Author’s Note: Reid x Reader. When the Reader says “I love you” Reid struggles to return the sentiment. But there’s more than one way to say it. You just have to listen.
He can translate five languages with ease and can read
20,000 words per minute. He can recite Shakespeare and poetry and memorize
entire film scripts without batting an eye. And yet, there are three words he
just can’t manage to string together.
She thinks it’s a mental block, that something in his mind
just won’t let it happen. Or perhaps it’s something in his heart. Something
scarred, and something scared. They’d been together for six months before she
found the courage to say it to him. They’d been sitting together on a park
bench, watching the world go by. He draped an arm over her shoulder, and she’d
nestled close to his chest, sighing. It was the most natural thing in the
world, to be by his side.
“Spencer?” she’d said, glancing up at him.
“I, um… I love you.” She had pulled back a bit, gauging his
reaction. His eyes widened and red crept into his cheeks as he sat there
stammering, looking wholly shell-shocked. “It’s okay,” she added, “You don’t
have to say it back! I just thought you should know.”
Spencer had looked down, pulling at his knuckles. “It-it’s
not that I don’t want to. It’s just that… I can’t. I’ve tried to tell you so
many times, but the words, they won’t come out.” He was quiet for a few
moments, before saying, “I think it’s because of Maeve.” His late girlfriend.
He had told her their story a few months into their relationship, the night
they unearthed the demons of their past together. “She said it to me, but I
never had the chance to tell her that, and ever since then I just… I can’t do
it. I’m sorry. Because I do… I really do, I just…”
His voice jumped higher and his eyes began to water. Sensing
his distress she’d leaned in and silenced him with a kiss. “Shh. I know. It’s
okay. You don’t have to say it. I just wanted you to know.” There’s no need to
rush it. When he’s ready, he’ll say it.
Months pass, and he still cannot manage it. She’s gotten
rather fond of telling him despite the sentiment not being returned. Those
words seem to come so easily to her, as though trying to make up for his
silence. She can’t stop telling him how much she loves him. When he shows up to
her apartment with her favorite takeout food, when they’re the only two sitting
in the library, between ragged breaths after he’s kissed her so deeply the
world melts away.
He never says it back. And yet, he says it all the time. She
just has to listen.
“I love you,” she laughs, as he finishes telling her a funny
story on their walk back from dinner. He’s accompanying her back to her
apartment, and the air is rapidly cooling off. She shivers, wearing only a
dress and light jacket. When the sun went down, the mild fall temperatures went
with it. Spencer stops and pulls off his coat, laying it across her shoulders.
“Darling, you don’t have to-”
“Don’t worry. I’m not really cold at all,” he assures her,
removing his scarf as well. With care he wraps it in circles around her neck,
smiling at her. Instantly the cold in her bones is replaced by warmth, and she
buries her nose into the fabric of the scarf. It smells like ivory soap,
coffee, and autumn. Just like him.
Spencer takes her hand once more, and they start off down
the street. “Of course. I don’t want you to get sick. You need it more than I
do.” He takes his coat back when they reach her building, but he conveniently
forgets about the scarf, a fact which she’s all too happy about to believe it
was an accident.
She hears it then.
She hearts it when he comes back after a long case, she
throws her arms around him. “God I’ve missed you,” she says. “I love you so
He kisses her forehead, and when he pulls away she notices
the bag in his hand. “”I brought you something.”
“Why?” she asks. “It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Open it,” is all he says. She peers inside, and withdraws a
book. Staring at the cover, her mouth falls open.
Virginia Woolf’s To
the Lighthouse. An old, worn copy. She opens the front cover and stares at
the first page. It can’t be. “But this is… this is a first edition! Spencer, it
must’ve cost a fortune!”
He shakes his head. “You’ve always told me it’s your
favorite book, and that you’d do anything to get a first edition copy. Well, on
the case I helped save the life of a rare bookstore owner, who insisted on
giving me a book as a gift. When I saw this one, I knew I had to get it.”
“Why?” she repeats. In her arms she clutches the book tight,
not sure whether she wants to hug it or him more.
“Just because,” he says. “I wanted to see your smile when
you opened it.” The book is temporarily forgotten on the armchair as she loses
herself in kissing him.
She knows it the day he comes over to find her curled up on
the couch, crying. It’s been a difficult week and her best friend, Isa, has
been in a terrible accident. Things are up in the air. Isa is in the hospital.
Spencer doesn’t ask any questions, he simply walks over and sits down beside
her. She continues to sob as he pulls her onto his lap and wraps up her in an
embrace. His heart beats through his shirt, and he runs his hands up and down
her back in slow patterns, whispering gentle reassurances in that low voice he
typically reserves for victims and grieving families. In his arms, she is safe.
Warm and protected. No matter what the world throws at her, she knows he will
be there to lift her up and keep her steady.
The very presence of him soothes her. He wipes her tears
with the sleeves of his shirt and pushes her hair back from her face. They sit
there in silence, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her
skin until her breathing returns to normal. No words are needed at all. He
knows her, knows what she needs. And she knows in her heart exactly how he
She is certain of it when they’re at an event for her job,
and one of her colleagues starts ranting about how medication is useless for
mental illness. Robert goes on and on, saying that all people need to do is
think positively and do things like yoga. Everyone is overdiagnosed,
overmedicated, and overly sensitive.
Spencer feigns a sudden interest in the view from the window
in the hallway as an excuse to escape the conversation. He glances down at her,
quickly looking her over. “Are you okay?” he asks.
She bites her lip and inhales slowly. Anxiety has been a
struggle for most of her life, and it was only with therapy and medication that
she started to heal. Since college, things have been much better, but she still
remembers the darker days, when she wasn’t sure how to keep going. To hear
people say such ignorant things about mental health still stings.
“I’m alright,” she says. “I’ve heard worse things. But thank
you for getting me out of there. I love you.”
Spencer interlaces his fingers with her own and they stare
out at the city together. “I’d do anything for you. And I don’t want anyone to
hurt you. What you feel is valid, and nobody should tell you otherwise.” He’s
always doing that with her. Her protector, her knight in a vest and cardigan.
There is no doubt in her mind that when he says anything he means anything.
They are sitting in his living room and they’ve both had a
stressful day at work, and he’s making herbal tea in the kitchen. “I love you,”
she says, grinning, when he sets the mug down before her. Spencer frowns and
shifts uneasily in the armchair he’s in.
“Doesn’t it bother you, Y/N?” he asks.
“Doesn’t what bother me?”
“The fact that I still haven’t said it.” Oh. That. “We’ve
been dating for over a year, and I still can’t manage to do something so
simple. I know it must be frustrating, and I don’t want you to think I’m not as
committed to you or to our relationship. You’re the most important thing in my
life, and I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t say it yet.”
“Spencer,” she says softly, resting a hand on his forearm.
The fabric of his sweater is soft between her fingers. “I know it. I know how
you feel about me. You don’t have to say anything before you’re ready to. There’s
more than one way to say I love you, you know. You tell me all the time. Not in
those words, but I get the message.”
He seems unconvinced. “How?”
“You ask me to text you to make sure I get home safely. You
call me almost every night when you’re away on a case just because you say you
want to hear my voice. You hold me when I’m scared. You take me out to get Thai
food even though you’d rather have Indian. You memorized every song in Les Mis because you knew it was my
favorite musical. In all those gestures, I can hear it. And I can hear it when
you make time for me no matter how busy you are. Sometimes you say it without
saying anything at all.”
She leans closer to kiss him, softly at first, then deeper,
deeper. In equal fervor he responds, and though the syllables do not fall from
his tongue, his lips are perfectly capable of making the message clear. Every
part of her tells her it’s true, that he loves her he loves her he loves her.
No flower petal plucking needed to divine it.
One day, she’s walking across the sidewalk to hand him a cup
of coffee. They’re going to walk to the Smithsonian, but it’s still early and
they need caffeine before they’re ready to go anywhere. He holds the paper cup
close to his face, breathes in the scent of a warm mocha.
“Ah. What would I do without you?” he says, flashing her a
smile. She laughs, a grin that stretches across her whole face, and the morning
sunlight hits her eyes just right at that very moment, and she just looks so
adorable. Something in him lifts. “I love you.”
The smile falters, and the latte she’s holding tumbles from
her hands, contents spilling on the sidewalk. She blinks. “What did you say?”
Bewildered, she stares up at him, and his heart swells. “I
love you,” he repeats. He can’t explain why now or how, but the words have
finally come and he can’t stop them. Months of sentiments fall from his mouth.
“I love every part of you. I love the way your eyes light up when you’re
excited and I love the way you laugh and I love how open your heart is. I love
your patience and your hair and the way you kiss me when there’s no one else
around. I love all of you. I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve never loved
anyone this much. I love you, Y/N.”
It feels so good to say it.
It feels so good to hear it. Water springs to her eyes
before she can stop the tears. Stepping over the puddle of coffee, she cups his
face in her hands. “I know you do,” she murmurs. “You didn’t have to say it.
But I’m glad you did. And I love you, too.”
In the middle of the sidewalk, he pulls her closer, pressing
his lips to hers. They’re both laughing and crying and something in them has
changed. She doesn’t care that people pass by, giving them odd looks as they
stand there kissing. Whatever locked doors existed in his heart have finally
been opened. He’s healing. He’s ready.
For him, she would wait a thousand years. No demands, no
ultimatums. She has heard the sentiment before, listening carefully to his
actions and reading between the lines.
But oh, how good it feels to finally hear those words out
loud. And oh, how she loves him.
Eggsy grins at his mates. Jamal and Ryan didn’t end up following him to uni, but they’d managed to keep in touch, cheering Eggsy on and even postponing their nights out in order for Eggsy to buckle down and ace his exams without so much as as a groan. In return, Eggsy paid for their drinks—thanks to work study, his shifts at the tutoring center, and the full gymnastics and academic scholarship, he had a little extra for his own—and brought along Roxy, who could kick their arses at Cards Against Humanity and drink them under the table.
Now, Roxy’s tapping her glass against his. “To our last term!” she cheers, relief slumping her shoulders, though Eggsy knows she’s got internships and fucking law school lined up after this. He himself hopes to land something that pays decently, especially if he doesn’t get any aid to go to a proper graduate program, and he really, really needs it. While Roxy had been drawn to throwing hardened criminals in the slammer, he’d been drawn to the foster system, already planning his thesis on the economic and social barriers that involved academically-correct words for officials with silver spoons stuck up their arses.
But to even get there, he needed good grades—which should work out—and exam scores and letters of recommendation. He’d lined up his options with two other professors, scrapping even the idea of asking Dr. King for one and entertaining the idea for Dr. Hart. He was going to be in two of his classes this semester, and Dr. Hart seemed strict but fair and sympathetic to what Charlie—who seemed to think he was going to land a position in the House of Lords easily enough—disdainfully called the downtrodden. “Supports every bleeding heart cause out there,” Charlie had sneered when he’d spotted Eggsy looking through options for his next term. “Sob stories about single mothers from the estates and drunken deadbeat dads and chavs snorting every drug they can lay their hands on…yeah, he eats them up.”
So, yeah, maybe Dr. Hart would be less of a snob than his other professors, but Eggsy hopes he can prove his worth instead of being another statistic for someone to sigh over. But now, he laughs with his mates, trading stories and knocking back a few pints, filling up with chips so he doesn’t get too sloshed, since he’s got classes in a few days.
“…And I haven’t fucked in, like, five months,” Jamal’s groaning. “Fucking job at the fire station, love it and all, but it’s been a fucking dry spell.”
“Not a dry spell for me,” Ryan declares, and when everyone turns to him, Jamal leaning forward hopefully, he shakes his head. “A fucking drought. Try getting it on in the storeroom at Asda with those bright green shirts and smells of some fucking idiot spewing his lunch and missing the bin.”
Three weeks had passed since Raine parted for Meldacio and Ignis rejoined the others. There was still more work to be done on the boat, but it was almost ready to set sail. Ignis was starting to worry. Raine kept her promise to call, but as the weeks went on, the calls turned to text messages, and they grew increasingly infrequent.
The guys were camping near the Vesperpool one night when Gladio approached him.
They sat by the side of the fire, a cup of Ebony in Ignis’ hands. He’d been sleeping less, took to drinking coffee in the evenings to stay awake in case Raine called or texted. He didn’t want to accidentally miss her in case she needed him.
I’d like to write about Fitzsimmons, but I’m gonna need a moment. In the meantime: all the Daisy/Fitz brotp feels (@agentcalliope if you’re interested!).
Fitz knocks, so softly, as if he’s not sure he really wants an answer. He contemplates knocking twice but finds that he’s used all his strength just getting to her door. His arm drops back down to his side and he sighs, leaning his forehead against the cool wood.
His jumper scratches uncomfortably around his neck. He feels uncomfortable all the time now. The suits and polished shoes had never seemed quite right, but now that he’s back his old clothes look like someone else’s. When he opened his closet, he could barely remember what it felt like to wear them.
“Sk—Daisy,” he whispers and then he stumbles forward when she opens the door abruptly. She’s there, just over the threshold of her bedroom, hair short again. This should be familiar—he shouldn’t be expecting long hair, he shouldn’t have to concentrate to call her Daisy, and suddenly he wants very much to curl up on the floor and cry.
“Fitz!” she says, and it’s her genuine smile, as if she’s actually thrilled to see him, that causes his chest to crack wide open.
“Daisy,” he says again, but he can’t get any of the other words out. Not the words he’d typed on his phone or the ones he’d rehearsed in his head before falling into what could only generously be described as sleep. It’s all gone now except for her name, her name, and this heavy sorrow weighing his bones down. This feeling that after all this time and after all they’ve been through, he’ll never again deserve to be in her orbit.
Her smile falls and she tugs on his arm, pulling him into her room and shutting the door.
“What’s wrong, Fitz?” she asks, concern lighting up her face and he can’t help his disbelieving scoff.
He sits heavily on her bed and buries his face in his hands. “How can you even look at me?” he asks. Some part of him wants her to lose control and scream at him. He’s desperate for her rage and her disgust. He remembers the way it felt when her vibrations choked the air from him and right now he thinks he’d welcome that too.
Daisy shifts on her feet, unsure, before finally settling down beside him on her bed. She pulls a pillow onto her lap and curls around it like a child.
“It wasn’t you, Fitz. The real you was fighting it the whole time.”
Fitz shakes his head quickly, tears blurring his vision. “It was me. I have those…those memories. I remember—god, it makes me sick. All those inhumans and I just…”
Daisy slowly leans over until her head is resting lightly against his shoulder. She’s barely touching him, and he’s not sure if she’s worried about breaking him or herself.
“Do you know what I remember?” she asks. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels the tears roll down his cheeks but doesn’t bother wiping them away.
“I remember going through terrigenesis, only I had no idea what that was. My whole body felt different, like this intense buzzing under my skin and I was in quarantine and I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew, I just knew something was very wrong with me. And you…you told me it would be okay. You said I was just different but there was nothing wrong with that. And later you said SHIELD should be protecting me. That’s who are you, Fitz. That was you being one of my best friends—being my family. Not this…whatever this programming was.”
“But how can you even look at me?” Fitz repeats, stuck on the image of Daisy’s face in the framework, when she’d witnessed his crimes, when he’d told her inhumans were not part of their humanity.
Fitz’s shoulder is damp from where Daisy has rested her head. She wipes her own tears from her face and sighs. “I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt. But…everyone was so messed up in the framework. And I know that’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry,” he finally chokes out. “Daisy, I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I say can change what happened but I’ve never…”
Daisy grabs his hand then, drawing it away from his face. “Hey, you think I don’t know what this feels like? I know exactly what it’s like to have something else in your mind, creating a different reality for you. I know what it’s like to hurt people you love and not even know. I almost killed you, Fitz, and there are times I still can’t forgive myself for that.”
Fitz shakes his head. “That’s different, you were swayed by a powerful Inhuman—”
She cuts him off, angling around so she’s facing him fully. “It’s not different, okay? But if you need to hear it—I forgive you.”
Fitz looks up at her then, finally brave enough, and is nearly bowled over by the sincere warmth in her eyes. She’s not flinching from him, after all, and the sight makes him laugh. Or cry. He’s not even really sure what he’s doing at the moment.
“I was so afraid you could never…you’ve been like the sister I never had and I don’t…I just don’t want to lose you.”
Daisy smiles then and pulls him into a fierce hug. He doesn’t feel he deserves it, but his arms wrap around her almost unconsciously. He buries his head against her shoulder and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“Fitz, don’t be stupid. You’re my best friend, and after all the insane shit we’ve experienced, some psycho murderbot is not going to be the thing that rips us apart. Besides, I’ve already planned the most kickass bachelor party so, I’m not going anywhere.”
Fitz leans back then, wrinkling his brow as he frowns at her in confusion. “Bachelor party? Jemma and I, we’re not even engaged.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fitz, don’t be stupid,” she says again and this time he knows he’s laughing.
“Don’t you think Jemma would be upset you’re not planning her bachelorette party?” He’s dizzy from the change of subject and the happiness trickling into his veins still feels undeserved, but he lets it fill him up like desperately-needed medicine.
“Who said I wasn’t planning hers too? In case you missed it, genius, I’m a literal superhero.” Daisy stands suddenly and tosses her pillow at Fitz, who barely manages to catch it. When he looks up, he sees tears glistening against her skin and a smile that mirrors his own.
“You and Simmons want to have a movie night? Like old times, except we pick a movie that’s 100% cute and fluffy and absolutely no scary, sad parts and no robots.” She looks at him expectantly and his numb limbs start to tingle. He wonders if this is what healing feels like.
“Yeah. I’ll get Jemma and grab some beer, you—”
“—I’ll get the popcorn and the movie.”
He moves past her to angle out the door, but she throws her arms around him without warning in a hug that’s so her, so characteristically Daisy, it makes his heart clench.
“We’re going to be okay,” she whispers, and that night, curled up on the sofa with Jemma in his arms and Daisy stealing swigs of his beer, when all three of them laugh shockingly loudly at the movie, he finds that he truly believes it.
nioxinproducts #FBF to last weekend with our NIOXIN North America Celebrity Ambassador @NayaRivera and #NIOXINTopArtist @dianestevens3! In case you missed her IG stories, Naya’s summer must haves include #NIOXIN Scalp Recovery. 💁
anon: Can you do an Alexander wennberg one where you bring your new baby to meet the rest of the team? Love you writing:)
I’m back! and i’m so sorry that I disappeared for so long. I promise that i will post all the requests. Now… this is really not my best imagine, but hope you enjoy it!
You were with your mom both sitting on the sofa. You didn’t go personally to the game because Alex didn’t want you to leave the house if it was not wrapped in that plastic with bubbles to wrap fragile things. You are pregnant of 9 months and the water could break anytime. Honestly, you were a little scared. Being a first-time mother was nothing you could control. Hormones are a constant up and down.
“’It destroyed her, what they did She was never right again. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it.; it turned inward and drover her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet and scared and harmless” (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pg 564–Aberforth describing what happened to his sister, Ariana Dumbledore).
Where do you think Grindelwald first got the idea of the power of an obscurial?
Requested by anon:
Hi, I was wondering if you would write a request, in which Dean and Reader are together, but she doesn’t hunt (researching though), and one day when the boys are on a hunt she gets terribly sick but tries to hide it from the boys so they won’t worry? Obviously with loads of fluff and worried and caring Dean in the end! ^-^ Thank you!
Summary: (Y/N) is sick and trying to hide it from the boys, of course Dean notices and his mommy side rises from the ashes.
Pairing: Dean x reader.
Word count: 1,878
A/N: I got sick recently, and this is my own vision of what I would like Dean to react like… Hope it is your too.
usual for people to get the flu during winter, what it wasn’t usual was to get
it while living at an underground bunker. Of course, (Y/N) went out to buy
groceries every so often, but even so it was almost impossible that she could’ve
gotten sick just by that. Then again, it was the millionth time she blew her
nose and she still couldn’t breathe.
Dean were out hunting one last case before going back home. According to Dean’s
messages, none of them were sick. (Y/N) hadn’t told him she was sick, she didn’t
want Dean to worry and drag Sam back without finishing the case.
a huntress, but even so, unfinished cases were her nightmare. Not only because
of the many victims that would continue to die, but also because of the moral
weight of being part of that community. She was an investigator, the modern
version of the Men of Letters but without the fancy bunkers.
were born after Abbadon appeared. They would research for money, and would
often give a place for the hunters to crash. Ash, Bobby, Garth… The brothers
had met many investigators, but only a few went by the name.
belonged to a family of investigators. Her great-grandfather had been a Man of
Letters, and after Abaddon the rest of the legacy continued as a low-key source
of information for any hunter that needed them. And that’s how she met Dean.
supposed to be a strictly-business kind of thing, but once the green-eyed
hunter laid eyes on her… he just couldn’t let her go. And, of course, only a
fool would say no to Dean Winchester, so they ended up dating and, when the boys
found the bunker, (Y/N) was asked to move with them – turning their
distance-romance into a serious relationship.
the most caring, over protective and funny boyfriend and (Y/N) knew he wouldn’t
rest until she was healthy again – in case he found out – therefore, she sat
there, at her bed with her laptop right beside her. She would drink all kinds
of weird teas and loads of chicken soup. However, none of it seemed to matter,
because she was still a red-nose mess and Dean would eventually find out and overreact.
Thanks to everyone who came to my stream! In case you missed it, I created this new sim! Her Name’s Angie and she loves the outdoors, is family oriented, and a vegetarian! I might start a legacy with her if people are into it? I’ll mainly be playing her on streams.
Since I have yet to see a comprehensive list of just what all it is you can do after beating the game, I thought I’d compile what I know of here. It kind of goes without saying, but there will be spoilers.
One of the rules of good journalism is show, don’t tell. (Ask my former editor-in-chief). It’s a very good rule for relationships, too.
Now a gif, a video and a tweet all illustrate the point. Especially for what is called body language.
And Exhibit 3, because how one reacts and talks and WHAT they say while clearly showing comfort with their body language, is essential (in case you missed what he said, he said “I love her” and he specified that was about him and Kerry and the photo “I love it… and that’s just us… I love her” to specify that “this isn’t Olitz, it’s just us” and that he loves HER and it’s not about Olivia and Fitz. ON top of ALL the rest he says and does. All on video.
Images show AND tell. Now if you still insist he is married to his EX wife and yes that is his
EX wife, whether you want to believe they are divorced or not, because
separated makes her the EX just the same way, then you are a complete
fool and that’s all there is to it.
Keep going, life is only going to be a disappointment for you.
I’m not sure whether I missed this little bastard, here. In case you don’t know her, she’s Sharon, my fandomless alcoholic seventeen years old ghost girl. Recreated her in Fallout after almost deleting her for shit and giggles…