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have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.
Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.
You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.
You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.
The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.
It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.
Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.
All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#red hood x reader#red hood x you#remy writes 🖋️#I love him I love him I love him#you all don’t understand how much I love this man. ugh. why can’t he exist?!
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I was reading this post by @just-a-little-cellist and I was inspired to do something similar but with the fellowship
I’ve done a few more specific mental health hc’s but this is just their general relationship with mental health as opposed to how they handle others with something specific if that makes sense
Also I’m not trying to diagnose any characters; you shouldn’t make assumptions about others, these are just my hcs for some version of the characters, whether canon or not, we will never know
The Fellowship and mental health
Aragorn:
-He is very knowledgeable about different mental health disorders
-Very quick to pick up on it
-I don’t imagine him having any personal experience with any of it though
-I could imagine him having ADHD as a kid and although it doesn’t just go away he has learned to mask it incredibly well
-He has mixed thoughts on medication; he’s not against it but he personally won’t take anything
Legolas:
-I think elves are a split bunch
-Their knowledge of mental health is scattered
-Elves are not shy with feelings but I don’t imagine them having many problems when not in a time of grief
-And I think Legolas was especially sheltered from any mental health discussions
-Maybe the woodland elves are less open to the idea since I think Elrond knows everything about mental disorders
-A cultural difference I suppose
-He loves learning though so he will ask lots of questions
Gimli:
-Dwarves are not strangers to troubled mental health
-They are openly emotional and expressive
-But they don’t put names to it; the idea of disorders is not in their nature
-Like they will openly discuss having trouble but don’t tell them they have depression or something
Boromir:
-I could totally see him having anxiety that he’s learned to suppress because his father is a dickhead
-He knows about the more common disorders and is very supportive
-He doesn’t always understand and sometimes he accidentally comes across as dismissive
-I’ve mentioned before that I kinda picture him to be similar to Arthur from BBC’s Merlin (but when he learns to be a bit nicer lol)
-He’s trying his best; he needs a little patience to learn is all
Frodo:
-He reads a lot so I don’t think he’s any stranger
-I think PTSD from the events in LOTR is the first time personally experiencing neurodivergence though
-Bilbo’s definitely got a pinch of something but I couldn’t tell you what
-So he doesn’t really question anyone; he’s kinda like “well, if I meet someone quirkier than my uncle it will be a wondrous day”
Sam:
-I think he’s pretty naive to mental disorders
-Not because he doesn’t want to learn; but he just doesn’t know better
-He may be a bit judgmental at first
-Like I could imagine him making a comment like “what’s up with them?” kind of thing
-But he truly doesn’t mean to be offensive
-He doesn’t branch out much from the people and things he knows so anything new is strange
-But he will be so supportive and will never live down his own regret for saying something even slightly offensive
Merry:
-He knows every disorder, every sign and symptom, and everything to actually have the disorder
-Like this guy has read every version of the DSM
-He finds it fascinating how people’s brains work so differently
-He totally thinks he can diagnose people though; which isn’t great Merry
Pippin:
-Literally doesn’t care
-And I mean he doesn’t judge and it doesn’t change how he thinks of someone
-It’s just kinda like “yeah they do that sometimes; it’s part of their charm”
-Will stim with someone absentmindedly; he is just inherently a copy cat
Gandalf:
-Obviously he knows all the shit and doesn’t discriminate against anyone
-Violently protective if someone makes an inconsiderate, presumptuous, or offensive comment
-Gives kind advice if someone is struggling; but he won’t be overbearing or draw a lot of attention to it
-Ik for some people it is part of their identity and he respects that, but he isn’t going to make jokes or anything (like example: a majority of my friends, which isn’t a lot tbh, are autistic and I joke with them that clearly I have ✨a type✨)
———————————————————————
I personally have my own struggles and experience with my own mental health but I am not the most educated despite this. I know my own diagnoses pretty well but it’s only a small amount compared to the vast number of different disorders.
If anything in here is written in a way that is offensive please let me know; I try my best but it’s entirely possible I am blinded to certain things
Anyway love everyone and I hope you all are doing well :)
#lotr#lord of the rings#lotr headcanons#legolas#lotr fellowship#the lord of the rings#frodo baggins#lotr preferences#boromir#samwise gamgee#meriadoc brandybuck#merry and pippin#peregrine took#gandalf the grey#gandalf#sam gamgee#Aragorn#Gimli#mental health
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Day 82
Another one that I love!~ Gonna be a lot of those from here on if you couldn’t tell!
Junko’s the Ultimate Fashionista (in the english release at least but hey Ultimate Gyaru has to have a little crossover right??), so of course she handles Mikan’s wardrobe the moment she’s allowed to. So . . . Extremely cute scene of her having Mikan try out clothes to see what she does and doesn’t like.
An opportunity for Junko to pamper Mikan, AND i get to draw Mikan in a sweater???? Heaven. Also like are we all in agreement that sweaters just look fuckin amazing on Mikan?? Like I admit, I think I just like drawing Sweaters on Mikan but they just make her look so much cuter because of how god damn cozy she looks in em.
Unfortunately that’s all I have to talk about for that topic? I think? So instead let’s shift over to a recent development involving Junkan!
I’m in the midst of working on the Junkan Christmas Eve comic, which hopefully will be getting posted on time a few days after this, and during the process of making there’s been something new with my current abilities.
I have officially hit the point of proper freehanding on these two.
Y’see this probably won’t make too much sense but i’ll do my best to explain.
So normally when it comes to sketches I’ve done things a bit less proper compared to more professional artists. I usually get a little start on the anatomy, and then just start sketching all the character details and moving out from there. It isn’t often that I do a full sketch for the basic anatomy of a character, I only do it when I really wanna not fuck up a pose. And as you also know up till now only one piece in this event was drawn normally. Everything else is a sketch that i cleaned up and colored, or just a sketch.
This is because generally speaking I can’t do art using my normal pen tool without a sketch to work off of, it requires a lot more finesse to use the G-Pen both because of the larger shifts that can occur in line width, and the slightly looser feel it has compared to my Pencil Tool.
That’s all to say that I have drawn Junko and Mikan so many fucking times that I can just, draw them without proper sketches now. I’m at a point where I just need to draw the head, torso, and legs for an anatomy sketch, and then with the G-Pen I can just, draw from there. That’s big for me personally, and also fucked up because god how even??? There hasn’t been a drop in quality either so far, i’m still able to refine the expressions and i haven’t fucked up with the arms too much yet, I’d even say it’s resulted in some of my favorite Junkos and Mikans period.
Now, the catch is that again, this is only Junko and Mikan. I could prooooobably get to this point with Mukuro eventually just because her design is much simpler compared to other DR Characters? I struggle with getting her colors right rather than linework, but that’s about it and still not really useful in my main line of work unless I memorize every character that’s ever existed, and it took like 150 fucking times for Junkan I can’t do that for an obscure RPG character that I might get commissioned once and then never again.
It’s also not something that I think i’ll apply to my normal Junkan works, because I am a perfectionist to a fault when it comes to pieces I care about and I want to make sure every detail these is exact. I need to be meticulous for ship art like this, every detail is important. And I can maximize that with sketching.
This new skill is basically useful for one thing. Speed.
I pride myself on my efficiency, even if I have waned over the years due to burnout and overwork, when I get into it I can fuckin move with my art. And so if I need to say, make a 28 page comic in under a month? Being able to mostly skip an entire phase of the art process is very, VERY useful, ESPECIALLY because it’s a comic. Something which generally takes more time than my normal art by nature of it’s format and what it involves. When making the Comic for Day 60 it was all sketches, which was equally fast but could leave small imperfections at the time that either went under my radar or I just let slide because i was trying to be efficient.
This is basically perfect for having to speedrun a Junkan comic, it’s all the speed with the usual amount of visual quality.
So in short . . . I’m turning into a nightmarish hell machine but specifically for drawing Junkan. I am genuinely curious how much farther I can go up from here, like, what the hell else could I be capable of with this???? Am I just gonna learn how to fuckin beam the art onto the canvas with my brain???
Moral of the story is just get mind numbingly obsessed with a ship and I guess you’ll get better at stuff??? I have no idea, i’m still kind of processing the comedic value of what this year has been because I was desperate for these two to make out.
As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~
#danganronpa#junkan#junko enoshima#mikan tsumiki#junko x mikan#tsumiki mikan#enoshima junko#enomiki#shipping#junkomikan
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leshy! ( or deathcards and you! )
or a strange analyzation on leshy, and his deathcards.
this is another long post, just so you’re warning, but leshy! i’m extremely fond of him. maybe it’s all the time i’ve spent, embarrassingly, in kaycee’s mod, but i adore his character. but i can’t help but keep thinking about act one, especially after i fucked up my runs and didn’t know story events depending on deaths, and not runs. my bad.
( another fair warning: this is going to be me, as usual, over-analyzing dialogue for a total of maybe two people and myself, and whoever else is still clinging to this game like i am. )
but what i’m referring to is his attitude towards the player. inscryption is an odd one, considering we have luke carder as a player but it’s also acknowledged in kaycee’s mod that we, us, myself and whoever reading, are also the player.
leshy sounds, for lack of a better word, soft at the start of inscryption. i know that sounds odd, but i see it in how he talks to the player. behold, act one dialogue!
“ fear not “ implies that he thought you’d be worried, though, seeing from your deck and how the game is progressing, you probably have already figured that your cards don’t leave you deck anyway. he’s still telling you though. even for a tutorial, he tries to be more forgiving than he really needs to be for the player. but that’s not what’s majorly differently.
deathcards! yeah, i’m talking about them again, and they’ll take a major focal point, since i think they’re some of the most telling details about leshy.
i find it interesting that he specifically uses favor, when you don’t really have a choice when it comes down to it, and the entirety of the next sentence. yes, in hindsight, deathcards are only a creation he made, but he doesn’t need to continue to make them whatsoever. it shows that it’s his choice to create them, to put a memory and use to you outside of this isolated run.
and the use of “ we. “ he even says as such, that it’s you and leshy working together to create it, rather than leshy deciding the entirety of it for you, which he has done ( assuming from the scrybes since we don’t know much about how he took over inscryption ) and could do again.
but, as resets go by, especially if you win against him instead of dying, he starts to become . . . more aggressive. it’s noticeable in his endgame dialogue, which i don’t have on hand, but as you best him over and over without progressing, he starts to grow frustrated with you. he gets angry when you refuse to eat ( even though we can’t, but still, it’s much more straightforward upset than ever before ) he seems more disheartened when you destroy the moon, but what i find most revealing is the deathcards.
leshy says himself that to live as a beast is the most honorable fate he can see, both in act two and as he admits after winning against him without progressing, and how he doesn’t mean for the scrybes to feel trapped to this fate. of course, it’s completely reasonable they would—they’re contained in cards, and were put into them by force—but to leshy, this is the highest fate he could give them, a place on his board, to serve as a beast. he also does this to kaycee through a deathcard, and we can see from entries in kaycee’s mod that him and her became good friends. these deathcards are, inadvertently, a sign of respect to him.
even if you fail, even if you trip flat on your face, leshy still finds it worth to immortalize you because you tried, and at least if you look through the awareness of the player’s eyes, knowing the challenger is the same person, it makes the finale that much more satisfying. when you initially fail to him, that’s what he feels—a sense of respect because not only are you the first challenger that he’s seen in who knows how long, but you tried, and that’s valuable.
after you dying, you can choose, though from a limited selection, what stats you have, your sigils, your cost, your name. and then, you’ll be a card people can pick from forever. for as long as the copy of the game exists, people can see your card and know your name. you’re a beast, now. you’ve achieved the highest status he can give you.
and then, look at the card you’re given if you win. it’s plain. you can’t chose your stats. sure, you’re a rare card, but you’re only asked your name. and if you look to the door, you can see that you can’t even read your name. i thought, initially, the number one medal would go up depending on how many times you have beaten him prior—like a counter of when you won—but, no. it stays. it’s the exact same for each deathcard. you won, but it’s a sour fate to him, and reflects his feelings to you. you can’t be used. no one can even see your name, just that you won, and what happens to people who win.
with the dialogue you get during the deletion, if you chose him and still chose him for the final duel, along with just the heart-ripping “ please, we don’t need to keep score “ makes me feel as though he’s gained respect for the player, and genuinely had a great time playing his version of inscryption with you and trying to make you live. trying to give you a life and enjoyment even if he’s limited in the power he truly had to show you that. he values you as a person, as a challenger, and as a player in general, just as he values the scrybes.
i wish the scrybes saw that, too, that leshy’s respect for them is reflected in the way that he still made them cards even if they were hidden, that they’re still playable when he could’ve degraded them to much worse. it doesn’t make their fate better, and it doesn’t make what he did better, either, but it’d be nice to know that he still cares, despite what he’s done.
i just like how his respect and emotions towards you as the challenger are reflected through deathcards, and the fact he values them so much that his signature ambience track is literally called “ deathcard cabin. “
and, as an off note, since i wanted to say this too but didn’t want to break the odd flow, he reveals more about himself the more you win, after you win, without progressing. i’m not sure why? you could take it as caving in, or emotions, but i find it interesting as well.
so yeah. dnd with a tree.
#mod lotus [🌊]#faux scrybes’ journey [🌊+💕]#inscryption#kaycee’s mod#inscryption leshy#sorry it’s so odd#i have to work on mobile and it’s like i’m fighting in hand to hand combat with a bear#i’ve never struggled THIS MUCH trying to post something#so if it looks weird my sincerest apologies go to your eyeballs
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been watching a lot of hermitcraft recently and am happy to report that i am hopelessly endeared by these little goobers 💕 they’re like bugs to me
close ups under the cut!
gonna be real this was absolutely just me taking the opportunity to get my grubby lil mitts all up in their character designs lol i heart interpreting mc skins
#my post#my art#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fanart#oh boy here we go#zedaph#tangotek#bdoubleo100#bdubs#rendog#falsesymmetry#stressmonster101#iskall85#cubfan135#goodtimeswithscar#WHY are there so MANYYY (<- is the one who drew that many)#anyways i love them they’re so…………#also just for the record i have Peaked with that lil ouppy rendog just LOOK AT HIMMM#i will never draw anything better than that he’s literally perfect#don’t. don’t worry about how long it took to draw one tiny thing it definitely wasn’t embarrassingly long struggling with dog legs#i’m also really proud of horsegirl bdubs giving his horf a big ol ‘MWAH!’ but that’s just because that one’s real cute :)#but yeah this was just a lil somethin somethin i poked at whenever i was in a Mood and needed something to draw forrr however many months#i tried challenging myself to draw hermits i probably wouldn’t much otherwise :)#it was fun i love designing my interpretations of various skins#it was really funny tho how i was fighting for my LIFE drawing zed and meanwhile ren and stress turned out perfect first try#was that purely on me for giving him wool and a terrible angle to draw a face at?#……..yeah probably but STILL#but i’m really pleased with how he turned out so 100% worth it babyyy#anyways posting this so i’ll stop poking at it i’ve gone ‘okay it’s Officially Done’ like 5 times now lol i need to leave it alone#POSTING THIS AGAIN BECAUSE I FORGOT TO TURN ON A LAYER AND DIDN’T NOTICEEE IF YOU SAW THE OG POST NO YOU DIDN’T
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I hope your days aren't as heavy and dark, I am sending all the positive thoughts your way. You deserve the best, fairy princess. <3
😭
#I’ve been getting such sweet asks#I can’t tell you how much they mean to me right now#unfortunately my days have been pretty dark and overwhelming#struggling more than I ever have before tbh#and I’ve struggled most of my life so that’s saying something#also tried to go on TikTok for a little bit and oh BOY that was a bad decision#I might come back sometime soon#it’s just hard when my meds and everything have been making me very sex repulsed 😬#and half of the posts on my feed are very sexy related lol#so I guess that’s probably the main reason I haven’t been on here as much as I used to#also really don’t have the energy to reply or talk to people anymore#(sorry to anyone who has tried to DM me or contact me in any way -#I’ve barely been able to get out of bed so I definitely don’t have the energy to reply to people)#fun fact I went on TikTok finally cause everyone keeps talking about it#somehow ended up on the abortion debate side of TikTok???? so I kept seeing these bullshit debates#the final straw was the other day I saw some dipshit put as their claim ‘prochoice is a mental illness’#don’t even get me started on that it makes me so made I start to shake#I’m sorry but that is so offensive to people who are struggling with real mental illnesses???#went up as a guest (surprisingly) and was trying to explain how ridiculous that statement was and one of the people literally said#‘this is not a safe space’#lol ok byeeeee#obviously not expecting every where to be a safe space but for someone to literally SAY that is wild to me#I always try to keep a safe space no matter who I’m talking to or what about#that still is bothering me so so much#main reason why I’m still on there is cause I love this creator and want to support her as much as possible#but idk how much longer I can be on there… was even thinking about trying to post and make money over there#but ha ha ha guess not#back to square one#I’m running out of space as always but thank you so so so much for the kind words they mean the world to me!! also FAIRY princess???#I’ve never heard that before 🥹🥹🥹 thank you thank you thank you wishing you a lovely day 🫶
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Hrm
#so like…… uh#I always feel scared? to post content I make be it fanart or cosplays of lore olympus anymore to tumblr bc like ppl bash it so much lately#when rlly it’s like super a matter of people conflating ‘media I just personally don’t like and am not into’ to being ‘problematic’#I’ve heard every reason why people think it’s evil but like. just say you don’t like the romance genre…#it’s just supposed to be a cute and fun romance novel in webcomic format#like every claim against it on why it’s ‘evil bad’ I can refute (obviously like not just little personal ‘I don’t like this thing’ but like#@ the people who get so heated over it)#I say this also as a Greek person who has literally done a lil bit of acedemic university level research on the Homeric hymn to demeter#the comic isn’t trying to be an ~aCcUrAtE iNtErPrEtAtiOn~ it’s trying to be a romance story riffing off the concept#(not to mention people blatantly misunderstanding LO!Persephone as a character#like to the point where they’re literally just being ironic since she’s so misunderstood by a lot of people in the comic too)#(like just say you hate height differences also. as someone who is short and looks younger than I am like these people r literally just sayi#saying things that make me feel like oh so then I should never be in love bc even though I’m an adult I might not look old enough to have a#parter who’s even the same age as me bc that’s the same thing as a child w an adult. which is like. that’s already something I have always#struggled with and internalized and been paranoid about and unfortunately since I track various mythology tags I constantly get stuff like#that spewed at me and hooo boy does it make me feel inadequate#not to mention the fact that now in the comic Persephone is literally thirty years old bc there was a time skip#I get it this might not be your favorite interpretation of Demeter but it works for the context of this story#it’s not trying to be the ~canon~ Demeter. it’s trying to be functional to the story lo is telling#anywho…. nyall just let me have my silly little romance story…. not everything has to be a fight over problematic or not….#just let me have a silly little romance story to sigh about pls….
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i mean it’s just kinda crazy cause. and forgive me if i sound somewhat spoiled here but. this trip im doing to take more credits and get experience and make connections etc is obviously expensive and i talked abt it with my parents. a lot before trying to do it. and somehow my dad didn’t understand that yk we would have to pay for it. ??? and is putting me in this spot of ‘figuring out what we’re gonna do about it’ and it’s like dude. i mean i’m going i paid for my fucking flights you know i’m. regardless i’ll be there. and i make $10/hr i have not been able to work consistently and when you don’t have thousands and thousands of dollars just sitting there accumulating more interest it doesn’t fucking last. like what exactly do you want me to say? i’ll drain all my accounts and give what little i have to you? tldr my main point here is the only way this man truly shows any kind of affection is through money and since he fucked me up im glad to take advantage of that lol like why wouldn’t i. so to have it thrown back in my face is just um an awful feeling. like im not even worth this to you. this is just too much. it truly does feel like someone put a number on love and im just not up there
#it’s not like we ever took trips or vacations or had super nice things or even. you know. like fucking furniture#and to be clear even when he does help me out with stuff it’s held over my head so it’s truly not even a good way of showing. love.#if you want to say that. like of course i’m grateful that i haven’t had to struggle to make ends meet in the way many people do because i#have his money and i’m not trying to pretend i don’t but like. i’ve also had fucking anxiety attacks thinking about spending money and#basically how much i would owe him for my whole life. like how do i buy myself out of obligation here.#and i never could rn i don’t have Money money#but he truly pulls the same shit he does on my mom like ‘well where does it all go???’#dad. i don’t have piles of money sitting around. oh i made 2000 at my summer job? wowzers incredible that goes so fucking fast#when i’ve had to pay to break my lease and something else for school and bills and groceries#and yeah ok let’s not pretend i don’t sometimes go out with people. and everything’s so expensive now. but even so i have a heart attack#any time i spend more than like 20 dollars so. i usually don’t.#it’s just sooo… 😵💫 like. damn yeah i do wish i had parents that just Took Care of things and i didn’t have to worry. but it’s like. i do ta#money from him and then i’m just expected to grovel forever and ever#which is why i do need to be more financially independent from him i literally can’t wait for that day i need to make actual money at some#point but i am just not someone who can work full time and go to school and the only way i qualify for my scholarships is if i go full time#and graduate on time so. here we are 👍#abby talks#aaaaand post. lmfao
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“give me the first taste” | 10k
logan howlett x f!reader
part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”
"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple
SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)
A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…
Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.
You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.
It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.
“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.
“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”
Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”
“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.
“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”
His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.
There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.
“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.
“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”
You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”
Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”
“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”
“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”
Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.
As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.
All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.
Why is he about to fight a cat?
“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”
“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”
“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”
Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”
“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”
This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.
At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”
Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.
Far from dozing off, you feel alive.
It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”
“Ask away.”
You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.
Okay, that was… weirdly specific.
Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.
“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”
“Fucking, you mean.”
“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”
His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”
“I can walk on my own.”
“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.
As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now you’re making jokes?”
“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”
Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is what I want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.
You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.
Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.
“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”
“You could use a new wardrobe.”
“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”
“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.
You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”
Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”
“I think I’ve already heard that before.”
“Kid.”
You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”
He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”
“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”
“Do you have an off switch?”
“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”
“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.
“Wait. I have a game to play.”
“It’s late.”
“Please?”
He sighs. “Okay.”
“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”
“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”
“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”
“Really? You, of all people?”
“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”
“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”
Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.
You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.
“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.
“You love having the final say, don’t you?”
“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”
“You can always get new teeth.”
“But my morning breath—”
“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”
“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.
Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”
“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.
More silence.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“What was the Great Depression like?”
“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”
And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.
Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”
You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.
Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”
Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.
“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”
That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.
“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”
“Logan…”
“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”
You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.
Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”
“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”
“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”
“I could’ve done something much worse.”
“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”
“What if—”
You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”
This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.
“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.
“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”
A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.
You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.
The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.
“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”
Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”
“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”
At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.
You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”
Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”
“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”
“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”
“I don’t.”
He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”
“I said I don’t.”
“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.
You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”
“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”
“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.
“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”
“Wade, that’s not even possible.”
“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”
“How did you pass History in high school?”
“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”
You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”
“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”
The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”
“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”
Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.
“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.
“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”
“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”
“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”
“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”
“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”
Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”
Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”
“Over a month.”
“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”
“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”
“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”
Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.
Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, homey.”
“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”
“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”
Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”
“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”
You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“Oh, no.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”
“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”
Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.
Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.
The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.
What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.
Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.
Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.
You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.
It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”
He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”
“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”
“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”
Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”
“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”
You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.
“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.
“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”
“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”
“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”
You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.
From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”
“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.
“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.
Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.
He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”
Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.
You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.
“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”
Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.
“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.
Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.
“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.
“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”
You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.
The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.
Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.
It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”
Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.
You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.
Hey.
You again.
Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.
Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.
Okay.
“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.
“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.
Sure.
What’s that?
Why not?
Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.
We— we’ll figure it out.
We’ll figure it out.
“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.
My name’s Tom.
Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.
When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”
Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”
“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”
“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”
You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”
“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.
Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.
“Logan, they weren’t even official.”
“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.
“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”
His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”
Lord have mercy.
“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.
He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”
“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”
The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”
“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.
“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”
He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”
“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “
“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.
“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”
For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:
“You are the most exasperating person I know.”
“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”
“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”
You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.
“Drop it, kid.”
“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”
Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”
You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”
Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”
“Fine with me.”
“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”
Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”
That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.
He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”
You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.
A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”
Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..
“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”
You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.
“Will you—can you—”
“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”
God, you love it when he’s mean.
“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.
A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”
The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”
He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”
You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.
Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”
In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”
“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”
“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”
“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”
“Bub.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”
Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.
“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”
“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”
“Negative, Sergeant.”
“You don’t have any?”
You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”
The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”
Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”
Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”
“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”
“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”
“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”
“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”
“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”
“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.
Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.
“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.
The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”
He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”
“Inside.”
“What?”
“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”
He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”
“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”
“Logan?”
“Tell me, bub.”
“Knock, knock.”
He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”
“Ice cream.”
“Ice cream who?”
“Ice cream for you all night long.”
“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”
This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.
dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#wolverine x you#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine fic#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine smut#the wolverine#wolverine x men#x men movies#x men#smut#fluff#fan fiction#fic: give me the first taste#logan x reader#logan xmen#logan x you#james logan howlett#james howlett#x men wolverine#logan wolverine
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On The Mend : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri
summary: with your lack of presence in the paddock, fans are starting to worry, little do they know that you happen to be a little broken back at home
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liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 849,183 others
oscarpiastri: another successful week of racing, super proud of the whole team to get the car all the way to P2 this weekend 🏆🏎️
35,058 comments
username1: congratulations oscar, such an awesome drive!!
username2: just a shame that yn wasn’t there to see it once again 🙄
landonorris: so proud of you osc 😭😭😭
username3: surely they can’t still be together, she hasn’t shown her face in weeks…
charles_leclerc: mum is very proud that the two of us were on the podium btw
oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc it was all thanks to her pep talk ofc
username4: we’ll still support you osc even if yn won’t
mclaren: the whole team is so proud of you, congratulations oscar!
username5: enjoy the celebrations, I’m sure the team will be there for you at least 🥲
danielricciardo: congrats brother, always nice to see you repping for down under
username6: either something must be seriously wrong or yn really just doesn’t care anymore 😭
maxverstappen1: hell of a drive from you, great to see you back where you belong!
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ynusername posted two private stories
replies
georgerussell63: thanks for reminding everyone I got a penalty yn 😂😂
oscarpiastri: make sure you’re resting, you don’t need to worry about the race sweetheart!!
ynusername: I’ve never missed a race of yours 😩
danielricciardo: why tf are you in hospital and why didn’t you tell me immediately so that I could help!!
nicolepiastri: sending you lots of love sweetheart, sorry we can’t be there to help you 💕
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oscarpiastri: I promise to sneak you in loads of snacks as soon as I’m there 💞
lilymhe: I miss you so much, hope you’re recovering well girlie
landonorris: he’s on the first flight outta here straight back to you 🧡
carmenmmundt: sending you all the healing vibes in the world ❤️
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liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and 812,948 others
oscarpiastri: wish me luck on the flight, some weird passenger keeps looking over their shoulder at me 👀
36,950 comments
username7: that poor pilot having to drive these two home lmao
danielricciardo: now you get to experience my struggle before you came along 😭
oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo idk how you ever did it 🤦🏻
username8: at least oscar has lando to celebrate with even though others have abandoned him
alex_albon: why else do you think we offered to take you home on our plane instead?! 😂
username9: i wonder if he's going home to yn being there or not
charles_leclerc: you're incredibly brave volunteering to travel home with him 👏🏻
username10: yn should be there with him, i really hope that they're okay
username11: what would we do without these two in our lives!?
maxverstappen1: we tried to talk you out of it but you didn't listen 🤷🏻
username 12: i love how all the boys are exposing lando as a terrible travel partner hahah
landonorris: stop trying to make it sound like we're not bffs osc 💔
oscarpiastri: @/landonorris that's because we're definitely not best friends
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liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 793,722 others
oscarpiastri: seeing as some people want to make it their business, we thought we’d share why yn hasn’t been around recently. a couple of weeks ago she had a nasty fall at home which resulted in a broken leg. yesterday I finally got to bring her home and begin helping her with recovery…just call me doctor piastri from now on 🧑🏻⚕️💞
57,492 comments
username13: i hope all you losers who thought they broke up are proud of yourselves 🙄
landonorris: you guys know where i am if you need anything!!
georgerussel63: we love you yn, make sure you get plenty of rest ❤️❤️❤️
username14: sending you so much love yn, get plenty of rest
ynusername: apologies in advance for the lack of sleep you're about to get because of me 😂
oscarpiastri: @/ynusername as long as you're healing idc 🥹
username15: can't believe some of you were so stupid to ever think they'd actually break up
alex_albon: glad to see you're back at home where you belong yn
danielricciardo: do i even want to ask how she managed to break her leg??
oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo if I told you I don't think you'd believe me 😂
username16: poor oscar looks exhausted having to drive and take care of yn too
charles_leclerc: pls tell me I get to sign the cast ✍️
ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i'll save a spot just for you
username17: please make sure you take care of yourself yn and ignore what everyone has to say
carmenmmundt: sending you so many healing vibes yn, we miss you at the paddock
username18: during a time when they need privacy and instead they've been hounded by nosey idiots 🤦🏻
maxverstappen1: can't wait to see all the doctor piastri content from you! 😂
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liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55 and 682,058 others
oscarpiastri: the only way to get her out of the house atm is to bribe her with coffee ☕️
63,957 comments
username19: it's adorable how much oscar cares about her 🥰
lilymhe: tell her im omw with coffee as we speak to get her out again!
username20: it's so good to see yn back up on her feet and moving around again 🤩
alex_albon: i actually forgot what yn looked like stood upright for a moment
username21: why does it feel like oscar is one of those partners who is constantly checking on her making sure she's doing her exercises and following every single bit of advice
maxverstappen1: yn's injury is really making you look like the doting boyfriend rn ❤️
danielricciardo: if yn ever gets bored of being entertained on a walk by you, you know where i am!
username22: i bet yn can't wait for race weekend again to get rid of the nagging doctor 😂
landonorris: wish you looked after me as well as you look after yn
oscarpiastri: @/landonorris just a shame that we're not dating then really huh?!
username23: anyone else noticed how many drivers have been round this week to take yn out and make sure she's staying active too
username24: @/username23 i think she might just be the most popular wag on the grid
ynusername: i hate you but i love you at the same time these days 💞
oscarpiastri: @/ynusername if the doctor says you keep moving, it's my job to make you move 😂
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 59,491 others
ynusername: I always knew oscar was secretly boyfriend coded but damn having him look after me is making me fancy him all over again 🔥
12,056 comments
username25: i think i might've just fallen in love with him all over again too 😍
alexandrasaintmleux: make the most of all of the attention you're getting girl
ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux oh I am, he doesn't let me lift a finger 😘
username26: soft, doctor boyfriend oscar might just be my new favourite thing
charles_leclerc: if i see many more of these posts from you i might just need a sick bucket 🤮
username27: yn you really are the luckiest having this guy in your life
carlossainz55: i always knew he was a softie deep down 🥺
oscarpiastri: you know i'd do anything as long as it meant getting you better again
ynusername: @/oscarpiastri you're an angel in disguise i swear
username28: i'd break my leg too if it meant oscar piastri was there to look after me 😂
username29: it melts my heart to see how caring oscar has been over the past few weeks
danielricciardo: even i found myself getting a bit excited when i saw these photos yn
username30: everyone needs an oscar piastri in their life
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ynusername posted two stories
replies
landonorris: you're ruining oscar's image with every post you share these days 😂
oscarpiastri: there's nowhere else that I'd rather be
ynusername: we'll pretend you didn't complain that it wasn't race weekend first thing this morning shall we???
carmenmmundt: hope it's good news, lemme know how you get on!!
alex_albon: praying for you and hoping that it's the beginning of the end now 💕
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danielricciardo: thinking of you guys, tell the doctor if he doesn't give you good news i'll break his leg 💞
ynusername: something tells me you might find a few challenges in doing that hahah
georgerussell63: you're so strong yn, just remember we love you
charles_leclerc: the whole family is hoping for good news for you and oscar ❤️
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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 70,238 others
ynusername: the moment i've waited for for so long, back in my second home of the garage and back supporting my love during race weekend
14,592 comments
username31: make sure you keep taking care of yourself yn!! 💕
oscarpiastri: cannot begin to tell you how happy i am to have you back with me again ☺️
ynusername: @/oscarpiastri the best feeling in the world being able to cheer you on again
danielricciardo: ik just how much this means to you, welcome back to us yn
username32: it's so good to see you right back where you belong again
username33: it feels like you've never been away, I'm so happy for you guys 🥹
charles_leclerc: on the mend at last, i hope you know just how many people can't wait to welcome you back this weekend
username34: we love our favourite #81 fan 🧡
iamrebeccad: i am hurrying over to that mclaren garage as fast as i possibly can rn ‼️
username35: so happy to see you back on your feet and back with our favourite duo again
username36: this is the content we've been waiting for, it's so good to see you back
landonorris: as much as i hate having to share oscar again, it's a joy to have you back 🙃
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#formula 1#f1 imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula one#formula 1 x you#f1 reaction#formula one imagine#oscar piastri smau#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fluff#formula x reader#formula 1 social media#formula one x reader#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 smau#formula one smau#f1 fluff#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 smau#f1 x you
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Love at First Wink
Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader
Summary: in which Charles can’t wink, you think he might be having a stroke, fans (and media) notice something strange, and your love story is immortalized through Reddit posts
r/NoStupidQuestions
u/LordPerceval · 16h
How do I learn to wink without looking like a weirdo?
Alright, so I’m 27M, and for some reason I’ve never really figured out how to wink without looking like I’m having some kind of muscle spasm or, I dunno, an awkward twitch. Like, I see people do it in movies or just casually, and it always looks so smooth and effortless. But when I try, either both of my eyes close (which, yeah, not a wink) or I just look like I’m really struggling.
It’s honestly starting to bug me because it would be nice to be able to wink in a fun way, like in a “just playing around” or “gotcha” kind of moment. But instead, I avoid it completely because I’m scared I’ll make things super weird or uncomfortable.
So, how does one go about learning how to wink properly? Is it just a practice thing? A facial muscle thing? Am I overthinking it? Any tips are appreciated, even if they seem basic. Thanks in advance!
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u/SmoothOperator · 15h
Ah, the ol’ wink struggle! Don’t worry, man, you’re not alone. First thing you gotta do is RELAX. If you’re overthinking it, your whole face gets tense and that’s what makes it look awkward. Try it in front of a mirror, and focus on just casually closing one eye without squinting or forcing it too much. It’s more about a light, quick gesture than a full-on eye close.
And yeah, it’s 100% a muscle thing, so if it feels weird, it’s probably because your face isn’t used to it yet. You’ll get there with some practice. Also, remember, winks aren’t meant to be perfect. They’re supposed to be playful and a little subtle. Don’t go for the exaggerated “movie star” wink, just keep it light!
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u/awkwardpenguin · 13h
I totally feel you on this. I’m 24F and still can’t wink without looking like a malfunctioning robot. I found it helped to practice with only one side of my face in the mirror first. Maybe try winking with your left eye only for a while, get that one down, and then see if the right side follows?
Also, don’t overthink it too much! Sometimes a half-bad wink can be charming if it’s done in the right moment. Shows you’re not taking yourself too seriously!
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u/TheRealMaverick · 12h
Dude, it’s just like learning to snap your fingers. Some people just get it, and some people gotta work on it. I couldn’t wink for years without looking like I had something in my eye. My advice: watch yourself in the mirror and do it slowly at first. Get the feel of which muscles you’re using. Start by squinting a bit with both eyes, then try to isolate one. Once you get it down slow, speed it up.
Also, fun fact: some people can only wink with one eye and not the other. So if your right eye’s just not cooperating, maybe you’re a left-eye winker!
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u/CouchPotatoSupreme · 10h
Haha, I went through this same struggle. My trick was to add a little smile to the wink. It somehow makes the whole thing look more natural and less like you’re trying too hard. Plus, smiling relaxes your face, so the wink looks smoother. Try it next time you practice!
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u/theeyeguy · 9h
It’s all about muscle memory, man. The more you do it, the more natural it feels. I recommend winking at random stuff when no one’s around — like your TV, the microwave, whatever. You’ll build up the muscle coordination without feeling weird about it. Eventually, your face will stop fighting you, and you’ll just be able to fire off a wink like a pro.
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u/ActuallySocrates · 7h
Are you maybe closing your eye too slowly? A lot of people mess up winking because they think it’s a slow, exaggerated thing. But the trick is to make it fast and subtle. You want it to be quick, almost like a blink but with only one eye. If you’re dragging it out, you’re probably straining the muscles too much, which makes it look awkward.
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 6h
Honestly, just own it. I can’t wink either, but I found that the more I tried to force it, the worse it looked. So now, when I attempt to wink and it looks ridiculous, I just laugh it off and it becomes this goofy thing instead of a weird thing. Sometimes confidence is half the battle, even if you’re failing at winking.
Good luck, dude!
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***
r/WouldIBeTheAsshole
u/UnmedicatedStudent · 9h
WIBTA for telling a stranger I think he might be having a stroke?
So, this is a bit weird, but I’m a 24F med student (just started my clinical rotations), and I’m currently studying at this cafe. There’s this guy sitting at a table directly across from me, maybe mid-to-late 20s? And for the last 30 minutes or so, his left eye has been twitching a lot. At first, I thought it was just one of those random muscle twitches that we all get, but it’s been consistent. It’s actually kind of intense, and he keeps rubbing his face like it’s bothering him.
Here’s the thing: as a med student, I know that eye twitches can be totally benign, but I also know they can sometimes be signs of something more serious, like a stroke or some kind of nerve issue. I keep debating whether I should just casually go up to him and be like, “Hey, not to freak you out, but I’ve noticed your eye twitching for a while now. I’m a medical student, and you might want to get it checked out, just in case.”
BUT I’m also aware that I could come off as a complete weirdo. Like, maybe he’s just stressed or tired, and here I am, a random stranger diagnosing him in a public place. I don’t want to embarrass him or make him anxious over nothing, but I also feel like I’d be an AH if I don’t say something and there actually is a problem. What if it’s a mini-stroke or something and I just sit here doing nothing?
So, WIBTA if I go up to him and suggest he sees a doctor?
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 8h
NTA. I think there’s a way to approach it without making him feel super uncomfortable. Maybe go with something like, “Hey, I’m a med student, and I’ve noticed your eye twitching. It’s probably nothing serious, but I just wanted to mention it because sometimes it can be a sign of something that should be checked out.” If you keep it casual and friendly, most people would probably appreciate the concern rather than be freaked out.
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u/ItsNotABug · 7h
Agreed. NTA. If it were me, I’d rather someone point it out than have it potentially be something serious and not know. It’s all about the way you frame it. I mean, worst-case scenario, he’ll just laugh it off and say he’s been staring at his laptop too long. But best case? You could be catching something early. Definitely worth a try.
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u/ChillZebra · 5h
Soft YTA if you approach it the wrong way. I can see how he might feel embarrassed or weirded out if a stranger suddenly tells him his eye is doing something abnormal, especially in a public setting. I’d probably feel a little awkward. BUT if you go in with tact and don’t sound too alarmist, you could be doing him a huge favor. Just keep the conversation light!
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u/Caffiend · 4h
As someone who deals with chronic eye twitches (thanks, stress and caffeine), I’d probably be more embarrassed than anything if someone approached me about it. That said, I’d still rather know if it could be something serious. Maybe wait until he’s leaving, so you don’t put him on the spot in front of a crowd, but I’d say go for it. You’re NTA.
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u/LizzyBizzy · 2h
NTA! I think people overestimate how much others will be embarrassed by stuff like this. You’re coming from a place of concern, and if you’re polite and kind about it, I doubt he’ll be offended. If he is, that’s more on him than you. You’d probably regret it more if you don’t say anything and keep wondering if you should’ve.
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u/AllergicToYourDrama · 1h
Honestly? YTA. Look, I get it, you’re a med student, and you’re probably hyper-aware of stuff like this. But coming up to a stranger and telling them their eye twitch might be a medical emergency is a good way to freak someone out. He’s probably just tired or stressed. I’m not saying you should ignore it, but there’s a fine line between concern and overstepping boundaries.
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u/UnmedicatedStudent (OP) · 52m
I was worried someone might say this 😅 I don’t want to seem like I’m stepping into “know-it-all med student” territory, but yeah, it’s hard to shut off that part of my brain sometimes. I know I could be totally overreacting, and it’s probably nothing … but part of me would feel guilty if I didn’t at least mention it. Thanks for the input!
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u/PeachyKeen · 59m
NTA. I think the key is to not come across like you’re diagnosing him. Just be casual about it, like, “Hey, I’ve noticed this, and it’s probably nothing, but just in case, I thought I’d mention it.” If I were in his shoes, I’d appreciate someone saying something, especially if it’s coming from a med student who might know more than me about what to look out for.
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u/TheRealDeal · 49m
NTA. He’s probably just had too much caffeine or is stressed, but it’s nice that you’re concerned. Worst case, he thinks you’re a little awkward, but hey, that’s better than potentially missing a serious medical issue. You can’t control how he’ll react, but you’re not an AH for caring.
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u/DefinitelyNotASurgeon · 43m
NTA, but definitely approach with caution. Maybe frame it as more of a “Hey, this might be nothing, but I’m a med student, so I tend to notice stuff like this …” That way, you’re not jumping straight to “I think you’re having a stroke” but still letting him know it might be worth getting checked out.
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u/ItsNotThatDeep · 39m
YTA for even thinking it’s a stroke, lol. Just kidding! Seriously though, NTA if you do it politely.
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***
r/NoStupidQuestions
u/LordPerceval · 8h
[UPDATE] Tried learning to wink — got mistaken for having a stroke. But hey, I got a date!
So, a few days ago, I made a post here asking for tips on how to wink without looking like a malfunctioning robot. Well, I took all your advice, and I’ve been practicing … a lot. Maybe too much.
Fast forward to today: I’m at a cafe, sitting alone, just trying to sneak in some subtle winks at my reflection in the window (you know, totally normal behavior). I’m really focusing on trying to get one eye to close without the rest of my face getting involved. After what must’ve been 20 minutes of this, I notice this woman a few tables over, kind of looking at me, but I figured she was just judging my weird wink practice session.
Next thing I know, she walks over, says, “Hey, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m a med student, and I’ve been watching your eye twitch for a while … I think you might want to see a doctor in case you’re having a stroke.” 😳
I nearly died from embarrassment right there. I had to explain that I wasn’t having a stroke, I was just trying to learn how to wink. She laughed (thankfully) and admitted it was an honest mistake, given how badly my face was contorting.
But here’s the plot twist: she’s actually gorgeous and super funny. After a bit more chatting, she gave me her number, and we’ve got a date this weekend. So, while I still can’t wink without looking like I’m in serious medical distress, I somehow managed to score a date out of it. Silver linings, right?
Thanks to everyone who gave me advice! I may not have mastered the wink, but I think things worked out anyway 😂
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u/SmoothOperator · 7h
Dude, this is the best possible outcome from this situation. Not only did you not have a stroke, but you actually got a date from it? That’s a win. Don’t even bother learning how to wink anymore — you’ve already peaked.
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u/awkwardpenguin · 7h
I AM DYING. This is hilarious. Honestly, I think this proves that failing spectacularly can sometimes be the most charming thing in the world. Good luck on the date, and please don’t try winking at her during dinner 😅
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u/theeyeguy · 6h
LMAO. As someone who’s been mistaken for having a stroke because of stress-related eye twitching, I feel this deeply. But I’ve never gotten a date out of it. Well played, my man. Well played.
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 5h
This might be the best “I tried to wink and failed” story I’ve ever heard. Seriously though, props to her for actually coming up and saying something. It could’ve been worse — imagine if she just stared, unsure if you were in the middle of a medical emergency.
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u/TheRealMaverick · 5h
The wink failed, but your awkward charm succeeded! Honestly, I think you should lean into this. Go to the date, don’t even bother trying to wink, and just tell her the story again. If she was into it the first time, she’s probably going to love it even more when it’s an inside joke between you two.
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u/CouchPotatoSupreme · 4h
Okay, but can we just take a moment to appreciate that she approached you because she was genuinely concerned? That’s the kind of girl you want in your corner. Also, now you have the perfect “how we met” story. Future wedding speech material, just saying 😉
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 3h
I have secondhand embarrassment but also secondhand joy for you. Sometimes life is better than any awkward wink could ever be. Good luck on the date, and hey, maybe you don’t even need to master winking anymore if you’ve already won her over.
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u/WinkFailSurvivor · 2h
This whole thing is perfect. I, too, have struggled with the dreaded “failed wink,” but I never thought it would lead to a date. I think you’re onto something here … maybe awkward winking is the new dating strategy?
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u/ActuallySocrates · 2h
Wait … so, your face-twitching efforts actually led to a potential relationship? This might be the greatest accidental rom-com moment ever. Well done. Keep us updated on how the date goes, but for the love of all that is good, don’t wink at her again unless you’ve somehow mastered it in the meantime.
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u/MedStudentCrush · 1h
As a fellow med student, I know she was probably embarrassed too after realizing you weren’t having a medical crisis. But the fact that she still gave you her number means your sense of humor (or tragic winking) really worked. You’re NAILING it, man.
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***
r/WouldIBeTheAsshole
u/UnmedicatedStudent · 7h
[UPDATE] WIBTA for telling a stranger I thought he was having a stroke because of an eye twitch? Well, now we’re going on a date.
Hey everyone! So, a few days ago I made a post asking if I would be the AH for telling a guy I thought he was having a stroke because I saw his eye twitching for like half an hour at a cafe. I’m a med student and my brain just could not ignore it. I was really worried that I might embarrass him or make things awkward if it turned out to be nothing.
Well … update time.
I actually went up to him and casually asked if he was feeling okay because I noticed the twitching. Turns out, he wasn’t having a stroke (thank god), but what he was doing was practicing winking. I’ll let that sink in. He was practicing winking at his reflection. In a cafe. For half an hour 😂
We both started laughing, and honestly, I was super relieved it wasn’t a medical emergency because I was prepared to call an ambulance or something. He explained that he’d been trying to learn how to wink for a while but couldn’t get it down, and I guess I just caught him mid-“training session.”
Here’s the fun part: after we laughed it off, we ended up chatting for a while. He’s actually really sweet and has this kind of goofy charm. I gave him my number, and now we have a date lined up for this weekend 😳
So, not only did I not make him panic about his health, but I also apparently picked the right guy to (wrongly) diagnose. I’ll keep you all posted if it leads to anything, but for now, we’re both just laughing about the most awkward way to meet someone.
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 7h
I AM DEAD 😂 You’re telling me you went over to check on a potential medical emergency, and it turned into a rom-com meet-cute? This is the best outcome possible. Can’t wait to hear how the date goes!
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u/SmoothOperator · 6h
As the guy who gave him advice on winking in his original post, I just want to say: I feel partly responsible for this love story. I’m so glad his tragic winking attempts paid off in the end, even if it wasn’t in the way he intended.
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u/awkwardpenguin · 6h
THIS IS AMAZING. I read both your posts and now I feel like I’m watching the awkward wink romance saga unfold in real-time. You’re officially in the running for the best “how we met” story of all time 😆 Good luck on the date, and please let us know if he tries winking at you (but maybe tell him to hold off for now, lol).
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u/LizzyBizzy · 5h
Honestly, this just proves that the best way to get a date is to pretend you’re having a medical emergency 😜 But seriously, I love how this turned out. Sounds like he’s a good sport, and you’re a hero for not freaking out. Hope the date goes well!
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 4h
Okay, I’m following this story like a serialized drama. I just read his update about you thinking he was having a stroke, and this is all too perfect. You both sound like such good sports about the whole thing, and I’m crossing my fingers that this ends up being a great first date! I’d pay to watch this rom-com, tbh.
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u/ItsNotThatDeep · 4h
So you’re telling me this guy tried to learn how to wink, failed so hard at it that it almost got him medically evaluated, and then still managed to get a date out of it? This man is living on another level of charm 😂
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u/ActuallySocrates · 3h
If you two get married, the wedding speeches are going to be incredible. “I thought he was having a stroke, turns out he was just practicing winking.” I can’t stop laughing at how absurdly perfect this situation is. You might as well stop looking, you’ve found the one.
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u/DefinitelyNotASurgeon · 3h
This might be the greatest series of posts I’ve ever seen on Reddit. First, the guy’s terrible winking attempts, now your heroic intervention that turns into a date? I’m invested in this. Please, please update us after the date. I need closure on this modern love story.
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u/CaffeineAndAnxiety · 2h
I feel like this is a public service announcement for all med students: don’t assume every eye twitch is a stroke, sometimes the guy’s just trying to wink 😂 But seriously, this is adorable and you handled it perfectly. Hope your date goes well!
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u/NoGuyNoProblem · 1h
This is amazing. The fact that you were so ready to step in and save the day, only for it to turn into this hilarious and kind of romantic story, is just too good. I really hope he doesn’t try to wink at you during the date though — that might be a dealbreaker.
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u/ChronicFailSurvivor · 1h
OMG, I just read both your post and his, and this is now my favorite Reddit love story. Please let us know how the date goes. I kind of want to see him attempt another wink, just to see how bad it still is 😆
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***
r/formula1
u/tifositruther · 14h
Why does Charles Leclerc’s eye always twitch when he hugs his girlfriend after a podium finish?
Okay, this has been bugging me for a while, and I’m hoping someone here can explain it because I haven’t seen anyone talk about it (or I’ve just missed it).
Whenever Charles finishes in the top 3 and goes to hug his girlfriend along the barriers where the team stands, I’ve noticed that his eye does this weird twitching thing? It’s super subtle, but it’s like a half-blink or something with one eye. It’s definitely not him just being emotional or sweaty, because it happens EVERY time. At first, I thought it was just a one-off, but now I can’t unsee it.
Is it just me, or does anyone else see this too? Is it like a weird superstition or just some involuntary thing? I’m genuinely curious, and it’s getting harder to watch his post-race celebrations without focusing on his twitchy eye.
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u/FerrariBoi · 13h
Dude, I’ve noticed this too! I always thought it was just him being super emotional or tired after a race, but now that you mention it, it really is every time he goes to hug his girlfriend. Now I can’t stop wondering what’s up with it either 😅
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u/SmoothOperator55 · 12h
I’m not 100% sure, but I think it might be some kind of superstition or inside joke between him and his girlfriend? Charles is a pretty sentimental guy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if this is some sort of cute thing they do. Or maybe he’s trying to wink and it’s just … not working?
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u/FerrariFaithful · 10h
I can’t believe I’m reading this post because I thought I was the only one who noticed that! It’s like a half-wink, half-blink, and I’ve been trying to figure out if he’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just nerves. Now I’m convinced there’s some weird Leclerc tradition we’re missing out on.
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u/NeedMoreDownforce · 9h
Honestly, I bet it’s just some post-race exhaustion thing. These guys are going flat out for nearly two hours, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his muscles just spasm a little bit after all that. But if it is some superstition, I want to know more because that would be hilarious.
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u/Charles4Prez · 6h
Oh man, I totally know what you’re talking about. I’ve noticed it every time he’s on the podium and it’s always when he hugs his girlfriend! If this is just him being tired, that would make sense, but it low-key feels like it’s some sort of wink. Either way, it’s oddly charming 😂
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u/GP2EnginePlease · 5h
LMAO, I’ve seen this too! I figured he was trying to wink but failing miserably at it because his face is always red and sweaty from the race. But if this is some kind of secret “thing” between him and his girlfriend, I’m here for it. F1 drivers and their quirks, man.
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u/Turn13Messiah · 4h
If this is a wink attempt, then Charles needs to work on his technique ASAP. But honestly, it’s probably some goofy little tradition they’ve got. Maybe he does it to signal something only they know, and we’re all just sitting here clueless 😂
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u/BoxBox · 3h
I actually love that this is a thing people are noticing. The man’s got the whole F1 world watching, but he’s still trying to pull off a wink at his girlfriend like a regular guy. If it’s a superstition, I fully support it. Leclerc always seems like the type to have little rituals.
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u/ZoomingAlong · 1h
I’ve never noticed this before, but now I need to go back and rewatch some podiums to see it for myself 😂 If it’s a wink, it’s not very good, but knowing Charles, it’s probably something personal and cute between them. Wouldn’t surprise me if it’s intentional!
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u/YellowFlagged · 53m
It has to be some sort of in-joke between him and his girlfriend. F1 drivers are superstitious, and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen drivers have quirky little habits. Maybe it’s his way of “winking” after a good race, but he’s just too drained to pull it off properly.
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u/MegaDRS · 46m
Guys, I just went back and watched some old races, and yep, it’s there 😂 I never noticed it before, but now I’m convinced this is an awkward wink. Charles probably thinks he’s being smooth, but we’re all seeing that twitch. I’m officially obsessed with this now.
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u/ILoveMonaco · 32m
Can someone please just ask him in an interview at this point? I need answers. If it’s some cute tradition between him and his girlfriend, I’ll be even more of a Charles fan than I already am.
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***
“Charles, did you know you’re going viral on social media?”
The question hits him in the middle of media day. Charles Leclerc blinks once, twice, and tilts his head. He’s sitting in the usual F1 press conference setup — microphones lined up, lights a little too bright, cameras flashing constantly —but this question isn’t the usual stuff about strategy or the upcoming race.
He shifts in his seat, the corners of his lips tugging into an uncertain smile. “No, I … I didn’t know that.” He furrows his brows, clearly puzzled. “Why? What did I do this time?”
The reporter grins, clearly enjoying Charles’ confusion. “It’s not something you did during the race. It’s what happens after.”
Charles’ smile falters slightly, but his curiosity grows. “After? What do you mean?”
The reporter leans forward, resting his hands on his lap. “It’s your eye. You’ve been going viral for this thing your eye does after you finish on the podium. People are calling it ‘the Charles Leclerc twitch.’”
Charles’ face drops for a split second before he laughs, the sound awkward, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, that. Yeah, I’ve seen some things about it.”
“You have?” The reporter raises an eyebrow, surprised. “People are saying it’s because you’re tired or emotional after races.”
Charles scratches his head, feeling the blush creep up his neck. “No, no … it’s not that.”
“What is it then? Do you even know you’re doing it?”
Charles is biting his lip now, looking down at the mic in front of him like it might save him. He doesn’t want to explain this, not here, not now, but the entire press room is silent, waiting for his response. He glances up and spots you standing at the back of the room, arms crossed, a small smile playing on your lips. You’ve definitely overheard the whole thing.
With a sigh, he finally says, “Okay, well … it’s not really a twitch. I’m actually, uh …” He rubs his palms on his thighs nervously. “I’m trying to wink.”
Laughter ripples through the room, but the reporter’s face lights up, not letting this go. “Wink? At who?”
Charles’ blush deepens, and he chuckles, glancing down again before meeting the reporter’s eyes. “At my girlfriend. After I finish on the podium.”
There’s a collective murmur of interest now, and Charles is laughing, embarrassed. He shifts his weight in the chair, clearly flustered.
“Wait, you’re winking at your girlfriend?” Another reporter chimes in, curious but amused. “Why after the podium?”
Charles glances back at you standing at the rear of the room. You smile at him, and he seems to relax, even though his ears are definitely burning red. He lets out another small laugh. “Okay, so this is kind of … a long story.”
The room leans in.
“It started a few months ago,” Charles begins, exhaling as if trying to gather the words. “I was sitting in a cafe, practicing how to wink-”
“Practicing?” The first reporter cuts in, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, practicing. I’ve never been good at it.” He laughs, but it’s clear he’s a little embarrassed about admitting this in front of a full room. “And while I was doing it, she-” he nods toward you, “comes up to me and asks if I’m okay. She’s a medical student, and apparently, my attempt at winking looked so bad that she thought I was having a stroke.”
The room bursts into laughter, and even Charles can’t help but crack up at the absurdity of the story. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at you again, his eyes softening. “Yeah, so she came over, all serious, genuinely concerned about me.”
You can’t help but laugh along with the reporters. You catch Charles’ eye, and he gives you a small, sheepish smile. The reporters are now fully invested, waiting for him to continue.
“So, I had to explain to her that I was just trying to figure out how to wink,” Charles continues, the redness in his face only deepening. “It was embarrassing, but we ended up talking for a while after that. And, uh … long story short, I got her number, and now we’re together.”
“That’s … actually adorable,” one of the female reporters says, and Charles chuckles again.
“But the winking thing — it became kind of our little tradition,” he explains, sitting forward slightly. “After every podium, I try to wink at her when I go to hug her at the barriers. It’s a way for me to say, like, ’we made it’ or something. It’s just this thing we’ve kept going.”
The room is silent for a moment, absorbing the story, before the questions start coming in again.
“So wait,” one of the reporters asks, his grin wide, “you’re telling me that this whole viral thing is because you’re trying to wink at your girlfriend after every race?”
Charles nods, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, but apparently I’m still really bad at it.”
“You don’t say,” someone mutters, and more laughter breaks out.
“And she knows this is a thing?” Another asks, glancing toward you.
Charles’ eyes are on you again. “Yeah, she knows. She tries not to laugh every time I do it. But, you know, we’ve kept it going. It’s like a small inside joke between us.”
The first reporter raises his hand again. “Do you think you’ll ever actually learn how to wink properly?”
Charles grins, shaking his head. “Probably not. I mean, I’ve had months to practice, and this is the best I’ve got.”
The press room breaks into chuckles, and Charles sits back, clearly more relaxed now that the story is out in the open. He takes a sip of water and glances up at the cameras.
“You got the girl,” the reporter adds with a grin.
“Yeah,” Charles agrees, looking at you with a warmth that softens his voice. “I got the girl.”
The room starts buzzing again, the other reporters already moving on to different questions about the upcoming race weekend, but Charles steals one last glance at you. You’re still smiling, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and he shoots you a quick wink — or well, tries to.
And of course, his eye twitches awkwardly, but this time, he doesn’t mind.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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Frustrates me to no end seeing people say “what’s your alternative to voting blue? Stage a revolution right now? This second? Get real, you’re posting on your computer instead of firebombing walmarts.” I don’t think that you understand what people are actually doing. I know for myself, I’ve been reading more history and theory than I ever have before. I’ve been marching. I’ve been getting involved with labor activism. I’ve been doing strategic research. I’ve tried to archive and share resources. I’ve watched other people do WAY more than I ever have or probably could. I’ve seen people occupy arms manufacturing sites and hold wildcat strikes and disrupt daily life as much as possible. We’ve all seen this happening at unprecedented levels for months now. And most of all, I’ve seen Palestinians telling us, rightfully full of anger, do not ever go back to how things were before. Do not turn away from what’s happening and your own complicity in it.
This is not something that we can vote our way out of. Our state is built on the same violence being inflicted on the people of Palestine. We helped to build Israel. We are still arming it and funding the “war” right now. Even the most half hearted measures from international bodies like the UN to take the bare minimum of a stance against genocide are quashed by the US. As they always have been, our power and resources are used to reinforce imperial and colonial hegemony. That remains the same no matter who is sitting in the Oval Office. And so does our own struggle for liberation. Meaningful change is never, ever going to come from within. We force the change to happen, as we always have.
If you can understand intersectionality, then surely you can understand this: we are not going to free ourselves by sacrificing colonized people. You may vote blue, and for you it could be a matter of life and death. Believe me, as a poor disabled person in a red state who almost killed myself over medical debt, I know the stakes. But I think you have to own the fact that you are empowering perpetrators of genocide and breaking solidarity with colonized people, not even to liberate yourself, but just to bargain with the oppressor for your life. That Palestinians and everyone else who we have harmed are going to be angry and they are more than within their rights. Instead of deflecting by just assuming that no one else is capable of putting their money where their mouth is and actually trying to lay groundwork for change, just do whatever you feel you have to do and sit with the reality of the situation.
Palestine will be free, we will be free, the whole world will someday be free. But for now, this is where we are, and we won’t free ourselves by operating like crabs in a bucket. Get organized, take care of each other, commit to solidarity. Empower yourself and each other rather than the state.
#meg talks#palestine#and also stop embarrassing yourself w the fire bombing walmart jokes and read some actual theory
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now that I got he appreciation post out of the way I’ll yap about what I loved the most about this whole scene because was a fucking masterpiece.
1. He looks fucked out and I’m going insane. His heavy breathing was blasting through my headphones and, although that is something that usually annoys me during these scenes, it was done carefully and tastefully. It felt natural and real, not overplayed, not overkilled, but raw and perfectly genuine.
2. Anyone else devastated by the absolute adorableness of this moment? Just me? This was such a cute short thing that casts light into their relationship. They’re both actually very carefree people, always have been, even if Jack had a hard time coming back to his true self. This moment felt so intimate and relaxed. From trying to make the other submit, playfully and sensually, they both pause here and quickly take a breather to gauge each other and decide how is this going to happen before Jack takes the lead again. These are truly Jack and Joke.
3. Wall slamming. It’s one of the cliches I absolutely devour. Ever since episode 1 I knew they would be the kind to do this. I knew their NC would be like this. They want each other too much, they’re gonna take and take and take.
4. No awkward stripping. Just desperate. The moment characters strip have always felt so unnatural for me. This was done hastily and they stumble and it doesn’t look pretty because it shouldn’t. They have wanted each other for too long for them to wait another second in getting themselves naked. Joke is so desperate he struggles with taking Jack’s shirt off and he doesn’t care nor slows down. It adds on the realness of it all.
5. More wall slamming. Dear god I’m unwell. No further words.
6. He was stupid hot for this. They are possessed. As they should be. There’s tenderness and roughness at the same time in their movements and touches, casting light on the fact they love each other but are desperately hungry for each other’s body. They never let you forget that, not once.
7. Did you hear my screams? I was not expecting that. What I’ve seen happen many times on BL NC scenes, is that there is a high contrast done in between the couple when it comes to portraying desire. Usually it’s only one of them that is more vocal or physical about it, while the other takes it and follows. Yin and War have mentioned they don’t want their characters to stick to one dynamic, and it shows a lot in this whole scene. They both are perfectly capable of taking the lead, they both want to take the lead, they both want to submit. They are equals. And that’s always gonna be that way.
The power play, the switching, the rolling in the sheets, the CONSENT, the loving looks, the gentle touches, the rough touches, the pauses, the desperation, the desire.
they did it all. not one single thing missing.
they deserve nothing less than a standing ovation.
yinwar, you did it again
#god I hope they get all the profit they deserve and then some#holy shit#jack and joker the series#jack and joker u steal my heart#jack and joker series#jack and joker#jack & joker#jackjoke#jackjoker#yinwar#yin anan wong#yin anan#war wanarat#thai bl#thailand#bl series#bl drama#thai bl drama#thai drama
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a/n: mdni. saw this post and knew i had to write a fanfic about needy bully!rafe. all credits go to @shawtycoreee and the post that inspired it all!
you never expected to find yourself back here—at rafe cameron’s house, ready to apologize. you had turned him down brutally in front of everyone, and it should’ve felt good to put him in his place. after all, he was a bully—arrogant, cold, and always making life hard for you. but when you saw the look in his eyes after you rejected him, something shifted. it wasn’t just anger or frustration; it was something that looked... broken.
the guilt had gnawed at you, leaving you feeling uneasy, so you found yourself standing at his door. it was already open, like he had left it for you. stepping inside, you called softly, “rafe?” no response.
you moved deeper into the house, making your way up the stairs until you stood in front of his slightly open bedroom door. then you heard it—a soft, choked sound, like someone trying to cry quietly. you hesitated, then slowly pushed the door open.
your breath caught at the sight in front of you. rafe, sitting on his bed, shirtless, his broad shoulders shaking as he whimpered softly. his hand was under the covers, gripping himself as his body trembled, and with each movement, a desperate sob escaped his lips.
“fuck... why... why doesn’t she want me?” he whispered, his voice raw. “i just wanted her...”
you froze. the rafe you knew was always so composed, so ruthless, and now he was crumbling. the sight of him in this state—crying, trembling, aching for you—did something to you. you were supposed to be here to apologize, to make things right. but this... this was unexpected.
you stepped into the room without thinking, your voice quiet. “rafe?”
his head snapped up, panic flashing in his tear-filled eyes. his whole body jerked as he tried to cover himself, yanking the blankets up, but his hand was still wrapped around his cock, red and leaking from the intensity of his frustration.
“fuck—go away!” he rasped, his voice thick with tears. “don’t... don’t look at me like this.” but his voice broke at the end, and another sob shook his body, despite his attempts to control it.
“rafe,” you whispered, stepping closer. you didn’t know what to say. he looked so fragile, so completely unlike the boy who had tormented you. his face was streaked with tears, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes glassy and desperate. “i... i’m sorry.”
his breath hitched, and he wiped at his face roughly with the back of his hand, trying to hide how much he was falling apart. “you don’t get it,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “you fucking destroyed me. you didn’t even care.”
the words hit you hard, and you sat down beside him on the bed, feeling the tension in the air between you. “i didn’t know,” you said softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. he flinched but didn’t pull away. “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“but you did,” he cried, his voice breaking as another sob tore through him. “i’ve... i’ve wanted you for so long. i couldn’t fucking breathe when you said no.”
your heart clenched at the raw pain in his voice. rafe cameron, the boy who always seemed so untouchable, was sobbing because of you. your fingers moved to brush away the tears on his face, and his eyes fluttered closed at the soft touch, his whole body trembling under your fingertips.
“please, i didn’t mean it,” you whispered, leaning in closer, your lips brushing his ear. “i’m so sorry.”
his breath hitched again, and he let out a soft, broken whimper. “you... you don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. “i’ve needed you... i’ve needed you for so fucking long. it hurts. everything fucking hurts.”
your hand moved down his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. “i didn’t know,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing, your fingers trailing lower until you found him—hard, throbbing, and leaking with need. “let me make it better.”
rafe gasped, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as your hand wrapped around his cock. “fuck,” he whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks again. “please, don’t... don’t stop...”
you kissed his cheek gently, tasting the salt of his tears. “i’m here,” you whispered against his skin, your hand moving slowly, deliberately. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”
“i... i thought you hated me,” he cried, his voice trembling as his hips bucked into your hand. his hands were gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white, his body shaking as more tears slipped from his eyes. “i couldn’t... i didn’t know what to do. i need you, please...”
you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, your thumb gently swiping over the tip of his cock, making him moan. “i don’t hate you, rafe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his. “i just didn’t know you felt this way.”
he let out a broken sob, his head falling back against the headboard as he tried to stifle the cries that kept slipping from his lips. “i’ve wanted you for so long... i’ve needed you for so fucking long...”
“shh,” you whispered, kissing his jawline, his neck, his tear-streaked face. “i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere.”
his breath came in uneven gasps, his whole body trembling as you quickened your pace, your hand sliding up and down his length. “i... i don’t deserve this,” he whimpered, his voice thick with tears. “but i... i need you so bad...”
“it’s okay,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “let go, rafe. i’m here.”
his breath hitched again, his entire body tensing as he teetered on the edge of release. “please,” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “don’t stop... i’m so close...”
you smiled against his skin, your hand working him faster, harder, until his hips jerked up and he let out a choked cry, tears streaming down his face as he came hard, his body shuddering with the intensity of it. “fuck!” he sobbed, his chest heaving, his cock pulsing in your hand as he spilled over your fingers.
you kissed him gently, brushing your lips against his trembling mouth as he came down from his high. “you’re okay,” you whispered, wiping away the tears still streaming down his face. “i’ve got you.”
rafe let out a broken, shuddering breath, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your neck, sobbing softly into your skin. “thank you,” he whimpered, his voice raw and hoarse. “thank you...”
and in that moment, as he cried softly against you, you realized that this was a side of rafe cameron that no one had ever seen—a side that only you had the power to break... and the power to fix.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0
#rafe obx#rafe imagine#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe x you#outerbanks rafe#rafe fic#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron x reader#rafe
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Spring Is In The Air~
Something happens to them when the seasons change.
Itto, Tighnari, Yae Miko, Zhongli x Reader
A/N: I wrote this like two months ago and never posted it... I’ve always wanted to try writing something like this so here is my pathetic attempt! It’s corny BUT, smutty!!! :-)
WC - 2,224
NSFWWWW // SMUTTYYY
~~~
ITTO
Itto is not subtle. Try as he might, the poor oni cannot learn the art of subtlety. His reactions always give him away to you within seconds.
His struggle can currently be seen in the way he braces himself against the counter but still attempts to stand up straight to play it off.
“Hey,” He sounds breathless, almost as if it is hard for him to breathe. You know he’s going to break any moment now, you can see it as his chest begins to rapidly rise and fall. His breathing quickens and all you can do is stare at his expanding chest. “I need you.”
Itto breaks every spring and putting him back together is your favorite part.
“Fuck me, fuck me!” Itto groans loudly and the sounds, one after another, fly off of the walls. He’s absolutely losing himself as you bounce on his lap, up and down while your thighs pound against his own. The pace is fast, quick, and your knees are not able to handle it alone. It’s entirely him, Itto uses the strength in his muscular arms to toss you around on his lap. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, eyes squeezed together shut all while both of your hands are wrapped around his throat. “Yes, yes, yes,” It’s almost pathetic, the way he is singing your praise and grinds down onto the mattress. He can’t get enough of the feeling, of it all.
Itto is loud in everything that he does and he never shies away from expressing his desires.
“I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” He sounds entirely desperate, almost as if he is about to break into tears. You squeeze your thighs together and watch his every reaction as you clamp around him. His reaction is almost imminent. Itto’s hands on your waist squeeze you tightly as his bare nails dig into your skin as he cums with a drawn-out groan. The oni chases his high without stopping, still wildly thrusting up into you just as before. His pace then grows slower, impossibly slow as he slams into you a handful of times. There’s something final about this but, you know better.
This is just the beginning. It takes hours to satisfy Itto, especially during the spring.
You don’t even have the chance to catch your breath before you feel him twitching inside of you again, now hard as ever. His fast recovery is almost as quick as his reflexes. Itto pulls you off of him within a flash before mounting you from behind.
“I’m sorry, just one more, one more, okay?” You can hear how his voice shakes in your ear but, you don’t have the chance to reply as he effortlessly slides back into you. In this position, you can hear everything, every puff of air that escapes his lips and every whimper that falls. Itto cries into your ear, tongue lapping at the surface as he moves his hips at a quick pace. “You’re fucking me so good,”
You can almost feel him in your fucking stomach as you clamp around him but, his brutal strides feel so good. Each thrust against your bottom sends you flying and you end up face-first in the duvet. Itto keeps you still with a firm hand on your hip but, you can imagine how broken his expression must be as he groans above you.
“One more time, one more time,”
((It’s never just one time with him.))
TIGHNARI
“(Y/N), please,”
Hearing the forest ranger beg is something you are not used to. Tighnari never begs or yearns for your touch and attention. If he wants something, he takes it with little hesitation.
Except when the seasons begin to change.
When the air grows colder, something primal shifts in Tighnari. You can see it in the way his eyes soften into pools of need and how he becomes much more sensitive to the slightest touch. If you even think about touching his fingers, over his gloves, he will drop whatever is in his hands.
Tighnari becomes reactive all over.
“It’s happening again.” He murmurs into your ear as he presses up against your side. His tail wraps around your thigh, squeezing over and over again as he ruts into your leg. “I need you.” When Tighnari gets like this, you know it’s best to just let him take.
“You poor thing,” Your voice is full of sympathy, perhaps a bit condescending, and it makes the forest ranger whimper. His ears flatten against the top of his head as his eyes squeeze shut in concentration. Your quiet sighs and hums only make him more delirious, Tighnari burrows his face into the crook of your neck and simply inhales. His breathing gets heavier as his messy thrusts become erratic. If he had not been holding onto you so tightly, you’re sure you would have fallen to the floor by now.
He cums with a gasp, one that sucks the air from his lungs, and he tries to hide it by biting on your shoulder. Tighnari grits his teeth against your skin as little whimpers leave his lips, his tail rapidly thumping against your leg. His weight becomes too much and you both sink to the floor under his passion.
That first orgasm meant nothing to him, it’s merely a warm-up.
Tighnari can’t even bring himself to guide you to your shared bedroom, he takes you on the floor.
He can’t help the way that he spreads your thighs and licks, running his tongue along your slit. The poor man devours it all, spitting and lapping up at whatever he can reach. His harsh sucks make you shiver and squirm but, you can’t move under the tight grip he has on your waist.
“Ah,” Whatever Tighnari planned to say is muffled by your cunt as he shoves his tongue inside of you. He thrusts the muscle as far as he can go, ears flattened in concentration while his nose grinds against your clit. It’s as if he has become utterly consumed by you, everything about you because all he can focus on is getting his tongue in you as deep as possible.
But then, he suddenly pulls himself off of you as if it hurts to touch you.
In the blink of an eye, Tighnari is above you, staring down while his legs get situated between your own.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but, I need it,” His breathing has become erratic, eyes almost feral as he begins to heavily salivate. With his primal urges brought to the surface, you know you won’t be able to leave this position and similar ones for a few days. “I have to- I have to fuck you.”
YAE MIKO
With the amount of time you’ve spent beside Yae Miko, you know her exceptionally well.
You know when something begins to shift within her, almost as if it is in the air. It’s seen in the way the other shrine maidens keep their distance and in the way Miko’s fingers dance along your skin as she grabs you at any possible opportunity. She makes sure that she’s touching your bare skin, her pink nails nearly breaking it as she stands behind you.
“I require your assistance, pet,” Her breathy voice always confirms it for you and is the tell-tale sign of when her primal urges begin to show. She drags you by your wrist to a lone room, one decorated exceptionally well with everything you could need to last for weeks. Your lover’s touch grows lighter.
“You know what I need from you.” Yae Miko stares down at you as if she is truly looking down on you, her eyes hold little interest but you know better. You can see how her finger is nearly starting to tremble and how her lips have begun to part. “Come here,” She doesn’t even have to lift a finger for you to stand in front of her, within her grasp.
Her lips are on you without another second to spare. Immediately, it’s all tongue. She parts your lips with tight squeezes of your sides before her hands move to paw at your breasts. While letting her tongue run over your own, shoving the muscle as far down your throat as she can, she towers above you. Her moans are low and entirely full of pleasure.
You have a belief that her urges bring out something in you, something similar because you can’t help but want to be used by her every season.
With heavy hands, Miko pushes you to the ground forcefully on your back. She slowly lowers to her knees, watching you carefully as you pathetically stare up at her. Your lips are still part and slightly swollen because of her previous ministrations. It makes her heart stop as desire stirs in the pit of her stomach.
She spreads your legs with her slim hands and hooks one of your thighs over her own. Your underwear is discarded in seconds by her nails and her shorts are magically on another side of the room.
Yae Miko’s lips turn slightly upwards, almost in a mischievous grin as she presses your leg to your chest and sits on top of you. She’s hot, the touch of her skin nearly makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. An immediate roll of her hips makes you moan loudly, the feeling of her sopping cunt against your own renders you speechless.
“How funny,” She coos but, struggles to hide back her own shakey exhales. Desire takes the forefront of her brain and all she can think about is satisfying the demanding urge in the pit of her stomach. Over and over, she presses her clit against your own and rubs at the sensitive area while roughly thrusting her hips. This is only the beginning, you’re too aware of it.
With the way Miko is squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipple, you can’t help but anticipate the rest of her plans with you.
ZHONGLI
After spending lifetimes with Zhongli, you still end up winded when the seasons change.
Your husband is a dutiful man and always gives you a fair warning, a notice before something ever happens with his body. However, sometimes a warning is not nearly enough.
It’s been days since his insides have turned into a molten heat and Zhongli has not been shy about tackling this issue with you. You’re always so good to him, let him do whatever he desires just to satisfy the annoying urges.
Day after day, he can’t help but grow stronger about his affections. He’s a selfish man and he desperately needs more.
“Oh, you’re-” The words can’t even leave his lips as his head tilts back, a loud moan leaves his lips. Zhongli grits his teeth painfully, grinding them down as his hand tightens in your hair. He’s not being careful and neither are you. You continue to choke on him, around him, as your spit coats his entire cock. The cool sensation makes your husband’s thighs twitch as he grunts at the feeling spreading between his legs.
You feel incredibly lucky that his primal form has yet to take over, perhaps it won’t even show this time around. It would be nearly impossible to satisfy him with another appendage hanging between his thighs. But, the thought still makes you moan wantingly.
“My love-” Zhongli finds it hard to speak, his balls painfully tight and it only gets worse when he sees your hand hidden between your thighs. He focuses on your fingers moving against your clit and his eyes nearly turn into slits as he focuses on the image. The realization that this brings you as much pleasure as it does him causes a guttural groan to leave his chest. “Come here,”
His voice changes, it becomes much deeper, much more commanding. Zhongli doesn’t wait for you, he roughly pulls you up to your feet before pulling you into his lap. The way he manhandles you, forcing you to sit back on his face makes your entire being light up with need.
“Morax!” You screech as your hands press into his abdomen, his tongue doesn’t waste a second now that you’re on him. The archon presses his tongue into your cunt, thrusting in and out before running the muscle over your clit. The stimulation makes it hard to focus but, you still reach for his heavy cock.
You grip him tightly and lick at his slit, tongue digging into the area as you hum at the taste. Zhongli’s grip on your thighs becomes stronger and he fights back with his sharp nails digging into your skin. Had you been any more focused, you would have thought he had grown claws.
Your cunt pulses around his tongue and all Zhongli can do is continue to shove the muscle inside of you. He doesn’t shy away from rubbing against your walls, no, he has his own agenda. It’s almost sick how he coaxes you to gush around him, all so he can swallow it greedily to satisfy some gut-clenching demand.
But, he can’t help it, he also can’t help how his skin begins to turn and scales spread across his arms. He can’t help but connect with his primal side when you satisfy the very deepest desires that he has.
#arataki itto x reader#tighnari x reader#yae miko x reader#zhongli x reader#itto x reader#tighnari x you#yae miko x you#zhongli x you#itto smut#tighnari smut#yae miko smut#zhongli smut#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#xiaos spicy almond tofu
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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
#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x oc#aaron hotchner#criminal mind#derek morgan#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid angst#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid
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