#but no one ever talks about Kei so I’ve never seen this mentioned

[no1ryomafan]

Useless Getter Trivia Time with Meg!

Almost everyone’s knows the fact Armageddon had a director change after Episode 3, which had cause the entire plot of the show moving forward to be changed. But what some people may have missed if you don’t bother to stuck after the ED, as like most animes it shows a preview, it actually does show a preview for the next episode but some of the animation is seemingly changed in the Final Cut. Mainly, the first time Kei on screen is reanimated completely in the actual episode. (Left, Ep 4, Right, Ep 4 preview. I had to speed up the OG clip so they would sync though)

This is literally probably the most useless information I know about Armageddon but my brain is going to be rotating this anyways.

[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

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

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

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 25k

Spencer Reid was a genius.

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

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

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

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

He was acting like a complete paranoiac. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dilaudid.

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

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

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

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

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

And he had to fight it.

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

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

The only place that came to mind was the library.

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

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

To make matters worse, someone appeared by his side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The desperation in his voice tightened your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had no choice but to return to cleaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you never slept at this time. 

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

Or why he was heading there for the third time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something crashed forcefully into his back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll help,” he offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer,” he revealed, extending his hand.

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

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

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

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

“Probably the batteries,” he replied.

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

“You know what kind we’ll need?”

“AA, the thin ones.”

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

“What? Where to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like battery thieves?”

“Every serial killer starts somewhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She bit her lip, gently shaking her head.

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

“Thank…you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girl suddenly nodded, with more readiness and understanding.

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

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

"How, when I'd be dead?"

"Oh, you like to nitpick words?"

"I just like logic. Usually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I read a bit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at him with a cold seriousness.

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

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

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

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

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

"But..."

Determination sparkled in her eyes.

"How far do you live from here?"

You were doing something incredibly stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

"Oh my God, Spencer..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you little slut. 

After a moment she added:

don’t let him tie you down

if worse comes to worse bite his dick off

not as hard as it sounds

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

Spencer seemed satisfied with the response.

“Sounds like a really good friend.”

“Yeah, the best. Let’s go in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re incredibly strong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jude turned to you, looking utterly crushed.

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

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

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

“What does that have to do with anything—”

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

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

“Whore”

“Single young woman, I prefer” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really regretted not exchanging phone numbers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your roommate wiped her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you meet some handsome guy again?”

“It’s the same one.”

She laughed.

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

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

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

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

“Condoms?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly. Give me thirty minutes.”

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, what did you say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His friend looked at him with suspicion.

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

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

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

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

"Jerk, fool, and fun killer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deduce that yourself, Doctor."

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

On the fifth and sixth nights, you called.

By the seventh, you were pissed as fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a flycatcher?"

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

"That's right."

"Shove it up your ass."

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer, which was confirmation.

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

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

A long silence.

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

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

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

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

You frowned slightly.

"A case?"

"A child abduction," he explained.

Something about this didn't add up.

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

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

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

He scratched his nose, hesitating slightly before answering.

"I'm an FBI agent."

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

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

Spencer's eyebrows shot up.

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

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

"I'm sure you had your reasons."

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

"That's a reason too."

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

"Is that my apology gift?"

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

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

You looked at him and shook your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were surprised when Spencer gently laughed at those words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It never gets easier, does it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Soon, I hope," you replied.

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

 It was truly a tough morning return to the apartment.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A party animal, huh?”

“I used to be, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even look up at them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, someone died?”

Their looks said it all.

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

 What a damn coincidence.

The bartender addressed her by name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer immediately caught himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, looking him in the eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer looked at him, feigning pity.

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

“Should I remind you how…”

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone rang. Jude?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

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

"In those clothes?"

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

You chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

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

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

Your eyebrows shot up.

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

"In a good way or a bad way?"

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

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

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

You lifted your chin high.

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

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

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

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

I'm afraid not."

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

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny. 

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

"Yeah, I can see that."

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

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip, pondering. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

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

“And what do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

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

You shot him a defiant look.

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

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

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

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

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

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

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

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

You hesitated, considering.

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

He smiled softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

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

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

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

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

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

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

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

“I lied to you?”

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

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

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

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

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

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

"Just... give me a moment."

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

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

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Which one?"

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

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

"I'm starting to get worried."

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

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay” 

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

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

He rolled his eyes.

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

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

"You're not going anywhere."

*

You fell asleep.  

Asleep. At night.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," he said gently.

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

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

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

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

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

"You don’t know that."

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

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

"Just stay here,"

His suggestion made you raise an eyebrow. Spencer shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A delicate smile passed over your face.

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

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

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

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

"Well..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just open the door."

You didn’t respond.

"Where’s your key?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without limbs, vulnerable to breaks.

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

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

Forced to look in the direction your neck had twisted.

Dead. 

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

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

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!reader x Elijah Mikaelson Part 12

Warnings- 4.2k

Word Count- Swearing, violence, mentions of sex

“Is he my father or not,” My voice seems to echo throughout our family's little living room as I glare at my mother. 

“It’s not that simple, Y/N,” My mother raises her hands in surrender as she begins to take a step closer to me. The dark glare on my face seems to halt her movements and she closes her eyes and sighs.

“He’s the man that raised you, he-”

“You. Know. What. I. Mean,” I cut her off, biting out each of my words, “I want the truthful answer. Is Y/F/N Y/L/N my biological father?”

I seem to lose all the air in my chest as I watch my mother drop down onto the couch and look up at me with tears running down her face. And that’s all I need to have my answer.

“Oh my god,” I cover my mouth as my chest starts concaving on itself. Tears cloud my vision as I stare at my mother. Her tears mimicked my own. And a wave of anger flows through my body. She was crying as if she was the victim here. She was crying in front of her emotionally and physically wounded daughter as if this wasn’t her fault. 

I sit on the dark coffee table in front of my mother, our knees touching as I stare at her, “You’re going to tell me everything. And don’t even try lying to me.”

My mother looks up at me and nods as she puts her head in her hands, “Eighteen years ago your father and I were having problems. We’d been married 3 years and still couldn’t conceive. It took a toll on both of us. I got depressed and well… you know how your father gets when he is upset,” She looks up at me and I slightly nod as a wave of nausea passes over me, “Your father was out of town for the night and so I thought I would go down to a little bar outside of town. I was there for about an hour before I thought of leaving. But right when I was about to,” she pauses in thought for a moment then continues, “The most beautiful man I’d ever seen approached me. We talked throughout the night and then,” She looks at me to see if I understand where she was going and I nod disgusted.

“After I did what I had done I had never felt more disgusted with myself in my entire life. You have to believe me Y/N,” She reaches out to take my hand but I flinch away from her.

“Does Dad…or your husband know,” I ask but a part of me already knows the answer.

“When I fell pregnant with you soon after, you have to understand how happy your father was, I had never seen him that in love with something in the time I’d known him. You saved our marriage, Y/N. But… as you got older and you developed more of your own features and personality, neither of which were like me or him… I think your father realized or suspected that you weren’t his.”

My eyebrows furrow as I try to hold back my tears and sobs, “Is that why he…am I the reason he left?”

My question has my mother quickly shaking her head, “Your father and I had our own problems and even if it was because of that, it still isn’t your fault. He is still your father, he is the one who raised you.”

I stand up quickly, making sure not to move too much to upset my wounded arm, which is currently in a sling, and I huff out an angry laugh, “Raised me! Raised me?! I saw that man maybe once or twice a month for 16 years and in those few moments, all he caused was torture and heartbreak in my life. That man didn’t raise me! And looking at you now… I realize that you barely raised me too… I raised myself. Just like I’ve raised Theo,” I walk backward out of the living room as I shake my head at my mother, “I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

I hear my mother call out to me as I grab my keys and run out of the house. Rain pours down on me, dampening my clothes as I throw open my car door and turn it on. 

I drive around trying to decide my next move, and somehow I end up in the Salvatore’s driveway. 

I’m practically on auto-pilot as I walk up the stairs to the front door, I bring my hand up and knock, and within a moment it slams open and Damon stares down at me.

“What the hell do you…Y/N,” He pauses as he stares at my tear-filled eyes, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

I just stare at him and he takes a step forward and brings a hand to my arm. His touch seems to bring me out of my stupor and tears explode from my eyes as I throw myself into Damon’s arms. He doesn’t react for a moment as I cry into his shirt, but after a moment I feel his arms come and wrap around me.

“You want to…um, talk about it,” Damon asks quietly as if he’s not really sure how to comfort a teenage girl.

“My dad,” I hiccup out a sob, “Isn’t my dad!”

I feel Damon nod and he hums, “Um, sure, ok. Not entirely sure what that means,” He says the last part under his breath.

“I can’t go home. I can’t see my mom,” I pull away from Damon and I wipe the tears away from my face with my t-shirt sleeve.

Damon looks down at me for a moment before he turns sideways and gestures to the living room, “Then you’re going to stay here. For as long as needed.”

—

-2 months later-

“Hurry up hoe! This party isn’t going to decorate itself,” Caroline’s cheery voice calls up to me as I leave my bedroom at the Salvatore’s. 

“I’m coming Caroline, chill out,” I laugh to myself as I descend the stairs to where Caroline is standing. She shoots me a bright smile that rivals the sun when she sees me. 

“I can’t believe you’re still living here,” Caroline says as she grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. 

I laugh awkwardly, “Ya, I guess I just like the bed here better than the one at my house.”

“And your mother really doesn’t care,” Caroline asks and I flinch at the mention of the woman I haven’t talked to in two months. 

“Um, ya. Theo’s away at some football camp until school starts and my mom’s always working so she doesn’t care.”

“You’re so lucky that you’re mom is so chill,” I laugh at the irony of that. My mom being “too chill” is the reason I’m not living at home right now. Caroline doesn’t know that though so she shoots me an odd look as she must’ve heard me laughing to myself.

After finding out about my paternal issues and moving in with Damon I made up a lie to all my friends that the reason I was living with him was that I needed a little vacation from my life, and not that I’m pissed off at my mom and scared to go home because it means I’ll have to face the reality of my life now. 

Damon is currently the only one who knows of my new “bastard” status. Even though sometimes I feel like strangling him, he has honestly been kind of a great friend these past two months. He’s gone along with my lie, not even telling Elena, who he is totally in love with. Damon and I have even started our own movie nights. Right now we’re bingeing the TV show Supernatural. He and I both like Dean, but our reasonings are a little different. God, I love Jensen Ackles. 

We’re postponing our movie night tonight because Caroline and I, mostly Caroline,  are throwing Elena her 18th birthday party. Elena told me to promise her that we wouldn’t make the party too big, but I kind of had to cross my fingers behind my back when I made that promise because when it comes to Caroline Forbes, no one will get in the way of her party making plans. 

“Good morning,” I look over to see the birthday girl smiling up at me as Caroline and I enter the living room. She and Tyler, who nods hello at me, are going through boxes upon boxes of party supplies.

“It’s 1 pm,” I say back to her and she frowns and checks her watch.

“Oh… Good afternoon then,” She laughs sheepishly.

I walk down the steps and bring her into a hug, “Happy birthday, Elena!”

I can hear Elena sigh and she pulls away from me, “Thank you,” Her vision goes from me to the boxes surrounding us, “I thought you said this was going to be lowkey?”

It’s my turn to smile sheepishly at her as I gesture towards Caroline, who is currently bitching to Tyler about hanging a streamer wrong, “You try getting in the way of her planning something. I love you Elena, but I’m more scared of her.”

Elena turns to look at Caroline as well and we both cringe when she hits Tyler over the head with a hard plastic plate.

“Good point,” Elena whispers out. 

—

“I feel like I have to fight Damon every single time we get a lead on Stefan,” Elena’s complaints have me side-eyeing both Caroline and her. I try to busy myself with unraveling some string lights, trying not to seem suspicious in any manner. I’m the only one here who knows really just how much Damon knows about Stefan’s “activities” this summer. 

About 3 weeks ago I found the articles about Stefan and he who shall not be named in Damon’s closet when I was going through Damon’s things. He’d gone through my things so I thought I’d return the favor. 

When Damon found out I knew he made me promise to keep it to myself. Only he, myself, and Ric could know. Damon didn’t want to worry Elena about all the killing Stefan had been doing. So “The Squad,” as I like to call us, have been researching different “animal killings” around the US this summer. Unfortunately, Damon and Ric won’t let me go on any of the road trips with them so I’ve been stuck at the Salvatore house this summer. 

“Maybe he doesn’t wanna find him,” Tyler’s comment makes me cringe slightly at the irony.

“Tyler!”

“What? He’s into you. Isn’t he” He asks Elena.

“The only reason Stefan left with Klaus was so that he could save Damon’s life,” Elena explains as she takes the supplies Tyler handed her, “I mean, trust me Damon wants to find him.”

You have no idea.

“But…you kissed him. Probably screwed with his head,” Tyler says and Caroline and Elena whip around to look at him while I hover a hand over my mouth to keep me from giggling. I’ve made fun of both Elena and Damon on multiple occasions this summer about the “kiss of death,’’ as I like to call it. 

“Tyler,” Caroline exclaims and Elena shoots her an “Are you serious” look. 

“I’m sorry,” Caroline apologies wholeheartedly. 

Elena raises her hand and shakes it, “I…Don’t worry about it. Look, yes, I kissed him, but it was a…”

“Kiss of death,” I say under my breath, but Elena still hears me and shoots me a glare.

“It was a goodbye kiss. I thought he was gonna die,” She tries to explain herself but Tyler shoots me a look and I have to fight off a laugh.

Elena fishes her phone out of her pocket, “I just missed a call from Bonnie,” She says.

At the mention of my witch friend, I perk up, “Tell her I say hi!”

Elena nods in agreement as she leaves the room. As soon as she goes, Caroline groans and whips around to stare at the werewolf.

“Just because I tell you things, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to know them,” She exclaims at him to which he apologizes. 

“I gotta run if I’m gonna change and pick up Sophie in time,” He says as he waves goodbye to me.

“Wait, you’re bringing a date? Slutty Sophie is your date,” Caroline asks and I frown at the nickname she gave her.

“Hey,” Tyler turns around, “It’s been kinda slow in that department. And… I’m horny all the time now.”

“Ya, tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna explode” Caroline agrees and I gag out loud.

“Ok, has no one here ever heard of too much information,” I say as I make a show of covering my ears. I go back to decorating trying to block out the obvious sexual tension between the vampire and wolf as they talk about their sex lives, or lack of. 

“Bye Y/N,” Tyler’s voice calls out to me and I just wave him off, which makes him laugh.

I turn around and watch Tyler walk out of the room and then I turn to my blonde friend, “Well, that was painful to watch…and hear.”

Caroline groans and throws the cups she has in her hands back onto the table in front of us, “Tell me about it. I just…ugh, I don’t know,” She groans in annoyance again as she picks up some streamers and tape.

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

I laugh slightly at her pleading tone and nod, “Sure, what about?”

Caroline thinks for a moment before turning to me and smirking, “About the guy you’re bringing tonight.”

I roll my eyes at the insinuation in her voice, “It’s not like that at all. Alastair is a work friend. He’s new to town and I thought he could use some more friends.”

“Is he cute,” She raises her eyebrows suggestively and I shoot her a look.

“Some might say that but I’m not into him like that, and he’s definitely not into me like that either,” I respond.

“And how would you know that,” She questions.

I think back to all the times I’ve seen him ogling the male customers at work and smile to myself, “Just a hunch.”

“When did you meet the guy again?”

“Around the start of the summer when I started working at The Grill. He got a job right after me and we’ve been put on the same schedules at pretty much the same times, oddly enough. He moved from Louisana, I believe.”

Caroline nods, “And he doesn’t know about…you know what?”

I shake my head, “As far as I can tell he’s a perfectly normal NON-supernatural guy.”

“Unlike Elijah right,” I glare at Caroline because of her comment which only makes the smirk on her face deepen.

“And unlike Tyler, right,” I smirk back at her and we both drop the subject on both of those men. Caroline got the jist about my little “friendship” or whatever it was with Elijah when she, Elena, and I, accidentally got into Jenna’s wine supply a few weeks ago. He also told me about her confusing feelings about Tyler. 

“Okay fine, changing the subject again,” She thinks to herself before frowning and looking at me, “Wait…when did you say your birthday was again?”

I frown at the question, “I didn’t say it.”

Caroline shoots her hands up in the air like a mad woman, “Well then tell me, hoe!”

I fight back a groan at her question and I don't want to answer but knowing Caroline she won’t stop bringing it up unless I tell her, “It was a few weeks ago.”

Caroline stares at me in shock as she drops the streams she currently holding. A wee bit dramatic might I add. 

“Excuse me! Why didn’t you tell anyone,” She practically screeches at me.

I shrug as I go back to untangling the lights I’ve been working on, “Elena has asked but I always just brush it off. Damon also knows, but he doesn’t celebrate birthdays either so I didn’t have to worry about him throwing me a party.”

Caroline’s eyes practically fall out of her head at my words, “So you did absolutely nothing for your birthday!?”

I just shake my head as if it’s nothing, “I don’t ever celebrate my birthday, Care. I haven't in years… I mean Damon and I had a pizza night, but other than that, no not really.”

Caroline continues to stare at me in shock as she comes over to me and throws her hands onto my shoulders, “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N I solemnly swear I will be throwing you a huge 18th birthday party very soon. And it will make you change your mind about not celebrating.”

I go to argue but she puts a finger to my lips, “Hush hoe. I’ve already started planning in my head.”

Someone kill me now.

—

“Well, don't you just look Darling,” Damon's sarcastic voice sounds from behind me as I flatten out my dark blue dress. 

I turn around and see him wearing the same color top, “We’re matching!”

Damon looks at his top and then the color of my dress and groans, “You really need to move out. We’re starting to become the same person.”

I frown slightly at his comment and I think he notices because he clears his throat, “That was a joke, Pukey. You practically have already made this entire place yours I doubt you’re moving out anytime soon.”

“And yet you still won’t let me paint the walls,” I gesture to the wooden walls of my bedroom. 

Damon shoots me a glare as he raises his arm for me to take, “The wood on these walls costs more than some of the houses in this town. I’d rather die than let you paint them.”

I walk over and grab his arm and he leads me out of my room and down the hall where I can hear dozens of people yelling and music blaring.

“Did you find anything about-” Damon shushes me before I can finish my sentence.

“No talk about that tonight. Only happy drunk thoughts tonight,” I want to argue but I notice the tension in his shoulders and drop the topic for a later time. 

“Where’s the birthday girl?”

Damon slightly glares at the young teens that surround us, “With Blondey. Somewhere.”

“Y/N!”

The sound of someone calling my name has me turning around. I smile once I’ve found the caller. Alastair’s bright smile shines at me as he pushes through the hordes of people. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with the white button-up shirt he’s wearing. Dark slacks cover his long legs and I have to fight back a laugh at how put together he looks compared to the rest of the people around us who look like they picked out the first piece of clothing they could find in their closets.  

Alastair slightly grabs me out of Damon’s arms and brings me into a hug, “You look beautiful.” 

His compliment makes a warm feeling coat my cheeks as I look at him. “You don't look so bad yourself,” And I’m not lying either. He’s shaved down his hair again since the last time I saw him so he’s rocking a buzz cut that makes him appear even more striking and his dark brown eyes sparkle against the bright lights that Caroline and I had previously hung up around the house. 

“I fear I might’ve overdone it a bit. It has been awhile since I’ve been to a highschool party” He jokes as he gestures toward his attire.

“You think,” Damon’s sarcastic tone has me turning to glare at him.

“Alastair this is Damon,” I gesture to the man beside me.

Alastair who is usually all smiles seems to glare at the vampire next to me for a moment before brightly smiling at him, “Pleasure to meet you, Damon.”

Damon just stares at him for a moment, “Y/N lives here with me. So if I find you in her room later I will kill you,” He threatens and then shoots him a fake smile, “Other than that, enjoy the party.”

My eyes practically fly out of my head as I watch Damon’s retreating figure leave the room and I quickly turn back to Alastair to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s good he’s protective over you,” He smiles at me and reaches out his hand for me to take, “Want to get a drink?”

“Oh definitely,” I sigh dramatically as I put my hand in his. 

We start walking but I catch Alastair and a blonde guy staring at each other as we walk by him. I smirk to myself and then look up to my friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Not a word,” He laughs out.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Alastair rolls his eyes as we approach the refreshments table and he hands me a bottle of water and I shoot him a questioning look.

“We’re so not drinking whatever is in that punch. Who knows if someone spiked it with something? Water is a safe choice,” I begin to laugh thinking he’s joking but at the serious look on my friend’s face I stop.

“A little worried are you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little cautious,” He opens up my bottle of water for me and smiles, “Also what’s with the text I got from your blonde friend this afternoon about you having a birthday party?”

I groan loudly and I can hear Alastair laugh, “How did she even get your number?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I’d like to know as well,” He looks down at me for a moment then frowns, “You really didn’t tell anyone about your birthday?”

I just shrug, “I told Damon. But other than that no. I don’t celebrate it, and whatever Caroline is planning you definitely don’t have to come.”

Alastair shakes his head defiantly, “Oh you bet your ass I’ll be there. Going to get you a pretty present with a bow and everything.”

I put my head in my hands and sighed, “I hate you.”

Alastair laughs and takes my hands away from my face, “You love me and now you’re going to dance with me.”

I’m surprised at the strength of my friend as he leads me to the dance floor that's filled with teens dancing and grinding together.

“You sure you don’t want to go and find that blonde guy,” I yell to him over the music and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re stuck with me, babe. I’m not going anywhere” 

—-

“Call me if you need anything alright,” Alastair says to me as I walk him to his car. After dancing for about an hour the party started to die down when people couldn’t find the hostess or the birthday girl. 

“I’m going to see you tomorrow at work. I think I’ll be fine until then,” I smile at him as he gets into his car.

“I know, just making sure you know you can call me for anything,” He says through his open window as he starts his car.

“I know.”

“Ok, I’ll wait for you to get back inside before leaving,” He nods towards the front door.

“Ok, bye,” I wave to him and start walking to the front door, I turn to look over my shoulder and find that he hasn’t taken his focus off me for a second it makes me unnerved but I shake it off and open the front door. 

As soon as I step a foot inside I hear the squealing of tires and I turn to see Alastair peeling out of the driveway. Guess someone’s in a rush.

I walk into the living room and sigh as I see the damage that was done by the hordes of kids. Bottles and trash line the walls as streamers and the decorations we had worked so hard to put up are lying all around the floor. I start to walk down the steps to start picking up when a loud bang comes from upstairs. 

I frown as I start walking towards the stairs, but as soon as I hear another loud bang I start running. I find myself in front of Damon’s bedroom as I watch the vampire throw and break anything he can get his hands on. I call out to him but he seems to be in his own world of destruction right now. I start to approach him like someone would a rabid animal and I freeze as he turns to look at me. Dark veins appear under his eyes as he glares at me. He starts walking towards me and I put up my hands.

“Damon, what’s wrong? What happened,” He gets closer and I’m about to run off but he grabs me. I shriek escapes my mouth before I realize what he's doing. He's hugging me.

“Damon? What’s wrong,” I slowly wrap my hands around his waist as he holds me tighter. Almost tight enough to bruise, “What happened?”Damon is quiet for a moment before he whispers out a growl, “Stefan.”

[sarahreesbrennan]

Thank you for writing Long Live Evil.

I'm no cancer survivor, so I haven't been through the horror that that must've been, congratulations to enduring and surviving, and my sincere condolences that you had to go through it.

But I am chronically ill (cystic fibrosis, genetic defect) and have so far lived for 5 years longer than my prognosis allowed. My health's been good and stabile for a long time now, but I remember times where I couldn't walk alone, had a 18/6 nasal cannula and a 24-hour IV drip instead of school or a future.

Now I'm working at university, an archaeologist, chipping away at writing stories for years and years, and incredibly glad and privileged to see the world. All this to say that seeing how hurt Rae was in the beginning (and again throughout the story, while also never truly forgetting her true roots and motives) and how she grew around it like a gnarled tree, was like catharsis for me. Having miraculously given a second chance, no matter how hard the fight to keep it will be; I haven't ever read any story talking about this in a way that made me feel seen and understood like this. Thank you also lots and lots for taking the time to mention Rae's appreciation for Rahela's curves — it's been the same for me, since I've managed to get out of the underweight-trap. It means a lot to me, and I guess to many others in similar situations, including you of course. Thank you for sharing this with us, it must've been hard to touch on a deeply personal experience like this in writing that's simultaneously removed from oneself through fiction (at least that's what I'm imagining).

Thank you, and I wish you nothing but the best, health, and lots of good days to come. Deeply curious to see how Rae's story will continue!

Thank you so much for this.

I am so glad you are alive. Thank you for that, too - for living on even when you couldn’t see a way forward and everything was helpless despair.

I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, either, but it’s a privilege to have shared adjoining experiences trapped in darkness, and to share gladness and the wide world with you now. I’m so sorry it happened, and so happy you have archaeology and stories, and the world has you.

I will be totally honest and say it has been hard sharing Long Live Evil with the world, and I’m so grateful to you for knowing that, and for sending this message because you knew. This book is highly personal to me, but it’s also meant to be a wild celebration of messiness, escapism, and finding humour in art and darkness. And that means to some it’s just a joke, and in the words of Joanna Russ, ‘she’s not really an artist and it’s not really art.’ And so it gets dismissed, and it does hurt to see my most important story dismissed sometimes.

I was with other writers in a public space at one point and they were talking about how their books were about serious issues while ‘Sarah’s book is just for fun, and that’s fine too!’ (I had to take a minute before I could lean into my microphone and say ‘My book is about cancer’ in a cheery tone.) I’ve seen readers saying ‘this book’s just fluff, just silly, I’m ashamed of myself for reading it, there’s nothing to it’ about the book I wrote about almost dying.

My Rae, while of course she has bits of me in her (every character I’ve ever written does), and evil queens I’ve loved, and characters with wild hubris going on in the Greek plays I mention often in the book, and readers I’ve seen and I’ve been who are blithely confident they know what’s going on without doing more than surface reading and while forgetting key details… she’s also bits of women and girls I’ve mentored, been mentored by, befriended. And some of them are dead. So seeing the bits that were them particularly scorned or judged, seeing her pain dismissed or the discussion of her body sneered at…

That has been hard.

But.

In the end I believe I am really an artist and this book is really art, and art is there for the wide world to judge - to be mocked and dismissed, yes, as a price that comes with the opportunity to also be truly seen and appreciated, to get to influence real people’s real lives. Art is the gold that comes from the crucible in which we put all our pain and all our love and all our joys. I believe it deepens and transforms.

I wrote this book about how deeply unsympathetic people actually are to sufferers of illness, chronic or otherwise, and especially to women expressing pain. How the world villainises imperfect victims—which means all victims. How the world villainises bodies, and robs us of our joy in them—even when there’s horror in a body, too. I did know that by putting this book out into this world, that attitude would be reflected back by the world onto the book. And that attitude has hurt me in the past, and hurts me when I see it now.

I still think it’s worth calling out that attitude, even if it means getting more of that attitude reflected back onto me - because it means readers like you see it, and know others have been through this, and it was never okay, and you were never alone. While I know there will also be readers with chronic illnesses and/or cancer whose experience doesn’t overlap with mine at all, that only means there need to be more stories. So everyone who needs it gets the map into fantasy lands.

And I do hope some able-bodied readers read it, and think twice about adopting the world’s attitude to the people in their lives who are already going through enough. Some readers have told me the book helped them sympathise with and understand the cancer sufferers in their family and friend circles, and that’s meant a great deal. What do we write for, if not to learn to love each other better?

Long Live Evil has also given me my life back, as truly as chemo did, in a way that makes the pain worthwhile - I think I would have kept telling stories in some form, but Long Live Evil was my last throw, for as far ahead as I could see. Now since the book’s done well so far I’m hoping I can write more books, and my life can be the storytelling shape I always wanted it to be.

I read your message and I regretted nothing. I remember the pain and the way so many of us laughed or tried to laugh our way through it, and I know this was my way. Jokes, like stories, are the golden thread we follow through the dark labyrinth of our own agony and incomprehension.

It really has been hard, and it’ll stay hard. But like living, it’s worth it.

Please know two things.

I am so happy I wrote this book. Ultimately more than any other feeling I had so, so much fun writing it, and I’m having even more fun seeing the book be read by the people it was meant for.

2. This book was written for you.

[girlokwhatever]

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- end of beginning,, pt.2

part one

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

you got ready in record time. the combination of your nerves and excitement together spurred you into a frenzy, encouraging you to bounce around your hotel room like you were being rushed.

emily said she’d pick you up soon, causing you to hurriedly make the finishing touches on your look tonight. there was that feeling still, deep down, that you wanted desperately to impress her.

the shared conversation you had echoed in your mind the moment the two of you departed. she asked you out to dinner. your mind teetered on the line between two ideas: she wanted closure so you two could be teammates without your history getting in the way, or, maybe she hasn’t moved on.

you think in some ways you have, but was that even true? if emily came to you with a confession of love that she never let go of, what would you do?

there wasn’t time to ponder the thought because your phone dinged. it was a simple message from emily telling you she’s here. ‘waiting for you outside’ she said, simple but enough to make your heart beat faster. you gathered your essentials and left the ghost-like hotel room to meet emily outside.

when you caught sight of her, leaning against her car, hands buried deep in her pockets and ankles crossed, you knew you were done for. she looked so beautiful, no less than you remember.

“hey, sorry, i know i’m a bit early.”

“it’s all good, i was ready anyway.”

she eyes you up and down, smiling to herself because she recognizes the bracelet you’re wearing. it’s one of the many she bought for you during your relationship. a token of her love for you.

“i was thinking we could get some hibachi, your hotel is kinda close.”

you nod, affirming it’s a pleasant choice. the car ride there is filled with simple conversation. you realize it’s the kind of conversation you’d have with someone you barely know, but then again, it’s been two years since you’ve seen emily.

she is different. but so are you.

“okay i’m gonna warn you, i’ve heard mixed reviews about this place.”

the two of you had been seated almost ten minutes ago and still haven’t been given drinks. you didn’t mind much but you could tell by her bouncing leg that emily was losing patience.

“and you didn’t feel like that was worth mentioning earlier?”

“well i remember you like hibachi and this is the only place i know of that serves it.”

she’s giving you a playful shrug as her fingers toy with the lanyard attached to her keys. you can’t help but let your eyes linger, watching her facial features shift slightly when she breaks eye contact or noticing the almost invisible shake in her hands. she seems much more reserved, a lot quieter than you know her to be.

“hey do you remember that time,” she smiles as she pauses to collect her thoughts, “when we got hibachi and the guy accidentally burnt you with the shrimp?”

“oh my god- yes. i still, to this day, have no clue how he managed to flip it on me instead of the stove.”

“dude that was classic. i mean, unfortunate for you but definitely funny.”

emily leans back against the wooden chair, relaxing into the seat. she was looking at you again and still smiling at the contagious happy memory. it was a popular story to tell during your relationship.

“yeah okay, but when i mention that time in the park when you fell on your face it’s not funny?”

“no. you threw the ball way too high. i don’t even know how you threw the football like that.”

“from practicing when we went to the beach that one time, remember? we’d throw the ball on the beach at night.”

all the recounts of priceless stories never to be forgotten makes your chest swell with fondness. to see the way emily smiles when talking about them warms your heart even more because she’s genuinely happy and you sense no resentment in her tone. she’s appreciative of the time she got to spend with you, even if it was short-lived.

“i don’t think i could ever forget that. it was the best vacation of my life for sure. it was so good, school had kinda been stressing me out and all so i was just happy to get away with you. i remember our first night there you wore that really pretty dress, the white one, and you asked me to take pictures of you at sunset but it was so windy and you kept getting mad. oh my gosh you were so mad. i still have the one picture where you’re pulling that piece of hair out of your mouth and you got so upset because i took the picture and sent it to myself. but you looked so beautiful anyway, it was good.”

you don’t say anything, too shocked to properly collect yourself. though you knew ex’s could be friends, you weren’t aware it was like this. you’re in awe of her really, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her compliments of your beauty.

your eyes stay trained on emily but she’s looking straight ahead at the wall, rummaging through all her memories containing you. you’re all she can think about in this moment and she’s not aware how obvious that simple fact is. she was too lost in thought, too busy missing her past to realize her word vomit.

“i remember too how an ocean wave knocked you over and you got a bunch of sand in your hair,” she leans back further, trying to submerge herself in the memory. “and i had to help you wash it out that night cause your arms were tired. then for the rest of the week you made me go in the ocean with you every time so i could help hold you up, i think i can still feel how tight you’d grip me when a wave came. and we’d always get burnt cause we’d float together for ages. but i didn’t even care because i was just happy to be there with you. nothing else mattered to me.”

the intensity of her words finally dawn on emily, immediately stiffening and clearing her throat. the air between you is thick and her confession weighs in the space between. you have no idea how to react or what you could possibly say to her, but you don’t have to because someone is finally asking what you want to drink.

the rest of dinner was tense with very few shared words. every now and then emily would comment on the quality of the food and you’d say nothing in return.

what could you say?

the ride back to your hotel was even worse. the soft hum of the radio and an occasional road bump was the only noise to fill your space. your eyes stayed glued on the sunset out the window the entire time, trying to remember how you ended up in this situation.

you thought back on everything. from the moment emily asked you to be her girlfriend, the moment you broke up with her, to earlier in the night when she asked you out to dinner. anecdotes of your shared past with her flooded your mind and refused to leave. it wasn’t until she parked at your hotel that they drained, leaving you with a teary waterline and regrets of past decisions. and current ones.

“thanks for taking me out tonight.”

“yeah, no problem.” silence lingered as you climbed out of her passenger seat but once you were about to shut the door she spoke up again, “i’m sorry.”

but it was too late and she wasn’t even sure if you heard her because you just kept walking. shaky breaths and silence consumed the walk back to your room, nothing in your mind but blame on yourself.

you should’ve said something, acknowledged her admission and reciprocated it. instead you sat there silently and visibly watched her shrink in on herself.

you were a coward.

you were a coward back then when you broke up with her, not able to face the uncertainty change would bring. it had only gotten worse. you realized that maybe some things don’t ever change.

the harsh opinion you harbored for yourself only made you feel worse. once you reached your room the tears began to fall one by one down your face, a pent-up sob escaping you from your spot on the bed.

emily was still parked outside, watching the time pass by. with each minute she debated on going inside, straight to your room. she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do or say when she got there, but she just wanted to see you again.

it had been thirteen minutes since you left. thirteen minutes since she saw you. thirteen minutes since the opportunity to win you over again had passed. thirteen minutes sitting in silence waiting for you to text her something, anything. but you never did.

she couldn’t leave knowing she didn’t try.

so she didn’t. she remembered seeing your key card, your floor and room written across it in bold lettering. that’s where she found herself now, standing on your floor gathering the courage to just knock.

finally she did, hearing you shuffle on the other side of the door. she could swear a drop of sweat was dripping down her forehead, bringing the back of her hand up to wipe at it.

“emily?”

“can i talk to you?” she was going to throw up, she was going to throw up, “please?”

“yeah.. are you okay?”

“are you?” emily looks at your face, makeup disrupted by wet streaks and eyes slightly red, red enough to be noticed. her tone came out harsher than she meant it to, pushing her way into the cold room. you don’t answer, instead busying yourself with shutting the door and turning the lights on.

“can i sit down?”

“go for it.”

she props herself up on the end of your bed, hands resting on her bouncing knees as you approach. you lean against the wall a few feet away as she begins to speak.

“i’m sorry for dinner, if it made you feel weird or anything. i think i should tell you, just get it out of the way, that i still think about you. all the time. and, like, i miss you. i know we’ve both probably changed and we’re different people now, i get it. but nothing, nothing, amounts to the way i felt with you. when i saw you today i felt like old me again. i want nothing more than to be like that again.” emily catches her breath, the jumbled confession coming so suddenly. “i went back to louisville last summer, just to see jeff and stuff. being there reminded me of you. i felt better there because i felt like part of you was there with me.”

she looks at you expectantly, waiting for some type of reaction. you just stare at her with an unreadable expression, tears dipping at the corners of your mouth and you bring a gentle hand up to wipe them away.

“do you ever..” she buries her head in her hands, dragging them down her face, “do you ever feel that way? tell me you don’t and i’ll leave if you want me to. i just have to know so that i can move on with my life.”

“emily..”

“it’s okay” she whispers, “it’ll be fine.”

she stands, tucking her flyaways behind her ear. your eyes connect with a silent message as you try to find the right words. you turn your head away from her direction because you feel like she’s peering into you, dissecting every thought and tearing you apart to find what she wants.

“i think about you all the time.”

it’s short but effective. emily’s heart skips a beat and so does yours, the gap between your bodies lessening.

“getting on the court with you again was so amazing and for that reason alone i’m happy to be here. i left louisville because i couldn’t do it without you. and i spent, oh my god, so many nights regretting my decision. i miss you emily. i’ve missed you for two years.”

neither of you have any words left as she surges toward you, pulling your body into hers. your lips meet in a passionate kiss to make up for lost time, finding peace within one another. emily holds the back of your head to press you as close as possible because she fears you’ll slip away again if she doesn’t. she finally has you back, nothing is taking that away from her.

you’re the first to pull away, placing your forehead against her own. your noses rest side by side, lips touching and fingers tangled in hair as you both pant from loss of breath. you’re so relieved that you’re almost convinced it can’t be real.

there’s no negative feelings plaguing either of you anymore, finally feeling complete.

the rest of the night is spent with tangled limbs and gentle kisses to pass the time. she never leaves your embrace and you don’t leave hers, feeling content right where you are.

you can finally wave goodbye to the end of your beginning with emily, ready to move into the next chapter with her.

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

thank you @astroph1les for literally giving me all the motivation to do this

i hope no one forgot about pt.1 i know it’s been a minute 😬😬😬🤗

not spell checked yet but it will be later!!

pls enjoy!!!!!!!

[bloodibambiidoll]

You’ll Never Be A Burden

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: When you can’t get out of bed, answer your phone, or shake the feeling of hopelessness your boyfriend is there to reassure you that he will always be there for you no matter what. WK: 1.6k moodboard

Warnings: Talk of mental illness, depression, feeling unloved/unworthy of love, not being able to get out of bed, insomnia, food mention, hurt/comfort, Eddie being the sweetest sweetie. Just all around this is centered around mental illness and how it feels to be too depressed to get out of bed. Please let me know if I missed any. Also I wrote this in one sitting so there’s probably typos. 18+MDNI

A/N: I don’t specifically mention a certain mental illness but for me this is how it feels when I’m having a BPD episode. So for me this symbolizes borderline depression but it can apply to any type of depression or mental low. I’ve been really going through it lately, so I just harnessed how I feel into writing this and it was very therapeutic. I wish Eddie could come hold me.

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been laying in bed in between awake and asleep at this point. A few hours? A day? Two? All you know is that the clock on your nightstand reads 2:48AM and you have been trying to force your brain to shut off since it read 8PM. You tried everything to calm the war raging inside your mind. You took so many deep breaths at this point you lost count, you pulled all the blankets over your head and tightened your body into the smallest ball you possibly could, you rocked back and forth while you repeated your mantra of “you’re okay” to yourself over and over again. But no matter what you did you couldn’t stop the negative thoughts from swimming around inside you.

You hated when you got like this. Overcome by this feeling of hopelessness. The feeling of shame. Loneliness. Not being able to shake the feeling as if you’re a burden to everyone around you. So you isolate yourself. Not wanting to drag anyone down with your negativity, not wanting to lash out at the people who are just trying to help you, not being able to bear the feeling of being alone in a room full of people.

Your friends had all texted and called you, social media notifications and voicemails piling up. Not even being able to muster up the energy to pick up the phone and respond to the one person you knew would make you feel better. So instead you thought of him. The way his beautiful eyes lit up when a smile spread across his lips. The way it felt to have his arms around you, his smell, his soothing voice. It’s what kept you going on days like this. Him.

Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up the phone. To ask him to come hold you. You were embarrassed, embarrassed of the disaster your house has become, embarrassed of your unbrushed teeth and messy hair, the pajama pants that felt like they were stuck to your body. You didn’t want him to see you like this. He’s only ever seen you like this once, and he was amazing, perfect even. But to this day you beat yourself up over those days he took care of you, washed you, held you while you sobbed, read to you in exaggerated voices until you dozed off with your head in his lap and his fingers in your hair.

You know he wouldn’t mind, that he was happy to help you, be there for you. But you were so scared of him seeing you differently and changing his mind about you. You were terrified that if he saw the real you, truly, that he would leave. You’d become too much, too little, never the right amount, just like you always did.

That’s why when you heard a knock on your door your heart race picked up, you felt your skin flush, because you knew it was him. You knew he’d come, you knew he’d be worried and you can’t decide if worrying him to the point that he showed up at your door or just texting him back was worse. You heard him knock lightly on the door a few more times before you heard the key you had given him turning the lock.

“Baby? Are you here? I just came to check on you… haven’t heard from you since yesterday morning and I was starting to worry.”

His voice became louder as he talked, his footsteps padding down the hall to your bedroom door. Your head was still shoved under your blankets so you didn’t see him but you heard the knob turn and the door swing open.

“Sweetheart…”

Eddie’s heart nearly shattered when he opened your bedroom door. Your room was trashed, the black out curtains drawn blocking out the moonlight, and even your fairy lights you always had on, even in the night, were shut off. He couldn’t see you, but he could see the outline of you and hear your breathing. He walks over to your bed and sits on the side next to the lump of blankets you’ve buried yourself in. His hand comes up and runs along your side and it causes you to jump.

“Baby… please let me help you? Let me take care of you. I know you’re scared of being a burden but you’re never a burden to me.” He continued to run his hand up and down your body, the feeling already causing your body to subconsciously relax just the tiniest bit. “Can you come out? Please? I wanna see my girl.”

“I look horrible Eddie… I don’t want you to see me like this.” You pull the blanket tighter against you, shutting him out no matter how loud your body screamed at you to just throw yourself into his arms.

“I’ve seen you wasted, vomiting your guts out in Harrington’s bathtub, it can’t be much worse than that baby. Come oooonnnnn pleeeseee. I’m not above begging.”

He chuckles, his hand squeezing your hip lightly before it resumes caressing you. You sigh, pulling the blanket back just enough to peak your eyes out and him and your heart swells. He’s so beautiful, just the sight of him made butterflies erupt in your stomach. Just being near him made you feel just a little bit more alive. He pushes the blanket the rest of the way off your head, smoothing your hair out of your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl. Hi baby.”

He cups your face in his hand, running his thumb along your sweaty cheek, not caring if you think you look awful, you’re always gorgeous to him. Even like this. Especially like this. Raw and real. He wants you to feel safe with him when you’re in this low place. He wants to sink down to your level and pull you back up with his hand in yours. Eddie would do anything for you. He knows that scares you, he knows you want to believe him but it’s hard to fight the feeling that he’s going to abandon you. But he will do whatever it takes to prove you wrong. To prove that he isn’t like everyone else. To prove that he will stay.

“Hi.” Your voice comes out a scratchy and whiney and it makes you even more embarrassed than you already are. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for sweetheart. I’m here for you, always. I brought your favorite snacks, bubbles, and your favorite teddy bear, me. Come here, let me hold you.”

He pushes the blanket back further and you shiver when the cool air of your room hits your body. He holds his arms out to you and your whole body tingles. He’s here for you. He wants to be here for you, and even though that terrifies you, the soft look on his face makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe. You push yourself up and he grabs you by the forearms pulling you into his lap and cradling you like a small child.

As soon as his arms are around you the floodgates open, sobs leaving your entire body shaking while your tears soak Eddie’s t-shirt. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just holds you while you cry, running his hands through your tangled hair, caressing your skin under your oversized shirt, kissing on your tear stained cheeks. After a while your sobs turn to small cries before they finally stop.

“It’s okay baby girl, you’re okay. I’m here for you, okay? Let me run us a nice bath, afterwards you can eat something, only if you want, if not that’s okay, I just want you to drink some water for me okay?”

“Okay Eddie… thank you, I-“

“Shh, you don’t have to thank me and you don't need to apologize, I’m your boyfriend and I love you, let me be here for you.” He smiles sweetly at you, rubbing the remaining tears from your cheeks and gathering you in his arms.

Eddie spends the night making good on his promises. He pampers you in the bath, washing you and brushing your hair, even putting lotion on your skin afterwards. He puts your comfort movie on tv in the living room so you can lay on the couch while he makes your safe meal. He doesn’t push you to talk, he knows you will when you’re ready. He holds you and tells you he loves you while he makes commentary on your favorite movie. When you finally start to feel sleep creeping up on you he ushers you back to your bed, the sheets now changed because he insisted it wasn’t a big deal. He holds you tight, and kisses you over and over again. He even gets you to giggle and pulls a genuine smile out of you a few times.

As you lay there in the love of your life’s arms you feel less hopeless. You feel less alone. You feel your body start to warm inside from the tips of your toes all the way to your nose as he places a gentle kiss on it. You feel safe. You regret not calling him sooner but the fact that he came without you even asking makes it even more special to you. Your mind can tell you he doesn’t care all it wants, because he’s always there to tell you he does.

“I love you angel, get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you Eddie. I know you told me not to thank you, but thank you, for being here for me. For being you.” You nuzzle your face into his neck, placing a gentle kiss there before you doze off into a peaceful sleep. In the arms of someone you know loves you.

[pixiesfz]

p3 of this ….more jill next chapter I promise

lyrics more than words j.r x reader

plot: you get back into song writting after the incident

warning: mentions of sa and assault, it ends with us themed

She apologized.

She apologized a thousand times.

And for some stupid fucking reason you forgave her.

Why?

It could’ve been because you didn’t have many friends, she promised it was a one-time thing and it wouldn’t happen again.

You had no parents to go to.

It was a Thursday night, Ellie was opening the red wine to celebrate your eight-month anniversary but you didn’t find yourself excited. You sat on the ground of the living room, no matter how much it numbed your bottom half you hadn’t sat on the couch since the ‘incident’.

Ellie walked in with the wine and a charcuterie board you had made earlier and sat down on the couch behind you.  

“How was work?” You asked and Ellie played with your hair “The usual, clients lying and me having to cover up for them” She shrugged and you nodded.

“How about you?” Ellie asked and you thought about it.

You hadn’t had the most inspiration to write lately, at least the inspiration to write good songs, songs that weren’t filled with heartache.

“I’ve got a bit of writer's block at the minute,” you told her and she furrowed her brows.

Just listen to your old songs, you said that little things like that help” You nodded your head “Maybe”.

You tried.

Really fucking tried.

But it all leads to crying on your studio’s couch.

Listening to how much you once loved Ellie, trusted her, called her your home.

Now you dreaded going to her home, checked twice before she sat next to her and looked away once you told her you love her.

It wasn’t until you dug through your papers and found your old songs from high school you found the motivation to put your pen to a page.

The thoughts about your childhood, the love that you shared with Jill, the adrenaline that ran through you both when you ran away from your dates at the school dance to go into the only open classroom where you could still hear the music.

But then came the thoughts of sadness. You couldn’t hold her in public, or share kisses in the street. You couldn’t gush to your friends about her, the only person you could talk about Jill with… was Jill.

The whole ordeal was frustrating but when you thought back to it, you never regretted a single thing.

Your words wrote themselves on the page as you hummed a melody, this song was yours, and yours only.

You didn’t let anyone read it.

Not even Olivia who begged and begged, you hid it in your draw in your private office at the studio, it was reserved for no eyes but your own.

Now back into your groove, you watched as Ellie walked into your office with a bouquet.

Shocked you leaned back “Hi El, what are you doing here?” you asked and she shrugged “Just thought I’d say hi, you’ve been working hard and staying after hours” She smiled and you blushed.

It was a sweet gesture, and you hadn’t even noticed that everyone had left and you were the only one left.

“Well, is this for me?” you ask, pointing at the flowers and Ellie smirks “It’s actually for Olivia,” she says before you both laughed

“I just wanted to say I’m proud of you” she told you before handing them out “Let me grab a vase from the kitchen spot” you told her, placing a kiss on her cheek before leaving the office door.

Ellie looked around your office as you left, noticing a small key next to your keyboard, furrowing her brows she picked it up and looked around for a place it could go into.

You had always been trustworthy into the relationship and would always be loyal but ever since the game Ellie saw your eyes twinkle when Jill said hello to you.

She had never seen you look at her that way.

So she took it out on you that same night, she regretted it afterwards. When you forgave her she knew she had to keep you forever. You were hers.

When she finally found the keyhole at your desk she opened the draw to find pieces of paper with lyrics on it, a melody on the back.

‘secret love song’

Ellie annotated your writing as she read, this couln’t have been an old writing piece as your handwriting had changed and your writing was slightly mess, some of the letters connecting which meant you were on a roll, the feelings pouring out of you as you wrote.

Anger started to pour out of her, dropping the flowers onto your floor.

You walked in after and stopped at the door when you noticed what papers she had in her hands.

Fear washed over you.

“Ellie?” you asked, walking slowly to her, placing the vase down at your desk.

“When did you write this?” she asked and you panicked “Years ago” you shrugged and she placed it down “You’re lying”

You stepped back “Ellie-“

“Are you cheating on me?”

You rolled your eyes “no I am not cheating on you, this song is about something that happened years ago” you told her, ripping it from her hands.

It seemed to be enough reassurance for her since her shoulders sagged down “I just get self-conscious you know” she said and you nodded, stepping back from the girl.

You were scared

No.

You were petrified.

Stepping to the desk you grabbed the glass vase, putting it as far away as possible.

You looked from the vase and back to Ellie.

You shouldn’t have to stand with your partner and hide objects from them.

You had to leave.

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Don’t you call him baby

Request: hi! I’ve been obsessed with the song ‘cherry’ lately and was wondering whether you could write something about it? I’m so hyper fixed on it and AH I just need something smutty and angsty if possible? Thank you!!

A/n: I haven’t mentioned it but I went for a job interview… and… I got the job!!! Hooray!!

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

Minors please do not interact! 18+ only. Thank you.

Warnings: smut, exes, toxicity, mention of arguments, angst… jealous Harry. Protective Harry. Dominant Harry. Degrading/ praise. Cheating kinda? Rough… as well. Very sexual scenes. (Make up sex pretty much) if this isn’t your thing/ it makes you uncomfortable please scroll past. But if you read and are easily effected by some strong/ tense scenes please read at your own discretion. Much love, A. x

Harry styles x fem! Reader

Inspirations from cherry:

don’t you call him baby

did you know I still talk to them?

—

“How is she?” His voice cut through the silence, Harry had decided to meet up with one of your closest friends. It took a lot to convince her but she eventually gave in to his constant requests of knowing how you were doing. Noa sat opposite Harry her chin resting on her knuckles as she gazed at him “harry I know you care about her… but y/n wants to move on. It’s time to move on.” She spoke calmly and sensibly. She never got involved between drama or toxic relationships but you had been constantly stressing over the fact that Harry was so bluntly concerned about you. You hated it. In fact you despised him and wished he would go and find a new girl to date… but Harry didn’t want that. He didn’t want a new girl. He wanted you. “I know, Noa.” He muttered to her his hands rubbing against each other slightly before he sighed “is she okay though? In herself? I haven’t seen her in a while…”

Noa stared at the man, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe he only wanted the best for you. “She’s okay.” She nodded her head smiling, “she’s happier.” Those words tore him apart, selfishly so, you were happier without him? That alone was difficult to comprehend yet he forced a smile “that’s good.” Noa nodded her head “yeah… she misses you though. I’m sure you both miss each other. But she’s moved on… and you have to as well.” Harry should’ve listened- but those words but she’s moved on made his heart plummet. What did she mean by that? Did you have a new boyfriend? Someone who made you happier than ever? Was Harry truly not enough for you? He felt jealousy creeping up within him yet on his perfectly sculpted face was nothing but calmness. But under that was a storm brewing.. messy and huge. “She’s got a boyfriend?” He soon asked gawking at her and Noa gazed at him, clearly not wanting to discuss anymore and Harry quickly cut her off before she could’ve said anything else:

“You know what. Never mind… I’m sorry it’s none of my business.” he smiled falsely before shaking his head “it was nice meeting up with you again. We’ll have to do it some other time… yeah?” Or in better words- we’ll meet up to talk about y/n more. Harry didn’t like to admit it but he was a tad bit crazy. But in a way that he adored you and loved you… so much so no one else could love you the way he loved you… he was frankly obsessed with you. You were the one who made him happiest. The one to make his whole world light up around him… you dragged him out of the darkest pits of hell and saved him. You both had history with each other and that was clear. He missed you. It angered him that you had moved on so quickly but he had decided then and there that he wasn’t going to let you live that down… he would make you realise all over again just how much you missed him… all of him.

And so that’s exactly how it played out. Harry still had a key to your apartment from when you were together and so he allowed himself in before situating himself on your bed laying against the headboard as he simply awaited for you to stumble upon him. He wasn’t sure how you would react… maybe scream at him? Hit him? Punch him? But he found himself praying that you would kiss him and tell him you loved him still. But love wasn’t that easy now was it? He was a jealous man but he refused to see his jealousy. You didn’t even split from each other because of anything horrible like cheating or whatever- it was just a dumb argument. But seeing it now it was incredibly stupid and if Harry could’ve turned back time then he would’ve. All he wanted for you was for you to be happy.

About twenty minutes passed, you had just finished up a small date with your new boyfriend. You loved him. You truly did. But he wasn’t Harry. You missed Harry terribly, neither of you spoke to each other and every day you found yourself wanting him more and more. You missed the smell of his cologne, the way he would run his fingers through your hair… you just missed him. A soft sigh left your lips your key held in your hand as you slowly pushed the key into the keyhole before unlocking the door and opening it. You shrugged your jacket off, hanging it up and locking the front door before heading straight for your bedroom. You were tired and just wanted to sleep… but you missed Harry. Sleep usually helped ease your mind but no matter what it would always be difficult. You were craving his love, his attention, his touch… all of him. But that was so wrong, wasn’t it? You slowly walked into your room before freezing at the sight your eyes widening, lips slightly parting as you stared at the man on your bed. The man you still adored. You blinked, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “Hi,” he spoke with a smile but you just stared unable to react before eventually you shook your head “Harry you need to leave.” You murmured softly but the way his eyes travelled up and down your body subtly made your heart flip upside down your breath catching in your throat. “You want me to leave?” He asked raising his brows slightly “Harry please…” he slowly stood up from the bed as he walked towards you “you’re just saying that.” He murmured gently his eyes searching yours that had a look of need, urgency and fire in them “I know you. I love you. I want you.” Your lips remained parted and you stared at him in shock… he wanted you? What did he mean by that? “What do-“ “I mean I really… really want you.” The look in his green eyes told you it all, your wide doe like eyes widening even further before you shook your head lightly “I can’t Harry. I’ve got a boyfriend…” you spoke quietly and the man smiled slightly “I’m aware of that, sweetheart…” but before you could’ve even asked how he knew he was already talking again “he doesn’t give you what you need, does he? He doesn’t fuck you long and hard right? He doesn’t grab you by the throat and tell you who you belong to. Does he?” His eyes bored into yours your breathing now more frantic, your stomach fluttering dangerously before his slender ring adorned fingers reached up gently grabbing a hold of your chin before he leaned in looking more deep into your eyes “does he?” You blinked your eyes, breathing faster now before you shook your head an accomplished smirk forming on those pretty lips of his, “do you want that? Do you need that? Hm you pretty thing?” And you found yourself nodding frantically feeling butterflies travel elsewhere throughout your entire body, some fluttering down straight into your already throbbing heat, eyes wide as you clenched your thighs together attempting to be subtle about it whilst also attempting to add enough pressure to take the edge off of it.

“Good thing I’m here then” he spoke smiling before he pulled you in roughly his lips colliding with yours in a hot passionate kiss, the kisses were slightly sloppy, your hands resting against the sides of his neck as he soon wrapped his arms around your waist gripping onto you tightly, his fingers soon sliding underneath your T-shirt which he soon slid up your body before discarding it on the floor, which were then followed by your jeans his hands gliding up and down your body skilfully, creating all those little goosebumps which had your knees weak, his lips remained connected to yours before he trailed the sloppy kisses down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses against your soft skin before he pulled away gazing into your eyes “get on the bed. Get comfortable.” Those words alone had another flurry of butterflies consume your stomach and you rather quickly got onto the bed, backing up until your back was against the headboard your hungry eyes remaining on his “good girl, I see you can follow orders hm?” See how long that lasts… your eyes remained on him trying to guess what he was going to do next but you watched as he remained standing still, hands lightly crossed over his chest his eyes scanning shamelessly all over you watching how your chest raised and fell so angelically whereas your thighs clenched together so incredibly tightly. He didn’t speak, allowing you to listen to your heavy breathing and indefinitely the sound of your heart racing in your ears. He found it adorable how your cheeks were already flushed…. He hadn’t even started and you were already a mess. “Oh my poor pathetic baby, hm?” A soft chuckle left his lips before he walked closer to the bed until his knees were touching against the end of it “reach down.” He demanded you feigning a slight confused look. “Don’t be stupid, darling. Use that pretty head of yours… you know what I’m asking of you.” You remained still. Eyes on him your breathing increasing all over again before he smirked “fine. Play with yourself.” Those words made your eyes widen, but your hand, like it was being controlled by a puppeteer slowly crept down, your hand moving your panties to the side your fingers immediately getting to work. You were already soaked… embarrassingly so. Your head lightly tilted backwards, lips parting as a low gasp left your lips your fingers gliding teasingly up and down, before one started circling around your clit a whimper leaving your lips.

Harry’s hungry eyes remained on you, watching as you played for him, watching with careful eyes. Listening to your reactions… “mhm just like that sweetheart. Just like that.” He spoke softly his lips parted as he just watched you play for him. “You sensitive baby?” His tone was accusing, your brows furrowed slightly as you were too lost in your own pleasure. Usually your fingers didn’t help you whatsoever but with Harry just watching it made the moment more intense. More insane. Incredibly hot. You didn’t respond, making the man tilt his head to the side “hm? Is that a no? Darling you know that I know you. You cant fool me…” he watched your brows furrow deeper and deeper and he smirked before slowly walking round to the edge of the bed where his large hand soon wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from toying with yourself before he used two of his fingers to drag up and down your slit, your hips jolting and he smirked cockily staring down at you, your eyes glossy from the ceasing of pleasure “you are sensitive” he analysed gently before chuckling gently “how many times?” His tone was dangerous and your lower lip trembled “I-I don’t know…” you whispered softly and he stared deeply into your eyes “so you played with yourself… yesterday? Did you?” Your cheeks became flushed again and he chuckled “darling don’t go shy on me. It’s okay if you did…” his tone was so comforting but you knew him as much as he knew you. “I did… but…” you paused and he raised a brow “but?” He trailed off and you studied his eyes “I played whilst thinking of you.”

Those words stunned the man yet they also turned him on that much more the bulge in his jeans larger, making his jeans more uncomfortable. “Jesus Christ baby…” he whispered before he abruptly and without warning grabbed a hold of your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your hips were dangling off of the edge before he helped pull your panties off his knees soon buckling as he knelt down, pulling your legs to rest over his shoulders arms locking around your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer “don’t you dare close your eyes. Look at me. Got it?” You nodded your head furiously, feeling his breath fan against your sopping cunt “verbal sweetheart c’mon” he cooed out and you whimpered “yes.. yes!” He smiled large hands gripping onto your thighs before he lowered his mouth down to your aching core “what a good girl hm?” He spoke, before his licked a stripe up your slit a low groan leaving his lips before his lips wrapped around your clit, tongue starting to flick mercilessly against it as he began sucking against it slightly your head tilting backwards in awed making the man you dream about slap your thigh slightly reminding you to keep your eyes on him- your eyes locking with his as he stared deeply into your soul. Whilst doing that, his fingers paid close attention to the hole that clenched around nothing before his slid one of his fingers in beginning to thrust in and out slowly and carefully, your eyes squeezing shut “y/n…” he growled out sending vibrations throughout you and you moaned out, yet your head flew forwards eyes locking with his again, a second finger being eased in, his fingers thrusting in and out steadily and slowly- curling ever so slightly hitting that spot within you making your back arch slightly from the fact that you had been so touch starved recently and you were now getting what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. His eyes pierced into your own and you panted, he felt the way you clenched around him and instantly quickened his pace soft whines leaving your lips “louder” he demanded, your whimpers turning into loud moans as your hips attempting to buck up into his mouth and fingers yet from the grip he hand on your thighs you stood no chance.

“h-harry I-I’m gonna-“ you felt the coil tighten to the point you knew it was inevitably going to break, but all that came to a agonisingly teasing halt as Harry stopped. Your desperate body writhing, attempting to get more of his touch. “Ah ah… you don’t get to cum. Not just yet.” His eyes bored into yours and he smirked your flushed face contorted with need, before a little chuckle left his lips “tell me why you want to? Why you deserve to, hm?” Your eyes glared into his hungrily that soft smirk on his perfectly sculpted face “i-I’ve been good… i- I just need you…” you whined out in that whiny voice that he loved so much, his head soon tilting wanting to hear more of it “and? Come on baby, sooner you get it over with sooner I can make you feel good…” he was so arrogantly calm about it all, yet under all of that facade he was wanting to fuck you hard. You breathed heavily, panting, eyes squeezing shut as moans of need left your lips before you panted out a very soft: “I love you…”

And that was all he needed to hear before he tapped your thigh three times with his index finger, asking for you to move, and so you did- laying on your back on the bed. You watched as he took his belt off, his clothes being discarded hurriedly but rather lazily all at the same time your mouth practically watering at the sight of him before he clambered on top of you, lips smashing against yours, your lips moulding with his- connecting like the last piece of a puzzle before he aligned his cock with you before he thrusted in, your eyes instantly rolling to the back of your head, your legs locking around his waist- nails digging into his back as you panted heavily “fuck fuck fuck” you whined out, soft grunts leaving his lips his face buried slightly into the crook of your neck his hair a mess making him look that much more hot “feel so good” you spoke breathing heavily as he found a perfect rhythm the only sounds being a mixture of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin. He left kisses against your neck, hickeys being littered all over your warm silky skin. “Don’t call him baby again… don’t… don’t…” he spoke through slight grunts “do you understand me? Don’t want you seeing him again.” His tone was dangerous, possessive and needful, you nodded your head weakly your walls clenching desperately around him your nails scratching into his back “good girl. Good girl.”

“Who makes you feel this good?” “You do Harry…” your voice was pathetically weak from the pleasure rocketing throughout you and soon enough that coil was tightening all over again, his thrusts had become more sloppy and his moans were growing louder. His lips connected with yours, his head slightly pulling back making a string of saliva pull from both of your lips before snapping as he kissed you again “cum…” he groaned out against your lips and just like that the euphoria wrapped around both you and him your moans being muffled by his lips, his loud moans soon too being muffled as he dug his teeth into your shoulder, his thrusts continuing- helping you through your high before he stopped, body slumped against yours, heart to heart- bodies hot and sweaty your lips slightly swollen from how hard and rough he had kissed them but you didn’t care… the pleasure didn’t stop. It was continuous. But you loved it…

His green eyes soon met yours and you smiled lazily up at him his hand soon cupping against your cheek “love you so much” he muttered softly and you smiled pressing a gentle kiss to his lips “love you too…” your eyes searched his before he kissed you again “missed you.” He murmured softly and to say those words were highly reciprocated was an understatement. You both missed each other terribly… and finally… you were back together again. Finally.

Literally my first time writing long smut so please excuse how terrible it is😭 hope you liked it! Anyways if you’d all like a part two or another smutty story then lmk! Or just send in a request! All the love always, Amber x

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 55

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 7k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Wednesday, February 17; 9:15 AM - Ski Resort

I still find it hard to believe what we're about to do today. The days are passing, and we're already halfway through our trip. Me, a sun-loving girl who's only ever been to beaches, is now discovering a ski resort for the first time. Ever since I heard the news, I've had a lump in my throat. I just can't wrap my head around it.

“Do you think I’ll be able to do it?” Mapi asks me, standing by my side.

I take a deep breath. Thankfully, in the worst scenarios, my best friend is always there to face things with me.

"It’s up to you to feel it. Are you still in a lot of pain?” I ask, referring to her leg.

“It depends on the day... I hope it’ll be okay.”

“Have you talked to Ingrid about it?”

“Yeah, we had a chance to talk. She knows I don’t like to bring it up, but she knows what happened.”

“Then you don’t need to worry. I’m sure she’ll be careful.”

“You think so?”

“Of course,” I say with a smile. “From what I’ve seen these past few days, she seems attentive to you. I have no doubt she’ll know when to stop you if you push too hard.”

“Blah, blah, blah.”

We laugh, fully aware that this is exactly what will happen. Mapi loves challenges, and once she’s conquered them, she tends to not want to stop. I understand her fear, though. Skiing puts a lot of strain on your legs. She’ll likely feel pain at some point, even with the effective treatment she’s been on for years. Skiing... Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps. I’m not at all comfortable with this idea, especially after our last two nights. The waitress Aitana flirted with invited us to some private parties. The first one was quite wild for some, and we got back late. We didn’t want to do much the next day. Most of us stayed at the hotel to relax, while the two other couples and I preferred to head back into town. We went out again last night, but it was much more low-key. The girls didn’t want to waste another day doing nothing. They had used their day at the hotel to look into things to do. The ski resort was their top recommendation. When they suggested it to us, I was the only one not very enthusiastic. I tend to enjoy walking in the snow in different ways, but I realize that’s not everyone’s preference. The girls were starting to lose patience and really wanted to do something more dynamic. This activity was definitely a lot more energetic than the previous ones. The weather was on our side, with the snow having stopped today, so it was the perfect time to plan sledding and skiing. The last time I was in a place like this, I must have been six years old. My mom wasn’t a fan of mountain vacations, being someone who had always lived in the sun. We went once thanks to my dad, who granted my wish. Those were the most memorable holidays for me because it was the first time I ever went sledding. However, I never skied, and the same goes for Mapi, who, unlike me, is seeing snow for the first time after her first visit to Manchester. We were supposed to go sledding this morning, but because of our little handicap, our girlfriends, who are currently ahead of us, decided to change the plan for the four of us. Since Mapi hadn’t changed her behavior, I thought it was a good opportunity for just the two of us. I needed to talk to her. I could sense something was bothering her, and I didn’t like it. I tried sending Alexia in my place, but she couldn’t get much out of her. Either Mapi didn’t understand her intention, or I was really imagining things, which I doubt.

“So, can I ask you a question?” she starts again. “But you won’t take it the wrong way, right?”

“Why would I take it the wrong way?”

“It’s about Lucy.”

The mention catches me off guard. Is she trying to talk about it? The timing couldn’t be better. At least we can clear the air before today’s activities because we both know there’s some tension.

“I’m listening.”

“Promise me you won’t take it the wrong way?” she insists.

“Mapi, we’ve always told each other everything up until now. Why would you be afraid of my reaction?”

She sighs, letting her shoulders relax. Her behavior towards me over the past two days remains a mystery. The way she kept pulling me away from Lucy left me puzzled and annoyed. I started wondering if she had a problem with her, and now I’m starting to believe it more and more. I hope it’s nothing serious. I don’t particularly want them to stop talking, or worse, have to choose between the two.

“So why didn’t you come talk to me yourself? You sent Alexia, didn’t you? I’m not that clueless.”

I bite my lip, caught off guard. Alexia had warned me that it would be better if I went myself, but I didn’t listen. Now, I’m already regretting that bad decision.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, you’re right.”

“So, you really sent her?”

“I could tell you were on edge. I was afraid it would get worse if I came first.”

We look at each other for a moment, then laugh together. We both feel a bit silly, I think. There’s good reason for it. We’ve never been afraid to tell each other things. That’s what I’ve always loved about Mapi. Even if we knew it wouldn’t please the other, we’ve always been honest.

“Sorry, I was really nervous about bringing it up.”

“You didn’t need to be,” I sigh. “So... it’s about Lucy, right?”

“Yeah, um...” she starts, suddenly feeling awkward. “I don’t really know how to say this. First, does she still hold a grudge against me?”

“What?” I frown. “No! Why would she have something against you?”

I look at my girlfriend who’s ahead of us with Ingrid. We’ve slowed down our walk since we started talking, creating a bigger gap than before. They’re both in an animated conversation, laughing from time to time. I think about all the ways Lucy could have made her think that, but nothing comes to mind. She did give her a bit of a hard look the day she pulled me away from her during the walk, but that passed quickly when she found it amusing that I was angrier than she was. Anyway, since we’ve been together, it’s different. She no longer sees Mapi as a threat, but simply as someone very important to me.

“Well, I don’t know... I felt like she was giving me dirty looks last time. Sorry, I might be imagining things.”

“Lucy has no problem with you, I assure you. She really likes you and knows what you mean to me. If it were otherwise, she would have told me, and I would have fixed things.”

“Okay...” she murmurs. “You love her, don’t you? I’ve never seen you so attached to someone like her.”

I breathe softly. Oh yes, I love her, and I spend all my time glued to her. I was never that person before, but she made me this way. In none of my previous relationships did I seek physical contact as I do now.

“Does it bother you?”

She looks at me for a moment. I can see the internal struggle she’s having. She doesn’t know how to respond, and it’s all the more unsettling. I give her a friendly nudge.

“Come on, spill it. We’re talking about it for a reason, after all.”

“I was very surprised,” she begins. “I think your Valentine’s Day made me jealous. Not romantically. Ingrid is wonderful to me, and I appreciate her more and more each day,” she quickly justifies. “But in terms of us, our relationship, our friendship...”

Now that she says it, it’s true that after I shared everything we did, her behavior changed. I frown at this realization. Without saying anything, she continues.

“I never knew how to give you the same things she does. Just look at the day you spent together. It’s obvious she thought of you first in her plans. I’ve never been able to do that for you. Not even for a day.”

“Mapi—”

“I know our relationship is different from yours. It was powerful in another way, and it was during another period. We were younger and a bit more carefree. But what she’s done with you in just a few months is just... impressive. She’s transformed you, and I feel lousy for not being able to give you the same support and help you grow like she has.”

Regret, remorse. That’s all I hear in her words, and now it’s my turn to feel bad. How did she get to the point of feeling so worthless? She doesn’t even realize how much she’s helped me. Her return after Feli sparked a lot of progress that she doesn’t seem to have noticed. I release my lip from between my teeth and reply without thinking.

“You have nothing to blame yourself for. You’re the one who gave me the most support before I joined this school. You did the hardest part by getting me out of my room.”

I smile just remembering it. She had to drag me, but she did it, and she stayed with me the whole time. It was her, and no one else, who accomplished that feat.

"I have to admit, being away from my problems was the best idea my mom ever had. You’ve never set foot in my school, but we all have our problems, often similar, sometimes completely different."

Korbin's situation comes to mind. She just never had the chance to grow up in a stable environment, which led to her circumstances. Just thinking about it makes me sick.

"I'm not saying you can't understand, but they teach us to open up, to trust each other. Like with Alexia, you know? We’ve confided in each other about our issues. Plus, we're also guided. Especially by Lucy, in my case, but not just her. It’s a collective thing, you see? It's not just Lucy who helped me evolve, as you said."

"And in all this, what happens to me?"

"What do you mean, what happens to you?" I teased. "You’re still my best friend, no matter what. Nothing will change that. Neither new friendships nor our new relationships. We’re still us."

"Good, I’m relieved," she said, clearly feeling better. "Because I’ve applied for a transfer for next year."

"Really?" I said, excited.

She had mentioned wanting to follow me, but hadn’t said what she was planning. Knowing she’ll be here next year makes me really happy. Even though the school keeps me busy, I miss her a lot.

"Of course! You’re not getting rid of me that easily," she giggled. "My teacher said there shouldn’t be any problem. The school in Manchester has a better reputation, but with my good grades, I should get accepted. He even said it would be better for me."

"That’s awesome!"

I hugged her tightly. She doesn’t have an official response yet, but I’m confident it will work out. Mapi is a very diligent student, even if it doesn’t always seem that way. After all, she’s doing what she loves.

"I’m really happy, honestly."

"Can I confess something else while we’re at it?" she asked, pulling away from my embrace. "But you won’t take it the wrong way, right?"

"What now?" I asked, holding back a small laugh.

"I used to wonder if Lucy would be enough for you," she admitted, making me frown. "That was before you were together. I thought she was too calm and too sensible. Not to mention she didn’t seem to enjoy parties. You just have to see how she reacted to last night’s party agai—"

"She wasn’t feeling well yesterday," I defended her immediately. "She had a migraine, and the party wasn’t the best for her, but she still wanted to come."

"Whatever," she said, waving her hand as if it didn’t matter. "That’s not the point, it was just an example. I thought she’d be boring for you in the long run. I talked about it with Ingrid before you were together, and she got mad, saying I didn’t know Lucy. And I have to admit, she was right."

Her last sentence brought me instant relief. I was already worried she might say she no longer saw me with Lucy, which would have been strange since she’s the one who kind of pushed us together.

"So, you’ve changed your mind?" I asked hesitantly, making her shrug.

"I have to admit she knows how to handle you," she replied with a small smile that made me laugh. "That’s all that matters, and if you’re happy with her, that’s what’s important."

"I am. She’s really sweet and adorable. I didn’t expect that either."

"Oh, really?" she said, surprised.

"Well, yeah… She’s always been caring towards me, but I found her so closed off before that I didn’t know what to expect if she ever opened up."

"I see… So how is it?"

"It’s really great. She’s confided in me little by little, but now, she’s so open that I can see her expressions, you know? That wasn’t the case before."

"Hmm, hmm," she smiled. "Are you sure it’s not you who finally opened your eyes to how she feels?"

"Of course not," I replied, gently hitting her arm, making her laugh.

"I’m telling you, Ona. She was already smitten the first time I saw her interact with you. I even told Lucy. You were just too oblivious to notice."

I blushed just thinking about it. We really were blind, according to our friends.

"Maybe you’re right… We’re together now," I said pensively. "You know, I wanted to use this vacation to get closer to her. I was really scared of my reactions when starting a new relationship," I confessed to her.

"You haven’t slept together yet, have you?"

"No," I grimaced. "Do you think Lucy will be patient with that? I’m worried."

"Yeah, don’t worry. Knowing her, she has the patience of a saint. If she needs it, I bet she’ll let you know."

"If you say so… Anyway, don’t scare me like that again. I really need your positive opinion, and you know that, right?"

"I know, yeah," she smiled. "And you have it. She even managed to make me jealous, and that’s saying something."

I chuckled, shaking my head. At least she’s not afraid to admit it. Others would have denied it. Not her, and I love that about her.

"And you, with Ingrid?" I changed the subject.

"She’s great, really," she answered instantly, clearly expecting the question. "Much better than Ana. She’s cool, we laugh a lot, and she’s laid back. Oh, and also, in bed, she’s pretty good."

"Oh, Maps, please, spare me the details."

"What? You don’t want to know?"

"No, thanks," I grimaced.

"Are you sure?"

She laughed, fully aware that this is one of the few topics we can’t discuss. I’m not prudish, but I’d rather not know what my ex does with her new girlfriends. Talking about it makes me feel like we’re back in the past, and I’d rather avoid that. After this little laugh, we both sighed softly. We really needed this conversation to clear the air.

"Looks like our wild nights are over now."

"Seems like it, yeah," I chuckled.

"I think I’m a bit scared of this new change, you know, becoming an adult, having responsibilities. Ingrid even says I often act like a child," she laughed, making me smile.

I put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to me. She rested her head on my shoulder, accepting my embrace.

"We’ll do it together, don’t worry. Never one without the other."

She nodded and kissed my cheek afterward, making me smile. All she needed was reassurance. I regret letting things get to the point where she felt neglected and unheard. I’ll have to figure out how to balance things better in the future. I’ve already hurt her enough in the past, I don’t need to add anything else.

"I guess I owe Lucy an apology now."

"Oh, it’s not necessary."

"It is. Knowing you, you’ll tell her everything, so I might as well do it myself," she replied.

I laughed because she’s so right. I can’t hide anything from Lucy. Especially since she’s been glancing over at us, and I imagine she’ll have questions for me.

"And I’ll have to thank her too," Mapi said, drawing my attention back to her.

"For what?"

"Thanks to you two, I met Ingrid," she answered with a small smile. "We exchanged numbers to talk about you mainly, but we hit it off so well that we got closer. So, thank you too."

"It’s my pleasure if we helped you. Your happiness is important to me, you know that. Now that everything’s clear, how about a hug?"

"Damn right, I’ve been waiting for that."

I laughed as I barely had time to catch her in my arms for a tight embrace. I missed her touch. Mapi will always be the first person who helped me out of that dark place. She’s indispensable to me, and she should know that. I closed my eyes, savoring this moment that I had missed. It’s different from being with Lucy, but just as familiar.

"Come on, we should catch up with them before they start wondering where we are."

Now that she mentioned it, I realized we couldn’t see our girlfriends anymore. Instead, a small wooden cabin stood before us. I easily guessed it was the chalet where we were supposed to pick up our gear, thanks to the sign. I nodded and let her go in first. Our girlfriends were in line, so we joined them.

- "Well, what took you so long, girls?" Ingrid asked as we approached.

- "Sorry, we were just talking," Mapi explained as she pulled away from me to enjoy a hug from her girlfriend.

I nestled into Lucy's embrace, just as Mapi did with Ingrid. Lucy's expression was full of curiosity after I stole a kiss. I snuggled into her neck and whispered:

- "I'll explain later."

My answer seemed to satisfy her because she hugged me tightly and kissed my temple. I smiled as I watched the other couple interact. It was clear who was in charge between them, and it was a bit surprising. Normally, Mapi was the one who took control, but not in Ingrid's arms, it seemed. Given Ingrid's playful nature, I hadn’t expected her to take on that role.

- "When will you tell me?"

I turned my attention back to Lucy. It was only then that I noticed her impatience, which made me smile.

- "Be patient. You'll know everything tonight, I promise."

- "Hmm... Okay," she said, pouting adorably, which made me smile.

It was funny how eager she was to know. Since I’d become better at reading her expressions, I’d discovered many traits I hadn’t known about before. Curiosity was one of them. I admired her so much for being able to hide it and not bombard me with questions. That's probably what I would have done in her place, but she knew that would have made me run. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. With these thoughts in mind, I stood on my tiptoes to kiss her again, hoping it would satisfy her for now. I could tell she was frustrated about not knowing our conversation, but I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the girls. It seemed my idea worked because she returned my kiss with a hidden smile.

- "It’s our turn," Ingrid pointed out.

We noticed she was right as we turned to the counter.

- "Can you help me pick out my equipment?" I asked Lucy. "I don’t really know what I’m doing."

- "Of course."

We walked forward with her hand resting on my waist. The receptionist handed us our gear based on Lucy’s instructions. I didn’t know anything about this, so I trusted her judgment.

- "Can’t we snowboard instead of skiing?" I asked when I saw a snowboard nearby.

- "Learn to ski first, will you?" she chuckled. "Snowboarding is much harder."

- "Really? But it’s just one board under your feet."

- "Exactly," she laughed. "It’s much harder to balance and stay on your feet. We’ll try it someday when you’ve mastered skiing."

- "So that means we’ll come back?"

- "We’ll go wherever you want, whenever you want, and as many times as you want, sweetheart."

I bit my lip at how affectionate she was becoming day by day. She had never been this sweet with me before. The tough, relentless Lucy was long gone, and I couldn’t even say which version I preferred now. I felt more and more important in her eyes, and that’s all I ever wanted.

- "Come on, let’s get going," she pulled me out of my daydream.

We thanked the man for his service, and the four of us headed outside with our equipment. We found a bench where we could sit and put on our skis. Aside from my grumbling, it was a pretty quiet moment. Lucy had a teasing smile as she watched me struggle. I had just managed to put on the boots she had chosen for me. I was surprised that she had picked the right size without even asking.

- "You could help instead of just laughing at me."

- "Of course," she said, her smile widening. "Since you asked so nicely."

- "Hey!" I protested, pouting.

- "I’m kidding."

As if she’d been doing this her whole life, she effortlessly got up and crouched down in front of me. She started by tightening the straps on my boots, which apparently weren’t tight enough for her. Then she placed the skis flat on the ground, and I finally understood the system when she positioned the tip of my foot in front of the clips. She then asked me to press down with my heel, and I heard my boot click into the ski. I did the same with the other one. At first, the sensation of having something under my feet was very strange, especially when I tried to slide them back and forth. The real fun was about to start. We exchanged a smile, as if she was thinking the same thing as I was when she stood up. She pecked my lips and held out her hands.

- "Come on, princess. It’s time to stand up."

- "Oh my God," I murmured as I wobbled the moment she pulled me to my feet.

The feeling was very weird. I probably would have slipped if Lucy hadn’t been holding me in her strong arms. She chuckled, gently pulling me closer. I regretted having such a bulky jacket on because I couldn’t feel her touch on my skin.

- "Okay... So what now?"

- "I’m going to let go and grab your poles."

- "And if I fall?"

- "You won’t fall," she laughed.

To make sure of it, she kept one arm around my waist as she moved to grab our poles. Once she had them, she let go of me and stood beside me. I glanced over at the girls who were watching us.

- "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "And now?"

- "Now we move forward."

I blinked as I saw Mapi following Ingrid. It was like she had been doing this forever. I parted my lips and looked at Lucy, who was laughing at me.

- "H-how did she do that?"

Lucy burst into laughter, which annoyed me. I had a feeling I’d be the last one today, and I hated that.

- "It’s not hard. It’s like walking. Just take small steps. It’ll help you get used to the skis and work on your balance. Then we’ll start sliding."

- "I’m suddenly not feeling so confident..."

- "Hey, it’ll be okay, alright? There will be falls and probably a lot of bruises tonight, but you’ll be fine. I’ll help you, and I won’t let you leave until you’ve made at least one descent."

- "Oh my God..." I muttered. "And what if I’m sore tonight?"

- "I have a little solution for that... But it’ll be up to you to decide when the time comes."

- "When you say things like that, it’s usually something I won’t like..."

- "Who knows... You’ll tell me tonight."

Wednesday, February 17th, 8:30 PM - Hotel Room.

All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Lucy’s suggestion would be. I turned it over in my mind a thousand times, hoping that in the end, it would be the jacuzzi we’d go to. As I had predicted, all my muscles were sore from this simultaneously disastrous and rewarding day. If I learned anything today, it’s that I’m a walking disaster. Though that’s not new, I was really bad at skiing. Once again, Lucy showed incredible patience with me. Unlike me, Mapi picked it up quickly. She’s always been more athletic and daring than me, so it wasn’t surprising. Lucy didn’t mind that we stayed at the bottom of the slope all day, while the girls and the rest of our friends who joined us after lunch went up to do runs. I think Lucy was happy we could spend some time together, uninterrupted for once. When we got back, I expected her to announce her idea right away, but she wanted us to have dinner with our friends first. It made me feel confused and reluctant, knowing that the pool had a closing time and would probably be closed by the time we were done. I was slightly disappointed since I had been dreaming about it all day, but now that I’m facing her real proposal, I don’t know how to react. I agreed, of course, but that didn’t make me any less nervous.

- "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t, you know. We’ve only been together for two weeks, and then-"

- "Luce, I told you I wanted to do it. Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind?" I half-joked.

The panic in her eyes disappeared for a moment, replaced by tenderness.

- "I haven’t. It’s just that I don’t want you to be scared or think I’m rushing things."

"We’re in swimsuits. What am I supposed to be scared of? We’ve already been in the pool, in a jacuzzi, and even in a spa. It’s not a bubble bath we’re going to take in swimsuits that’s going to scare me. »

- It's smaller, more intimate, and... private.

- That's what makes it even more romantic, right? I want us to spend some time together, just the two of us. For once, we actually have the time.

She giggles as she turns off the water that had been running until now when he gets halfway to the bathtub. To be honest, I'm in total panic inside. I can't even explain why. Lucy is everything you could want in a girlfriend. She didn't run away when I told her that I had isolated myself from the world for half a year. On the contrary, she wanted to prove to me that I'm no longer alone. Maybe it's because I know that this situation will bring us to an even deeper stage in our relationship. I push the thought away and speak.

- You getting in first? I murmur.

She nods softly, stepping one foot at a time into the tub. My eyes don't leave her for a second as she sits at the back of the tub. I hesitate for a moment, but her reassuring smile tells me I have nothing to fear. She's the only person I've never been afraid of, at least not in the context of a relationship. Of course, I fear her when she's in a black rage, especially at me, but never otherwise. I return her smile and join her. Instead of leaning my back against hers, I decide to snuggle up against her side. My tension quickly evaporates as my sore muscles relax and Lucy runs a hand through my hair, wrapping her other arm around me. The water is boiling hot, but there's nothing better after this cold day. She kisses my forehead with a satisfied sigh.

- Here we are, in this bath.

I giggle, burying my head in her neck. She had been dreaming about this, and now I finally understand why.

- Have you been dreaming of this moment all day too?

- You could say that... Did you know I wanted to do this?

- No, not the bath, I admit. But now that we're here, it was a very good idea.

And I mean it. The steam rising from the bath creates a strange atmosphere in the room. From where I'm sitting, I can see the mirror, which fogged up in no time. When I look down at the bath, I'm glad to see that the bubbles cover my bruised body.

- Do you know why Mapi's been acting weird lately? I start the conversation with a hint of amusement in my voice.

I break the silence now that we're alone, in the calm. Lucy hums slightly at my question.

- So there was a reason?

- In a way, yes...

I lift my head to meet her eyes with furrowed brows. I smile, finding her adorable like this. She always makes that face when something bothers her or when she doesn't understand what's going on.

- Hmm... So... What was the reason?

- Lots of things... Jealousy, worry, doubts...

- In what way? she asks, skeptical. She thinks I wouldn't take good care of you?

- No, that's not it.

I smile in amusement, detecting impatience in her movements. She knows Mapi's opinion matters to me. Just to tease her a little longer, I reluctantly get up to straddle her. She removes her hands from me, placing them on the edge of the tub while watching me with confusion. I lose track of our conversation, mesmerized by the beauty in front of me. The setting really enhances Lucy. My fingers trace her exposed neck. She had pulled her hair into a messy bun right after our meal. She wanted to be comfortable. I appreciate seeing her so natural. I might not be the first to see her like this, but at least I'm the first among the students at Camp Wiegman. So, she's no longer the terrifying instructor everyone fears. She's just my girlfriend, who grants me the privilege of seeing her true self. Our evenings alone are my favorite moments so far, even though I've also enjoyed the parties. She seems almost innocent and harmless, which is far from the case at school. I almost dread the moment we have to go back. I don't know how she'll react, nor how I'll react. We'll resume our roles, and I won't be able to enjoy her company in her room as I'll have to return to mine. 

- What are you thinking about, looking at me so sadly?

My eyes, which were focused on her mouth where my fingers are now, rise to meet hers. Her excitement has faded into concern. I feel guilty for making her worry, just because my thoughts, which were positive before getting in the bath, suddenly veered to a darker side. It was stronger than me. The idea that we might not be able to live this normally anymore doesn't sit well with me. Especially not after the amazing week we've been having.

- Did I do something wrong? she asks, making me shake my head. Did Mapi say something she shouldn't have? she continues.

I shake my head again. Words fail me, preventing me from defending against things she might believe because of my silence. Unable to find the words, I lean in to kiss her. Hard. Though slightly hesitant, she kisses me back, her hands gently caressing my waist. I seek even more contact, but she stops me.

- Hey, hey, stop. I get that this environment can give ideas, but that's not the point of this evening.

Her words cool my ardor, and I blush, realizing what I've just done. How could I have gone so far with just one fleeting thought?

- S-sorry... I-I didn't mean to. I-I don't know what came over me.

- It's okay, really, she giggles. What were you thinking about to get carried away like that, hmm? You were looking at me with adoration before suddenly closing off.

- I'm afraid of not handling our return to school well.

Lucy arches an eyebrow in confusion. It's understandable. I'm jumping from one topic to another without any reason.

- Did Mapi mess with your head? she deduces, still unsure of what's going on.

- No! I quickly reply. Mapi just needed comfort. She was jealous that she couldn't comfort me the way you do.

- Oh. I didn't see that coming... I thought I was the problem.

- No. She just felt neglected. We've drifted apart because of the distance, but it'll be okay. And...

I pause for a moment, unsure if I should continue.

- And?

- Will you promise not to hold it against her? I ask, nervously biting my lip.

- Why would I hold it against her?

- Because I'm not sure you'll appreciate what she thought of you at first...

- Go on, she mumbles, her mood shifting.

I bite my lip again. I know I'm taking a risk, but I can't afford to stay silent. I promised myself to be honest with her.

- I think she still saw us as the teens we were, because she thought you were too calm and reasonable for me.

I watch her closely as I say all this. Her reaction is strange. It's as if she's suppressing her feelings again.

- If you say that's what she thinks, then I guess that's not how you feel?

Of course not. How many times do I have to tell you? You're everything I need, Lucy. Mapi understands that now. Especially after the Valentine's Day you planned for me. She's planning to apologize to you because she knows I would tell you. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I don't care about playing the reckless teenager anymore.

- OK... she murmurs. Thank you for being honest. I'll wait for Mapi's apology.

The tone of her voice isn't as cold as I expected. I understand that she doesn’t hold it against her. After all, she didn’t like her much at first either. If she says this, it's probably because she’ll use the opportunity to talk with her face-to-face.

- Thank you, I whispered at the thought. Thank you for everything.

- I love you.

My muscles relax at these simple words, which have become part of our daily routine. Lucy had promised to show me how much I mean to her, and for the past three days, that's all she’s done. I feel so loved, especially after struggling for so long to love myself.

- Say it again, please.

- I love you, my love.

This time, there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, but it doesn’t lessen the impact. She pulls me closer, returning us to our original position.

- Everything will be okay, alright? We'll figure things out. I’ll take care of us. But you, I want you to prioritize your future.

- You are my future, I murmured.

- I mean professionally, my love. I’ll take care of you like I promised, and I’ll handle our other relationships, like with Mapi if needed, but you have to focus on your studies first. Is that clear? Can you do that? It’s not that hard, right?

- No... It isn’t, as long as you’re by my side.

- I will be, no matter what. And how about we just enjoy our moment for once, hmm? You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.

- No, I don’t, but I understand why now. I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me. These past few days have been magical. I haven’t felt this at peace in someone’s arms in a long time.

- That’s all that matters then. That’s how I want you to feel with me. Not scared, or anxious, or lacking confidence, or uncomfortable... Just yourself.

- I am, I murmured. You’re the one who helped rebuild me. You’re probably the person I trust the most.

I take a deep breath at that thought. It’s frightening to depend so much on one person. But that’s my reality. I truly depend on Lucy. We both know that if she’s no longer in my life, I might spiral even worse than before. It happened once, and it wasn’t pretty. I could barely sleep at night or eat during meals, and it will happen again if she ever leaves me. I know that’s unlikely now, but even a one percent chance is terrifying.

- I don’t want to go back, I confided. You make me feel like I’m living a dream.

- I assure you, your dream is real, she teased. You’ll have to get used to living this peacefully.

- You have no idea how right you are, I murmured, snuggling even closer to her.

I close my eyes with a small, satisfied smile spreading across my lips. Yeah, I could easily get used to this new way of life.

- If Mapi kept us apart during our outings, it’s because she missed me, but also because she was seeking my attention out of fear that I’d leave her behind...

- I see, she sighed. There were other ways she could have shown it. Like, for example, talking to you about it.

- She knows she acted poorly, but my distance from her and my closeness to you affected her. She regrets it. In fact, we shouldn’t have involved everyone in this. I should’ve talked to her directly. I almost thought she had a fight with Ingrid.

- She didn’t, don’t worry. Ingrid mentioned it briefly at lunch, she reassured me.

A small sigh of relief escaped me. The last thing we need is for our little issues to affect their relationship.

- So, everything’s settled now? She’s going to leave us alone for the rest of the trip?

- I’ll make sure of it, I giggled.

- Good... So, back to you. Why do you understand how she feels?

- Because I’m afraid of our return to school...

- Babe, she sighed. We’ve already talked about this.

[hheaven-sentt]

willow and wisteria

summary: he's the willow, you're the wisteria | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: movie title mentions (had to pull out the pop culture stops for this one), yearning, a certain nostalgia for Blockbuster and VHS rentals

notes: has this been sitting on my laptop for two weeks? yes. do I want to talk about that? no. also, i am battling a sinus infection that spread to my lungs? and let me just say: sinus infection's got hands | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoulder to shoulder on the couch, you wonder how you got to this point. He’s stiff beside you as the credits roll on some old western movie you don’t remember the name of. You can see him in your peripheral, jaw clenched like he’s fighting to keep words in, skin naturally smoother than you could ever get it with products, staring straight ahead like he’s looking for his own name on the screen. He’s wearing a sweatshirt you’ve never seen before; it looks so soft, and you want nothing more than to crawl into it.

His voice pulls you from your thoughts. “How many is that?”

You turn your head a bit and blink at him. “Twelve, I think,”

“I think I’ve seen enough westerns to last me a lifetime,” he teases lightly. “I get to pick next time,”

This is what you do. It’s a moment of reprieve for each of you. In total, you’ve watched sixteen dramas, fourteen comedies, six romances, and twelve westerns. Movies are easy. There’s no expectations, not like there would be if you went out to dinner or to a bar. You’re not supposed to talk during movies, although you and Leon have never really been good about that. You don’t know his middle name or his favorite color, but you know that he hates Die Hard and he had a crush on Molly Ringwald as a kid. So, yes, you talk during the movies, but never about the things that would let you peel back the curtain.

You like it that way. There’s no fear of saying the wrong thing or unloading baggage that’s been packed away for decades. It’s easy this way, and you like easy.

“I’m sure the guy at Blockbuster is eagerly awaiting your decision,” you grin. Leon rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to bring that up every time I pick a movie?” he asks, looking at you finally. You see something in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

You shrug. “Probably. I’ve never seen a man more excited to talk about Alien,”

Leon cringes. “To be fair, it was a good movie,”

“I don’t know if it was ask-for-your-number-good, though,” you laugh. “Besides, I bring it up so that you don’t get any ideas about ditching me as your movie buddy,”

“I can’t imagine that we’d watch a ton of movies,” Leon says. Immediately, his cheeks go pink, and you can’t resist the laughter bubbling in your chest. It’s bright and wide, filling up the entire room. You’re wheezing before you know it.

“Hey, man, do whatever you want,” you say between giggles. “Just as long as you watch movies with me,”

Playfully, he knocks his shoulder into yours. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,”

You like when Leon grins. It’s more than a regular smile. It takes up most of his face, eating away at his cheeks and his sorrow, even if only for a moment. He carries something that he won’t share, and you like when he lets go of it for a while. There is peace in the way he laughs, and you prefer to savor it.

“Help me clean up before you head out?” you ask. Sometimes, you try to make him overstay his welcome. Sometimes, you never want him to leave. Sometimes, you try to con him into three or four movies in one night, hoping that he’ll choose to crash on your couch rather than brave the D.C traffic.

He nods, and begins to grab bowls and cups off your coffee table. There’s never much of a mess, but he always helps when you ask. Wordlessly, you file in and out of the kitchen until there’s no evidence that he was here at all. He gathers his things–his keys and geriatric phone–from the table next to the door and slips on his shoes. There’s a weight in your stomach that you wish would go away.

“Same time next week?” he asks. You smile.

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease. “And don’t stop by the video store without me,”

“I can’t risk going back in there alone,” he says, feigning seriousness.

You can’t help but notice the way he lingers in the entry. You stare at him as you hear a crack of thunder rolling through the sky. You gnaw on your lower lip.

Before you can stop yourself, you say, “If you’d rather not face the storm, my couch is pretty comfy and I make a mean cup of coffee in the morning,”

He looks at you for a moment, like he didn’t fully understand what you said, and then he slips his shoes back off. Silently, he pulls his keys back out of his pocket and returns them to their place on the table.

“Just so you know,” he says. “I drink it black,”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do,”

You half expect the next few minutes to be awkward, but they aren’t. Leon just settles back into his spot on the couch, leant back against the cushions behind him like he’s supposed to have been there all along. You have to fight the curl threatening to upturn your lips. You return to him, like you always do, settling down beside him with room to spare.

“What’s next on the list?” he asks. His hands are on his chest, just below his sternum, fingers interlaced. You notice that his eyes have slipped closed.

“I was thinking Titanic,” you muse, leaning your head against the cushions. You hadn’t realized how tired you really were. “It’s a classic,”

“Little boring for my taste,” he says. You smile.

“A whole boat sinks during the last, like, hour of the movie,” you tease, leaning over to shove him playfully. “How is that boring?”

He shrugs, smiling and opening one eye to peek at you. You feel a chill snake its way down your spine. “The other two thirds cancel out the boat sinking,”

“Fair,” you note. You can’t find anything else to say, even if you want to. He looks so peaceful there, loose on your couch and in your space. He chose to stay. He chose to be around you. Sometimes, it makes you nervous.

Silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t amplify the nerves. It settles them, honestly. You find yourself so comfortable here, an arm’s length away from him but somehow still wrapped in his warmth. He eases your tensions, dampens the sounds from outside. What a pleasant world it would be if he were here all the time. Your eyelids droop as you watch him. His breathing is so steady, you’d think he’d fallen asleep. But he twitches every now and then to tell you he’s still awake.

“You’re really gonna make me coffee tomorrow?” he asks. His voice is low and smooth. It makes you smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s the least I can do for holding you captive,”

He laughs, weak and wonderful as if he’s on the edge of sleep. “You’re not holding me captive. There’s hurricane force winds out there,”

You grin, opening your eyes to look at him. You find him already watching you. Blush creeps over his features. You hold his stare, wondering what he’s thinking.

“You make me nervous,” you whisper. You’re not sure he even hears you. He seems to be calculating his words, or maybe his escape route.

Instead, he furrows his brow. “I hope it’s a good kind of nervous,” he whispers back. Your lips form a line as you nod.

The silence returns, but you keep watching him. He’s pretty like this, haloed by the lightning that flashes in the window every few seconds. You fight the urge to reach out and trace his features. You can imagine the way his skin would feel against yours, the sloped angle of his nose, the creases near his eyes.

You want to jump out of your skin when he turns to consider you more. There’s a half smile hung on his lips. Then, he’s reaching out to grab your hand. It’s tentative, like a young boy might slowly wrap his fingers around a girl’s for the very first time. It’s simple, it’s easy; you like easy. His hands are much warmer than yours, though you’re not sure how, considering you feel like every inch of you has been consumed by flames. You worry that he can see the sweat beginning to bead along your hairline. You swallow thickly, praying to whoever might listen that you don’t screw this up.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper like you’re children trading secrets when you’re meant to be asleep.

He smiles. “Green,” he says. “Like a forest just before dusk,”

Of course it would be green. You feel a flash of embarrassment for not having asked earlier. The amount of green things you could shower him would last a lifetime. You think back to every green item you’ve ever seen, every natural green you’ve had the pleasure of witnessing,  and wonder how you’d never thought of it before. Now, when the tree outside your window raps against the panes, you’ll think of him. You’ll think of him when you use the crockpot your mother gifted you when you moved out. You’ll see him in the murky depths of a lake, or the vibrant hue of your favorite pair of shoes.

“Mine’s purple,” you reply. “Like wisteria,”

His face sours for a moment. “The stuff that hangs off willow trees?”

You grin and nod. “Exactly like that,”

At this, he laces your fingers together with more confidence. You feel your heart stutter. You would be content to die like this. In this moment, you’d make him a hundred cups of coffee, give him a thousand green hued things, and look for willow trees where you can.

[waitingonher]

percy jackson dating a child of apollo

characters: percy jackson

content warning: like one curse word

word count: 941

author's note: i accidentally deleted the original ask. oops. i'm also just gonna pretend that it didn't take me like four weeks to write this... (i am so sorry anon 😅)

you are—quite literally—the light of percy’s life! he’s never been more grateful for someone than you. even in his darkest moments, percy knows that he can always depend on you to show him the light. 

your guys’ personalities complement each other so well, it’s crazy. percy knows you like the back of his hand, and sometimes, it’s like he knows you better than you know yourself. 

his giving love languages are definitely physical touch and acts of service!! 

your boyfriend is ALWAYS touching you somehow. whether it be a hand on your lower back or his knee touching your knee, percy just likes to be close to you. it’s definitely a surefire way of telling everyone that you’re his! 

life as a demigod is certainly rough, so he’ll do everything in his power to make your day at least a teensy bit better. a few of things he’s done for you include maintenance for your instruments and/or bow & arrow, folding your laundry, and cleaning around your cabin, but the list could go on for miles!!

as you enter the dining pavilion for breakfast, you quickly spot percy who waves and beckons you over to his table.  “morning y/n,” he says, kissing your cheek as you sit next to him.  you smile, “hi percy! have you seen my bow? i can’t seem to find it and i have a class to teach later today.”  “oh yeah sorry babe, i have it,” he pauses to swallow his food, “i remember you were talking about needing to replace your bowstring, so i had will give it to me so i could fix it for you.”  almost knocking him off of the bench, you tackle percy into a tight hug, “aw thanks percy! you’re the best.”  he laughs at your sudden attack, “of course babe, happy to help.” 

as for his receiving love languages, percy loves physical touch and quality time. 

whether it be hanging out with you in the infirmary or trailing behind you as you teach an archery class, he values every minute spent with you. 

he’d even clean the entire amphitheater with you without making any complaints. i swear, this boy is so head over heels for you. 

percy loves, loves, LOVES when you include him in your favorite hobbies/activities. even if he isn’t very good at it, he’ll always try his best, because he knows that doing so makes you happy. and percy would do anything to see you happy. 

he doesn’t even mind when you chide him for messing up because the way you smile and laugh at him has him in a chokehold. 

percy remembers all of the little things!! it could be the tiniest detail ever, like which brand of paint brushes you prefer to use, and he’d store it away in his mental “y/n folder.” 

as you organize your bow into its rightful spot on the rack, you feel your boyfriend pull you into a back hug, planting chaste kisses on your cheek, “hi babe, done with your training?”  “yes percy, but i’m all sweaty!” you laugh, trying to escape his grip.  he simply chuckles, “i don’t care, i missed you today.”  you turn around to face him with an amused look, “we ate breakfast together?” percy merely shrugs in response before grabbing your hand, “anyways, come with me, i’ve got a surprise for you.”   “oh? what is it perce?” you question.  he chuckles, “you’ll see.”  minutes later, you and percy reach the entrance of his cabin. he swiftly goes inside and returns, holding the gift behind his back, “okay, give me your hands and close your eyes.” closing your eyes, you hold out your hands, “is it keys to a brand new car?” you gasp, “or is it a snake? because i’m actually gonna kill you if it is.” percy laughs before placing the object in your hands, “you can open your eyes now. it’s honestly not much, but you mentioned something about liking this brand before.”  at that, you open your eyes to see a new set of your favorite paints, “holy shit percy! are you serious? when’d you even have the time to get these?”  he grins, “last week. i was in the city for a tiny errand chiron gave me.”  “gods, you’re amazing, i love you,” you say, pulling percy into a kiss.  percy pulls away with a lopsided smile spreading across his face, “how many more paint sets will i have to buy you in order for you to kiss me like that again?”  “as of now, none,” you respond, leaning in for yet another kiss. 

for the longest time, you and percy have had this weird ongoing thing where you two will try to come up with the weirdest pet names for each other. 

percy will come up to you and greet you with a casual “hi pookie dookie pie, how’s it going?” 

or you’ll address him as “sweet cookie sugar face” because he was eating one of sally’s cookies. 

everyone is so confused because they don’t know that it’s been an ongoing joke between you guys. 

“good morning honey bunny boo bear! how’d you sleep?” you ask your boyfriend.  percy holds back a laugh, “morning, i slept very well. and how’d you sleep, snookums?”  out the corner of your eyes, you spot leo and piper looking at each other, eyes wide and their jaws on the floor.  “i’m gonna barf,” they say simultaneously, both slapping a hand over their mouths.  you and percy stifle your laughter before putting on a serious face, “you guys wouldn’t get it.” 

gods you two are the cutest thing ever!

[jessybarnes]

Fixer Upper

Pairing - Mechanic!Jensen x Single Mom!Reader

Rating - 18+ Only! Minors DNI

Tags - Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, SMUT, broke down car, walking alone on a deserted road, being a single mom, mentions of an ex, mentions of abuse, NSFW gifs, unprotected sex, reader on top, Jensen on top, and I think that’s it, but let me know if I need to add more to the tags. 

Word Count -  2.4k

Beta - @winecatsandpizza

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

A/N - This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I am in the process of transferring all of my fics over to this blog. I hope you enjoy! :)

“Dammit!”

You slammed the driver’s door to your car and kicked it for good measure. A new car was definitely a need, but who could afford one in this economy? Much less a tow truck and a mechanic. To top it all off, your AAA membership you had expired a month ago. Part of you wanted to just set the hunk of metal on fire, but that would make you feel better for all of five minutes before you’d really be shit out of luck. 

The afternoon sun reflected off the hood as you reached for the release latch. As soon as you lifted it up, hot grey smoke poured out making you cough. 

“Well, that’s just fuckin’ perfect. Icing on the damn cake.”

You put your hands on your hips and turned to look at the long stretch of highway that went in both directions. Not only was your car broken down on the side of the road, but the nearest town was at least twenty minutes in both directions. To make things even more annoying, your phone had died about ten minutes before your car did so it looked like the only thing left to do was to start walking. 

Grabbing your keys and purse, you locked the car and started walking along the shoulder of the road. At least it was nice out, not a cloud in the sky, and fairly warm. The faint feeling of a summer breeze blew strands of hair out behind you as your car became smaller and smaller in the distance. A fence came into view after about fifteen minutes of walking, and if you were being honest with yourself, it was pretty inviting. 

You brushed one of the wooden planks off and plopped down on it with a sigh. Maybe your Mother was right, maybe you should have moved back in with her until you could get back on your feet. But no, you just had to be stubborn and prove to her that you could make it on your own as a single mother. Swallowing your pride wasn’t something that came easily for you. So, you’d do what you always do and find a way to fix whatever was broken. 

Just as you were about to get up and start walking again, a red Chevy truck came into view. You had never thought about hitchhiking, but the thought of it driving past seemed worse than the former. Your hands waved to get the driver’s attention and then gave him room to pull off on the shoulder of the road. What you weren’t expecting was the most gorgeous man you have ever seen get out and approach you. 

“Everything okay, ma’am?”

Your mind was still reeling from the fact that this man was talking to you when you realized he’d asked you a question. 

“Umm yeah, I uhh…my car broke down and my phone died so umm…I was just going to walk until I found civilization.”

A look of concern flashed across his face as he looked around. 

“How long have you been out here walking? I don’t see a car anywhere.”

You shrugged like it was no big deal and gestured in the direction of your unreliable hunk of metal. 

“Cars a ways that way. I’ve been walking for maybe twenty minutes? I don’t know. I kinda lost track of time.” 

The man shook his head and looked firmly down at you. 

“Yeah, I’m not letting a pretty lady walk alone on this stretch of road. At least let me take you and your car back to my shop. You look like you could use a break.”

Did you die and go to Heaven? There is no way that you got this lucky. The one car you see on this deserted road turns out to be a mechanic and he’s this good-looking? Yeah, no, things like this didn’t happen to you. 

“Thank you, sir. I don’t have much money, but I can give you what I have for gas.”

He shook his head again and opened the passenger side door. 

“Please, call me Jensen. I don’t want your money, sweetheart. It sounds like you need it more than I do.” 

“Thanks, and you can call me Y/N.”

You smiled at him and climbed into the cab of his truck. The ride to your car and back to his shop took less time than you anticipated. You quickly found yourself warming up to Jensen. He radiated kindness and you felt like you’d known him for years. You told him you were a single mother, and how your daughter was staying with your parents until you got yourself moved into your new apartment. Mentions of your ex came up, but you tried to avoid delving too much into your past life with Tanner. He’d been abusive, and you pushed those memories to the back of your mind at all costs. 

Jensen pulled his truck into a big open yard and you noticed an arched sign that read Singer’s Auto stood high above the entrance. He lowered your car to the ground and unhooked it from the hitch before leading you inside. 

“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got water, coffee, sweet tea, whiskey, rum, and any type of soda you can imagine.”

For the first time all day, your smile met your eyes. This man was too good to be true. If only you could be in a relationship with something this amazing. Jensen had to be either gay or unavailable because there was no way he was single with a personality like this. Let alone his looks. 

“I’d like some sweet tea, please. Thank you so much for doing all this. I’m sure you’ve got a family to get home to, and the last thing you probably wanted to do today was help a hitchhiker and her piece of shit car.”

The confused look he gave you made you instantly regret your words. Here was this man going out of his way to help you, and your brain-to-mouth filter probably just fucked everything up. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t appreciate everything.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jensen. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but I just have this mindset where I wait for the other shoe to fall. I’ve never really done well in the relationship department, and I’ve always been let down eventually. You’ve only just met me and you don’t need this kind of turmoil. I should probably go. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

It took a moment for Jensen to get his bearings, but once he did you felt his hand gently grab your wrist. He slowly spun you around to face him, and his eyes bore into yours with a fire you hadn’t seen on a man before. 

“Whoa, whoa, sweetheart wait a minute. Can’t a guy just help a beautiful lady out without her thinking she’s being a burden? Y/N, listen, I’m not doing this because I feel like I have to. I’m doing this because I want to. There’s just something about you, something that draws me in, and I can’t seem to put a finger on it.”

For a few minutes, you both were silent. Staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity made you want to look away, but something stronger kept your gaze locked onto his. Ever so slowly, Jensen closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss you. His kiss ignited a fire in your core that had been dormant for as long as you could remember. 

When he pulled away, his pupils were just as lust blown as your own. Soon you were pushed against the nearest wall, his work uniform becoming disheveled along with your outfit. 

“I don’t know what it is Jensen, but I have never wanted someone so much in my life. I only just met you, and the thoughts I’m having scare me, but at the same time it’s thrilling.”

Your hands came to rest on his muscular chest as his hands cupped your face. 

“It scares the shit out of me too, Y/N, but I really want this,” 

Jensen admitted as he continued to devour your body with his eyes.  

“Do you want this as much as I do? If you don’t, we can stop. I’ll fix your car and we can both be on our way.  If you’d let me, though, I’d love to show you what it’s like to have a real man, Y/N.”

Instead of answering him, you pressed your lips firmly against his. Immediately his arms traveled down your small frame and came to rest on the back of your thighs. Without breaking the kiss, you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. His clothed erection pressed against your pussy making a small moan escape your mouth. 

Jensen began leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He grabbed one of your breasts in each hand and began to massage them gingerly, his thumbs grazing over your nipples making them harden instantly. 

“You have entirely too many clothes on Y/N.”

You smirked and stepped away, slowly unbuttoning your shirt. It sent heat straight to your core seeing the effect you had on Jensen. His eyes roamed your body like a starving man, and the arousal in his pants was hard to miss. 

“You know, I’m no expert on lovemaking, but I’m pretty sure it’s easier to do when you’re naked, Jensen.”

A low growl escaped his throat as he stalked toward you like he was a predator. He picked you up and flung you over his shoulder making you squeal. 

“Jensen! Put me down! Where are we going?!”

“Bedroom.”

The one simple word held many promises as he climbed the stairs with ease. Seconds later you were placed gingerly on the comforter of his bed. He only left you for a moment to turn the light off and shut the door, and then he was on you again. His calloused hands pushed your shirt off your shoulders and slowly pulled it off each of your arms. 

Even though he was undressing you agonizingly slow, you relished in the fact that a man was paying this much attention to you. Your ex was a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy who was only interested in getting off before going back to his video games. Your mind completely forgot about your ex as soon as Jensen pulled down your bra exposing your breasts, his lips closed over one of your hardened nipples greedily sucking into his mouth. 

“Mmmm Jay … Fuck that feels so good”

He moved to the other nipple paying it as much attention before leaving a trail of kisses down to your navel. 

“You’re so beautiful Y/N”

Jensen made quick work of the rest of your clothes before taking his off as well. If you thought he was gorgeous with clothes on, he was even more glorious without them. Perfect was the only description appropriate for the man that stood before you. 

“C’mere Jensen. I won’t bite.”

You winked at him invitingly, and he let out this full-body laugh that was contagious.

“Y/N I don’t know if I believe that.”

He climbed onto the bed and positioned his body over yours before pulling you in for another kiss. His tongue swept your lower lip asking for permission which you granted almost immediately. Your body arched up, his cock hard as a rock pressing against your leg.

“Please … need you.”

Jensen smirked against your pulse point, grinding himself along your slick folds. 

“Gonna have to be a little more specific Princess. Where do you need me exactly?”

If you could form a coherent thought you’d make a smart-ass comment, but right now you barely knew your name. Much less able to speak in full sentences. 

“Fuck me, Jay! Wanna feel your cock inside me. Please!”

Jensen lined himself up and slowly thrust inside you, his cock filling you up inch by inch was almost enough to make you cum right then. It had been a while since you’d been with a man, and he hadn’t prepped you. 

“Unnghh fuck … you’re so wet and tight for me, Y/N.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, his forehead resting on yours as you both got used to each other. 

“Make love to me, Jay.”

Ever so slowly, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you. His moans were barely heard over your cries of need. The steady rhythm of his cock hitting your sweet spot made the coil in your lower belly tighter and tighter. You wouldn’t last long with him like this, and you wanted desperately to make him cum with you. 

“Let me ride you, Jensen.”

The look he gave you was almost primal. In a matter of seconds, he had flipped over onto his back and helped you sink down onto his throbbing length. 

“Christ, Y/N, I’m not gonna last like this.”

Using the muscles in your thighs, you rose up off his cock and looked deeply into his eyes.

“Neither will I, Jay. Want you to cum with me.”

His hands held onto your sides as you began to ride him. His hips rose to meet yours, thrusting his cock deeper into your soaked cunt, and pretty soon he was completely in control again. Your cries echoed off the walls as your climax neared. 

“J-Jay! I … I’m so close baby! Please … make me cum!”

One of his hands left your side and began rubbing circles around your clit.

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

Seconds later, he felt your walls tighten around his cock, as you both fell over the edge together. Your chest heaved as you aid beside him on the bed. He covered you up before cradling your face and kissing you sweetly.

Jensen pulled away, his smile met his eyes as he looked at you with nothing but love.

“So, how about some sweet tea?”

[physalian]

Narrative Framing Devices

This is a long one…

A story need not be told chronologically, nor does it have to be only one layer deep. There’s a ton of different ways to frame your narrative, I’m just picking a couple today, some I thought worked and some I thought didn’t, and my personal favorite.

Most people think of framing devices in terms of time travel stories or fairytales, where it may start in the present or the future and work backwards, giving up the ending before telling how we all got here. Or by chopping up the chronology and letting the audience try to puzzle out the order.

There are also those that break the fourth wall, with the narrator beginning the story directly addressing the audience but never doing so again, or the narrator opening the story telling their own story to a present audience, so we’re the audience behind the fictional audience.

The other obligatory framing device is the time-skip, a la “6 years later” or “8 months later”. I’ve already talked about those. Or the preface/preamble/prologue that may spoil some important event later in the story, or is simply an important moment or montage of moments to catch the reader up on “how did we get here”. Shoutout to Castlevania for the most efficient pilot episode I have ever seen, with a 1 year timeskip.

Also honorable mention to the “A Life in the Day” montage from Magicians, speedrunning decades of a life together between two characters stuck in a Situation, maybe 60 years? Key moments between the two having a whole romance, with a kid and grandkids, over the course of one beautiful bit of soundtrack. One of the best episodes in the show, for a sequence that only lasted a little over 5 minutes.

—

Story within a Story | Princess Bride, "Ember Island Players"

Best example I can think of, specifically the film, which is based on a book that already incepts itself. The movie opens with a regular kid being read the book The Princess Bride by his grandfather, and occasionally cutting between the kid’s reactions and the fantasy story with the actors.

There’s several moments where the grandfather either loses his place and rereads a scene that replays the same dialogue, or skips a scene in the “kissing book” because his grandson gets squirmy, and moments where the grandfather narrates over a couple montages.

Princess Bride is one of those movies that knows exactly what it is and isn’t trying to be something it’s not. It’s self-aware and loudly and proudly sincere, with one of the best revenge arcs ever put to film.

Recap episodes can either be clipshows or get really creative like ATLA, telling the series recap through the medium of a propagandized play about the Avatar's journey, performed by actors of the Fire Nation. The Gaang sits there in vague states of discomfort, horror, or in Toph and Sokka's case, thrilling enjoyment, watching their hardships and heartbreaks played for laughs. That it's the story we know, but also with the added filter of it being enemy propaganda takes what could have been just a clipshow and still told multiple layers of a story with it.

The Fourth-Wall Break | Riordan-verse, Deadpool

“Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood” defined a generation. It’s one of those fourth wall breaks that opens up the story and never appears again, though occasionally Percy will get slightly self-aware, saying things like “I didn’t know it then, but I’d never come back here”. But for PJO it almost doesn’t count.

Kane Chronicles on the other hand chose a bizarre framing device, having the two leads pretend to host a radio show, or a podcast—something where they were recording themselves and I don’t think it worked very well whenever it popped up and stopped the plot.

Shoutout to Tangled, too, for having a fairytale style fourth-wall break at the end, much like KC, where Flynn reveals that Rapunzel has been listening to him tell their story the entire time. Many fairytale stories open up with the physical book flipping open to the story, like Shrek and Shrek 2, but I don’t think those are translatable to the written medium very well.

The big one, though, is of course Deadpool. Have not seen the second one, and while ‘breaking the fourth wall’ isn’t by itself a framing device, DP & Wolverine absolutely makes it one, fast forwarding and jumbling up the sequence of events to deliver a “how did we get here?” during the opening credits.

Chronology Salad | Memento, Predestination

Have not actually seen Memento but I know the premise, working backwards as the protagonist recovers his memory of “how did we get here?” Predestination is a batshit insane time travel story that I don’t think most people have even heard of and detailing the plot at all is giving spoilers but it is the most “how the fuck did we get here??” movie I have ever seen.

Then you have stories like Twilight that open with “I’ve never given much thought to how I would die” that spoils (kind of) the ending, with the goal of the story not detailing if something bad will happen, but how. Twilight’s prologue reminds me of The Bachelor, where they’ll tease the audience with *shocking* moments completely out of context from later in the season that are way less cool when they actually come to pass (from the one time I watched with relatives out of morbid curiosity).

The point of these chronological mixups is how all the random puzzle pieces fit together, despite essentially spoiling themselves constantly, they’re so random, so out of place, meant to keep you constantly guessing until the big reveal of the picture on the box—and are extremely tricky to do well without completely losing your audience. You’d have to have a very thorough outline to not confuse yourself while trying to write it.

Honorary mention here for Inception, one of my favorite sci-fi movies, because the plot is crazy, but still told chronologically, just across different dream levels. However, the movie does open with the ending scene (though you don’t know that on your first watch). And Tenet, but I don’t know anyone who likes or cares about that movie.

Dual Timelines | Outlander

There are others I just cannot think of them at this moment. Dual timelines tell two stories simultaneously across two different eras, either decades apart or mere hours, with some relation between the two. Sometimes one timeline’s protagonist is the ancestor of the present timeline, for example.

Dual Timelines happen in sequential order, making them distinct from a flashback arc (more below) essentially two chronological plots running in tandem squished into the same book, episode, or film. They carry equal weight and try not to overshadow each other in flair or importance.

In Outlander, Protagonist Claire is already a time traveler, in a time travel story whose rules are “whatever happened, happened, and you end up causing whatever you tried to prevent”. Season 2 opens with her returning to the present, leaving the entire rest of the season with a foreboding sense of dread, wondering what will get her back to that moment.

Season 3 dangles the carrot on the stick, randomly cutting between Claire in the 60s and trying to move on with her life for… I think 20 years, while Jaime, her love interest from the past, just keeps getting kicked while he’s down. It takes forever to get these two back on screen together. And the dual timelines continue taking up screen time when Claire and Jaime’s adult daughter also eventually makes a trip to the past. Points off for being blatantly manipulative storytelling with its cliffhangers, but season 1 is still worth the watch.

Flashbacks, Flash-Forwards, and Flash-Sideways | Lost

This show’s earlier seasons were heavily framed with this device. In The first 3 seasons (up to the last episode) the framing device was exclusively flashbacks, focusing on one of the main 13 heroes for an episode, particularly in season 1.

They didn’t always answer “how did we get here” but told some story relevant to the character in the present, either a challenge they had to face or parallel relationship drama or ghosts come back to haunt them. Usually, these little flashbacks were told in sequential order, but they could hop months or years ahead at a time depending on the episode.

The flash-forwards began in season 4 and closed the gap between the “Oceanic 6” escaping the island and all the missing time while they were gone, before the infamous “We have to go back” line.

The show also had flash-sideways, which featured the main cast, many of whom had been dead for a few seasons, reprising their roles to show what could have been their lives if they never crashed. To… mixed reception.

The show also also had a time-traveling character who in-universe experienced flashes of the future and got mentally temporally displaced between two timelines for a hot minute.

Lost was… a show that demanded a dedicated following. I still love it.

Flashback Arcs | My own personal soapbox

This right here is the whole reason for this post. First you have flashback episodes and I can name a lot of those—ATLA has a couple, “The Storm” & “The Avatar and the Firelord” but both are technically “stories within a story” with characters either around a campfire telling it or reading about it. The alternate timeline takes up a majority of the runtime, only occasionally cutting back to the present characters for a reaction.

In TFP there’s an offbeat flashback episode “Out of the Past”, framed, again, as a character telling this backstory stuff to another character. Many, many vampire stories will have flashbacks to some degree, since their characters live for so long. Vampire Diaries, especially in the earlier seasons, had dozens of them filling in all the blanks back during the Civil War when the two leads, Stefan and Damon, were competing for the affections of the main villain, all leading up to how they were turned, and how she allegedly died. Once the Originals were introduced, the show then had flashbacks to a thousand years ago, when they were human, and various eras in between.

True flashback episodes don’t waste precious minutes setting up a framing device, they just dump the audience in an alternate timeline and let them figure it out on their own that something isn’t right.

But none of that comes close to the full-on Flashback Arc. I. Love. This. Trope.

I actually first saw it when Arrow was good in its earliest seasons, cutting fairly equally between a present-day Oliver back home and starting his hero journey, and him learning combat back in the past, over several episodes like a series within the series.

What you end up with is a happy medium between a full dual timeline and a random grab-bag of flashbacks as they become necessary to the plot. A flashback arc relies entirely on the existence of the A-plot to make sense, as opposed to a dual timeline where it’s essentially two self-sufficient stories rolled into one big narrative. This arc is substantially shorter than the rest of the plot, cutting the story it’s telling down to the absolute need-to-know moments and cutting all transitions between the two. These arcs tend to cover weeks, at minimum, and decades of a long life at most.

I think they're best implimented after the first book, film, or season. Not something you want to throw at your audience who barely knows or cares about these characters, so if you're stuck with ideas for a sequel, consider the Flashback Arc.

My favorite thing that I have ever written (sans ENNS) was for my sci-fi WIP, a C-plot flashback arc in 13 parts. They started out as in-universe nightmares to give credibility to when these flasbacks started occuring, framed around the character's reaction to the scene, but then took off independently to avoid redundancy.

This arc covered his time as a POW, telling the reader how he came to be the living weapon he was, and the first detail it opened with was the reveal that he wasn’t the only one of his kind, he’d lied and shouldered the blame of every atrocity to protect the others, as their numbers dwindled and it all fell into place. A truth he wouldn't tell with a gun to his head.

Because you already knew he lived, because he’s right there in the present A-plot, the arc wasn’t telling you if he’d survive the war, but what he’d do to survive, and how it all fell apart. Because it was framed up with the existing narrative, I had a lot more leeway in omitting details and dropping the reader weeks or months ahead as opposed to this being a completely fresh story with new characters. You knew immediately based on the tone that this POV was the C-plot flashback POV, and you knew the only person who could narrate it was my poor character.

Over 13 POVS, 34k words (of a total whopping 202k), I told a whole love story, established and killed off 10 characters, and gave heaps of worldbuilding lore and exposition to fill in all the blanks in the present and answer questions that this character would never, and revealed just how much he lied about and why.

All of this tied in with the A-plot, staggering the physical placement of POVS within the book to hit at the right moments tonally and as the character’s condition kept deteriorating because he refused to talk about What Happened. His reason was that he’d done all of this and suffered so much to keep their legacies pure. If he gave it up now, he would have done all this for nothing.

And this was some heavy shit. There was murder, suicide, death by giant alien super robots fond of ripping people apart, assault, mercy killing, torture, gaslighting, and psychological horror. One of my magic systems let magicians regrow limbs alchemically, which meant they could endure a shit ton of pain and just get reset to do it all over again.

It was a lot.

But because it was just in flashbacks, I gave you just enough dark shit before cutting back to something marginally lighter, not just one long slog of misery. There was also the unknown of how quickly it would end. The book would end when you hit the last page, but you had no idea which flashback POV would be the last.

And also.

I got to flex my writing skills to the fullest, writing this character’s flashback POV in a completely different tone and style to make it that much more distinct from the rest of the present book.

ENNS’ sequel is very much under construction, but the one thing already polished is a flashback episode packed into one chapter for one of my characters. It’s perfectly knife-twisty and I can't wait for people to read it.

—

There’s dozens of framing devices out there. Most important thing, I think, is not sacrificing audience understanding for the sake of something ‘cool’. Doesn’t matter how amazing the story is if your audience gets completely lost and confused trying to keep up with what’s going on.

If you'd like to check out my book, Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is available now!

[zabala0z]

Welcome back to “listening to S4 of TMA and sobbing!” I’m your host, you know me, unfortunately. I swear to god-

MAG 125: Civilian Casualties

Am I going insane or was Callum McKenzie mentioned before??? The name is so familiar and I searched through all the transcripts and my notes. Closest thing I could find was in A Sturdy Lock, the old man’s last name was McKenzie but I don’t think that’s related. Anyways, I think this is the slaughter

Also the bullet. And Melanie’s screaming. Is that also related to the slaughter, her increase in violence??

MAG 126: Sculptors Tools

The whole time I was like “is this Michael??” But no this guys name was Gabriel but then he mentioned Sannikov and I was so confused until Jon mentioned the worker in clay and I immediately shrieked. And Gertrude stopped him. What a badass.

Martin talking to Tim makes me wanna scream. And Peter said some interesting stuff. Isolation. Elias’s ritual. I think Peter is trying to make a ritual for The Lonely before Elias because competition or something. And then the “when it’s over, you won’t want to tell him” like wtf does that mean. This is why I equally hate him with Elias.

MAG 127: Remains to be seen

Very The Eye. I actually never thought much on Jonah Magnus but I should’ve because yeah, that guy is suspicious. I need to pay more attention to old timey statements.Also, “I was trying to see if the statements called to me” like Jon, you know that makes you look more unhinged, right??? And Martins mom is dead now which makes me wanna like strangle myself.

And then there’s the infamous bastard; love Elias’s prison arc, it suits him more.

(EDIT 9/19: forgot to mention, Albrecht said at one point “I don’t read the books, the books read me” which reminds me of MAG 91 when Mike said he couldn’t read that one book but it read him. Think those are related. Okay that’s it)

MAG 128: Heavy Goods

I know they (or he now) are evil but Breekon was low key sympathetic during this. Also, DAISYS ALIVE. Oh so Daisy can be alive but Tim can’t, someone rip out my throat. ☹️ but I am happy. And sad. She sounds like she’s going through it according to Breekon. Or at least Breekon words extracted by Jon, which, by the way, what the hell. He can do that??? Starting to realize the true horror of his powers cause damn.

MAG 129: Submerged

Oh yay, gentrification. The true horrors of the world.

“I miss you” so what if I screamed! I need to like punch a pillow after every Martin/Jon conversation.

Anyways, I think this entity is like the buried? Can the buried count with water? Drowning? You know? Anyways “The Sunken Sky” is like the coolest name ever for The Buried. How do they all have such cool names?? Apparently Gertrude sacrificed Jan Kilbride because he was marked by The Vast and throwing him diwn a pit was enough. That’s the guy from MAG 106. There always seems to be at least one sacrifice to stop a ritual, y’know. Hate it

I have a bad feeling about Jon trying to find Daisy. Because duh. And basira is off on a secret errand which I believe is whatever Elias told her about. The new way to defend themselves. I don’t know who it’ll be. Maybe a new character?? If not, I can’t think of a strong character who could help them, especially associated with Elias

Okay!! I think that’s everything. I’ve been filling my sketchbook with TMA art, I love it. Final thoughts, uh, hate Peter, worried for Martin, worried about Melanie, overly analyzing everything, etc, etc. I hate my brain can’t ever stop when listening to this.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

hey!! i’ve never requested before so 😢😅😅 anyways i’m obsessed w ur writing!! plus im so happy to see a fellow tøp writer still around!!:3

i’ll kind of you let you take the lead here of what you want to do, but i think the idea of “my brothers best friend” is sooo🥰

like josh is the readers brother, and of course tyler is always around & maybe you can do something fluffy where tyler was sleeping over at the house, and reader gets home late from an AWFUL date & they converse about it & reader admits that maybe these dates aren’t working bc her mind is on someone else..🤗

or something a bit “angsty” where josh teases his sister all the time, but tyler joins in as well and it really upsets the reader because she adores him

up to you!!!! i just like the concept^^

Bad Date - Tyler Joseph x Dun!Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Dun!Reader

Warnings: mild language, the date being weird and uncomfortable to reader

Word Count: 2659 - it's a longer one so ur welcome :)

A/N: Welcome new anon! Hope you like this one! It was super fun to write :) Definitely feel free to request another fic and if you become a regular we can assign you an emoji just like 💛 anon!

“So… did you like the movie?” My date asked as he pulled into the driveway of my house. He’d been begging me to go see some action movie he’d already seen twice before with his ‘boys’, because apparently ‘I was gonna love it.’ I’d met Matthew at work and he’d flirted with me for months before asking me out. Yeah, he was cute but not enough for me to be head over heels yet–I barely knew anything about him other than the fact that he was into movies and videogames. 

“Yeah,” I lied, staring at the front door and planning my escape route. Matthew turned to face me, a soft smile growing on his pale face. 

“Am I gonna get to see you again?” he breathed, the smell of the spaghetti he’d eaten for dinner wafting into my face. “Maybe I could meet your brother?” He reached out to stroke my hair like I was some domestic animal he could touch. I wanted to slap his hand away, the warm dampness of his palms waving over me. 

“Josh? Why would you want to meet him?” I scoffed. None of my other dates had ever talked about Josh and I was 90% sure I’d never even mentioned that I had a brother. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him more than anything but my dates were supposed to be about me. 

“He’s in that band that was playing Ichthus a few months ago right? Twenty one pilots?” Oh. It was about the band. It was about twenty one fucking pilots. 

“You know what? I’m gonna go,” I said, peeling his hand off me and getting out of the car. The lights beamed from the car, pathing the way for me to get into the house. 

“Y/N! Wait!” he shouted after me but stayed in the car. If he really wanted me to stop then he would’ve run after me. He was still shouting my name when I got to the front door. I knocked frantically on the wood, trying to get inside before I further embarrassed myself in front of the entire neighborhood. No one was answering and the lights inside were turned off as far as I could see through the window. I dug through my bag desperately trying to either find my keys or phone–anything to get into the house and out of the burning headlights of the car. The door in front of me creaked open before a hand pulled me inside and out of the cold night air. Tyler. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, leading me further into the house and into the lounge. It wasn’t rare that Tyler would spend the night at our house–he was Josh’s best friend and bandmate which meant after many late nights working on music he would just sleep over instead of going home. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I nodded, taking off my coat and hanging it on the rack in the hallway. “Has Josh gone to bed already?”

“Yeah, you know him,” he chuckled. “What was that about?” he pointed in the direction of the front of the house where Matthew’s car had undoubtedly already left. He moved to sit on the other end of the couch, resting his feet on our coffee table. 

“Just a bad date,” I attempted a laugh but failed to hide my embarrassment. 

“What made it bad?” he asked. I didn’t think he would care about his best friend’s little sister’s date. 

“Honestly?” He nodded. “I think he wanted to get to know Josh more than me–because of the band,” I sighed. Tyler’s mouth opened as if to say a silent ‘oh’. He looked upset, his face falling into an introspective visage that broke my heart. 

“Wait really?” he muttered and I nodded. “I’m sorry, that’s not fair at all.” He was right, it wasn’t fair at all. Clearly Matthew wasn’t for me. I got up to grab myself a drink from the kitchen and Tyler moved so he could see me from where he was sitting. 

“It’s okay though. I think I just haven’t found the right person yet, you know?” I grabbed Tyler a Red Bull from the fridge and poured myself a glass of ice cold water. His face lit up at the sight of the Red Bull can and I didn’t have the strength to hold back my own smile–his smile and laugh were just too contagious. I couldn't go longer than 10 seconds without bursting at the seams. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m just worried I’ll never find the right person,” I sighed. Tyler chuckled, taking a sip of his ‘liquid death’ as I’d called it almost every time I caught him drinking it. “What’s so funny?”

“I–I’m just thinking about it. What if you’ve already met the right person but you just don’t know it yet?” he hummed. I scoffed as if what he had said was ridiculous. Tyler was that person to say things no one else ever thought to say out loud–most of us just kept it inside out of the fear of being seen as ‘weird’. Tyler wasn’t afraid to be called weird. 

“That’s a bit unrealistic isn’t it? Surely if I had already met that person then I would know,” I responded. He pulled a face at me, as if to say ‘are you sure about that?’ “I don’t know Ty.” I shrugged. He scooted closer to me on the couch, moving so he was sitting right up against me. He reached up to curl my hair behind my ear in a much more genteller way than Matthew had earlier. I wanted him to keep his hand there, resting against my face–I really hadn’t realized how comfortable I was around him until tonight.  

“Listen, I think you’re going to find the perfect person for you in life. They’re gonna care about you so much and know every little fact about you–like how your favorite color is (insert favorite color here), or how Josh used to hide candy under your bed so no one other than you two could eat it. They’re going to love you more than anything and want you around 24/7,” he proclaimed. I really couldn’t hide the grin on my face, especially since it was now accompanied by a warm blush. 

“Have you met that person?” I asked. 

“I think so, yeah,” he breathed, placing the can in his hand onto the coffee table. 

“What’s she like?” 

He let out a loud breath before thinking. “She’s cool. One of the smartest people I know, beautiful and talented–though she doesn’t think she is–and she makes me love life more than anything. I haven’t told her how I feel though,” he dragged off. 

“Why not?” I questioned, taking a sip of my water and placing it next to Tyler’s can. I was invested now. 

“I think it’s just never come up before you know? It’s not like I can just blast my feelings at her when she’s off doing her own thing or it’s out of the blue.” 

I nodded, completely understanding. “I get that. I’m sure she likes you too, you’re a pretty great guy Tyler,” I smiled. 

“Pretty great huh?” he boasted. Tyler never really talked about his life outside of the band, Josh and I. I knew he worked at a church nearby and helped out with their music but other than that I had no idea what he did in his spare time. He smiled back at me and I found myself staring into his cinnamon brown eyes. I didn’t want to look away, in fact, I would stay here all night staring into his eyes if he’d let me.  He slowly and cautiously moved his hand back to my face, gently touching my cheek before speaking. “Can I ask you something?” I snapped out of the daze he’d caught me in. 

“Yeah anything,” I nodded. 

He took a deep breath before speaking again and looked away for a moment, curling a very short strand of his hair around his index finger and tugging it slightly. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?”

“Tyler, it's me. I’m not going to get mad at you,” I stated. I’ve never really been the type of person to get mad easily. His shoulders rose and fell as he chuckled quietly.

“And you won’t tell anyone? Not even Josh?” 

“That depends on what you’re about to tell me,” I answered. Josh and I didn’t really keep secrets from each other, ever. If he was going to tell me the band was breaking up of course I would tell Josh but if it was personal and didn’t affect my brother then of course I’d keep it a secret. He started to pull his hair a bit harder which I noticed as he became anxious. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on,” I reassured, taking his hand in mine and holding it gently. 

“I’m not sure how to say this but.. I… just… please promise me you’ll try and understand what I’m about to tell you…” Tyler was good with words, always knowing what to say so if he didn’t know how to tell me something then it had to be a big deal. He took another shaky breath, his eyes closing and opening again as he continued to look between me and our hands. I felt like I was about to pass out from the anticipation. What on earth would he want to tell me and not Josh? He squeezed my hand and swallowed before speaking. His voice was gentle and shaky, the most vulnerable I’d ever heard–even in his music.“I think–I think you’re my person.”

I’d never really thought of Tyler like that before. Sure, he was famous and talented and handsome and kind and actually interested in my life, but he–we weren’t supposed to–god he was pretty wasn’t he?

“Huh?” Damn it Y/N! What kind of a response is fucking ‘huh’. The awkward silence was growing rapidly with every second and I was beginning to panic. Tyler’s eyes were locked onto mine, his face conflicted but retaining the little confidence he had. “I–uh. Does Josh know?” He shook his head, holding my hand closer in his hand and rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. He let out a short chuckle, his eyes darting away for a moment in embarrassment. It was a quiet chuckle, one that let out some of the shakiness he had before. 

“No, he doesn’t,” he muttered. “And I’d rather he didn’t know until… well until I’ve talked to you about it,” he continued, glancing up at me again and meeting my gaze. I nodded, trying to bite back the delusional smile growing on my face. He undoubtedly had noticed my poor attempt because his nervous demeanor softened as he cupped my face. “Can I do something that I’ve wanted to do for a really long time?” I hummed a yes, looking up at him through my eyelashes. He let out a shaky breath, his heart racing as he moved his free hand to gently rest against my chin. He tilted it up so he could meet and hold my gaze. He could feel his own eyes staring into mine as he almost lost all train of thought. There was so much I wanted to say. My brain was speeding like a bullet, endless trains of thought rushing through a mile a minute. He leaned forwards slowly, his hand still holding my chin and his other hand gently gripping my fingers. He was so close I could see every single detail–every tiny imperfection and scar, every eyelash, and every crease. There was something about him that made me feel like my life depended on this one moment and I absolutely could not mess this up. His thumb brushed against my lower lip and my eyes fluttered closed. He pulled my chin so he could meet me face to face, my neck tilted up to look at him directly. His cheeks had reddened from the intimacy of the moment. His eyes were staring into mine again, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth. He was so incredibly close to me, his lips millimeters from my own. I could feel his warm breath against my face, my own coming out shakily. His fingers moved from my chin to my jaw, his touch feather-like against my skin. His thumb continued to gently brush back and forth across my lower lip and I found myself leaning up to him without even thinking. I didn’t think he could get any closer, but then he started to move his head down towards mine, and my breath got caught in my throat. I was absolutely, one hundred percent, completely and utterly screwed. My heart stopped as he pressed his lips to mine. I didn’t realize until now just how much I wanted this. How badly we had wanted each other. I breathed in sharply, trying to control myself and the flood of emotions that were trying to swallow me whole as I reached up to cup his face with both my hands. He pulled me closer to him, so that there was no space left between us. He let every single piece of love he had for me pour out of his body and into the kiss. And he made sure I felt it by pulling me so that I was almost in his lap, my legs on either side of his as he ran his hand up and down my back and through my hair. Everything he was doing was perfect, the kiss and the way his hands felt against my body. He was everything. I broke the kiss to take a breath, pulling back and getting my hair out of my face. “I’m guessing you probably want to give us a go then?” Tyler laughed, his hands moving down to my waist. I nodded, cupping his jaw with my right hand. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He breathed out. He was smiling, a genuine smile. He gently gripped my hips, shifting me a little so I was fully in his lap. “You have absolutely no idea just how long I've wanted to kiss you.” 

“Well I’m glad I’m not the only one who was thinking about this,” I laughed. “At least now my dates aren’t going to ask me about Josh or the band.” Tyler’s chest rose and fell with each breath. 

“That’s true. Now you’re with the lead singer,” he sarcastically bragged. 

A quiet shuffling noise sounded through the hallway causing me to dart my head over Tyler’s shoulder. 

“Shit.” I climbed off his lap and grabbed my glass, running into the kitchen before the shuffling reached us. Josh. He was wearing his red plaid pajama pants and was shirtless. 

“Hey,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes. 

“How was your date?” he asked, filling up his water bottle in the sink. I looked at Tyler who had his arms folded behind his head and a smirk covering his face. I flashed a warning his way before answering my brother. 

“He was asking about you and the band,” I muttered, “we’re not having another date.” Josh looked apologetic, a hint of regret tangled in his voice. 

“I’m sorry. You’ll find someone–I’m sure of it,” he sighed, pulling me into a hug. 

“Yeah I have a feeling you’ll find someone soon. For all you know they could be right in front of you,” Tyler chimed. 

“Yeah, they could be right under your nose,” Josh yawned, pulled in into a hug before disappearing back into the hallway and away to bed, leaving Tyler and I alone once again. I waited a bit before jumping back onto the couch next to him, falling into his embrace. 

“You cannot do that again,” I scoffed, shoving him playfully. 

“You know you love it."

//

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