are.”

“I- what is that thing you’re pointing at me?”

“Your full name is Nickolas Powers isn’t it?”

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

“What are you doing with that thing?”

“No, no, don’t try to back off, now. I’ve already set up a perimeter around your campsite, and if you try to run you’ll have quite the experience with pitfalls and barbed wire.”

“...Are you here to kill me?”

“I want to. Believe me, I want to. You tried to take my brother away from me. And for what? Because he was slippery? Because he was infuriating? Because he spared you during that shoot out with The Snakes Biker Gang?”

“...He was never going to improve, he was always going to be a nuisance and a leech on society. I don’t know how his entire criminal record managed to disappear without a trace overnight, but I know what he really is.”

“You knew he wasn't a killer. He’s far more forgiving than I am, he knows you killed him and revenge didn’t cross his mind. In a way, he’s more disappointed than angry. You were one of the few constants in his life, an antagonistic version of a ‘friend’, almost. And you killed him because you were angry that some teenager beat you but didn’t finish you off over a decade ago.”

“Clearly, I did not kill him if he could report himself as alive.”

“He did die, Powers. He died, but he came back and he lost himself, even when someone else saved him. He had no memories of who he really was… Didn’t know who I was when I met him again a year later.

But I brought him back. It took a lot of work, it took pain and effort, but I brought him back. But that doesn';'t change that you tried to take him away from me in the first place, and for a while you succeeded.

But to answer your earlier inquiry, no, I’m not here to kill you. At least, not physically.”

“Excuse me?”

“This gun can target specific memories based on the prompt that is typed in. And that includes the victims own name. I’m going to erase everything you are.”

“You-!”

*Powers attempts to get up and run, but trips over a shallow pit a few yards away, landing on his front*

“Don’t look away from me. Face me directly, Agent Powers. You think you’re such a cunning strategist, but you made one fatal mistake - you harmed my family.

Stanley Pines came back to himself because he had people who cared enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that it was safe to be himself again. I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you have people who love you enough to do the same for you.”

FWOOSHBZZZZT!

(...)

“I can see your mindscape is still shifting its presentation.”

“Yeah, it’s mostly boardwalk and beaches again… there’s still a lot of slot machines and snooker tables. Ms. Ramirez told me I shouldn’t try to separate my amnesiac self from… ya know, myself.”

“You did say early on that you were never anybody but yourself.”

“Heh, I did say that didn’t I?”

“What’d you want to show me, Stanley?”

“I remembered something from Glass Shard Beach - do you remember when we were trying to fix up the mast of the Stan O’War, but we only had loose rope and none of it was long enough?”

“Vaguely…”

“We found two ropes that would be long enough if we put ‘em together. We used a specific sailors knot to do it, the one that Horrible Eyesight Hawkins taught us when we were kids?”

“Yes, it was the Flemish Bend I believe.”

“Ya know, sixer, it’s been so many years I forgot some of steps.”

*Stanley manifests his half of the twin bond and offers the broken end to Stanford*

“Ya think if we worked together we could do one again?”

“I think… I think that is a brilliant idea.”

*Stanford manifests his half of the twin bond and offers the broken end to Stanley*

“I remember ya supposed to start with a figure eight on one rope.”

“Yes, and then you retrace it the opposite way with the other rope.”

“Then ya pull both standing ends of the rope in opposite directions.”

“And check that the knot is tied correctly.”

“By seein’ if there's three sets of parallel rope in it?”

“Indeed.”

“I think we got it, Stanford.”

“We certainly did, Stanley.”

The End… Go Home.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

it feels so…… weird… seeing a cishet dude be so chill with queer themes lmao your soda-in-drag moment, the stevepop of it all, even guys with queers in their friend circles can’t bring themselves to partake sometimes lmao 😭 but it’s cool !! refreshing even sjksksndks this is a /pos statement I promise

Thanks lol! I think it’s cos I’m fairly secure. Sorta. (I’m still prone to compensating for things and being a stupid teen boy, but like, I’m aware of it, at least when I stop to think. Yk I’ll still join in on dick measuring contests, but deep down I’ll know it’s dumb and performative.)

I guess I feel a kinship to queerness. I go to art school where I’m sometimes the only guy in a class of girls, and I’ve been the token straight guy in every friend group I’ve been in since freshman year of high school. Beyond that, growing up I was frequently mistook for a girl- I had long-ish hair (post bowl-cut era 😭) and I’m part Asian, I was pretty androgynous lol. People irl have thought I’m gay, or a trans man on testosterone (I mean fine, I guess I am pretty short and hang with a lot of trans guys.) Hell, I did drag on a dare once, back when I was even more secure. (And I was hot asf in drag lemme tell ya. It felt lousy and it’s definitely not my thing, but man if I had a clone who was a girl-) All this to say, I say I’m straight, but honestly I don’t really know. I like girls a lot, but I have seen a buddy of mine in drag, and lemme tell ya I felt something but I’m not gonna examine that rn lol. Straight just feels comfortable, safe, and it’s good for interacting with folks who ain’t so progressive, so it’s what I’m sticking with…but I’ll admit there’s a gray area.

I relate a lot to the guys in the Outsiders, and irl I like to present myself as a tough, cool, Very Masculine guy. Hell, sometimes I play dumb about stuff because it’s “feminine” and a guy like me shouldn’t know about it. I act a lot like how I write Steve Randle, he’s my guy I like to project on lol. Honestly, I’ve got a fair amount of internalized toxic masculinity. But I think because I know how silly it all is deep down, I can interact with queer themes in art without feeling like I’m not “man enough”. Idk, I suppose it’s an outlet in some ways. Who knows maybe in 2027 I’ll come out as bi or something, but don’t wait up.

idk, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like exploring queer themes, not because they’re queer necessarily, but because they’re human and I relate to them. And that’s hard not to partake in, y’know?

[warnadudenexttime]

Ok here’s my personal rewrite on “the sides have a nice day” video

DISCLAIMER: if you infact like that video, that’s so real, so valid, good for you, I’m just here to change it a lil into something I think makes more sense/fits the characters better-

I think the premise is fine, but the execution is ehhhh- like look, I’ll keep the original spirit of the video and keep the big 3 inside it cause I know thomas likes them. So I’ll keep logicality then prinxiety then demus. Thumbs up? HWJAJSJ

I think the part of the video that probably needs the smallest tweaking is the first portion with Logan and Patton. It’s fine enough, Patton wanting to do something nice for Logan? Makes perfect sense, dude loves Logan. But the explanation as to why Patton is accidentally ruining Logan’s like- fun day experience? Is like, bro you’re SHJSJSS really running with innocent stupid doe eye’d Patton characterization rn huh?

Consider this instead, so instead of Patton was stupid “oh I didn’t realize the videos were just edited together! That’s why they went super fast!” Just say he was really excited to see Logan enjoying things, he got caught up in his excitement/feelings. Like to just say, oh he’s dumb and didn’t notice at all lol hurts- cause we know Patton is really emotionally intelligent and he would be able to notice at least after a while. So have Logan stop him, and Patton apologize and realize he just let his emotions cloud his goal of giving Logan a nice day. Ok good.

Next one. So, Virgil is giving Roman a good day, I get why- you know. You wanna push that new Roman and Virgil hating Janus friendship. But this whole section makes Virgil look like the biggest a**hole HEJAJSJ- like he’s making Roman uncomfortable or scared throughout it all and he doesn’t notice until the end where Roman basically self projects and is really sad HEJAJSJ I understand you wanted this to be an opportunity for Roman to feel better- or the comedy that is Roman reacting to Virgil sucking at being… a good friend- but consider this!

Roman sees that Patton gave Logan a good day and Roman’s like, he needs something to cheer him up, get his mind off being a downer of a prince. So he’s gonna one up Patton and give virgil a good day! Virgil! The dude who’s like doom and gloom! But if you still wanna have that comedy of something going wrong. Instead of it to where virgil is giving Roman choices he thinks he may likes but then turns out it’s just stuff virgil enjoys- have it be Roman giving stuff he enjoys and thinking “well if I like it, it’s great, so virgil will like it too!” But instead it twists into something virgil likes!

Follow me here, for example. Roman gives Virgil the option of sharing adventure stories, something he enjoys. But Virgil ends up telling Roman a spooky story which freaks Roman out and Roman’s like well that failed! It didn’t go according to my plan! And he keeps offering choices he would like, but virgil twists it into something he would enjoy or it just ends up like that.

And by the end Roman feels awful, he thinks it must have sucked and wants to apologize to Virgil. But Virgil’s like no dude I had an absolutely great day you’re a really good friend, you knew exactly what I like! So that way you get the sweet moment at the end but also the comedy of Roman reacting to things going poorly inbetween. I think it as well just makes more sense for Roman to do that initiative and go for something like this.

Ok so, this last one… it still hurts me so badly to hear Janus say “I’ve convinced Thomas to lean into his intrusive thoughts today” GOD IT HURTS SO BADLYYYY like not only is that such a misrepresentation of what intrusive thoughts are supposed to be, they’re not silly tik tok impulsive thoughts I’m gonna- ok I’m getting off topic.

I’m gonna be real this section is going to be very biased because I don’t like Janus and Remus being close besties, I’m admitting that here so you already know what we are getting into. I just don’t think self preservation, someone trying to keep Thomas at the top and in good health would be like HELL YEAH THOMAS DANGLE YOUR PHONE OFF A BRIDGE GO BANG UP A CAR GO TO JAIL FOR ALL I CARE! But anyways.

The whole joke at the end is, wow Patton and Virgil kinda suck at doing this but I Janus can give that little freak a good day so easily!

Here’s my pitch, have Remus at the end pop up to say, this video has gotten too mushy and feelingy and all that sh-t I’m gonna give Janus a bad day because why not! Seeing him in misery is fun!

And then just have short sections of Janus outsmarting Remus everytime he tries to give him a bad choice, Janus ends up flipping it somehow to something he would enjoy. Kinda like WTIT where Remus is like OH NO YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OPEN THE DOOR! Then he gets stabbed because he’s stupid. I think this just personally makes more sense to me, then like- yes Janus would probably wanna show up the others but I can’t see him leaning into intrusive thoughts. But as I said, I’m biased.

So yeah there’s my rewrite of that video this was long but yeah :3 if you didn’t like this rewrite and/or prefer the original you’re so valid! Anything here is just my opinion and obviously isn’t the actual best approach.

[majaloveschris]

I am a different anon, but I would like to add my five cents.

I think when this all started she thought that she will get a positive attention and praise through this connection. Her friends were also milking that connection as much as they could.

She doesn’t get that nobody hates her because she exists, the problem is in her friends and her ATTITUDE. Even if she wasn’t an A-list actress or Oscar nominee, but a regular person, she would’ve receive more positive feedback, people would’ve supported her if she was a good person. The question is not in her existence or her connection to him, but what she does and how she acts.

Of course, there are some absolutely mental people wishing her death or laughing at her appearance. I don’t like her, but that’s too much.

Yet still people were raising questions about her and her friends attitude and I think that criticism was fair enough:

1) Racism allegations. Listen, people can make mistakes, but then grow up, learn and be better. She could’ve addressed it, talk about it and apologise. Deleting tweets didn’t solve the problem, it just showed how tone deaf her and her friends are. And the outcome of her silence? I think people read all those comments under ASP instagram post when they talked about situation on college campus.

2) https://www.tumblr.com/anneslibrary/709484574092263424/sugarbaby-accounts

Emm…how about this? Really? Cloe, we’re going to Disneyland? Dollar store Leo DiCaprio? He gave you great life opportunities and that’a how you show love to your “husband”? True love…word.

3) Not promoting her projects at all, zero professionalism (but more of a plain disrespect to producers, co-actors and even her own fans). 50 000 dollars for a big poster, for an attempt to save the show (that actually gave her a salary and at least some kind of fame), and yet - ZERO. At least be respectful and kind to your own fans (who were mostly young people and teenagers), who spent their OWN money.

Her friends and her acted worse than a dog shit and she expected people will swallow it and thank her? Nobody here is blind, deaf or dumb. Nobody here has a 3 second memory like a fish to forget what was in 2021-2023.

Even though I don’t support people who leave absolute vile comments about her, yet all the negative feedback she’s having now was caused by her own actions.

So the first person she should blame for toxicity is herself. She herself is toxic that’s what she forgets.

But I guess that doesn’t fit in “I’m innocent and shy and that’s everybody else who is the problem” narrative.

Yeah, and it's not even about the fact that she is connected to him; as you said, it's about her personality, and a lot of people don't see that, and they might be one of those people. However, this is not entirely their fault. There are people who would've hated her no matter what, even if she was the sweetest and kindest person out there, just because she is presumably with Chris. 

I think it's important to call their behavior out, but I also don't agree with bodyshaming them. Their appearance has nothing to do with what we are calling them out for, and I think it just takes away from the importance of it. People can easily say we are just jealous, and that's why we are calling them out if we add something that has to do with her appearance, when in reality most of us don't like her because she and her friends aren't good people. 

[warping-realities]

Rebranding (Repost)

"How can you be so reckless, Vincent? Be grateful I pulled your ass out of the fire and threw a coat over your sorry self, you idiot. But the fallout... Don’t you get that this could totally wreck your whole career?"

"I know, but that bitch..."

"Don’t you dare use that word again; it's already bad enough to have it on tape flying around all the gossip shows!"

"Sorry, that... woman..."

"Valery, your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend, or do you really think I’d stick around after she cheated on me?"

"Understandable you broke up, but threatening her and calling her all those names in front of a bunch of paparazzi? Half-naked, no less! What were you thinking?"

"That’s what I’m asking; what was I thinking when I decided to date a brainless bimbo with fake blonde hair?"

"Be super careful with what you say; after all, that’s not the image you wanna project, Vincent."

"Ah, I’m sorry." He replied, eyeing his agent's long blonde hair.

"Apology accepted, asshole. But we’ve got bigger fish to fry. So, tell me, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"I didn’t get your question."

"But I was so clear that even a bimbo would get it."

"Look, I already apologized for how I acted..."

"It turns out that in our circle, just saying sorry isn’t enough. We’ve got an image to protect and sell. Like you said, the vibe Valery gives off fits perfectly with betrayals and gossip sites. But you? Not so much, at least not until this week’s fiasco. Honestly, I never understood what she saw in you. Sure, you’re a well-known gamer influencer, but you’re just a nerd. She’s on another level, with more followers than you, and I bet she’ll be a fashion icon in no time."

"If you called me here just to roast me, I’m out." He said, getting up.

"Sit your ass down and shut it." Inexplicably, he found himself compelled to do just that.

"Hmmm, hmmm."

"Much better, right? I should've figured out your type way earlier, the nice guy who makes funny videos, the friend to everyone, protesting for minorities... but who, deep down, is just another sexist and misogynist like so many others. You’re way worse than a dumb jock, you know why, Vincent? Because they don’t hide who they are; women can smell the toxic masculinity from a mile away. But you, our so-called allies... what a joke... allies like you? I don’t need that. You come at us with your soft words and sensitive hearts, and women like us fall for it. We only catch on to all the microaggressions, the hits to our self-esteem when it’s gone too far, when that happens." She said, pointing to the eye prosthesis.

"I had a heart-to-heart with Valery this morning. Turns out, on top of all that, you’re a lousy performer in bed. That’s why she’s been sneaking around with her gym buddies. Poor girl, always picking the wrong guy, but at least the last dude had an enviable body and an even more enviable... tool, maybe the reason for your little meltdown. In your defense, she swore to me you never laid a finger on her. So, my dear, I’ve decided I’m not gonna bail on you, and Valery’s agreed not to press charges. But for everyone to be happy after the mess you made, you both gotta agree to clean up your images. And for that, you’re gonna participate in a reality show! Fun, right?" She finished with a smirk. Vincent's shocked look showed he wasn’t finding this fun at all.

"Now, Valery is perfect for the reality show in question, and as for you... we’ve got a few months until the next season drops, which I really appreciate, 'cause we need to let the dust settle to work on your image and do a total rebranding. Get up and strip down to your underwear; I don’t need to hurt my only eye with the sight of your tiny dick."

Vincent again found himself compelled to comply and robotically followed his manager's orders.

"It really isn’t good material! But let’s change that; how about a few years less studying foreign languages and more time getting swole at the gym, Vincent?"

Suddenly, all knowledge of Spanish and French evaporated from his mind. Followed by a weird feeling in his body, starting in his feet, which ballooned from size 8 to size 11. Then his calves, a joke among his friends, widened and showed more definition, as well as his thighs, which grew to the point of making him move one leg away from the other, with a little help from his dick, which went from size 3 to 7. Then his abs started to show the shadow of a six-pack, with defined pecs to match, and finally, his skinny arms gained the size and definition of someone who actually lifts weights at the gym. As soon as it started, the feeling passed.

"Much better, flex those muscles for me, Vincent." And so he did, screaming in horror in his own head, but utterly speechless on the outside.

"I think we still have room for improvement," said Monica distractedly. And Vincent, summoning all his willpower, finally got a moment of clarity, rushing to the table and trying to grab anything he could use against her. Not succeeding he just used all his remaining willpower to raise a fist in defiance.

"Stop right there! A fist? Seriously, Vincent? I figured with all your big-brain intellect you’d come up with something better." She mocked the frozen man.

"Apparently, that intellect isn’t all that great. So how about we trade twenty IQ points for another twenty pounds of lean muscle, a few extra inches on your height, on that useless dick of yours, and on those big feet; for some reason, some women go crazy for that!"

Vincent was hit by that odd feeling in his body again, this time accompanied by a sensation of being sucked into his own mind, which prevented him from even thinking. His feet reached a gigantic size 14, giving off a pungent odor, his calves grew until they took on the shape of diamonds, and his thighs expanded to the size of tree trunks; his penis - little Vinnie, a name that popped into his head - reached an impressive 9 inches in length, along with the circumference of a beer can. That hint of a six-pack evolved into a defined eight-pack, and his pecs turned into two slabs of meat, completing the sculpt he developed with broad shoulders and huge, vascularized arms.

"Almost there! The body’s perfect, and intellect down to just the right level. But something’s missing. How about we swap your obsession with game culture for an obsession with yourself? A few tattoos, and what were you saying about fake blonde tan and bleached blond hair? Let’s make sure the outside represents the inside well, my dear, and the main thing is that every woman who lays eyes on you knows what kind of man she’s dealing with.

…

The two girls sitting on the sand tried to focus from a distance on who the man was approaching at the edge of the sea.

"Is he mine or yours, Val?"

"I think he’s yours, Brit; from this distance, I can’t be sure, but he doesn’t look like any of mine... except... no way!"

"What, Val?" asked the other anxiously.

"Wait and see, Britt! But I can guarantee you this is gonna blow some minds!" answered Valery, seeing the young man approaching.

"Hello, ladies!" said the man, exuding cockiness.

"Vincent Parker?" Britt asked in disbelief as Valery just smiled.

"No formalities, girls. You can call me Vinnie!"

[huenation]

how are you true / kth

word count: 4,062

genre: silliness (fluff), angst, college au, “enemies” (friends) to lovers

warnings: breakdowns, homesickness, mc is shorter than tae (minor detail but just a heads up), loneliness, ur prof is so mean

synopsis: you’re homesick while at uni and instead of making friends, you have beef with this guy in your class, but it can’t be all that bad, can it?

soundtrack: hug by seventeen

when you started your first year of school, moving thousands of kilometers away from home, it proved to be the scariest thing you’d done, but not once did you ever try to make it known.

for your sake as an always independent, calm, non-emotional person that you’d been dubbed as by your family, for your said family, and overall the new community of students like you.

from not sharing your bedroom to suddenly having a roommate, at least she was kind, but she was never home, so it’s like she wasn’t even there. (it made ample opportunity to release your emotions when you couldn’t hold them in anymore.) from waking up to the singing of your mom or your siblings and smell of delicious food to waking up every hour in cold sweats, constantly looking around for some recognizable feature that told you where you were just to sit there in a weird sort of grief that you weren’t home.

it was hard. you tried to make friends in each of your classes, even trying to join clubs or societies in hopes of boosting credits for your future resume, and it worked to some point, but at the end of the day, you always felt so lonely.

the first few months are the worst, but you keep paddling through with your head held high.

when you meet taehyun, things start off rocky and you struggle to float. all this is because right away, he doesn’t like you. you’re kicked out of your group for the class you share together, and instead of forcing you to stay, your professor drops you in another with taehyun.

you had met the first time on a particularly chilly morning, you both showed up for your first class to see that class was cancelled and you both were at a loss for words, seemingly as the only two people who hadn’t gotten the memo. funnily enough, taehyun didn’t say a word, just scratching his head and rubbing the back of his neck, sighing at most. you were the one who opens up their mouth to ramble about how dumb you feel. his nose and ears were still red. you never quite noticed him before despite sharing the class for a month or two now. you weren’t aware of his name at the time either. one of his hands moves down to grip at the book bag strap on his shoulder. you blinked at him, too, falling into silence.

it was there that you got to see firsthand how he possibly had the largest pupils ever. big brown eyes that hypnotized you a little more than they should have.

it was a wordless conversation you didn’t realize you stepped in, seeing as his eyebrow arches and he scoffed. easily, your expression flipped in offense.

“i’m going home.” “what’s your name?”

both sentences were spoken at the same time. instead of answering like a normal person, taehyun simply walked past you, jaunting like if he doesn’t haul ass, he’d die.

“hello?!” you shouted out, watching his back and him disappearing around a corner. that had been the first encounter. so, you rolled your eyes and just walked away, back to your dorm.

that became the first of many times: many instances in which taehyun really didn’t want to be there with you, but seeing as you had no other way out, you tried to make the most of it. he liked fighting it. after refusing to even speak to you for the first few weeks, it quickly turned into constant bickering. you needed the document for the group project? sorry, he can’t share it with you. he wanted to present the simplest part of the presentation? whoops, you already claimed it. your group mates sucked, so it was always you two meeting outside of class to work on it. you gave each other a hard time, on purpose definitely.

it certainly hadn’t helped that you befriended his own best friends, who forced the proximity even more. you didn’t even get the hype of how they, the sweetest beings, could be friends with him — until one day, you stayed too late at the library and as you were leaving, you caught him walking a very important looking gentleman out the door. taehyun listened carefully to every word the man spoke, every word revolving around theories and fissions, scientific properties you hadn’t a clue about.

taehyun conversed with him like it was nothing. easy words that sounded to you like physicist or engineering jargon, but to him, he did it all with an intrigued smile. a smile. he looked so charming. those big pupils were so captivated. you found him so enchanting.

the man had simply said that they’ll see each other soon and he walked out of your grand library lobby. all while you remained standing behind him. he was quite passionate, a side you didn’t know he’d possessed. his tone soothed you and his eyes lit up.

after that, you quietly started crushing on him. blushing while having to talk to him, though it wasn’t a chore for you. you had to fight tooth and nail to not show the invisible excitement at seeing him. except that you avoided him and avoided the normal arguing. playful arguing that made you both seem childish. it became civil suddenly.

taehyun caught onto it pretty fast, but not the crush part. he only suspected that you were hiding something. the core to every argument had been that you thought he was stuck up and he thought you were annoying. you’d reverted back to where you started.

yeonjun, his roommate, would point out that you both seemed like an old couple who squabbled all the time. taehyun never said anything but simply rolled his eyes. the only time he ever took action was when someone would say that you two fought like siblings.

who knew why that above all seemed to get to him?

taehyun was cold, irritable, always in a rush, wanting everything to be perfect, but he never did anything to hurt you, if anything sometimes he’d go out of his way to make sure you weren’t hurt, despite all his claims that you annoyed the life out of him. that certainly didn’t seem to help your feelings for him that were building and boy, were they building fast. you assumed they were nothing more than attraction to his appearance, his hidden passion, his quick wit, his understanding of boundaries even in this weird frenemies thing you both had going on, and the fact that you were spending more and more time together. practically every night, you came home seething with a very late comeback to what he said, already ready to go to sleep, no time to even realize how homesick you are.

taehyun getting forced to sit next to you and to eat next to you and to hand you everything, by the guys, slowly became something you liked. even if you felt a little guilty and selfish that you enjoyed it despite taehyun not liking it. it was like pulling the hand of fate into your favor.

one night, after taehyun had reminded you to get home safely, with a begrudging attitude, yeonjun pulled you aside to tell you that your little crush on him was pretty obvious and that you needed to do something.

the news of this being obvious hit you like a truck. and the truck turned into a train once you looked over yeonjun’s shoulder to see taehyun’s back, walking away and disappearing over the corner of the living room. he’d heard you most likely.

you didn’t tell yeonjun about this, trying to convince yourself he hadn’t heard a thing. no need to make a big deal out of nothing!

there was no room for this when the next day, taehyun tried to avoid you, just like how you started. when you finally got his attention and forced him to talk to you, after your shared class, he sighed deeply and looked you in the eyes, telling you something that made you shut up instantly.

he had a tight grip on his book bag strap, eyelids lax, but tense in his jaw and brow.

“look, y/n, you need to stop trying so hard. i don’t know how, or even why, you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this little crush you have on me… you shouldn’t bother. maybe you liked me before we started working together or whatever. you’re so stubborn and insistent, and it’s not going to get you anywhere. i hate to break it to you, but you ought to stop trying with me. just get your nose out of me and my business, alright?”

your eye had twitched, lips had parted, and you wanted to unleash buckets of anger, all that you could do was let out a little, quiet yelp. he blinked at that before walking past you. a part of you felt like he left something out of his little monologue at you, and on purpose. his tone had seemed more of a warning and almost like he was trying to be nice, but like every time he tried talking to you, it always came off wrong.

you didn’t let him off the hook this time though, running after him and blocking his way, almost tripping but letting him catch you.

“what?” taehyun asks a little belligerent and impatient. those big eyes and focused expression could make you swoon. but, you don’t. what you do is put your palm in his face, laughing softly, with “look, buddy. if you’re uncomfortable about me thinking you’re cute, just say that. you don’t have to preach to me about whatever the hell you were saying earlier.”

you miss the way his eyes enlarge, pupils dilate, adam’s apple bobs, and ears tinge like a cherry.

“did you not listen to me? i’m saying — ”

“no, i heard you the first time, kang. no need to mansplain at me,” that makes him laugh in amusement. it’d be a lie to say that you didn’t find that attractive. “what i’m saying is that all i think is that i think you’re cute. not like i like you like that. so don’t get so cocky. besides, we’re working on a semester project, not our vows. so, let’s just continue our work so we can finish strong and not see each other after this, alright?” you’re spouting lies and phrases fused from denial, feeling your stomach twist, still so unaware of how loud taehyun’s heart is pounding in his ears.

“that’s not what yeonjun hyung said last night,” he tries to fire back, but you brush him off, stepping back ready to run off.

“i don’t want to hear it. i’m not arguing with a man with big brown eyes like you. so, i disagree or you’re wrong, or whatever you say, gorgeous, but i think we’re done. i’ll see you next class or at your dorm if the guys invite me back.”

you do your best to saunter off with your chin up high, turning the corner to fall apart, while taehyun is still reeling from what you said. it’s one thing for someone to be so sure of themselves and call him cute, but it’s another for you, who’s borderline never sure, to say that about him to his very face.

after that, taehyun stops showing up to class and you stop getting texts from the guys to come over. it was a jumble of your worst nightmare.

you do try to message, disguising your fear as curiosity, and soobin replies, telling you that you all can’t hang out at the dorm because it’s too messy but can hang out outside. the excuse felt a little off, so you don’t bother. you don’t even have taehyun’s phone number.

why should you hang out with them when they’re his friends? why should you do whatever you want and be fake when you’re just lonely and are trying to distract yourself from everything?

things go static after that.

you regret trying anything at all in the first place.

fall break comes around, the week before finals prep then actual finals. you had purchased a round trip ticket to fly back home to be back with your family, since you couldn’t find inexpensive flight tickets for the holidays. this would be your only chance to see your family until spring break, or summer break at the latest.

of course, right when you’re ready to go, your professor emails you to tell you that none of your group mates posted the work that was due right before break. it was up to them to have done it. this is the same group you and taehyun shared, so the fact that no one did anything killed you. if nothing was turned in by tomorrow night, you would be dropped with a fail as your grade. your flight left tomorrow morning but with layovers, you’d be on a second flight at the scheduled time. you hadn’t even packed and it took hours to get to the airport. not to mention it was four weeks worth of work.

it wasn’t even the final, but it still was a quarter of your entire grade. you always showed up and did every assignment, but you had failed a few tests. you were alone in the dark.

despairingly, you realized what you were up against. you didn’t stand a chance. not when you didn’t understand the material to the depth needed to complete it before this quick deadline, thoughts full of taehyun and insecurities long pushed that room away.

so, instead of taking the night to pack and get ready to go see your family, you simply leave your dorm with your book bag, trudging over to the vacant library. through blurred vision, your thumb finds the contact you’re looking for easily and your breezy, little walk that you are used to taking everyday becomes one full of regret and guilt. it’s worse because your mom doesn’t let you get a word in, all too excited, going on about what she’s done to prepare for your arrival, how your siblings are getting your room ready, how everyone is cooking your favorite foods, and how everyone is getting ready for the drive to pick you up.

when you make it to the corner of the library, the little nook you always gravitate to, not a soul in sight, you find that you can’t bear to let this go on any longer and, painstakingly, you tell her the truth. your voice sounds unfamiliar to you: hoarse, confused, uneven, broken. your mom’s silence buried daggers in your heart.

your dear mother does her best to pretend like she isn’t too saddened, but you know the truth. she apologizes deeply, asking if you’re okay and taking care of you when that shouldn’t be the case. you’re the one who disappointed their mom and entire family. it’s difficult saying goodbye to each other, but you manage. the wind is howling outside, fog setting over the field and empty parking lot from your window view. you’re utterly completely alone.

you let your hand that is gripping onto your phone dangle by your side. there’s no words or movements, even any thoughts, you manage, too overtaken with the tide of frustration, anger, guilt, and sorry you feel. after a few long minutes, a cry erupts from your throat, magma comes forth in the form of hot, thick tears, a runny nose, and the most broken wail you try but overall fail to suppress. you double over from the pain of it all, dropping your phone and hunching over the chair. you’re not sure whether it’s because it’s so quiet or you’re so loud, but the ringing in your ears run over sharp, white noise. everything is so loud.

the rapid breaths you draw in to stay breathing sound so far away, like you’ve got water in your ears. your hands are clammy, fingers numb, and looking foreign the more you look at them. it all seems like the tunnel you’ve been trying to get through is never ending. where’s the light? you can’t breathe anymore, let alone hear them.

something in the distance all of a sudden shuffles, and you feel the shift even from inside.

“y/n?”

there it is.

you lift your head, film of your eyes too thick and blurry to push through to see the one person you never thought would willingly appear before you. your ears take him in for you. taehyun.

footsteps tread closer and with them, you feel his warmth despite the slight chill to his clothes from having been outside. he stands beside you now. you must look so concerning since you’re gripping onto the chair as you fail to remain steady over it. taehyun swallows down the fear and other mess of emotions he’d been feeling. seeing you this way is much too painful. he doesn’t know what to do internally, but his body knows before him, making his way over to you, trying to grasp everything in spite of your silence. your sobs settle, but you’re still crying, face dropping back.

“ — i miss my mom so much,” you say through choked words, fingers shaking. “i wanna go home…”

taehyun gently guides you to stand. it’s a gesture you comply to without a care, accepting the way he seamlessly shifts you up to now lean your body in his embrace. his arms wrap around you, rubbing your shoulder with his rhumb and the other moving in soothing circles on your lower back.

he doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t think anything needs to be said. your hushed down cries seem to agree, now diminished to muffled sniffles and quiet sobs. it’s enough. it’s more than enough.

“use my sweater as a tissue, why don’t you?” he mutters, feeling your fist of his hoodie loosen, your head pulling away, before he squeezes you: his way of reassuring you despite his ill timed joke.

taehyun lies his cheek on the top of your head, closing his eyes with relief when you quiet down.

“you’re okay, i promise. i promise,” he offers in a whisper and you mirror his actions, hands fisting his clothes a little more in agreement.

minutes pass. neither of you are sure how many, but neither of you seem to care until you do.

your hands slide down now to your sides as you’re the first to slowly move away, taehyun hesitating to let go. those large, round eyes bear right into yours. he doesn’t shy away from you even if you think that it might have killed him to have had to comfort you like that.

“sorry you had to see that,” you apologize, rubbing your cheeks and corners of your eyes with the back of your hand hastily. he doesn’t say anything. “and that you had to deal with me like that, too.”

taehyun draws the line there, scoffing quietly, and you pause.

“i didn’t do it because i felt obligated. you think i, kang taehyun, spend my time with you, bickering, struggling, working together with you because i feel like i have to?” the seam of your eyes, nose, lips are either swollen or red. your eyelash framed sclerae are hued in pink from your cry, but even in this moment, they astound him.

you might have commented on his pretty eyes once or twice, but your expressed thoughts have nothing on the way he thinks about yours. they shimmer, glow, and somehow never tell a lie; taehyun thinks your eyes are one of the most beautiful things about you.

you blink at him and he sighs. doubt and maybe a little insecurity flows through his veins. for a braniac like him, the things that taehyun says to you never come out the way they’re supposed to.

“i do everything with you because i want to.”

oh.

you say that much, shy for the first time that he’s seen.

“a-anyway,” taehyun’s stutter makes your heart do the fifth backflip it’s done since he arrived. “i got the email from our professor, too. don’t think the other jackasses did, and i went hunting for them, but looks like they’re gone.”

it’s implied that he looked for you. you remember his previous statement and try to fight the blush.

“yeah, they beat me to it,” you comment, sniffling a little, sinuses still fresh. he nods.

“were you planning on doing all the work, y/n?”

you manage a nod, moving to sit down, still facing him.

“i was supposed to go home for the break, which reminds me, i’m shocked to see you’re still here.” your tone lights up when you mention him and taehyun brushes that off with a hand. “and then? you decided to stay to do it all?”

a moment of silence falls and you nod again, wordless so suddenly. he doesn’t say anything for a moment either. he stays still, arms crossed, pensive.

“we should probably — ” “go.”

“huh?” “i said to go. you should go home.”

you move to stand now, confused.

“taehyun, i’m not leaving you to do it all. i can help you at the very least — ”

“no, y/n, go. i know it’s a lot, i know what exactly we have to do, i know what i’ve been missing since i was skipping class, i know what to do, which is exactly why you have to go.” you’re too caught in the lull of his voice, the intensity of his gaze and words to realize the meaning behind them. you blink before you give a big grin.

“so, you were skipping!”

taehyun rolls his eyes at that, ready to retort but softens once he sees your teary eyes.

“are you sure? it’s so, so, so much work. i can’t let you do all of it.” he smiles a little and his dimples spring to life.

“and i can’t let you stay here to do it,” you both stare at each other for a bit before you have to look away, all too shy. “we’re going to be okay, i promise.”

even if this change in character is giving you whiplash and it’s feeding into your delusions from some time ago when your crush was bad, your heart still manages to beat something quicker, touched at his courage and will. you feel evil in going forth with something like this, something he told you to do, but it feels so meaningful, your heart is so full.

you nod again, stepping forward to give him a hug with an arm around his shoulder (or what you can reach) and the other around his waist. maybe it’s too intimate. maybe he’ll be grossed out by how forward you are with this. maybe —

“i’ll be right here when you get back.” he whispers and you shiver.

“okay,” is all you say, pulling away with a smile, thanking him to infinity, rushing through your discussion of what you wanted to accomplish before he’s nearly pushing you out of there and you have to actually run to do what is needed to to go back home. taehyun watches you leave before settling in to work on the project.

while you’re away, you finally get to relax for just a little at being with your family. taehyun manages to get your number, texting you a picture of the graded response: an a minus and a selfie in which taehyun looks exhausted. he later adds, ‘i took 6 shots after this’.

(the other groupmates received f’s in their entire grade for the class, once taehyun did as much as he could and have the explanation that was much needed.)

you thank him in every possible way, even trying to send him money, but he shoots it all down. so, when you beg the question, ���isn’t there anything i can do to thank you?’

well… there is one thing.

taehyun takes you out on a date. it takes you five of those days to figure out that he’s liked you all along.

not bad for your first semester away from family. you find a new one in your made friends and a second in taehyun. he was right. it was all going to be alright.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

ending note: so this is soooo bad but i had this idea or rather scene and it sorta got away from me and i think it’s pretty obvious that i wrote this backwards but 😄 anyway i hope you liked it at least :< please have a good day!