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sugarverse · 2 months ago

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𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

thirdyear!izuku x bitchy!black reader

synopsis: Izuku and you are forced to work together for a midterm project, and you're bent on not helping the nerd finish it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: words like slut, cumdump are used to be degrading but nothing too far out oc, a petty slap on the cheek and thats about it? could possibly also tag as dubcon just in case, enjoy!

Izuku has known you since a little before joining uni. He was invited to move in early under the honors program along with Katsuki. Other groups who were also invited to join early were fall athletes, greek sororities and fraternities, and people in majors that take longer than 8 years to finish. As if an academic rival, hotheaded, bully from younger years wasn't enough.. you came along.

You had always had a class or two with him. Whether it be preliminary classes or your third year science credit. He doesn’t know why you don't like him, always calling him names just loud enough for him to hear or purposely shutting the door on him in pouring rain.. but the day he saw you at the buffet talking and laughing with Katsuki? His life was over. You made it hell. He thought you were so pretty when he first saw you.. but you were just such. a bitch.

Katsuki didn't have the same timed honors classes but slept in the same building. If he really wanted to avoid him, he could go to the library or study in one of the cafes. Then again there was the rec center.. or he could stay with a friend, even. But you. He couldn’t avoid you. No matter how hard he tried.

He'd catch himself staring at the door until you came in, seeing your hair done in different styles and colors but still be so gorgeous. you could pull everything off. there was also this shiny pink lip gloss you started wearing.. It frustrated him how much he thought about how soft they’d feel against his skin, He's never pined after a girl this long. Sure he's had girlfriends over the years, but you lingered in the back of his mind. And you thought of him like dirt under your BAPEs.

You were hardly ever late, walking in a few minutes before class starts to set up your computer, drink if you decided you wanted one that morning, and switch your music playlist over. The class itself was pretty easy, not too many essays or homework assignments. It was more projects and group discussions than anything, which was probably the only real frustrating thing about this class. As the last few people struggled through the door, the professor started writing on the board.

MIDTERMS.

fuck.

“This is the last project before midterms. you will be graded on..” You drowned him out, rubbing your temples as the mention of midterms came up. Another fucking project? Are you serious? Honors kids never really learned to.. well. play, very well with others. Mostly stuck up kids were pretty disconnected from real life because their mommies and daddies paid to get them into the dorms and therefore, classes, with average Bs and Cs. The other half of the class had their heads so far up their asses there wasn’t ever a moment they weren’t passive aggressive or came off in an ‘i’m right you’re wrong’ tone. The class let out a groan everytime he announced some dumbass idea like this but he still continues. what the fuck is my life??

You sigh to yourself, rubbing your lips together as you begin to pick at the little jewels on your nails. Was it worth it to just do the entire thing by yourself so you aren't depending on anyone? No reason to get docked another few times because someone can't finish their half. This shit was pointless. The frequent ice breakers were pointless. You knew most of these people already and-

“Mr. Midoriya and Miss L/n, Miss Teller and Miss Barnes, Mr. Andrews and..” Once again you drowned out your professor's words, eyes darting over to Izuku who was staring at your teacher gobsmacked. He could feel his face burn, jaw slightly slack before shutting it nervously. He glanced over at you to see if you had been paying attention, smiling at you and giving a small pathetic wave.

You squinted daggers at him, biting the corner of your mouth before giving a sympathy smile and turning to the assignment on the laptop. I guess it wasn't too horrible.. realistically I can make him do the work and spend the time doing more important work like studying for my major..

the mumbling, the stuttering, always staring, always being the first to leave for a quiz. it wasn't until you saw his name over and over again that it was a real problem. try hards are annoying. lucky for you, this one's a pussy.

As class ended, you packed your things and headed towards the door to leave. Izuku quickly caught up with you, snaking his way through the crowd of people leaving the lecture hall. “Where'd you want to um.. to meet up? Or when-”

you cut him off before he could go spouting at the mouth. “Not worth the effort, I have more important shit to do over the next few weeks than work on some lame project. Do it for the both of us, We both know you have nothing better to do.” You continue walking away from him and onto your next class.

He stands for a moment, sighing and flatting his lips together. It shouldn't be too hard to do..right?

He debated. this. repeatedly. He really didn't want to bother, but he needed your help. He had shit to do this week! Laundry was piling up, he hasn't been going to the gym as frequent, other classes and midterms on top of the project. But every time he tried to confront you about your attitude, you have some comeback or degrading thing to say.. You bat your dumb long lashes and smack your lip gloss against your lips. He hated how fast he gave up arguing back.. it made his pants a little too tight and his eye twitch from hell. However, he was not doing this by himself. He had a rough week as it was and he's tired of letting you push him around.

He knocked on your door the Sunday before it was due, listening to you shuffle around your room before opening the door in some short shorts and one of those girly tank tops with a small bow in the middle. He couldn’t help but stare at your bare collarbone, used to seeing your name littered across it with gold jewelry before his verdant eyes quickly averted themselves back to your sharp gaze. Before he could stutter out his reasoning for being there first, or even say hello, you spoke.

“What is it?” You scratched the top of your bonnet, yawning quietly. You slip a hand under your shirt to scratch at your stomach, watching the flustered man in front of you watch your every move just to dart his attention somewhere deeper into your apartment. “If it’s about that stupid project, i’d rather rot in hell than work with you.”

“It’s due tomorrow y/n, can’t we just get it done? I’ve done more than.. I wanna say seventy percent of it? But I have a life too you know-” He’s cut off by your laughter, watching you turn and head back to your couch. You left the door open for him to come in if he was really serious. which was a pretty low chance that he was. you guys have played this game before.

“That’s a really funny joke, izuku. ‘I have a life’, ha!” you tease, plopping onto your cushions and grabbing the remote.

“I know you have nothing better to do than school work, if you’re so close to done, finish it. I already made my own, virgin.” you fibbed, you started your own, but of course this was the one project you needed to genuinely depend on someone else. you unpaused your show, waiting to hear him shut the door in defeat.

Izuku stood in the doorway for a beat, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking in. He respectfully took his shoes off at the before shutting the door roughly behind him.

“Can you please.” He heard his voice begin to rattle with anger, taking a deep breath in and sighing before speaking once more.

“Can we just get this project done? Please.” The straps of his bag burned into his hand as he gripped it with vigor. He tried his best to control himself, watching you flinch at the shut of the door but at least he had your legitimate attention.

“Please stop making this harder than it has to be.” He stared down at you, his tone slowly fixing itself. He didn't want to be an asshole.

But he was serious. You weren't scared, but you did kinda feel bad. Normally picking and poking didn't make him too upset. He was pretty used to it by now. He sounded actually upset for the first time in a long time. You felt something in your brain tell you to finish this stupid thing, motioning to set up at the dining room table. you watched him set his bag down, listening to his anything but quiet muttering. “Thank you for not being a stubborn bitch, y/n..”

oh??

oh???

“What did you say?” you turned your television off, tossing the remote on the couch before storming over to him.

“Speak up. You got somethin to say in my fucking apartment then say it to my face, Loser ass bitch.” He was sitting down with almost everything out on the table, looking down into his bag to grab a few more things out from the bottom. You slammed your hand on the table as you spoke, the other hand resting on your hip as you tilted your head to the side. You wanted to see who the fuck he was talking to.

“I said,” He turned his body to face yours, face burning red from irritation with a prominent look of annoyance on his face. “Thank you for not being a stubborn. Bitch. All you have done the past few weeks is make it incredibly difficult to get something done that I know we can do in two days. Stop making this harder than it has to be. I’ve seen you on about every story any. time. Theres some fucking party. You have nothing better to be doing than sitting down and working.”

“What a fucking weirdo, you stalkin’ me now, Izuku? Nothin better to do than look for me on niggas snapchat?” You swipe the papers he set up off of your dining room table like a cat, not caring how close to being set up he was.

Come to think of it. The only parties you really went to were the ones Katsuki and his friends threw, the last two had been a tailgating party and someone's birthday but..

You smile, lowering yourself to be eye to eye with him. Your words came out dripping with honey but still so sour. “Is this because I hang out with ‘suki? You jealous I got my mind on someone other than you and making your life miserable, wimp?”

Your voice died out in your throat as he stood up, snatching your jaw hard enough to establish he meant business. You felt yourself trip forward slightly from a little tug, his blush pink lips twitching as if they wanted to smirk instead of looking so mean.

“Mention him or say one more thing about how im a ‘loser’ or a ‘virgin’ again, and i'll make you forget how to walk. Keep it up, y/n. I am not in the fuckin’ mood for your bitter. shit.” He watched your facial expression change, praying his hard on wouldn't poke your thigh as you two stood incredibly close to each other.

He was far from wimpy looking.. six foot four, athletic build, and freckles covered his face. He was attractive, smart, just never hung out with the people you hung out with. You knew that. But it didn't stop the names, or the picking. He never really tried to stop you, maybe when you'd take it too far but more often than not he'd just sit and look at you and.. well, listen.

You bit your bottom lip softly, blinking a few times before staring up at him with half lidded eyes. “Take the bitter taste from my mouth then.. Talkin’ a lot of game for someone who looks like he’s gotten pussy maybe, twice in his life?” The confidence in your voice had definitely faltered, It’s not like you haven't imagined riding this dummy until the sun came up. Hes just so fucking annoying. it would be incredibly satisfying to watch his damn near virgin ass cream under you. you just weren't expecting him to be so..

Shoving his lips against yours and mumbling your train of thought, Izuku pulled you close before snaking a hand down to grope your ass. You yelp in response, tangling your hand into his messy green curls. He walked you backwards until your legs nudged against the couch, hands roaming to touch what they could of your skin. He's wanted to for so long.

You slide next to the arm of the couch, whining softly when he pulls his lips from yours. He motioned down to the floor, watching you grab a pillow from the couch and set it under your knees. Finally speaking again, He starts untying his drawstrings. “I don't wanna hear anything out of you, we clear?”

“crystal, in fact, anything for-”

smack!

“What part of ‘I don’t want to hear anything out of you’ don’t you get? Is it too hard for you to comprehend?” He mocked your pout, continuing to speak as he tugged his joggers and boxers down to his knees. “Fleshlights don’t talk. Especially after how you treated me for so long.” He mumbled the last part, tugging his clothing down to his mid thigh.

Your eyes teared up from shock, not pain. He didn't hit hard, but it did leave a small sting on your cheek. You felt your back straighten, looking up at him with pleading eyes before muttering out a small apology.

is that how quick you'd give yourself up? He thought to himself, pink tip now sitting in front of your lips as it glistened with pre-cum. is this how easy it was all along? “Stick your tongue out. Too late to be sorry.”

You slide your tongue out slowly, staring up at him as you blinked the tears out of your eyes. he almost felt.. bad. was he being too mean? he tapped his tip against your tongue a few times, watching you move forward on your own to take him in your mouth.

...maybe not mean enough.

He positioned his hands behind your head, making a makeshift ponytail before pulling you closer to his groin. He stared down at you, letting out a small groan before sighing in relief. He began to guide you along his cock dreadfully slow, watching your eyes fill with tears. He let out a soft chuckle.

“Ah.. for as much as I hear you run your mouth, your pretty good at shutting the fuck up too. Use that tongue too, slut.” He let out a few moans under shaky breath, smirking and leaning his head back. You let your jaw go slack so he could use your throat how he wanted, trying to focus on the most important thing. breathing. Tears stream down your cheeks, trying your hardest not to gag against his cock.

“Gonna cum on your face..so y-..you’ll remember this and how fucking disgusting you really are.” He rutted into your throat sloppily, pulling away after you tapped his thigh a few times. He watched spit drip down your chin, hand going to rub his thumb over his tip.

You gasp to catch your breath, putting a hand on the ground and the other on your chest. Saliva had dripped down to your shirt, letting out a few coughs. You rub your tears away, wiping your chin. "Who knew someone like y..you could be so big n mean.." You look up at him, feeling the release of your hair.

“Suck my dick like I showed you and I won’t have to be mean.” His face was red and sweaty, cock twitching in his hand from the coolness of your apartment. You nod, moving your hand to help you keep up with such a messy pace he had.

You whimpered, hearing him degrade you even further. He called you a free use whore, a cumdump.. noticing the way your thighs clenched together before hovering a hand behind your head. He watched you quicken your pace, a whiny moan leaving his mouth when your tongue swirled over the nerves in his tip.

He shivered, breath getting shaky before pulling away from you to finish over your lips and watching the mess cover your face. His hard-on twitched as he let out a sighing in somewhat relief. there's no way that he was still going, right?

“Get on the couch,” He said in a calmly, panting and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He watched you scramble to get up, sitting on the couch and attempting to clean your own face before feeling him snatch your jaw up into his hand.

“Ready to finally do our fucking work? or does your slutty cunt want attention now?” He laughed at how disheveled you looked, feeling the wetness under your chin leak onto his hand.

you blink the tears from your eyes, trying to stutter out your response before he spoke for you. “Dumb Whore. Bet you do. You get to cum on my fingers first,”

You let out a whine whether volintarty or not, seeing his lip twitch into a small smirk. “What? My fingers aren't enough?” He moved ro rub at your clit, classused fingers pressing against you in slow circles.

“Whine all you want, You don't deserve anything more than my fingers.” He growled out, standing between your legs and opening them wider with his own. How embarrassing, to be folded up on the couch by someone you ‘hated’ so bad.

“Be lucky if I let you cum at all.” He tugs your panties to the side, dipping two fingers into you and curling them a few times. “Holy shit.. You’re soaked.” He spoke half in genuine shock and astonishment, half to degrade you. He lifted your leg to rest on his hip, pulling your panties down just enough to where he could rub your clit with his thumb and slid his fingers back in.

You squeak, knee nudging into his side as you twitch and squirm against his fingers in pleasure. They were thick, curling and poking at that spot deeper than you thought they'd go. He still looked irritated as ever, but there was definitely also a look of admiration in his eyes. He seemed to be focusing, moving his fingers faster before making a scissoring motion with his fingers.

It was a lot, cocoa-colored eyes trying to blink the tears away that wouldn't stop forming in your eyes. “iii...izu!!” you plead, back pressing even harder into your couch as he basically climbed on top of you to finger fuck you. “It’s too muuuch- sensitive!” you tried pushing his hand from your clit only to be met with his other hand pinning it next to you.

“I bet kacchan doesn't do this to you.. Make you feel this good..” And there was that constant muttering under his breath. It wasn't hard to understand it when he was in such close proximity to you, but maybe he assumed you couldn't hear him. was he really boasting to you or himself..?

no. he was jealous. you concluded, deciding to run your mouth a little, a small smirk forming onto your plump lips. you haven't done anything with katsuki and it wasn’t really on your list to fuck community dick. but if that's what izuku thought, so be it.

“M.. makes me feel be..better!” you struggle to say, feeling him pull his fingers from your sopping cunt. you feel the knot that had been building up so quickly start to dissipate, an annoyed huff leaving your lips in response. His smirk turned into a disappointed frown, gritting his teeth before letting your wrist go and pinning your knees to your shoulders with, frankly, big hands.

“I’m gonna hit your cervix till you’re shaking,” He stated, lining his tip up before sliding into you with one big thrust. you felt your thighs ache, the warmth of his cock making you shiver. you felt full, closing your eyes tight and pushing at the arm that pinned your legs down. you wanted to hold onto him, bite, do anything to calm down how good it felt. It was overwhelming in the best way.

He slammed into you, pulling back slowly just to slam even harder into you. His lips curled back into a smirk, watching your body jolt and moving his arms to rest on either side of you. He felt you embrace him, legs trying to wrap themselves around him. He smiled into your shoulder, thrusting faster into you.

“iiizuuu.. nnghh.. h-hah please..” you pleaded, clenching around him. “ ‘m s.. ngh sorry. ‘M sorrryyyy, izu.. I am!! “ your nails raked down his shirt, gripping onto the fabric as your eyes began to roll back in pleasure.

“Now you’re sorry?” He asks into your shoulder, pulling back to move your heels onto his shoulders. He gave slow thrusts, staring down at you and your attempts to catch your breath. you nod as if your life depended on it, feeling your orgasm get closer and closer.

He moves a hand to rub over your clit quickly, watching you writhe in pleasure before continuing to thrust into you. You were seeing stars.. so much so you ended up squirting on his t-shirt. He laughs a bit, breaking into a moan as he pulls out of you. He jerked the tip of his cock for a few seconds, cumming and ruining your shirt in return.

Letting out a worn out but soft sigh, Izuku sat next to you tiredly. you try to blink yourself back into reality, feeling gross with all of the different.. hormones. That happened to land on you and your clothing. “If you ruined my c..couch you get me a new one, nerd..” you huff out, sitting up and leaning onto his shoulder.

He leaned his head into your touch, hand wrapping around your waist. “Do you want my help to the bathroom so you can clean off?” He also needed to, but knew no way around your apartment and wasn't exactly gonna just leave you like this to search for one.

you nod, leaning into his bicep as he helped you towards your bathroom to strip you both of your soiled clothes. The project could wait another hour or so, right?

©if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

have a good day/night/whatever!

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gallusrostromegalus · 18 days ago

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I simply must know, would the teenage friend groups (dead guys included) of AEIWAM and TPOFATGIF get along? Any standout crossover friendships and/or rivalries?

Ichigo and Tristan recognize the dead-eyed stare of "It's always fucking something" in each other and have a great time standing in the alley and trading their most WTF stories at increasingly loud volume.

Bakura and Orihime are immediate "autistic little weirdo into unexpectedly creepy shit" besties. The rest of the friend groups find them in the local graveyard looking up names on unattended tombstones to see what happened (and pay respects).

Chad immediately gloms onto Joey to be his Emotional Support Human who has conversations with strangers for him. Joey is thrilled to be helpful, and likewise, Chad is his "Remembering the Homework" human.

Serenity smells the violence on Tatsuki and is immediately trying to sign her up for the local SCA. Tatsuki is trying to convince her to attend Karakura High next year so she can beef up the Karate team.

Keigo already knows Rex Raptor and Weevil Underwood from the unhinged web forums they get into arguments on.

Mizurio already knows Mokuba from when Mokuba commissioned one of Mizurio's mob uncles to get one of the BEWD cards through less-than-legal means. Mokuba has immense respect for Mizurio's total disregard for conventional authority and Mizurio the same respect for Mokuba's understated willingness to do violence.

Uryuu and Duke bond over "my dad is completely insane for reasons I can't really discuss with most people" and "it's called FASHION" reasons.

The people who get along best with Seto are Rukia and Renji, because they are used to "autistic bougie severe familial trauma that is fixated on one VERY niche character" nonsense from Byakuya, and know how to auto-translate Seto into Normal People, and also subtly train him to have normal conversations.

The person who gets along with Yami is Isshin- in AEIWAM, Isshin genuinely has amnesia from 1980 onward. He doesn't remember being a captain, and hearing stories about himself is like hearing about a stranger. It's a bizarre feeling of alienation Yami understands well.

Yoruichi sees Mai Valentine and immediately knows that should they go drinking together, it will almost certainly result in major property damage, felonies, and the worst hangover she's ever had, so naturally, she asks the girl to come on a spree with her.

Yugi has always had an easier time making friends with the adults around than his peers- having friends his own age is a very recent development. Due to Grandpa Solomon hanging around the senior center with his peer group of "Old Men With Nothing Better To Do", Yugi is very acclimated to playing board games with random adults. Kisuke Urahara hasn't had anyone kick his ass at Go that hard in a long time, and the kid is strangely canny to things Kisuke *thought* he'd concealed well. Yugi thinks Urahara 's Go game is a little rusty, but whatever the hell espionage game he's playing is REALLY intriguing.

#aeiwam #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #TPOFATGIF #The Power Of Friendship (And This Gun I Found)#yugioh

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push-the-heartbrake · 26 days ago

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

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

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

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

Word count: 14.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you by any chance from Russia?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captivating, right?” you quipped.

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

You didn’t look like either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he replied shortly.

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Spencer, by the way,” he added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, what was so bad about Cody?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certified genius,” you declared with a grin.

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

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

“A few.”

“More than one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too crude of a word for you?”

“No, I just would’ve never assumed—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

“I listened to The Kick Inside.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t necessarily lie—”

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

He waited, silent and expectant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kidnapped in his own home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duty calling?” you asked.

Spencer hesitated before nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer’s eyes widened. “A d-date?”

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

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

You held your breath as he gathered himself.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan straightened. “Can you show us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s oddly similar,” Spencer agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Spencer and Morgan turned to you with confused faces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Restless and impossible, the situation was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look very pretty.”

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

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

“I always wear red,” you pointed out.

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

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

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

“Drugs and that?” you filled in.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–––––––––––––––––––––––

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

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

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

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that could work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rude?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My hands?” he wondered tiredly.

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

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

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #mgg #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid imagine

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deepestdelulu · 2 months ago

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Becoming a better student ₊˚⊹♡

Honestly I´ve never been an A student, but I always try to do my best, and I´m very proud of myself, at least in this area of my life. So here I let you know my tips for studying, not getting bored (at all) and having great marks.

Prepare for your classes ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Wake up on time. We don't want to be stressed first thing in the morning, right?

Eat breakfast. So you will be able to better focus in class.

Assigned reading and homework. Make sure you are prepared for your classes!! :)

Review your notes. Going through some of your flashcards before class is really helpful.

Check your bag and charge your devices. Ensure you have everything you need: Books, homework, chargers, pens, water...

In Class ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Listen and pay attention. You can save yourself a lot of trouble by simply paying attention, trust me.

Take notes. My favourite note-taking method is the Cornell method; I can make a separate post on that!! <3

"Quick notes." If you struggle with note-taking, try taking quick and messy notes. You can clean them up once you get home!!

Engage. If you have any questions or don't understand something, make sure to ask!! Most teachers really appreciate students who speak up. :) And remember you can always go talk to them privately.

No distractions. Turn off your phone, no chatting, you'll be glad...

After class ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Finish your assignments as soon as you can. Go home, put on a cosy outfit, have a snack, and get working!! <3

Prepare flash cards. A great way of reviewing your notes, too... :)

Update your Study schedule. Write down any assignment and due dates, reading you must do, upcoming tests, etc...

Clean up your notes. Review them, highlight the important parts, and maybe even make them look cute!! :)

Don't avoid topics/Subjects you dislike. I know it is tempting, but you can't avoid them forever, so you might as well get them done.

Structure and routine ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Goals and Priorities. Keep them realistic and manageable.

Time management. Having a set schedule makes studying less overwhelming; it takes some discipline but is so worth it!! <3

Develop a routine. Figure out what works best for you; I prefer studying in the morning or at night.

No "zero days". Even if you can only do a bit, do it!! NO. ZERO. DAYS.

Remember your goals. Dreams will keep you motivated; remind yourself of what you're working for!! <3

Self-care and balance ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Don't forget about your hobbies. You need to do things that make you happy, so make time for those things!!

Maintain a balanced diet. I know chocolates and junk are tempting, especially when you are busy studying all day, but you're not doing yourself any favours.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. 8 Hours. Non-negotiable.

Exercise regularly. Even if it's just a walk, put on some headphones, listen to music, and give yourself a break. <3

Care for your social life. Reach out to your friends, make plans, and keep in touch; a good work-life balance is critical!!

Romanticising ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Study dates. Meet up with your friends at a cosy cafe, discuss your work, and have some fun!! Studying doesn't have to be all serious all the time ;)

Silly Pinterest boards. Visualising your goals will help you find motivation!!

Music to set the mood. Make a playlist to study with, I have lots of them :)

Cosy sweater and candles. The cosy Rory Gilmore vibes haha...

Getting a coffee before class. A little treat before things get serious... Simple pleasures, you know? :)

As always, Please feel free to add your own suggestions and tips in the comments!!

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

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amphitriteswife · 1 year ago

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Teacher (and subjects) head cannons!:

(I’m from the netherlands and the school here has a different grading system. Also collage and highschool are one thing. So highschool is 4,5 or 6 years depending on which grade you get on tests and stuff in elementary so please bear with me)

Poseidon:

You would think that he would teach biology but you would be wrong. He would teach Physics or some high level math.

The type to not let anyone in after the bell rings

Doesn’t care if you end up dead in the class you will not go to the bathroom during his lesson

Stands by the door to make sure you put it in those phone pockets thingy

Gives the most homework out of all the teachers

Wears formal clothes, always. Suits, blazer, slacks ect.

You will never catch him on a bad hair day

If he catches you cheating on a test, you can say goodbye to that grade because he will give you a zero.

He does sometimes turn a blind eye if you’re on the brink of not passing and don’t choose his subject. (You do need to be on the brink. So not like a 3 or sum)

Hates electronics so he just wants everyone to use a paper and the book. No laptops.

Only talkes to some teachers like Hades and Thor

Students think he’s either the worst or just eye candy

Has won the the contest of best man titties by students

People actually ended up crying in his class and he didn’t give a damn

Sends people out 2 minutes before the time and doesn’t care if they beg.

If you have him as a substitute you can start praying because you’ll miss your regular teacher

Types with one finger if he’s on his phone (rare sight)

Checks homework. As in not just looking but actually reading your calculations.

He sometimes even grades your homework or puts them for bonuses

He sometimes reads if it’s work time and he finishes his lecture

Got drunk one time during school dance and started breakdancing. Hades was supportive and filmed it.

Hades

Teaches history

Is well with his colleagues and is well liked by students

He’s not strict with phones but please don��t use them in his class

You sometimes do work. He mostly explains and writes notes on the white board for you to write down

Is very, very passionate about certain topics. His favorites would be the world wars and the greek/ roman empire.

Is that type of teacher that you could tell anything. School, home, hobbies. He won’t mind and he’s equally interested.

Has a mentor class every year and he helps them a lot.

His class is very popular and lots of people choose his subject, so popular that people who don’t take it sometimes ask if they can stay and also follow it for fun

Almost never gives homework

He makes planners, notes, power points. Anything that may help his students.

He even lets the class watch films so that they understand it better, he usually choses for oversimplified if he needs to explain the word wars

You can eat in his class as long as you keep it clean and don’t throw stuff

Smells like rituals. Flowers. Very addictive and good. Sniff

Is present at the school dance and school parties. He helps with carrying and making sure the students don’t do stupid stuff

He doesn’t even need to discuss about his students’ grades because all his students do good in his class

Is rated to have the biggest dick by the students.

Also wears formal clothes. So like a suit, but if he crosses his legs you can see that he wears funky socks. Like a bright purple with colorful cupcakes on it or a bright blue with yellow ducks on it.

Gives extra lessons if you don’t understand.

You know how when someone asks teachers about their life? If you do that he gets so happy and explains a lot

Shows pictures of Melinoe and Zagreus from when they were babies.

He brought a 4 year old melinoe with him one time and the class played with her. If she was not playing with the students she was probably in her father’s lap.

He also shows pictures of Persephone. Every time he talks about her you can hear the love in his voice. (I’m Persephone reincarnated)

Hermes

Teaches music ofcourse

You would think that music was easy but it really isn’t. You need to able to read music notes. You get 2 tests, playing and theory.

Helps well if you need assistance with your instruments

Gives surprise tests to see if you actually did the homework

He loves and i mean looooveeees gossip

He doesn’t say much but listens when a student says something about another teacher

Handles the school musical

You actually need to put effort if you want to pass

Doesn’t take away your phone if he sees you with it. Just stares from behind on it until you notice.

doesn’t sent people out of the class, just gives them extra homework

He never, ever stops smiling. The class is being too loud? He’ll sit in his chair and simply drink his tea while glaring with a smile.

Some students find him scary because of how polite he is, because they can feel that underlying anger.

Knows how to make a student’s life miserable if they make his class unbearable.

You threw paper at him and made the class disruptive? Boom 4 chapters done by the next lesson and all the texts should be 4 times written. In cursive

He is usually seen with the principal (Zeus)

Buddha

Geography teacher

Why? Because he often travels for different kind of reasons.

Eating is allowed, as well as chewing gun

Is great with the students and most people just choose his subject because he’s chill

Doesn’t prepare lessons. He just talks and the students get it

If he does have a powerpoint he promotes his insta, tiktok and his snap

Loves to know about different cultures

Had a diss battle in his class once and almost got into trouble

Called someone emo

If you eat in his class prepare to share.

Asks people if they can bring him coffee from the teachers’ room

You cannot tell me that dawg didn’t pull up in Jordans

Is also present at the school dance and actually bribes the dg for some songs

Doesn’t really care if you skip his class. He either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice.

He too has a mentor class. He has private talks and doesn’t mind if you tell him his problems and genuinely tries to help

Doesn’t give homework unless it’s necessary.

Beelzebub

Creepy Science teacher

Got called emo by Buddha

Doesn’t hesitate to threaten students

He never cares if you don’t show up, but he will rat you out because funny

Has been detected to smile when he does weird stuff. Like cutting things open

Is always in his lab and he’s the only one who can enter with a key

Someone made a sticker of his face and the whole school used it, again he doesn’t care

Had like those weird pots with stuff in it

Doesn’t allow anyone to touch them. He does demonstrate stuff if you ask nicely

Let’s you go early but it’s not in a nice way. He’ll only do it because he doesn’t want to teach anymore for the day

Doesn’t even go to lunch, he just remains in his lab

He only goes to halloween parties

Cyberbullies people. Teachers and students included

Runs the anti *insert school* accounts

Will not care if the school burns down. He hates everyone and everything. Except Hades, because he’s cool

Doesn’t care if you eat or drink. (He may or may not have put something in it for his experiments)

‘Students are like little monsters’ is his motto. He’ll treat them like it too

If you fail his tests he’ll sometimes give you one to retake

Thank ya’ll for reading :p

I’m gonna make a part 2. I think. Maybe some with the human fighters

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mirioho · 2 months ago

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💼 Reyu Carrera- Intro & Profile

Character Info:

Reyu grew up in the bustling city of New York, specifically in Jackson Heights, alongside her younger sister Mila. They were raised by their working parents that eventually got divorced shortly after Reyu turned 7 years old. Having witnessed and overheard the many fights and discussions between her parents, Reyu knew this was the best choice, but it still stung. However, it would only hurt more when her father stopped taking her to her ballet classes and didn’t show up to her recitals anymore. Slowly but surely he distanced himself from them all until he completely gave up his parental rights, wanting nothing to do with either her or Mila.

Left with only her working single mother to raise her and her sister, Reyu took it upon herself to lessen any burden she could for her mother. Stepping up as a reliable older sister to Mila and a responsible daughter for her mother. And Reyu’s mother would be undeterred by her ex-husband’s lack of involvement, she was a strong woman and she would see to it that Reyu and Mila understood that they were both loved by her and she would do her best to shape them into independent and strong young ladies herself.

Reyu greatly admired her mother, and though there was still an ache in her heart, she did her best to be strong, moreso for her mother’s and Mila’s sake. Reyu could tell how tiring it could be for her mother, having to provide for the three of them on her own, having to work double jobs, having to do long hours, just to keep moving forward. It’s why Reyu did her best to do her part and work hard in school, to make sure she had top grades her mother could be proud of, to earn rewards and certificates and to participate in activities and extracurriculars that would show her mother that her efforts weren’t in vain. She also would take care of Mila, going to school with her, making her lunch and even dinner, helping her with homework, and being an older sister she could be proud of. Reyu didn’t want to become a burden to her mother, she couldn’t. She couldn’t crumble in front of Mila who needed her. So she had to be someone worth sacrificing so much for. She had to be someone worth looking up to. There was no time to dawdle and wish things could be different, the reality was she needed to put in the effort to get what she wants and be who she wants.

After discarding her ballet shoes long ago, and tossing aside a dream of becoming a ballerina, Reyu has the goal of becoming an affluent and well-established Family Lawyer. A goal she pursues by looking up qualifications she’ll need and doing her best to prepare herself for law school, maintaining her GPA, making connections, doing research, joining her school’s debate team, and even earning herself an internship for a law firm.

But she never does make it to her internship, instead, she finds herself inside a coffin, lost in a completely different world that seems like something out of a dream she’d never believe.

Basic Info:

Name: Reyu Carerra Age: 17 Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Bisexual Birthday: April 27 Height: 172 cm Class: 1-A Dorm: Ramshackle Homeland: New York Club: Board Game Club Best Subject: Mathematics Dominant Hand: Right Favorite Food: Dosas Least Favorite Food: Shrimp (Allergic) Twisted From: Robert Philip (Enchanted) Hobbies: Writing, Bullet Journaling, Scrapbooking Likes: Reading, Watching Legal Dramas, Soap Operas (Secretly), History, Coffee, Stationery, Poetry, Magic Tricks, Trying New Food, Flying, Candles, Chess, Museums Dislikes: Cleaning, Rats, Cockroaches, Blind Optimism, Failing, Danger, Being a Burden, Dancing (So she says), Vanity, Playboys

Personality:

Reyu is, of course, hardworking when it comes to her studies and is often reading one thing or another, always expanding her knowledge although she would already be considered intelligent, she knows learning doesn’t have an end point.

She can be quick-witted as well, having grown up in the city, her mind is constantly on the go and ready to react to one situation or another. Though, being in Twisted Wonderland, even she finds herself taken aback and dumbfounded at the things that occur. Still, she strives to remain practical and calm when she can.

Reyu does her best to be kind and polite when necessary but will often be prone to sarcasm and snarkiness, especially when a situation or person is ridiculous to her.

She tries to be realistic about every situation as much as possible, and thus doesn't try to delude herself with fairytales or anything close to it. Has a hard time dealing with overly optimistic people, not understanding the ability to essentially remain blind to what she considers to be the truth.

But, she’s still a helpful and caring person underneath, and she’s very forthcoming about following her personal principles. Some which include being honest and remaining pragmatic, helping those who she considers helpless, always accepting the consequences of your actions, and always follow through on a promise.

Overall, Reyu is a self-reliant, sometimes strict, yet responsible, protective and trustworthy person.

Relationships:

Extra:

Since living in Ramshackle, she's been getting into DIY due to all the fixing up she's been doing to the place.

Works shifts at the Mostro Lounge for the extra money.

Her favorite flowers are Angel's Trumpets.

Her younger sister Mila, is 3 years younger than her.

Likes horror movies and novels. Can't consume either before bed or else she'll stay up all night.

Prefers tea over coffee but finds coffee to be more useful in waking her up in the mornings.

Despite not liking or believing in fairytales, would read her younger sister any fairytale book she wanted before bed.

Her favorite animal is a great horned owl.

Despite being allergic to shrimp, has a guilty pleasure for shrimp cocktails.

Has a phobia of ventriloquist dummies after watching a horror movie about them when she was younger.

She likes to write poetry sometimes but doesn't think it's any good, it's moreso an outlet for her emotions.

When she'd still attend her ballet classes and recitals, she'd unconsciously always look if her father was in attendance.

Reyu gave up on her dream of being a ballerina early on when she realized it likely wouldn't bring in the money she felt was necessary to ease her mother's financial burden.

References:

Notes:

Reyu's dorm outfit was based on Robert's prince outfit at the end of Enchanted with a mix of the Ramshackle colors and style. The long jacket was made to a short, blazer like style to fit in more with a business suit type vibe for Reyu who wants to be taken seriously.

Her coffin icon contains a briefcase that has a similar keyhole to the ones in the gacha of the game. Colors used were mostly taken from Grim's coffin icon.

credit to @/ai-kan1 for templates, @/alchemivich for coffin icon base and kalim sprites and to @/twtysevapr for chibi base

#twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst yuu #twst wonderland oc #twst wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland oc #twst profile #mirioho art #reyu carrera 💼#finally finished this!!!! yaaaayy!! if i forgot something ill add it tomorrow 😭

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drgarrisonandpaul · 1 year ago

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The Quincys Around Kids

Again, SUPER open to criticism, discussion, and additions. I love talking to people <3

Quilge: He hates them and he doesn't want to be around them, but he's not aggressive. Just stiff and uncomfortable. Like, maybe they bumble around and show him their toys and he just goes "Ohhhh, wow that's... that's greaaattttt." Honestly, he prefers teens. They can just mutually ignore each other.

Askin: Doesn't hate them, but also doesn't exactly "like" them. They're messy and loud and gross. He'll be a nice wine uncle though, bring them little gifts that their parents disapprove of like fake tattoos and clip-on piercings.

Mask De Masculine: He's the best possible Quincy you could ever leave your kid with. Mask can be gentle but he can just as easily be rough, depending on the kid. Wanna wrestle? Why not. He'll wrestle a three-year-old, but he'll have also have enough restraint to get on their level. Timid kid that just wants to draw? Heck yeah! He'll sit down at your Dora table and draw all day! Though... he might break the matching Dora chairs-

Nanana: Also a pretty chill dude to leave your kid with. He's probably going to sit back and just chill and play video games or board games with them. One of my headcanons is that he's a mathematician at heart because it just sounds awesome paired with his "Morphine Pattern" Grids. He'd be more than happy to help with math homework, whether it be addition, time, or (his favorite) graphing.

Uryu: He's awkward around kids. Like, he likes them, and he has a way with them. However, something about him just DRAWS kids towards him. Kids love this poor man, happy to play and draw and hang out with him, and he just stands there and lets them drag him away like "Uhhhh, okayyyy, where are we goinggg???" and then he's stuck playing barbies for three hours (he loves it)

Giselle: ... ... no.

Gremmy: He's being nice, but also the kids are terrified of him. If he finds a child that ISN'T afraid of him, they'll probably grab a huge box and play rocketship. Gremmy feels like a rocketship-player.

Äs Nödt: Horrendous with children. He's tried being timid, and proceeds to get walked on. He's tried being more intense, and proceeds to scare them. He can't really find a balance in interacting with kids so he simply... doesn't.

Jugram: Please don't leave your child with this man, he will show them around the Silbern and there are things in the Silbern that children should NOT be seeing. Like war things and his collection of knives (he's totally a knife collector)

Ryūken: We see how he is with Uryu. This man cares for almost nothing, he's dull and cold and doesn't really connect emotionally with ANYTHING

Bazz-B: One would think that because of his aggression and punk guy attitude that Bazz isn't good with kids, and they'd be wrong. He's awesome with kids. He'll take them on his motorcycle (he totally has a motorcycle and does donuts in Hueco Mundo), he'll get them some ice cream, and he'll buy them some Pokémon cards. They'll probably play Xbox all day, even if the kid can't figure out the controls

Bambietta: Might scare the kid even if she doesn't mean it, she's pretty intense and explosive, but with a kid that can match her energy? I can see her taking them outside and blowing things up with them, either literally or with little soldier toys, making mouth noises for the explosions

Yhwach: I mean... you COULD leave your child with this man. You shouldn't, but you COULD. Sure, they'd be alive and well and probably happy at the end of the day, since I can definitely see him being calm and level-headed and sweet with a child. But the kid might also have a new little baby Sternritter uniform

Robert Accutrone: He doesn't talk to the kid, since he doesn't know what to really say, however, he does make them pancakes and turn on Bluey or Steven Universe for them. Have a lazy day

#quilge opie #mask de masculine #nanana najahkoop #uryu ishida #giselle gewelle #gremmy thoumeaux #as nodt #jugram haschwalth #ryuken ishida #bazz b #bambietta basterbine #yhwach #robert accutrone #bleach headcanons #bleach #bleach anime #bleach tybw #quincy #quincy headcanons

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glowettee · 4 days ago

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Hi Mindy!!! I hope you’re doing well, and I just wanted to say that I love your posts. Really well written and thought out!

I just wanted to ask.. can you create a guide for preparing to a completely new school which isn’t, like basic? Not in a mean way, but lots of the advice on the internet is generic.

For any extra info, I’ll be joining in the second semester, so there’s plenty of time to make long term changes. It’s also a private school, but I don’t know if that will make a difference.

Thank you in advance 💖 love you!

hi sweetness! @prettieinpink thank you for your adorable ask 🌸 i'm so happy to see this from you!!!!! i'd love to help you from personal experience, and things i documented being in private school. please make sure you look at the 10 secrets because they're super helpful and things i've personally used. i'm going to pour my heart into this comprehensive guide for you. transitioning to a new private school mid-year can feel overwhelming, but i've got you covered with everything you need to know! love youu <333

the ultimate guide to conquering your new private school journey: a glowettee exclusive

by mindy ♡ @glowettee

pre-arrival preparation (1-2 months before)

academic groundwork:

request detailed course syllabi from your future teachers

create a comprehensive academic portfolio of your previous work

research the school's grading system and academic expectations

familiarize yourself with any specialized learning platforms

set up digital organization systems (i use notion + google calendar + xTiles)

purchase textbooks early and start preliminary reading

research the school's academic support resources

understand the homework and assignment submission policies

social preparation:

create a private social media presence specifically for school

research student organizations and clubs that accept mid-year members

join class-specific group chats or discussion boards

study the school's social media presence to understand culture

prepare conversation starters based on school activities

research any school traditions or special events

understand the social hierarchy (yes, private schools have these!)

identify potential mentor opportunities or buddy systems

practical essentials:

develop a morning routine that starts 30 minutes earlier than needed

create a capsule wardrobe that aligns with dress code

invest in high-quality school supplies that last

organize your study space at home

set up a dedicated homework station

create emergency supply kits for your locker and bag

establish a meal prep system for lunch and snacks

plan transportation routes and backup options

digital organization:

set up a comprehensive notion dashboard (i'll share my template soon!)

create specific folders for each subject in google drive

download all necessary academic apps

set up a digital calendar with color coding

create assignment tracking spreadsheets

establish a backup system for important documents

organize email folders for school communication

set up notification systems for important deadlines

mental and emotional preparation:

start journaling about your goals and fears

establish healthy boundaries for social interactions

create a stress management toolkit

develop positive self-talk mantras

plan regular self-care activities

identify potential support systems

create a growth mindset framework

establish regular check-in times with parents/guardians

first week survival guide:

day one essentials:

arrive 30 minutes early

bring extra supplies

wear something comfortable but polished

pack emergency essentials

keep your schedule easily accessible

bring a small notebook for important information

have your introduction speech ready

prepare questions for teachers and peers

social navigation:

observe before participating

sit in different locations to meet various groups

join lunch conversations naturally

show interest in others' experiences

take notes on names and interests

identify potential study partners

respect existing social dynamics

be authentically yourself while observing school culture

long-term success strategies:

academic excellence:

create weekly study schedules

establish relationships with teachers early

join or create study groups

maintain detailed notes from day one

schedule regular review sessions

utilize teacher office hours

keep a detailed assignment tracker

create subject-specific study guides

social integration:

participate in school events

volunteer for school activities

join at least one club or team

attend school sports events

participate in school traditions

create study groups

organize small social gatherings

maintain connections with existing friends

personal growth:

set monthly academic and social goals

maintain a gratitude journal

create a personal development plan

establish healthy stress management techniques

develop time management skills

build positive relationships with staff

create a balance between academics and social life

regularly evaluate and adjust your strategies

pro tips from my experience:

keep a spare set of supplies in your locker

create a school-specific emergency kit

maintain a digital photo of your schedule

establish a homework routine from day one

create a support network outside of school

document your journey through photos or journals

maintain open communication with teachers

celebrate small victories and progress

10 secret tips that transformed my private school journey ♡

the bathroom rule always scout out the least-used bathrooms in your first week, but don't just look for any quiet bathroom - look for one that's strategically located between your most stressful classes. trust me on this - i found my favorite quiet bathroom on the third floor of the science building, and it became my secret sanctuary for quick meditation breaks, makeup touch-ups, or just moments of peace between classes. the lighting there was immaculate for those confidence-boosting mirror talks, and it was far enough from the main hallways that you could actually hear yourself think. i even started keeping a small essential oil roller in my bag to make these mini-breaks feel more spa-like. this space became my personal reset button during hectic days, especially during exam seasons or when social dynamics felt overwhelming.

teacher connection hack bring a small notebook specifically for writing down personal details teachers mention (their favorite books, coffee preferences, hobbies, their children's names, or even their pets). this isn't about being a teacher's pet - it's about building genuine human connections. i started bringing my teacher's favorite starbucks drink on presentation days, remembering to ask about their weekend plans they mentioned, or sharing articles related to their interests. not only did it make their day, but it also showed i paid attention to details. these small gestures created authentic relationships that made a huge difference during finals week, college recommendation season, and even when i needed extensions during tough times. remember, teachers are people first, and when they see you acknowledging their humanity, they're more likely to understand yours.

social currency secret keep a small emergency kit with hair ties, bobby pins, bandaids, mints, tampons/pads, tide-to-go pens, pain relievers (if allowed), small sewing kit, clear nail polish for tights runs, double-sided tape, and even a phone charger in your locker. nothing creates instant friendships like being the person everyone knows they can count on for emergency supplies. i actually met my best friend because i had a spare hair tie when she desperately needed one before her presentation, and that simple moment turned into a three-hour conversation after school. this kit isn't just about having supplies - it's about being the person who thinks ahead and cares enough to help others. i started keeping track of what people borrowed most often and would stock up accordingly. it's like having your own little convenience store of kindness.

the popularity paradox here's something no one tells you - in private schools, being overly eager to be popular actually makes you less popular. the social hierarchy in private schools is often more subtle and complex than in public schools. i learned to focus on being genuinely interested in others instead of trying to fit in, asking thoughtful questions about their interests, and remembering small details about their lives. surprisingly, the moment i stopped trying to be part of the "it" crowd was when people started naturally gravitating towards me. i focused on developing my own interests and passions, which made me more interesting to others. the key is to be confidently authentic rather than strategically social. this approach not only helped me build real friendships but also protected me from the exhausting game of trying to maintain a carefully crafted social image.

the uniform advantage even with strict uniform rules, there are always creative ways to stand out while staying within the guidelines. i invested in high-quality accessories that complied with dress code but made my uniform look more polished - pearl earrings, delicate necklaces, classic watches, and subtle hair accessories. these small details helped me feel more put together and confident. but it's not just about the accessories - it's about how you wear the uniform itself. i learned that having my shirts professionally pressed, skirts properly hemmed, and shoes well-maintained made a huge difference in how put-together i looked. i also kept a small steamer in my locker for emergency touch-ups. this attention to detail showed respect for the school's traditions while allowing my personal style to shine through in acceptable ways.

the lunch table strategy don't commit to one lunch table for at least two weeks, and be strategic about your rotation schedule. i created a subtle system where i would sit with different groups each day, making mental notes about the dynamics, interests, and personalities at each table. i rotated between different groups, which helped me understand the social dynamics better and prevented me from being boxed into one clique too early. pay attention to how each group interacts - some tables are for studying, others for gossip, and some for genuine conversations. i kept a small note in my phone about each group's interests so i could contribute meaningfully to conversations. this strategy gave me the freedom to form genuine connections across different social circles and ultimately helped me choose where i truly felt comfortable. by the third week, i had a clear understanding of where i naturally fit in, rather than where i thought i should be.

the academic alliance create study guides and share them with classmates before they ask, but make it systematic and sustainable. i started a google drive folder with my notes and study guides, organized by subject and topic, with clear summaries and practice questions. it naturally evolved into a collaborative study group where everyone contributed their strengths. i became known as someone who not only shared resources but also helped others understand how to create their own study materials. this approach created a reciprocal learning environment where everyone felt comfortable asking for and offering help. i even created templates for different types of assignments that we could all use, which saved everyone time and helped maintain consistent quality in our work.

the extracurricular edge join at least one unexpected club that's not typically "popular," but don't just join - become actively involved in ways that showcase your unique talents. i joined the astronomy club despite it being small, and instead of just attending meetings, i started organizing stargazing events and creating instagram-worthy posts about our activities. this not only helped grow the club but also showed others that you can make any activity exciting if you're passionate about it. the unexpected benefit was meeting people who shared my genuine interests rather than just social aspirations. these authentic connections often lead to the most meaningful friendships and impressive college application stories.

the social media strategy create a finsta (private instagram) specifically for close school friends, but treat it as a carefully curated space rather than just another social media account. wait at least a month before adding anyone - this gives you time to understand the social dynamics and ensure you're connecting with the right people. i used my finsta to share study tips, funny school moments, and support for others' achievements. it became a safe space for sharing real moments with trusted friends, away from the pressure of maintaining a perfect image on main accounts. i also used it to organize study groups and share helpful resources, making it both social and practical.

the legacy link learn about your school's history and traditions from older students, but go beyond just knowing the basics. i spent time talking to seniors, alumni, and even teachers about the school's evolution over the years. understanding why certain traditions started, knowing the stories behind school legends, and learning about notable alumni helped me feel more connected to the school community. i created a digital notebook of these stories, which became a valuable resource for other new students. this knowledge made me feel like part of something bigger than just my current school year and helped me appreciate the school's culture on a deeper level.

personal advice from my heart to yours:

sweetness, i want you to know that the first few months at a new private school can feel like you're learning a new language - everyone seems to know the words and customs except you. i remember feeling so out of place during my first semester, constantly second-guessing myself and wondering if i was "doing it right." that feeling of being an outsider would hit me hardest during school traditions or inside jokes that everyone else seemed to understand instinctively. i spent countless nights journaling about feeling like i was watching my school life through a window, wondering when i would finally feel like i belonged. but here's what i learned: that feeling of being an outsider is actually your superpower. you have fresh eyes to see things differently, and that perspective is valuable. you notice things that others have become blind to, and you bring new energy to old traditions. your unique viewpoint can actually help breathe new life into established social circles and activities.

the most important thing i wish someone had told me is that it's okay to take your time finding your place. private schools often have students who've been together since kindergarten, and it can feel impossible to break into those established circles. but here's the truth - while everyone else is trying to maintain their image and social position, you have the freedom to be authentically yourself from day one. you don't have to carry the weight of years of expectations or predetermined roles. focus on building genuine connections rather than strategic ones. keep your grades up, but don't let academic pressure steal your joy. document your journey - take photos, keep a journal, save little mementos. these will become precious reminders of your growth. remember that every single person who seems perfectly adjusted now once stood exactly where you are, feeling exactly what you're feeling. and most importantly, remember that the version of you that walks into that school on day one isn't the same version that will emerge at the end of the year - and that's exactly how it should be. you're not just adapting to a new school; you're growing into a newer, stronger version of yourself. embrace this transformation with open arms.

sending you the warmest hugs and all my support! feel free to message me anytime for more specific advice or just to chat about your journey 🤍

mindy x

p.s. would you loves be interested in detailed posts about my notion templates and organization systems? let me know in the reblogs/replies!

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allforone-appreciation · 11 months ago

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A Look Into All For One's Daily Routine (PRE-potato)

7:00 AM - Rise and shine, for the world trembles at the mere thought of my awakening. 7:10 AM - Morning cuddles and kisses with my precious wife, Inko and indirectly praising her for surviving another night beside the most feared villain-turned-family-man. 7:45 AM – Wake my baby son up, then have a villainous breakfast, consisting of coffee, eggs, waffles, and a side of intimidation. 8:15 AM - Conduct a nefarious board meeting to discuss evil plans for the day. Check on my ‘side businesses’ and make sure I’m ‘making’ money. 9:00 AM - Meet with underworld contacts. Expand my influence and power. Remind them who’s boss. 10:00 AM - Time for some "me" time. Attend an appointment with my personal tailor to ensure my villainous attire strikes fear into the hearts of heroes. A scheduled manicure is included every Wednesday. 10:45AM - Wreak minor havoc upon the city. A villain's work is never done and sometimes the blond idiot stops by. It's all about balance, you see. 12:00 PM - Lunch break: Consume the souls of those who dare oppose me. Wine and steak are the usual. Depends on my mood. 12:30 PM: While I’m having lunch, I usually log into my social media and contribute to All Might hate pages. The villain subreddit is my go-to. Update my Demon King fanfiction while I’m at it. (This entry is completely satire) 1:00 PM - Plotting session: Strategize with Tomura on how to conquer the world then make Kurogiri do all the work and babysit him. 2:30 PM - Business calls. Time to collect those debts and remind people why they shouldn't cross me. A few well-placed threats should do the trick. 3:00 PM - Pick up some "unfortunate souls" from the streets. Gotta keep the operation running smoothly. While I’m at it, I’ll supervise the training of Tomura and young villains-in-training. 4:30 PM - Time to head home. Can't wait to see Inko and my beloved son, Izu-baby. 6:00 PM - Dinner with the family. Nothing beats Inko's cooking, except maybe her smile. 7:00 PM - Quality time with Izuku: Help him with his homework, impart wisdom about the ways of the world, and play hero-villain with him. 9:00 PM - Bedtime routine and tuck my cute son into bed. Goodnight, little one. Daddy's gonna (hopefully) kill All Might tomorrow. 9:30 PM - Quality time with Inko. Sometimes the best evil plots are hatched ‘between the sheets’. 11:00 PM - Prepare for bed: Ensure all evil plans are in motion for the following day and that my reign of terror will continue unabated. Sometimes a book about totalitarianism and tyranny with a glass a wine is included. 11:30 PM – Time for a goodnight sleep. I need my beauty sleep to maintain this dashing appearance. Tomorrow, the world will tremble at my might once again.

Note: Schedule subject to change depending on hero interference, unforeseen villainous schemes, 'business trips' and holidays/weekends.

Please tell me what you think I had so much fun making this 😂😂😂😂😂 I might make a POST-potato schedule. I love this man so much can you tell.

😂 I'm laughing because honestly this very much seems like his schedule. Doing both evil stuff while also being dad for one at the same time is how he rolls. Like awww he loves his famil- Wait he picking up ORPHANS AND PLANNING PEOPLE DEMISE?

LOL, I need more of a Day in the Life of a Demon Lord. Because this is great also seems Inko gets quite a bit of attention at night. Though we can already see he definitely not going to see All Might coming when he comes with a Detroit smash.

But man I love how casual he is about his appearance and his affection for his family being quite wholesome. While also still doing evil things, you anon get it.

#afo fanfics #All for One MHA #All for One #All for One BNHA #Dad For One #It may not be conventional but it definitely a fan and fictional scenario I love~#afo confessions #Founder: Yoly

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my-heart-beat-for-anime · 1 year ago

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HIS BELLADONA PT.2 treech x mentor reader Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

On the way back I just listened to Cory rant about the injustice towards him.,, The old fool wants to humiliate me completely. He gave me a girl and she's also from the twelfth district." he foamed. "Don't give up Coryo, be nice to her and help her," I answered him. I honestly wished he would go away. I understand that he wanted to win the Plinth scholarship, but this was about the lives of innocents headed for the slaughterhouse. It bothered me that he was talking about her as some piece of trash that was blocking his way.,, You're right, I should calm down." he admitted and we continued to discuss homework for the next week. When we arrived at our apartment complex, the mood was already full of joking and laughing. But the laughter passed me when I opened the door to the apartment that looked like a hurricane was raging. Before I could draw breath to call my father if he was still home, something glass hit me in the back. I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. The pain shot from several places, which only confirmed my suspicion that the glass bottle had broken and the shards were racing into my back. Before I could breathe out the pain, a hard, well-aimed kick landed in my stomach. "Ahhh.. what are you doing." I yelled at my father through clenched teeth.,, I should be asking you that." he yelled and grabbed my hair.,, I told you to stay away from danger and you're going straight into it, why are you participating in those Hunger Games games.” he spat right in my face and his alcohol breath made me want to throw up.Everything was overwhelming my head and back hurt and he just kept yelling at me, but suddenly he said a sentence that shocked us both.,, ... why do you have to keep putting yourself in danger Julia." My mother's name immediately brings me out of the foggy haze of my mind. It has the same effect on my father as he looks as if he has just been snapped out of a trance. Suddenly he lets go of my hair and grabs a full bottle of brandy and runs out the door. I wanted to scream and curse and curse whatever gods there are but now I had no choice strength. I just lay down on the floor and closed my eyes. I was woken up by voices and a gentle shaking on my hand, I moaned and tried to open my eyes.,, Coryo look she woke up, she's fine." that voice was Tigris after all. I opened my eyes and tried to sit up but my head quickly spun and I fell back onto my stomach,, Be careful not to get up, ohh he set you up real good. Coryo take her up to us and we'll treat her." Tigris ordered and walked forward to prepare the medical supplies.,, You don't need to, I'm fine.." I grunted into Coriolanus's chest as he carried me upstairs. However, the boy just held me tighter and carried me to their apartment where Tigris treated and cleaned my wounds. I was with them for about another hour when Coryo and I agreed that tomorrow morning we would go to welcome our tributes to the station. I spent the whole evening making sandwiches both for my tribute and for Coriolanus as a thank you. I prepared sandwiches, water and two apples.

Morning came all too quickly and before I knew it I was walking next to Coryo towards the station. I noticed that he was carrying one of his grandmother's precious roses.,, This is for your tribute." I asked curiously. "Um, what did you bring for your tribute?" he asked in return.,, I brought him food and water, I think he'll be exhausted from traveling, and by the way, I brought you food too, as a thank you." I said as I handed him a sandwich. Coryo just nodded gratefully and took a bite. We waited at the station for about a quarter of an hour before we heard the familiar whistle of the train. However, when the train appeared, I was confused, this train was used to transport animals and not people. When the train stopped, peacekeepers boarded it and began to open the doors of the carriages. At first, no one came out of them, but soon the peacekeepers began to shout abuse and bang on the walls to tributes climbed out. After a while people finally started to climb out. I was shocked most of the tributes were in really bad shape. They were tired, dirty and definitely hungry and thirsty. I noticed that Coryo had found his tribute and that forced me to find Treech myself . I just noticed him when he was jumping off the train and helping his partner from the district. I took a deep breath and took a few steps towards him. "Hello Treech." I spoke to him. He looked at me in return and muttered in a hostile tone. "And who are you?" I'd be lying if I expected a warmer welcome.,, I'm (Y/N) Belladon and I'm your assigned mentor, welcome to the Capitol Treech and Lamina." I addressed him and his district partner.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #tbosas #treech tbosas #tbosas x reader #treech x reader #treech x mentor reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo snow #capitol #fanfic #love #the hunger games x reader

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plasticfangtastic · 1 year ago

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American Royalty. Ch. 9

A Homelander x F! Reader/Dadlander fanfic

A/N: so sorry for the long delay, was a bit overwhelmed irl and needed a break from writing, and this chapter its the longest on the fic and editing it was a difficult. thank you so much for reading Hope y'all like it and warning this is a long chapter fr fr-- prev. chapter here:

Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance, child murder mention, murder mention.

Chapter Nine

Tally

A field trip to the museum of natural history was scheduled for the day and to your daughter's unsurprised annoyance– here was her father riding the school bus too…

Homelander had made a surprising decision.

This was his way to win you both, putting himself more and more present in your lives as gently as he could muster, suddenly taking special interest in her schooling, as this was important to you both– more than you had anticipated, he would have.

Joining the PTA board, not even making an immediate fuss on the injustice of not being worshiped on sight, acting maturely even if slightly jaded about not being handed the head of the table upon blessing them with his presence– but there he was helping out when asked by the other members with fundraisers and other volunteer works if possible.

He would come and watch them do their homework-- one while at work and the other at his home, coming over every night to tuck her in, for Ryan went to bed at 9 like a good kid and Helena did not turn sleepy ‘til midnight, flying to school almost everyday to make sure both children were still present, and to pick up Ryan.

Wishing he could take her too but strong enough to accept he couldn't just yet… his many enemies and detractors a source of constant concern in your mind, so even if it hurt, Homelander knew it was the safest thing he could do for now, the simplest thing to ease your worries for the time being.

Helena was more concerned about how such a busy man had enough time to spare just to stop-by to make sure his kids entered the right car, how he had time to follow the driver to make sure he took the fastest route and that his behavior was proper– poor time management skills and a small battalion of distressed assistants, she thought.

It killed him, it killed him to play a stranger towards her, wishing he could do more than wave good morning and good afternoon, finding himself being stared at by the other caregivers as he gawked at his daughter for too long while she waited for her driver or as she was dropped off by you or her driver in the morning, as you no longer let her walk to school. The girl did a better job at pretending not to know him, offering flat smiles at best while he tried to keep his expression blank.

You couldn’t deny he was trying so dearly to be there.

He found it irritating how easy it was for Helena to talk to the driver than it was to talk to her own father, embitter at the lightness in her voice. The two filling the space with discussions about growing up in the eastern bloc, about how the 60+ year old had worked as a taxi driver for over 20 years before turning to the private sector because the hours were better, about coming to the country in his late teens, fascinated about how his father had raised 2 kids then his 2 nephews after the death of his sister, about how he worked in the sanitation department until he was 80 years old– she spoke with ease to the older man, while stiff and impersonal with him, perpetually cautious around him. Homelander would’ve replaced him on the spot had he not had the itchy feeling that she would get angry at him for it.

The two could discuss work with ease at least– she was quick to unravel office politics and their thousands unspoken rules, coming to understand how Vought's hierarchy was more than just letters outside of doors, and salaries, quite easily.

Engrossed by the bizarre world of Superhero shenanigans, eager to learn what it took to manage the powered and unruly, what it really took to make a Supe, and the spoken human cost that kept the light on… it was all required reading in order to understand how the business was– these people were ultimately vapid and dangerous. A-Train was still a soft spot for her (she was okay with making exception after all everybody did the same) they discussed movie deals and product branding with more spit than it took discussing actual hero work, saving people and doing good was not even secondary to their priorities, while others in the same building discussed murders and other colorful cover-ups made by her fellow brethren over the water cooler. At first The Seven had been opposed to her presence… silently of course, to have a stranger moseying around their territory was unnerving much less a child… but once it became common knowledge that the little would-be tyrant was not a normal child they had turned far more self-conscious, but all it had taken was one look from Homelander daring them voice their discomforts for all of them to shower her with pleasantries and complements, for all of them to act as if she wasn't in the room.

Helena was quick to note how much of a fooney her father was-- faking and selling niceties with believable charm as if this was his normal behavior in their meetings, it was beyond obvious in the unsaid way everybody was fearful of his bite that he was just acting for her sake, confusing the lot, making them wonder why he did such a thing to impress a precocious stranger– Helena could see him squirming in his seat, squeezing his fists, desperate to lash out whenever The Seven irritated him.

As long as she sat in the room he denied his true nature, she took note of it… curious as to how catastrophic it would be once he reached boiling point, wanting to know if she could push his buttons even further out of morbid curiosity.

The group theorized what truly motivated his behavioral changes, some believed the online whispers of netizens, while others had a more insipid suspicions, thankful that in the long list of abilities he had did not include telepathy– regardless it was nice to not be murdered on the spot for their misdemeanors.

She thought it would’ve been easy if he just spilled the beans but at this point both yours and Homelander’s relationship status had been kept under wraps– the board and Ashley had been the only ones informed. A matter of strategic release, it seemed.

Coming headfirst and dropping the news was considered but the spectacle that came from Homelander’s reveal of Ryan had been grating and a nightmare for the company-- but as the writing team worked their magic, the revelation was woven into a dramatic narrative, feeding scraps and crumbs to the curious masses just to kept the conversation, Ryan had been kept safe from netizens during the trail days, the internet speculated without permission about Homelander's personal life and his son– but now they were invited to do so for you and by extension Helena.

It had all begun from a paparazzi scoop, a staged candid photo showing Homelander in civvie cosplay and you his blushing partner staring at each other romantically, then the money shot of you two kissing in pretend secrecy.

The public went wild with it, for years Homelander’s many relationships were a source of entertainment so this was just another thing for consumption, many tried to learn about you, the first images just grainy and purposefully angled poorly to kept your partially obscured, with each week after the original release more and more images began circulating… culminating in Homelander’s own social media account announcing his shocking engagement to a young New York chef.

It was all the news could talk about, and now Helena had to bear the public’s sudden interest.

People wanted to know all the details, to know all there was to know about you, your unmarketable story had been handled by Vought making you feel safe but that had been a nightmare on its own, but that was for later…

It would’ve been easy if she at least had Elmo to confide with, if Helena had anybody but her driver and her lab assistant to talk to.

But there she was forever in the confines of her mind, lost in books, and playing chess at school and chess-rooms.

Homelander had noted how quiet she’d become, more than usual… spying from a distance witnessing his daughter’s loneliness and unable to help– At school she was a loner, expected from a child that stood out too much, a child with poor socialization skills and her abrasive personality it wasn't surprising, spending her lunchest alone and break times in the library or the music room honing her skills instead of socializing, on the occasion she could converse with one of the older kids in her music class, bringing a smile to his face… sounding so much like a girl as the older kid taught her a piece– she wasn’t like Ryan who had come out of his shell, making a small group of buddies and acquaintances with ease but Helena hadn’t had any luck. John knew from you, that she had always been like that, with time she would find somebody, that he should be patient, for Helena was resilient… but he couldn’t bear to look at it.

And he knew just what to do.

Sven Cripple wasn’t what he expected– Just another schmuck in marketing that liked to dress in casual clothes to stand out in the office, thinking of Nigel, this man certainly seemed misplaced on the other’s side. He was lanky and tall, his pale blonde hair natural and his nose protruding… it was the tattoos and piercings that looked out of place next to that new money prude. The man gave him an ill-conceived stern look, before washing it with fake friendliness.

“How can I help you Homelander?” He said, looking as his team hurried out of the room.

“Just wanted to come down for a chat… how’s little Elmo doing? Haven’t seen him in daycare for a while.”

“We decided to take Elmo out for the time being–

“Just because my daughter is around” He cut him– that’s a bit cruel.”

“With all due respect sir… your daughter tried to kill my son,” he said with a snap.

“You mean: tried to make him better by increasing his chances of success in this industry.” Homelander tried to remain friendly– I’ve heard that Elmo's health hasn’t deteriorated in the least, and has gotten quite good with his new found powers.”

“Yes, he is doing well. Thank you for your concern, sir.” He took his laptop from the table– is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, bring Elmo back to daycare” Homelander dug into his belt pulling out a pamphlet from Helena’s school– "Is a great school, Elmo would surely thrive there.”

Sven dare not take the piece of paper, feeling nervous as Homelander stares down at him from beneath.

The man took a deep breath wanting nothing but to end the conversation and head back to work.

“Thank you but we like Elmo’s school and we aren’t–

“You live in Chinatown don’t you? Forsyth street, right? Lovely apartment, great price for a three bedroom in this city, decent enough to house that yappy little doodle-mix… so cute! Love your decour who doesn't love mid-century modern… and surprisingly quiet streets plus you’re near an okay school at walking distance and for that price– what a bargain! I’m so jealous” He spoke so smoothly, licking his teeth as he took a step forward– now… just between us. Man to Man… concerned father to concerned dad…” He took the man by the chin cupping his face to force him to watch him straight in the eyes– you’re going to get your store bought misborn brat, and you are going to bring him back to daycare. You’re going to enroll him into this school, and let him and Helena be best friends forever or I’m going to make you eat him. I’ll sit you down and your fucking husband and serve him to you in a platter with so much ssamjang you would lick your fingers from how delicious it was! And then I’ll kill your husband and your yappy little gay dog before you’re framed for their murders.” He says with a smile.

Sven felt his bladder almost empty as the red lights burned so hot, his eyes had turned dry and his lips chapped from the heat radiating from him.

“Now you can go and tell anybody about what I just said, and try to get me in trouble but just so you know… I’m so fast and little kids don’t run that well…. even flying ones; Or you could do as I say and we can pretend to be buddies, right champ?” He gave the man’s cheek a light tap as he turned the lights off– I think Helena and Elmo would make a great team… does he miss her? Don’t lie to me.”

“He’s been upset lately.” he whispers.

Homelander squints but it's pleased at the man’s meek demeanor.

“I know sometimes we parents have to make hard decisions but think about it… it's what you and Nigel always wanted… for him to be famous… under my wing he'll achieve more than any other Supe could, I have this grand vision and I know without him Helena won’t like it… it would benefit him regardless.”

“That's not what–

“You gave him V! Don't act so sanctimonious why else would you if it wasn’t for personal gain!? To make sure he never got a cold!? Please save it… maybe not you… maybe Nigel, but you gave him compound V for a reason. So don’t squander your investment. You are just another greedy wannabe trophy parent.” He spat on his shoe– I expect to see the kid by next week at the latest, förstått?”

Sven crumbled behind him, making music for Homelander’s ears as the man realized just who Homelander truly was, knowing full well that there was nobody in this building that he could turn to, too afraid to find out what would transpire dare he tried to run.

By next week he could barely contain his smug satisfaction as he saw the kid return– he had done something you couldn’t with such ease, whereas you try talking to Nigel, try to build a connection via apologies that the man hadn’t care for after giving him space… he had given your child his friend back.

While there was no dramatic run towards each other, there was that sweet little smile on her face as they both sat together to draw.

By next month he would join her in school… admittedly Homelander did forget that the kid was in the 2nd grade but even with the distance, they still found ways to see each other… After all, a kid sneaking out of class didn’t stand out if she looked like any other grade schooler.

It was something… it was more than he ever had… he would’ve killed to have at least one more person with him in that room, one he could actually touch… he wanted to give her everything he could but for the first time he shared some of your grief.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Helena ceased to move her fingers from the keys, instead of attending study sessions she had wandered off to one of the music rooms, the teachers well aware and unconcerned.

“Shouldn’t you be in study hall or the library?”

“I like it here.” She turns slightly to face him– you didn't answer my question.”

“I was in the area and decided to come by and say hi.”

“This isn’t your territory and that’s not allowed.” she says firmly.

“Saw that Elmo started attending school– Mr. Radmilo told me he saw you talking to a kid yesterday evening… a boy that sounded a lot like Elmo.”

Helena chortled mightily amused by his poor performance, before she could say a thing he sat by her side placing a couple fingers making a tune with his fingers, she was tempted to follow him and test if he had any skills.

“That was your doing wasn’t it? Mom wasn’t making any strides in that department… What did you do?”

“I am The Homelander and their boss… would you tell me no, if you were them?”

Helena could only imagine what he would do to strangers he didn’t care about, compared to what he had done to you… he might’ve been worse. She leaned against him playing a couple keys just to play along– it was awful to admit but she was glad, she was glad her friend was back, glad that her lunchest wouldn’t be so lonely, that at least she could sneak out to the playground and hang out with him, that she had somebody to talk to.

“Thank you… do you play?”

“Noir used to play… I would stop by his apartment and he would play for me from time to time… I was taught a couple tunes but it was never for me… I miss it… listening to him.”

“He doesn’t play anymore?”

“That’s just a guy being paid to wear his suit… kept the brand– That’s not my Noir… so anyways… I was thinking you and I can ditch school for the day and hang out before we come back to pick up, Ryan.”

Her eyes opened wide, smirking at the suggestion.

“Asking me to ditch school… that’s not a good thing to encourage…”

“Are you going to fall behind if you do?”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders pulling her closer, playing with her hair.

“Nope!” She did like the feeling of being pet, it was nice, his hands bigger than yours, feeling so small under his glove and wishing it wasn’t there at all– where are we going?”

“I wanted to show you one of my favorite places in the world.” He said with a glimmer in his eyes– I think you’ll love it!”

She nodded and pushed herself free, letting him drag her out of the school while everybody was bored in class, he tucked her firmly in his arms holding her head against his chest as he took flight.

How could anybody ever get used to this sinking feeling in the gut that comes from the rapid ascent, the way her ears close shut and the taste of blood flooded into her mouth, how did a normal human withstand this when her body was above average yet still struggled, she squeezed his body the best she could, unable to speak or breath. Her mind works fast, knowing this would be risky but she builds a small bubble, gasping as everything around her cranium suddenly feels back at home.

Inside her bubble nothing moves, the air it's still but clear, below the neck it was left to god.

Homelander looked down catching those frightened little hands clutching at him, he slowed down so quickly he made himself queasy, flying was no different from breathing or sleeping to him, he looked down hoping she hadn’t lost consciousness, his throat closing on itself as she took a second to look up shivering in his arms, he squeezed her tight and began his descent, still a couple hundred miles from his destination.

The ground felt otherworldly as he landed with a soft thud under his boot.

“Am so sorry…” He choked, his body matching hers as he collapses placing her down to check for her wounds, tears welling up making it hard to see.

“Too fast… Too fast” She muttered, trying not to cry as she watched him do the same– okay… that was mach 2?”

He nodded frantically, eyes flooding as he found nothing wrong with her organs.

“Let’s try mach 1… or turtle… do I have any organ failure? I don’t fe-fe-feel I do.” She said as she squatted on the ground making sure to feel the grass on her hands– let’s do that again.”

“Is all good… oh dear god you’re good!” He broke first.

She petted his hair, slumping on his shoulders forming a bubble around her body preventing her father from holding her further, he watched her confusedly as her body slid away from him.

“Actually go full speed I wanna test something” Shaking off her initial fright with ease– take the bubble and go full speed. I need to know something… What a great opportunity to test my abilities!” She said cheerfully– my body it’s able to withstand it to a degree… I was dizzy and I had difficulty breathing but I didn’t bleed… my ears hurt so its likely my eardrums would have bursted if I hadn’t enveloped my head but who knows when that would've happen."

“What are you on about?” He said nervousy.

“Everything is an opportunity to learn! Is okay– is not like I inherited your physiology, all I got was a hearty dose of compound V.” She rubbed her chin– wonder tho… Ryan is a carbon copy of you... there are records of powers being “inheritable” altho there isn’t much research on the matter– would love it if I could use Ryan for research later on, if possible." She mumbled to herself-- Pick me up and let’s go. I need to see if my bubble can withstand high speeds!”

Homelander had a difficult time understanding, for a moment he considered letting her know but the voice in his head told him to keep quiet just for a little longer.

He had a hard time figuring out the most comfortable way to lift the bubble, forcing her to make it smaller for ergonimic reasons, from inside she could find his fingers reshaping the surface by sheer force, a terrifying discovery.

It was no different from a carnival ride, her body flung against the wall of the bubble, the wind rippling all over the surface, pressure forcing her against one direction, but she could still move forward.

They reached the clearing outside an old farmhouse, a dusty american flag waving in the wind of the light blue and gray house, a large tree faced the front and Helena could only recognize it from an episode of Supes in America, he placed her carefully under the tree’s shadow, a wind chime coloured the wind, as she took a step out, following his lead as he entered the house forgetting he had brought her along for a second, the rustling leaves sung alongside rusted chimes, she looked at the overgrown grass and weeds lining the front yard, at last season’s dead leaves and fresh dead ones littered across the porch.

Inside everything had been covered in sheets, old cobwebs had made a home in the once cozy house, and picture frames caked in layers of dust clouding familiar faces.

Homelander headed for the living room where an old piano decorated with plane models adorned the room. She remembered the episode somewhat… expecting a retelling of factoids she could pull out from some youtube clip in an instant, a picture of an older blonde couple holding a small toddler in blue, white and red stripes, in fact they all were wearing some shade of red and blue, she noted.

Helena climbed to the piano picking the photograph as her father just followed quietly.

“Were they nice? Mine suck, lol.”

“They would’ve loved you. I’m sure of it.’ He spoke quietly– mom loved the piano too… I always wanted to hear the old thing play again.”

Helena smiled putting the photo by the dining table before it, flicking the lid open and scouring the music sheet for a decent tune, Homelander sat on the wooden table watching her hands play 'Schubert– moment musicaux No. 3', her fingers long enough to not strain her hand as she started to get to the most difficult parts of the intermediate song.

“Just like mom used to play… you must’ve gotten it from her.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers began to move to a different tempo, speeding up as she began a different concerto, Homelander picked it up watching her quizzically as her hands moved faster and faster, there was a darkness in the music– she must’ve been a virtuoso to be able to play Brahms most obnoxious pieces as a hobby!”

Her fingers smashed on the keys as the Hungarian dance sped up, missing notes and pains building all the way up her elbow– quitting all together, cursing at her fingers for being too short, cursing at her arms, wiping the sweat of her brow angrily.

She took the music sheet book flipping its cover towards Homelander to reveal the author, he should’ve known the set designers or prop makers had no care for the little things.

“What’s going on?”

Homelander swallowed a couple knots looking down away from her, he stood up.

“…follow me”

She dragged herself out of that piano as her father headed upstairs, his feet loud on the creaky floorboards, the halls just as dusty and quiet on the floors above, the fragrance of mildew and time permeated in the air, all the doors were shut except for one– the cream coloured walls adorned with frames pictures of baseball stadiums, small league baseball team flags with a tiger mascot sprinkled on the wall, and model airplanes hung from the ceiling decorated the small children bedroom. She gave a rounded look to the room, spotting the small bookcase filled with blue spines, a stack of worn down Hardy Boys’s books, and a cute wood carved rabbit.

Grimacing at the massive poster of the American declaration of independence with its tacky eagle/flag shield drawing on top, she shouldn’t criticized for her walls were mostly bare but this felt odd, decorated with books and awards she had won, her only pretty poster was a polaroid of a cat she found at a garage sale, but there was something bizarre being witness. It felt made for TV, it didn’t feel natural once the warm filter was off.

The room wasn’t as dusty as the floor below, he paused before the small collection of trophies on top of the dressers fidgeting until they were all straight, giving the room an odd look around before slumping on top of the children’s bed, a bit of dust danced on the sunlight, Homelander took the red cap off the bed post throwing it at Helena’s direction, Helena opted to sit on the small gangnam print armchair, putting the hat to humor him.

“You don’t get any whiter.” Her eyes keep staring at the poster– you always been this needlessly patriotic?”

“What? You have dissenting opinions against the government? You little anarchist.”

“This country is run by senile geriatrics and billionaire oligarchs… but above all… humans.”

He fixed the pillow as he closed his eyes with a light chuckle clinging on his lips.

“Humans… you think it shouldn’t be them?”

“Supes are a minority, humans would always lead nations no matter how many of us are around. They could use with a fresh pair of eyes, tho… not to mention you could kill a lot of those in charge and it would be a good thing.”

“Bit extreme."

“Maybe growing up in a place like this makes it difficult to understand what it's like to live on the side of those the government deems a burden.”

“I didn’t grow up in a place like this– this is all fake…” Homelander opened his eyes slowly, staring at the silver plane dangling from his roof, blowing with enough force to make it spin on its threads– they built this for TV… my room didn’t have anything… just a bed… a toilet and sink– no bathtub or shower in case I tried to kill myself or hurt myself if I showered or something! Nothing else… just bare walls… not even a window just an air vent.”

Helena cocked her head, brows touching as she heard him talk, her eyes gliding back at that stupid poster.

“You were in foster care? I’ve seen the Vought operated orphanage facilities… not exactly optimal.”

Homelander turned on the bed wanting to tell her all the things he held, but his tongue turned so heavy he dare not… not yet… would she pity him? would she think of him as pathetic? It was hard to see if she felt any form of sympathy at times– but he didn’t want that from his child, it was not a burden for her to carry, he thought.

“Something like that… I never knew my mother… she didn’t want me, I think. My father didn’t know he had me… then he tried to kill me when he meet me.” He took a deep breath, trying to make himself laugh as if it was a silly annotation in his life– Vought took care of me when I was a baby.”

“Was it a bad facility?” She didn't think it was right to ask, wondering why he was saying such heavy things with such lightness on his tone.

“I would burn the whole world before I let you or Ryan end up in a place like that.” His voice was stable but his expression betrayed him– it was lonely and awful. But I managed.”

“I’m sorry… we cannot help the nature of our birth or the nature of those who cared for us… we just have to deal with the leftovers they left us with– doesn’t need to hurt less, right?”

She paused, caught by that saddened expression forming on her father's face, at his gloves squeak under his grip. Helena fiddles with her backpack, jumping off the armchair towards him-- he looks up at the open palm holding candy, her lips trembly purse and her eyebrows fold downwards, finding her upset and nervous Homelander lifts himself on his elbow taking the werther's candy in hopes it would ease her.

“I’m sorry… sorry that happened to you.” She was struggling to talk– I knew kids who got taken by CPS… it didn’t always seem like a good thing.”

Homelander offered a sad smile that made for poor comfort.

“Is okay is all behind… I… I am just glad your mother never came back… because they would have done that to you.”

She looked confused, urging him to explain without words.

“Come ‘ere.” He fixed himself back upright, gluing himself to the wall to give her space, Helena dropped her backpack and hopped on the bed, finding it to be tight squeeze– your mother didn’t tell you just how special you and Ryan are. How much more special you two are even more than me… maybe.”

The girl gave him all the answers he needed in those big befuddled eyes.

“You and Ryan are the first natural born supes… Ryan’s mother came back when Ryan began to show powers while pregnant– so they locked her in a house like this. Ryan lived in a whole compound of fake houses and fake neighbors… a fantasy prison– and that was the “nice” place! Your mother was lucky, they would have taken you and put you in the same place they put me.”

Speaking as if nothing was loaded, Helena scrunched the blanket under her hand, wanting to argue with him, yet if this was all true… she couldn’t blame him for being maladjusted.

He looked at the nightstand and the book next to the blue plastic lamp, taking in his hands.

“You like Dr. Seuss?”

Helena shook her head.

“Never read it. Mom got me too many books growing up, maybe we never got around them… and by the time I could walk to the Library I just skipped the kids section… as pretentious as that sounds.” She followed his hand as he trapped her in between his arm and his chest, but she wasn’t scared, this was normal for parents to do, even if he was still somewhat alien to her– I don’t think I was lucky.”

“You seen what they do in the labs… they would’ve done that to you, mayhaps.” He opened the book ‘If I ran the zoo’-- When I was small I had a stutter and they would…” he paused, biting his tongue slightly as it sat uncomfortably in his mouth– I would have to read a lot of silly rhyme books. Dr. Seuss was my favorite. I always wanted to met these stupid critters but turns out they weren’t real.”

There was a fondness in the way he held this book, his thumb rubbing on the spine, pressing the worn creases, tracing marks and straightening blunt tips– the copy was well loved, scratched beyond repair at the corners, and the spine so creased some white seep from the cracks as it threatened to rip apart.

“So I was born with my powers then… I can see why they would do such a thing to Ryan.”

“I think if Becca was around… she would have preferred it if she kept him to herself in the first place, maybe make her husband think the kid was his.” He looked down at the mop of black hair, expecting to see you but finding her instead, his eyes widen hoping the kid wouldn’t have a snappy comeback or grow uncomfortable but Helena just flicked to the next page reading the short verses, admiring the drawing of an elephant cat with a little smile– you don’t mind being born with powers?”

“It’s awesome to have powers. You want me to be all sappy and act like having them makes my life worse? Does it suck sometimes– yes.” She pauses, flattening an edge that had been used to bookmark too many times– I’m different even amongst supes… but If I didn’t have powers then… I would be useless– I would make mom’s life harder. But I am great.”

Homelander felt the candy pressed tightly in his glove.

“I don’t think your mother would ever think that of you…”

“I dunno.” Her cheek rubbed on his suit, her voice so quiet as she went to the next page– sometimes… I don’t think she likes me very much… but sometimes she obviously does…”

“Helena…” His face hurt as he tried to speak but found himself unable to say another word, his jaw dislodging but his tongue sat dry in his mouth.

“I was two when my powers happened. Mom… Mom managed to get out of the shelter and we moved to a long hallway with a bed and stuff on the walls– it was super cheap and it was better... I lived there until well… I broke a wall… then it was back to the shelter and then people’s houses and grandparents… When I was five we got that apartment and by then I realized I was allergic to dogs so I didn't need to be afraid of my nose anymore… no more broken stuff…”

“Those were accidents!” his voice almost broke, a seething rage tried to burst out of him as his eyes took a new shade of red, faceless bodies lingered on his thoughts wishing to justly harm them– all of that… that wasn’t you.”

“Tell that to my grandma after I broke their staircase.” She sulked in her spot– and the wall attached to it.”

Homelander could only cuddle her, wishing he could comfort her as easily it had been with Ryan. His son had desperately needed affirmations, needed to be provided with love and understanding– but this one saw everything far too maturely for him to help, he felt.

“You can break stuff now… I’ll clean it up and I won’t get mad at you.”

“Thanks…?” That sounded grim coming out of his mouth but she wanted to hear it, as silly as it was, she nuzzled his side trying to crawl higher following his feathery fingers– By the way… why is this your favorite place? Like this is just a film set to make you look so cornbread american it hurts… I guess people knowing you’re an orphan didn’t sit well with test groups.”

“Is not. I fucking hate it… but sometimes I like to think what it would’ve been like if i grew up in a place like this. I don’t own much… I have a cabin but I don’t go there anymore… no home for me… just houses.” He flicked the page giggling at the silly drawing of weird animals– my favorite place in the whole world is right here.”

She expects him to point at anything, but he doesn’t for he’s just looking at her with sleepy eyes.

“I love you Helena. I really do.”

Her eyes blinked and blipped, as she hugged him back… with only one arm, it felt like the correct thing to do, Helena could see herself much younger, inside that small apartment while the neighbor is being loud, there she was sharing headphones with you, playing a movie on your old laptop, she hugged your torso with those short chubby arms that always felt so light to you, and her face resting on your chest, she remembered the weight of your chin and the lull of your breathing… her father was a slow breather making her sleepy.

“My favorite place in the world it’s Rolling’s Hills Asylum– I saw a ghost there once."

“Ghost aren’t real” He tried not to laugh at her beaming eyes.

“You shoot lasers out of your ass but ghosts are too far-fetched? Really?” she was genuinely offended– ridiculous.”

He had a hearty laugh regardless, he closed the book giving her head a peck, taking the moment to smell her hair, to enjoy the sound of her heartbeat and the blood coursing through her veins, hearing the current glad that it continued to run, seemingly never ending as it should be.

“Okay…Okay…” He lets her take the book off his hands, clearly miffed that he wouldn’t let her finish, he swallows– You know why I brought you here?”

“No.”

“I always wanted to know what it would be like to have a family in a home like this… having Ryan in the tower was the closest thing to that but now there’s you and your mother so I want to know if you’re okay with me moving in…? I started looking at houses but your mother is difficult… and there’s my penthouse which… I don’t know if it’s ideal.”

Helena had to fake ignorance, partially aware of what stresses you were putting yourself into. Sure neither of you had discussed this move somehow.

Your daughter straightens herself clutching the little book tight against herself, thinking of the dusty air in the room and the fake planes above her head covered in cobwebs.

“Move in with us…? I don’t think mom would like to live in the tower. I certainly wouldn’t… Is weird living where I work… great for saving on travel expenses, just… not a pleasant idea… just ‘cuz you helped me with Elmo– I’ll help you out with mom. It was sad without him around, somehow.”

Helena buried her face under the book, feeling as if she had betrayed you but she had to win him over… for you, she had to succeed, she had to do everything she could to not fuck this up.

Her heart thumped so loudly it was deafening, as she accepted her actions.

“Do you like Elmo?” Homelander turned pale, his nose tickled by a cocktail of emotional conditions.

“Huh?” She blinked thrice as her face twisted to face him– he is my friend… you’re supposed to like your friends.”

“Just as friends, right?” He tried to force an uncomfortable light laugh.

“Oh…” She blushed then frowned– I am seven!! Jesus you’re being gross, dad!!” She jumped out of the bed– Elmo is my dog.” she said loudly.

Homelander wished he didn’t hear your voice just then, he buried his face in the pillow praying that the kid didn’t understand just how grim her words were, but mostly disgusted at himself… Why he had to say that? Was he jealous of a toddler!?.

“If you want to hit me please do so.”

“How hard?” She scowled, repulsed unknowingly by her father's misplaced jealousy, she wanted to hit him regardless.

“Your hardest.” He mumbled.

“I would break the wall.”

“Go for it.” he lifted a thumb up

A hundred or so meters later, and a tree branch jammed under his arm tearing his cape, he looked up spitting grass and dirt, the sky so obnoxiously blue.

He lifted himself slightly but not all the way with a slight groan, witnessing the hole on the side of the house and the torn down tree he had taken with himself, Helena jumped out the caveat floating towards him.

“Are you hurt?”

He lifted his fist still clutching on that wrapped piece of candy as she made her way towards him, struggling to unwrap it, glad when it was freed, the smell sweet and warm but tame compared to other crimes, shoving it in his mouth, allowing the caramel to melt in his tongue, he took a deep breath.

“Oh shit did I actually hurt you!?” With a pop Helena landed near him, jumping on her knees towards him, throwing her backpack to the side as her father just stared at the sky– you aren’t bleeding. Thank god…Good.”

“I’m fine, just surprised… By the way” he sat straight, his head lolling back and his mouth sucking loudly on his treat, he looks back at her once more smiling trying to appear completely fine not wanting his daughter to get more worried, fixated on the little red in her eyes– thank you for not hesitating.”

She sniffled a little.

“You’re so weird.”

“You can’t talk either, princess… I think I know how you can help me with your mom” She moved to remove a twig off his hair which somehow had stayed mostly in place– I want to organize a playdate for you. Get her to agree.”

She nodded, twirling the twig in her hand.

Homelander had one look at the broken house, and the torn down tree whose roots rained dirt– and scorched it. The cinder brought it down, Helena watched the bonfire and the billowing dust clouds, just flinching at the sudden burst of light, but as her sight caught on what was happening, she calmed down, drawn to the sight of flames, amused at how natural and flexible his lasers were, envious that she was lacking of them, angry that she was.

“Can we go get bagels?” She sniffed the smoke– I'm hungry…”

The two tried their best to eat while being gawked at– him more amazed about how much she could fit in her mouth– albeit with some reserved revultion. One hand held an egg bagel with cannoli cream cheese, while the other put a plain one with far too much smoked salmon and bacon cream cheese in his mind.

He watched her as she rotated the flavors, disturbed by her half chews in between to mix them in her cheeks.

She lifted her hand offering a bite of the salmon monstrosity.

“Is okay, I got my own…” She frowned, staring at the barely touched toasted bagel with nothing but a sliver of lox spread, Homelander looked away, not wanting to see her chewed up sandwich, considering leaving briefly then coming back to pick her up, but she insisted– "you want me to try?”

She nodded furiously trying to swallow fast enough.

He leaned down trying to ignore the camera recording behind him, taking a small morsel that seemed to satisfy the girl.

“yummy.”He was forced to look glad as he swallowed.

She looked at his with anticipation, unsure of what to do. he relented yet again.

“Cappers suck.” she regretted her bite instantly, swallowing forcefully.

“I’ll admit– not a fan of them, either.”

He wouldn’t touch his food content to just watch her guzzle her meal and drown it with his coffee.

He looked at the clock on the store’s wall knowing it was almost time to pick up Ryan, the flight home was slower than he preferred but he hadn’t minded for Helena seemed to withstand this speed a lot better.

“Hey… not to worry or anything but… you did… you did sign me out of school, right?” her voice was filled with anxiety.

“What do you mean?”

As she looked at the high rises around her, she looked at her phone and the 54 missed calls from you.

“Did you tell mom, you were picking me up, right?” She cringed as the phone rang and her battery drained a little further– right!!?”

“No, why?”

“You might wanna park for a second, dude.”

Homelander begrudgingly agreed, putting the bubble down on top of the nearest silver roof.

“Who died?” Helena said.

“WHERE ARE YOU!!!???” your voice might’ve broken the speaker if it went up one more decibel– are you o-okay!? Helena, please tell me where are you!!? Please tell me you’re safe!!” Your voice was cracked and hoarse.

“I’m fine. wha…”

“Okay honey, baby, am going to… oh my god… I got this call from the school and there’s these cops and Ashley trying to find you, baby! Where are you!?”

“Cops…?” Homelander asked, trying to look for strange sounds in the distance.

“Please honey.”

She looked at her father while you frantically spoke to some unseen stranger, covering the mouthpiece.

“You fucking clown. You’re so going to owe me… like… you have no idea what you gonna make me do, you owe me.”

“Why are the cops involved?” he ignored her overtly aggressive tone for the moment.

“You kidnapped me!!! The Homelander’s daughter just got kidnapped of course they would call the cops!! They would call the cops for any kid who just vanishes from school you idiot!! That’s why you tell people!!”

“I need permission to pick up my own kid from school!!?”

“Yes!!” She took the phone to her ear– mom… I just ditched school. I was bored… am in” Helena looked around– Harlem.” Her voice monotone as she shot daggers at her father– I… I am sorry.”

“Helena… okay… okay am… am gonna see if I can get your father… he’s been on some mission but I… I dunno… am just so glad you’re okay, baby. I swear you’re not in trouble.” You cry and mumble towards an unseen and unheard strangers– okay baby they’re gonna track your phone and send somebody to pick you up…”

“Is not necessary. I’ll just float there…”

“Helena what’s wrong?” Your heart breaks as her voice is so cold, more performative than her usual tone.

“I’m embarrassed… I… I didn’t think… sorry. I’ll get there…” her voice is jittery, her nerves infect you as if something unseen its making her feel like this, hitting you how powerless you were as the line died mid vowel.

She hung, staring at the screen.

“Write your alibi.”

“Why… why did you do that?”

“Because you’ll get in trouble.” She said sternly– next time just text mom before you do anything… how would you feel if mom took Ryan and didn’t tell you? or the school?”

As she walked towards the ledge, she turned to face her father, whose ears had just begun to pick up on the extra bustling happening nearby, like incoming mosquitos in the room.

“I forgot to tell you… but there’s this man called William… William Butcher and he wants me dead. Your mother thought he might do something against you” He bit his lips– that’s probably why she’s so upset and why that helicopter it’s heading towards Harlem.”

He pointed to the east but her sight didn’t pick up anything abnormal.

“I want to go to Disneyland.” She put her phone back in her backpack– and we are gonna do the queues, and you’re gonna eat those disgusting turkey legs on that sweltering california heat and you'll not complain– now this is what its gonna happen you’re gonna pick me up, I’ll pretend to have some sort of depressive episode that caused me to just fuck off scaring everybody and I called you to pick me up just now… your phone was on mute and you just notice, good?”

“Is it really that bad?” He found everything an absolutely ridiculous overreaction– am your dad, you were safe.”

“Today never happened. Or we both are screwed. Trust me it's that bad.”

Arriving at the school in her father’s arms, two police officers awaited for her arrival alongside yourself, a man with a Vought badge was bickering on the phone a few meters away aswell.

“Look who I found.” Homelander was quick to sell it at the sight of palpable distress, you ran towards Helena ripping her off his hands.

Even Ryan had been brought seemingly questioned about where his sister might’ve been.

The collar of his suit never felt so tight before, as it did just then.

Arriving at the home, she was sentence to a month of house arrest– no Vought labs or any unsupervised activities, lucky to just get the one week suspension for skipping school and not worse, Homelander thankfully had smooth things out with the police who almost shouted an amber alert after seeing Vought lose their minds… which necessitated a meeting afterwards, Homelander couldn’t fault Ashley for her panic attack after hearing the news and finding him awol, he was instead glad to see her lenghts of her dedication to him.

“I think we should also go to all the theme parks.” She grumbled putting her kindle down.

The clock reading past midnight.

“Everything is an opportunity to learn, no?” Homelander enter through the glass door, making sure to keep an eye on you as you sleep poorly– hope this makes you feel better.”

He took a yellow envelope from behind his back, it was thin and had a small pink bow, Helena ripped it off his hands, staring back at him as she ripped the glued seal off, the thin paper made her frown dissipate as her eyes digested the present.

“You’re gifting me Vought Stock?” She stares at the document as her mouth drops slightly.

"I have money to spare… perks of being the top dog for over twenty years– I get money from merch and films too, y’know.”

“These are over seventeen-hundred a pop.” She looked back at her father, and suddenly the man appeared alien to her, he was a different breed indeed– are you sure? Is a lot of money”

“I barely do anything with it. I… I think by the time you’re 18 you could use the money you made from those to get yourself your own big girl seat with the shareholders.” He looks around her room, at the bare walls feeling uneasy, his eyes fixate on the picture of a stranger’s cat wearing a witch’s hat taken in what he could only guess was a dining room– still haven’t sorted the will situation, but don’t worry about money at all. Once I marry your mother it would all have been be dealt with.”

Homelander sat on her desk, leaning his behind on the wooden surface.

“We’re still going to disneyland” Homelander curses internally trying to not look like he was dying– could’ve just gotten me a squishmellow tho.”

“Do I have to eat the turkey leg…?”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t do this to me” he half-jokingly begs.

“I feel nothing.”

Pouting like a kid, he looks to the ground feeling defeated, looking around, catching your snoozes in the backdrop, you had been so stressed you virtually passed out the moment your head touched the pillow, ypu had been arguing with him about never ever putting his phone on mute again, making him do the rounds of apology about Helena’s behaviour with both Vought, the local police and the school alongside you.

Homelander had grown guilty after seeing just how concerned Ryan had become over the ordeal while watching you comfort him, while your daughter got the talk from the uniformed men and the dean.

Yet you had gone out of your way to call him before bed.

“Your mom said I could visit while you’re grounded… she said you invited me for dinner…”

“Oh it's ‘cuz I told her that she should build a room for Ryan in the empty office so you guys can stay over. You’re engaged. It's weird to live separately but… baby-steps so the kid doesn’t get stressed too much, I mean your last girlfriend was a lunatic.”

“Starlight did turn out to be a loonie.”

“I meant Stormfront…”

“I didn’t know who she was…I was just a man who–

“There’s no cameras here my brother is christ– just one look at her records in Portland, and you would’ve noticed a pattern.”

“I just thought she would get over it after she realized I don’t care… like… am better than humans, we are better than humans… Don’t know why she grouped herself with them.” He scoffed.

“How supportive of you– pretending to care about her interest for pussy… what a chad move.” she scoffed putting the present on her nightstand– Mom did warn me about boys like you.”

“How do you know what tha– and what??”

“I’m in the tenth grade. Surrounded by 16 year olds. I’ve been mentally compromised– either way mom and I are gonna go to buy furniture for his bedroom tomorrow. Thank me later.”

She moved to her bed, pushing her few plush toys to the ground.

“By the way… what’s that playdate you had in mind?” her finger hovered on top of the lamp’s switch.

“They want Phantasma and Poltergeist as the new heads of Teenage Kix for when you’re older and ready. I think that’s too small… the name its too loaded, too many fuck ups after that second gen, b.s.” He stares at her and sees a brilliant future, hearing the chanting of adoring fans screaming for his children’s attention– they want to use that platform to launch our real international program… countries have been in bidding wars for the last couple months to have the first overseas hero program… So far only Japan, France, Brazil and Singapore have successfully been approved for the program. We have a couple open slots… lots of offers from India and the UK. I want you to head that program– Ryan is great… he’ll lead this nation as their top hero but you– it would be too small for a brain like yours… I was thinking “The Watch” for a name. Catchy, no? Thought you might want to meet your future team-mates... they are a little older than you but...``

“I think I can get mom behind. Either way I should go to bed."

She said nervously.

Homelander smiled moving towards her to tuck her for the night, giving her a good night kiss as he turned the light’s off.

“Wait!”

He turned in a panic, his hand already on the door handle.

“...” She dug on her nightstand cabinet pulling out that Dr. Seuss book– we… we didn’t finish it… would you read it for me?”

Homelander had never seen the dark be so vibrant before, he sat on her bed taking the thin booklet in his hand before clearing his throat.

“I won’t do any funny voice so don’t worry.”

“Is okay if you want to…”

A smile melted into his face.

She watched his shape disappear, that night she dreamt of endless camera flashes.

As the weeks built up, Helena found herself spending more and more time with the other half of her family.

She had helped build the guest room, picking toys and wallpaper and her brother was appreciative.

Watching from a distance while next to him, no matter how much she looked at him she had little desire to interact with him on her own accord, the more she watched you try to sweeten him up, making him ziti and taking him out… the more bitter aftertaste his name left on her tongue.

Ryan was an easy child, painfully normal, nothing special if he hadn’t come pre-packed with superpowers… powers just like their father… he could fly, had laser vision, super strength and durability, and super senses… eyes just as blue, so much like their father.

So boring… just a copy, no? she kept thinking.

Where was his spark? Where was the zest?

What made him actually special and great?

All he did was be cute, play with his toys and bore her to death. Talking to him was just a chore, nothing different from speaking to the average civilian., these thoughts plagued her mind.

As they sat together at the dining table, she looked at you then at her father and wondered just how much of a nuisance this kid would be for her future… she thought of her father’s vision…“The Watch” trying to decipher what could he possibly have set up for Ryan. The Seven? Really that’s all? Just a face in a lunchbox and nothing else… how quaint, she thought.

With every bite and sauce stain on her napkin, her anxiety took all the flavor from her meal… he was a threat… she thought of the unsorted will situation, no doubt still failing to include her– stocks could open doors to financial stability in the case her father died or lost his position, or you fucked it up with him… but it wasn’t a fraction of what he would leave Ryan, of the safety net underneath him.

But above all as she thought of the large behemoth on New York city skylines waiting for her... he could not stand in her way to take the kingdom.

Kingslayer.

She could live with that… all the greats had done it… a sibling, a son, an uncle and father decapitated here and there, it be easier if she could shave his head and send it to a monastery to live as an eunuch… to kill the competition earlier on was easy that a drawn out battle killing thousands– butcher him as cleanly as she could.

Why would he miss him, anyhoo? Who would miss him? He had nothing… no mom and a finicky father, just a name that could slip thru the cracks, Helena thought.

She giggled at his joke, sat by his side as they watched a movie after dinner, shared her popcorn and said nothing when you offered your lap to let him rest, said nothing as you brushed his hair with your fingers.

Butcher… the moment ceases to play in her mind, her eyes seeing floating words cover the whole living room– a simple slip up from Homelander… William Butcher… Ryan had been Ryan Butcher once according to his file at work… who was Becca Saunders? She had only ogled the file for the briefest second… he had said it back at the house… passed him as her husband’s kid… who was this William that was so dangerous his name was comically apt. and how much did his wife dissapearance had affected him.

She would keep it in her back pocket.

So here she was on her way to a class field trip to the Smithsonian, her father and two other chaperoned the class, gawking at his recently retouched roots from her seat, more than looking out the passenger window, a girl sat on her side texting to her friends, there was a buzz in the bus as the teenagers came to realize Homelander of all people had come to chaperone their excursion, one of the moms had wasted no time trying to befriend the Supe, her social skills enviable as she chatted him up with ease… already trading baby photos, and asking him about his skincare routine complaining about how dry her skin got around this time of year, and other banalities.

The trip was everything she had expected– except for Homelander becoming an impromptu tour guide, going on a rather in-depth discussion on great American mammals, and the tragedy of the American buffalo with the tour guide.

Helena had gotten excited at the marine exhibitions which thankfully some kids found her explanation interesting, Homelander was proud to see her and two kids discuss whales. On the other end of the spectrum there was her father doing his best to contain his excitement at the sight of Theodore Roosevelt… The man had an encyclopedic knowledge of American presidents and their achievements. One would think he was staring at some invisible monitor feeding him information– regardless there was something sweet as he sat Helena next to the bronze statue of Theodore for a picture, turning the camera quickly on himself, that the other parents noticed, the chatty mom finding it beyond adorable, reminding her of her own little boy.

As the classrooms took a second to relax and have lunch, she saw no alternative but to sit next to him.

“Do you have an earpiece or something?”

“What? I can’t know stuff?” He scoffed sipping briefly on his coffee.

“Just thought your interior designer just put those president portraits in your house for the bit… like that poster in your bedroom.”

“I like history.” he mumbled, looking a tad shy to admit it, as if it was some dirty secret– am I embarrassing you?”

“No…? I’ve never seen you this excited before.” He blushed, glad that it wasn’t anything bad.

That smile would fade away as they headed to one of the final exhibitions… “American Super” a new exhibition focused on… you guessed it… Superheroes.

This was a collection of Vought’s finest, hero suits adorning the way in their glass cases, as pretty text explained the inspirations and significance of the suit’s symbolism and how it represented the ideas and personalities of their heroes, on the evolution on textile engineering and how superhero suits helped pave ways of innovation, it was decades of Vought culminating on ‘The Seven’ and some of Goldolkin’s promising students– there was something grim at the sight of his own suit inside a box.

“Where the fuck did they get the red cape from?” He mumbles, the tour guide turned to him to explain, which did not make him feel any less queasy.

“Wow… he isn’t just a massive nerd but also had to be here to show off? pathetic.”

Helena stared at the girl who had whispered towards her friends, them chortling together.

As the tour continued, the man considered briefly murdering the girl, thinking of how easy he could make it look like an accident, he knew her name and address after all– disposing of her should be easy.

His mood soured and his build-up of excitement had completely vanished, picking on every snide and mock comment from the group, spouting the same bullshit of your everyday Starlight supporter– it had been at the mention of his complicitess on those Maeve’s conspiracies where he had grown visibly irked, and unable to hide it.

“You can’t touch them.” Helena tugged on his sleeve pointing at his face– Your eyes…”

“Is okay they’re just stupid children who stare at their phones for too long.” He looked at the bust of Translucent thinking of how they got his hairline wrong– "I wouldn't have come if I knew this was on…”

“Really you didn’t want to see another 1:1 recreation of your childhood bedroom.”

“I want to go home.” He cried as they followed the tour guide, they stopped to ask about the room with excitement which he easily matched after years of selling himself so cheaply– it’s like they picked it up and just dropped it here.”

Both noted how even the carved rabbit bookend was present on this bookshelf.

As they headed for departure, Helena hurried up the stairs catching the girls behind her, she gave her father a cheeky look, pursing her lips behind her finger, flinging her arm absetmindledly as he raised a solitary eyebrow… All there was was the sound of bodies crashing and crying.

A shattered bone, and whining.

He smiled just for her.

And she smiled just for him, before running towards him pretending to have been frightened by the sound, as a crowd built itself and a teacher rushed towards the commotion.

“I think she dances or something… not with that knee anymore.” She whispered into his chest.

“Thank you.” he whispered in her ear, holding her tightly before leaving for superhero duty.

It had to add a line on the tally, no?

Taglist-- @immyowndefender @demodemo909 @fromforeigntofamiliarity @ghqstfqce

apologies for lenghts but hope y'all like it

#personal #homelander #Homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys oc characther #homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfiction #I am ESL sorry for spelling errors #apologies for the lenght again.#i think this was like 30 pages long but i got in the flow when i wrote this 2 wks ago #also i never been to american school but i swear i heard kids dont have recess after a certain age but we do have that in australia even #for senior HS so am basing a few things on aus school practices

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