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starskq · 8 months ago

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CONVENIENCE STORE / P.S

Pairing ◊ seeun x reader

Warnings ◊ stress about exams? I think that's about it

Word Count ◊ 1,52k

Genre ◊ Fluff

Summary ◊ Seeun missed you, so he came in front of your apartment in the middle of the night.

a/n: honestly, theses pictures screamed boyfriend material. So I wrote something about it. Hope you enjoy!

You tossed and turned in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the soft sounds of your roommates’ snores filled the room. You were exhausted, but sleep refused to come. You sighed and picked up your phone to check the time—2:56 a.m. Just as you were about to put it down, your screen lit up with a message.

[Seeun-ie] You awake?

You blinked at the message, your heart flipping. You and Seeun weren’t an item but weren’t just friends. You were in a weird in-between. You met through mutual friends, and even if he was younger than you by a couple of years, you still got along excellent. You typed an answer quickly.

[You] Yeah. Can’t sleep.

[Seeun-ie] Come outside.

Your eyebrows shot in surprise. You hopped out of bed and tiptoed to the windows. You peeked through and saw Seeun in a thin blue button-up and a black jacket looking at you. When he saw you, he smiled and waved. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips.

[You] What are you doing here ??? It’s almost 3 am.

[Seeun-ie] Wanted to see you. Now come down.

Sighing, you threw on a hoodie and sweatpants and quietly slipped, careful not to wake your roommates. As you stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you, and you walked toward Seeun, who greeted you with his signature smirk. He slipped his headphones around his neck and waved at you.

‘’You know it’s almost 3 in the morning, right?’’ You said as you put your hands in your pockets.

‘’Of course I do,’’ he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘’I wanted to see you. And I was hungry. Let’s go to the convenience store.’’

You rolled your eyes but followed him as he walked towards the convenience store down the street from your apartment. You couldn’t help the sale spreading across your face as you looked at him. Even under the street lights, he was breathtaking.

‘’You’re unbelievable,’’ you said, shaking your head.

‘’I know,’’ he smirked, turning his face to look at you. ‘’But you love it.’’

You fell into an easy rhythm of banter and jokes, defining your relationship. He was confident, arrogant, and cocky, but that was part of his charms.

‘’Did you really just wake up and think, ‘Oh, I should see y/n right now?’’’ You asked, eyebrows raised.

‘’Nope,’’ he replied, pushing open the convenience store door. ‘’I haven’t slept yet. Too busy thinking about you.’’

You snorted, giving him a look. ‘’Oh, please. How many girls did you use that line on?’’

He held up his hands in mock offense. ‘’Just you, I swear. I’m a changed man.’’

You shook your head again. You wandered the aisles, grabbing snacks and drinks. As you made your way to the register, you reached for your wallet in your hoodie pocket to pay, but Seeun swiftly blocked your hand. ‘’No way. I’m paying.’’

‘’I’m older, I should pay.’’ You argued, tilting your head to look at him.

He shook his head and handed cash to the cashier. ‘’I dragged you here. The least I should do is pay.’’

You rolled your eyes again but let him have this one. You sat at one of the small tables outside, digging into your snacks. The city was quiet, and the night was cool.

‘’Remember that time you thought you could out-eat me in spicy ramen?’’ Seeun said as he bit into his sandwich.

You laughed. ‘’I could I forgot. I still can’t believe you didn’t shed a single tear.’’

‘’I told you, I’m immune to spice.’’ He said a cocky grin on his face. ‘’Unlike some people.’’

‘’Ya, I can handle spice.’’ You protested, pointing a chip at him.

‘’Sure you can,’’ he chuckled. ‘’That’s why you drank an entire gallon of milk after.’’

You both bursted out laughing. That’s what you loved with Seeun. It was easy. You continued to talk and joke, the banter flowing easily. As the first light of dawn began to paint the sky pink and orange, you shivered slightly. The early morning chill was starting to creep in. Seeun noticed, and, with a dramatic sigh, he shrugged off his jacket.

‘’Here, take this.’’ He said, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

‘’I’m fine, really,’’ you started to say, but he held up a hand, silencing you.

‘’Just accept my chivalry for once, will you?’’ He said, smirking. ‘’Besides, I can’t have you catching a cold and blaming it on me. My reputation will be ruined.’’

You rolled your eyes but pulled the jacket tighter around you, appreciating the warmth. The jacket still had a feigned cologne scent, and a smile tugged at your lips. You leaned back in your chair, sighing. ‘’You know, I really needed this. Thanks for dragging me out.’’

Seeun smiled. It wasn’t his usual smirk, though. It was a sincere and honest smile. He loved knowing he was useful and made you feel better. He knew you had been stressed recently with school and everything and that you couldn’t sleep when you were stressed.

‘’Anytime,’’ he said, taking a sip of his lemonade. ‘’I mean, I am pretty great company.’’

‘’There he is,’’ you smiled. ‘’The arrogant Park Seeun I know.’’

‘’Admit it, you love it,’’ he said, gently squeezing your arm.

‘’Maybe,’’ you admitted, turning your head to look at him, a playful smile on your lips. ‘’Just a little, though.’’

Your phone rang with the alarm you set the day before. It was already late or early morning, so you needed to head back to your apartment to prepare for class. You sighed and stood up, stretching and gathering your things. You looked at him as he threw away all of your trash, clinging to his jacket you still had.

‘’I guess I have to go back.’’

‘’Yeah, you should probably start getting ready for class.’’ He said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You started walking back to your apartment. As you reached your building, he stopped and turned to face you, his usual confident smirk in place.

‘’Thanks for the jacket,’’ you said, looking up at him.

‘’No problem,’’ he said, leaning casually against the wall next to your building door. ‘’I can’t have you freeze to death. Who would I bother in the middle of the night?’’

You laughed, shaking your head. There was a brief pause, and his expression softened slightly, though his confidence remained. ‘’Hey, next time you’re feeling stressed about finals and exams, even if it’s late at night, you can call me.’’

You blinked in surprise, taken aback. ‘’How did you know I was stressed about that? I didn’t say anything.’’

He shrugged and bent down to be eye level with you, his eyes locking with yours. There was a sincerity in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. ‘’I know you, y/n. I know that when you’re stressed, you can’t sleep. And you haven’t been sleeping well, have you?’’ He said, brushing a hair of you bang to the side.

Your heart flutters at his words. His noticing something so personal and caring enough to act on it made your heart swell. You blushed and quickly looked away, taking a step back. ‘’I…’’

‘’Don’t get all emotional on me now,’’ he interrupted, straightening himself with a teasing grin. ‘’I’m just saying, if you need to talk or need a distraction, I’m here. Not only at night.’’

You smiled. ‘’Thank you, Seeun. It means a lot.’’

‘’I know,’’ he said arrogantly, but his eyes were soft. ‘’After all, who else would put up with me at 3 am.’’

You laughed, nodding slightly. ‘’You’re right, no one else would.’’

He chuckled and stepped closer once again, lowering his voice slightly. ‘’Seriously though, I don’t want you to stress all alone. If you need anything, call me. I mean it.’’

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, you wondered where your relationship was going and if there was more than just a situationship. But you quickly pushed your thoughts aside, focusing on the present.

‘’I will,’’ you promised, looking up at him. ‘’And thanks again for tonight.’’

‘’Anytime,’’ he replied.

There was a brief pause, where you just stared into each other’s eyes. But you quickly cleared your throat, looking at the time on your phone. You sighed. ‘’I should probably get ready for class.’’

‘’Yeah, you probably should,’’ he agreed, though he made no move to leave. ‘’We don’t want you to fall asleep in the middle of a lecture.’’

‘’I’ll try not to,’’ you said, rolling your eyes.

‘’I’ll see you on campus, I guess.’’ He said, his eyes hopeful.

‘’Of course.’’

With one last look, he turned and walked away, his confidence stride never faltering. You watched him go, a big smile on your face. You clutched at his jacket as you turned and headed back inside.

#xikers #park seeun #seeun #xikers seeun #xikers x reader #xikers fluff #xikers smut #kpop imagine #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop fluff

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xbabybajix · 2 years ago

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Growing Old w/ Kisaki~

A/n: I read a lot of fics w him being a husband and dad w kids but what about Oldman! Kisaki?? My bby deserves a partner he can experience real love with :( this was self indulgent bc I read Kisaki fics at like 7am today. In another life I woulda loved to do laundry and taxes w/ Kisaki. Listened to this while writing!!

-Co-parenting w/ kisaki was definitely a journey because he wasn’t always with you 24/7 due to his job. But your patience and understanding is what made Kisaki dedicate himself to you over the years. Any chance he had free time, Kisaki spoiled you and the children with gifts but made sure quality time was prioritized after hearing you scold him a few times about how you just want him to do domestic things w/ you :(

-Time began to catch up with Kisaki but it only served as a reminder to cherish you and his children for the time you’d both have together

- Though both of you have aged, Kisaki still reminds you that you are radiant and just as beautiful as the moment he first laid eyes on you.

- Still spoils you with flowers and small gifts to remind you that you’re his and he loves to see your eyes brighten up and giggle, “You know you still send me flowers even now? When I’m old and have back pains now? Ya know I can’t move the same way I did back then.”

-Kisaki is easy to respond as he claims his love for you is everlasting and that he can’t help but fall deeply in love with your being because you make him feel young despite having kids that are already in their 30’s

- Your favorite moments with Kisaki are when you both go on your daily morning walks down to a park that’s nearby your home. Prior to this, you both have gotten into a routine where you help each other get dressed and do each other’s hair too. You both find it fun to pick each other’s outfits bc sometimes you end up matching cute little sweaters 💗

-When you’re on the walk together, Kisaki will grab your pinky and will lead you to the little spot you guys found together and sit on the bench while leaning your heads on each other <3 he loves to see you get excited over little new sightings at the park, the sparkle in your eyes drives him to tears sometimes

-Now that Kisaki has retired as one of the heads of Toman, that also means that he still has plenty of money to support you and your hobbies too! He will even indulge you in some even though it’s not something he’d do himself, like crochet.

- Best believe once you teach him the fundamentals, Kisaki will sometimes stay up later while you’re fast asleep, as he’s planning on surprising you with a crochet heart he wants to gift you for Valentine’s Day

- Something Kisaki loves about you is how childish you can still be despite your age. You’ll both be in the kitchen listening to music and while you’re preparing breakfast, you’ll start to dance around the kitchen and pull him away from his chair and have him dance with you

- “Y/n my feet are like rocks I can’t keep up with you” his reply leaves you giggling and cuddling him closer. “But I love this song Tetta, and I know you do too, this was the song that played during our wedding remember? You were so drunk and never let me off the dancefloor that night, even Hanma had to drag your ass out after you blacked out on my shoulder.”

-”I clearly remember yes, ok I’ll make it up to you since I wasn’t conscious last time.” He gives you a small forehead kiss and you both sway to the song <3

-When your kids visit, you like to get mushy and clingy & Kisaki will push you away with the classic “not in front of the kids” line (but his heart is actually pounding & he’s still as flustered as he was when yall were in your teens)

-After your passing, Kisaki still remains as devoted to you and brings you flowers during anniversaries, holidays, or any time he sees something that reminds him of you. Sometimes he feels that you’re still with him through little things that he takes as signs (ie: if he sees a flower that you loved in various places)

- Old man Kisaki! is also so sweet and loves to talk about how amazing you were and loves to look at photos of when you were still alive. His kids often visit and ask him if he’s doing okay and he always reassures them he’s doing fine, and that he’s just waiting patiently for his time to come so he can finally see you again in the afterlife :( </3

#kisaki tetta #kisaki x reader #kisaki x you #hanma x reader #kisaki #ngl this kinda got me in tears #wouldnt mind making this with other TR characters

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chaoskalo · 2 months ago

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//Headcanon prompt— talk about how black mask is another mask Akechi wears!

you know what. sure !

so, i think to understand the loki / black mask persona that akechi has in royal, we need to understand robin hood. usual disclaimers off these are simply my ramblings and hcs and may or may not line up 100% w/ the game but sh.

we won't touch a lot on the "robin hood is goro's idealized view of justice," because it's very been there done that everyone agrees that it's canon. also i'll warn you now, this really ended up just being me rambling about loki as well so. maybe i didn't really answer the question it's fine.

robin hood steals from the rich and gives to the poor, he has a heart of gold, he has a band of merry men and fellow thieves that he would trust with his life, he has a woman who loves him even if sometimes things are complicated... ultimately, robin hood has a happy life, a happy existence. on the other hand, akechi has basically just known pain and rejection his entire life. he's never had anyone who truly loved or cared about him, that wanted him around for more than a short time. robin hood isn't just a pillar of justice, it's the life he's secretly always wanted.

with that out of the way... let's talk about loki.

we'll cut to chase and try to not get too into the myths of loki as that is a topic for another day. long story short though, loki is the manifestation of akechi's rage. all of his feelings of being outcast, about needing to avenge his mother, on shido... everything is rolled into the trauma holding persona that calls him a little bitch in his mind. loki tells him to let go of all this false pretense that akechi is a good person, that he actually believes any of this bullshit he spews. he reminds akechi of the fact that his anger is so all consuming that it's suffocating him.

in royal, black mask basically acts like a feral little goblin, and while you can see this as akechi just showing his real self, and i do think that's a valid interpretation... consider what i just said about loki. loki encourages a very... something coping mechanism in akechi literally tearing apart shadows to vent all of that excess anger out. black mask isn't really a true personality, ie. his mental state is constantly being fucked with just by using loki's powers at all, with the constant maniacal laughter and general feral actions.

you can probably see what i'm getting at here, in that black mask really is just... the only way he knows how to deal with and cope with whats happened in his life for a very long time. and it cracks in the engine room too, where he can no longer hide behind bloodlust and countless shadows, where he has to stand there and be faced with how his plan is crumbling down around him despite his best effort.

#. . . answered.#. . . meta.#DOES THIS EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE.

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zedecksiew · 1 year ago

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Three Clerks

Last week I tweaked my back. It hurt. A lot. As I recovered, I found that sketching with pen and pencil was less strenuous than writing on keyboard. So that's what I did.

Sketched characters from an adventure I am currently writing for Colin Le Sueur's We Deal In Lead. It began as a homage to Wisit Sasanatieng's tomyamgong western Fa Thalai Chon / Tears Of The Black Tiger.

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SHIN SUL SHAP, SHRINE CLERK 4 Grit 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Switch (d4)

Face hidden by a broad-brimmed bonnet and veil. Patrols the lines of pilgrims; like a schoolmarm she thwacks anybody chit-chatting. Piety should be silent!

A waif snatches a lead token from her pouch, and bolts. A chase ensues. He begs your help. If Sul Shap finds him, she will sell him to captive takers.

Sul Shap is a clerk at the Shrine To The Headless Sun: a bare plaza; a marble pavilion; a golden man, with an ever-burning flame where his head should be.

The Headless Sun is patron saint of the Admiralty, whose laws now govern both Ocean and Sea. He was its founder. The kings of old captured and beheaded him. He overthrew them anyway.

+++

References for Sul Shap were basically Buddhist nun robes (mainly for the volume of fabric), plus an European bonnet.

Initially I'd imagined a conventional broad-brim hat---ie: her veil would be a cylinder around her whole head. But as I sketched I thought the bonnet made a more interesting shape? Also its rear was an opportunity to create a crest / halo of sun-rays. Religious iconography!

Alms bowl, because giving is a virtue. But the Headless Sun values ego-death, not asceticism---so colourful beads and gold amulets and pouches full of lead tokens (money).

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RIS SHAY NAM, RECORDS CLERK 2 Grit 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Swung typewriter (d4)

In a wheelbarrow, pulled by a servitor, typewriter balanced on her belly, pockets filled with banana fritters. Greasy fingerprints on any document she works on.

Shay Nam thinks herself a moral soul. Will side with abolitionists and revolutionaries, with justice—until her own skin is at risk.

Shay Nam works at the Hibiscus Court. Princess Khur San, distancing herself from the old order, surrendered this palace to bureaucrats.

Clerks have filled its once-airy halls with shelves. By sympathetic sorcery, all contracts in the province manifest copies here. Rumour has it that this magic works both ways.

+++

This was my first sketch. In pain and bored I just started drawing.

No references, and it shows? Skirt and stockings and boots because these were the easiest for me to do. In my mind Shay Nam was an archetypal overweight NEET. Here she looks to be a sassy layabout. I like her better, now!

Also: a servitor is an empty body. Created when you ritually touch a shrine-stone to the Headless Sun---your soul is obliterated. What is left behind is mindless, hence the harness and reins.

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KHAN YUL MIN, COURT CLERK 4 Grit 1 DEF 10 STR 10 DEX 10 HRT Sabre (d8)

A university grad and former marine. But his townhouse sits below Rose Hill, on Merchant’s Row, beneath the old families' notice.

Yul Min means to change this. He has his eye on the Widow Gon. He will hire ruffians to waylay her palanquin—then swoop in, to rescue her. Elaborate theatre.

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Yul Min, like all these characters, live on the Sea of Sorrows, whose waters are literally the souls of the dead.

Roses always bleach within sight of it; to retain their colour they must be shipped in glass, then kept in arboreta—never once sharing air with the Sea.

Those who can afford red-rose gardens tend them on the south end of the city, where streets begin to climb Mount Go, in compounds walled like fortresses.

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Drew Yul Min last night. Had tabs open for "Thai traditional clothing" & "military uniforms 18th century" & "krabi" & "Vajiralongkorn".

Given my inspiration, I think the referencing of Mainland Southeast Asian material culture is appropriate. Maybe a little to obvious, though? Ie: the visual forms haven't been composted well, into new and more imaginative shapes ...

Still: very pleased with the proportions and details.

I liked how the hamsa-esque icon of the Headless Sun developed over the course of these sketches. I would not have discovered it, otherwise; it's one of those details, too small for words.

Drawing is an intrinsic part of the writing process, I guess!

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#writing #art #illustration #sea of sorrows #ttrpgs #characters #clerks #process notes #we deal in lead #fantasies #adventures #settings

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 2 years ago

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Ten Lines, Ten People

(tagged by the bestie @femme--de--lettres ie. natasha lyonne and @demidreamer for this. so i had to do it. and lucky for me i only have 10 fanfics on AO3 so.

rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. if you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Work in Process (post-poa raising harry au): Something about time.

2. postcard from paris (moonchaser romance):

Drunk and laughing on the couch in his sitting room, legs slung over the armrest with a joint in his hand, Remus swore nothing could ever be wrong again.

3. 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration (one shot, moonchaser):

Remus sat on his best friend’s couch, awkwardly slouched so he could put his forehead on the armrest as he only half-listened to Sirius in the kitchen talking to his six-month old baby in French.

4. No Matter the Wreckage (hogwarts, getting together wolfstar):

Sirius Black closed the lid on his school trunk, flipping the locks with a small click, before looking around the room--his room, technically--for any remnants he left behind.

5. Fault Lines (divorced wolfstar, love story):

Sirius had thought a date night would be all they needed.

6. ten reasons (to go to michigan) (a wolfstar romance):

Finally hitting a red light, Remus Lupin pressed on the breaks and allowed his tears to further blur his vision.

7. Carry Me Away (summer romance wolfstar):

Sirius had never been to a bar a day in his life and as he sat on a stool off to the side, listening to conversations around him and watching people watch him as they came up to the bar to order drinks, he wondered if his pressed trousers and dress shirt were the wrong choice of attire.

8. From Fire to Fire (we don't talk about this one):

"Sit up straight, Mr. Black."

9. Chef's Kiss (law school remus ft pianist sirius and cooking):

Ingredients: 1 package of instant ramen (whatever brand is cheapest at the store)

i am just now realizing i do not in fact have 10 fics on AO3 so i am going to include 10 from tumblr.

10. The Best Worst Thing to Have Ever Happened (jily comes back to life and wolfstar is raising harry)

Sirius had always been susceptible to things that went bump in the night.

i do not know ten people, so this is an open tag for anyone who sees it and thinks it would be fun!

#ten lines ten people #tag games

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heartfeltgram · 2 months ago

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𝟎𝟎𝟔 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝟏 — 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓

Song: Shounen to Priest (Nyanyannya / DaitensaiP ft. KAITO) English translation by Releska UST by Super Dandy, tuning & mixing done by Mod G

Key: Lyrics in orange, romaji in bold, descriptions in black

CWs: Religion/Catholicism, implied child abuse, implied sexual abuse

[The opening scenes first show the outside of the church. Right before the lyrics start, we flash to the inside of the church, showing a confession booth.]

Grant your blessing, Noel. shukufuku o noeru

You seem upset. sono…… ukanu kao desuka

Is something worrying you? nayamigoto de wa?

[These three lines show one side of the booth. Inside sits an adult man, with shoulder length hair. We can tell that this is the priest, but his face is obscured by shadow. He moves through the lines as he talks with his hands.]

Forgive me, Father. oyurushi o padore

No. I’m not worthy ie yurushi nado kou

[These two lines show us Iori. He’s frowning and it looks like there are tears in his eyes. On the second line, he looks down towards his hands.]

to beg for anything anymore. shikaku wa mou nai no desu

[His hands are clasped in prayer, but we see tear drops fall on them and leave little stains.]

Does God exist? kamisama wa imasu ka?

[We see a picture of the inside of the church, away from the confession booth. Sun is shining through the stained glass windows.]

Does salvation exist? sukui wa arimasu ka?

[The video moves to a picture of one of the stained glass windows. It’s colourful ; a white cross surrounded by birds.]

That’s what everyone asks, but it doesn’t matter to me. minna tazunemasu ga kakawari naku

[We go back to see Iori in the confession booth. He is wiping at his eyes as he speaks, attempting to remove the tears.]

What’s important is being honest. daiji na no wa seijitsu de aru koto

[We see the priest again, his face in a smile and his hand on his chest.]

So then, why does everyone bloody their hands nara kono kami ga tamouta katachi de

[We see a shot of Iori’s hands again. They are no longer clasped in prayer, but instead open with palms up. We then see them flash to having blood on them, and then back again.]

and curse upon the land God gave them? minna chi ni mamire te o terashi norou no wa?

[There’s a shot of a town. We see a pretty, bustling, green town first before it changes to a down that had been burnt down as a result of war. This is did not happen to Iori ; it’s more trying to show him asking “Why do we wage wars on the land God gave us?”]

Who can be protected by those teachings? sono oshie de dare o mamoreru ka?

[At first we see Iori, and then we see Iori in a classroom with a bunch of his classmates. He wonders if the teachings he’s learning will really protect them all.]

With those slender white arms? shiroku hosoi ude de?

[The same shot greys out, only keeping Iori in colour. He’s not very tall and he’s thin - how can he protect them?]

[Instruments]

[For a bit, we see a shot of Iori sitting on his bed in his dorm room. He sighs, closes the door, and begins to walk down the hallway. It’s a different day ; when he gets to the confession booth, the priest is standing in front of it, waiting for him.]

Come again Noel, mata oide noeru

my pure-hearted door kono seijitsu no tobira wa

is open to anyone. dare ni mo hirakaretemasu

[The priest waves at him, beckons him to come over to him ; when he does, Iori is awkwardly embraced in a hug ; they seem to talk, and at the end, we see the priest offer him his hand to lead him somewhere else.]

[Instrumental break: we see the priest leading Iori down the hallway, his hand on his back. They pass by classrooms and other students, but before they know it the hallway is empty. Noticing that the hallway doesn’t have people in it, we see the priest try to hold Iori’s hand before being shoved away ; he then moves to ruffle Iori’s hair. Eventually, they end up at the priests office, and push open the door. The moment they get in, the priest pushes Iori against the wall, their faces close.]

I just want to be myself, without falsehoods. tada itsuwarazu boku de aritai

[Iori looks like he’s speaking, his expression angry, like he wants to spit the words in the mans face.]

Well then, confess. de wa zange o

[For the first time, we see the priests face. His eyes are cold and he’s smiling, wide and too happy.]

Ah, with this body God granted me aa kami ga tamouta mi de

[Once more we see Iori’s expression, angry and disgusted. After, we see the priest being knocked back, as if he was pushed by someone.]

I once more became bloody, sullying my hands and cursing. mata chi ni mamire te o terashi noroimashita

[Iori’s face again. He’s crying, he looks bitter. It flashes to the priest. He’s still trying to smile but Iori’s hands are wrapped around his throat.]

I was born as a Barber Figaro kono machi ni hitotsu no figaro de

[Iori cries as he clenches his hands around the priests neck tighter and tighter. His tears are falling onto the priests clothes, leaving wet stains.]

in this city. And then… boku wa umare soshite——

[We see the priest’s body slump to the ground.]

That’s okay, that’s enough. ii deshou mou juubun

Close your eyes and pray sotto me o toji inori o

for the sake of us sinners tsumibukaki watashitachi no tame ni

now, and at the time of our deaths. ima mo shiseru toki mo inori tamae tayumazu

[Iori collapses to his knees, crying. Throughout the lines, he puts his hands together in prayer, seemingly begging God to forgive him.]

Ah… Amen Amen Amen Amen

[Upclose shot of Iori praying. It pans down to up, ending on his face.]

Grant your blessing, Noel. shukufuku o noeru

You’re the one… kimi wa——

[On a white background, we see a happy Iori, laughing and dressed in his school uniform. Before it ends, it changes, showing us the scared, anxious Iori dressed in his MILGRAM clothing.]

#006 #milgram #ocgram #milgram oc #trial 1 #iori flynn

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lonehuna · 9 months ago

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The Nightwalker is a dark elemental. Barely controlled by The Deep One, after Winter's Prince broke the Land of the Dead. While they do still lurk the empty plain of the dead, those ones are no worry to any but the last hiding dead (DV community ?). Loosed upon the mortal world, their are about 3 Nightwalkers who slowly march toward the nearest undead they see. If they are attacked they will stop lumbering in a straight line, they will run faster than a human at their size, and tear through a host of little fools. Long (15f reach) arms snapping up, and through ING them up, Skyrim like. Whipping Thier long clawed arms to slashing through many at ounce. They can jump 120f straight up (no fall DMG) if hit or trapped (this move gives them a strength save of 20). Ounce the cold purple clay of their body is pierced, there's a single burst of grey sickening water that coats anyone. Undead will suffer an aura of fear (5f) for the next week.

direct (IE in a devine or devil kingdom) sunlight will cause it to tumble into purple clay. But the eyebat can just tap it with something necromantic to reactivate the Nightwalker. Or an undead touching the clay would be drained and NW revived.

if destroyed the eyebat will fly off and burrow into some clay to hibernate and can reform the night stalker on Halloween.

Encountered at a camp at night, the party sees an eyebat which is very interred in the skeleton key or the talking skull or whatever necromancy item.

Later, next night even, camped in a Sentinel (loooong slender tree) forest, they see serious wind on the other end of the vally. Not a breeze on this side but That one tree is swaying. That one. And no others. Then it sinks, into the blackness of the vally.

Or a encounter in a city, where it will scale the walls in no time so the party needs to grab an undead guy (lock the eyebat on(be the closest to the NW) then in a carriage, lure it away into the wilds, hoping it locks onto something else. (maybe an weak/crazy necromancer was freed from jail cus he said he could res a slain wolf in a specific ritual to create an undead that would be faster than the NW and could kite it away. But needs to be the one to kill a wild wild by dagger, so ur quest: draw the NW attention away from the city, lead it out into the wilds, find - sacrifice - resa wolf, then the city is safe!

#Chad thundercock #Nightwalker #Undead #Deep king #Eyebat #elemental #Giant #Plot #Encounter #Quest #Chase

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dahliadoesart · 1 year ago

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Day 1 of Looking at Art for An Hour a Day

Today I looked at The Peacock Skirt by Aubrey Beardsley. Below is a very rough collection of notes/my thoughts-I may organize it into a better post eventually. I think this work is super duper cool, and would love to talk to anyone who has opinions!

The Peacock Skirt, Aubrey Beardsley

Work is all about the interplay between the two figures. Focal point is right between them, one on the left is curling around, looking down in controlling way. Has strands curling around the entire image, giving a sense of control and power. Interestingly, really only the skirt and the face of this figure are pictured, the skirt isn’t even particularly realistic. The actual body consists of essentially just two lines, very little detail. Beardsley does a really great job of conveying what is important, and letting the rest go, with the lack of detail in some areas just serving to heighten your attention on the important parts, not to distract you. Relatively blank torso is made up for in some sense by the peacock on the figures shoulder. Peacock has large skirt disguising the small size of the actual bird itself. I believe the bird is meant to be a representation of the figure on which it is perched. Twisting form of the bird mirrors that of the figure, with the feathers serving to hide the small form of the actual bird itself in the same way the skirt hides the figure. Peacock also has fan made primarily of dots-this is interesting as almost the entire rest of the image is done in either lines or large blocks of black and white. I believe this gives it a sort of surreal quality, removing it from the main focus on the two characters and letting us see it as more secondary. The actual head of the figure is essentially just emerging from the blob, with a looking down gaze. While the heads of the two figures are just about level, the one on the left is still looking down, heightening the sense of control. The blank eyes, the odd posture, the gaze not into the eyes of the other, and the plant like, dramatic hair of the figure on the left all give it a supernatural feeling. Whatever it is does not appear fully human, and is somehow messing with the figure on the right. I think that while the figure on the right is less detailed, its still super interesting. If you look at just the top half it looks…defiant? Like it knows it should be scared of the other thing and is trying its best not too. However, I think the bottom is really fascinating in contrast to this. The figures left arm bends inwards at a dramatic, unrealistic angle, allowing their hand to be in their dress. I believe this lets the shoulder be posed in the defiant way Beardsley wants, while still keeping the figure from interacting with the leftmost figure, and portraying a sense of smallness. Additionally, the knees of this figure are a sharp contrast to the rest of her, extremely detailed, knobby, and just generally in a rough shape. This, combined with the odd angle of the arm, and the tears in the bottom of the skirt all give a sense of weakness or defeat. The figure on the right is clearly not in a good state. Finally, I find the figure on the right’s right hand to be interesting. The pose is delicate, her fingers softly curled. This seems to not reflect the fear and unease of the situation. However, something is directly above it, maybe fire? It seems as if whatever this is is emanating from her hand, potentially conveying that the figure on the left is not the only supernatural one. This lends to the dramatic contrast between the top and bottom of the figure on the right, with the mix of confidence and shakeness potentially showing the uncertainty of how this situation will end up.

In general, I think the way Beardsley uses color is absolutely brilliant–different parts of this work have dots, white, or black as the primary focus, and we move between these areas effortlessly (ie the hair of the figure on the left vs the dress of the figure on the right). The lack of care for the specific details of human form, combined with this inconsistent aesthetic, and general sense of unease in the scene itself creates a really incredible way of conveying the wrongness of the situation, without any explicit story itself. Just looking at it, the work feels like a reflection of manipulation and abuse of power, and is able to communicate the terror associated with those situations, with only one scene, which is very cool.

#19th century #aubrey beardsley #block printing #art history #art appreciation #car seat headrest

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dragonpropaganda · 2 years ago

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Not what i was thinking i was gonna post on halloween, but this software is so fucked up it’s scary. Gotta say, the way rain world levels work is utterly fascinating to me. Like, technically and visually. It’s important to note rain world is a 2.5d game here. Let’s get an image example: GW_A24 (which stands for garbage wastes single screen room 24 in room file shorthand)

Note the 3-dimensionality of the space, as well as survivor’s shadow on the curved stone pillar behind it. This is rendered as 2.5d in the gamespace. Now let’s look at the room render in the files:

A... flat .png image? Yes. Rain world renders this 2.5d world from a red depthmap. The overbearing redness may stick out, far from the browns and toxic greens of the room in-game. This is because the game applies palettes

In the bottom left corner, see the palette menu, note the fade palette? yes, rooms get not one but two palettes to play with, which gives much more colour depth and variance in a region.

toning down the toxic fade palette, we get nothing but the sun-bleached grey palette 9, and turning it up...

Yeowch! The toxic hues in full force. Obviously this palette, palette 11 couldn’t be used like this, but with palette 9 as a moderator, it manages to show the intense pollution of the garbage wastes.

Now, as for the origin of the png image, it is created in the rain world level editor. To someone who has not used the level editor, this may seem simple. To someone who has, the mere mention may bring a tear to their eye.

the editor is split into quite a few editors, but here is the most relevant one for this, the tile editor.

One look at this and you might think “hey, those assets look like they were drawn in MS paint, where are my 2.5d objects? And where are the objects lying on the floor?” To answer this, i must elaborate. The tile editor shows previews of the tiles. the actual models, or to resort to technical vocabulary, voxelstructs, would be too impractical to render within the tile editor. The models are, too, stored as pngs, descending from the closest layer to the furthest, with the editor symbol positioned last. As an example, have the “big brick” tile that features prominently. The amount of times a layer repeates is controlled in the tile’s line in the init (ie: [#nm:"BigBrick", #sz:point(2,2), #specs:[1,1,1,1], #specs2:0, #tp:"voxelStruct", #repeatL:[1, 1, 1, 7], #bfTiles:0, #rnd:1, #ptPos:0, #tags:[]])

The RGB layers are used to generate the 3d model for the render, and the black outlines are what are shown in the tile editor.

Non-grid aligned objects, or “props” are placed in the prop editor, and they do use the 3d layers. This is because it is necessary for the prop editor’s function. While the tile editor is limited to the three major layers, the (2.5d) world is made up of 30 pixel layers (well, gameplay objects exist between layers 5 and 6, and water starts either between layer 0 and layer 1 or above layer 0) , and props can be placed as starting from any of these layers.

These are all assembled to make a 2.5d level... in red, green and blue. Not yet in the red read by the game. And also notice: there aren’t any plants! plants are generated by effects, which you can see haven’t been fully applied yet. The dark space surrounding most rooms is one, called “BlackGoo”

I don’t really have the strength of will to elaborate on effects, so onto lighting we go: the sunlight in a room is generated from an often crude monochrome image, which is projected onto the layers of the room after effects are generated, many of the intricacies of the lighting exist through light angle and distance.

In the last stage of rendering, the harsh red lightmap generated by this projection is used to determine whether a pixel is sunlit or in shadow. Light distance and angle are also saved for the game, so that it generates the shadows of gameplay objects in accordance.

All of this isn’t quite how it works but rather... an approximation. The editor still has many strange things, but this is what i’ve worked out from my own experience with it, as well as the experiences both of the modding community and others who worked on downpour. So yeah, basically rain world rooms go between 2.5d and 2d multiple times and it’s fucked up and the level editor is probably possessed by some kind of evil spirit. This piece of software is the hardest i’ve ever had to deal with, and apparently it’s even weirder internally, like half the code is in swedish. I haven’t even gotten into describing how the blues work, and i won’t, because i have no idea how the blues work, just that everything that isn’t controlled by the palette is rendered as blue.

#rw #rainworld #rain world #rw modding #this is what i've determined #love it tho mwah mwah #now you too can be confused by the inner workings of this technological wonder!#edit: tag said this software has tormented me for OVER half a decade #rather than almost #over would be impossible the game hasnt been released this long #so what i meant was: this software has tormented me for ALMOST half a decade

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sasshomaru · 1 year ago

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Not even sure how to tag this for the sake of tw/cw, but if you want to read about this dude making my life fucking hell, here it is

So, I went to this place bc they offered $1k off of my surgery. They advertised it as “just looking into a laser!” (not at all true, lmao) and “mild discomfort afterward” (actually true).

I had my consultation a little over a week ago, and they basically just gave me an eye exam and blew a lot of smoke up my ass about how quick and painless the procedure would be. So…

After another eye exam and paperwork earlier today, I go into the operating room. The doctor introduces himself and takes off my glasses for me, saying “You won’t need those anymore!” and puts them on a table. He then conducts a quick exam of my eyes (I’m assuming it’s an exam) by having me just sit at a small desk and look into a machine, which he sits opposite of me in. Keep in mind I am basically against the wall at this desk. He then stands in front of me and pulls out numbing drops, and he tries to open my eyes and shove these drops in for me.

Now, all I see (because these are eye drops) is what looks like a needle coming straight for my eye, so I start squirming and throwing my head back without really meaning to. He is in front of me; in a fucked up way, it feels like he’s pinning me against the wall and I can’t escape. He then just stares at me and in this really sarcastic voice goes, “Are you really sure you want this procedure? Because if this is how you act the entire time, I’m not going to be able to get anything done.” There is no empathy, no real question in his voice.

I respond and tell him that I’m just a bit freaked out, and it feels like something is coming at my eye. He then goes “Well you wear contacts don’t you?” I say yes, and he’s says “So see, I don’t see what the problem is. You need to relax or else I’m not doing this.” The way he spoke to me was like I was an uncooperative child or something. It reminded me of how my dad would say I was “doing things on purpose” when I would mess up, like if I couldn’t understand math homework then I was just “purposely not doing it” so that he could help me, or that I was “purposely dropping tools” to get out of helping him.

Finally I relax enough to get the numbing drops in. I’m guided to a surgery bed/table. I really don’t know what to call it, but it had a headrest and was body sized for someone to lay down on. I lay down and they cover my left eye.

Then, I see a plastic circle that is eye shaped, ie. empty in the middle, and it starts lowering. Instantly I freak out, and I start crying because this thing goes around my actual eyeball, past my eyelid. The doctor asks if I’d like a ball to squeeze, and I say yes, expecting a stress ball, but they give me a ball shaped red pillow that really does nothing for me. The doctor ignores me as tears stream down my face, and he tells the nurse to suction the device. I feel the plastic circle close around my eye ball, creating a tight “perfect” fit, and I start panicking even more. No, it’s not painful, but I thought they would just pull my eyelashes back, not wrap my fucking eyeball in plastic. I was told during my consultation that I would look into a laser, and that would be it. I am told to hold still as my vision goes black, except for three or four white lights in a straight, vertical line on the left side of my vision. This holds for several seconds, maybe even a minute. All I know is that it feels like forever.

At last, the device lifts out of my eye and all I can feel is relief as they cover it. And then I see the device lower towards my left eye, and that rising panic grows even more. Tears are streaming down my face as the doctor, completely void of emotion except maybe irritation, tells me to lower my chin. The device goes into my left eye. Looking back, I had a panic attack when it happened, because—sweet relief—the device is suddenly out of my eye. I see it above me, staring at me like an empty eye.

The doctor looks down at me, upside down in my vision. He tells me that what I did was very very bad—that I could’ve lost my vision from forcing the device out of my eyeball. This does nothing to calm me down. I tell him that I’m trying, and I sit up. The doctor tells me “I can’t do this if you don’t relax and cooperate.” He’s clearly irritated now. I repeat that I am trying. “You need to try harder,” he says coldly. I am the one who remembers “take deep breaths to calm down”—no one reminds me, no one tells me, I have to figure it out on my own as I’m panicking from having a huge piece of plastic in my eyeball and being temporarily blind.

When I’m nervous, I start laughing, and as I was taking deep breaths I was still crying but starting to laugh a little. The doctor just stares at me and mumbles “Jesus Christ” like I’m a fucking nut job, like he’s treating someone in the psych ward, like he’s treating the world’s most dramatic 26 year old girl. I lay back down and try to ignore him as I take deep breaths. The device goes into my eye again, and all I can think is deep breath, deep breath, deep breath. A machine that looks like an overhead projector slowly moves over from the far left over my left eye. Then my vision goes black again for a minute.

And then, the nurse lifts me up by the hands, and tells me that the worst part is over. I am shaking and still crying as she leads me to a similar looking bed/table in the back. I can see 20/20 now, but it looks like I’m seeing everything through mist, or through a cloud. I lay down, and my left eye is covered again. Now, they pull my eyelashes back so that I won’t blink. I am told to stare into a green light in a machine that looms overhead. There is one green light in the center, and two red lights on either side. On my side, I see a needle, and I make a weird crying noise. The doctor repeats that I need to keep staring into the green light. My vision completely blurs except for the three lights, and everything becomes grainy, like it has a filter. Then two drops fill my eye, and my vision clears, but it still feels like I’m looking through a cloud.

Then they do the other eye. The doctor asks if I feel any pain, and when I say yes, he adds more numbing drops. Other than that, the procedure is the same. Once the eyelash device lifts off my eyes, the doctor verifies my phone number, and says that he will call me to followup later today. (This never happened.) He tries to joke with me. “Well Rachel,” he says. “You and I both are gonna need a stiff drink after this.”

I don’t respond, because I am still crying and sniffling and every time I speak my voice is full of tears. The nurse is the one who takes my hands and says, “You did a great job!” as she leads me back to the desk where the doctor first examined my eyes. I laugh weakly and say “No I didn’t.” She smiles and says that I tried. I sit at the desk opposite the doctor as he looks at my eyes.

“Congratulations,” he says dryly. “On being my most difficult patient of the day.”

I can feel how wet my face is from all of my tears. “But not the most difficult ever right?” is all I can ask.

“No—not the worst ever,” he says. He stands, and I do too. He hands me a pair of sunglasses and tells me that I should sleep if I can, because the next four hours “will suck.” He then looks at my stuff near the door: my phone, my wallet, my keys, and the glasses I wore when I first came in, because I was told I couldn’t wear contacts for two days up to my appointment. He looks at my glasses, and I can see his eyes filled with irritation; his voice is disgusted. “God—those are some of the worst glasses I’ve ever seen,” he says. My glasses were dirty with fingerprints, and the arms were bent too high up after I’d stepped on them once.

I don’t thank him, I don’t say anything as I head out. The lobby is full of people who see me in my sweatpants, with tear stains on my face beneath my sunglasses. I leave and go to my roommate’s car outside. She drives me home as I close my eyes, and this time I’m tearing up and occasionally sobbing from pure anger and hatred.

And then I got home and had to close my eyes for four hours, and it just feels like I have a really old contact in my eyes, and nowww I’m writing this post. tomorrow I have a followup at the same office, and I’m REAAALLYY hoping I don’t see the doctor, because all I can feel is pure hatred and rage.

I think of how he talked to me—how he most likely wouldn’t treat a 26 year old guy who was panicking like that. I wonder if I am the first woman he’s ever made feel like shit, and I know that the answer is no. I think of how he looked at me like I was insane when I was crying and trying to calm down, mumbling “Jesus Christ” under his breath, and I wonder if he would treat a grown man the same way. And I know that the answer is no.

my ass is getting Lasik today wish me luck 🫡

#ray ray cray cray

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sk-lumen · 3 years ago

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Lumen's Top Skincare Tips

You don't need expensive products or a 15-step skincare regimen to have good skin. It is enough to cleanse and moisturize. Anything else is extra: an exfoliant helps with smoothing the skin and removing dead skin cells. A toner helps balance PH and tighten the skin. Sunscreen protects your skin from sun damage. Serums can add a boost of moisture, or help targeted areas in targeted ways (evening out skintone, lightening dark spots, etc) based on your needs. Vitamin C brightens your complexion and also helps your sunscreen become more potent. Retinols help regenerate the skin by encouraging cell turnover, thus improving fine lines and wrinkles, and so on... All of these things help improve your skin, but they are not essential.

Use sunscreen regardless of your skin color. You can vary the SPF depending on the season, using SPF50 for summer, and reverting to SPF30 for the other seasons, but try to protect your skin. An important thing to note is that you don't need to slather yourself in sunscreen all day every day even indoors; just be responsible with your use of it, ie. if you know you'll be spending more than 15-30 min outside, put a little something on. Avoid extremes, balance is best.

No, using sunscreen doesn't interfere with your vitamin D absorption, according to dermatologists.

No, you don't need to cleanse twice a day. It is enough to cleanse once at night to remove the build-up from the day. Doing so again in the morning only strips your skin of its natural oils, which might cause more issues (oily skin/sebum, dry skin etc).

Chemical exfoliants (gently exfoliating the skin) are better for the skin than physical ones (which can cause tears in the skin after long-term use).

Aloe vera gel is great for soothing irritated skin, sunburns, as well as generally helping regenerate the skin barrier.

Treatments like chemical peels and dermabrasions are best to be scheduled outside of the hottest season (autumn or winter is best) - as it is regenerating, the skin is more sensitive and the sun can cause more damage.

Acids can be very beneficial for the skin (lactic acid, salicylic acid, etc), but you should be very attentive with how you use them! It's not an area where you should DIY with mix-and-match approach to see what works, I've heard many stories of people getting burns, inflammations and irritation because they were using too many acids, essentially destroying the skin's barrier. My rule of thumb is stick to one product, and if I need something more I will do some research + ask my dermatologist to confirm if the product is suitable for my skin & needs - or the other way around, depending on the situation.

If you find something that works for you, stick to it. You don't have to keep switching up products because that's the trendy skincare thing to do. No, your skin doesn't "get used to it and stop responding", that's not how skin works.

Even in skincare, less is more. Overexfoliating, overcleansing, using too many acids and products in general can cause more issues than if you have a simple cleanse+moisturize routine.

When trying out new products, try to test 1 product at a time, by integrating it into your routine. That way you can tell if it's working for you or not. If you test multiple new products, you won't be able to tell which one is working for you or not.

Staying hydrated shows in your skin's health, we all know this. Drink at least 1-2 liters of water every day. It flushes out the toxins and really does give you that glow!

Drinking green tea regularly is also great for clearing your skin. I like to start my mornings with 1-2 cups of green tea or black tea every day.

Moderation and an open mind will help you in skincare too. If you're passionate about natural skincare and organic ingredients, don't be wary of anything that contains "chemicals". It's good to be open minded, educate yourself and understand the many options out there and how they can benefit you.

On the same subject - if you're strict on dermatologically-tested, scientifically-proven professional skincare products, it's okay to experiment with natural ingredients too. It's a false belief that every oil is bad or will congest your skin, or that essential oils are all irritants and whatnot. Each has special qualities and attributes, hence why it's important to do your research before trying them out according to their respective instructions.

There's no such thing as perfect skin, don't be fooled by all the filters which are so standard on social media. Everyone has pores, everyone has some scars or dark spots or congested pores at some point. Just take care of your skin, do what you can, and be confident as you are! The secret to good skin is not in luxury creams, 30 step routines, complicated rituals and expensive facials. The secret is simply a combination of selfcare + selflove. Love your skin, treat it with care, and honor it by being confident in it.

#skincare #skincare tips #selfcare #selflove #selfcare threads #sk lumen #healthy skin #skin #natural skincare #beauty tips #sunscreen #(edit on serums 15/03/2022)

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

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𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

#aizawa smut #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa x reader smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader smut #heavenly bodies collab #chiwhorei.bnha #chiwhorei.fics #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: coercion #tw: sacrilegious #tw: corruption #tw: age gap #tw: darkfic

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bunnie-the-lighthouse · 4 years ago

Text

𝒲𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝒹~

Pairing: ATEEZ Park Seong-Hwa, ATEEZ Choi San & Reader

Warnings: It’s Suggestive, My Friend. Be Careful. (It’s Kind of Long Too)

Inspiration: Not Gonna Lie, I Don’t Know.

Basic Idea: You Are In A Polyamorous Relationship With San And Seong-Hwa, Your Guardian Angels. But... They Hide A Deep Secret.

Type: Fluff & Suggestive

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On your way back home you were humming a song, enjoying the tune as it was finally Friday. You were hoping to just get home and cuddle with your favorite boys -- your guardian angels, Seong-Hwa and San.

You opened the door and saw Seong-Hwa organizing the dinner table while San was nowhere to be seen. Smiling at the sight, you once again feel comfortable and recharged after entering your house. “I’m home~” you chirped as Seong-Hwa looked up at you. “Oh! Hi baby,” he smiled as you smiled back.

“Where’s San?” you asked as Seong-Hwa brought out the last plate of steak. “He’s playing online with Yun-Ho,” the raven haired angel smiled at you, “Come on, go change to more comfortable clothes and tell Sannie that we have to eat dinner,” he ushered as you nodded and went off to the shared bedroom.

Opening the bedroom door, you saw San being focused on the game. You quickly gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, catching him off guard. “Oh, _____-ie!” he squealed while giving you a smile. “Hwa finished cooking dinner, let’s go eat, okay?” you asked as he nodded.

You then changed to more comfortable clothes, San saying goodbye to Yun-Ho as he then hugged you from behind. “How was work today?” he asked as you chuckled, “Slightly annoying, but now I feel better,” you responded. Turning around, you hugged him back, laying your head on his chest.

Eating dinner was the same as always, you guys shared how your day was and everything was rather chill. Something that did catch your attention was Seong-Hwa’s eyes.

They would normally shift color from black to a light blue that resembled the sky. This would normally occur when he felt a strong emotion from you, and when you were recounting your story of how your boss yelled at you, you did feel quite frustrated.

However, this time… His eyes didn’t resemble the sky. They blinked a dark turquoise that you’ve never seen before. It caught you off guard, but you didn’t expect the turquoise to be enchanting -- it was mysterious, deep, and full of… Desire?... You weren’t sure yourself.

You decided to let it slide, and soon after dinner you guys huddled up on the couch to watch a movie. “Hyung, should we watch Fifty Shades of Grey?” San asked as the question caught you off guard, “What? Aren’t you guys not supposed to watch those types of things?” you asked, knowing that the movie was quite graphic from reviews -- you yourself never watched it, you just read reviews.

“I’m sure nothing bad will happen,” Seong-Hwa replied as you still felt concerned. Midway through the movie, you of course felt slightly heated -- however you were sort of worried over the toxicity of that relationship, and mainly, the fact that San and Seong-Hwa shouldn’t be watching this because they are angels… Guardian Angels, to make things worst.

As you leaned your head on San’s shoulder, you felt his hand lay on your thigh, which intrigued you. He was a bit playful, but not to this level. You felt a bit more heated, a wave of desire washing over you. And as you calmed down the strong emotion, you glanced and saw how his once emerald green eyes shone a dark forest green.

Something was definitely wrong. And you couldn’t help but feel excited.

“I see that our little baby has noticed something,” Seong-Hwa suddenly spoke, making you whip your head to look at him. “Huh?” you question as you feel fear creep into your system. Seong-Hwa’s eyes shone the same dark turquoise, and rather than returning to his black marbles…

They stayed in the unusual blue.

“Hwa?” you squeaked out as he smirks, you then felt San kiss your neck from behind, his soft hair tickling you slightly. “Sannie?” you asked but quickly got shut up by Seong-Hwa’s harsh kiss. You whimper at the force, closing your eyes.

Seong-Hwa kissed you hungrily as you couldn’t help but also feel aroused by San’s soft kitten licks on your neck. "It took you some time, _____-ie," San purred out against your neck as you were still confused over what the two angels meant.

You then opened your eyes and saw how Seong-Hwa didn't have two white feathery wings behind him. His halo was also missing… Instead, he had wings resembling those of a black dragon. That is also when you felt

Two sharp teeth graze over your sensitive neck.

"Oh babygirl.. We weren't your Guardian Angels.. In the crooked world that we live in, the only things that exist are those who are evil and those who are neutral. Creatures like us.. Incubus, if you may, were supposed to come here..”

“And ruin you,” San whispered in your ear.

“Though, we disobeyed the rules, and fell for a mortal.. We fell for you, _____,” Seong-Hwa confessed as San trailed kisses from your shoulder to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot softly as Seong-Hwa cupped your cheeks.

San pulled away from your neck, looking down at the mark that he left. Seong-Hwa then rubbed your cheek with his thumbs, "We were supposed to ruin you while you slept, darling.. But you won our dark cold hearts with your peaceful and beautiful face. I felt your sorrow from your tear stained cheeks,"

"And I felt your desperation when you hugged your plushie as if it were the only object that kept you sane."

"We felt connected to you.. And we couldn't ruin you," Seong-Hwa ends as you couldn’t help but look away, freeing yourself from the older’s grasp. You stood up and left to the bedroom, overwhelmed from their sudden reveal.

On the bed you sighed, hiding yourself under the blankets. You heard and felt someone shuffling to lay down next to you, someone else then laid on your other side. “Baby girl?” Seong-Hwa asked as you peaked your head out of the blankets, you were pouting, catching the two incubi off guard as they expected you to be mad.

“I hate you two.. For lying to me.. But I also love you two.. For being next to me and keeping me happy,” you confessed, as if opening the gates, allowing the two to enter your heart. You were about to wrap your arms around Seong-Hwa’s neck, but he stopped you by pinning both of your hands above your head.

“Then.. Should San and I.. Show you a whole new world?” he asked, smirking softly while purring out in ecstasy and love. You couldn’t help but feel enchanted by his dark turquoise pearls -- nodding at his statement.

San then chuckled and used his index finger to guide your view towards him, making you peer into his forest green marbles.While he crashed his lips onto yours, Seong-Hwa took the time to start kissing your neck, creating another mark near your sweet spot, to complement San’s mark.

You moaned in the kiss, feeling more heated as San’s hands trailed down and creeped underneath your shirt, massaging your tummy softly -- the friction making you ticklish. As you squirmed slightly, San and Seong-Hwa pulled away. San looking down and imagining your pleasured face as Seong-Hwa blew on the mark, causing you to exhale shakily.

San then laughed, a bit sinisterly, turning you on even more as he unbuttons his dress shirt with one hand, the other moving his hair back. Seong-Hwa also started unbuttoning his shirt, making you feel flustered -- watching two extremely hot incubi undress.

“Oh, by the way, baby girl.. Before we ruin you, remember that we are incubi, so we are more freaky~”

“We’ll give you an experience that you won’t be able to live if you date a human. Us incubi are especially proud of our skills,”

“We’ll make you squirm from the pleasure,”

“We’ll make you scream our name,”

“We’ll make you wish for more”

… “Are you ready?” …

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hello hello! Bunnie here~

Sorry I’ve been MIA, had to focus lots on school since it’s the last quarter and I was trying to exempt all of my classes to leave school earlier :D

Thankfully, I am officially done with my sophomore year! Yaay! *Claps*

However, one sad thing is that my summer is gonna be hectic =_= so I may not be able to push out as much stuff as I’d like -- I have a summer assignment for AP Language and I’m attending an online Summer Program.

However, I will try to type some stuff beforehand so that I still have content.

Anyway, I present to you -- “Guardian Angels” Sannie and Ddeonghwa! :D

Did you like this concept? I did tone down the suggestive since I felt like I crossed the line a few times in the other ones. (Side Note: I did the GIFs myself, which is why the quality is kinda bad T_T)

Please tell me if you liked this! And please! Do send me a message if you have any requests! My inbox is open!

Have fun with your imagination, y’all!

Thanks for the patience and support! I’ll catch y’all next time!

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alltooreid · 4 years ago

Text

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . . I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that’s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night.

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall.

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you.

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk.

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth.

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table.

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table.

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!”

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you.

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something.

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again.

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years.

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him.

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him.

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone.

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

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