#2. Herbal remedies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yesimwriting · 5 months ago

Text

An Act of Service

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Your father has loyally served the Iron Throne and royal family for many years. No one would ever assume the Grand Maester wanted more for his family's name until he has the opportunity to send his daughter to help treat the pain that's plagued Prince Aemond since the childhood injury that cost him his eye.

Warnings/info: canon deviations (maesters are vowed to celibacy and not allowed to have families bc of the exact political reasons this fic follows, but i really wanted to write this, so we're going to pretend that they can have kids), thinly veiled implications of reader's father wanting to "sell" his daughter out to a prince to aid his family's position

A/n I hate to be the part 2 girl but the ending set up a part 2 so well i may have to

----

It's systemic, the proportioning of herbs so familiar you barely need to glance away from the bronze mortar.

Your arm reaches forward, your eyes briefly darting away from the metal bowl and towards the neatly organized botanicals at your father's work station. You reach for dried petals, the remnants of a rose's remains crumbling slightly beneath your touch.

"Very well," the words are earnest, a rarity when it comes to your father's praise. "But do not get so comfortable you forget your measurements. These remedies may be creations that we feel, but they are also exact."

You nod once, allowing the petals to fall into the mortar before setting your hand against the work table. Your father's unofficial lessons are precarious, often based on his mood and defined by his meticulous nature. He did not achieve his position within the Red Keep through careless work.

Today, he seems content, his peace evident in the lightheartedness of his corrections. Days like this keep your world on its axis, the time with your father making you ever grateful for his position as well as your own. It is rare for a Maester's child to be allowed to stay near their father, let alone work within the same home as him. His place within the Red Keep allowed him the privilege of bringing you and your younger sister to work as royal maids after your mother's passing.

"Of course."

He plucks another petal from the jar, dropping it into the bowl with no sense of malice. You're glad for his patience, but in all honesty, you're grateful for his attention and lessons no matter his disposition.

As a woman, you may never be able to become a Maester or dedicate your life to the work that fascinates you, but his lessons still hold great value. You help your father heal others between your domestic labors within the Red Keep, and at times, you aid sick or injured members of the royal staff.

He nods approvingly, giving you the confidence to reach for the pestle. You begin to grind the combined herbs sitting inside the mortar.

Hurried footsteps echo from somewhere beyond your father's door. You hesitate, eyes darting towards the entrance. You are not barred from assisting your father with his labors, but many frown on the idea of a woman so close to such an important Maester's work.

The door is pushed open with a protesting groan from its tired hinges. The individual turns, revealing a too familiar uniform. A guard.

You blink, immediately turning your attention towards the unfinished herbal remedy in front of you.

"Grand Maester," the man's greeting is curt, uncertain as he glances in your direction. You busy yourself with blending your herbs. "It is the prince, once again pained by his missing eye."

That alone tells you all you need to know about the guard's hesitation to speak in front of you. You've never once spoken to Prince Aemond, but everyone knows of the childhood injury that cost him his eye. Some maids even claim that a great deal of current political turmoil stems from the mistake that occurred during youth driven roughhousing.

The recurring pain that has afflicted the prince since is a lesser known ailment. Over the years, your father has often been called to the prince's apartments at odd hours to clean and treat the prince's permanent injury, late at night or during the early hours of the morning, when the halls of the Red Keep are most empty.

Your father moves away from the work table and towards the shelf of prepared medications. "Did the prince describe the pain? An ache, soreness..."

"It is a burning pain," the guard begins, "The prince did not go into detail, but he did say his skin felt warm."

Your father stills. "That is not his usual ailment." He turns to face the guard. "I will need to cleanse the eye before the pain can be treated."

The guard is silent for such a long moment you find it in you to look away from the safety of the work table. "His highness...The prince has mandated that no Maesters be brought to him. He only wishes for me to bring him the salve you offered him last."

The Grand Maester begins to pace forward. "May I send his highness the girl?"

Your hand stalls too suddenly, the pestle striking the mortar's side. Surely, your father is referencing some--some other girl. A prince's maid that he is familiar with, or--

"My daughter has witnessed and aided me in my practices her entire life. She is well versed in the process of cleaning injuries and applying remedies in a way that avoids contamination." The guard is silent as his attention shifts onto you.

The guard finishes regarding you with no real flourish. He looks over at your father. "The prince's desires were clear, he does not want more people aware of the situation than necessary."

"You would have a prince of the realm apply a salve himself to an already agitated wound without first having it properly cleansed?" He begins to walk forward, approaching the guard with a confidence you've seen him wear before. "I am more than willing to serve him at a later hour, but his ailments do concern me, and time is a significant factor."

The guard says nothing as your father continues to take measured steps towards him. "She offers the prince the discretion of a maid and the skill of a Maester."

Warmth begins to burn its way up your neck. You had never been put into the position to work closely with the royal family, only ever seeing them from a distance. That does not mean you have not heard stories.

You're not a particularly shy or nervous maid, you understand your place and the importance of keeping silent. But the princes...gossip about them often permeates the maids' quarters. Prince Aegon and his entitlement, Prince Aemond and his anger. Why is your father attempting to throw you to the dragon's? Is he--is he that concerned about the prince's current state?

The guard's eyes briefly find yours. "She can't tell anyone."

Your lips part, unsure if the statement is meant for you or your father. Before you can think of anything to say, your father agrees on your behalf, "She is loyal to the crown and instruction. Rumors will not spread from my daughter's lips." There's a beat of silence, and then the guard's careful nod. "Very well. I will gather the necessary materials."

"I must return to my post, a maid will be sent to take her to the prince's apartments." With those final words, the guard begins to approach the door, glad to be done with his involvement on a change that may upset the prince.

Once the door shuts, and you are finally offered the privacy of your father's company alone, the dread you had been warding off burrows itself in your chest. "Father, why--why would you ask to send--"

"I have treated the prince for many years, more than other Maesters within the Red Keep because of his desire for privacy, discretion." Your father's attention returns to the already prepared remedies. He steals a small jar from its place, setting it on the work table. "You are well trained, and no one will assume you are there to treat the prince."

He opens a drawer of bandages. "You also have a kind disposition, and a patience with the injured that even the most experienced Maester would envy. The prince's exterior may be hardened, but I remember him as a sensitive child."

The reminder of his childhood wedges itself into your chest, distracting you from your own fears long enough for you to feel something akin to compassion. Forever suffering due to an injury inflicted by the brashness of childhood anger.

Your father sets the bandages next to the salve. He then reaches for a cleaning ointment you are familiar with, placing it on the work table as well. Now satisfied with his collected materials, his attention finally finds you.

He approaches you slowly, a fondness not often seen pooling in his eyes. If this is a way of bringing your father pride, perhaps this task will not be as dreadful as it seems. "You have matured before my very eyes, growing into your mother's heart and beauty."

Your father extends an arm, his palm coming to brush against your cheek. The gesture is easing, a display of affection he has rarely offered you since your mother's passing. His fingers settle against your hairline, his nails carefully combing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"If you are to walk through the halls of the Red Keep, your hair should not flow as freely as a child's." The comment digs at you in a way you do not comprehend. When no worthy reaction comes to mind, you nod.

He steps back, attention returning to the supplies laid out on the work table. "Be careful, take your time checking the prince for infection and other sources of irritation. See to his needs, you are a good, kind girl. I am sure you will find a way to offer the prince comfort."

You swallow, unease settling in your stomach once again. With that, your father turns away from you.

----

The residential halls of the red keep are vast, with never ending turns and stairwells that come together to form a sort of labyrinth. Despite your lack of familiarity with the prince's maid that came to find you, you are grateful for her guidance.

She eyed you and the laundry basket disguising your medical supplies skeptically, but made no attempts to question you as she led you through the castle. Maids that are tasked with the direct care of the royal family tend to be familiar with the other staff members that work closely with the nobles. This woman has already recognized you as an oddity, a stray in routine.

If she had seemed less hesitant to be around you, you would have liked to ask her for her name, and to perhaps find a sense of normalcy through common ground. Her rejection and pointed distance has forced you to try to find a sense of peace through your surroundings.

You've rarely found reasons to wander through this part of the castle, the beauty of it serving as a way of distracting your racing thoughts.

Your guide stalls in front of a large set of doors. "These are the prince's apartments." She pushes open the doors, allowing you to enter before her. "The prince is resting in the room behind the seating area."

Your eyes land on the wooden door behind the small couch. One misstep in that room and things could very well be over for you and your family.

"Will you be able to find your way back?" The question is small, almost hesitant. You're sure she was tasked with getting you to and from the prince's apartments, but there's something about her stance that feels flighty. She does not want to enter the room the prince is resting in.

You have no way of knowing how Aemond reacts to treatments or his own pain, but if he fears the court gossiping about ailments enough to refuse a visit from a Maester, you doubt he takes well to maids witnessing his vulnerability.

"Yes," an act of mercy for you both, "Thank you for bringing me here, but I am certain I can make it back on my own."

She lets out a breath, nodding once. "Then I will return to my usual duties."

Considering that her usual duties revolve around Aemond, there's a good chance she's simply accepting the opportunity to excuse herself. You don't mind, glad for the excuse to not draw attention to what you're here for. She leaves you without another word.

You approach the door pointed out to you, firmly rapping your knuckles against the wooden surface once. A flat, "enter" provides you the strength to push open the door.

The details of the room are more intriguing than you can afford them to be, the intricate patterns on his walls and the ornate carvings etched into his bed frame so enticing a part of you nearly forgets of the prince.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus in an attempt to project the maturity your father had seen in you when he recommended you for this task.

You step further into the room, your eyes landing on the bed. There he is, head resting against the pillow, majority of his body covered by plush bedding.

Your father has only ever felt honored to care for members of the royal family, no matter Prince Aemond's sentiments, you're sure you'll feel something similar. "My prince?"

His head turns, the movement sluggish. "You...Who are you?" The words are more labored than they are defensive. That is not enough to ease the dread in your chest.

You exhale carefully, "The Maester--the Grand Maester sent me." You remain near the doorway, your hold on the laundry basket tightening. "I have a salve for your ailments."

He lifts his head further, his forearm pressing into the mattress. This new angle allows you to see the entirety of his features, the sharp slope of his jaw, the set of his lips...the jagged scar that cuts across porcelain skin. He regards you with an openness that leaves you without words.

The scar that marks him does not dull the beauty of his well sculpted features. Seeing him like this, studying him and what the loss of his eye has taken from him leaves your face warm, as if you've been caught searching for something not meant for you. You've never heard of a maid that's seen him without his sapphire eye.

"Alright." The response feels significantly less hostile than he was a moment before. "Leave it at my bedside table."

You walk forward carefully, mind begging you to think of a way to bring up why your father sent you here. "My pri--"

"You did not answer my question." The authority in his statement doesn't feel like an accusation. When you remain silent, he continues. "You are not my usual maid, the one who is sent to retrieve items from the Maester."

"No," you agree, "The Maester suggested that I bring you your remedy because he found the description of your pain slightly worrisome. He wanted to abide by your wishes to not be visited by a Maester while also assuring that your injury was properly cleansed before being treated." After a beat of no response, unease burrows itself further into your chest. "I can leave you, if you'd pref--"

He turns his head to better look at you, strands of silver hair falling past his shoulder. "What could possibly qualify you to cleanse a wound?"

The question, though delivered sharply, is a fair one. "The Grand Maester, my father..." If the revelation intrigues him in any way, he gives no indication of it. "Has had me assist him with his duties nearly my entire life. I have been trained in basic care and am confident in my ability to properly cleanse a wound."

Prince Aemond is silent for a moment, watching you with an all consuming focus. You've heard stories of his intensity, of his seriousness. The prince pushes himself to sit up fully. "Very well. The maid before you left clean water and rags at my bedside."

Your attention shifts to his nightstand, a small bucket and wash cloth waiting on the hardwood surface. You nod, digging through the clean sheets of your basket until you find the remedies and bandages your father had picked out for you. You lay out your supplies before looking over at the prince.

He has always seemed tall to you, but with him sitting in his bed, you cannot think of a proper way to lean over him to reach his eye while standing. You turn your head, eyes landing on a small desk and chair tucked into a corner. "My lord, would you mind if I..." You gesture towards the chair.

"Do as you need."

You nod in acknowledgement of his permission before moving the chair to his bedside. You dip the soft rag into the water before sitting. The proximity of your new position is oddly disorientating. Small Folk may not be held to the same pious standards as noble born women, but your father has raised you with certain expectations and regulations. With the exception of family, you doubt you've ever been this close to a man.

You lift the rag, but you cannot bring yourself to press it against his skin. "May I?"

He straightens. "Yes."

Even with that, you cannot will yourself to begin the cleaning process. Your father has always been careful when it comes to treating others, following every rule no matter how minor the injury. "My father has taught me to feel the area bordering the wound before cleaning it to make sure the extent of the injury is understood. However, I know this is an older wound, so if you'd prefer for me to only clea--"

"You may do as your father instructed. I am accustomed to the prodding." Sympathy briefly jabs at you. This is something he's experienced for over half his life.

You nod before lifting your free hand, fingertips gently brushing against his cheek. His skin is warm, perhaps a little warmer than a person should be. Your fingers shift forward gingerly, following the path of his scar. The closer you get to his eye, the warmer his skin feels.

"You don't look like him."

The comment pulls you out of your analysis. "Pardon me?"

"Your father," he tries again, "You don't look like him."

If his tone had been any less soft, you might have interpreted the observation as an accusation. "Oh, no." Your touch continues its path across his features. "Actually, I've often been told I take after my mother."

The skin around his eyebrow feels different than the rest of his injury, puffier, as if beginning to swell. Odd. "Does she work in the Red Keep as well?"

His curiosity is jarring, but not unwelcome. Having an excuse to speak makes focusing on such a personal task seem less invasive. "She did..." You blink in an attempt to reduce the impact of thoughts of what happened to your mother. You're doing well, you cannot allow an old grief to ruin everything. "Before she passed."

Prince Aemond hums once, the sound giving no indication of anything. Pleased with your preliminary analysis, you let your hand fall away from him. You turn to once again dampen the cloth held between your fingers.

"What happened?" The question is void of both empathy and brutal curiosity.

You bring the cloth to the side of the Prince's face. "She died..." Your only defense against his gaze is to focus on the irritated skin near his eyelid. Such swelling on such an old wound cannot be typical. "Bringing my sister into the world."

He falls silent again, allowing you to concentrate on dabbing the washcloth against his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Heat begins to burn its way up your chest, the way it always does when your mind dwells on the loss of your mother for too long. "I appreciate your sympathies, my prince."

Water beads against his skin, a single droplet beginning to drip downwards. Your hand stretches forward on instinct, thumb dragging against the hollow of his cheek to wipe away the water.

You do not realize your error until it is much too late. While wiping away the excess water dripping down the skin of an equal is expected, to do so to a prince without so much as asking first implies a familiarness that you are not entitled to.

"My lord, I apologize--there was water--" You stumble through your explanation while pulling your hand back.

Aemond extends his arm, long fingers latching themselves onto your wrist. His touch, though sudden, is far from harsh. You cannot manage to take in a full breath. "There is no need for apologies." He does not release you until you nod.

You return to cleaning his wound, this time making sure to be aware of your instinctual movements. The flesh above what once was his eyelid is jarringly hot. What would your father do? He'd--he'd examine the irritated area.

You shift towards him, so close you can make out individual strands of his silver hair. Your mind works at keeping your breaths even. There is a small area of his skin that's more swollen than the rest. At the center of the swelling, there's a thin line that seems to extend beneath his brow bone and into the space once occupied by his eye. As gently as you can manage, you lift the cloth to the space above his eyelid. He winces.

"I'm sorry." You're immediately pulling back, your spine pressing against your seat. "Are you hurt?"

Aemond's eye flits away from the wall in front of him and onto you. His lips are pressed together, his expression incredibly stoic. "No." The lie is a fragile thing that cannot matter. You saw him flinch. "If anything, you have been more thoughtful than most."

There's a tentative softness laced through the syllables, a hesitance that does not suit him. His careful assurance feels heavy, the pressure of it grounding you. In certain contexts, you can see how the strength of his personality could be perceived as violence, but there's something else to this quality...an intensity that can also apply to good things.

"I'm glad you feel that way." The nail of your thumb digs into the wash cloth. "I--I think I know why your eye has been troubling you, my prince."

His eyebrows draw together, expression coming dangerously close to displaying curiosity. "Why?"

"The skin just above your eye is slightly swollen and more irritated than the rest of your injury. When I examined the swelling more closely, I noticed a scratch." You pause, thinking through your wording. "It's small, but seems to be irritating the scarring around your original injury. You should have an ointment applied with your usual salve to ward off infection for the next few days."

You can't interpret the silence that follows. His expression morphs into something heavy. "A scratch?"

"It is nothing to be concerned about, my prince." The source of his pain is small, if he is careful, there should be no risk of infection or long term consequence. "Truly, the scrape is no wider than..." You glance around the room, looking for something to estimate the size of his injury. Your eyes fall to the hand on your lap. You lift your arm, holding your palm out between the two of you. "The width of my smallest finger."

Aemond lifts his own hand, his fingers bending around around yours. You let him move your arm forward. He studies your pinky before dragging his thumb against your knuckles. The gesture is so comfortable you have to work at not pulling away. He lets out a quiet breath.

"My prince?"

Aemond's hold on you tightens. "Such a dismissible ailment, and I am left defenseless."

Oh--had he taken your attempts at easing him as an insult? His current wound may be small, but skin so marred is easily agitated, easily made sick. "I did not mean it that way." The earnestness of your own voice should startle you. "Your pain is no dismissible thing, the extent of your original injury is brutal enough, I cannot imagine how it feels for it to be agitated."

The words tumble past your lips so quickly, you are not given a chance to think through them. It is never a good idea to express opinions in front of the nobles. "I apologize for over stepping, my lord."

"I told you," his thumb moves against your knuckles once more, "There is no need to apologize."

You nod, still not feeling completely certain. "You should feel much better after the remedies take. The swelling will likely begin to go down before day's end."

His focus remains on your hand. Aemond releases you slowly, his fingers dragging against your skin as he lets go. A part of you is glad for the excuse to return to the familiarity of your tasks.

You open the ointment, fingers gathering a generous amount before returning to Aemond's wound. "Where do you usually work?"

"Often with my father, preparing remedies and organizing herbs and other supplies." You spread the product onto his skin carefully, your touch as light as you can manage. "When I'm not doing that, I assist the other maids, usually with the laundry and in the kitchen."

He nods absentmindedly. You straighten as you finish applying the salve. You wipe your hands onto the discarded washcloth before unscrewing the jar containing the salve.

Aemond is still as you apply the salve onto irritated skin. This time, as your fingers trail against his skin, you can feel Aemond's gaze focusing on you. You work quickly, focusing your distribution of the product onto the cut beneath his brow bone.

Finishing is more bittersweet than you expected it to be. You're glad to know that you've done what's been asked of you, to know that you've done nothing to offend the prince. However, some small part of you is reluctant to leave.

You reach for the cloth, dampening the fabric before wiping your hands clean once more. "The medications should begin to alleviate your pain soon." You twist the rag between your fingers. "Is there anything else you need, my prince?"

He watches you for a moment. "Only your name."

Unease lunges at your chest, nearly making your heart skin a beat. It is quite rare for a noble to ask for a servant's name, especially if the servant does not regularly see to their needs. When Aemond continues to watch you expectantly, you offer him your name.

He tries your name on his own lips, repeating it slowly. Unsure of what the proper response would be, you briefly dip your chin downwards in a subtle nod.

His lips part. You straighten, preparing for the appropriate dismissal. "Sit with me a little longer." The phrasing is gentle, but it feels far from a question. "Conversation would be a decent distraction."

You wring the washcloth further. Cautionary tales of low borns who found themselves overly comfortable spending time with the royal family have been recited to you as often as traditional bedtime stories. However, there is nothing inherently wrong with making polite conversation if it is asked of you. Either way, the dangers do not matter. It'd be a fool's error to directly deny the prince.

"Of course, my prince."

The immediate silence that follows tangles your stomach. Aemond has asked you for conversation as a way to distract himself from his pain and you have nothing worth saying to a prince. You lift your head, glancing around the room. Your observations are in vain, what common ground could you both possibly have?

Your eyes land on his desk. There are a few books stacked neatly on the wooden surface, one with a familiar title written on its spine. "Are you reading The History of the Conquerors?" The question feels too abrupt without a clarification, "I finished the final volume less than a fortnight ago, my lord."

Aemond studies you so openly you almost convince yourself you've misspoken. "You read?"

Despite the politeness of his tone, his true question is easy to assume. A majority of maids and other royal attendants can only read certain words, being taught just enough to get through their day to day lives. Your father had gone out of his way to teach you to read fully. He originally taught you to read to make it easier for you to understand texts detailing remedies and health conditions, but you quickly developed a passion for any text he could bring you.

"Yes, my father taught me." You smooth the washcloth over your lap. "Originally, he wanted me to be able to read about treatments and diseases, and now he is forever cursed to find me new reading material." As soon as the words are out, you're immediately mentally cursing yourself for your casualness. "I apologize, my prince, that was a...joke."

He shifts, his hands coming to rest on his lap. "I told you not to apologize." The correction leaves an uncomfortable heat clawing its way up your chest. Your nails dig into the rag. Aemond lets out a breath. "And you do not have to trouble yourself with proper addresses."

That's--You know for a fact that no maids in the Red Keep have ever spoken of a noble dismissing the need for formal addresses. If it happens, it's something kept secret. Not even your father, who has known and treated the prince since he was child, addresses him casually.

You squeeze the wash cloth, the fabric dampening your palm. "Alright." The word sits there, floating aimlessly without his title to guide it.

Aemond nods before allowing his attention to shift towards the books on his desk. "Did you enjoy the book?"

"Yes." At least this is a topic you feel capable of speaking on. "The descriptions of the seven kingdoms before they were united together were interesting, I haven't found many historical accounts that go that far back."

He takes a moment to digest your response. "It is a detailed account, but at times the writing seems to overly rely on the author's perspective."

"To me, that felt intentional." The excuse to debate narration is more welcomed than it should be. "The author is only taking the time to recount these events because of his personal investments in the conflict. The constant references to his own position felt like an attempt to get ahead of any accusations of bias."

Aemond sits up a little straighter, one of his hands coming to rest on the side of his bed. "That's a fair interpretation, though if that's the assumption we're reading under, it is a poor attempt at denoting political bias when compared to The Recounting of the Dornish Wars."

The Recounting of the Dornish Wars is a relatively popular account, your father had no trouble finding you the first and third volume. The second volume seems to be more of a rarity, something no one in your world has been able to track down yet.

"That's a good point, but the author of that account was in a completely different situation." You fold the towel in half. "It's one of my favorite accounts, even without the context of the second volume, the depiction of the conflict is so thorough one can still understand all the dynamics that came into play."

Aemond taps his fingers against the comforter, the rhythm slow but steady. "Without the second volume?"

"I've yet to track it down, but I've read the first and final installments." The admission feels small, almost uncertain. You move past it quickly, hands fidgeting with the wash cloth on your lap as you continue, "What did you think of the final act? I liked the sharpness of the ending, but I can also see how the suddenness could come off as inconclusive."

His hands move back to his lap. "I enjoyed it. I found the ending's sharpness an accurate depiction of a dragon's strength."

Right. To him, the historical accounts and enthralling tales are more than just stories. They're a part of him, familial legacies he is expected to continue.

A part of working within the Red Keep is dismissing any curiosities you may have regarding what is left of Old Valyria. The Small Folk may think of the dragons, may even discuss them in private, but they do not ask their riders about them.

This is the danger of losing certain formalities, lines begin to blur. You squeeze your hands together before asking, "Really?"

The corner of his mouth pulls itself upwards. Aemond presses the heel of his palm into the mattress as he shifts. "Even the smallest dragons are more fearsome than you can imagine." He angles himself towards you, morphing the remaining distance between the two of you into something inconsequential. "Each of them capable of a destruction that could devastate entire armies."

You're more drawn in than you should be. There's very little you can offer in return. To the Small Folk, the dragons are closer to an ideology than something to be known. Your curiosity combines uneasily with the acute awareness of his proximity. You rest your chin against your elbow. "Your dragon is...Vhagar? The same one from the History of the Conquerors?"

His chin dips forward, making the gentle curve of his mouth impossible to ignore. The prince's sole eye remains on you as it is dragged downwards, the pace of his analysis so unhurried you can feel each moment of it. Bearing the weight of Aemond's full focus is no small feat.

"Vhagar was once ridden by Queen Visenya, who used her size and strength to help unite Westeros." His voice is low, giving the reminder of what is connected to him through blood the reverence it deserves. He shifts even closer, the warmth of his breath now a tangible force against your skin. "And now she is mine."

Heat claws at your skin. You feel your lips part, but there is no waiting response. Before you can string together a coherent set of words, the familiar echoing of footsteps brings you back to the world outside of Prince Aemond.

Your spine straightens on its own accord, the entirety of your back pressing against the seat. Your fingers find the wash cloth again, nails digging into the fabric as if attempting to make up for the time the fabric spent abandoned on your lap.

There's a soft knock agaisnt his door, one Aemond only halfheartedly acknowledges with a blank "enter". He does not move until the door begins to creak open, and even then his new positioning is subtle, more of a turn of his head than an actual attempt to create distance between the two of you.

A maid, the same woman who first led you through the twisting halls of the Red Keep, is standing in the doorway. Her gaze briefly finds you before settling onto the prince. "My Prince, the Queen wishes to meet with you in the great hall before supper."

Aemond is quiet for a moment. You cannot will yourself to look away from the doorway to read his expression in an attempt to understand the silence. "Alright, tell my mother I will be there in a moment."

The maid nods. "Of course, my prince." Her eyes fall to you once more, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards before she shuts the door.

You maintain your posture as silence falls over the two of you. He studies you with the same openness that's characterized most of this interaction. An odd pang of some somber feeling you can't quite place strikes at somewhere deep inside your bones. "Do you need anything else before you meet with the queen?"

He presses his lips together before responding, "There is a book at the end of my desk that I've been meaning to return to the library."

You nod, a part of you relieved to be given such an understandable task. You stand, arms reaching for the abandoned laundry basket before you've fully straightened. "Of course." You adjust the basket onto your hip before letting your attention fall to the supplies still on his nightstand. "I'll leave the supplies here so that you can reapply the ointment and salve before bed."

You step back, eyes falling to the desk chair. One arm falls away from the basket, fingers coming to grasp the seat's wooden spine. "You may leave it."

The instruction is strange, but you don't think much about releasing the chair. "Of course." You move a few paces back before looking over at him again. Much to your dismay, the newfound distance does not rid your mind of the warmth of his breath against your skin. "If you'd like, I can tell my father that you'd like him to visit you tonight to check on your eye."

"No," his tone is decisive, "I trust your work." An unexpected pride swells in your chest at his certainty. Aemond sits fully, his legs moving out from under his bedding and onto the floor. "In fact, I'd like you to return tonight to check on my recovery."

Tonight. Your mind leaves you with no response. It is one thing to be sent to treat the prince when you are the only option for him to maintain the privacy he desires, but to come to his apartments at the hours you've heard of your father being called during, when the world is quiet and all the well behaved are already in bed.

You force those thoughts to stall. Aemond is a prince, and this is only an act of service. This is not a source of impropriety. "Of course, I'll be here when you call."

His acceptance of your compliance serves as a dismissal. You turn towards his desk, your eyes scanning the neatly organized items before finding the sole book waiting at the surface's edge. A copy of the second volume of The Recounting of the Dornish Wars.

This cannot be more than mere coincidence. You blink, throat a little drier than it was a moment ago. You're careful as you pick the novel, your hand supporting the book's spine. "This--"

"The library is not expecting it back for some time, but I believe it is best to keep things orderly." His voice remains neutral, but the set of his mouth, the upturn of his lips is much too knowing to not imply more.

He has directed you to a copy of the book you've been searching for that no one will think to look for for some time. The gesture settles against you, squeezing your chest in a way that makes it difficult to keep breathing. You allow yourself to grin openly as your gaze shifts between the prince and the book in your hand. "I agree, my prince."

The title falls from your lips before you can prevent it. You had been doing so well at disregarding titles...Perhaps it had been an act of fate, or some desperate attempt of your subconscious to remind you that any imaginary kinship your mind has created while treating him needs to be forever abandoned at his apartment's threshold.

His expression morphs into something unreadable. Instead of reminding you of what he had told you about titles, he says, "Aemond." The suddenness of his name throws you. "When we are alone, I'd prefer it if you called me Aemond."

Warmth burrows itself in your chest. If you thought any of the casualness the prince had shown you throughout your time here was dismissible, this is the opposite of that. A nail in a coffin you do not understand.

Still, you nod, fingers tightening around the book as you respond, "Then...I agree, Aemond."

A sharp nervousness digs into your chest, taking control of your limbs as you turn away. You leave his room without another word, a maid's basket on your hip and the prince's book in your hand.

----

a/n if you want to see the reader come back to aemond's room later pls lmk bc i think a part 2 would be fun :)

#hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #aemond #aemond targareyn x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x reader #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader

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healthyvibes · 2 years ago

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#diabetes #type 2 diabetes #diabetic #diabetes care #herbal medicine #herbaltreatment #insulin #remedy

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squiddy-god · 6 months ago

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Dorm leaders s/O bad period

This is another re upload, honestly, I think this is really funny because I just got off of my period and I wanted to die actually, because it was so bad

CW : period stuff, slightly suggestive joke on malleus and Leona, fluff, established relationship, at this point, they have all kind of tried to kill us, this is the least they can know. Kalim is the exception- no pronouns gn! Reader

Riddle

He saw the slight red stain and had 0 clue what it was so he just marches up and informs you you are breaking the rules by having a stain on your pants

Instant regret when he sees the pure panic in your eyes

He thought it was him until you explain

Instantly gives his uniform blazer and walks you to the mirrors so you can change at ram shackle

Apologises a lot for almost giving you a heart attack

Poor boy really had no clue

9/10 caused a heart attack but helped

Riddle us very concerned when he sees you puking and passing out from the intensity of your period

He just wants the best for you so he definitely has pain killers on hand

He's a bit stiff and awkward but he is definitely much more lenient during bad periods

9/10 awkward and stiff but a great help

Leona

He could smell the blood but thought nothing of it (🥺submissive and breadable?)

Then he saw you and the tell-tale red stain.

For all my slander he's a somewhat good boy, after all he dose immediately go help you

Drags you off and tells you discretely, before helping you to the dorm

This will happen much less with Leona because he can pretty much tell before you get your period

When he knows your about to start he stocks up on snacks

He knows how bad it gets for you so he's pretty much giveing you a free pass to laze about with him and sleep for a week

If you get cramps he has Ruggie get a heating pad lmao

10/10 pretty good honestly

Azul

At first he thought it was ink- no no don't laugh he's serious! He also sometimes had/has issues with this kind of thing as a kid and assumed that it was that

Immediately tells you about the "ink stain" and hands over his blazer to tie around your waist

The moment you say it's your period his mind is in overdrive

After this first incident azul is,,, prepared

Has spare pants on hand, marks down your cycle, and always has a spare pad/tampon pt.1

Most of the animal like boys will either smell or sense that it's about to happen, azul can just tell, but he also keeps track

This man 💀

Infinite cuddles, you feel awful and bad and in pain? Here lay down with him for a second while he holds a heat pad against your back and Coos at you

Best for snacks, has all the snacks

Also brews pain relief potions to mix with tea so you can relax

10918637/10 ask and you shall receive. the price? Kisses.

Kalim

No thoughts not a single thought when he sees the stain, he tells you because he's nice and your his s/O

Gos "oh" when you say it's your period. Then panics a bit

Definitely takes you back to scarabia and gets you a change of clothing

Kalim is very sweet to be around the entire time!

He loves you and will do literally anything just ask

It's comfy and warm in scarabia, he makes his bed into a pillowy blanket nest and feeds you fresh fruit and snacks

102884/10 holds your hair back when you puke

Vil

Immediately knows what happened and tells you right away

Gets you to the dorm and let's you change so you can feel comfortable

Vil could spot a stain from a mile away so chances are only he saw it

Pt 2 of has spare pants, marks down cycle, and always has products on hand.

Vil is nothing if not prepared for this!

Ok when it gets bad and you find it hard to stand and sit due to pain vil calls you over and lays you down on you stomach to rub your back

Magic hands

His back massages are god sent and blessed by the 7 stg they make the pain melt and your back jelly

Herbal tea and remedies of any kind are in hand

Looking miserable in the halls and about to throw up? Look no further just drink what he gives you and pain goes away

19377/10 magic hands and magic potions to treat you right

idia

Idia is better than one would expect

Chances are he either catches it before you leave his room or its ortho, who catches it in the halls

Either way, you will be informed immediately and taken to change.

Ortho always seems to have stuff on hand. What you need, whether it's some sort of pain relief or an extra pad ortho has it!

This is because idia made sure that if he couldn't handle it you would at least not be fighting alone

Lets you spend your time during this to sleep in his room and do "online school"

Don't mention this suspicious lack of work during this time

Totally not because idia did it for you so that you could rest

Idia has always got snacks and if you're craving something, he doesn't have then he will brave the outside world and go get some from the vending machine

9/10 flustered but a good boy none the less

Malleus

Smells it pt2 (submissive and breadable 🥺 pt2)

Malleus is instantly awhere of the situation and will quietly inform you before doing away with it using magic

Malleus can tell long before you that you are about to start and he's very good about telling you so you are prepared

If you do happen to bleed through he will hide it with magic before getting you a change of clothing

Who needs a heating pad when you have a dragon

Seriously, he's so warm. He just radiates body heat

You could honestly just snuggle up to him and it would be like having a hot water bottle

Definitely feeds you any snacks you want

The moment you feel nauseous sparkles of green light float around you and then boom, no more sickness

12/10 personal heater go brrrrrrr

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elusivedew · 3 months ago

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💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really.

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days.

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June.

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up.

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking.

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work.

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain.

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call.

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad.

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.”

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?”

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.”

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it.

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other.

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends.

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now.

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.”

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.”

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.”

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice.

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other.

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?”

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.”

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.”

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?”

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you.

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on.

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?”

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that.

“I could never lie to you.”

“You literally just did.”

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first.

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.”

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back.

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?”

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far.

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different.

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you.

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.”

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life.

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding.

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night.

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent.

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork?

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly.

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either.

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee.

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it.

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it.

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy.

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it.

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful.

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.”

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned.

“Oh shut up, never do that again.”

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.”

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time.

“God, you're so mean to me.”

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile.

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.”

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.”

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick.

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting.

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.”

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably.

“What do you think of this?”

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response.

“My mom loved that one.”

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student.

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you.

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?”

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.”

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?”

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer.

“Oh my god.”

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad.

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?”

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder.

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.”

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you.

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?”

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself.

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.”

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you.

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave.

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying.

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again.

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.”

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date.

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?”

You nod in understanding, you do know.

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself.

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?”

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you.

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship.

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.”

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest.

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…”

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.”

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand.

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?”

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.”

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love.

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.”

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you.

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home.

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed.

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night.

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it.

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.”

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing.

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you.

“Yes?”

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?”

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him.

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter.

“I think you know what you want.”

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about.

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car.

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you.

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps.

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.”

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?”

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?”

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned.

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it.

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years.

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture.

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.”

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching.

“You know what I want to say, don't you?”

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.”

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity.

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door.

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway.

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling.

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.”

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?”

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.”

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation.

And you're scared.

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate.

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him.

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom.

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing.

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.”

Slow and stead.

“I'm listening.”

You lick your lips.

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?”

He nods.

“Well, I lied.”

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?”

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.”

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.”

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss.

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now.

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body.

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him.

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.”

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?”

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.”

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could.

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing.

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.”

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look.

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.”

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?”

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.”

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else.

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore.

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close.

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…”

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.”

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either.

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?”

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise.

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.”

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.”

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.”

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.”

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.”

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working.

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on.

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?”

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.”

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.”

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.”

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.”

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.”

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs.

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey.

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?”

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.”

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could.

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

#this is the longest I've ever written #its so long its slowing my phone down help #anyways i hope it was enjoyable i hope he wasnt ooc and if he was ill do better next time ☝️#and HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPENCER REID BABY BOY!!!#i waited for his birthday to post all of this #my gorgeous gorgeous boy #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader

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featherandferns · 28 days ago

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day 2/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘I just want you for my own; more than you could ever know’ - Mariah Carey, All I Want for Christmas is You | fluff

The twinkling lights and perky music and the rather rude demanding pillow on the sofa that says “JOY” do little to raise your spirits. You’re aware how much of a grump you must seem, slumped in the corner of the pull-out, staring longingly into your glass of mulled wine, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“Hey, grinch.” A Santa hat smacks you in the face. You glare at Kiara.

“Cheer up. It’s girls’ night,” she tells you.

“What’s got you so down-in-the-dumps, eh?” Cleo asks.

“She’s pining,” Sarah says knowingly, grinning slyly at you.

“I do not pine,” you reply firmly. Then, taking a pause for thought, you tag on, “very often.”

“This about that Maybank boy, huh?” Cleo checks.

Sighing, you rock your head back and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Does everybody know?”

“Yep,” Sarah brightly replies. “Probably including JJ.”

“No way,” Kiara argues. She’s lounging in the armchair, a Santa hat sat wonky on her head. “That boy is blind as a bat. Lucky for you.”

At your quirked eyebrow in question, Kie puts on quite the show of a puppy-dog, yearning, lovesick idiot. You suppose that’s meant to be you. Charming. You toss the Santa hat back at her and she catches it effortlessly.

“Kie has a point though. Why don’t you just tell him? He’s definitely whipped for you, too,” Sarah says.

“Yeah right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Girl, you don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“Mhm - because there isn’t a way he looks at me,” you deflect. You stare into your glass of mulled wine, transfixed by the swirling maroon and purple of the liquid; the herbal and fruity tones tangy as they hit your nose and linger on your tongue.

You’d known JJ since the two of you were in diapers. Growing up, side by side, you felt as though you knew enough about him to know he didn’t love you as anything more than a friend. Seen him chase after enough girls and woo enough chicks at Keggars to believe that if something was meant to happen between the two of you, it would have by now. That didn’t stop your feelings from spiralling and, at a certain point, at a certain age, he suddenly seemed different to you. The treasure hunting only solidified this more, like sealing your feelings in ice. Seeing someone almost die more times than you can count has a magical way of bringing every emotion you have about them to the surface. In fact, you remember the night that you realised that the only thing you’ll ever need in life is JJ. But if that meant as a friend, then that was how it would be. After all, you couldn’t risk losing him.

Sighing, you come back to the room and find your smile. “It’s not fair to feed my delusions,” you tell your friends, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well, y’know what’s a good remedy for boy problems?” Sarah wonders. She gets to her feet, dressed in reindeer pyjamas which match yours, Kie’s and Cleo’s.

“What?”

“Mulled wine and spiked eggnog,” she grins, grabbing the bottle of plum-purple liquor. Of course. Laughing, shaking your head, you hold out your glass for a top-up.

“Tis the season.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ came home late. He’d been out on the boat with John B fishing, and the two of them got to sharing a joint and talking, and lost track of time. What were they talking about? Oh, nothing important. Apart from how JJ needed to maybe get a grip sometime soon (John B’s words) and suck it up (also John B’s words) and just tell you how he felt about you already because it’s starting to get pathetic (you guessed it - John B). After JJ threatened to throw him overboard, the matter was dropped rather promptly. That isn’t to say JJ didn’t contemplate it the entire boat ride home.

He knew it was a risky play. You were the most important thing in his life. You were more valuable than all the gold in the world and more perfect than all the jewels. He wasn’t sure when he started falling for you; all he knew was that the ground was getting nearer. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Drinking was like rolling the dice. JJ worried that if he had one too many shots, he might sound a bit too genuine when telling you how much he loved you.

“There’ll still awake?” John B thinks aloud as the two guys walk back towards the house. The boat was now docked and the catch stored in the fridge at the Tackle and Bait shop. The house is illuminated through the windows with Christmas lights of red and gold. A garland hangs around the frame and on the door is a homemade wreath, complete with seashells.

“Guess so.”

As John B pushes open the door, they’re met with the deafeningly loud Christmas music and a chorus of giggles. Drunk giggles. The two boys share a look, amused, mildly concerned, before venturing into the living room. Cleo and Kie are sitting on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, watching you and Sarah dance in front of the tree. You look adorable in your pyjamas, matching the other three girls like a collectors doll. Your skin sparkles under the twinkling tree lights; hair swaying as you swing and swoop with Sarah. JJ’s heart does that annoying tugging-lurch that it usually does when he sees you.

Sarah spots the two guys first and her eyes light up like Rudolph’s nose at the sight of John B.

“Baby!” she grins, hurrying over to him and throwing herself into his arms. JJ’s distracted by watching the reunion that he doesn’t see you coming. You collide into him with a huff, tossing your arms around his shoulders and neck.

“Hey,” he chuckles, easing a hand onto your back to hold you near. His heart is close to beating out of his chest.

“I missed you,” you hum into his sweater.

His heart beats even faster. Stop it, he warns himself. She doesn’t mean it like that.

“You two better get those girls to bed,” Kiara chuckles, no less drunk herself.

“No funny business, eh? We’ve got eyes!” Cleo warns with a wagging finger, making herself and Kie break into more giggles.

“Yes! Bed!” you whoop. You grab JJ’s hand and practically drag him through the hallways to your shared bedroom. There’s a queen bed and a single, with the former claimed by you despite JJ’s bartering. Since the two of you grew up together, it made sense to the Pogues to pair you up in the house. Now JJ was starting to wish that wasn’t the case; it made it harder to ignore how cute you are.

“Oh my God, JJ, you missed it! We started talking and playing games and listening to music. Oh! And there was drinks.”

“You don’t say,” JJ quips, raising his brows.

You sit yourself down on the bed and tug him down beside you by his arm. He laughs and indulges.

“You had a good night, then?” he checks. Your eyes are wide and shining; pupils telling of your intoxication. The smile on your face could battle that of all the Christmas lights in Kildare with how it glows.

“The best night! Just wish you were there,” you tell him sincerely.

“Me too,” he smiles.

As he holds your gaze, something sombre comes over you, and your smile begins to falter. Before he can fixate, you’re resting your head against his shoulder and sighing.

“JJ?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want for Christmas?” you wonder, interrupting yourself with a yawn. It seems now that you're away from the spiked eggnog and blaring tunes, the tiredness has begun to seep in.

“What’d I want for Christmas?” JJ echoes. He hums as he thinks long and hard. He knows the obvious answer - the want of all his wishes - but that one is a no-go. “I don’t know. Maybe a new board? That’d be sweet.”

“Mm. That would be pretty dope,” you agree sleepily.

JJ can smell your perfume and shampoo so close and it’s physically painful. “What about you? What’d you want?”

“Just one thing, really,” you murmur. “S’really important though.”

JJ glances down and sees your eyelids beginning to sag. Your breath smells like wine and cherry and custard and sugar. It’s sweet like you. “Makin’ me nervous.”

“I guess the only thing I want for Christmas,” you say, yawning again, “is you.”

JJ’s smile is wiped clear from his face like snow washed away in a morning shower. No. Surely…He definitely must have misheard.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. A smile starts to tickle his skin, giddy like a boy on his first Christmas. He scans the room and finds a picture of the two of you pinned to the wall, and he smiles brighter. Because John B was right, and his wish came true, and you want him the way he wants you. Hell, he might be lucky enough that you love him too.

“Wait, do you–”

But before JJ can go on to question, he looks down to find you’re already asleep. Barely-there snores slip through your lips. He smiles to himself and sweeps a finger across your forehead, brushing back some of your hair. Your nose scrunches and it’s so adorable, it takes everything in JJ not to shake you awake and kiss you.

Not tonight, though.

After he’s eased you under the covers, JJ lingers by the side of your bed. Then, he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll tell you how he feels.

“You’re all I want for Christmas, too,” JJ whispers against your skin.

225 notes · View notes

edenesth · 6 months ago

Text

TWTHH Spinoff: Try Again [1]

Pairing: assistant!Jongho x new maid!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Among the many staff members at General Park's estate, Jongho stood out for his dedication, leaving no room for personal indulgence. Convinced that love and marriage would detract from his commitment to serving the general, he had resigned himself to a life of solitude. But his conviction was challenged with the arrival of an annoyingly perfect Miss Kwon, a new maid whose kindness and efficiency began to make him rethink his life choices.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"So, that's her?" Jongho asked, raising a sceptical brow as he scrutinised you from a distance. The head maid nodded beside him. "Yes, that's Miss Kwon, highly recommended by many noblewomen across Joseon for her exceptional skills in caring for pregnant women and newborns. Do you… not approve of her? The mistress has already met her and seemed very pleased."

The general's assistant shook his head. "It's not that. I just… didn't expect her to be this young. I thought experts in this field were usually, well, middle-aged women."

Eunsook chuckled. "You're not wrong about that, Jongho, but Miss Kwon is different. Some people are just born talented, and it seems she's one of them."

"Hm, we'll see about that."

Jongho didn't want to be overly suspicious, but he couldn't help being cautious about new people, especially those coming to work at the estate for Seonghwa. With the general's wealth and status came many threats and people with various intentions, so he could never be too careful about who got close. Since you would not only join the household as a regular maid but also as the mistress' personal caretaker, you would inevitably have many opportunities to attempt something if you wanted to.

Sure, Eunsook claimed you were an expert in this particular field, but those were just words. He needed to see it to believe it, and for the next few months, he vowed to keep a close eye on you to ensure you were here purely for work and nothing else.

I'm watching you, Kwon.

"I promise, my lord. I will do my absolute best to take care of Lady Park and the future young master or miss. It would be my greatest honour to serve you and your family. My past employers can vouch for me if you wish. I am still in touch with most of them and can arrange for you to speak with them if you would like testimonies—"

General Park halted your rehearsed speech with a raised hand, an intimidating grin serving as a warning. "I appreciate it, Miss Kwon. But there's no need for that. My wife is adamant about having you care for her and our child. The choice is not in my hands, but I will say this: I am not a simple man, and I’m sure you are aware of that. If you attempt anything suspicious, the consequences will not be pretty. This is nothing against you; just know that every member of my staff has had to prove their trustworthiness."

You nodded firmly, fully understanding his caution. "Absolutely, sir. I understand completely. You have every reason to be careful, but rest assured, I will prove myself worthy. Thank you for granting me the opportunity to work for the lovely Lady Park."

True to your words, you lived up to expectations. If anything, Seonghwa would say you exceeded them. Your dedication and expertise quickly became apparent as you cared for the mistress with unwavering attention. Your knowledge of herbal remedies and gentle demeanour provided immense comfort to her during her pregnancy. The household buzzed with praise for you, and it didn’t take long for nearly everyone in the estate to like you. Even the general, known for his high standards, was impressed by your commitment and skill.

However, there was one person who remained at a distance—Jongho. Despite the praise you received from everyone else, the assistant maintained what he called a "professional distance." He watched you with a critical eye, always analysing, always assessing. While the rest of the staff warmed to your presence, he seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length.

You noticed his behaviour—it was hard not to—but didn’t let it deter you. You continued to perform your duties with the same level of dedication and kindness. Lady Park's condition improved steadily under your care, and the household ran smoothly. Your interactions with the other staff were friendly and respectful, and you often found yourself in the kitchen sharing a laugh with Eunsook or helping the junior maids with their tasks.

One evening, as you were preparing a soothing herbal tea for the mistress in the kitchen, you felt someone's gaze on you. You looked up to find Jongho passing by the doorway, his expression unreadable—the way it always was whenever he was around you. Your eyes followed him until he was out of sight. With a sigh, you shook your head and returned to your task.

Hearing the sigh, the head maid came up beside you. "What is it, dearie? You okay?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, Eunsook. I think… I think Assistant Choi dislikes me. It's been a month since I started work, and I'm well acquainted with nearly everyone in the estate… except him. I tried, I really did, but he just somehow refuses to let me in."

Eunsook gave you a sympathetic smile. "Don't take it to heart, Miss Kwon. Jongho is like that with everyone at first. He's very protective of the general and the household. It’s not personal."

You sighed again, stirring the tea gently. "I understand his caution, but it can be... disheartening. I just want to do my job well and be part of the team."

The elderly woman patted your shoulder reassuringly. "Give it time. He's a tough nut to crack, but once he sees your dedication, he'll come around. Just keep doing what you're doing. Everyone else has already seen how wonderful you are, and he will too."

You nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. "Thank you, Eunsook. I'll keep trying."

With that, you finished preparing the tea and carried it to the House of Lotus, determined to prove yourself not just to the household, but eventually, even to the distant assistant.

But that might not be as easy as you thought. You should have known better. Your usual fail-proof plan to befriend someone had, for once, failed you. Offering help has always been your best way to connect with people. This time, however, it seemed to have backfired.

"Here's my chance," you mumbled to yourself as you spotted Jongho exiting the general's study, balancing a huge pile of scrolls in his arms. The stack was so high that he had to use his peripheral vision to navigate.

"Oh! Assistant Choi, please let me help!" you exclaimed, bounding over to him, your hands reaching for some of the scrolls at the top, which were obscuring his view. But before you could even touch them, he turned away from you and growled.

"No, thank you. I don't recall asking for your help. Please step aside."

When you opened your mouth to insist, he shot you a stern glare, sneering, "Instead of poking your nose into others' business, I'd suggest you do what you were hired to do. Good day, Miss Kwon."

Damn, what's his deal?

Stunned and a bit hurt, you stepped back, watching as he continued on his way, the scrolls wobbling precariously. You sighed, realising that winning him over would be more challenging than you had anticipated. Determined not to let this setback discourage you, you reminded yourself of Eunsook's words and resolved to keep trying. After all, perseverance and patience had always been your strengths, and you were not about to give up now.

Jongho huffed, rushing off to deliver the scrolls to Royal Secretary Choi as he always did. This wasn't a new task, and he certainly did not need any help. He wasn't a child; if anything, he was the general's most trusted aide for a good reason. If he needed assistance, he wouldn't be in his current position. How foolish of you to think you could charm your way to him just like that. He wasn't like the rest and wouldn't fall so easily. He knew he wasn't usually this harsh with other newcomers, but there was a reason for that.

Truthfully, he felt bitter.

People like him and Eunsook had to work so hard for many years to prove themselves, to get to where they were, to be acknowledged by all the estate staff. Yet here you were, freshly joined, and already you had everyone smitten and wrapped around your little finger. Just who did you think you were? He refused to believe you were as perfect as everyone made you out to be. Surely, you were flawed somewhere, and he was determined to find that flaw.

As he strode down the hallway, Jongho's mind raced with thoughts of you. He remembered the countless hours he had spent earning the trust and respect of the general and the other senior staff members, especially back when Seonghwa was neither kind nor forgiving. It had been a gruelling process, filled with challenges and sacrifices. And now, watching you seamlessly integrate into the household, seemingly without effort, grated on his nerves.

He arrived at San's office, carefully setting down the scrolls. The secretary glanced up, nodding in acknowledgement. "Everything alright, my man? You look a little bothered." Jongho took a deep breath and nodded, keeping his poker face intact, trying to shake off the irritation that clung to him. "I'm fine."

On his way back, he couldn't help but replay the earlier encounter in his mind. Your earnest offer to help, your genuine concern—it all felt too convenient, too perfect. He didn't trust it. No one could be that flawless, especially not someone so new to the estate.

Determined, the assistant resolved to keep a closer watch on you. He would observe your every move, waiting for the moment you slipped up, for the crack in your perfect facade. Only then would he feel vindicated in his mistrust. Until that day, he would remain vigilant, never letting his guard down.

And so, the silent battle continued.

You, with your unwavering kindness and dedication, and Choi Jongho, with his relentless scrutiny and scepticism. Little did he know, this ongoing clash would shape both of your lives in ways neither of you could foresee.

"Well, are things any better now?" Lady Park asked as you massaged her shoulders, which were stiff from hours of embroidering. Lord, this woman really needed to indulge in the activity in moderation.

You blinked. "Hm? Are you asking me that question, my lady?"

She chuckled. “If not you, who else? It's just us here, silly.”

You furrowed your brows. "I’m afraid I don't follow. What exactly are you referring to? My work here? It's going great, and you already know that—"

She clucked her tongue, rolled her eyes, and turned to face you. "I can't tell if you’re genuinely dense or just playing dumb with me, Miss Kwon. I'm talking about Jongho, of course. You’ve been trying to befriend him, haven't you?"

Your jaw dropped. "H-how'd you—"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you really think Eunsook would keep anything from me, hm?"

You sighed, a bit embarrassed. "I just… didn't want to trouble you with it, my lady. It's nothing serious."

The mistress gave you a knowing look. "It might not seem serious to you, but it affects the atmosphere in the household. Jongho can be… difficult, but he means well. Have you made any progress?"

You shook your head. "Not really. He's very guarded, and every time I try to help or get close, he pushes me away. It's frustrating."

She smiled softly. "Give it time, Miss Kwon. Jongho has his reasons for being the way he is. He's had to work hard to earn his place and is wary of anyone new. Just be patient and continue doing your best. He’ll come around eventually, I know it."

You nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. "Thank you. I'll keep trying."

Lady Park patted your hand. "Good. Now, enough about Jongho. Tell me more about these herbs you use. They've been working wonders for my headaches."

You smiled, glad to shift the conversation to something more pleasant, and began explaining the different herbs and their benefits to pregnant women like herself.

In the short time you had been at the estate, the mistress already felt like an elder sister to you. For once, it was nice to feel genuinely cared for. Growing up in a family where sons were favoured, being the only girl and a middle child among five siblings was challenging. Your parents had always focused on your four brothers, leaving you neglected and constantly chasing after their affection and acknowledgement. When none came, you had left home as soon as you were old enough—not that anyone cared or noticed. For all you knew, they could have been cheering on the inside.

On your journey to find your own path, fate intervened in the form of a woman going into labour in the middle of a busy street. Without a second thought, you rushed to assist her, drawing from the little knowledge you had gained from witnessing your mother give birth to your fourth and fifth brothers, along with some information from books about the female body and childbirth you had picked up out of curiosity. Naturally, you safely helped deliver the woman's baby after escorting her to a kind-hearted merchant's store nearby.

The townspeople who witnessed the event were amazed by your talent. Almost immediately, you were hired to assist with more births. With each case you took on, your expertise grew, and your name spread throughout the community.

Now, here you were, hired by the great General Park of the Joseon Royal Army to care for his beloved wife. While you had worked for many noble families before, this was undoubtedly the most prestigious addition to your portfolio.

Lady Park smiled as you described the different herbs and their benefits. "You have such a wealth of knowledge, Miss Kwon. It’s clear why you come so highly recommended."

You blushed slightly, appreciating her kind words. "Thank you, my lady. It's been a journey to get here, and you have no idea how honoured I am to be in your service."

She squeezed your hand. "And we're lucky to have you. Keep doing your best. Jongho... will come around in time, trust me, and soon enough, you’ll feel truly at home here."

Despite the challenges with the assistant, you were determined not to let him stand in the way of proving yourself in the household. This opportunity with the Park family was the pinnacle of your career so far, and you were determined to make the most of it.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your session, mistress, but this is rather urgent. Miss Kwon, Assistant Choi has requested your presence at the inventory," a maid called out.

Speak of the devil.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you pointed to yourself. "M-me? Are you sure?" The maid nodded, a teasing grin on her face. "Yes, you." Everyone had noticed your efforts to get close to the assistant, so your reaction was understandable.

With a gentle pat on your hand, the mistress nodded toward the exit of her quarters. "No worries at all, dear. Go on then, he's waiting."

Gathering your composure, you followed the maid and made your way to the storeroom. As you arrived, you saw Jongho and Eunsook amidst piles of supplies, meticulously checking off items on their lists. He glanced up at you and gave a slight nod as acknowledgement, his expression as emotionless as ever.

"Miss Kwon, it's good that you're here. We're finalising our inventory check. Eunsook and I have settled the rest, but we need your expertise for the maternity essentials. Please have a look and let us know what isn't sufficient," the general's aide said, his tone formal and business-like.

You nodded and moved towards the designated area for the maternity supplies. Carefully, you inspected each item, making mental notes of what was present and what was missing. Your hands moved methodically through the various herbs and preparations until you noticed a glaring absence.

"Oh dear, it seems we're lacking the Fenugreek, Black Cohosh, and Raspberry Leaf. These herbs are essential as the delivery date is nearing," you remarked, turning to the two senior staff members.

Assistant Choi's eyes narrowed slightly, his focus entirely on you. "Is it critical? Funny how Physician Jung never mentioned these."

"Yes, very much so. We can't afford to be without them. Physician Jung is a general medical practitioner, but I specialise in this field. I hope you understand," you affirmed, suppressing the slight anger you felt at his sceptical and accusatory tone.

With a raised brow and a defeated nod, he made a decision. "Fine. We’ll need to procure them immediately. Miss Kwon, you will accompany me to the market."

You blinked in surprise. "There's no need for that. I can go alone, Assistant Choi. I know exactly where to find it."

Jongho's expression hardened. "I do not trust you to complete this task alone. I'll accompany you. Now, let us make haste."

Gosh, this man is exhausting.

Reluctantly, you nodded and followed him out of the storeroom. Eunsook gave you a playful fist pump, wishing you luck, and you responded with a half-hearted pout. The carriage ride to the market was tense, the air thick with unspoken tension. You sat quietly in one corner while he occupied the opposite end, his attention fixed on the parchment detailing their shopping list. Every attempt you made to break the ice was met with a stern glare, his eyes daring you to disturb the uneasy silence.

Biting your lip, you couldn't stand the oppressive quiet any longer. Clearing your throat, you began, "Um… so, do you… um, have you been to this market often?"

His gaze snapped up, cold and piercing. "It doesn't matter. Let's just focus on the task at hand," he replied curtly, his voice sharp.

You flinched at his tone, instantly regretting your attempt at conversation. Folding your hands in your lap, you turned to gaze out the carriage window, the passing scenery a blur as you pondered how to navigate this journey without further upsetting him.

Once at the market, Jongho's vigilance became apparent as he kept a sharp eye on your surroundings, seemingly ensuring your safety. To your surprise, he took precautions like guiding you to walk on the inside of the road and positioning himself slightly behind you, vigilant against potential threats from passing carriages or lurking thieves. Despite his usual stern demeanour, his actions revealed a decency you hadn't expected.

"Careful, watch your step. Ignore them and go straight ahead," his voice sounded from behind you. You felt the ghost of his touch on your back, his hand hovering near your waist as he shielded you from a rowdy group of drunken men sauntering around in broad daylight. Your heart skipped a beat at the proximity, and you nodded wordlessly, afraid that speaking might reveal the flustered state he had caused. His presence made you feel oddly safe, a feeling you hadn't anticipated experiencing around him.

As you navigated through the crowded market, his vigilance never wavered. He steered you away from potential dangers, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. When you reached the apothecary, he took the lead, ensuring you were well-protected.

"Is this it?" he asked, looking at the apothecary you frequented. You nodded, and he folded the parchment, stowing it back in his bag. "You know, we could've gone to Ryu's Apothecary. Yunho's fiancée— I mean Miss Ryu, she would've given us a discount."

You sighed softly. "Yes, but they won't have what we need. These herbs are different and rare, specifically used during labour. This apothecary is the only one I know that supplies them. Just trust me on this."

"Fine, let's go," he grumbled, his tone still gruff but less dismissive.

At the apothecary, his negotiating skills came to the fore. "Thanks, we'll take them," you quickly accepted the price offered as usual, but Jongho stepped in, handling the transaction with sharp precision.

"Before we agree so hastily, I believe it's important that we try to negotiate," he muttered, gently moving you aside from the counter. Just as you were about to protest, his persuasive mannerisms took over, and before you knew it, he had managed to secure a lower price.

"And that's how you do it, Miss Kwon."

"Y-yes, Assistant Choi."

On your way back to the estate, you couldn't help but reflect on the day's events. Despite his cold exterior, the assistant's professionalism was undeniable. His vigilance and the way he ensured the efficiency of the task had impressed you.

You finally witnessed firsthand his meticulous attention to detail and sharp negotiating skills. He had secured the necessary herbs at a reasonable price, demonstrating a keen understanding of the market and a commitment to obtaining the best for his employer. It was the first time since joining the general's estate that you had seen his capabilities in action. Previously, you had only heard about how dedicated he was to every single detail, but today, you saw him in a new light. With that came a growing respect and admiration for his attitude towards his work.

Upon returning, you handed the herb to the head maid for storage and turned to Jongho. "Thank you. Your help was invaluable today."

He merely nodded, his expression unreadable. "Just doing my job. Make sure everything is in order."

Despite his continued aloofness, you had gained a newfound respect for him. His commitment to the household was undeniable, and you admired him for it. His cold exterior had masked a fierce sense of duty. You realised that, despite his stern demeanour, he took his responsibilities seriously and was just doing everything in his power to ensure the well-being of the household.

Back in your quarters that evening, you sat by the window, looking out at the fading light. The day's events had given you a new perspective on Assistant Choi. You had seen a side of him that was hidden beneath layers of formality and distance. His actions had spoken volumes about his character, and you found that a rather... attractive trait.

Hmm, maybe he's not all that bad.

Your admiration for him only seemed to grow after an emergency one night at the estate. A severe storm had wreaked havoc, causing significant damage to various parts of the property. The wind howled, and the rain poured down in torrents, leaving broken windows, fallen trees, and a flooded courtyard in its wake. Immediate repairs and organisation were required, and you found yourself working alongside Jongho to coordinate the repair efforts.

"We need to assess the damage and allocate tasks to the repair teams immediately," he said, his tone sharp but calm as he surveyed the chaos around him. His usual stern demeanour was replaced with a focused intensity, like a man on a mission.

You nodded, grabbing a lantern and following him through the rain-soaked grounds. "Careful!" he exclaimed, his hands shooting out to steady you when you yelped, nearly slipping on the wet ground. "Th-thanks, I'm fine. I'll be more careful from now on," you stuttered, feeling flustered by his warm, large hands on your shoulders.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to freeze as you both locked eyes. His gaze was intense, revealing a depth you hadn't noticed before. Suddenly aware of his touch, he cleared his throat and promptly released his hold. "Right, let's go. No time to waste."

With the urgency of the situation pressing on him, the assistant wasted no time dwelling on what had just happened. He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning for damage while directing the staff with precision. Teams were swiftly assigned to clear debris, patch up broken windows, and start pumping out water from flooded areas. His leadership remained steadfast, and he willingly joined in wherever his assistance was needed.

"Over here! This tree needs to be cleared right away. It’s blocking the main path," Jongho called out, rolling up his sleeves and picking up an axe himself. You watched in awe as he swung the tool with practised ease, chipping away at the fallen tree. His relentless work ethic was evident in every action, showing no sign of fatigue even as the hours dragged on.

"Here, let me help with that," you offered, stepping forward.

He glanced at you briefly, a rare flicker of appreciation in his eyes. "Focus on coordinating the teams. I need you to ensure everyone is where they need to be."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. You ran from one team to another, relaying his instructions and ensuring the work was progressing smoothly. Every time you returned to his side, he was still working tirelessly, whether it was hauling debris, directing the repair crews, or inspecting the work that had been done.

As the night wore on and the storm began to subside, you noticed that he seemed to have caught a cold from working in the rain all night. Constant coughs and sneezes escaped him, but he ignored them and continued his work with undiminished intensity.

"Jongho, you need to take a break," you said, your eyes widening when you realised you had called him by his name instead of his title. Your heart raced, preparing for the lecture that was sure to come, but there was none. He merely wiped his forehead with his hanbok sleeve, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. There's no time for that."

His tireless work ethic left a lasting impression on you, making you see beyond his exterior. And in that moment, you realised there was much more to Assistant Choi than met the eye.

By the time the first light of dawn began to break, the major repairs were completed. The estate, though still showing signs of the storm's wrath, was well on its way to recovery. You and the assistant stood in the courtyard, muddy and exhausted, but there was a sense of accomplishment in the air.

"You've worked hard today, Jongho. You must be exhausted," you said, your voice filled with genuine concern.

He merely nodded, his usual aloofness returning. "I'm sure we all are. But we're far from finished; there's still more work to be done. Make sure the teams are ready for the next phase."

Despite his continued formality, you couldn't help but feel a deep respect for him. His actions that night had spoken volumes about his character, revealing a dedication and decency that you found truly admirable. As you returned to your quarters, you felt a newfound determination to prove yourself to him, hoping that one day he might see you as an ally rather than an outsider.

But it won't be easy.

On the other side of the servant's quarters, Jongho lay awake in bed, struggling to push the memory of you saying his name out of his mind. He was angry at himself for not correcting you; he didn't like how his heart was starting to react around you. Despite the cold front he put up, he couldn't stop thinking about your bright personality and your infuriatingly cheerful smile.

He would rather die than admit to anyone he enjoyed the impromptu trip to the market with you, enjoyed having you close as you walked down the busy streets together, and enjoyed feeling what it was like to have someone to protect. Was this how Seonghwa felt around the mistress? No, no, he could not afford to think like this.

Unlike the general, he had nothing to offer.

For the longest time, he was convinced that his purpose lay solely in his service. But then you came along and just had to mess things up. You were everything Jongho was not: warm, approachable, and seemingly unruffled by the complexities of life. Your kindness and efficiency quickly won you favour among the staff, and your presence brought a refreshing vibrancy to the estate.

He often watched you from a distance, his initial curiosity soon giving way to annoyance. How could someone so young and inexperienced be so... perfect? You were always so nice, so sweet, so helpful, a stark contrast to his own brusque demeanour. And worse, you seemed to take a special interest in him. He wasn't an idiot; he could tell you were going out of your way to offer assistance and engage in conversation. He couldn't understand it. He didn't want to understand it. He had no time for such distractions.

Yet, despite his best efforts to ignore you, he found himself watching you more often, his eyes drawn to your easy smiles and the way you moved with such graceful efficiency. He hated the way his thoughts strayed to you, disrupting his focus. He hated the way his heart seemed to betray him, beating a little faster whenever you were near.

As he lay there, he replayed the events of the night in his mind over and over. You had called him by his name, and he let it slide. He should have corrected you and maintained the distance that was necessary for both of your sakes. But he didn't. Instead, he found himself yearning for more moments like that, where the walls between you seemed a little less solid.

"Jongho, you need to take a break."

He could still hear the concern in your voice and see the worry in your eyes. It was unnerving, to say the least. The assistant was used to being the one who took care of things, the one who ensured everything ran smoothly. Having someone care about him was a new, unsettling experience.

Enough, Choi Jongho. Stop this nonsense.

Determined to regain control, he went to great lengths to avoid you in the days that followed. He needed to reclaim his composure and restore the once-existent distance between you. His job was what mattered, and he had to focus on it.

Not you.

Already irritated by the unwelcome feelings you had stirred, the combination of sleep deprivation and his lingering cold only exacerbated his mood, leaving him increasingly irritable. No one dared to disturb him, sensing his foul mood.

The final straw came when he heard your voice. "There you are! I've been searching for you. Here are some Echinacea. It's good for your cold. You really should do something about it before it worsens."

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face you.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Jongho demanded, his voice harsher than he intended. "I don't need your help. I don't need you."

He had been organising the general's study one afternoon when you approached him with a small bundle of herbs, a remedy you had prepared for the minor ailment he had been ignoring. You handed it to him with a gentle smile, your eyes filled with genuine concern. Instead of reacting gratefully, his patience snapped.

Your smile faltered, but you held his gaze steadily. "I'm only trying to help, Jongho. You work so hard, and I thought—"

"Don't think, Miss Kwon," he cut you off, his tone icy. "Just do your job and leave me alone. And it's Assistant Choi to you."

For a moment, hurt flashed across your face, but you quickly masked it with a polite nod. "I understand. I apologise if I've overstepped."

Jongho watched you walk away, a strange emptiness settling in his chest. He had done what he needed to do, what he always did—push people away. Yet, for the first time, he felt a pang of regret.

Forget her. You did the right thing.

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"You know, if she runs away or hands in her resignation letter because of you, I'll have you know there will be serious consequences for you." The general's deep voice startled his assistant, who was in the midst of dusting his bookshelves—or at least attempting to, as his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Seonghwa sighed. "I'm kidding, but I heard everything, you idiot. Care to tell me why you're being unusually harsh to her? We've had new people join before, and you've never acted like this."

To the older man's dismay, Jongho remained silent, unsure of how to respond. His usual sharp retorts were absent for once.

"You like her, don't you?" General Park asked.

The guilty look in the younger man's eyes was all it took to confirm the question. Seonghwa chuckled, smacking him on the back. "That's it? Why are you acting like it's the end of the world? Isn't this great? You finally found someone you like!"

"That's the problem, sir. I don't want this. I don't want any of it."

Hmm this didn't feel as emotionally damaging as promised, did it? Idek HAHA I honestly cannot tell, y'all let me know. You're probably surprised I dropped this on a Monday but it's another public holiday for us Malaysians today, yippee!

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! As always, let me know your thoughts! <3

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@green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive |

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@chickenscoups

#edenesth #the way to his heart #try again #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #choi jongho #ateez jongho #historical au #joseon era #jongho x reader #jongho x you #ateez fic

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antique-forvalaka · 2 years ago

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And if a doctor does mention endo but actively argues against a laproscopy to make sure– dump them. Strong period pain isnt always endo, and it needs to be checked to rule out some other causes – apart from the fact that a laproscopy can also be used to immediately remove a few of the problematic tissue build-ups that cause the pain. Saldy it's only a temporary solution, but it does help.

Additionally, what i found to be the only thing that helps me personally apart from a lot of painkillers is red clover flower tea. You can order it loose online or at pharmacies, and while it doesnt reduce the pain to 0 it does bring it down from 7-8 to a good 4-6, sometimes even 3-4. And keeps you hydrated and your painkiller use a bit more controlled. I think this might help with other period related pain as well, not only just endo, but it might be on an individual basis.

important reminder for people who menstruate:

if your cramps are so painful you can't do daily tasks, take care of yourself or get out of bed. if you pass out or vomit from cramps. if you can't walk or stand up properly from cramps. if you need to take pain medicine when you get cramps or else you will get sick, pass out, whatever.

seek medical help. people talk about how painful cramps are, and it's true, but there's a level of pain that simply isn't normal, and you need to get it checked

signed: someone who was recently diagnosed with endometriosis

#will i ever stop gushing about the tea?#probably not and i cant believe so little women know about it #like literally i truly dont believe in herbal remedies #but jesus fuck this tea is magic i really really dont wanna go without ever again #its so good– clearly i still some days need painkillers on the side #but thats usually just 1-2 ibu 400mg PER DAY on my worst day #JUST 2 IBUS IN ONE DAY ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!#ahem anyways #get yourselves checked out its not always endo #and sometimes its even treatable!#health #endomitrio #endometriosis

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auspicioustidings · 4 months ago

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Uh oh, it's flu season!

Price: pragmatic, will go get meds but is also fine asking you to get them for him. Generally takes care of himself and will call the doctor if it gets bad. 10/10.

Ghost: will never admit he is ill. Continues to work. Avoids you entirely knowing that you will want to take care of him and he doesn't need you to because he's not ill, never been ill a day in his life. Will literally let this develop into pneumonia before ever calling a doctor or taking medicine. -2/10.

Gaz: suddenly becomes a fucking hedge witch because it turns out he knows every herbal remedy under the sun. You get to watch in stunned disbelief as he makes some sort of horrific "tea" that definitely has suspicious moonshine and what you think are poisonous mushrooms in it and then is all better within hours of throwing it back. 8/10.

Soap: "I'm naw long for this world! Just one more orgasm before I go!" Is a baby. Worse still is a baby who doesn't understand the concept of passing on the flu because he wants cuddles and sex and he will loudly whinge about not getting them (despite the fact if he tries to get frisky he's only going to puff himself right out and have a coughing fit). Will accept medicine if you give it to him via your mouth. 2/10.

You: no chance. Price is giving you medicine (medically approved), Gaz is giving you medicine (primordial diy), Soap is giving you medicine (orgasms) and Ghost is trying to insult you better. "Can't say pathetic wet cat is a good look on you sweetheart". RIP/10.

#mhairidrabbles

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 6 months ago

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Pick a Card: Message from your Inner-Child

Your inner baby needs you to listen. This reading will help them speak their mind clearly. Will you hear them out? Take what resonates and let go of all the rest but be willing to accept new experiences.

☀️Donate to my CashApp🌙

(fund my inner child's joy)

Feel free to drop any reading suggestions in my inbox. I'll keep them in mind when divining the wisdom that needs delivered to y'all's lil ears. Thank you in advance for all your help and support!

Decks used are The Kawaii Tarot, Pure Magic Oracle, Romantic Lenormand and The Karma Cards.

_____________________________________________________________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Capricorn, Aquarius, Libra

Song: Pantsuit Sasquatch by Molly Lewis

Vibes: Green, red, night sky, thorns, bouquet, red flowers, chess, star gazing, alligator, aroma therapy, herbal remedies, apothecary, rabbits, snake skin, olive branch, Zues, Demeter

Cards: 6 of Swords, Saturn, Tower, Lilies, Herbal Craft, Hallowed Heart

Hello, pile 1. Your inner child is really tired of having to be the adult for people who are older than them. They are tired of playing mentor for those who should be mentoring. They want to be done with those people. They are holding up a building with their tiny arms and their shaking frame. As if someone put the world on their shoulders and asked them to carry it with bones that were not developed enough to hold it and without the mental fortitude to withstand the pressure. They wish to rest. They wish to lash out at the adults who relied on them before they were ready or willing. I see your inner child resembles Alice in Wonderland. After the wicked adults in your inner child's life grew white flowers, they demanded it was your fault and made you paint the white roses, red. They took their purity. They hurt you a lot.

The main message I am hearing from them is, "Please be gentle with my little heart and my small frame. I was treated harshly purely for being alive. I need healing. I need time to rest and recuperate. Please do not yell at me for my mistakes. Please do not hurt me for my shortcomings. I did not ask to be here. I only wish for it to get better than it is now. I'm sorry I wasn't mature. I'm sorry I've been impatient but I have been patient for so long. I've spent so much time waiting for my caretakers to do their jobs. Please. I don't need structure. I need relief."

They do not hold you accountable for everything that happened to you, my dear. They are reaching their little hands out for you to help them up. They want to be more present in your life. They want to have fun again. They didn't have enough of it as a child. They want to play outside. The last message I'll leave you with is some advice I find very important.

"Play is the psychological opposite of Trauma."

____________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Scorpio, Gemini, Cancer (maybe libra)

Song: Burn Your Village by Kiki Rockwell

Vibes: Grey, pink, purple, corvids, pinecones, sage, lavender plant, grizzly bear, spider, scorpio, eagle, hummingbird, long hair, video games, D&D, law, Zephyr, Eurus, Callisto, Artemis, Hecate

Cards: Justice, Clouds, Bear, Hecate's Path, Songbirds, 8th House

Hi, pile 2. Your inner child is full of vengeance. I see that without the vengeful energy they are very respectful and kind. Their anger is extremely understandable and a reaction induced by the environment they grew up in. Your inner child has an intense sense of justice. They know they have been treated unjustly by the authority in their life. Those in control of their circumstance took their autonomy and right of trial. The authorities judged you harshly for no good reason and were unpredictable. The authority would explode at random instances making them hard to anticipate. They were dangerous. Purely because they wanted to make your life miserable to cope with their own miserable life. Your inner child did not deserve that. Your inner innocence was corrupted into a furious and resentful person. They are aware they deserved better. They were conscious of their mistreatment. I see they could have been mistreated because of their race or gender.

The message I am hearing the loudest from your inner child is, "Those filthy horrid people deserve to atone for their wrong doings. No one helped me. They didn't even listen. They took that authorities word for truth and no one heard my side of the story. I am not a liar. I am not guilty. I did nothing wrong and now my older self doesn't even believe me either. The people who did this to me will pay. They will face justice if I have to be the one to dish it out. I hate them. I hate what they turned me into. I was pure. I was innocent. Now look at what they have made me. This isn't fair. This isn't right! Why was I treated this way!? Why does no one believe me?! I will never abuse power like that person did. I will end this cycle of abuse. I release and remove everyone who blamed me without learning the whole story. I am letting go of the pain they put me through. They do not deserve me or my kindness. They only deserve my hatred and resentment. I hope they burn."

Your inner child begs you to protect them from the people who did this to you. I can feel they are still in your life. It might be a father or a brother or an uncle. I also see it could be a pastor. Your inner baby will continue to lash out at random times because they have no where to aim all this negative emotion. They want to be free of guilt that shouldn't be theirs. They want to be free of judgmental eyes. Free them from the illusion that this authority laid over everyones eyes. I leave you with one last message.

"The weakest link will target the strongest link to avoid that they're useless."

_________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Virgo, Leo, Sagittarius

Song: Heart of a Dancer by The Happy Fits

Vibes: Blue, pink, forest green, androgenous, duality, 2b hair texture, robins, blue jays, coffee mugs, sculpting, yin/yang, balance, rose quartz, pearl, magnolia tree, gardening, bonfire, 3rd eye, Aphrodite, Hermaphroditus, archangel Samuel, Lucifer Morningstar, Baphomet

Cards: 8 of Cups, Birds, Woman, Pyro-kinesis, Closing Circle, Virgo, 7th House, North Node

Hey there, pile 3. I feel many complex emotions from your inner child. I see how they were conditioned is much different than how they genuinely are. They were conditioned to be quiet, serene and passive. But when they are acting genuine it is exact opposite. They are loud, angry and active. There is a need to walk away from their conditioning and those who conditioned them. They don't know how to ask that of you because of how they were taught. They do not speak unless spoken too and this makes it difficult for them to communicate with you. They are anxious they will be punished if they ask for anything of you. Invite them forward and allow them to speak their mind. They hold back a lot of emotion that needs to be expressed. You need to be open to hearing what they have to say.

The important message I need to tell you from them is, "You will benefit from our collaboration. I'm sorry for speaking up but you are not following your heart anymore. You are following what you have been told. This is not authenticity that you display. It is fake. Even if it is well-meaning you are not yourself. You are pretending to be someone else. Please let me express my rage. Please let me express my heart. I can't hold it anymore. I don't wanna feel this way anymore. Let me chatter and chirp and yell and scream. I wasn't allowed to when I was young. I need the freedom to do so now. Allow me to open doors I was never allowed to enter. Please see me in my full complexity. I am more than just a pretty face. I am more than my body. I am a person. I have personality. I have beliefs. I am a benefit to society when I can speak. I am not a waste. I am good as I am. I don't need to bottle my true self to make others comfortable. Free me, please."

They are asking you to allow yourself and your inner child to be themselves. They deserve space to exist freely without having to hide themselves away. I honestly don't need to say much more but I will leave you with one more piece of advice.

"Authenticity is the most powerful way to exist."

___________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Taurus, Aries, Pisces (maybe aquarius)

Song: If My Heart Was a House by Owl City

Vibes: Muted colors, yellow, orange, fairies, sunflowers, barn owl, cat mint, raptors, vase, eyes, beards, lotus, candles, chimneys, diamond, playing cards, hobbits, anime, Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite

Cards: King of Pentacles, Sun, Owls, Ancestors, Gnomes, Aquarius, Venus

Hello and welcome, pile 4. Your inner child is asking me to tell you that you won't find the love you are looking for in other people. You won't find it in romance. You won't find it in friendship. At least not until you can find it in them. They didn't have the luxury of building their life on an identity that was theirs. They don't even know who they are. You need to explore them. Discover yourself in them. Be friends with them. They long for connection and the only one who can give that to them is you. They spent their whole life just trying to survive that they found identity in the pain they experienced. There is so much more to them than victimhood. So much more than their trauma. They are bright as the sun and immensely smart. They are funny and creative. Let yourself and your inner child grow beyond your collective pain and become something more. Your family isn't the pinnacle of humanity. I have a feeling that your family might have a narcissist among them. They are only a facet of humanity, my friend. There is so much more to your life than being approved by others. You are made of magic. You need to see that.

The message I hear from your inner child is, "I'm done striving for love from people who never intend on giving it to me no matter how perfectly I perform. I'm tired chasing something I'm never going to catch up too. I've always known I'm better than that. They made me feel so small though. They made me feel so pointless and useless. I worked so hard for their love but they will only ever love themselves. They will never have enough room in their heart for me. They make me feel like I'm not enough. I want to give myself the love they never could afford for me. I want to be loved so much. I want to be held and cherished the way I deserve to be. I am enough even if they say I'm not. I've always been enough even though I'm small. They are a giant black hole of emptiness and nothing. They are jealous of my light. I wish my older self could see that. I'm not selfish for wanting to be loved. I'm not wrong for wanting to be adored. I'm worth the effort. Please, see that it's true. I want to be known for who I am. I want to be discovered. I wish so deeply to be seen and appreciated. I'm the only one who can do it."

Your inner child is asking something of you. They ask you to take the role of mother and father for yourself. A role that was never filled even if you had your parents in your life. They neglected you. So much so you felt like you didn't deserve love but you desperately craved it. My dear, I will leave you with one last message and then the rest is up to you.

"You are worthy of being loved by you."

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