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push-the-heartbrake · 3 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 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 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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utilitycaster · 3 days ago

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thank you so much for your analysis on BH, Ive been thinking for ages that they seemed like the wrong fit for this particular campaign and it's nice to see that I'm not alone. It kinda baffled me that even knowing the crux of the campaign was going to be about the fate of the gods, Matt didn't like... just tell the cast that their characters opinion on divinity would be important?

I really feel like this plot needed more religious characters, even if they weren't outright clerics or paladins. The only one filling that role is Sam and while I love him and FCG his approach to religion seems kinda... cynical? shallow? Possibly just more focused on the goofs of it all. Which is a fine choice in a vacuum but god, what I wouldn't do for this party to have a Caduceus or even a Vax figure so it didn't feel like a bunch of agnostics were deciding the fate of religion.

So here's my opinion, and I've said this before: I agree that making characters who had a coherent, developed opinion on divinity before the campaign that was discussed as part of the character build is important...but I actually don't think it matters if there's no clerics or paladins or even religious characters. I also said this before: my ultimate problem, in the end, is not just the indecision but the fact that they're not even exploring indecision; they just are drifting through a narrative from which they feel disconnected. I as a person viewing the show think killing the gods is a dumb idea, but a campaign in which the characters confidently embraced an anti-god position and took actions in the service of that goal would be infinitely more enjoyable. I do not need characters to live out my personal values, because I do that in my real life, in the same way that I can enjoy characters who are vastly different than I in personality.

I think Keyleth is a fantastic example of both indecision as an actual conscious character trait (during Campaign 1) and a character who is not religious or even particularly respects the gods but who seems to have actually thought through the implications and made an assessment. Keyleth's analysis paralysis and fear of making a harmful decision or being hurt is the point of the character, and Marisha explores it directly during Campaign 1; it is ultimately what is holding Keyleth back from becoming the leader she needs to be, and working through it is the arc of her character. Avoidance or indecision is a fantastic character flaw to explore (Bellara in Veilguard is a recent example that's been on my mind) but it is a character flaw to be explored, and for the character to do something interesting with, and Bells Hells just...as I've said, drift. They keep going through open doors because they are there and never say "do I even want to go through this door? Why or why not?" and the entire purpose of a character in fiction, in my opinion, is to ask that question.

I actually pretty strongly disagree about FCG. I think they took a bit longer than I'd like to click but I actually found FCG's exploration of religion to be one of the deeper ones in the series. I think the party often disparaged it, and the fandom certainly did ("Fearne should make that stupid robot eat his own coin" will remain burned in my brain forever; I cannot take someone who said that as anything but a shriveled husk of a person unless they admit it was horribly mean-spirited and they regret it) but FCG is the rare member of Bells Hells who actually explored the concept of having autonomy and agency - that was his entire arc, actually - and to have this be told through embracing the god of chance and freedom, whom he learned about by chance, was a highlight of the campaign. I would strongly advise you reconsider seeing this as nothing but a bit; just because Sam tends to make a lot of dumb jokes doesn't mean he's not often telling a pretty profound story underneath, and this is a lesson it took me until this campaign to learn, to be honest. But I will say I don't think FCG being here now would fix things any more than Braius does, in part because the rest of the party looked down on faith but also didn't really condemn it. They just made vaguely unkind comments and continued doing fuck all. As my ask earlier today said, they didn't actually challenge each other; they just sort of passive-aggressively bitch. The point that many people made very early on, that Bells Hells has a veneer of cooperation and civility but lack the actual true bonds that only arise through working through conflict, remains true.

Getting back to it, I think the fact that NPCs who are not affiliated with the Prime deities nor Betrayer Gods and even struggle against them (Percy, Keyleth; the entire Kryn Dynasty; a massive number of entirely secular governments including the Clovis Concord, the remnants of the Cerberus Assembly, as far as I know the Marquesian governments, the Silken Squall) are unambiguously against Ludinus and the release of Predathos means that it's not the lack of clerics or paladins or everyday religious people. I don't care if agnostics decide the fate of the world, but DAMN those agnostics better have a fucking vision for what the world should be. I could talk at length about why I think killing the gods is a deranged and unrealistic solution to the problems the characters claim to think it will fix, but ultimately I don't even feel like the characters care about those problems. The titans are still going to be fucking dead, conquest and colonialism already exist within Exandria without the aid of any gods. Hell, Ashton's whole situation could be replicated precisely again in a world with no gods; and as the Ruidusborn were created by Predathos as keys to release it, I don't think there's a reason to have any more but I don't think that's really what Imogen was going for. It's the same kind of thing we call rapture culture among terminally online types: the idea that with one big act of violence you will usher in a new, better age. The idea that violent change is inherently for the better is infantile and utterly self-centered, as is the idea that putting off a choice until it becomes inevitable is anything other than selfish and stupid. I would rather the choice of the fate of the gods come from atheists who weren't infantile and self-centered and selfish and stupid than clerics and paladins who were. That's it.

#critical role #cr spoilers #answered #i am maintagging this one bc i think it might be the best summary i've done #and bc i maintain the issue isn't a lack of faith it's a lack of brains and empathy

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simp-ly-writes · 16 hours ago

Text

In Sickness and in Health

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.11)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You and Jayce buy a house together, settle into your new lives in Piltover, and discuss having kids all the while planning a wedding only for Jayce to become sick... you both hope he'll be well in time enough for the ceremony but then again, nothing is going to stop Jayce from marrying you, nothing.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, partial sickfic, teasing, pet names, sickly sweet fluff (no but seriously), some emotional hurt/comfort (more like reassurances), kissing, suggestive themes, Evren (OC) , a very sad Jayce, marriage worries, wedding scene, HIGHLY suggestive themes, reader is mentioned to have hair and is shorter than Jayce, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11,698

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: first post of 2025!- thank you all for sticking with me 🥹💞 I tried to keep wedding details as vague as possible and I may of have may not cried as much as Jayce did while writing the ceremony... ANYWAYS enjoy~

─────── · ·

─ · · From the brief that Jayce gave you before the train stopped in Piltover never would have prepared you for this... looking outside the window you saw a sea of people barley being held in by the barricades that Enforcers were struggling to hold up against the crowd.

Screams and shouts were muffled for now as you smoothed out your matching green dress to Jayce's shirt, the public relations team stated that your first sighting back in the city should show you two as a unit. You both would be the last to leave and as the minutes ticked by your anxiety grew tenfold as you paced up and down the carriage, heels clacking against the wood listening to Jayce who was nearly shouting to communicate with the head enforcer for your plan to exit.

"I have a meeting with the council in half and hour, at most we can stand for pictures for ten minutes before I need to head to city hall, my wife and mother go to Talis house, am I understood?" Jayce's tone is stern, stress eating at his tight features.

"Sir yes sir," the enforcer shouts, stomping their foot to the ground and dropping the salute before swiftly exiting, cheers sounding at the brief sight of the hammer emblem on Jayce's sleeve as the door closes.

You don't even notice Jayce's slip up of your title in your stress as your nails dig into your palms. Ximena suddenly grabs your arm, you flinch before letting out a breath seeing her worried face. Bending down you allow her to hold your face, "We'll be here the whole time, I promise. Nothings going to happen to you," she tries to comfort you. You nod, squeezing your eyes shut in a silent prayer before standing to full height.

You hear Jayce's boots echoing down the hall, looking up to see him fix his hair before planting a kiss against your temple, "I'll exit first and lead you both out. Caitlyn is waiting to take you both home." You nod while fixing the collar to his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles across his chest.

Jayce places his hands atop yours, "We don't have to say anything yet, they're not a part of this relationship," he reassures you. "Okay," you whisper feeling as he slowly lets go, your hands falling back to your side as you slip on the gloves Ximena presented to you.

You hear as the door opens watching as he waves to the crowd listening to their deafening cheers before turning around and looking at you, extending his hand and helping you down the steps before helping his mother.

An enforcer rushes over to Ximena's side, presenting an arm as she is first to leave. You watch until seeing familiar blue hair lead her into a carriage sending you a nod as you turn to look up at Jayce finding him already looking down at you with a smile.

You wrap your hand around his right arm on instinct, holding on with a near deathly grip, concealing your ring. You slowly turn to face forwards holding a small smile. You are shocked that after such a cataclysmic event Piltover seemed to be doing better than ever and that a few members of Zaun were also waving at you excitedly as you hesitantly waved back receiving a waterfall of cheers before hiding your face in Jayce's side feeling overwhelmed.

"They seem to love you as much as I do," Jayce teases.

You scoff at the comment before you both start to walking over to Caitlyn who was now joined by Vi. You smile at both women as they mirror your expression, "Good to see you back, Mrs. Talis," Caitlyn jokes as Vi wraps an arm around her shoulder.

Shaking your head you tap Jayce's chest, "not just yet but soon," you say. Jayce grumbles underneath his breath before squeezing your hand in goodbye and walking off with an entourage of staff and guards alike.

You all step into the carriage where Ximena waits, patting the seat beside her for you to sit. You lean back, letting your shoulders drop with a sigh listening to Caitlyn chuckle at you, "It'll get easier," she taps your knee before leaning against Vi's side.

"I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life," you look towards the red haired woman with large watery eyes. "Gosh don't give me that look, you're as worse as Jayce," she scoffs before shaking your hand, "I should thank you too."

"Whatever for?" you ask, confusion evident across your features and tilted head. You watch as the couple before you laughs, "you don't know?" You shake your head, turning to Ximena who is busy looking out the window mindlessly.

"For being the reason this city could rebuild; giving the people hope. Jayce did a whole speech for the local media awhile back petitioning for a spot back on the council- wanting to rebuild Piltover and he addressed you and your love as the sole reason the city still stands today." You open and close your mouth, eyebrows furrowing before crossing your legs and thinking quietly to yourself before remembering Viktor's words...

"Was a bit too sweet of a speech for my likings but it did wonders for his approval ratings," Vi jokes.

─────── · ·

─ · · A few weeks after settling back in, you and Jayce planned to move north in Piltover into a new house together within Bluewind Court a few doors down from the Kiramman household.

─ · · You and Jayce were both not huge fans of marble facades common in the area, instead taking to one of the oldest homes that had been sitting on the market for awhile and in dire need of repair.

─ · · You remember your first time viewing the outside of the house- built from brick holding large stone-framed windows. The roof was a partially black shingles yet newer additions were done with copper plates, some oxidized to a green others still sprouting orange. A large sunroom wrapped around the side and towards the back of the home and you equally fell in love with the stained glass dormers that invited light into the attic space.

─ · · Jayce watched as you walked around the house, letting go of his hand as you adventured into each room, observing the original hardwood floors and mosaic bathroom floors- gasping at all the intricate details in the brass handles of the kitchen and the large willow tree in the backyard.

─ · · The real estate agent smiled at the councillor adoring look as you found the secret entrance to the office and basement through a bookshelf, looking back at Jayce, biting your lip trying to conceal your giggles of excitement, practically jumping on the spot before darting off again. "Your wife is very cute, Councillor Talis," they say to Jayce, "she is, isn't she?" he hums before walking after you.

"You like the place, sweetheart?" he asks watching as you take a seat in a bay window within the study space, already picturing looking over from his desk seeing you reading. You nod, leaning back against the wall and looking out the window to look over Piltover. "I really like this place, Jayce. Feels like we can make it into something for just the two of us," you speak softly, thinking for a moment before standing and leading him out, "come, I want to show you something."

Jayce follows you upstairs as you push a door open to a room that faces the backyard. A mural is on the ceiling depicting the night sky that you move to stand in the middle of, "its a nursery, Jayce! Isn't the ceiling just outstanding," you point up, eyes becoming lost in the stars that reflect in your eyes and in Jayce's as he stares at you, heart racing, breath hitching, a nursery.

He feels stunned to his spot, unsure of weather or not to take your words on face value as images of that little girl sitting in your arms flickers across his mind. He would never want to pressure you into anything- no matter how much his heart longed to be a father. To raise someone with you to be curious of the world, to provide unconditional love and protection, to watch their interests develop and see the person they become.

Jayce clasps his shaking hands together, suddenly nervous as you turn your head towards him, smile slowly sliding off our face once seeing Jayce's still frame. You walk over slightly, opening his hands to hold in your own, "everything alright, my love?" you ask, looking up to your fiancee with worry.

Jayce smile wavers as he blinks a few times, letting out a deep breath, "yeah... I just... I would like... never mind." He removes one of his hand from your hand to cup your cheek as you lean into his palm. "take your time," you whisper, waiting patiently in his hold, watching his eyes stare over the room before looking down at you.

"I know we talked about this briefly before but... I would really like to have a family one day but I am perfectly happy with just having you," Jayce explains- words rushing out near the end as he stops breathing in wait. You stand up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips, "I want one too, Jayce. Just not yet," you reply watching as Jayce lets out a long breath, placing his forehead against your own, closing his eyes and holding you for a moment.

"Girl or boy?" you whisper with a smile to your words, "girl," Jayce responds almost instantly as you pull away laughing, "but I would love a boy just the same."

"Why a girl?" you ask, spinning around the room absent-mindedly.

"I would like to play dress-up with them," you laugh, heart overfilling with want for the imagine within your head to come to life, "princess Jayce," you announce to Jayce's nod, "I think I would look good in some nail polish, no?"

You nod your head, "I think it would suit you actually," you pick up his hand- considering colours, "I could see you in blue oh! or maybe red to match your house-"

"Our house and our home," Jayce squeezes your hand, "yeah?" you ask, looking up into his eyes and around the space again, "yeah," he confirms hearing you cheer and run down the stairs back towards the agent.

─────── · ·

─ · · From selling your apartments, temporarily moving into the Talis residence and planning a wedding. You hated how correct Evren's words were as you didn't have time to find a job between helping Jayce with his work and attending the various events at his side, checking in on the house renovations and crew all the while editing your personal studies since Jayce had reopened the lab for you... life was chaos spreading yours and Jayce's time together thin.

─ · · Jayce always made sure to send you flowers to the lab as you made sure to stick messages within his notebooks on scrap pieces of papers or on the back of a letter to find later. You always made sure to include a picture of how the house was progressing.

─ · · Jayce had a picture of you in a hardhat posing on the front steps of the house framed in his office that he would often look at between meetings. He also received many letters of thanks from the workers for providing refreshments and lunch that on the books he thought was for the wedding. When asking you about it later you just smiled and kissed him, assuring that the house would be done two weeks before the wedding.

─ · · On his breaks, you would come into Jayce's office to eat with him when your schedules alined and discussed wedding details. Surprisingly Jayce had many opinions that you throughly enjoyed hearing and agreed with. One being having your wedding partially indoors in case the weather didn't align with the ceremony. You both also wanted a relatively small wedding with close friends and family... the members of the Council invited themselves no matter how many times Jayce politely denied.

─ · · "I would want pictures of my family and Viktor in the front row... want to feel like they're there, you know?" you tell Jayce, taking a sip from your tea. Jayce nods, "I would also like one for Professor Heimerdinger."

"Of course," you jot the names down, circling the word photo about the list. "Do you have your dress picked out?" Jayce asks, eyes twinkling with excitement as he tries to picture what you chose. You play with the tea leaves at the bottom of your cup, "I'm torn between two and Evren and Ximena are also at split opinions."

"Why not just get both?" Jayce fills your cup back up before offering his hand for you to hold on top of the table, "you can wear one for the ceremony and the other for the reception," he explains. You stare at him for a moment, contemplating his suggestion, "but its two dresses, Jayce. Seems a bit excessive- no?"

Jayce leans forwards on the table looking at you, "sweetheart, its our wedding-"

"I know, Jayce, I know but we already put so much towards the house and I don't want to seem like we're showing off," you cut Jayce off, squeezing his hand in a silent apology.

"(name), compared to all of our neighbours and for topside society; Our wedding is already small in comparison. I don't think anyone is going to be upset that you wore two dresses while others invite over 500 people," Jayce explains, "I just want the day to be something that celebrates us, everything we've been through, and our future and if you want to get married in two dresses or a bathrobe and bare foot- I just care about signing that certificate and carrying you home."

"Carry me home?" you question, writing down in your notebook to get both dresses fitted at the tailors later this week. Jayce smiles brightly, "a Talis and lower houses special," he winks, "once the party's over, I can't let your feet touch the floor until we're home or... until we're in bed." You look up from your notes quickly, cheeks slowly warming, "you never told me of that tradition."

Jayce merely shrugs, taking a sip from his cup, "we're not an original high society clan. Not exactly an appropriate thing to bring up," he teases watching as you refuse to make eye-contact, cursing yourself internally for the images popping into your head of Jayce flipping up your skirt, feeling him breath hot against your inner thighs that you currently clench together- fuck.

You both hadn't had time to be intimate recently but then again, you both knew that the wait would make your wedding night feel that much more amplified. Your eyes flicker open once feeling Jayce's hands rub up and down your shaking thighs as he crouches before you- eyes filled with longing and a hint of guilt.

"I know, sweetheart. I want it too but we have to be patient. Just a couple more weeks, right? Then we have a full two all to ourselves." You lean forwards, embarrassed by how emotional you feel over such a thing as you nod into his shoulder, "just miss you, Jay. Even just spending time with you and hearing your voice."

Jayce kisses the side of your head, "miss you too, darling. So much so it hurts at times." You both stay there for a moment before a knock sounds at the door, slowly pulling away to the muffled voice, 'Councillor Talis, the senator from Demacia is here to speak with you.'

"Duty calls?" you tease, Jayce groans standing and walking you to the door, opening it before pressing you against the oak for a kiss. You smile into his lips before pulling away, "see you at home, Mr. Talis."

Jayce shakes his head, stealing another kiss, "see you then, Mrs. Talis-to-be."

─────── · ·

─ · · It was one week before the wedding, you both had fully moved into the new completed house with what furniture you both had - not having time to properly decorate just yet. Your dresses were currently being housed in Evren's hotel room who swore he would protect them both 'with his life' as you were nervous for Jayce accidentally seeing anything.

─ · · You and Jayce went to choose cake flavours last weekend deciding to have tiers of your favourite flavours, collected the dried flower petals to be thrown at the end of the ceremony, and finalized the menu with recipes from both of your families heritages.

─ · · Your home and entryway was starting to look like a factory by the dozens of boxes and supplies you both had ordered lined the halls and dining room. Candles, new silverware and glassware that you would use later in your new house, all of the gifts for the guests and thankfully Jayce's suit had arrived on time yet you couldn't find your shoes anywhere.

─ · · Pacing around the house, Ximena was helping to rip open boxes searching for the shoes for both you and Jayce. "I know we still have time but I want our outfits to be all together in one place so we're not stressing about it on the day," you explain, placing your head inside one of the boxes as you reach down and can only feel more cards and napkins. You huff, standing up and walking back into a warm chest as arms wrap around your waist, something hits your hip lightly that has you looking down to see your shoes dangling from Jayce's fingers and you can see him already wearing his dress shoes checking that they fit right.

"Looking for these ones?" he asks quietly, feeling as his beard rubs against your cheek. "Yes, thank you, my love," you say, wiggling out of his arms and racing over to a chair to try them on. Jayce helps you to stand before watching you walk up and down the hall testing before nodding and slipping them off again, placing them by the front door.

"Off work early?" you call out to Jayce. "Have a meeting tonight so I can't come for dinner but I wanted to see you both today," Jayce explains as you re-enter the room with a small frown, "5 more days and then I'm all yours," Jayce reassures you again before coughing and clearing his throat.

You raise your brow in concern, starting to walk over as Jayce taps his chest, "I'm fine, just working through a little something." You shake your head, "Jayce, I told you to take more breaks ahead of the wedding you can't- we can't be getting sick with everyone already taking time off for the ceremony," you grumble, standing up on your toes to feel his warm head- eyes softening from your original upset to one of concern.

"I'll be better for the wedding, I assure you just-" Jayce coughs again, waving his hand for you to stand back a little but you just rub his back, leading him to sit as Ximena comes over with a pot of tea and jar of honey. "I don't want you sick, sweetheart," Jayce's voice is beginning to sound horse before taking a sip of the hot liquid, resting his head back against the chair as you interlace your fingers, placing a kiss on the back of his hand.

"Then we'll be sick during our wedding together Jayce," you retort. "Now I'm going to write to whomever you have that meeting with and send someone else from the council to it- alright? They shouldn't have you working like this so close to your own wedding, its distasteful," you state, walking over to his briefcase and sorting through the various pages before clicking on a pen with a huff.

Jayce opens and closes his mouth, beginning to protest before his mother shoes another tea cup in front of his face with a glare, "you are not marrying that woman sick, Jayce. I will not allow it- she deserves a healthy husband that does not faint on her while walking down the aisle."

You smile listening to Ximena tell Jayce off for you while signing your signature at the bottom of the page, possibly the last official uses of your original signature before changing to the Talis seal. You ring the Kiramman household requesting for Caitlyn's father as Jayce watches you work with utter determination in your eyes and tone as you grip the sealed letter, smiling with success when he reports a staff member will be over shortly to collect the papers.

Turning back around you and Ximena share a nod before looking towards Jayce, "I don't want to see you off the property until its either the wedding or you're healthy," you state, leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

Jayce stares at you for a moment a smile spreading across his face as you tilt yourself upstairs. "I made a room for you upstairs in the guest wing, Ximena," you explain as Jayce stand moving towards you excited to cuddle. Ximena looks at you both smiling, "I'll have breakfast ready in the morning with some fresh juice for him."

You shake your head, "Ximena- I can do that you-" Its her turn to be exchanging a glare, "no. Give this old lady something to do, I am bored out of my mind back at home with everyone doing everything for me all the time, let me do this for you."

"Alright," you nod your head as she waves you both up, cleaning up the dish ware and heading to the kitchen, humming to her victory.

─────── · ·

─ · · In the following days you and Jayce read side by side in the study, took naps in the afternoon and Ximena had even taught you the family soup recipe that you had perfected by the second day.

─ · · You had gone to the local pharmacist for medication that Jayce had to take with food and you were always making sure he took them on the minute you timed in between doses and packing and wrapping gifts for your guests. Jayce was looking better with proper rest as the days counted down.

─ · · After awhile Jayce started to become restless wallowing around inside as you both took walks around the backyard and when that got repetitive you turned to through the neighbourhood. You couldn't keep the smile off your face while walking arm and arm down the cobbled streets listening to Jayce hum quietly on your way to the farmers market to choose the flowers for your bouquet.

Jayce pointed out to various flowers that matched with your original picks and you were delighted to see a handful of flowers from Evren's homeland that you quickly added to your order. By the end you had a mix-up of flowers that represented different regions and times of your life. You held the batch for flowers close to your face being sneezing, Jayce laughed until he coughed, "at this rate we'll have the guests seven feet away from us," and you can't help but join in the laughter even when you both are getting stares.

─ · · Laying in bed later that day you traced patterns across Jayce's chest as you both leaned against the headboard, a record played in the background as rain pattered against the glass panes outside. "It's good that it's raining now," you comment softly, pressing your head to Jayce shoulder, putting his touch to memory knowing that tomorrow you wouldn't see him ahead of the wedding.

"You seem extra snuggly tonight, sweetheart," Jayce teases feeling as you shuffle underneath his arm, pulling it closer to your chest, "Well we're not going to see each other in the morning, my love," you mumble now sitting yourself into his lap being mindful of his weak leg. Jayce chuckles at your actions before freezing once his brain registers your words.

"Jay?" you call out quietly, tipping your head up to kiss his chin. Jayce does not say a word, confusion evident on his features as he sags forwards resting his head atop of yours with a pout, "Well at least I'll see you in the evening right?" Your heart drops at his saddened tone as you play with his fingers, interlacing them with your own.

"Its bad luck for us to see one another, we also shouldn't be here now like this," you chuckle feeling as Jayce squeezes you for a moment and lets out a grunt, "we don't need luck. Never helped us before and we are well beyond traditional," Jayce sasses back.

"I think fucking your assistant is traditional, I have no idea what you mean, Councillor Talis," you joke, smiling at Jayce's deep chuckle before you pick up your hands, planting a kiss to the connection, "you can last a night Jay. You said it yourself, patience. We have the rest of our lives to sit like this in bed until we turn grey and old. Enjoy your last night being unmarried. Evren and my university friends already have our day planned out at a winery," you say, closing your eyes as you lean your head back on his chest.

Jayce rolls his eyes, "I never wanted to be single in the over ten years of knowing you and I enjoy being with you more than anything else," Jayce murmurs into your hair, "I would pause time in this moment and be perfectly happy for eternity." You squeeze your eyes shut, heart hammering in your chest at his words as you feel his beat against your back in tune.

"See what Caitlyn and Vi are up to, I'm sure they would be more than willing to come over or go out for some drinks with you," you mumble, quickly falling asleep in Jayce's warmth.

Jayce stays awake, watching you sleep before looking out the window- frowning. He feels as you shuffle and stir within his hold, hugging his arm tightly, genuinely and utterly devastated that there would be one last night in his life where the bed would be cold and empty when he awoke.

Leaning down Jayce presses a kiss to your head before gently pulling your hold off of him so that you both can lay down properly. You quickly search the covers for him before wrapping your arm over his waist. Jayce squeezes his eyes shut at your touch but is restless to sleep, taking to holding you and playing with the ends of your hair absent-mindedly, praying that the night feels longer than the morning.

─────── · ·

─ · · Jayce didn't know when he fell asleep in the early morning hours but was startled awake at the sound of Caitlyn and Vi bursting into the main bedroom. Jayce started blankly at the two women that smiled and waved at him before Jayce fell back into bed with a huff. Vi stepped into your combined walk-in-closet letting out a low whistle, "Cait look at these two- prepared for every occasion underneath the sun and below the surface."

Caitlyn steps him, nodding and observing the space, picking up random articles to feel the material as Vi takes notes of what she takes interest in before stepping back out throwing a t-shirt Jayce's way, "Put this on and get off your mopey-ass outta bed, we're going out!"

Jayce grips the fabric in a fist, bringing his other hand up to his face pinching his nose. "Were her friends there to meet her?" Jayce asks while staring up at the ceiling. Caitlyn continues to snoop around the space before feeling Jayce's glare when she picks up one of your perfumes that he gifted you for your anniversary that she slowly puts back down.

"Yes everyone was there," Caitlyn explains, "enforcers are in the area and she said she'll sleep at your mothers house and get ready in Evren's hotel room thats close to the venue while he'll come here." Jayce nods before picking himself up and stretching, walking over to the bathroom and shutting the door.

Vi and Caitlyn share a look between one another once hearing the shower turn on, "shouldn't he be more... I don't know... excited?" Vi mumbles to Caitlyn's shrug, "beats me, maybe they fought last night-who knows?- lets just make sure he feels a bit better before tomorrow."

Vi wraps an arm around Caitlyn's waist before turning them both down the hall to explore the rest of the house. "You ever imagine Jayce getting married one day?" Vi asks, opening a door and peaking into the nursery, raising a brow in shock to Caitlyn who smiles at the space.

"Jayce? He was ready to get married at twelve, played wedding in the school yard," Caitlyn laughs, shaking her head at the images Ximena showed her floating through her mind. Vi raises her brows, blinking her eyes wide, "Gods you topside kids played the weirdest things, cupcake."

"Mhmm, sure our things were 'weird,'" Caitlyn teases, pressing a kiss to Vi's cheek before shutting the door and peaking into the next room to see another bedroom, your study, and bathroom. Jayce clears his throat watching as both women freeze.

"You did well, Jayce," Caitlyn says, looking at all the original fixtures and hardwood floors, "feels very... homely and welcoming."

"My wife, fiancee, oversaw most of the houses renovations," Jayce explains before tipping his head back downstairs as they follow after and into the kitchen watching as Jayce pours two coffee's into your respective mugs you've had since your lab days.

Caitlyn smiles awkwardly as Jayce takes his mug clinks it against your own, sipping his quietly while looking over the backyard and checking his watch occasionally. "Gods this is hard to watch," Vi groans, pouring herself a cup of coffee and slapping Jayce's back, "get it together man. She's not going to leave you for any of her friends, not after the shit you've pulled over the years, Mr. 'where's-my-girl?'" Vi flexes listening to Cait's laugh echo the space as she steals a sip from her girlfriends mug before forcing it down.

"You drink this, black?" her nose crinkle's up in disgust. "Theres creamer, milk, and milk alternative, in the fridge and honey in the pantry room," Jayce explains while looking over his shoulder as the couple shares small smiles at one another, disregarding Vi's earlier teasing- he just misses your quiet morning together too much to care.

He stares at the countertop he stands in front of. You spent every morning sitting there soaking up the rising suns rays with an adorable smile on your face as your feet swung back in fort before wrapping around the back of his thighs, pulling him closer to you.

Jayce would kiss every feature of your face slowly before kissing across your jaw to your lips. Your giggles in his ear as his beard would tickle your skin. "Jayce," Caitlyn calls out softly, seeing as his stare hardens against the countertop, "did something happen last night?"

He shakes his head, "no... I just miss her. Really want to see her... just to know she's doing good..." Caitlyn's smile falls seeing as Jayce wallows around the kitchen. "I'm sure she misses you too, Jayce. You'll both see each other tomorrow."

Jayce shakes his head, "what if she realizes she can find someone better than me? She reassures me but... I mean... you said it yourself back then..."

"Don't say that shit, Jayce. I swear sometimes your genius has an expiration date," Caitlyn stops her foot, gripping Jayce's arm so that he looks at her sharpened look- eyes welling with concern and care, "she chose you for some reason or another that I'm sure she's told you at some point and was even crazy enough to say yes to your proposal. I don't know how much more certain you can get."

"What Cait said!" Vi yells tearing up the pantry as Jayce holds the blue-haired woman's stare for a long moment before letting out a long sigh. "Just need to see her, hear her say yes, but thanks for trying to comfort me," Jayce says turning back down the hall and turning into the study.

Vi points over in shock to the secret door, "we have to get one of those in our own place." Caitlyn nods, staring sadly at the bookshelves, "mind getting a bottle or two? I think we're staying in tonight." Vi obliges.

─────── · ·

─ · · Before Evren had arrived for you to introduce him to all of your prior peers and mentors you were wallowing on a picnic blanket in the middle of rows upon rows of grapes. A large sun-umbrella protected your skin from behind you as you picked at the selection of food while listening to everyone chat away and catch-up.

Your heart hurt not knowing how Jayce was doing today after how last night went. You felt overwhelmingly guilty the longer you sat outside without him, wondering if Caitlyn and Vi managed to get to him... "Is that a frown I see, miss?" Evren shouts as you stand, a smile starting to form on your features as he kisses your cheeks swiftly before shaking all of your friends hands.

"Everyone, Evren- Evren, Everyone," raising a glass and everyone takes a sip. "Now I want to know, has she been frowning this whole time?" A chorus of 'yes's' sound from the group that has you glaring at everyones laughs.

"No frowning!" Evren flicks your forehead, "You should not be frowning when you are about to get married-"

"You're divorced, Evren," you deadpan.

"Well that is true but I was happy when it happened, not what came afterwards," you roll your eyes, giving him a shove watching as he stumbles back slightly before taking a seat and conversation resumes. Evren makes it his personal job to make sure you are smiling or well too embarrassed while reconnecting with your friends to think as they all tell him stories about seeing you and Jayce in the halls together and the small moments you shared throughout the years before getting together.

"When she told he they were not dating the entire time I nearly had a fit," Jayce's old secretary laughs, gripping your arm as you groan and shake your head, a smile catching onto your features before your cheeks flare up at the next comment, "and the longing in their eyes was so pathetic. Everyone knew, or well, everyone in our department knew that they were going to fuck one day or another."

Your past dorm mate while studying at the academy pipes up, raising their hand to speak next as everyone looks anxious to hear, you as well, "poor thing didn't speak for weeks after watching Jayce for the first time in the forge!"

"Really now?" Evren asks, adjusting his glasses as he stares you down with a teasing grin. "I was incredibly shy then," you hide your face in your hands, before leaning forwards into your lap groaning at your next friends story, "The amount of times I would see her practically in his lap or those dangerously close cheek kisses I would catch them giving was hilarious and equally pathetic. Sometimes I just wanted to shove them both into a closet and shout 'figure it out' for god-sakes!"

"That bad?" you wince, your friend stares at you blankly, "he allowed you- constantly reminded actually, to drop titles even at corporate events. I mean you didn't catch him calling me sweetheart and rubbing my waist with reassurance." You look at Evren for support who just downs the rest of his drink, "You never told me of these things!" he comments to your glare before laughing at everyones impressions as they stand and preform.

"Oh Jayce! I'm so nervous let me hide my face into you bicep-"

"Can you do my tie while I stare at your lips?"

"I'm going to practically wag my tail every time someone brings up you in conversation and then ramble about how much I adore you."

"Sweetheart, come here, Sweetheart, what do you think? Sweetheart, don't look at Viktor- look at me! Sweetheart?- Wait thats not your name?"

"Let me just swing around a big hammer while having the biggest glow up- kissing you senseless and then carry you home," your laughter soon turns to a face of horror, "you guys know about that," you whine feeling a few shoulder pats- accepting your fate before reaching over to grab some more grapes to snack on- nearly choking as you hear your past neighbour whisper, "good girl," before turning away giggling as you squirm in your spot silently screaming.

"How do you know that?!" Feeling the curious eyes at your sudden outburst watching as they smile, "you and Jayce are not exactly... quiet."

"This stays between us," you glare watching as they nod, "I promise." They reassure you, "I just had to say it at least once," they giggle as you roll your eyes understanding with a sigh.

"What did they say?" Evren asks, holding up your glass in a silent ask if you wanted a refill which you nod to. "Nothing just an inside joke," you say. Evren shrugs, clicking your glasses together before leaning back and talking with Jayce's old secretary.

You raise a brow at the connection they seem to be forming before casting Evren a wink in which he flips you off.

─────── · ·

─ · · The day of the wedding had arrived and you woke up bright and early taking some hang-over relief composite before kicking Evren out of his room and sending him to your house to help Jayce get ready.

─ · · A team had already come in to do your hair and make up after you had bathed and ate. Ximena joined you later that morning after checking on Jayce. She smiled watching you spin around in your final look before the ceremony; fighting off tears.

"He's really nervous, Vi and Caitlyn couldn't calm him down much yesterday," Jayce's mom explains taking your hand gently- making sure to not ruin your look in anyway, "he was beside himself again this morning just asking to see you. I watched as he poured your coffee and sat there in his suit playing with the wedding band-I almost agreed to let him come," she shakes her head at the idea as you smile softly, eyes starting to well up as she curses slightly underneath her breath, quickly standing and grabbing you tissues.

"Oh, I'm sorry for making you cry, dear. I'll stop talking-" you shake your head, "No, no. It feels relieving that he feels the same way I do, us suffering together like usual," you joke through a sob before telling yourself to get it together, I'll see him in 3 hours, I can last... right?

─ · · Ximena leaves to get herself ready as you look through the rather scandalous photos you took of yourself that your bridesmaids would be handing to Jayce throughout the night in an effort to cheer yourself up. You remember telling Evren of your wicked plan as he cackled and clapped his hands excited to witness you enact your revenge on your husband-to-be for all of his teasing.

─ · · Your bridesmaids all stumbled into the room as you smiled and waved to them all, spinning as they whistled. "Thank you all for staying with me and dealing with my life," you address the group before being forced into a group hug. "But I do need your help with one thing..." Everyone looks between each other with a smirk wanting to see Jayce loose his mind.

─────── · ·

─ · · Jayce was already loosing his mind, his hands shaking as he readjusted his tie and cuffs a thousands times as he walked back and forth at the top of the isle seeing all the guests that had already arrived concerned stares at him.

He was blinking away tears in partial disbelief that he was actually going to marry you like he dreamed of doing all those years ago... and the other half in a stress-induced panic that you might never show... he knew you wouldn't do that to him yet his brain could not convince his heart.

─ · · Evren stands from his seat, clapping a hand on Jayce's back, forcing him to stand still, "you're scaring everyone, Jayce. Your bride looks great, she's on her way, now stand up straight like the man of progress they all know you to be and don't drop the ring," he winks before sitting back down. Jayce takes a deep breath in and long exhale out before closing his eyes and facing forwards, hands clasped together to hide the shakes.

─────── · ·

─ · · Readjusting your undergarments and hiding a picture on your person you step out of the bathroom before being lead to the lobby and make your way to the venue. Your knee bounces as you bite your lip, you desperately want to see Jayce now and feels like you can't get there quick enough as you get stopped at seemingly every intersection and crossroads.

─ · · You and Jayce separately hear as the music starts to play and all your bridesmaids take off ahead of you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you grip the bouquet between your hands, the door men await your nod before opening the first set of doors. You feel your heartbeat with every step you take, letting out a shaky breath once you are one turn away from seeing everyone... from seeing Jayce.

─ · · A cold touch of an indoor breeze as you chocking back a sob, 'Viktor,' you hiss to yourself, 'can't you see I'm already emotional?' And if wind could laugh it would by the way it whistled into ear and down the aisle as Jayce snapped his head up to see you. Tears. They streamed down both of your cheeks as Jayce blinked rapidly, not wanting to miss a moment.

─ · · Jayce grit is teeth together, smile wavering to conceal a sob, he was beyond words to capture how beautiful he thought you looked walking towards him as the dresses details came into view. For a moment he looked over to the spokesperson wondering how long it would be before he could feel your lipstick coating his lips.

And suddenly you were in front of him, handing your bouquet off and taking his hands. His eyes widened seeing the hexcore stitched into the lace of your dress. His heart raced, seeing your smile, palms sweating hearing your little giggle in his ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face letting out a small breath in disbelief.

"Hello, sweetheart," he whisper for you, "hello, my love," you greeted back, shuffling on your feet with excitement, gripping his hands as he refused to look away from you not even for a moment as the spokesperson clears their throat and begins to speak.

─ · · "Friends, family, and those who could not join us today but are lovingly remembered. We are gathered here today to witness a love that has transcended language, body, time, and space to come to this moment where Councillor Jayce Talis and Miss. (name) (last/name), wish to be wed.

Having met at the academy, these two brilliant minds clashed and connected for the first time in what would be a tale of sacrifice and longing but also one of perseverance and dedication. A tale of which many have seen, looked up to, or connected with.

Both individuals stand before us today have given their lives to building a better world, a better city, and a better future for others, and now they devote themselves wholly to one another. A decision not made lightly but has been taken with great consideration and respect for both the other person and oneself. And today we are to celebrate this commitment and witness the start of their new future as husband and wife.

Marriage is a bond like no other, it is promising yourself to someone and accepting that person for all their entirety- for all time; through the good days and the bad, through loss and the peaks of life, you chose one another as equally lovers and friends and understand that by marrying one another you are willing to sacrifice for the other and never take bond for granted yet strengthen it to the woes of time.

You both will develop the capacity to forgive and forget in order to perform your duties as husband and wife; to protect, love, and support the other for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. For a good marriage is not something magically created or a thing of perfection but something that is maintained and that grows.

For one of the greatest things a person can do is find the capacity to love another, and this couple has shown that greatness countless times. Love creates the meaning within our lives and a love like this is to be recognized permanently through vows." The spokesperson waves for the rings as you smile brightly at Jayce, scrunching your nose playfully as he winks at you.

─ · · "Jayce," he nods, "do you take Miss. (name) (last/name) to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You stop breathing in wait, looking deeply into Jayce's eyes for any moment of reluctance but can only find overwhelming warmth and love in his hazel eyes, "I do."

"Will you love her, honour her, cherish and keep her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and keep yourself only unto her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," you gasp feeling the cold band be pushed onto your finger before seeing Jayce anxiously look at you, eyes practically begging for you to say yes, as he blinks back tears.

"And do you take Councillor Jayce Talis to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Jayce squeezes your hands, swallowing deeply, you can feel as he shakes in your hold, "I do." You smile, unable to contain your smile as a few of your tears drip down onto your wedding bands.

"Will you love him, honour him, cherish and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," you nod your head rapidly seeing as Jayce's eyes dilate onto your lips knowing what comes next. You both sound out the rest of the speech and the crowd that laughs as you both are practically shaking in your spot with restraint.

"You may now kiss-" Jayce cups your cheeks, tilting your head as he presses his lips against your own. Your eyes close as you smile from the familiar pressure, placing your hands atop of his before pulling away breathless and placing your foreheads against one another in a second kiss while catching your breaths.

Jayce's eyes are a dark honey as he searches your own, a teasing glint to his stare has you raising a brow before feeling him tip your body back and kiss you again, muffling your sounds of shock with his lips as you hear Evren cheer teasingly at you both.

You stand upright, leaning on Jayce's arm heavily as your sense of gravity is temporarily askew, following his lead back down the aisle and towards a private hall ahead of the reception for your portrait to be taken.

─────── · ·

─ · · A chair waits in front of a window facing the gardens of the venue. The photographer positions Jayce standing behind the chair, a hand on your shoulder like many of the pictures you had witnessed in the halls of the Academy. You frowned once seeing the picture appear before you- feeling distanced from your new husband in the image.

Seeing your displeasure with the image Jayce motions for you to stand before he takes the chair, patting the arm of the chair, "like old times-hm?" he speaks softly, looking up at you- watching intently as your eyes light up in memory to those long days and nights in the lab. A flash has you both quickly looking over watching as the photographer stands, smiling at you both, "I think we got the perfect shot there."

─ · · More photos are taken in various other locations and you and Jayce make sure to have individual pictures of one another for your offices. Your favourite of which is Jayce casting a wink just past the camera towards you, tie askew, a few strands of his hair dipping over his forehead as he smiles brightly, leaning back against a wall. Theres something so raw about the shot that you adore, a Jayce only for your eyes that few get to see the reality of.

"Always the pictures of me dishevelled for you, huh?" he questions with an eye roll, arm above your head as he leans closer to your body pressed against a wall. You feel as his finger drags across your bottom lip, hazel eyes bore into your own, another flash has you blinking rapidly remembering that you both were in fact getting your photos taken.

You glare at Jayce, swatting his chest watching as he pulls away with false hurt before turning around and sending the photographer off for a proper chance to kiss you. In a split second decision you decide to run away giggling as Jayce signs something off, patting the photographer on the shoulder before turning around and shaking his head- watching as you stop to turn around and wave before darting around a corner.

You speed up once hearing Jayce run after you, your heart is racing as your giggles turn into full laughs that have you struggling to breathe and before you know large hands grip your waist and pull you flush against a warm chest. You squirm and laugh feeling as Jayce's beard tickles you with every kiss up your shoulder towards your neck before biting your earlobe.

"A little bit late to be running away from me now, sweetheart," Jayce teases, breath hot and heavy in your ear as you lean your head back, looking up at him with large pleading eyes, "dance with me?" You hear as Jayce curses, closing his eyes, "fuck you're going to be the death of me." You laugh again, pulling fully away and taking his hand, dragging him down the hall.

─────── · ·

─ · · You walk up to the record player, smiling as all the vinyls you had requested were waiting in a crate for you to bend down and flip through. Pulling one gently from the sleeve, you sway side to side, wrapping your arms around yourself as the song starts.

Jayce watches you for a moment while slipping off his suit jacket and placing it on a door handle before pulling up his sleeves to his elbows. You close your eyes hearing as Jayce takes long strides to grab your waist, swaying alongside you as the song picks up. His hand feels down your arm, extending it out to the side so that your fingers can intertwine and he begins to take a few steps back, fully extending his arm out.

You look to the side, eyes connecting with a shared smile before Jayce starts to pull you back towards him and into a spin before you face one another, "my darling wife..." he murmurs to himself as you both rotate around the empty room, "my perfect husband," you say back, watching as Jayce blinks away tears at your words, you both listen to the way your skirt glides against the floor like soft waves in rhythm to his dress shoes that you're still guilty of stepping on.

Jayce keeps you close to him, hand dragging up and down you back, caressing your waist as you take another turn of the room, "...I love you so much," he says, kissing your cheek before you caress his own, pulling his head down for you to kiss his lips, "I love you too."

─────── · ·

─ · · When you both arrive at the reception you are unsurprised to see Evren already on a buzz as he points and yells loudly at you before darting over and pulling you away from Jayce who gets congratulated by all the Councillors you both don't remember inviting... Ximena shoves Evren aside with a huff, pulling at your cheeks, "It was a beautiful ceremony, I don't know if I've ever seen Jayce as happy as he was then. Thank you for making my son so happy," you nod your head along to her words, "I promise to continue making him happy."

She pulls you into a hug, "gosh I am so thankful you are my daughter now." You squeeze her back before making your rounds with a fresh glass of champagne in your hands.

─ · · Jayce maintained a smile as the Councillors spoke to him yet his jaw was clenched, irritated that they even showed up in the first place. After excusing himself for a refreshment, Jayce sat at the bar keeping his eye on your smile and the way that his mother almost refused to let you go from a hug.

But before he could stand to rejoin you, his past secretary stumbled forward, tapping him on the shoulder, sliding something into his hand without a word. Before Jayce even looked down to see what it was, he opened his mouth to ask yet she just pointed to his hand expectantly.

Hesitantly Jayce raised his hand taking a look at the image of you. The top of the image appeared normal picture of you in your second dress yet as his eyes trailed down you were fixing one of your stocking and Jayce pressed the image to his chest, glaring at the woman in front of him that just laughed and ran away. Shaking his head he look towards you, questioning why someone would give him something like this.

─ · · Feeling Jayce's stare on your back as you glide around the room from table to table greeting all of your close friends and shaking hands with Jayce's peers again.

You falter once seeing Mel step in front of you before hesitantly extending your hand surprised by how quickly she takes it and the way in which she smiles at you, "you both look stunning today."

"Thank you, Mel," you speak earnestly remembering all those days you looked up to her, her confidence and style only for her to be complimenting you, "just promise me that you'll love him as much as he loves you," she adds, gripping your hand a bit tighter as you hold her stare, "I promise."

She pulls away, hands flattening out her skirt before chiming her glass against your own once looking past your shoulder, "have fun tonight," she winks at you before downing the rest of her glass and walking away. You shake your head at the comment, turning to start a new conversation.

─ · · Jayce had received another two images in the time you had been speaking with Mel and he debated weather or not to say they got better or worse for himself as he became annoyed by everyones curious stares, you are not looking at my wife, as he buried the photos within his suit jacket.

─ · · A shadowy form clouds over your form as you pause your conversation once hearing Jayce's voice, a noticeable strain to his voice has you smiling knowingly, "You all are taking too much of my wife's attention from me, c'mon now we're about to have speeches and dinner," Jayce kisses your hand, pulling you towards you table as you smile apologetically hearing as they all laugh.

─────── · ·

─ · · Evren practically runs up to the stand as you sink down into your seat, covering your face before he can even mutter his first sentence. You hear as he clears his throat, addressing the crowd, "good evening everyone and hello to our most stunning couple- your kids are going to be the most spoiled little brats I just know it!" a chorus of laugher sounds. Jayce shakes his head and takes a sip from his glass before offering you a taste. Jayce smiled once seeing you stick out your tongue and glare at the disgusting liquid before shoving the glass back in his hands.

"Anyways! To the new wife of tonight, my best friend. Congratulations on getting yourself married to the hottest guy you could find but still questioned if you really liked him or not... multiple times. I mean GIRL, when he- Ximena, cover your ears my love, fucked you good enough to see lit-er-al stars after laying down his. life. for you- how did you NOT KNOW HE WAS THE ONE?- you know what, it all worked out in the end maybe I should be the one taking notes for once."

"Damn right Evren!" you shout watching as he flips you off. Jayce stares at you, smirking to himself as you refuse to look at him and feed his ego anymore.

"And Jayce, Jayce, Jayce my man. I'll say what everyone else thinks, if you were a little bit stupider and a bit more ugly... you would probably have gotten a restraining order but luckily enough you're not! you're married! and it fucking frustrates me that after being clinically dead you still managed to look better than I ever will in a year of trying," you don't know weather to laugh or comfort Evren, instead you look at Jayce who palms his face and sighs heavily.

"See he even looks good then and look at her- gods you both are so hot together its truly upsetting, anyways, have a good marriage and, Ximena, your ears again, know that everyone knows that the sex is amazing- the marks only confirmed everyones imagination. Okay! bye and love you both!" You stand and clap to Evrens bow as he struts back to his seat waving at everyone as he walks by.

Caitlyn is next to the stage, a small paper in her hand as she grabs the microphone and stares at Jayce until he looks back. Her speech is short as she blinks away glossy eyes, Jayce walks over to give her a hug, thanking her for the both of you before returning to your side as you rub his shoulder and present him a napkin for his eyes.

Ximena's speech surprises you in the way she speaks more about you than her own son, listing every time she asked Jayce when he would bring you back home again, if you were seeing anyone (with the intentions of that someone being him), and how grateful she was to have spent time living with you and getting to know you on a deeper level- confirming that if you both didn't get married by yourselves, "I would have pulled the dying wish card and told them to get together for my own happiness."

You scoff at the comment, "I was surprised that everyone else would be ripping into us tonight but your mom?" you whisper to Jayce, his arm wrapped around the back of your chair as he leans over, looking at the line of people waiting to speak, "remind me to tell you of all those nights she pelted me with apples for not being smart enough to ask you out."

"She did not," you voice drops, humour evident in your tone- smiling as Jayce does not answer, simply tracing random patterns on your shoulder.

─────── · ·

─ · · Jayce nods his head along to the rest of the speeches, his real focus is on you though before shock rattles his bones watching you stand and be presented a microphone as you take his hand and look deeply into his eyes as he sits and watches you- half interested in what you are about to say... the other half worried based upon the mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Jayce," he nods, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss against your hand, you stutter before finding your words again, "W-When I first met you... I was beyond intimidated by you; so outspoken and confident, pressing a kiss against my hand while holding eye-contact when I first went to shake your hand. I was not ready for you," you laugh, "after working for Viktor who often would just wave me away and tell me to take longer breaks and then to turn to you always willing to give me your undivided attention when I had a question scared me beyond belief especially when I felt myself falling for you. Looking more for your eyes, to share another brief touch... but I didn't want to mess anything up, wanted to work just as hard as I watched you work and how we didn't die from lack of sleep deserves its own lab study.

You were always the perfect gentleman, always knew how to make me laugh, sometimes I felt like I was a bad assistant for having you carry me to bed when I couldn't keep up with your math into the early morning hours or how you would be more than willing to leave events early when I was not feeling overly social... I told myself for years that you deserved someone..." you look away from Jayce, refusing to move as he pulls your hand lightly with a frown as you blink away tears, "...someone better than me, more willing to put themselves out there and not hold you back from the future you worked so hard towards for yourself, for this city.

No matter how much I desired to feel your touch, to hear your voice first thing in the morning or last of my day when we fell asleep on top of each other... I was so willing to let you go but of course, being Jayce Talis, you didn't allow that. Gosh I was so mad that you were not seeing what I was saying back then, that I only wanted what was best for you and for once in your life, you didn't listen to me- more stubborn than I.

And what frustrated me even more was how patient you were, just knowing that you could make me fold and you did, again and again no matter how much I was upset at you, no matter what happened, I just can't help myself but to love you," you conclude your speech with, sentence being cut off in the way Jayce pulls you to his lap, kissing your deeply before taking the microphone.

"My wife who fulfilled my greatest wish, to be your husband one day. To be the one who got to make you smile, to make you laugh and make your every wish happen for my own selfish happiness to be the reciprocant of your thanks.

I remember reading your's and Viktor's works and once getting admitted into the academy, I was making it a mission to not make a fool of myself when meeting you and when Heimerdinger told me that we would be working together, I nearly cried I was so excited and thankful for the opportunity that would become a lifetime study of love, happiness, and fulfilment.

Now I know that there is not a single thing I wouldn't do for you if you asked it of me. I struggle to put it into words to describe the ways in which you have changed me for the better and moulded me to being incomplete without having some part of you in my life. Know that there is not a single day that goes by since meeting you that I haven't thought about you in some way. Know that I need not know want when having you in reach and in mind. I love you, sweetheart."

You burry your face into Jayce's shoulder, kissing his neck repeatedly as he chuckles into the mic, a hand rubbing your thigh as he passes the microphone away and brushes the hair away from your ear, whispering, "how many more things are left to do before I can have you for myself?"

You shift on his thigh, "Jayce," you whine as his touch halts, his eyes warning, "be mindful of that voice, baby. I would be more than willing to fuck you right here."

You gasp at his words, "Jayce," you whisper shout, shaking your head to Jayce's shrug before remembering the card or rather picture up your sleeve.

Your husband raises a brow watching as you fiddle around in your dress before pressing the small square into his hand and standing up, "I'm going to go ask for the cake." You watch for a moment as Jayce see's bare skin, his eyes dart up hand extending in a silent demand for you to come back but you are rushing off to a staff server without another word leaving Jayce to squirm in his seat.

─────── · ·

─ · · Cutting the cake and serving everyone with Jayce's hand lingering on your lower back, dangerously close from slipping as he takes long even breaths watching as you lick your clips clear of icing before presenting him a spoonful, "this one has real strawberries inside!"

Jayce bends down allowing you to feet him, a wisp of icing stuck on his lowers lip as he looks at you expectantly, rolling his eyes when you grab a napkin much to the pleasure of the crowd that laughs towards the pouting groom.

You both then are pulled to the centre of the hall for a game, Jayce looks ready to just about murder Evren for proposing the idea, so close to leaving... he thinks to himself before helping you to your seat.

─ · · Sitting down you reach down and take off one of your shoes, exchanging it with one of Jayce's answering by raising the respective shoe to who the question fits more.

"Who's more likely to set the house on fire?" You instantly raise Jayce's shoe, listening to the crowd laugh as Jayce drags his head down, admitting defeat.

"Who's the boss of the relationship?" You both laugh at the question as Jayce explains, "Well depends on the time but recently," he throws up your shoe.

"Who's needier? First to Say 'I'm sorry?' Most likely to cry during a sad movie? More Romantic? Wants kids first? Pays more often? More outspoken?" Jayce mumbles to himself about the questions being unfair as you giggle, reaching around to grab his hand briefly before having to answer the next question.

"Who will be the stricter parent?" you raise your shoe knowing damn well that wouldn't be able to stick to his word at the sight of tears. "I could be strict!" Jayce states, "I'm sure you can be, my love," you reply in a teasing tone.

"Who is better at keeping surprises?" your win again.

"Who's the better kisser?" you raise Jayce's shoe with warming cheeks yet are surprised that Jayce has raised your shoe, "can't kiss myself now can I?" you laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully.

"Who loves the other more?" You raise your shoe before turning around in your seat as Jayce raises his shoe turning around as well with a smile.

─────── · ·

─ · · Taking to the rest room to freshen yourself up and change after the game, Jayce receives a handful more images as he begins to constantly fix his clothes, undoing his tie before turning into the hall and leaning against a wall waiting for you. He groans, closing his eyes, images of you flashing through his imagination making his skin feel hot, clothes too heavy- skin aching for your touch. He was done being patient and ready to drag you home, the guests be damned, he needed you soon.

─ · · Mel opens the door just as you are drying your hands, a wave of deja vu washes over you as she stands beside you, smirking while observing you both in the mirror. "Having fun tonight?- Jayce is falling apart at the seams out there, he glared at Evren suggesting that you all do shots later," she laughs knowingly while reapplying her lipstick as you blink up at her, surprised by her forwardness.

Mel knows her shoulder into your own, "or you can hide in the bathroom and I grab the rest of the girls and we continue in here... but Jayce might just combust. He was flinching at even the slightest contact by others." You nod and begin wiping off your make up knowing that you wouldn't have time to later. "What did you do to work him up so much?"

"Just gave a few pictures," you explain, drying off your face, casting her a smile as she laughs harder, "never knew you to be a little menace," she jokes, the bathroom door opens as you both look to see Evren enter, covering his eyes and shouting, "ladies I am sorry but if the bride is in here? Jayce just threatened me and I'm really scared this time!"

You laugh, "just me and Mel, Ev. You're good." Evren sighs, blinking to adjust to the light before whistling when seeing you in your new dress. "Looking hot, you seriously expect to walk back into the dining hall?" You shrug, "wanna bring the drinks in here?" Evren smiles at you before shaking his head, "I don't have a death wish."

─────── · ·

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: *clears throat and fixes glasses while checking notes* you and Jayce proceed to quote, "rail each other for the following two weeks..." huh... welp... *slaps knees and stands* see you all soon!

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123 @peachhiz @hellokittyluvr69420

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bekkathyst · 2 days ago

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I'm gonna say this and I'm gonna mean it in all sincerity from a longtime follower: I'm really glad you're so open with how things have been since you moved to Austria. On one hand, I do feel like I'm not only supporting a business I have for ages and feel good about that and I'm also supporting folks I care about online into being able to have a good life. And on the other I'm glad, because if you didn't mention the bad stuff I would probably 100% believe you guys moved into the middle of Europe and immediately escaped all the evils of capitalism and integrated into a gorgeous place with lots of history and folklore and ability to forage (!!!!!!!) and I would be so jealous I would possibly die. So either way I'm happy to keep buying your crystals, and also while I am very jealous but I probably won't die of it. Please give your daughter a hug from me, and your husband a high five. :D

Ah 😭 this is really sweet and I’m going to try not to ramble too long but I feel like this is a good thing to discuss, especially right now.

The first couple months of moving here were an insane contrast of like the happiest I’ve ever been in my life and the most stressed out knowing that one wrong move meant we’d have to give it all up and move somewhere else or lose the ability to be together. The immigration process I’ve had to go through to be with my husband anywhere is difficult but it was harder here than what we dealt with in the US only because this is the place we REALLY wanted to be and it was terrifying thinking the chance to be here could just be ripped away. But of course at the same time I was seeing family I hadn’t seen in a decade or longer, I was getting to really connect with my ancestors, be immersed in the culture, forage in the way I’d been longing to do for my entire life, and all the rest. I feel like because of this I just blinked and now somehow it’s been two years.

The nature here is my favorite, and I honestly wouldn’t trade it for anything. But Austria is far from perfect. There’s racism, xenophobia, the bureaucracy has made me question my sanity, some of the social culture really sucks, my business is deeply struggling and I wonder if we can make it due to how high fees and other taxes are, and I will ALWAYS have criticisms for any government I live under lol. Living somewhere very different from where I spent most of my life is really isolating and I feel lonely a lot. And I’m sure however I feel, it’s even harder for Antonio.

But like I said in my post, in the end, this is worth it for us. It’s so hard BUT we get to watch our daughter grow up somewhere where she can have healthcare and a good education and swim in lakes and hike mountains and make so many friends!! Omg she has so many friends. 🥹 and I now have healthcare too for the first time in my life which is really just in time for me to get diagnosed with a bunch of chronic illnesses that I’d never be able to get any help for in the US. And now my husband also has the chance for the first time in his life to pretty much travel anywhere he wants to which is amazing for him.

It must be quite obvious that these are all feelings I’ve been holding in for some time lol. But I can’t believe what lovely human beings follow me on here and support us especially after so long! It’s been almost 12 years since I started all of this and somehow I’m still doing it. Wow. Incredible.

I love you 😭❤️

And here’s evidence of the passed on high five 😆

#ask

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heathersdesk · 2 days ago

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How to Deal with the Family Proclamation

We had a lesson in Sunday School today on all six of the proclamations the Church has ever issued. So naturally, the Proclamation on the Family came up.

I have complicated feelings about it. I think it fails our queer membership and locks us into doctrinal positions that aren't scripturally supported. I don't like how every lesson that mentions it invites an open season to take pot shots at the queer community, at our own people, about sexuality and gender. I don't like that this is the first instinct of many of our people when they talk about it.

You want to know how to redirect the conversation that shuts it down every time?

I bring up the portion that talks about the rights of children not to be abused. No one ever wants to talk about that because it involves looking at our own mess instead of someone else's. And as a survivor of familial abuse, it's something I feel passionate about because I know there is no group that is immune to it.

Rather than enforcing a familiar standard of heterosexual nuclear family that everyone should aspire to, I think the proclamation does a much better job of outlining what every child deserves. All children deserve to grow up in a family where they feel safe, respected, and loved.

Whenever I have to talk about the Proclamation to the Family, this is what I say. This is the only way I've found it to truly be prophetic.

I did it again today and that was one of the most powerful and vulnerable conversations about abuse I've ever seen at church. I know the teacher well. He has been a lawyer for many years and has worked as a prosecutor for child abuse cases in the state of Idaho, including those that involved church members. He said outright that local leadership doesn't always get things right with this, to the point that it was one of the reasons he left that line of work. It instigated a really poignant moment with him and a retired social worker from LDS Family Services. The Church is not immune to failures in handling abuse, but the Proclamation on the Family calls us to be better. That's what the discussion turned into. That was the salient point we ended on before moving on to the most recent proclamation from 2020.

Discussions in church are malleable. You can shape them into what you want them to be instead through your participation. It takes courage and skill you can gain with practice. And you'd be amazed at how well people respond if you do it sincerely and with love.

I can't change the mind of every person in the Church about queer people. But I can be filled with so much love for them, the right thing to say and do will be given to me through the Spirit.

Never doubt that you also have this power and ability. With God, all things are possible—including this.

#mormon #lds #tumblrstake #mormonism #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #queerstake

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evesedenramblings · 10 hours ago

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Wolfgang Akire and the Blackmail Motive

I have so much to say about this blackmail motive, and I haven’t seen anyone talk about how it’s both indirectly and directly responsible for what went on with Wolfgang. Spoilers under the cut.

Eva and the Direct Killing

Firstly, and most obviously, there’s the direct way with how Wolfgang was affected by Eva. When Damon showed Eva the blackmail he had on Wolfgang, Eva says that it “confirms her feeling that Wolfgang is suspicious”. Afterwards, the group explores the pharmacy, including Eva finding the hidden poster that led to her needing to kill someone. Had Damon not confirmed that suspicion, there’s the slim chance Eva wouldn’t have killed.

To go entirely theoretical, without the blackmail, Eva may have countered Damon when he suggested not trusting the others because of her lack of total suspicion around Wolfgang and his dominance over the group, allowing for her to avoid falling for the motive. It’s also possible Eva would have killed someone besides Wolfgang, though admittedly not likely since she considered Wolfgang the ringleader, and isn’t able to see the people who are kind to her regardless like Diana. Considering Eva’s main reason for murder was her victim complex of everyone hating her, she could have killed someone else, especially with how common it became to bully her for her talent near the end, which Wolfgang didn’t necessarily do, but did “allow” (at least, in Eve’s perspective, which was the only one she needed).

2. Wolfgang and Indirect Killing

Now, what I haven’t seen anyone talk about, is how Wolfgang indirectly caused his own death! Wolfgang is the one who implemented the “one-on-one” conversation policy for blackmail discussions. He even starts to sweat when people start discussing just sharing the blackmail openly beforehand, and he says instead that people need to “give the person a chance to explain themselves”. Given the suspicious contents of Wolfgang’s blackmail, and the fact Wolfgang himself is clearly very aware of it, he implemented this policy not for the safety and structure of others, but for himself. Is this technically, in a roundabout way, implementing a rule for the safety and structures of others, as Wolfgang was aware he had become a leader for most and didn’t want to shake their faith in him? Yes, but it’s because of this selfish decision for privacy rather than open discussion that both Wolfgang and Diana were lured to the boiler room, and Wolfgang was killed. He was trying to preserve his image, and statistically he had a great chance of succeeding with how many people he had gathered to his side. It was unfortunate luck that it was Damon, who later shared with Eva, rather than one of the other 13 students who received his blackmail and likely would have actually brought and talked to him about it. Still, had the entire group had an open discussion and everyone explained themselves, what would have happened? Would Eva still have had a reason to find Wolfgang suspicious if he explained himself? Would it have furthered group trust or worsened it? We’ll never know, but it would have certainly been an interesting thing to see, especially since that’s where it was going before Wolfgang’s interference. We definitely know what happened because of Wolfgang’s decision to discuss the blackmail one-on-one.

3. Bonus Thought: Wolfgang and the Knife

Additionally, a vague foreboding reminder, we have no idea what Wolfgang’s “come to the boiler room” note said. It was ruined by the water, and Eva (its writer) never revealed its contents. The most likely instance is it was a “discussion of blackmail” note, like was used to lure Diana. However, Wolfgang still brought a knife. Considering they were meeting in the dark boiler room all alone, and with what ended up happening, he wasn’t wrong to, but was his original plan to bring a knife to a “normal” blackmail exchange? What for? What was Wolfgang planning to do with the knife if there was no murder plot occurring that morning? Was it a last resort of sorts, if his blackmailer didn’t like his explanation? Was it really just for protection? Regardless, I think it’s fascinating that he clearly brought the knife due to a lack of trust, either for his own protection or his own safety, which goes (again) against everything he was preaching. Wolfgang, who constantly told everyone to trust each other, didn’t trust anyone- to the point he brought a knife to a private meeting and refused to share his own blackmail, which got him killed. Beneath the Veil of Hypocrisy indeed.

#damon maitsu #p:eg chapter 1 #project eden's garden #project edens garden #p:eg #eva tsunaka #project eden’s garden ch1 #project: eden's garden #wolfgang akire #eve’s ramblings

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homeless202 · 1 year ago

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I’m new here and I absolutely love your type of blogs with analysis and meta and long texts~~

I was wondering—is Eunyung and Haejoon’s relationship the kind that could be interpreted as romantic?

first of all, welcome and ty! and sorry it took me so long to reply, i hope u're still around anon. now to answer ur question

i'll take this opportunity to share all my thoughts on the topic bc i have Many.

TLDR: it is possible to read it as romantic if you really want to, but it's not meant to (at least not as of right now in the story aka ch.224)

deep dive under the cut as to why

-> can Eunyung and Haejoon’s relationship be interpreted as romantic?

i like how you phrased that bc, the thing is, interpretation is very subjective. you're welcome and allowed to interpret things however you want, but in EY&HJ's case, i feel like you'd have to work a lil extra hard to get to that point.

-> is Eunyung and Haejoon’s relationship meant to be interpreted as romantic?

this one's easy bc no. objectively Not. the genre of No Home is drama and slice of life (and once upon a time, horror). even if they were to ever end up in a romantic relationship, that's not what the story is about.

when i ask myself what the author's intention is with this story, i'd say it's to (realistically) portray how a young person with trauma would navigate another young person's trauma. and showing how easy it is to unintentionally fuck it up for various reasons: lacking context as to what exactly said trauma is, generally not knowing how to navigate it, their own trauma getting in the way, lacking the necessary resources. take your pick.

think of it like "how should i carry someone else's baggage when i have my own to deal with?" while also keeping in mind they're kids; they often don't have enough experience to know how to help, and even when they know what the right thing to do is, they're not old enough to take (legal) action.

and especially, the most heart-breaking yet realistic thing, when you're just getting to know someone, you can't know everything about them. it's so easy to accidentally do or say sth that cuts or offends when it wasn't meant to. but when they've got their own issues, it's hard not to take it personally (eg. EY talking about HJ's parents without knowing his mom died not long ago in the beginning of the story).

-> what even is Eunyung and Haejoon’s relationship??

this one's so funny bc i have no idea how to answer and i'm convinced not even EY and HJ themselves would know how to answer. they're not really friends; they got off on the wrong foot and kept walking with two left feet way too much to call themselves friends. the things that pushed them together the most were the dorms (not anymore) and the same friend group (more or less since EY has multiple).

what fits them best i'd say is "the universe forced us together against our will and now we're stuck with one another altho we hate each other" (<- at least in the beginning) extended with the "misery loves company" sentiment. finding comfort in someone who gets it, even tho they only kinda get it but not really but it works out anyway except it doesn't <- THERE'S NO NAME FOR THAT *cry* they invented a new type of character dynamic smh (i've never read a pairing with so much (romantic) potential only to see them completely fuck up their chance so royally by the end of their interaction EVERY SINGLE TIME. like yeah, enemies to lovers whatever BUT NOT TO THAT LEVEL HOLY SHIT)

they've changed each other, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. they're compatible in the way they understand each other on a deeper level and incompatible in the way they don't.

...however...

this is how HJ thinks of EY: (and also what No Home is truly abt)

and this is how EY feels about HJ after EY found out HJ used to steal as well (aka that HJ isn't perfect like the stuck up bitch EY thought he was at first):

so...

<- -> EY's first impression of HJ was that he was looking down on him and sth like "does this guy have ulterior motives? or is he just that naive being so trusting?" until EY found out HJ wasn't that different from him. after that, EY started admiring HJ for still managing to achieve things in life despite the hardships he had to go through. the type of admiration that can easily (and sometimes does) slip into envy.

since the beginning, EY has helped HJ (or at least tried to) without him knowing. sometimes it worked out, sometimes not. most times EY tried doing sth nice for HJ was (from EY's perspective) in return to HJ trying to help him or doing nice things for him (which, again, sometimes worked out, sometimes not). EY was just paying back a debt to "this stubborn naive guy who keeps getting into trouble and butting into his business. gotta look out for this idiot or he might get scammed." (<- eg. when EY offered to get HJ's money back from his uncle)

he doesn't do it for credit or friendship or out of obligation, he's just doing what he thinks is the right thing bc he doesn't want to owe anyone anything. he can't accept people just genuinely being kind, genuinely caring and genuinely wanting to help. but he's been learning and slowly coming to terms with it.

<- -> HJ first wanted to try befriending EY despite not liking him bc, well, the guy did steal his wallet and stab him in their first interaction. after trying and failing at it multiple times, thanksgiving happened, and HJ started thinking of EY as his underclassman bc he realized EY's just a kid with issues and he should keep an eye on him (discretely bc EY hates pity).

with time HJ has come to understand EY better by going after him whenever he ran off and slowly realized that EY does mean well and has his reasons (as fucked up as they might be sometimes). but his mentality abt EY is still "i gotta push him in the right direction cuz he's my underclassman and i unintentionally got attached to him (somehow??)" (also bc he knows EY already gave up on himself so he needs a lil help to find his way again. also also bc he knows EY is lowkey suicidal and he's scared it'll be his fault if sth happens) <- his care for EY comes from a protective/nurturing (/possibly maybe guilty) place which started when he realized EY was just a kid^^. in other words, HJ still bothers with EY out of a subconscious sense of responsibility/obligation in a way (a good way tho. or at least a way that gets better)

see, sth i struggle with is if HJ thinks he has to or wants to or thinks he should or can't just not help/care for EY. i can't exactly pinpoint where the sentiment is coming from. his face is too blank for me to read sometimes T_T

to summarize: HJ is EY's goal, what EY wishes he could've been. and EY is HJ's 'responsibility' so to speak (bc 'burden' doesn't quite fit since HJ is there for EY willingly) -> EY has a positive opinion of HJ while HJ has a neutral opinion of EY (which is also gradually getting better)

note1: i think HJ's intention (maybe subconsciously) was to be to EY what HJ's upperclassman was to him. aka someone who's there when you need it and can help guide you. it would explain why HJ kept chasing after EY despite not really having a reason to and EY repeatedly rejecting HJ's care/help.

note2: i also believe the 'upper-under-classman' relationship dynamic fits them the best atm bc it also matches the way the story often singles EY out as he's the only second year (aka younger) of the 6 MCs.

-> Romance in No Home?

another thing i should mention is that No Home rarely leaves things open for interpretation. the deepest arguments EY&HJ had were always spelled out for us, to make us understand exactly what the problem was, and how there isn't a good guy and a bad guy. it's just two people with issuesTM.

from what we've seen in the story up to this point, i couldn't pick out a moment where i'd go "here! that's romantic! that's the moment they realized SomeThing!" yk

when it comes to romance specifically, i feel like a handful of opportunities were missed. there are scenes which could've easily been written trough a rosy lens but simply weren't.

exhibit A:

HJ was speechless bc "wow this mf really is actively picking a fight with an authority figure. i gotta make sure things don't escalate" not bc "hoLY sHiT hE's PreTTy. all his fangirls are on to something". however, this only becomes more clear when you keep reading the next few chapters, so i understand how you could interpret it as the latter.

exhibit B:

here they got so close and the moment was so deep bc "woaa he said he believes me. no one's said to me that before!". unfortunately, EY was panicking too much for it to mean something bc of the guilt he felt for HJ trusting someone so undeserving of trust like EY.

exhibit C:

this is maybe the closest we got to romantic between these two. i think this might be the only (or at least first) ever deep interaction between them that didn't end in a fight or misunderstanding. is it meant to be romantic tho? -> ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-> what do i think?

first, full transparency: i went into reading this story fully expecting it to be a BL and for EY&HJ to end up together. but the more i kept on reading, the more i got the ick thinking about them being in a (romantic) relationship bc, at least from what we've seen so far in the story, their relationship would be so ToxicTM (which i personally don't enjoy reading).

as they are right now, i wouldn't want them to be together like that. like, honestly, you still can't really consider these two even friends; they just tolerate each other if the stars align correctly (altho, i'll admit, their relationship is gradually getting better!!). every big argument they had i thought "god, there's no coming back from that. i'd cut ties so quickly if was them wtf". i still don't know how they managed to keep on interacting, props to them ig.

there's a lot of unresolved issues between them. and a lot of resentment which would not bode well in a romantic relationship. the smallest argument would turn explosive and they'd be, at best, in an on&off type of relationship. they both have the power to break the other and neither would be afraid to use it. they have a lot of history together, which is not always pleasant, so if they ever were to go the romantic route, it would have to be a long way to go.

technically, i could see them in a romantic relationship if they both went to therapy first and talked out all the baggage they're carrying (both individual and shared). realistically tho, what i think will happen at the end of No Home is that either they never cross paths again after high school ends (which would absolutely break my heart Wanan pls don't), or they somehow (unintentionally) end up living together bc they both desperately needed a roommate to pay rent (which would be a hilarious fucking gag LMAO). just, HJ going to uni/work and EY doing his own thing (prolly an actor) while still cohabiting together; hanging out to watch a movie before bed <- (whether platonic or romantic being left up for interpretation)

<- -> in conclusion, from what we've seen up to this point, their relationship is mainly upper-under-classman; reluctant (maybe) friends who tolerate each other but also care (too) deeply. they've changed each other, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. in some ways they're compatible and in others they're not.

all this being said, their relationship is improving and romance between EY&HJ is not impossible, just rather unlikely imo. but, again, interpretation is subjective and u're welcome to read their relationship however you want.

#ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE IF YOU ARE DELULU ENOUGH!! THAT'S HOW SHIPPING WORKS IN GENERAL. IN EVERY FANDOM.#anon. this shit fried my head. it 3.30am and my brain is not braining anymore. i love analyzing these two but goddamn is it HARD.#THERE'S SO MUCH NUANCE TO EVERY INTERACTION THEY HAVE *cry*#life's been hectic and this question demanded i sit down in 7 different sittings to get everything written down. hence why it took me a bit #i tried to write down all my thoughts and i don't think i managed. but i hope what i have here makes sense.#and i also hope i actually answered ur question. i feel like i got side-tracked and possibly missed the target.#no home #no home manhwa #eunyung baek #haejoon goh #ey hj parallels #meta #집이 없어 #webtoon #god u guys have no idea how many times while reading i was like 'omg they're gonna kiss omg pls do'#only to keep reading and going like 'hoLY FUCK PLS DO *NOT*!! get away from him omfg!!'#the whiplash was fucking unreal. i remember honest to god SOBBING at 4am every time they fought <- that first time read was rough #also! if you agree/disagree/want to correct me or just talk about the topic i'm open to discussion/criticism. (just pls be nice abt it ><)#my ask box is open <3

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digirainebow · 1 year ago

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i didn't think jacob would be arguing with olivia, wanting it almost as much as her. what the hell. i expected the self defeated, taking one for the team attitude but actively needing it like her? when he had been trying to stop her all night? i feel like i've been blasted by a buckshot

#digi discusses #the world needs more jacobs and i just took him out of it #did he go back to being a kid again? to see the lights of possibility again?#to feel like he's doing something exciting and worthwhile again not by making art but by being “freed” by maggie's knowledge once more?#or did he. choose another timeline entirely? augh i'm gonna have to watch the ending back again...where did he go...#maggie would be turning in her graaaaaave to know he chose this. she would hate that for him she would h a t e it #the anna parallels. stuck between time only able to hear him on radios if you are lucky. fuck off #becoming an urban legend...i think he would have liked that. immortalized just like he wanted. ugh wait did riley do that for him #but the details getting lost his name becoming warped over time? i think riley (and i) would feel it was almost disrespectful to his memory #the fact he puts meeting riley on the same pedestal as saving camena. god god god god. even when they aren't friends they are.#riley talking to athena like a person like he did. i am MISERABLE #its the dys exocolonist thing all over again. he's happy and that's...good. but he could have been just as happy if he'd stayed too #every single time i think about the hug i'm going to cry #every single ending has done this to me there is literally no winning #being kinda mean to him was bad enough but this ending just feels! it feels like riley. like i. drove him to.#girl i need to log off bye #oxenfree II spoilers #yeah there's the essay. just took a minute #i will make another one about hurt healed olivia in a bit too because that. made me sob. that one hit really...close to home #he says when he was a teenager he would have fallen for it if someone told him he could open a portal in the sky and make things better #what a liar he would still do it now #EDIT: NO i knew it he says almost exactly what nona says after you hug her when you hug him. the orange-associated characters strike again

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honey-tongued-devil · 2 months ago

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Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,”

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

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nikovraskol · 23 days ago

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crack baby ; three

wc ; 3745 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect

prologue, one, two, three, tbc..

Sometimes it feels like there is someone puppeteering you into the worst scenarios possible.

It started when finally, after days of contacting every single landlord in Gotham and Bludhaven, one kind old man reached back. The house he was willing to rent you wasn’t half bad either, certainly no Wayne Manor but a small apartment about a convenience store would suffice.

After regressing, you were stuck in a loop of tears and anger and whatever strange, uncomfortable feeling you got whenever you were reminded of your weird interaction with Dick.

But finally, light at the end of the rainbow! You could cry (of joy this time), but you’ve no time for tears. Not when you’re faced with a big, overpowering problem. Leaving the Manor.

Now, in the past, you could just get up and leave, however after your run-in with Damian and Dick, you’re apprehensive to leave your room. What if you’re ambushed again? By Tim? Or Jason? Or heaven forbid, Dick again? Terrifying! You don’t have time to dilly dally, not when Mr. Kim is waiting in your future home.

So, you’re very on edge, looking around every corner with apprehension, bracing yourself for anything and everything. When you finally reach the door, unharmed, you let out a deep sigh, only to hear a voice behind you.

“Master (Name).”

What now? You whip your head around, a sense of deja vu hitting you, oh, it’s just Alfred. You let out a sigh, glad it’s not Dick with his strange shenanigans. “Alfred, is everything alright?” You smile, out of everyone, Alfred is the one you love most, the one who cradled you close in those agonizingly lonely nights, when you’d call out for your mother, for your father, for anyone.

He was there.

“You’re heading out?” He asks, assessing you with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. A few days ago, Dick had informed him that you were acting strange, you had run away from your older brother. His mind raced, the implications of what that might mean has been weighing on the butler’s mind for days. It was uncharacteristic of you, up until about a week ago you would jump for joy if any of your family would glance at you.

But after that day, that day where you had skipped breakfast .. What changed? Why are you suddenly so uninterested in your family? It’s unnatural. Your whole life had always been dedicated to them, you’d do anything to be apart of them, to be seen. So why? When you finally had the chance to be centre stage, were you walking away? Something about your demeanour was off and he didn’t like it.

“Yes, I’ve–” You pause, should you tell Alfred? I’m going to move out and never speak to anyone from this house again! No, you’ll wait until you’ve secured a place before letting him know. You’re not prepared for that conversation. “I’m going to– for a walk.” The lie is stale on your tongue, you’ve never lied to Alfred, not besides petty ones to get out of trouble. But this feels different, a heavy knot tying in your shoulders as you watch the butler’s confused expression.

“Is that so? Because a few days ago, Master Dick–” You were out the door before he could finish his damn sentence. You are not in the mood to discuss Dick right now! It’s going to ruin your chipper mood.

The click of the door had Alfred’s eyes narrowing, his eyes trained on where you once stood. He believed that the small push he gave Bruce would be enough, but it’s just driving you further away. How troublesome, he doesn’t want for you to end up hurt.

“Wow! This is a really great place? And I get the first month free?” You are convinced whatever deity sent you back in time is responsible for the saint before you. The small, chubby old man who speaks to you in such a paternal voice it makes you want to cry.

“Of course, it’s no problem, I just need to speak to your guardian to agree on your emancipation, plus they’ll need to sign some consent forms.”

“What?” You blink dumbly, your heart momentarily stopping before the damn organ speeds up so quickly it could power a small village, you try to convey your thoughts but all you can manage is a few dumb noises. “Are– Are you sure?”

“Apologies, since you’re only sixteen – you must have a guardian’s consent, this is a legal rental after all,” he smiles apologetically, before adding, “if you want to live somewhere without your parent’s consent, it’ll have to be illegally – which can be dangerous, ‘specially for a youngling such as yourself.”

Oh, right. You’re sixteen. The fact slipped your mind once more, you’re so foolish. So damn foolish, nothing will ever be so easy, nothing in your life will ever be handed to you like this. “Right, I’ll– let you know.” You smile, your eyes scanning over the small apartment once more. It reminds you of the place you stayed with your mother, the small space encapsulating those memories you hold dear so perfectly that if you light a few ciggerattes and close your eyes, you'll go back in time.

“I’ll keep this off-sale for you, please let me know as soon as possible.” Mr. Kim, so nicely adds, his small face – wrinkled with age, softening at your disheartened expression. You so desperately want to beg for him to rethink, to make an exception, but you don't want to get him in trouble, not since he’s been so kind.

And so, with a heavy heart, you walk out, walking with effort since your feet don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave a future that could be, that should’ve been. Ugh, how disgustingly sentimental.

You don’t feel like returning to the Manor, not yet. The air outside is nice, it’s nice to breathe in a taste of something other than the suffocating walls around you, even if it’s just some dingy back alley. It’s nice to see what could’ve been, that is until a large hand clamps down on your shoulder.

Oh, great. So the one time you leave the Manor you die again. Maybe you’ll regress to when you’re eleven next, you muse.

“What the hell are you doing around here?” You recognise that voice and immediately you don’t want to turn around. What is he doing out? During the day? You thought vigilantes only patrol during the lunar hours, so why? Your heart squeezes in your throat, desperate to claw its way out, to escape your pitiful body.

After a tense moment of silence, you turn around, there he stands. Red Hood, your older brother. Well, older brother is a stretch, you’ve never really interacted with him – much like the rest of your family. You were brought in when he was still Robin, but he died shortly after. A small, vengeful part of you blamed him for your neglect. That was until Bruce brought in Tim, and you watched bitterly how Tim was embraced immediately, he didn’t have to fight for any attention, he was accepted by everyone and you were forced to swallow the thought that it wasn't Jason's fault -- but your own.

When Jason was somehow brought back, you selfishly hoped you would be able to bond with him, that he’d be the one to look back at you, to get to your level and hold you close.

No such thing happened, the only time you saw him was when he was walking through the Manor to the Batcave, and even then, he gave you a bone-chilling glare. You didn’t think of him so optimistically after that. Now, with his hand clutching your shoulder, his expression covered by his menacing red helmet..

You’re ready to be shot 5 times again.

“I asked you a question.” He says, his hand tightening on your shoulder, you snap out of your stupor immediately, your fear morphing into frustration. You shove his hand off of you with more effort than you’re comfortable with, and even then you’re sure he’s the one who dropped his hand to not embarrass you any further.

“I’m allowed to go outside.” You huff, your nerves practically fighting against the restraints of your skin, a cold, overbearing feeling rushing over you. This was..– Everything was wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go, not at all.

“You were talking to Mr. Kim, why?” He asks bluntly, your heart stops beating for a moment, the only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears, your brain trying to block this all out, trying to block out everything. “Actually, nevermind, I think I know why.”

You want to cry, why was this happening? You were so happy, so content. Why do you bump into them every time you leave your room, can’t you have one good day? Will you need to become a hermit? Will that get them off your back?

“I can drive you back to the Manor–”

“No, I’m fine.” You cut him off, your voice not masking any of your fear, it has Jason blinking under his mask. Why were you so on edge? What’s going on with you?

“I insist– Gotham isn’t safe for you to just be–..” He watches the downright terrified expression on your face before sighing and signalling for you to go, his stomach churns in an unfamiliar way as you scurry away.

Why were you so nervous? Could it be that you're scared of him?

That’s understandable, you’re not a vigilante, you’re just some average kid. But when he saw you walking alone, he detests himself for the way his heart swelled with happiness. In his Robin days, he loved watching the normalcy of your life, the way you would live free of any strings to the ghastly occupation he had.

He was scared to get closer, scared to shatter that illusion you had.

The fear amplified when he came back to life, he was relieved to see that you were still unaffiliated with Batman, but fuck, he was too cowardly to reach out, that day when you looked at him with gladness, he was hit with a paralysing fear of you getting too close, of you getting hurt. He replays the crushed expression that dawned your face like a damn broken stereo.

So when he saw you sulking about a few moments ago, he saw his chance to reach out, to get a taste of your normalcy, he took it, however selfish it may be.

“Whatever.” He grits, climbing up the roof to tail you, he’s content with watching from afar, for now.

The whole way back to the Manor felt like a fever dream, you can’t brush these oddities off as coincidences, why the hell did Red Hood approach you. Was he trying to pull a Damian? Was that a simple reminder of how pathetic you are? Why did he do that?!

Why was everyone acting so strangely?

The Manor offered you no comfort, it’s looming walls did nothing but remind you of your own shortcomings, you were afraid, you were perplexed but above all you were furious. Why now? When you’ve finally accepted your position in this family, why are they all turning their heads. Well damn them! You’re sick of this whole stupid charade, you won’t be that small child anymore, a child who knew only loneliness. You’re going to become your own person outside of the surname which has held you back for so long.

“We need to talk.” A voice calls out as you reach your room, what now? You’re sick of these damn conversations. You just want to move out, why is it so damn hard?

Oh, it’s Bruce again. Your lips press into a thin line as he stands before you, you can hear the soft humming running through the Manor walls. When you were younger, that sound brought you so much comfort, yet now it’s different. Like a warning.

“Talk? About what?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. You’re distinctly aware of the way his brows furrow at your pitiful expression. Oh hell, you hope this won’t be another walk down the Manor where you awkwardly fumble in silence.

You don’t say anything as he leads you away from your room, a sullen quilt draped over the Manor, a strange foreboding sense that something’s going to happen. Something bad. You’re utterly perplexed as your father guides you to a part of the Manor you’re somewhat familiar with.

As a child, you used to lurk around the corners of these very walls, watching your family, itching to reach out and join in but fearing ruining the delicate painting they created. Fearing rejection, the cold glares and sneers as they pushed you away. So you trailed silently, waiting, hoping that someone would look back, smile at you and maybe hold out their hand. But it only ever happened in your dreams, a pale illusion of a reality that should've been true.

“Where did you go?” He asks, his eyes boring onto you with such intensity you can distinctly feel the way your blood begins furiously to pump through your veins, why did he care? “Alfred said you went out.”

“I just wanted some fresh air.” You’re not sure why you’re lying, it’d be easier to tell Bruce that you went to go see a house, the consent forms are folded in your pocket, waiting for his signature. It’d be so simple, so easy. Just a dip of pen on paper and you’ll be out.

So why do you feel such dread? A dread unlike anything you’ve ever felt. When you were in that alley, bleeding out helplessly, even then this oppressive feeling, which tightens your ribcage, forcing your organs into a tight space until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t comprehend if it was your heart pounding so heavily or your lungs, wasn't as scary.

“You’re only sixteen, you need to let someone know where you’re going.” His voice is so unbelievably despotic that it made your very core tremble with anxiety, with a looming sense of doom.

“It’s never been a problem before.” You mumble, your voice a lot quieter than you would’ve liked, your vocal chords burning with each word passing through it, your nerves invading each of your senses, as if warning you to stay quiet.

Bruce says nothing, and the moment the air grows stale you wish you could take your words back. You can see the way his brows crease, the way he looks at you as though you’re some sort of criminal and not his own flesh and blood, the soft humming in the walls has disappeared, left behind in your area of the Manor. Though it’s odd, when you would lurk around the Manor as a youthling, there was always some sort of background noise in this area, where everyone hung out. The silence unnerved you, another thing that’s changed, another thing you couldn’t have predicted.

“If you’re going out, make sure to let me know.” He sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you with what you interpret as belittlement, a burning hot rage boils in your stomach, and once more, you’re hit with the knowledge this isn’t how things are supposed to go, Bruce isn’t supposed to care that you go out without telling anyone, he’s not supposed to care about you.

‘You don’t get to tell me what to do!’ you want to say, you want to scream, to ask what rights he has to treat you like a child? How dare he? It makes your very being tremble with frustration, your hands clenching with barely contained anger.

But you don’t. Why? Is it the natural response from your mind? The fear of disappointing him? The fear that if you speak up, you’ll be kicked out and left to rot? Or perhaps it’s the fear of confrontation you gained through his negligence, the weakness he moulded. But still, you’re not sixteen anymore, not really. Mentally, you’re twenty-one, you’ve been through each stage of your life, and maybe, sure, the day you died, you were content for them to walk all over you in exchange for a single glance at your direction.

But you’ve died and come back (in time)! You shouldn’t let them walk all over you anymore, shouldn’t be content as an afterthought. So– you open your mouth and–

“What’s going on?” Another voice speaks out, great, because this is exactly what you needed, another clown to join the circus. Oh.

Is this a joke? Is the person responsible for your misfortune giggling at your despair, is it amusing to see you suffer?

Damian, Dick, Jason and now Tim.

Why is Tim walking up to you? Why is he looking at you? A rush of dread, a sensation you’ve grown familiar with in the past few days, washes over you. You’ve never had his eyes on you, never for so long. It’s unnerving. You thought the calculating look in Bruce and Damian’s eyes was scary, but the way Tim looks at you now? His eyes zeroed in on you? It has your insides melting into liquid, the urge to cover your face, to hide in the corner and bury your face in your knees is overwhelming.

You don’t want his eyes on you, you decide. Years of clawing at your own shortcomings, of desperately trying to appeal to him, to have him look back – you would do anything at that time for him to look at you the way he is now.

But now? You don’t like it, he wears a neutral expression, but the look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, like he’s picking you apart one by one, each twitch, each mannerism.

“It’s about what we talked about.” Bruce says, his tone completely natural, like he’s discussing the weather, you don’t know the specifics but you have a nagging feeling that you know what he’s speaking of.

“Ah. Really? You’re still on that?” Tim tuts, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studies you. Just as you’re about to ask what the fuck does he mean by that, he turns his attention to Bruce. “I told you, they can’t do anything without your consent, they’re 16.”

How dare they? How dare they talk as though you’re not here? This is disgusting, what loathsome, egotistical dickheads! Your hands itch, the anxiety in you speeding all over your body like a livewire, mixing with your anger to create an overwhelming feeling of terror.

What was the point of Bruce bringing you here? To mock you? Show you how great they have it? What you’ve been missing out on? Well, screw him. You need to get away before you lash out, you’re better than that. Better than this.

The pair watches as you walk away, your whole body tense. For a moment, there’s a prolonged silence which is broken by Tim. “Did we do something wrong?” He asks, genuinely confused by your little display.

When he came back from a particularly tough mission, the last thing he was expecting was everybody collectively freaking out. Bruce, Damian, even Dick were all tense, looking around each corner – searching for something, someone.

It was weird for a multitude of reasons, firstly – Dick was supposed to be gone by now, his stay at the Manor was for a few days only. Why is he here? And secondly, nothing particularly stressful was happening in Gotham, so what was with the gloom and doom?

When Bruce sighed, telling him about your plans to move out, well, to say Tim was confused was an understatement. That did not deserve such a reaction, but then he really thought about it, and, if this is how they react to you threatening to leave..

If you were to actually step out that door, to alienate away from them, to discard your last name. His head begins to throb at the implications, he’s acutely aware of how selfish it is for him to wish to keep you around, to keep you in this Manor all to keep himself happy.

But then the thought that, really, he’s doing this for you! If you thought it was so easy to just get up and leave, that at sixteen you’d just be able to pack up and go. Well, with that stupidity, you wouldn’t survive outside, in Gotham no less. He was able to placate Bruce’s stressing, thankfully, because the man looked three minutes away from a heart attack.

You wouldn’t be able to go without Bruce’s permission, so long as they had that – you’d stay with them. But that’s what led him to seeking you out now, if you had ideas about leaving that meant you were unhappy.

He was hoping to talk to you, to ask if you wanted to hang out – that’s what you want, right? When he thinks of you, his mind conjures up the slightly annoying, slightly endearing child that you were. He’ll hang out with you, destroy those silly notions and everything will go back to how it was.

So why did you stomp off? That’s not how you’re supposed to act. That’s not how you are.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce replies to his earlier question, his eyes still trained on the spot in which you were. How could you walk off?

Why were you so off during that conversation? He couldn’t…– This belies everything Alfred had told him about you, it's left Bruce conflicted. He had hoped that by bringing you here, he could ask which room you liked best. But you walked off, why? Why do you deny his affection? He was worried when he heard you left, a small, vulnerable part of him was afraid that you wouldn’t come back, that you had left for good, slipped through his fingers before he could hold you close.

So, when he saw you walk in – oh, he was elated. He just wanted to convey his worries, but you seemed to have gotten the wrong idea. He really doesn’t want that, you don't need anymore reasons to leave.

He doesn’t want the terrified expression on your face, he wants that dazzled look you used to carry around, he wants you – not this restless part of you, but the real you.

He'll get it back, he's sure he will.

ugh i hate the misunderstanding trope i say as i write the misunderstanding trope

tag list (open, ask to be added) ;

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zriasstuff · 8 months ago

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Them after especially rough ykyk

Slytherin boys x reader (hcanons, aged up to 18 years old)

Warnings: soft smut, 16+ I’d say (?), on my shit again after a long time I’m sorry, no Draco and idc if he’s the original slytherin boy, go on Wattpad if you want Draco bc there’s enough of him on there /jk but not rlly

Theodore Nott:

you’d be incredibly flushed afterwards, panting and still holding onto the sheets for dear life

your eyes closed, lips swollen and slightly hanging open, trying to get yourself down from your high

he’d immediately hover over you (still undressed, only in boxers), both his arms on your side to support himself

“fucked you a little too good, didn’t I?”, he’d cockily ask and he’d just gently stroke your flushed cheeks with his thumb

you would counter, but your throat felt too hoarse from all the obscene noises he had coaxed out of you

“c’mon let’s get you cleaned up, you did so well for me”/“you are always so good for me, my perfect girl” he’d praise you, knowing you would let him do it all over again just for him to call you his good girl

Tom Riddle:

with Tom it’s never soft, bu when you have a especially rough session with him, it is rough

afterwards you’d most likely still be tied up by your wrists, or facing downward with your face on a pillow, insides feeling twisted and hypersensitive

you would barely be able to move and especially your legs would be quivering if you tried to get up

Tom definitely knows when you’ve reached your limits, but sometimes he actively pushes those to remind you of your place, you are there for his pleasure

He isn’t the praise type, but he’d quietly clean up and allow you to cuddle him, but only if he felt completely fulfilled

Matthew Riddle:

usually it’s a mix of rough and soft with him, but both of you need those rough sessions sometimes for a complete stress release

afterwards he’d worship you from top to bottom, leaving soft kisses from your jaw to your stomach

he’d rub over all the hickeys he left, the bruised spots and your plump (fuvked out) lips of course

while stroking your hair he would tell you how much he loved you and how amazing it was with you

he’d help you get up and go to the shower, having a soft make out session in there of course, and afterwards do whatever you wanted

mostly it’d just be cuddling or talking

Blaise Zabini:

knowing that you didn’t use your safe word, he’d still ask if you were alright

after making sure, and checking up on you he’d make you sit up and sip some water (somehow he’d always insists that)

“you think you can handle one more?”, he’d jokingly ask to make you smile after having made you (s)cream

he’d want to discuss what went well and what could be improved upon, to fuck you even better next time

although that sounds like a joke, he means it fully

when you tell him that he couldn’t possibly make you feel better, or how good he is, he just smirks, knowing no one could do what he does

Lorenzo Berkshire:

he’d totally tease you so much, especially if you begged for him to go rougher

“I knew my princess liked it rough”/“just needed someone to fuck you into your place didn’t you”/“look at you, all fucked out like some slut, and enjoying it too”

of course he’d make sure you were alright too, asking whether he went too hard

“it’s hard to control myself when it comes to you y’know”, he’d seductively murmur in his deep voice, while caressing your body

after being especially rough, he would want to be the perfect boyfriend the entire week, attending to your every wish; basically golden retriever behavior

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xenteaart · 11 days ago

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the hard way

pairing: vampire!chris x to be vampire!reader genre/warnings: dark romance, mean chris, angst? kinda dead dove, mentions of death, blood and a lil gore (not too graphic tho imo), it's okay in the end??? and they're in love plot: reader is getting turned into a vampire and it's not as cool as she imagined author’s note: obvsly heavily inspired by railway and that SPITTING SCENE. idk it's prolly gonna flop but i wanted to picture that process and a not so hot side of it

“no.” “why not?!” “because i told you so a million times already. we’re not discussing this.” chris spits out and furrows, growing more agitated with each passing second.

“what, you don’t want me to be equal to you?” you ponder desperately while your mind searches for any, any reason at all as to why chris won’t turn you. it’s been getting to you for the last couple of months, and you’re sure you’ve gone through every possible explanation your troubled brain could come up with: he doesn’t love you. he doesn’t wanna spend eternity with you. or maybe it’s a power thing. or, or, or...? this endless cycle of worry and uncertainty has been keeping you on edge for way too long to think clearly now. “gosh, it has nothing to do with equality,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “what is it then?” “drop it.” you snap. “we’ll have to find out the hard way, then.”

you grab the nearest kitchen knife, and it turns out to be the one you use for cutting meat, a chef’s knife as they call it. how fitting. chris barely has enough time to catch up with your madness infused impulse, and when he turns his gaze back to you, the knife is already deep in your guts.

you thought it was gonna be romantic or somewhat dramatic at least. something from the movies where he sinks his vampire teeth into your neck, and just like magic — your eyes flash bright red, announcing the beginning of a new life.

“you dumb bitch,” he exhales shakily and somehow manages to catch you in time because the sharp pain in your stomach makes you lose your balance instantly. you’re still bitter and angry in the heat of the argument and you expect him to be the same way, but when you glance up, chris looks nothing but panicked. “that’s a new look on him,” you think, and it confuses you.

chris growls and sinks to his knees, carefully holding you and trying to move as fast as possible. what you don’t know is that turning can only be done in around thirty seconds since fatal injury. that might explain the rushing and chris’s pure bambi eyes panic but your consciousness is already starting to drift away to hold onto that train of thought.

chris bites into his wrist with unmasked fury, tearing and ripping his own veins even though using a knife would have been much cleaner. probably less painful, too. “swallow. now! come on, don’t you fall asleep on me now, focus!” he grabs your face and presses hard on the jaw joints, making you open your mouth like a puppet doll.

the sickly metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat from the internal bleeding mixes up with chris’s thick blood that he generously spits into your mouth, and you want to throw up. your head feels dizzy as your eyelids are getting heavier, your hearing suddenly fails completely as if someone turned the volume down from ten to zero. limbs are falling weak, and the pins and needles in them are so, so far from pleasant.

the thing about turning is... you actually have to die first. be fully, completely gone to be able to come back changed and corrupted, turned to the extent of your DNA having been violently rewritten. that you did not think through enough. the muscles in your throat contract almost on reflex, swallowing and gagging on the gooey salty substance, making your chest heave while coughing strangles you further. the tingles and nausea are so overwhelming and all consuming you actually catch yourself thinking dying would be a relief now. and then it follows as you wished.

you doze off for god knows how long but, by the looks of it, it can’t have been more than a few minutes because as you regain consciousness, chris is still looming over you, his own blood fresh on his lips. he’s blurry, though, everything is.

“come on, suck on me. c’mon, baby, there we go,” he coos as he brings his wrist to your lips, forcefully pressing it into your mouth and leaving you with little to no choice. the phrasing, unlike usual, doesn’t sound dirty or hot now, more like a life-saving command while you’re still so out it. it feels good, though, chris’s blood.

it doesn’t taste so metallic and gross anymore, and the texture feels almost soothing on your dry throat, like hot honey milk on a friday evening. suck, gulp, suck, gulp, suck, it almost lulls you back into serenity, some primal instinct of being attached to your only life line, finding comfort in someone’s warmth and touch and taste.

you wonder how much you’ve drunk already and whether chris will have anything left but you’re so, so thirsty you can’t even bring yourself to care.

what finally makes you stop is the sudden sharp ache in your gums. it feels so piercing the aftershocks are almost reaching your brain and eye sockets, and as you feel your old teeth fall out, a pair of longer fangs cuts through and settles into the upper teeth row. hot tears are stinging your eyes and you whine like a wounded deer, still unable to speak properly. it’s all too much, and you start to regret what you’ve done, and maybe, just maybe that’s why chris so passionately refused to put you through it. this kind of hunger and the animalistic, blood thirst driven rage were never something he wanted to inflict upon you.

your entire body is shaking but it’s not really a fearful tremor, more like restlessness, a new sort of “itch” somewhere deep, deep inside that you’ve never experienced before, the feeling so intense and soul wrenching you simply can’t disobey it. it makes you want to jump up and run.

“don’t worry, i’ll teach you how to handle it.” chris cups your face after taking off his leather gloves so you can feel the comfort of his actual skin. the touch is calming, but barely enough compared to that growing desire and need to satisfy the itch. “you stupid crazy cunt, why do you never listen,” he whispers into your forehead, his lips lightly brushing over your cold sweat covered skin, as he holds you closer, squeezing you against his chest in a protective manner, though the real danger to yourself is now planted within you.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #railway chan #railway bang chan #my writing #my fic #skz fanfic #bang chan x y/n #chan x y/n

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mvth3r · 9 months ago

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daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine #daryl x reader

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