you and me... potentially? (Spencer reid x fem!reader)
Summary: you've been keeping your massive crush on spencer reid a secret, that is until you go to the movies with him and realise he might just feel the same way about you.
CW: fluff, basically shy!reader, fem!reader, she overthinks a lot, has low self esteem. mentions of Project Hail Mary but no major spoilers, but lots of references to Grace's science pun t-shirts lol.
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: yay finally!! I had so much fun writing this, inspired by a conversation with my lovely moot @mango-lovrr and our headcanon that spencer reid would absolutely wear science pun t-shirts.
The man sitting at the desk adjoining yours - Doctor Spencer Reid.
You were also kind of hoping no one noticed - the way your cheeks reddened and smile broadened - when you both talked. About the most mundane things, too. The weather, what you ate for dinner, anything for goodness sake.
Basically, you kind of had a massive, raging crush on Spencer, and you could only pray no one noticed. Including him. Especially him.
Because you really weren't the type of person to go shouting about it, or confide in anyone the way most people do in, for example, 2000’s romcoms. You were a girl who did not confront, because you knew there was always someone better out there, much prettier than you, who Spencer probably deserved more. Because he was gorgeous - and way, way out of your league.
Plus, you had an idea of his type, what with the case in LA a few years earlier and a gorgeous blonde by the name of Lila Archer, whom Spencer made out with. In a pool. Psyching yourself out was something you did a lot, really. The slight burn in your chest, sparkling with a twinge of hope while simultaneously decaying your self esteem.
Penelope had invited you to countless girls nights at O'Keefe's, urging you to pick up a man. “Have a little fun, show off some of your charm!” she’d exclaim, while you knew that you were more of a spluttering and stuttering sort of charmer. Awkwardness no one seemed to desire in a woman, but yearned for in a man.
Which was greatly ironic, considering the circumstances: the dimple adorned, wispy haired, soft clothed agent sitting opposite you, somehow emitting a warmth under the unforgiving and oppressive fluorescent lights of the bullpen.
“Hey, you okay?” Spencer questioned concernedly, craning his neck over the desk divider to peek at you as his eyebrows raised.
“Um…uh-huh” you replied unconvincingly, cheeks burning at the thought of being caught staring.
Spencer nodded, soft curls unfurling from behind his ear as he returned his attention to the case file on his desk. Part of you wished you could reach right over, tuck the hair back in place again.
Your stomach pulled at the wanting that you were so unfamiliar with, it seemed to come out of nowhere.
***
The clock struck five.
You’re not usually the type of employee to immediately stop working when it’s time to leave, simply because absolutely no one else is, and you’d rather not appear like you're eager to go, what with the serious nature of your job and all.
So you hang on a few minutes. Usually until Spencer starts packing his things. Not in a creepy way.
He stands, pulling his coat on and slinging his worn messenger bag over his shoulder, before looking at you.
“Have you seen that new sci-fi movie yet? Project Hail Mary?” he enquired politely.
You and Spencer shared a love for film - especially the sci-fi genre - and regularly discussed new releases. This is what made your wanting so consuming. You shared so many similar interests, the discussions serving as a reprieve from your gruelling job.
You considered his pretty simple question carefully, not because it was particularly mentally challenging, but so that your mouth could catch up with your brain and form a coherent response.
“I haven't actually, but I've been wanting to. I’ve heard good things about it!”
“Me too! I've been anticipating its release for a while, actually. It was originally a book by Andy Weir, who's the author of The Martian - a book that’s also been adapted into a movie. I really recommend reading them too, surprisingly I found the movies just as enjoyable - which, you know, isn't always the case. Also, Project Hail Mary’s portrayal of astrophysics, relativity and spacecraft engineering is highly accurate, so that’s good.”
A pause.
“Would you… like to watch it with me? It's showing this evening at the local movie theatre, not far from my apartment. I could, um, drive us and then… drive you home?”
Heart fluttering stupidly in your chest, you said: “I would love to!”
Not bad. No stuttering, at least.
Spencer waited patiently as you gathered your belongings, before following him towards the elevators, oblivious to the fact that your discussion had attracted a little audience across the bullpen.
“How long has it been? Three years now?” queried Emily.
“What, since he’s been looking at her like she hung the moon?” JJ joined.
“Nah, more like she’s been looking at him like that.” corrected Derek.
“Whatever, can they just- ugh - do something about it already!” exclaimed Emily, losing patience.
***
“You totally cried!” you exclaimed while grinning brightly under the darkened sky. You always loved exiting a movie theatre after the sun had gone down. It was like entering a new world.
The sidewalk was wet with fresh rain, petrichor pungent in the air. You walked side by side with Spencer, a newfound electric energy between you as you excitedly discussed the movie.
“I did not…cry,” Spencer said so unconvincingly it caused a chuckle to bubble from your chest, “I… teared up. But so did you! I did see you reaching for the tissues in your pocket, you know.”
“Well, I really thought Rocky was…” you started.
“I know, I know, me too. But he wasn't! The end was incredibly… heartwarming.”
“Yes, it was.” you agreed, peering at him as you stopped once you reached his car. “Are you sure you’re okay to drop me home? I really don’t want to be a bother, the metro journey isn't too bad-”
“Please, I insist,” he earnestly said, cutting you off while opening the passenger door for you.
You peered into his eyes, impossibly dark, and you could have sworn they glistened like stars under the night sky. He looked so earnest as he stood there. Before you could be accused of outright staring, you thanked him before getting into his car. Of course, being the gentleman that he is, he closed the door for you too. Which could mean nothing.
***
Everything looked blotchy as the raindrops on the windows blurred everyone's car lights together, a warm toned distortion against the navy sky. With the heater on (since Spencer noticed you shivering) you felt incredibly cozy, the rhythmic sound of the indicator almost drifting you to sleep.
It was quiet in a way that confirmed two people were comfortable enough in each other's presence to not force words, and the silence continued for a good ten minutes before Spencer spoke.
“I liked his t-shirts.”
“Hm?”
“Grace’s t-shirts. The science puns. You know… ‘I Had Potential’” Spencer chuckled.
“Oh yeah!” you realised, “they were pretty fantastic, weren't they?”
“Definitely” he agreed.
Eventually, Spencer halted the car outside of your apartment complex.
“...Thank you. Not just for dropping me off, but for this evening too. I really enjoyed the film,” you psyched yourself up for your next words, “...and spending time with you.”
Spencer let out a breath, shifting in his seat to look at you more directly. “I enjoy spending time with you, too. Well um, you know, they’re probably going to be more movies. That we both enjoy. To, um, watch together.” he stuttered.
Your heart wouldn't stop doing that stupid jumpy thing as you undid your seatbelt, the pure warmth of your face becoming unbearable.
“Yes. For sure” you nodded.
“Wait, let me-” he said, swiftly getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the car door for you.
You could barely keep it together as you exited his car, stuttering a goodbye as he waved, supposedly waiting until you were safely in your building before driving away.
***
It had been about a week since you attended the movie theatre with Spencer.
Fluorescent lights, rhythmic typing, and the smell of coffee. The usual for a monday morning inside the BAU.
You were early that morning - thankfully - as you beelined to Spencer’s vacant desk. You hoped no one saw as you planted a gift bag next to his keyboard. You picked a bag that looked the most unassuming, a plain dark blue. Successfully, the bullpen was empty enough to not attract wandering eyes to your activities.
Or so you thought.
“Pretty girl, whatcha got there? Is it pretty boy’s birthday or something?”
Derek.
“Um. No… It’s just something. For him. That I thought he’d like.”
Way to play it cool.
“I see, I see,” he acknowledged with the most shit eating grin on his face, “you’re all sweet on him, aren't you?”
“What! I simply-”
“He’s all sweet on you too, you know that right? The way he looks at you? It’s driving Emily insane, how oblivious you both are.”
“I really don’t think he-” you began, before Derek cut you off again.
“Look… I understand you’re both not the type for a big fuss, so I'll leave this here: say something, do something.” Derek spoke with such understanding that, surprisingly, the shock of feeling seen didn't really feel like shock at all. It felt like relief.
“This is me doing something.” you motioned towards the bag with your head.
Derek nodded, satisfied, and walked away.
***
About half an hour later, Spencer walked through the bullpen doors.
Once at his desk, he eyed the blue gift bag curiously. Your best effort to appear unassuming included pretending to be absolutely absorbed in the case file open on your desk, when in reality, you were hyperaware of his movements, watching them from the corner of your eye.
He opened the bag, pulling out the first bundle of fabric and unfolding it curiously. You then heard a surprised laugh.
“Was this you?” he asked with such delight, holding up a t-shirt with the words ‘I had potential’ on it, as well a potential energy graph.
You couldn't help but laugh, too, at his joy.
“I just had to! It being a science pun and all, they reminded me of you.”
Spencer rummaged further into the bag, pulling out another t-shirt, this time one with a periodic table printed on it, with the phrase ‘I wear this shirt periodically’ beneath it.
His laughter increased, while you grinned sheepishly at him.
“I love them. Thank you.” he spoke earnestly. His face softened, looking at you with such…longing?
“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird or anything.” you mumbled pathetically.
Spencer took a seat at his desk, carefully folding the shirts back up and gently placing them back into the bag. “You’re kidding right? This is one of the best gifts I've ever received.”
Again, a familiar moment of silent reflection, until:
“Ive never met anyone who's understood me so well,” he began with a serious expression, “I know I'm not for everyone, some people make that explicitly clear, but with you,” he gazes, “I feel like I can be myself.”
He places those words between you like they’re fragile, vulnerable.
“Me too,” you reassure him, "it's always so easy with you.”
You take a breath.
“Would you like to make our next trip to the movie theatre… a date? We could get dinner afterwards. If you want.”
Spencer’s mouth opens in what you could only call amused disbelief, “you know, that’s funny. I was about to ask the same thing. A date.”
That’s it. You’re dead.
“I guess it’s settled then,” you confirm.
“I guess it is.”
You can’t help the upturn of your mouth, which he reciprocates, before you both try so hard to begin your work for the day.
Derek catches your eyes from across the room. He winks. You smile.
Warnings for typical themes of Jane The Virgin and the Pitt. Catholicism and religious imagery and discussions, discussions of past cancer, non consensual pregnancy/unintentional artificial insemination, …which is medical malpractice, discussions of abortion, protective Dana Evans, soft Brendon Park, Emma Nolan’s whole nun thing. Religious devout Emma Nolan. Author is not catholic. Author is a Jew from New York however, so she thinks she has a pretty good handle on Catholics.
Always adding to my tag list so don’t be afraid to request to join!
A/N: I got inspiration and cooked this up real quick. Also, you guys have to like cause it’s my birthday today (hence the story)! Also, think season 9 Spencer here. Anyways, hope you enjoy and please like/repost if you do!!
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: Not an ounce of proof-reading, Mentions of suicidal thoughts as a teen (very briefly), fluff, a wee bit of angst if you squint
Summary: You think the BAU has forgotten your birthday, until Spencer changes that.
Celebrating your birthday at the BAU has never been easy. I mean, with every mass casualty and homicide happening every day, it felt wrong to celebrate something as meaningless as a birthday.
Birthdays were always important to you, though. It was like your own federal holiday to celebrate yourself. It was the one day a year you could be selfish. Another year around the sun. It proved you made it, no matter what the world threw at you throughout the year, you made it.
Honestly, Birthdays were still a big deal to you. You didn’t think you were going to make it to be 18 years old, so turning 29 was a huge deal. But you were never one to make yourself a big deal or bring unnecessary attention to yourself. Sure, you had a big personality and definitely liked attention, but you would never mention it being your birthday in front of others.
You especially didn’t want to bring it up, considering the team had an exhausting past 72 hours. The team raced against the clock to stop a serial killer from brutally murdering a 16-year-old girl. It was traumatic and draining.
But now it was over, and the team would be boarding the flight first thing tomorrow morning. That day also happened to be your birthday.
You thought no one would remember, which hurt you, honestly. You made it your duty to make sure every birthday in the BAU was seen and celebrated. You even had every single one labeled neatly in your calendar. All you wanted was to feel the same type of love, to have your feelings reciprocated. But you would just have to settle, which was fine in your eyes.
You sat next to Reid on the plane, in the window seat. Across from you sat Morgan and Hotch. You sat there reading Crime and Punishment. It was a classic that Reid had recommended to you, and you take recommendations very seriously. He would peer over your shoulder to read along with you, but tried to act nonchalant about it. Although he wasn’t very slick, every time there was a mistranslation, he would whisper in your ear the correct meaning.
It wasn’t a big celebration, but having Reid next to your side might’ve been good enough. You had the biggest crush on him for as long as you could remember, as soon as you joined the BAU. You took one look into those deep brown eyes and fell deeply in love. You never believed in love at first sight until that very moment.
You continued to flip the pages, carefully taking notes about the plot so you could have a conversation with Spencer about it later. It gave you an excuse to talk to him.
At some point, Reid had slipped away from his seat next to you and placed himself next to JJ, who was on the other side of the plane talking to Emily. He leaned into her to whisper in her ear, covering his mouth with his hand.
You knew they were close, but you couldn’t help but be jealous. JJ was everything you could never be. She was pretty, athletic, extremely smart, and very sociable. In your mind, you just couldn’t compare.
Your jealousy grew as you watched her smile at whatever he said to her, your eyes staring daggers into her. You hated being jealous of her; she was your friend, but you just couldn’t help it.
“Damn kid, are you okay?” Morgan spoke suddenly, snapping you out of your trance. You noticed him looking at you with concern and amusement. Hotch was also looking at you now, but with the same look he gave everybody.
“What? oh- yes, I’m fine!” you said, trying to make everything seem like it was fine, when it was in reality not fine.
“Right.. okay,” Morgan said, not believing you at all.
He eventually looked away, back at his phone, texting Garcia god knows what. The second he took his eyes off you, you went right back to staring at JJ. Now they were giggling and looking back at you every few seconds, trying to be discreet. But you just couldn’t take it anymore.
You quickly stood up, closing your book. “I’ll be right back. bathroom,” you said as you shimmied past your seat and what used to be Reid’s.
Hotch looked up at you for a moment, but decided to let you be and ask questions later.
You rushed to the bathroom and quickly shut and locked the door behind you. You looked in the mirror and took a deep breath, slowing your breathing down. You looked down, and then back up, tears brimming in your eyes.
‘Why am I so frustrated? It’s not like we’re dating’, you thought.
You took one last deep breath before unlocking the door and walking back to your seat. You held your head down, refusing to look at Reid and JJ as you passed that part of the plane.
You kept walking until you reached your seat, and you froze. Not only was Reid back in his seat from before, but sitting next to him was a birthday cake. Signed “Happy Birthday” in your favorite color.
You stood there for a minute before speaking. You could tell Reid was anxious, trying to see if you liked it or not. Morgan sat with a huge smile on his face, and Hotch had a slight smirk on his.
Surrounding the cake were pictures, pictures of you with the team. A picture of you and Reid. A picture of you, JJ, Emily, and Penelope from a girls' night out. A picture of you and Hotch.
Tears started coating your eyes, threatening to release as you looked upon the cake.
Reid noticed the change. “Oh my god, do you not like it? I’m so sorry, I tried my best, here I’ll get rid of it, I’m so-“, He said as he fumbled with the pictures, trying to pick them up.
Your hand shot to his, gripping it, “No, no, it’s amazing. I love it,” You said, immediately pulling him into a huge hug.
Reid was never a big fan of touch, so when you realized what you did, you immediately pulled away.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, I was just excited-“ you rambled in his arms until he pulled you back, just as tight.
You sat like that for a long while before you eventually slightly pulled away.
“How did you remember? I hadn’t said anything.” You questioned, surprised that they didn’t forget.
“Hello? Eidetic memory, remember? You mentioned it on November 10th at 3:39 PM while we were talking about Henry’s Birthday.” He beamed back at you.
You looked at his face in awe.
If you didn’t already have a fat crush on this man, you definitely do now.
a/n: If you enjoyed please like and repost!! or maybe even follow if you want to see more <3
Summary: when you start packing lunches for jack, the ED takes notice. not just of the notes you leave, but of the changes in jack too.
Warnings: none really; TONS of fluff, age-gap, established relationship, mentions of the ED, soft jack, mutual affection, & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 3k+
Author’s Note: ahhh !! i finally finished this & have ‘just fluff june’ fic out for you guys !! i hope you all enjoy this one !! <3
Jack Abbot was never really the type to feed himself the way a person should eat. He lived off of vending machine food and granola bars. He could cook—he’s actually a very good cook—but didn’t see the point after a twelve hour shift that left him dead on his feet.
But for you? He’d cook a three course meal if you asked. He made sure you had dinner when he was off, waited on you hand and foot.
You did the same for him. But more so; you kept him fed.
You started meal prepping lunches for him to take to work; sometimes just leftovers from the previous night or something you made new entirely the day before while he was at work. Then you started adding desserts and snacks; a donut or pastry from the corner bakery you both loved, homemade cookies or brownies.
You left yogurt and homemade granola, veggie sticks with dip, beef jerky. But the dinners you packed? God, Jack could die on that hill.
He couldn’t explain how happy and domestic it made him feel to open up his lunchbox and find you’d packed him leftovers from the lasagna you’d made. Or chili, or a sandwich that looked like it came straight from a deli. Wraps that were filled to the brim with turkey and lettuce and everything he liked in them. He’d groan every time he took that first bite, leaning back in his chair with a content sigh. Something dangerous playing in his heart.
You—his sweet girlfriend of a few months who lived in his t-shirts and padded around his apartment with a giddy step and had more kindness in your pinky than most people had in their entire body—packed him lunch like it was nothing. Taking care of him like it was second nature. For you, it was.
People noticed, because Jack Abbot didn’t eat on shift unless it was a handful of nuts or whatever stale thing fell out of the vending machine when he kicked it after it ate his money.
But along with Jack eating good, came the changes in his body. Not anything drastic or bad but…he got thicker. At first it was just a little more pull at his scrubs, nothing he couldn’t handle by adjusting his arms a little.
He didn’t get fat or out of shape just; broader, healthy fat lining his muscles. His pecs and biceps always strained against his shirts, but now they looked like they were seconds away from busting the seams open. His ass got rounder, cheeks slightly more plush that you grabbed every time he kissed you; making him yelp a noise of protest. Every. Single. Time.
Don’t even get started on his torso. Layered with a slight pudge at the bottom when he wore his belt, abs and back muscles visible and flexing underneath his movements. He looked divine. He was stronger, more solid and filled out. His scrub top looked more than two sizes too small, hanging on for dear life.
Even if people noticed, they didn’t say anything; not at first. But of course Robby would be the one to put a stop to that; coming to a halt as he walked by with an ipad in hand, looking at his best friend like he’d just committed a felony in front of him.
“Jesus brother”, Robby says; “Let that shirt breathe.”
Jack turned to look at him, pushing his elbows off the counter of the hub; “What?”
“You look like your shirt’s two seconds away from ripping”, Robby points out, like it’s common knowledge.
“I don’t-“
Dana appears out of thin air next to them; “He’s right. You’ve been eating actual food too.”
Jack’s mouth stays open for a second, before a smirk takes its place; “So what? People eat.”
“You”, Robby says, pointing at him with a look over his glasses; “Don’t eat.”
“This feels like a personal attack”, Jack scoffs, still slightly amused; “You don’t eat either.”
“Correct. But i’m not suddenly showing up two months later looking like an honorary Avenger about to bust out of his scrub top.”
Jack’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking between the two; “You’re unbelievable.”
Jack grabs his own tablet, throwing a mock glare at the two in front of him; “I have patients to see, you know, like a real doctor?”
Then he walks away, throwing a half-hearted wave and a middle finger at whatever Dana and Robby are calling out after him.
Robby shifts on his feet, scoff leaving his mouth; “Damn.”
Dana gives him a look; “Whatever you’re thinking Robinavitch; don’t.”
Robby shakes his head; “No…Abbot’s got a better ass than me.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
A week later Jack finds himself standing in the break room, pulling out the lunch box you packed for him—leftovers from dinner the night before. Pasta and bread that he happily reheated in the microwave and toaster oven.
A small yellow sticky note was stuck to the top of the container, his lips already twitching at the corners.
‘Baby! I can’t wait to see you today. Go kick ass & save lives, sexy doctor man !! I love you sooooo much !! PS: I left you a surprise from your fav place !!’ with a little smiley face and heart drawn below it.
Jack’s heart skipped a beat, feeling the heat climbing up his neck and ears; settling on his cheeks as he slipped the note into his pocket to hang in his locker later with all the other notes of yours he kept.
He settled at the round table in the break room, looking further into the lunch box where sure enough—he found a pastry from his favorite bakery around the corner from his apartment.
He took a bite of it, sighing and letting his eyes close as the sweet taste hit his tongue. Shoulders dropping a bit as he relaxed a little into the chair.
He didn’t even open his eyes when the break room door swung open, whoever was stepping inside slipped to the back of his mind.
“Woah, is that homemade pasta?”, Shen’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Jack grunted quietly in response, nodding as he leant forward to take a bite; “Maybe.”
“You got a professional chef at home we don’t know about?”
Jack smirked a little; “Something like that.”
He took another bite, knowing more questions were coming and secretly hoping Shen would just do whatever he came in to do and let him eat in peace—but this was the ED, the night shift nonetheless; and Jack knew that was wishful thinking.
The door swung open behind them, Ellis sliding up next to Shen—stopping in her tracks.
Ellis leans over to inspect; “Now I know you didn’t cook that yourself.”
Jack raises his brows; “I can cook.”
“Not like that”, Ellis defends; “You burnt the noodles at last year’s potluck.”
“Robby was distracting me.”
“Excuses.”
Jack huffed and took another bite of his food.
“A pastry too? Who’s packing you this stuff?”
Jack takes the last bite of his pasta, pushing himself out of his chair and packing up the empty container; “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He can feel the eyes on him as he puts the lunchbox back into the fridge, pulls out a water and slips past them with a smirk; “Enjoy your break, crawlers.”
Ellis scoffs, turning to Shen; “Fifty bucks says he’s got a woman at home. He’s not cooking like that.”
“Sixty-five”, Shen says, holding out his hand.
Ellis shakes it; “Done.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The buzz of Jack Abbot’s sudden new eating habits—that actually benefited his body more than a vending machine dinner—quickly reached every corner of the ED. Various bets and hushed whispers of different theories floated around med students and residents alike. Hell, even Robby’s name had made it up on the betting board.
Jack himself couldn’t care less, the hushed whispers of the bet made him smirk to himself; knowing it was driving his coworkers crazy.
He wasn’t keeping you a secret exactly; it had just never directly or seriously come up.
He didn’t pay too much mind to all the whispers about his new size, either—mostly brushing it off as teasing or Robby and Dana just trying to get him all riled up.
But now, as he stood in the bathroom of his apartment—tugging a soft grey t-shirt over his head after a much needed shower; he was starting to think what Robby had said may have some truth to it.
You can hear him huff to himself in the bathroom, words you can’t quite pick up on as you flip through TV channels. A soft groan of frustration or disbelief echoes through Jack’s room, making you sit up more.
“Baby?”, You call, “Everything ok?”
There’s another quiet murmur of something before Jack comes out of the bathroom; hair still damp, greying curls lightening up as they dry. Boxers clinging low on his hips, the grey shirt he has on doing almost nothing to cover the contour and outline of his muscles—clinging to him so close he might as well not even bother wearing it.
Your mouth goes dry, watching as he sets his crutches against the bedside table and slumps down onto the end of the bed—every muscle in his back moving and pulling the shirt fabric even tighter.
“M’fine”, He says, messaging his residual limb; “Just starting to think maybe Robby’s right.”
“Ok…?”, You breathe; “Don’t ever say those words again…but about what?”
Jack huffs a laugh; “I’m serious!”
You shimmy out from underneath the covers, walking on your knees to the end of the bed and letting your hands roam over Jack’s shoulders. He instantly leans into it—like he didn’t even have to think about it anymore.
“He said my scrub top looked too small”, Jack sighs.
“Really?”
“Well actually his exact words were ‘let that shirt breathe, you’re about to rip it’ but I was phrasing it nicer.”
You laugh; “What makes you think he’s right?”
Jack shrugs; “Didn’t notice anything until I tried to put this shirt on and it barely fits. It used to be loose on me…”
He trails off, something in his mind making him think extra hard.
You hum softly, continuing to rub at his shoulders and a little down his arms; playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.
It’s quiet in the room as Jack continues to massage the tension out of his leg, eyes flicking over whatever TV channel you’d landed on before he came out. You press a soft kiss to his nape.
“Am I bigger?”, He asks suddenly.
Your eyes widen, a surprised laugh escaping your lips; “W-What?”
“Am I bigger?”, He repeats; “Have I put on weight?”
You soften immediately, realizing by the scrunch in his brow; he’s insecure about this.
“Baby, no”, You coo, slipping around to settle into his lap.
His hands come up to your waist, immediately steadying you.
“You’re just eating good”, You assure him.
His brow stays furrowed, a slight pout on his face and lips; eyes not looking at you.
“I mean maybe you’ve put on a few pounds, but with your job and SWAT; it’s all muscle, my love”, You say, letting your fingers comb through his hair.
He doesn’t answer yet, but his brow softens, eyes flicking towards yours now as you move your face in front of his.
“You’re so broad”, You whisper, hands roaming his shoulders again; “So strong.”
“Yeah?”, He asks, eyebrows raising a bit.
You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “Yeah.”
You giggle softly when you feel his fingers flex at your waist, the way he shivers when you let your hands drift under his shirt—palms pressing flat against his torso. You let them settle there for a moment, fingers tapping against skin before you pull them back—tugging upwards at the hem.
His ears are pink now, but he doesn’t hesitate; pulling the shirt up and over his head with one pull at the back of the collar. It lands somewhere on the floor, but your attention remains on him.
Pale skin with a slight farmers tan disappearing by his elbows; laid out bare in front of you. His eyes flicking around the room, hands back at your waist.
With a soft hand on his jaw, you force him to look at you.
“You’re so thick”, You murmur, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.
His grip of your waist tightens, a breath leaving his nose.
Your kisses travel over his skin, trailing over his shoulders and torso; leaving no spot unmarked.
“So full and filled out.”
Kiss.
“So muscular.”
Kiss.
“So handsome.”
Your compliments start drifting elsewhere as you let your kisses trail over him.
“So kind.”
Kiss.
“So caring.”
Another kiss.
“So good to me.”
A kiss to his neck.
Your hands stop at the bottom of his torso, just below his belly button where the slightest bit of softer skin sits just above his waistband. You smooth your hands over it, feeling the muscle below it tense.
You look up, finding Jack’s cheeks the same color as his ears—his eyes wide and waiting. You pinch his skin once, before letting your hands roam back up his freckled arms to his shoulders; cupping his nape in your hands.
“You’re so beautiful, Jack”, You murmur.
A shaky breath leaves him, your lips against his cheeks and nose. He pulls back, eyes searching yours.
“God, I love you”, He huffs, pulling you in for a kiss.
His lips press firm against yours, hands traveling up your back and settling on your ribs. Jack’s forehead stays against yours when he pulls back, eyes still closed.
“It’s your fault, ya know”, He smirks.
You shrug; “I know, and I’m gonna keep feeding my man good.”
He lets out a noise between a groan and something of disbelief when you move off his lap, finding your way back to your spot on the bed. He follows you, rolling over to lay on his stomach; arms framed around his head and tucked under his pillow.
“Besides”, You say, mischievous smile growing; “Your ass looks ridiculously good.”
He yelps when your hand comes in contact with his ass, eyes wide as pink practically runs up his neck.
“Baby!”
“M’not even sorry”, You say, leaning in to capture his lips before he can protest any further.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Something in Jack settles after that, most of the insecurity gone. He takes all the comments from Robby and Dana in stride. He still eats what you pack him, still keeps your notes.
He frowns when he goes to get his lunchbox out, finding it missing with a note in its place.
‘No lunch today, baby. Got a surprise for you!’
He can’t help the way his lips turn up at the corner, curiosity taking over when the door behind him swings open.
“Abbot! We got a MVA coming in”, Dana’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts.
“How long?”
“About two minutes.”
Jack sighs once, putting his bag away and following Dana out the door; the part of him trying to figure out what you were up to slipping to the back of his mind.
About two hours later, the bay doors open around you; boxes stacked in your hands as you wander towards the hub.
“You need help there, hon?”, Dana’s voice comes.
She’s standing at the hub, brows quirked in amusement and confusion.
“Oh hi!”, You chirp; “I just brought some lunch for my boyfriend and his co-workers. Not really sure where to put it though.”
Dana’s smile grows; “Well why didn’t you say so? Follow me, we’ll put those in here.”
She shows you to the break room, holding the door open as you slip in.
“So boyfriend huh? Which one of our lucky med students gets all this food?”, She asks, leading you back to the hub.
“Oh! He’s not a med student, he’s a doctor! Uh, Jack?”, You say.
Dana’s smile widens even further; “So you’re the one who’s feeding our grumpy guy?”
Robby’s head whips up from the other side of the hub, Ellis and Shen slowing to a stop behind him.
You can’t help the laugh the slips out; “He looks grumpy sometimes, but he’s actually not. It’s all a ruse.”
It’s Dana’s turn to laugh; “Huh.”
“He thinks he’s got everyone fooled, but he’s just a big—“
“Sweetheart?”, Jack’s voice breaks through.
Your eyes light up immediately, rushing to meet him halfway; “Jack!”
You meet his chest with a soft thud, arms wrapping around him as you lean up and press a kiss to his lips. He’s frozen for a moment, but immediately melts into the kiss once your lips meet his. His strong hands find your waist, smoothing over them; keeping you both grounded.
Nothing else around him matters in that moment—not whatever trauma he’d just stepped out of, not the fact that his leg was a little sore, not the fact that the ED had fallen almost silent around you; and not Robby or his coworkers bewildered gazes.
He’s melted into you as you wrapped your arms around his torso, tucking yourself under his arm; hand rubbing softly over his ribs.
“Baby!”, You hum; “I missed you.”
Jack’s eyes wander over you; “I missed you too, sweetheart.”
There’s a moment where his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly tilting your head up to look at him; worried eyes checking over your features.
“What’re you doing here? Are you ok? Are you hurt?”, His questions come rambling out.
You giggle, squeezing his side; “I’m fine! I brought you and your friends some lunch. It’s in the break room.”
Jack softens, a small graze of his lips against your head; “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know”, You shrug; “But I wanted to.”
The gazes around you narrow, mouths agape at this Jack.
Jack Abbot was a lot of things in the ED; assertive, leading, confident, level-headed, kind, always looking out for everyone in his own quiet way; but he wasn’t soft.
But with you? Jack crumbled under your gaze, the strong-willed and grumpy looking attending was a smiling and sweet puddle in your arms.
“I got that coffee that you like”, You hum.
Jack dips his head down closer to hear you; “From the deli?”
“Mhm, it’s at home on the counter. Where do you think I got the sandwiches from?”
Something sparkles in his eyes; “That’s what you brought us for lunch? Baby, that’s too much.”
But the glint of excitement stays in his eyes.
You tsk and wave him off; “Not for you.”
His face goes unbearably fond, eyes and smile soft. His lips brush against your ear.
“You’re gonna spoil us”, He says, voice low and raspy.
“Let me”, You smirk.
Behind you, Robby finally clears his throat; “Jack you gonna introduce us or do we all just not exist now?”
“You don’t”, Jack rolls his eyes, smirking as Robby feigns hurt.
Jack introduces you, pointing to each of his colleagues that have gathered around; “That’s Robby, he’s annoying.”
You smack his chest; “Be nice!”
Jack doesn’t falter; “That’s Dana, she makes this place run smoothly. Behind her are Ellis and Shen.”
“Oh! You’re Dana!”, You smile; “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”
“Oh really—“, Robby starts before Dana stops him with a flick to the back of his neck; “Ow!”
Jack takes that as an opportunity to steer you away from the crowd and into the break room; Whitaker slipping out the door with a mouthful of sandwich from one of the boxes.
“Well it seems like they like the sandwiches”, You say, watching as Jack himself digs into the boxes you’d left on the counter.
“I labeled yours”, You add.
Jack finds his as the words leave your mouth, unwrapping it as he lowers himself onto the small couch—patting his lap; “‘Cmere.”
You drift towards him with a magnetic pull you’ll never be able to explain, finding your spot on his good leg. Hands drifting up to play with the curls on his head; a little sweaty now from working.
He hums around another bite of sandwich, his free arm resting at your back; “Thank you for this, really sweetheart.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Jack. I like taking care of you”, You tell him.
The smile on your face matches his as he presses a kiss to your temple, offering you a bite that you gladly accept.
“Your friends seem nice”, You add; “Kinda quiet though.”
Jack scoffs, smirk crooked; “Give them a chance.”
“We should have them over sometime, for a barbecue or something.”
Jack hums, palm circling your lower back; “Whatever you want, baby.”
You reach out and grab his chin, catching him off guard; his mouth still half open as he went in for another bite—brows in his hairline.
“I love you”, You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He chases after your lips; “I love you too, sweetheart.”
You let his lips take over yours, warm and present. You jump when you pull back, checking your watch; “Oh! I gotta get going, I’m gonna be late.”
Jack pats your bum as you press another kiss to his lips, slipping out of his lap and heading towards the break room door. You turn back when you get there, smiling at Jack whose eyes have never left you.
“See you at home?”, He asks, not really wanting you to leave.
You nod, bottom lip between your teeth; “With dinner and a hot bath ready.”
Jack groans, already aching to be cuddled up with you and unwind from his shift. You blow him a kiss with a soft wave, that he happily returns before you slip out the door; leaving him alone in the break room.
He can still feel your weight on his lap, your fingers in his hair and your lips against his—a blush and smile creeping up on him as he leans forward for another bite of his sandwich;
“So ‘baby’, huh?”, Robby’s voice comes.
“Shut up, Robinavitch”, Jack juts.
The sound of a clipboard hitting the floor and Robby yelping as he jumps out of the way are all that Jack hears as the door swings shut; humming softly to himself—more than ready to come home to you.
authors notes: i love me a good age gap fic, HOWEVER, what if he had an equal aged and equally as stubborn girlfriend? guess we're about to find out. i loved writing this, i love writing for the pitt (even if it pushes me out of my comfort zone.)
warnings: reader has the nickname dr sunshine even though she's the opposite, reader gets assaulted by a patient, talk of healthcare workers getting assualted, they're both as stubborn as each other. i think that's it, but let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.8k
summary:
jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.
masterlist!
you were fine. totally fine.
if you told yourself that enough times then you were hoping it would come true.
the cold concrete underneath your back and the blood in your mouth told you otherwise. you hadn't seen him coming, maybe that was made the whole thing worse. even if you had of seen him, he was way too big for you to do anything about. you recognised him vaguely, some disgruntled guy who'd come into chairs during day shift and was still there when you clocked in tonight—and looked like he wanted to take it out on someone.
that someone was you.
you groaned as you pushed yourself up onto your knees, blood splattering from your nose onto the pavement. this could be worse, you thought to yourself. not because the injuries could have been worse, but because there could have been witnesses. "okay, atta girl. you're strong, you got this." you murmured in a pathetic attempt to hype yourself up. it worked in some twisted kinda way as you got back up to your feet, leaning against the wall as the first wave of dizziness hit.
the er was still buzzing as you stepped back through the ambulance doors, the wall of noise hitting you like a freight train. "hey, can you—woah, alright." ellis rested her hand on your shoulder as she guided you toward the nurses station before she pulled a chair around from the other side, pushing you down gently before you had chance to complain. "sit. someone grab abbot, and tell security to get off their asses! " she knew what you were like, shen knew what you were like—anyone who worked a shift with you knew what you were like.
but even you couldn't brush off an assault.
jack was just stepping out of central one as he clocked it. well, he clocked someone saying his name first and then his head lifted, eyes locking with yours. you looked like you'd been steam rollered, let alone punched. right eye darker than his usual cup of coffee, blood trickling down from your nose, it wasn't good. he crossed the er with the efficiency of a predator chasing it's prey, dodging everything that had potential to distract him.
"the hell happened?" he asked as he dropped to a knee in front of you, already pulling on the gloves that ellis was holding out. "real bad time to propose, abbot. i know i'm not that classy, but i at least expect dinner first. maybe a glass of wine." you teased as you let him tilt your head back, letting your eyes flicker up to the ceiling so you didn't have to watch worry spread across his face.
sometimes he couldn't say a whole lot with his words, but he couldn't quite keep his expressions in check. "no loss of consciousness, mild dizziness when i got back up, probably a broken nose and some bruising at best." you reeled off like you were handing off a patient instead of being one. "it was that guy from chairs, the one who kept hassling mateo every time he went out there. probably scarpered by now." because only an idiot would stick around after assaulting a healthcare worker.
you couldn't remember exactly when it became the norm—maybe that was more fucked up than the fact you were used to it.
"don't worry, we'll get him. and if they don't then i'll sort it out myself." his words carried enough weight that you weren't sure he was joking anymore. you'd seen him glare combative patients down like it was a walk in the park, adding you into the mix felt like a dangerous combination. "easy, easy. you're okay, just let me feel." he murmured as he felt around under your eyes, thumbs prodding a particularly tender spot. a strangled noise left the back of your throat akin to the kind an injured animal would make—followed by a whole load of expletives. "jackass! swear to fuckin' god, you do that again and—"
"easy, sailor. you know the drill, gotta check it out. you can plot my murder once i've sent you up for a ct. now, are you gonna play ball or do i have to sedate you and stick you in a chair?" he asked as he peeled his gloves off, tossing them in the trash. he knew that you could handle yourself but he also knew that came with a stubborn streak a mile long—and an unhealthy habit of not admitting that you needed help. "you put me in a chair and i'll end you. not just your career, you. all of you." you glared at him as much as your bruised eyes would allow, pushing yourself up out of the chair. "don't make it a big deal."
he scoffed as he gave mateo the nod to follow after you, not because he didn't trust you, he just didn't trust the world with you again so soon. it was a big deal, even if you just wanted to brush it under the carpet and forget it ever happened.
"ct results are back on dr. sunhine." shen gave him a nod as he slid the tablet towards him. "dr sunshine?" jack questioned, eyebrow raised as he pulled up the scans. "yeah, because she at least pretends to smile when she wants to tell people where to shove it. so, sunshine."
it made sense, in a weird wacky way that only made sense in the land of the nightshift. "okay, what do we got here?" the scans looked clean, no haemorrhage, no immediate life threatening issues—he could work with that. he let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "broken nose and cheekbone. nose is gonna need resetting."
"yeah, she's one step ahead of you."
"tell me she didn't."
"she did. all yours, you're the only one who's head she won't bite clean off. good luck." he nodded towards the room they'd parked you in, disappearing back into the er. of course you'd set your own nose, because god forbid you accepted the fact you needed help. sometimes it was like looking in a mirror. he knocked on the door frame out of habit more than anything else before he stepped inside.
"alright, we gotta talk. you know i'm supposed to chew you out for this, right? back in my day, they used to sit us down in med school and tell you that performing medical procedures on yourself was a big no." he was supposed to scold you, to tell you that it was okay to let someone else take the reins—to let him take them—but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't mildly impressive, especially without anything for the pain.
"we're the same age, in case you forgot. so back in your day was back in my day too, so we probably sat through the same lecture. they find this asshole yet?" you grumbled as you lifted the ice pack from your face for a second. "they pulled the security footage, found the guy. you were right, it was the guy from chairs. cops got his details from his intake form, they're gonna pay him a visit."
"lucky me. they actually felt like doing something today. gimme." a poor intern had been hovering by the door for the entirety of that back and forth, what you could only assume was the lab reports for central three on her hand. "he's not gonna bite. there's scarier chihuahuas than him." you reassured her as she skirted past jack like he would bite. it was funny—every year the new interns would roll in and at least one of them would be terrified of him.
you wondered if they'd be the same level of scared if they knew he let you rope him into coming to the farmers market with you every other weekend, or the fact after the first twice he came along willingly and stopped to pet the golden retriever who belonged to the woman on the flower stall. "you're working. you're in a hospital bed, and you're working." he huffed in disbelief, even though he really should have known better.
"technically, i'm on the bed and not in it. and yeah, my guy in three needs repeat labs. full workup." you nodded as you handed the tablet back and pressed the ice pack back to your face. "and add this guy onto my caseload, dr sunshine over here is out of comission for the rest of the night." jack added as the intern scrambled like a rabbit that had broke free from the headlights. "no more working, or i'll tie you down to that thing." he warned, pointing a finger at you. "c'mon, not fair. i thought that was supposed to be robby's thing anyway, kinky bastard."
he didn't dignify that with an actual response, just an exasperated eye roll as he closed the gap between the two of you, climbing onto the bed next to you.
"what are you—"
"y'know, it's sorta big deal when you get hurt. especially by a patient." he said seriously this time, snaking an arm around your shoulders. the sarcasm and sharp exterior had faded away until the only thing left was something real.
worry.
"you don't have to power through it because you think it makes you weak to need help. that makes you sound like me, and that's not good."
you made a non committal noise as you slumped over, resting the good side of your head against his shoulder. "it's not that. it's not because i think it makes me weak, it's because what's the point? this isn't gonna stop it happening again. dana got her nose broke, perlah and princess have been through the wars more times than i can count—this is gonna mean nothing." the er would keep running, more disgruntled people would come through and claim you were useless even when you were doing your best—it was never ending.
"you think i care about the er right now? that place could cease to exist for all i care. i care about you and about the fact you've got one hell of a shiner and a broken nose that you reset without any pain meds. so—" he broke his words to press a kiss to your temple before he carried on. "i'm gonna get you something for the pain, and you're gonna sit here where i can keep an eye on you. and then i'm taking you home."
you didn't complain this time, just nodded once before you shifted to let him up to put the order in.
"for the record, you call me dr. sunshine again, i'm kicking your ass to the kirb and moving out."
he laughed at that, shaking his head—he'd lost count of the amount of times you'd threatened that at this point, and magically it never came to fruition.
"no you're not, you love me too much for that."
"debatable, chances might improve once you get me those meds."
friendship breakup but it’s “i’d tell you i miss you but i don’t know how” “you’ll confess why you did it and i’ll say good riddance” “how evergreen our group of friends don’t think we’ll say that word again” “i didn’t know if you cared if i came back” “i’ll say i’m happy for her and then cry myself to sleep” “all of my enemies started out as friends” “and i hope sometimes you wonder bout me” “you wear your best apology but i was there to watch you leave” “when the words of a sister comes back in whispers that prove she was not” “you haven’t met the new me yet” “i’m not your problem anymore so who am i offending now” “i can change everything about me to fit in” “just want someone who wants my company” “we’ll tell no one except all of our friends” “said goodbye in a getaway car” “but the cycle ends right now” “thought of calling ya but you won’t pick up”
Summary : Spencer gets jealous seeing you and your friend dance. Idk how to describe my fic properly 😫. Reader is nicknamed sunshine. Reader is wearing a dress
Author's note : Low-key reader has more chemistry with the friend I am sorry but also Spencer Reid confesses his feelings yayay. Not proof read. Enjoyyy
"Wanna hit the clubs sunshine?" Derek asked leaning against the doorway of your hotel room. Your friends had gathered around the table with takeout. The team had been working a case in Las Vegas for a week and everyone looked half dead.
"Absolutely, we are not leaving until we make atleast one bad decision." Emily immediately perked up. Even JJ laughed and agreed.
"Sorry, I have to reject your offer this time sweets." You apologised to him.
Derek gasped dramatically while putting his hand over his heart like you shot him.
"I have to meet an old friend."
"You never mentioned a friend in Nevada." Spencer said.
You turned towards him
"Childhood friend. He moved here after University and we haven't seen each other in years."
"He?" Derek teased.
You rolled your eyes
"Behave or else I'm going to have to call Garcia to come get you."
JJ and Emily laughed. Derek just sighed faux-disappointed.
"Can't believe I'm being rejected for a mystery man."
"You're being dramatic."
The room emptied eventually. Emily and Derek arguing about which clubs they should go to and JJ grumbling something about them being children.Spencer paused at the doorway.
He shouldn't care. He knew people had friends.
He knew his teammates had lives outside of this demanding job that took all of their time and energy.
But some unknown man getting all of your undivided attention caused something ugly to bubble beneath his skin.
"What about you Spence?" You asked softly.
"Are you going to visit your mom or going to the club with them?"
"I will visit her tomorrow but tonight I'm going join them." You just smiled and nodded.
" Have fun." You smiled at him and he smiled back.
"You too."
Two hours later the team found themselves in one of the largest clubs in the city.
The music was loud enough to qualify as hearing damage in several countries, and the flashing lights gave him a headache, but Spencer Reid found people fascinating.
Clubs were, in their own way,ecosystems. Predictable patterns hidden beneath chaos.
The team were waiting for their drinks while looking at the dance floor. ' I'll Do It ' by Heidi Montag was playing in the background.
The Emily froze "No way."
Derek followed her line of sight and let out a low whistle.
"Well damn, she does know how to clean up nice."
Spencer looked over and forgot whatever he was about to say.
There you were dancing while singing the lyrics.
But it wasn't just you.
Beside you stood a man Spencer had never seen before.
Tall. Handsome.The childhood friend.
" I can be your type, you can believe the hype." You sing as you point your fingers to your friend with your arms fully stretched while dancing.
" Just push my buttons, baby, I'll go low and you'll go high" your back is touching is touching his chest and and you slide down just to make your point about going low.
Your friend threw his head back.
"Look at her go," Emily said fondly.
You grabbed your friend's hands and spun yourself beneath his arm, nearly stumbling when you laughed too hard.
He caught you easily.You recovered immediately, swaying your hips to the beat before pointing at him again, acting out the song with exaggerated expressions that made him laugh even harder.
"Honestly?" Emily smiled. "I've never seen her this carefree."
Spencer remained silent.His drink had arrived several minutes ago.He hadn't even looked at it.
Because he couldn't stop looking.Not at the man.But at your smile. You looked happier than he had ever seen you.
It wasn't that cheeky smile you gave Morgan when he flirted with you or that exhausted little grin that appeared on your face after you finished a case and not even that rare laugh that he cherished.
No, this was different. This smile was bright and unrestrained. It reached your eyes, softened every feature of your face. There was no weariness in it.
Your friend said something, and you doubled over laughing before shoving him away.He dramatically clutched his chest.You immediately started laughing harder. The idiot bowed. It was entirely ridiculous. Childish.
And Spencer hated how much that bothered him.Because the man wasn't flirting.He wasn't trying to impress you. Yet he knew the real you. He knew which jokes made you snort with laughter. He knew what you were like at 14.
Morgan finally noticed Spencer's expression.
"Reid?"No response.
Emily followed his gaze.Then her eyes widened.
"Oh."JJ looked between Spencer and the dance floor.
"Wait."Morgan grinned."No way."
Spencer frowned."What?"
Morgan laughed."You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"Wow" JJ said folding her arms. "That's was fast."
"It was a question with an objectively incorrect premise. I corrected it."
JJ snorted.
"Uh-huh."Morgan leaned against the bar."Reid, you've been staring at them for the last ten minutes."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
"I've been observing the environment."
"The environment," Morgan repeated. "Interesting. Because your environment seems to be limited to one woman in a very nice dress."
"Humans are naturally drawn to familiar faces in crowded settings."
Emily grinned.
"You know what your problem is, pretty boy?"
"No."
"You wish she looked that happy with you."
"That's not—"But the sentence died.Because he couldn't finish it.Because somewhere, deep down, Morgan had hit something painfully accurate.
Across the dance floor, you were still having the time of your life.You turned.Not because something dramatic happened.Simply because years of profiling had made you instinctively scan every room you entered.
Your eyes moved across the crowd.Past strangers.Past the bartender.And stopped.The BAU.
For one horrifying second, your brain refused to process the information.Then recognition hit.
Your jaw dropped."Oh my God."
Your friend followed your gaze.
"What?"You grabbed his arm.
"My team is here."
"The FBI people?"
"THE FBI PEOPLE."
Your childhood friend doubled over laughing.
"They saw your performance?"
"They saw everything!"
Mortified, you buried your face in your hands.
"This is horrible."
"Oh, come on." He nudged your shoulder. "You survived middle school with me. You can survive your coworkers seeing you dance."
"These aren't coworkers. These are profilers. They'll remember this forever."
Across the room, Morgan was already waving enthusiastically.There was no escape.
"We're going over there."
"We are absolutely not."
Before you could protest, he gently steered you toward the bar.Emily was openly grinning.JJ looked delighted.Morgan looked as though Christmas had come early.And Spencer—Spencer looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
"Well, look who finally found us!" Morgan announced.You pointed accusingly.
"Nobody told me you were coming here."
"And miss this?" Emily laughed. "Never."
Your friend extended his hand."I'm Arjun."
Morgan shook it enthusiastically."Derek Morgan."
"Ah, the guy she complains about stealing her snacks."Morgan gasped.
"She talks about me?"
You closed your eyes."I'm leaving."
"Nope," JJ said, grabbing your arm.
Fot the next two hours, your friend told harmless stories while you threatened his life.Emily and JJ laughed.Morgan decided Arjun was his new favorite person.And Spencer remained unusually quiet.
Before either of you noticed, the team mysteriously found reasons to relocate twenty feet away from you and Spencer.Leaving you and Spencer standing near the bar.
Silence.The music suddenly seemed much louder.
You laughed nervously."So..."
"So," Spencer echoed.Another pause.
You looked down."I'm sorry you had to witness... whatever that was."
Spencer blinked."Witness what?"
"The dancing. The singing. The public humiliation."
To your surprise, he smiled.
"It wasn't humiliating."
"It absolutely was."
"It wasn't."
Spencer adjusted his sleeves."I've never seen you like that before."
Your heart skipped."Like what?"
He looked toward the dance floor."Happy."
"It was different."
"Spence..."
"You looked..." He hesitated. "Free."
"I realized something tonight."Your pulse quickened.
"I was jealous, not of Arjun." You blinked.
"What?"
Spencer let out a breath.
"He knows parts of your life I never will. He knows what you were like before the Bureau. Before any of this."
He laughed softly at himself."I know your coffee order."
You smiled.
"I know which books you reread when you're stressed."
A bigger smile.
"I know that you hum when you're concentrating."
"But I also want to know everything else too. I really like you."
"Spencer."
"I understand if—"
"I like you too. I have liked you since a long time actually."
"Really?"
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
"Yes, really."
"Statistically speaking, I thought the probability was—"
You laughed."There he is."
And before either of you could say anything else—A voice rang out across the room.
"I KNEW IT!"
Morgan.
Naturally.
Emily cheered.JJ clapped.Arjun simply folded his arms and grinned."Took you two long enough."
Morgan wrapped an arm around Spencer's shoulders."Welcome to the club, Pretty Boy."And for once—Spencer didn't seem to mind being teased at all.
Spencer Reid (S1, early stages of relationship) x chubby!fem!reader (I’m basing this off myself mostly)
WC: ~2.5k
Summary: Spencer reassures his girlfriend that she is the only one for him and that she's beautiful to him no matter what she's wearing
Warnings: body talk, insecurities about body (specifically a pudgy tummy) and relationship/worth/value, one (1) intrusive thought, concept of a safety dress that one feels comfortable in, a mention that reader might be comparing her body to the bodies of others, uh dresses? little rusty writing so early seasons Spencer may be a little OOC but he's a sweetie
-
You tugged at the dress that you wore. It didn’t fit right. That’s all you could see, all you could feel. It didn’t look right either. No amount of tugging would crease out the pudge that was your tummy. You sigh and start looking for your safety dress that you were sure would still fit fine (or at least it might be looser).
You didn’t even hear Spencer come into your bedroom. He already had his suit and tie on, looking as uncomfortable as you felt. His gaze flits over your body before refocusing on the back of your head.
Neither one of you was particularly excited about this FBI Gala but the presence of every member of the BAU was mandatory. And being Spencer’s girlfriend, naturally he’d asked you to be his date so he could at least have his comfort with him at this stuffy event.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Looking for something…dear?” He was still trying out terms of endearment for you, determined to find a set of ones that felt right. Dear felt very formal and safe. He never imagined himself being able to call you "babygirl".
You sigh and look back at him. “This one dress.”
He furrowed his eyebrows, squinting for a second as his mind processes that information and his response. “What’s wrong with the one you have on?”
It was a simple question. So why did it make you wanna shrink? You pause for a long time. Too long, because he speaks up again.
“Have I said something wrong?” He had taken to asking this question when you paused for a long time. He knew you were probably just trying to articulate your thoughts but he very much was afraid of offending you. He wasn’t used to relationships. Professional relationships were difficult enough for him to navigate on some level so a personal, romantic relationship was still mostly uncharted territory where he’d rather not veer into choppy waters.
“No…I just…wanna try a different dress on.”
“That one’s fine.” He still doesn’t understand why you need another dress when you’d already put one on.
Fine. The word echoed in your mind. You knew he hadn’t meant it condescendingly. You knew he was being honest. And you loved him but you yearned for a moment when a man saw you in a dress and his brain just went “gorgeous”. Spencer, of course, hadn't gotten a good enough reign on the sails just yet to be there in the relationship. And you recognized this and loved his genuine awkward charm. But you still wished he wasn’t so…clinically honest sometimes. Because it didn't always hit as sweet.
“It’s just one other dress.”
He switches gears. “Can I help you look?”
“I swear it was in here.”
“If you just-”
If I were just thinner, I wouldn’t need my safety dress. Fuck off intrusive thought!
You huff louder than necessary (cutting Spencer off) and you stop searching.
“Is something wrong?” Spencer is getting more concerned now. He takes a step towards you. He was pleased that he could fairly easily switch to “my person’s sad, must fix” mode. He thought he’d blunder more when it came to that particular aspect of a romantic relationship.
You don’t answer right away. He assumes the answer is "yes" but has also learned not to say that he assumes that.
“Can you tell me if something is? Please?” His voice softens like it does sometimes and he looks at you with those stupid hazel puppy dog eyes.
You look at him and know instantly that he sincerely just wants to know what’s up with you. You’d already had a very deep conversation about honesty in the relationship so you know it doesn’t do either of you any good to maintain that you’re fine.
“I don’t want you to think I’m being…” you trail off.
“Hey, I won’t think you’re anything you’re afraid of, ok? I promise.”
“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”
“You’re not "stupid". You’re not a "child". You’re not "too sensitive". I promise what you feel is valid. And I intend to treat it as such.”
You knew he was right. You knew he’d never make fun of you.
“I don’t like this dress on my body.” That was both harder and easier to say than you thought it would be.
He processes for a second. And then asks the simple question: “why not?” which has a simple answer…right?
Your first instinct is to say “because I look fat in it” but you stop yourself from saying that because you think you sound “like a complaining woman”. Your next thought is that Spencer’s first thought will not be: “Jesus, I don’t wanna hear anymore.”.
“I don’t like how my stomach looks.” You rephrase and clarify.
He looks down. That’s simply his first instinct. Your stomach looks like it’s looked like the entire time he’s known you (a year or so at this point). He doesn’t want to keep asking the same question over and over again. But he knows “you look fine” isn’t generally accepted by women as an answer so he knows that won’t fix the problem.
“What’s different about it?” He asks instead.
This gives you pause. “N-Nothing…” you’re forced to answer/admit.
“Does it not fit right? Does it feel too tight?” Your comfort. That’s what he’s concerned about. You were so afraid he’d just say “yeah? You’re fat.” even if he didn’t see it as a bad thing, that still might be triggering to hear. But his line of thinking is so far from that.
“It just…shows too much,”
“But it’s covering…” he pauses, knowing that line of thinking isn’t correct. “you don’t like how you look..” he reaches a hand out to almost touch your stomach but he stops short of it. “I still don’t understand what’s wrong with the dress.”
He hated unsolved mysteries (the mysteries themselves, he had nothing against Robert Stack personally) and he hated not having things figured out. He hated being confused but trying to navigate a relationship often left him feeling like he was up a creek without an oar.
You cup your stomach, hoping he’ll understand. He does not.
“That’s your stomach…”
“The dress is too small.” You try to clarify for him.
“Is it? Is it supposed to fit so…snuggly?”
“Who knows? I just know I’d feel better in my safety dress.”
“Safety dress?” He questions.
You freeze. You’d never told him about it.
“What’s that?” He asks, inquisitive as ever.
“It’s uh…a dress I look…and feel good in.”
“As opposed to…the dress you have on now?”
You avert your gaze and nod. He isn’t the type to grab chins and force people to look at them so he doesn’t do that.
“Sweetie? Can you look at me? Please?” He instead requested softly. Sweetie made sense because you were so sweet.
You meet his gaze and it’s as soft and warm as ever.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll help you find your safety dress but I need you to know that you look beautiful as you are now.” He swapped fine with beautiful because he felt the emphasis was necessary.
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. I’m not. I could walk out that door right now with you and be happy to have you at my side. You don’t need to be wearing any particular dress. I don’t care about the dress, I care about the person wearing it.”
“Th-Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. We both know we’d both rather be in comfortable clothes watching Star Trek tonight than going to this…Gala. I wouldn’t have asked you to suffer it with me but…I really want you there with me. It’s so many people and so much…pressure.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“You’d be in fuzzy pj pants right now if it weren’t for me.”
“Hey, no. It’s not your fault.”
“I kind of feel like it is. I don’t want you to go if you’re just gonna be uncomfortable all night.”
He starts to search for the dress, very determined to help you be comfortable.
“Could you describe the dress to me?”
“I-It’s uh…black…short sleeves, it’s got a satin body with a ruffle on the end and lace details over that.”
He looks back at you quizzically. “That’s your safety dress?”
“It doesn’t look like what you’re imagining.” You joke lightly.
“How do you know what I’m imagining?”
“Some sexy little number?”
“Some…cute little number…” He clarifies.
“There! Don’t move your hand! That’s it!” You point.
Spencer pulls the dress out. It’s black. It’s got short sleeves. It’s got lace details all over and the “body” or main part under the lace is black satin or silk. It’s knee length.
“Do you feel more comfortable in this dress?” He asked as he passed it to you.
“We’ll see.” You struggle to unzip the dress you currently had on. “Help? Please?”
He puts the dress on the bed. He comes up behind you to unzip the dress. You shimmy out of the dress. It falls to pool around your ankles. You pop the safety dress over your head.
You look at yourself in the mirror. You sigh. "No...it's too short...and it's not fancy enough..."
Spencer is just looking at you. He isn't saying anything. He's just admiring how you look in the dress.
"What do you think?" You ask Spencer as you run your hand over your stomach in the dress.
Spencer doesn't immediately respond. He's distracted by the skin that's showing.
"Spencer?"
"Hmm?" He meets your gaze.
"I asked you a question."
"Oh...sorry." He smiles, shaking his head. "What was your question?"
"Do you think this dress is appropriate for the Gala? Or should I find something longer?"
"Well I uh..." He trails off, not really knowing what is and wasn't Gala appropriate (he hadn't been informed and assumed you'd know so he hadn't asked).
"Oh! Wait! I know...I have this longer green dress..."
You look through your closet again to find it. Spencer distracts himself from checking you out while your back is turned.
"I found it!" You proclaim. "Size 10, ok...should be ok..."
"Size 10 is fine." Spencer hears himself say.
"Wish it were a 12."
"Hey...don't say that. Try it on. I bet you look just as pretty. Because...you always look pretty."
You smile before you change dresses. Spencer respectfully averts his gaze so he isn't checking you out in your underwear. But he looks back when you're situating the green dress out.
"Wow...definitely more...Gala. I especially like the um...outer layer? Is that what it's called?"
"I wouldn't kn-"
"Overlay!" He interrupts. "Sorry." He says sheepishly.
"That's a good word for it." You smile.
"It's really pretty. Y-You're...really pretty. The dress is pretty on you. You look pretty in the dress." He blushes slightly like he's embarrassed he seemingly couldn't settle on what to say, so he'd just said every variation he could think of (because it was all true).
"You really don't have to say all that, you know."
"Why not? Why can't I? Why shouldn't I?" He was genuinely curious as to why he couldn't compliment his girlfriend. That's what a boyfriend did, wasn't it?
"You can just say I look nice."
"But what if I feel more and I want to articulate that to you?" It was a simple question.
And it makes you pause, because you’d never before considered that he might want to wax poetic about your beauty.
"I'm not lying to you." He reassures.
"I-I know..." You nod.
"Do you?" He queries, but not in a condescending way. "Do you truly understand that I'm not just saying nice things to make you feel good? Do you comprehend that what I tell you is truly how I feel?"
"I guess I'm just not used to receiving compliments."
"Not used to receiving them or unwilling to accept the genuine ones as being genuine?" Because there was a distinction.
"Th-The latter, I guess." You say softly, averting your gaze to the floor.
"Can you look at me please?" He requests softly.
You look into his hazel eyes and see nothing but genuine admiration and affection for you.
"Do you believe that I love you?"
"Yes." You hesitate for only a second.
"That's good." He doesn’t mention the hesitation. “And would you believe me if I told you that I believe that you look beautiful in any dress you put on?”
“Yes. I believe that you believe that.”
“What do I have to do to make you believe that?” He asks softly, genuinely.
“I-I don’t know…”
He sighs. He steps closer to you. “You have looked beautiful in all three dresses I’ve seen you in.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just be on my arm and look pretty.”
You share a look. That sounded weird coming out of his mouth to the both of you. You share a smile.
“Arm candy.” He muses. “That doesn’t do justice to all that you are to me.”
"It doesn't?"
"Not even close."
"What do I mean to you?"
"So much. I could have a million years and I still would not be able to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, or to describe what you mean to me."
"What am I to you?"
"I truly believe you are my person. I walk into a room you're already in and nothing else matters. All I see is you. And you are...beautiful to me. Does that help explain why it doesn't matter what dress you wear or no matter how many other women are around you, I only focus on you? No one compares to you. I enjoy your company. You enjoy mine. Being with you just...feels so easy and effortless. From the minute we met, you were just...easy. You're easy to talk to, easy to be around, easy to touch. I had never warmed so fast to a person. And you know what it was that hooked me?"
"What?" You manage to ask after being awestruck but his words.
"Not your body, well, nothing below your face. It was your eyes, your smile. So...kind and sweet..."
"Spencer..." You say softly, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.
"You're my person, my perfect puzzle piece."
You hug him and he hugs you right back, adoring the way your body fit against his. His arms wrap around you as he holds you to him, his chin tucking in on your shoulder.
"I love you." He whispers softly.
"I love you too." You say back.
"We should go. We're gonna be late." He goes to pull away from you.
"Can you hold me for just another minute? Please?"
"We can be late. Five minutes."
"Thank you."
He buries his face in your neck, smelling your hair.
as doctor jack abbot's "favorite" first year resident, the job comes with it's own set of perks. like getting a front row seat to practicing a type of medicine you don't really see on dayshift, or being trusted with any gossip shen and ellis happen to mention, and of course getting the most 1 on 1 time with dr. abbot himself. you two are basically the pitt's token work couple, but no one would ever dare say it out of respect for jack's late wife. as you two spend so much time together on the floor, working in harmony during codes, and bringing each other coffee (or in your case, energy drinks), it'd only make sense for jack to ask you to be his plus one to pittsburgh's annual military ball.
he'd be so nervous, taking a week to actually build up the guts to ask you. when he does, he'd try playing it off as just needing someone else to tag along as company, "these things can get pretty boring if you're going by yourself," he'd shrug, looking at anything other than your pleasantly surprised and flattered reaction.
that was just a lie though, jack normally enjoyed the yearly gala. one night of catching up with old battle buddies while enjoying a drink? he could look past the idea of actually needing to ask off for once and having to wear his dress blues for an entire evening.
he'd run over his words, over explaining things that didn't matter and down playing the whole thing so he wouldn't somehow come off the wrong way or ruin the special relationship there was between you two. yeah, jack knew there was something else there within his feelings for you. but he didn't like thinking about that, didnt like thinking about the possibility that he may be falling for someone else other than his wife. falling for what would be a controversially young, female resident at that.
so, after his rambling, jack'd eventually see he's making a fool of himself and shut up. "but i can understand if you wouldn't want to ask off, an- shit, you'd need to get a dress too, something formal.. which i can buy for you of course! i wouldn't invite you and expect you to buy it yourself... i'm just gunna stop talking.."
that's why he'd be totally taken aback when you accept his offer, trying and failing to hold back your growing smile and the slight blush creeping up into your cheeks. "i'd love to come with you jack, really. we could both use a night off anyways." saying it so easily, like it was all just so simple. jack couldn't believe all that worrying about what to say and how to say it was for nothing, and you'd just accepted like you were being asked to dog-sit.
jack'd hesitate for a second, his brows raising as a relieved smile finds its way to his lips before he responds. his words are still rushed, but now more so in the search of what he should say now that you've accepted. "yeah? okay great, good! that's um.. perfect actually, uh.. i'll text you more info closer to then?" you'd nod with a chuckle, heading back out onto the ED floor alongside him as the usual chaos of the night shift enveloped you both. you and jack both worked with excitement stirring within your stomachs, along with something else you couldn't quite name as the night wore on.
one shot ✮ michael robinavitch x resident!reader ✮ 18+
summary: when robby leaves pittsburgh for a three month sabbatical, you’re left house-sitting his apartment. what starts as the occasional check-in text quickly becomes part of your daily routine, and somewhere between late night phone calls, shared photos and thousands of miles apart, neither of you realise you’re falling until it’s far too late to stop.
tags: age-gap but not mentioned massively, long distance, robby is yearning, friends to lovers, slow burn, texting, photo texts, eventual phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, happy ending.
wc: 12.8k
a/n: i haven't included any visuals of the reader in place of where selfies are sent bc i want this to be inclusive for anyone who reads. also sorry for some of the gaps / spacing between texts n paragraphs, i hate the tumblr word block limit and ANOTHER sorry if the pics aren't transparent. i reached the end of my tether at this point
✮
"Silver key is lobby, brass is front door." The bunch jingled between his fingers. "This one is for the mailbox, you can just leave anything that comes in on the side."
You stood in front of Robby with your arms folded, letting him run through his spiel even though you were a grown woman and could probably figure out which key got you through which door. Still, you nodded along, even made a joke about taking notes that seemed to fall flat, and then he was pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket with four digits scribbled across it.
"This is the alarm code-”
"Jesus, what neighbourhood do you live in again?"
"You don't have to use it, but a young woman staying alone? I want you to feel safe."
He handed you the note. That felt sweet.
You weren't entirely sure how you'd ended up being the one house-sitting for Robby while he disappeared on a three month sabbatical. You were the newest resident, barely eight months into your time at PTMC, but for whatever reason he seemed to trust you. He liked the way you taught, how patient you were with the med students, how you somehow managed to balance nurturing them without letting them walk all over you.
You'd been a little intimidated by him when you first arrived. Robby didn't take mistakes lightly. If you fucked up, you fucked up. There was no sugar coating it.
But he'd turned out to be a better teacher than you'd expected, taking you under his wing and dragging you into procedures most residents would have had to fight to get near. Sometimes you wanted to call it favouritism but it was probably just him doing his job. Probably.
"Anything else I need to know?" you asked. "Weird neighbours, paranormal activity, stalker exes?"
You tried to keep a straight face, only for the corners of your mouth to betray you.
He shook his head, laughing. "You sure you're okay doing this?"
"Are you kidding? This is gonna be like a vacation for me."
Robby nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and dropped the keys into your palm.
"Good. Call me if you need anything."
He started backing away towards the chaos of the ER. "Hey, remember. No parties, no pets, no boyfriends. Yours or anybody else's."
You scoffed, not quite loud enough for him to hear. Party? Required more than three friends. Pets? Required energy. And boyfriend? Don't even go there.
You didn't see Robby again before he left. Maybe the apartment handover had counted as a goodbye, or maybe the ER had simply done what it always did and swallowed every spare second before anyone got the chance to wave him off into the sunset.
Either way, all you could really focus on right now was three whole months without roommates and a bed bigger than a single. Happy days.
-
You managed to slip off shift without attracting any attention from the nurses or the night shift. Robby had said the only person he'd told about the house-sitting arrangement was Abbot. If you wanted to tell people, you could, but he didn't particularly care either way.
You decided to keep it quiet.
Work wasn't really where you made friends. You had three good ones on the outside but that was mostly it. Everyone was nice enough in the ER, and there had been the occasional invitation for drinks after a shift, but by seven o'clock you were usually too exhausted to be anything but horizontal.
Your circle stayed small, mainly Mckay and Ellis within the hospital.
You worked with Cassie every day and had become close over the months, and Parker had been your person during those brutal night shift rotations when you first arrived in Pittsburgh.
Either way, you made it to Robby's building without interception. Silver key for the lobby and brass for the apartment. Just like he'd said.
The building itself was nice. Clean hallways, warm lighting, planters hanging in the windows. The kind of place that felt looked after without trying too hard about it. The apartment was even nicer. Or maybe it just felt huge compared to the place you shared with four other girls.
"Well, fuck." The words slipped out before you could stop them as you flicked on the light switch.
The front door opened into a small hallway that led into a spacious living room, all exposed brick and worn hardwood floors. A brown leather sofa sat opposite a huge TV, surrounded by shelves packed with books and an almost concerning number of CDs.
You drifted towards them automatically, scanning album titles as you went. Pearl Jam, R.E.M., Jeff Buckley. A laugh escaped you.
"Checks out."
Your finger brushed across the collection before you moved on, abandoning your investigation in favour of something far more important.
Bed.
The guest room had already been made up for you, fresh sheets stretched neatly across the mattress and extra towels folded at the end like you were checking into a hotel instead of crashing in your attending's spare room. It made you smile.
Maybe your standards for grand gestures were embarrassingly low, but between that and the hundred dollars waiting on the kitchen counter with a note that read for anything you need, you couldn't help it.
There was still plenty left to explore. The contents of his fridge, the bookshelves, photo albums (or lack thereof) and most definitely the bedside drawers. But not tonight.
You peeled off your scrubs, barely managing to change before exhaustion caught up with you. Within minutes you were under the covers, eyes heavy, asleep before your head had properly settled into the pillow.
-
Turns out this house-sitting gig was absolute heaven.
Two days in and it was already starting to feel less like a favour and more like a reward.
Today was your day off. You'd actually eaten breakfast instead of inhaling a protein bar, spent the afternoon doing absolutely nothing productive and met up with a couple of friends for drinks that evening. The friends who weren't doctors, nurses or in any way connected to the hospital.
Then you'd come home, changed into something comfortable and settled onto Robby's sofa with your book.
Life was good.
So far, the hundred dollars he'd left behind had contributed to a half-full fridge and a bottle of wine, which felt perfectly reasonable considering Robby had specifically said it was for anything you needed. It was somewhere around chapter twenty-three of your hot romance fantasy novel (not one of Robby's) when your phone buzzed beside you.
Robby:
Hey, hope you're good. Just checking in to make sure everything's okay?
You smiled before you could stop yourself. He was so proper. So formal. Even his texts somehow read like work emails. Still, you appreciated him checking since you honestly hadn't expected to hear from him at all.
The whole point of this trip was supposed to be getting away. You'd heard him say more than once that he wanted to leave Pittsburgh and everyone in it behind for a while. No calls. No emails. As close to no contact as he could realistically get. According to Robby, that was the only way to properly clear your head.
The one exception had always been Abbot, maybe even Dana. Apparently now it was the three of you.
You:
all good! your apartment is insane by the way
and thank u for the money, u didn't have to!
You took a sip of wine as you hit send. A reply came almost immediately.
Robby:
You're doing me a huge favour!
Spend wisely…
A laugh escaped you. You were a little tipsy by now. Not drunk, just pleasantly warm from the two glasses of pinot you'd had at the bar combined with the one currently sitting beside you. Which, admittedly, was a lot considering you barely drank.
Without thinking too hard about it, you snapped a picture of the glass balanced on the coffee table. Then you zoomed in slightly. Mostly to crop out the fact you weren't using a coaster.
You:
wise you say???
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. You frowned at the screen.
For some reason, a flicker of self-consciousness crept in. Maybe the photo was weird. Maybe the lipstick mark on the rim was weird. Maybe it was weird to be sitting in your attending's apartment drinking wine and texting him on a Friday night.
Before you could overthink it further, another message appeared.
Robby:
Naughty!
Your stomach flipped. It was ridiculous. The word itself wasn't even remotely suggestive. If anything, it was probably about the coaster.
But between the wine and the book currently sitting open beside you, the message seemed to land somewhere deep in your belly. You stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
"Time for bed." You said it out loud, as though hearing it might make it true.
Leaving the glass on the coffee table with a single sip left, you gathered your book and headed for the guest room.
-
Robby stared at the photo for longer than he meant to. Not at the wine or the coffee table and certainly not at the missing coaster.
His attention had landed on the faint lipstick mark circling the rim of the glass and stayed there for a second too long before he caught himself. He sat back against the headboard of the hotel bed, somewhere around Chicago, after a long day on the road.
The room was forgettable. Beige walls. Generic artwork. The low hum of an air conditioner fighting for its life in the corner. Exactly the kind of place he'd expected to find himself in.
He'd only been checking in. That was all.
You were doing him a favour and it seemed polite to make sure everything was going smoothly.
Except now he found himself picturing you in his apartment. Curled up on the couch, feet tucked beneath you. A glass of wine in one hand and whatever book had managed to distract you from answering his text in the other.
His apartment. His couch. His glass.
He exhaled through his nose. It was ridiculous. Of course you were there, that was the entire point. For the next three months you were going to be using his mugs, watching his TV, standing under his shower and sleeping in the guest room.
None of that should have felt strange. And it didn't. Not really. It had just been that split second when the photograph appeared on his screen and his brain had connected the image to a real person rather than the vague idea of someone looking after his place.
Someone he'd see almost every day at work. Someone currently sitting exactly where he usually sat. Robby shook his head once, more at himself than anything else.
Then he typed out the reply.
Naughty!
The second it was sent, he dropped the phone onto the bedside table and turned off the lamp. Tomorrow he'd have another few hours of driving ahead of him. That was what he should be thinking about.
Not a lipstick stain on a wine glass.
-
It was strange how different work felt when you had somewhere peaceful to come home to.
The shifts were still long and the patients exhausting. None of that changed. But when there were no roommate arguments waiting for you at the end of the day, no mountain of dishes that didn't belong to you and no obnoxiously loud sex through the wall at midnight, everything felt a little more manageable.
You had energy again. Energy to come home and shower. Energy to cook. Energy to actually enjoy your evenings instead of collapsing face-first into bed.
You'd always been a good cook. Your mom had made sure of that. While other kids were watching TV, you'd been standing beside her in the kitchen learning how to chop onions without crying and season food without measuring every ingredient.
Your family tree contained exactly zero Italians, but your signature dish was carbonara. Real carbonara. The proper kind. The kind that required ingredients expensive enough to make you wince in the grocery aisle.
Which was exactly why you rarely made it. But with Robby's hundred dollars quietly subsidising your lifestyle, you figured you deserved a treat.
The plan was going perfectly until you tried to turn on the hob.
"Come on."
You twisted the dial until it clicked. Nothing. You tried again.
Another click. Still nothing.
By the fourth attempt, you were staring at the appliance like it had personally offended you.
"Am I losing my mind?"
Getting a burner lit should not have been this difficult. You glanced at your phone sitting on the counter.
No. Absolutely not.
You were not texting Robby because you couldn't operate a stove. You were a doctor, a functioning adult. You could figure this out.
Another click. Nothing. "For fuck's sake." The curse echoed around the kitchen. A few seconds later, you picked up your phone.
You:
i don't want you to think i'm completely incompetent but i cannot work your hob…
Three states away, Robby's phone lit up. He'd spent most of the day hiking through some forest outside Rockford before ending the evening under a shower hot enough to steam up the entire bathroom.
He walked over to the phone, towel slung low around his waist, hair still damp. The text made him laugh.
Robby:
You have to turn and press. It's more of a button than a switch!
Also don't worry, I couldn't work it for the first six months I lived there because of that…
It was strangely comforting to know a physician widely regarded as one of the smartest people in Pittsburgh had also been defeated by a kitchen appliance.
Following his instructions, you pushed the dial inward and a blue flame immediately burst to life.
"Oh thank god."
You set a pot of water on one burner and poured oil into a pan on the other before reaching for your phone again.
You:
life saver. i was about to starve
and the great robby also not knowing how to operate a stove makes me feel better so thank u
Back in his hotel room, Robby laughed quietly at the screen. A small smile lingered as he reread your message.
He'd answered your question, technically the conversation could end there and it probably should. Instead, his thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second.
Robby:
What are you cooking anyway?
You saw the message while stirring egg and cheese into freshly drained pasta. Not now. Carbonara required concentration and you weren't risking scrambled eggs for anybody.
Five minutes later, when the sauce was silky and clinging perfectly to the noodles, you twisted a generous serving onto a plate and admired your handiwork.
Then you grabbed your phone.
You:
carbonara!
You attached the picture before hitting send.
The photo sat open on his screen for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected, certainly not that. It looked better than anything he'd eaten in the last week.
After a moment he tapped the heart reaction and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him. He ignored the part of himself that wanted to ask for the recipe.
-
The next two days brought two hellish shifts.
First a mass casualty then a stomach bug that seemed determined to take down half the ER.
Dana did her best to pull people in for extra coverage, Abbot came in early and somehow ended up working a double, but even that barely kept things afloat. It was chaos. The kind that left you running entirely on adrenaline until your body remembered it was human.
You finally made it home just before eleven: a personal record. The worst part was that when you dragged yourself up the stairs, peeled off your scrubs and collapsed into bed, you couldn't sleep.
You were trapped in that miserable state of overtiredness where your body was begging for rest while your brain stubbornly refused to switch off.
You hadn't looked at your phone once during the shift. Not during the mass casualty or the endless stream of patients. Not even while inhaling a granola bar somewhere around hour twelve. It stayed buried in your pocket until you stepped through the apartment door.
It wasn't until you were under the covers that you finally saw the notification waiting for you.
Robby:
I had diner food for the third night in a row tonight, your carbonara is making me look bad…
He'd given you a rough outline of his route before he left and, if you remembered correctly, he should be somewhere near Minneapolis by now. An hour behind. Not too late.
You:
trust me, my carbonara is the least impressive thing about my week
i just survived a mass casualty and half the department trying to die from a stomach bug
diner food sounds peaceful honestly
Robby:
Mass casualty?
You:
three car pile up
and before you ask everyone survived
mostly because abbot worked about seventeen hours straight
Robby:
I leave for one week…
You:
i was waiting for someone to blame
Robby:
Blame Dana…
You:
do you think i have a death wish???
that's not the attending wisdom i was hoping for
Robby:
🤷🏻♂️ ️
You stare at the screen. He's using emojis now? Something about that feels strangely significant.
The conversation probably should have ended three messages ago. Instead, another text appears a few seconds later.
Robby:
You okay?
The question catches you off guard. Not because it's particularly personal, just because he seems to actually mean it. You stare at the message for a moment before replying.
You:
yeah
just tired
too tired to sleep which is apparently a thing
Robby:
Been there. Your body's exhausted but the brain's stress response overrides it
Makes for a very restless night
You:
oh good
thought i was dying
Robby:
You're a doctor..
You always think you're dying
A quiet laugh escapes you. You weren't entirely sure why any of this felt comforting.
After one of the worst shifts you'd worked in months, you were lying awake in your attending's apartment, texting your boss from beneath the covers.
On paper, it sounded ridiculous but the knot that had been sitting between your shoulders since this morning was slowly beginning to loosen.
Your eyes felt heavier, your body sank deeper into the mattress and the first time all night, sleep actually seemed possible.
You:
night robby x
You hit send before thinking too hard about it. A second passed. Then two. Then your phone lit up.
Robby:
Sleep well!
You smiled at the screen. By the time you set your phone on the bedside table, your eyes were already closing.
Robby didn't go to sleep straight away.
Instead he sat against the headboard, phone still in his hand, staring at the open conversation. The room was quiet. Outside, somewhere beyond the hotel curtains, a truck rumbled along the interstate.
His thumb drifted across the screen and paused, hovering over the last message.
night robby x
Just one stupid little letter. It probably meant absolutely nothing. For all he knew, you signed every text that way. You were exhausted when you'd sent it, practically half asleep and already drifting off. He knew that. So why was he still looking at it?
With a quiet huff of amusement at himself, Robby locked the screen.
Tomorrow he'd drive another few hundred miles, stay at another hotel, eat another mediocre meal. Continue doing exactly what he'd left Pittsburgh to do.
And yet, as he finally switched off the lamp and settled back against the pillows, he found himself wondering whether you'd text him tomorrow.
The thought stayed with him longer than it should have. Long enough that sleep didn't come quite as quickly as usual.
-
The next few days settled into something that almost resembled normality (or at least as normal as life in the ER ever got).
The stomach bug finally burned its way through the department, leaving a trail of exhaustion and empty electrolyte bottles in its wake. Everyone looked tired and complained constantly. You included.
It was nearing the end of another shift when your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You ignored it only for it to buzz again.
And because every doctor secretly believed they were the most important person in the building, your brain immediately convinced itself it could be an emergency.
You pulled it out while waiting for the elevator.
Robby:
Rode twenty minutes off route for this
You opened it. Then frowned. Then laughed.
You:
what the fuck is that
Robby:
The world's largest prairie chicken
You:
of course it is
you rode twenty minutes out of your way to see a giant chicken?
Robby:
Yes.
You:
no further questions your honour
The elevator doors opened. You stepped inside, still smiling at your phone. Another message appeared.
Robby:
Thought you'd appreciate it!
Your lips curled at the suggestion he had taken the picture with you in mind.
You:
i'm genuinely concerned about how you're spending this sabbatical
Robby:
That's fair
For the record I did also spend six hours riding through some very beautiful countryside today
You:
and yet it was the giant chicken you sent
Robby:
Correct.
You laughed, probably too loud for the setting as others in the lift glanced over before you quickly looked away.
You:
well i'm glad my attending is making good use of his time
Robby:
You laughed didn't you?
You:
immediately
The elevator dinged and people shuffled out around you while you lingered behind, looking down at the conversation. At the completely pointless exchange.
The kind of conversation that served no purpose whatsoever and yet somehow it had made the end of a miserable shift feel lighter.
Robby:
Worth the detour then
You shook your head but the smile wouldn't disappear. It stayed with you all the way to the parking lot.
Across the county, Robby sat on the edge of his hotel bed with the television murmuring quietly in the background.
The hotels he was staying in were nice, he had the money to stay in much nicer but there wasn't much point when only passing through.
The final destination was a cabin in Alberta. That's where he'd spend the rest of the sabbatical when he got there, that he had spared no expense on.
But he didn't find himself thinking of his trip. The conversation still sat open on his phone. Nothing important, just the giant chicken staring back at him amongst a handful of messages and a stupid amount of amusement considering the subject matter.
After a minute, he locked the screen and set the phone aside. Then despite himself, he found his gaze drifting back towards it as though another message might somehow appear.
He'd be crossing into North Dakota soon and if he happened to see anything ridiculous along the way…
Well he knew exactly who he'd send it to.
-
The next few days followed suit. You and Robby started speaking like it was part of your routines without ever actually agreeing to it.
Nothing constant or heavy, just small check-ins threaded through the day. Snapshots from the road. Snapshots from the ER.
Things you'd caught out of the corner of your eye like the giant pigeon on a fire escape outside the hospital that made you stop mid-conversation just to take a picture.
Food also became a kind of currency between you. The home-cooked meals you'd send, still steaming on the plate whilst he'd drop his roadside breakfasts, gas station coffee, or whatever local specialty he'd found himself staring at that day.
You started waiting for the messages without really meaning to. Both of you did.
Robby:
This morning's view
You:
versus my morning's view
—
You:
i'm going old school and listening to your CDs
you have good taste old man
Robby:
I'll ignore those last two words and take it as a compliment...
—
Robby:
Got caught in a thunderstorm on the road today
You:
😭😭😭 😭 😭 omg
just know i'd be laughing if i were there
—
You:
robby
a guy came in today with an action figure up his ass
and dana made whitaker deal with it
Robby:
Nothing says good evening quite like a HIPAA violation
You:
i know you won't tell x
—
Somewhere between shifts and miles, the apartment stopped being the reason you spoke. It just became something that existed in the background, as if you'd both forgotten the house-sitting gig and this was all normal.
An excuse that had quietly turned into a habit. You didn't really notice the shift until one night you didn't text him at all.
Not on purpose, because of pure exhaustion. A shift that ran too long, a body too tired to think in sentences.
And on his end, Robby found himself checking his phone more than he liked to admit. Each time with a little more irritation than the last.
"Stupid." He muttered under his breath, tossing the phone face-down on the bed.
It didn't stay there long since he picked it back up a minute later.
His trip was still everything it was supposed to be. Long stretches of highway and peaceful mornings. Mountains, towns, weather that changed without warning.
It was all the kind of distance he'd been looking for and for the most part, the noise in his head had settled. It wasn't gone, he needed more than a solo road trip to fix that but it was quieter.
It was at its quietest when you text. Or when he took a picture and thought, without really meaning to, that you'd probably laugh at it.
Then his phone buzzed.
You:
sorry
today's been awful
The irritation disappeared immediately and he sat down properly on the edge of the bed.
For a moment, he stared at the message longer than he needed to. His first instinct was practical, to ask what happened and if you were okay. But it was nearly midnight your time and he knew, instinctively, that whatever you needed wasn't a barrage of questions.
Robby:
Do you want to talk about it?
You:
think i just need bed
speak tomorrow
He stared at the screen a moment longer than he meant to, leaving the chat open, your name sitting at the top of it. He didn't reply.
There wasn't anything else to say that wouldn't feel like too much.
-
The next day didn't actually bring a text. Or the day after that.
Shift patterns blurred together in the ER anyway, time measured in admissions and discharge paperwork rather than hours. You were exhausted, that was your excuse for not texting Robby. But by the second night, you were wondering what his excuse was.
It wasn't anything dramatic, just… absent.
No photos from the road or pointless updates about whatever strange thing he'd stopped to look at. There'd been no diner food commentary that made you roll your eyes while smiling at your phone.
You told yourself it made sense. Robby was on a bike somewhere between states and you were drowning in back-to-back shifts. There wasn't always going to be time.
Still, your phone felt heavier in your pocket than usual.
On his end, Robby told himself the same thing.
He'd spent most of the day on the road, miles of open highway stretching out ahead of him, the kind of silence he'd gone looking for. It should have felt good and it did, mostly. But every time he stopped for fuel, or pulled off to check a map, his hand drifted to his phone out of habit.
There he would find no new messages and he told himself that was normal.
It was normal. Until it wasn't.
-
It happened on a night that started like any other.
You'd left the hospital later than you meant to, fatigue settling into your bones in that familiar way that made everything feel slightly delayed.
The apartment was quiet when you got back.
You climbed the stairs and only realised something was wrong when your keys didn't turn properly in the lock. You tried it once, twice, three times and nothing. You paused then tried again but the lock didn't budge.
"Oh come on," you muttered under your breath.
You stared at the door for a second, exhaustion making it harder to think than it should have.
Of course this was happening now.
You pulled your phone out, looking who to burden with your troubles and force to come to your rescue. For a second, you considered calling Mckay but her shift had been just as rough as yours and Ellis' night was only just starting in the ER, suddenly you were out of options.
Your thumb hovered. Then moved.
In some hotel in one of the Dakotas, Robby's phone lit up on the bedside. His brow furrowed slightly, not expecting to see your name across the screen.
"Hello?"
Your voice came through slightly breathless and oh so tired.
"Hi," you said. "I have a problem."
He sat up a little straighter without thinking. "Are you okay?"
You let out a short laugh that didn't quite sound amused. "Your lock hates me." There was a pause.
Then, quieter, "Which one?"
"Front door."
"Right," he said. "Stay there."
"I am there."
"No," he corrected. "I mean don't try anything else. Just- stay."
You leaned back against the wall, sliding down slightly until you were sitting on the floor outside his apartment door.
"Robby," you said, "I am physically incapable of breaking your door at this point. I'm too tired to commit crimes."
That earned a small exhale of something that might have been a laugh.
"Good," he said. "I prefer it that way."
There was movement on his end. Fabric shifting, something being set down.
"Okay," he added. "Walk me through what happened."
-
The locksmith said he'd be there in twenty minutes which, judging by his tone, probably meant thirty. You thanked him anyway before ending the call and letting your head fall back against the apartment door.
"Well," you sighed, stretching your legs out in front of you. "Guess I live here now."
The laugh that came through the speaker was soft. You'd heard Robby laugh a hundred times at work, usually in passing conversations or when Dana pulled it out of him, but hearing it through the phone felt strangely personal.
"Could be worse."
"How?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'll let you know when I think of something."
You smiled. For a while, neither of you said anything.
The silence wasn't awkward, which surprised you. You could hear faint traffic somewhere on his end of the line, the distant sound of a television through a hotel wall perhaps.
"Where are you?" you asked eventually.
“Just outside Sioux Falls."
"Fancy..." You shifted against the wall, tucking one knee up towards your chest. "How's the trip?"
There was a pause. Not because he wasn't going to answer, but because he seemed to actually think about it.
"Good." You waited. "Actually, really good."
"Wow."
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever heard you sound that enthusiastic about anything."
"That's not true."
"Robby, I've worked with you for eight months."
"And?"
"The highlight of your emotional range is usually a nod."
That earned a proper laugh. The kind that made you grin before you'd even realised you were doing it. Why were your cheeks getting hot at the idea of making him laugh?
"That's harsh."
"I think you mean accurate."
"I'll have you know I've been having a great time."
“The giant chicken gave it away."
"Don't mock the chicken."
"I'll mock the chicken all I want."
He sighed dramatically. "This is exactly why I send you things."
Your smile lingered, you weren't entirely sure why. Like even if you wanted to get rid of it you couldn't. Maybe because it was nice knowing someone saw something during their day and thought to share it with you. Or maybe because lately, you'd been doing the same thing.
"Seriously though," you said. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
The teasing slipped away a little and you could hear it in his voice when he answered.
"Yeah. I think I needed it more than I realised."
You looked down at the floor. You'd thought that yourself. The difference in him was obvious, even through a screen. The texts were lighter. There was an ease to him that hadn't existed back in Pittsburgh.
"You sound happier."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Maybe."
It wasn't much of a response. Coming from Robby, it felt like a confession.
The conversation drifted after that. Work came up eventually, because it always did. You told him about the latest departmental disaster and he laughed harder than he probably should have at Whitaker's expense. Then somehow you ended up talking about music, and when you admitted you'd been making your way through his CD collection, he spent five minutes defending an album you'd called objectively terrible.
Before either of you realised it, headlights swept across the apartment parking lot. You glanced through the stairwell window to see a white van pulling in.
"Oh."
"What?"
"That's him." You pushed yourself to your feet, brushing imaginary dust from your scrubs. "The locksmith."
"Right."
You checked the time. Nearly forty minutes since you'd spoken to him on the phone.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you laughed softly.
"I don't think we've ever actually spoken like this before."
"Spoken like what?"
"Just…" You searched for the right words. "Talked."
He huffed a laugh. "We talk all the time."
"About work."
"Hmm. True."
You shook your head. "I know more about a giant prairie chicken than I do about you."
"Now that's probably not true."
"It definitely is."
The locksmith was already making his way towards the building entrance. You tightened your grip on the phone.
"Thanks for staying on the phone with me."
The words slipped out before you could think too hard about them and for a second, there was only the sound of his breathing on the other end.
"Of course." Robby said it with such ease, as if there'd never been any question about it. Something in your chest warmed at that.
"I should go."
"Yeah. You should."
Neither of you hung up immediately. You smiled even though he couldn't see.
"Night, Robby."
"Night."
-
Robby eventually made it to Alberta, trading motels and roadside diners for a cabin tucked between trees and more open sky than you'd ever seen in one place. The photos changed after that. It was less giant roadside attractions and more mountains, lakes so still they looked painted. Sunrises taken from a porch with a mug of coffee balanced somewhere just out of frame.
Your own contributions remained considerably less scenic.
You:
this mornings view
Robby:
Stunning!
You:
i know
thinking of getting it framed
Robby:
You should. Really ties a room together
The conversations drifted in and out of your days. Sometimes twenty messages. Sometimes two.
But there was rarely a day that passed without hearing from him. It had become your normal and that probably should have concerned you more than it did.
One afternoon you were halfway through a grocery shop when your phone buzzed.
Robby:
What's for dinner?
You snorted. Most days he was interested in what you were cooking, never quite getting over how good that carbonara looked weeks ago.
You:
demanding aren't we?
Robby:
I've been living off campfire food
Let me live vicariously
You balanced the basket awkwardly on your hip. Typing with one hand was becoming increasingly impossible so after a moment you sighed and held down the microphone button.
"Okay, so technically I haven't decided yet," you said, navigating around a woman studying avocados with suspicious intensity. "But I was thinking maybe chicken, potatoes, something easy because I had a twelve hour shift and Mckay spent most of it arguing with a guy who was convinced Red Bull counts as water."
You stopped recording and sent it, immediately forgetting about it as you continued to shop.
Robby was sitting on the cabin porch when the notification appeared. A voice note.
For a second he just looked at it before pressing play. Your voice spilled through the speaker, lighter than he was used to hearing at work, less hurried.
He could hear the wheels of a shopping cart somewhere in the background, people talking. The automatic doors opening and closing. It felt strangely intimate. Like being invited into a moment he wasn't supposed to be part of.
Before he knew it, the recording had ended and he found himself smiling Then replaying the first few seconds just to hear it again.
Robby:
Red bull absolutely counts as water
You:
you're part of the problem
-
A few days later you sent him a photo of a coffee shop you'd stumbled into before work. The picture was supposed to be of the ridiculous chalkboard menu, pretentious and completely overpriced.
Unfortunately, the reflection in the window caught most of your face and you didn't even notice before pressing send.
But Robby did.
He was halfway through replying when he stopped and stared at the photo. Then stared a little longer.
It wasn't as though he'd forgotten what you looked like, he'd worked beside you for months, seen you almost every day and yet somehow seeing your face appear unexpectedly on his screen felt different. Like it was more personal than bumping into you across an ER.
He zoomed in without meaning to then immediately felt ridiculous.
Robby:
That coffee costs more than my first apartment
You:
i knew you'd focus on the important issue
He didn't mention the photo but it stayed open on his screen longer than necessary.
The next Saturday night, you went out with friends.
The three you socialised with maybe once a month, the ones you'd gone out with on your first week at Robby's.
The evening disappeared beneath cocktails, bad music and stories that got funnier with every retelling. By the time you got home, your shoes were in one hand and your keys were in the other.
Your phone buzzed before you'd even made it upstairs.
Robby:
Survived?
You:
barely
my feet are filing formal complaints
Robby:
Worth it?
You:
yeah
free drinks always help
There was a pause before the typing bubbles appeared then they seemed to disappear before appearing once more.
Robby:
Free drinks?
You:
some guy at the bar bought them
either he was being nice or I looked desperately in need of a margarita
Robby stared at the screen. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he found himself reading the message twice.
Some guy.
An entirely normal sentence since people bought drinks for each other every day. It meant absolutely nothing. Yet his thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Robby:
Which was it?
The message sent before he could overthink it and he immediately regretted it. Not because it was inappropriate, just because he sounded interested.
And he wasn't sure why he was interested.
You:
definitely the margarita
he started talking about crypto ten minutes in
That pulled a laugh out of him. An actual laugh.
Robby:
My condolences
You:
thank you
it was a difficult time
The conversation moved on after that. But later, after you'd gone to sleep and the cabin had settled into silence around him, Robby found himself thinking about the message again.
Not the drinks. Not the guy. But the fact that he'd wanted to know. And the fact he still wasn't entirely sure why.
-
You hadn't really talked about the house sitting arrangement to anyone at work.
It never seemed relevant and, if you were honest, you quite liked having something that belonged entirely to you. That was until Abbot casually asked how it was going in front of Parker and Shen. Both of them had turned so quickly you would have thought they'd rehearsed it.
John loudly slurped through his straw.
You immediately regretted coming into work.
You'd spent the next five minutes trying to explain that, yes, you were staying at Robby's apartment and no, it wasn't a big deal. At the same time, you were reassuring Abbot that everything was fine and that the place was still standing.
Parker wasn't convinced. She waited until the handover was done and everyone had started drifting away before falling into step beside you as you gathered your things from your locker.
You'd only just pulled your phone out when it buzzed. The smile arrived before you could stop it and Parker saw immediately.
"Message from your boyfriend?"
"Just Robby-”
You stopped and looked up to see her already grinning.
"Oh."
"Oh indeed."
"Haha. Very funny."
"I'm just saying," she replied, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "That man hasn't been here for nearly two months and I've heard his name more than I have some of the attendings who actually work here."
You rolled your eyes. Except the comment lingered because you didn't talk about him that much. Did you?
Sure, you texted most days, you snapped pictures when something made you laugh. You answered when he called and never made a secret of it because, in your mind, there was nothing to hide.
But maybe Parker had a point.
You were always quick to tell people where he was, what he'd been up to, what ridiculous thing he'd sent you that morning. You were also one of maybe three people who actually knew how his sabbatical was going and that felt strangely significant when you stopped to think about it.
Which was exactly why you decided not to think about it. Instead, you bumped your shoulder into Parker's arm.
"Leave me alone."
"Never."
You laughed despite yourself, waved goodbye to everyone and headed out through the main doors.
-
Even without a department full of doctors reminding him, Robby found himself thinking about you more often than he probably should.
Alberta was beautiful, exactly what he'd imagined.
The mountains seemed endless, the lakes impossibly clear and every evening the sky stretched so wide it barely looked real.
He'd come here to breathe. To remember what it felt like to wake up without immediately carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
For the first time in years, it was working and yet every time he stumbled across a view that took his breath away, he caught himself reaching for his phone.
The bear he'd spotted at the edge of a trail or the river he'd nearly slipped into while trying to take a photo. The sunset that turned the entire lake gold. All of it was filed away somewhere in the back of his mind. Something to show you, to tell you later.
He enjoyed those moments for himself, he really did, but there was always a second thought afterwards. A quiet one of she'd like this.
And that was dangerous territory for a man who had left Pittsburgh specifically to be alone.
-
Today had been a bad day for absolutely no reason. Work hadn't been worse than usual. There was no mass casualty or outbreak, no disaster waiting for you.
You'd left almost on time and the handover had been unusually smooth yet, somehow, by the time you found yourself curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine balanced on your knee, you felt like you might burst into tears.
You probably wouldn't but it was comforting to know you could if you wanted to.
The apartment was quiet. A CD hummed softly in the background while the evening light spilled through the windows. You'd been enjoying the solitude for weeks now.
Your phone lit up. A text from Robby. It was just a small update about his day, a picture of a lake with a note underneath telling you there was a viewpoint about a mile from the cabin that you would absolutely love.
You stared at it for a second and then pressed call without thinking.
The phone rang twice.
"Hey, you okay?" He'd answered immediately.
Not because he'd been expecting the call but quite the opposite.
You almost smiled at the concern in his voice.
"Hey. Yeah, I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." A pause. "Can you talk?"
On the other side of the continent, Robby was sitting on the cabin porch with a beer bottle in hand, watching the sky darken over the mountains.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I can talk."
You exhaled. You weren't entirely sure why. Just hearing his voice had already made something feel lighter.
"Bad day?" he asked gently.
"A little."
"Want to talk about it?"
You considered it.
"Not really."
He laughed quietly. "Fair enough."
You took a sip of wine.
"Does it sound stupid if I say I just wanted to hear your voice?"
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a moment, all you could hear was the wind moving through the trees on his end of the line. Then Robby shifted in his chair.
"Well," he said, amusement colouring his voice, "I sure feel special."
You groaned. "Don't make it weird.”
"I'm not making it weird."
"You absolutely are."
His laugh settled something warm in your chest.
"I can tell you about the bear I saw today if you need a distraction."
You smiled. "Yes please."
And he did. He told you about the trail, about spotting movement through the trees and realising it was considerably larger than he'd first thought. Halfway through the story your phone buzzed with a picture he'd sent while still talking.
You put him on speaker to zoom in, immediately informing him that he was insane for getting that close. He disagreed.
You told him he was objectively wrong then somehow you were refilling your wine while he wandered into the kitchen for another beer and the conversation simply kept going.
Hours slipped past unnoticed. The topics changed every few minutes. Canadian wildlife became grocery shopping.
Grocery shopping became work which became Dana. Dana became the night you'd gone out with your friends. It felt effortless.
Like no matter what either of you said, the other would find it interesting, as if there were no rush to end the conversation.
Eventually, somewhere between your third glass and his third beer, Robby circled back to something you'd almost forgotten.
"So," he said casually. "Any more plans to go out and let random men buy you drinks?"
You scoffed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds suspiciously like jealousy, Michael."
Using his first name felt deliberate. The kind of thing you couldn't take back once it left your mouth.
For a moment he didn't answer and you could almost hear him thinking.
"I think I'm just curious."
"Curious?"
"You mentioned him." His voice was careful now. "And then I spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering whether you actually liked him."
Your stomach flipped unexpectedly.
"And did you come to a conclusion?"
He laughed quietly. "Yeah."
"Which was?"
"That anyone who talks about crypto for ten minutes straight probably doesn't stand a chance."
The warmth that spread through you had nothing to do with the wine. You sank further into the sofa, smiling into your glass.
"Good answer."
For a second neither of you spoke. The silence felt different now, like an awareness blooming.
On the other end of the line, Robby stared out across the darkening lake, suddenly very conscious of the weight in his chest and the dryness in his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure when the conversation had become the best part of his day.
He was even less sure what that meant.
On your end, the wine bottle was looking considerably emptier than when the call had started.
"How much longer have you got out there anyway?" you asked eventually.
He leaned back in his chair.
"Couple more weeks."
You hummed. "A couple?"
"Three."
You did the maths automatically. Three weeks. For some reason that felt shorter than it should have.
"That's weird."
"What is?"
"You coming back."
Robby laughed softly. “I haven't left forever."
"I know."
You picked absentmindedly at the label on your wine bottle.
"Still weird though."
He understood exactly what you meant. The cabin had become normal, so had the mountains. Waking up and sending you a picture of whatever he'd found that day had become normal too.
The thought settled uncomfortably somewhere in his chest.
"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "It is."
For a moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward, if anything, it felt too honest.
"You'll probably be sick of Pittsburgh again within forty-eight hours."
He laughed.
"Probably."
"And I'll have to move back into my shoebox apartment."
He laughed again.
"You laugh, but I've become accustomed to luxury."
"My apartment is not luxury."
"It has an en-suite."
"It does."
You smiled into your glass.
"I'm gonna miss it."
The words came out before you really thought about them and then, after a beat, you added, "The apartment, I mean."
Robby looked out across the lake. The moonlight stretched across the water in silver streaks. He wasn't entirely sure why that qualifier felt necessary.
"Yeah."
Because he was going to miss something too, he just wasn't sure it was the apartment.
"I'm glad I gave you the keys."
The words slipped out naturally.
"Because I've been such an excellent tenant?"
"Questionable."
You laughed. "Rude."
"You locked yourself out and you don't use coasters."
"That happened one time. And yes I do."
"One time that I know about. And, no you don't."
You shook your head, laughing. "So why are you glad?"
The question hung there. For the first time that evening, Robby didn't answer immediately. He could have made a joke and he probably should have but instead he found himself telling the truth.
"Because otherwise…" He trailed off and you waited. "Otherwise I don't think we'd have ever talked like this."
Something in your chest tightened, just enough to make you still. The sounds around you seemed to disappear for a second. The music, hum of the refrigerator, everything.
"Yeah."
It came out quieter than you'd intended. Because he was right.
Without the apartment, he would've stayed your attending, you his resident. You would've chatted during shifts and maybe grabbed a beer with a group after work once or twice.
But this? The hours spent on the phone, the daily messages, knowing what the other person had for dinner. Sharing parts of yourselves that had nothing to do with medicine.
None of that would've happened.
"I guess not."
Robby stared down at the bottle in his hand. His pulse felt oddly loud.
"Would've been a shame."
The words were barely above a murmur. Honest enough that neither of you quite knew what to do with them. You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of the warmth spreading through your stomach.
And not because of the wine.
Another silence settled between you but this one felt different. It felt full. Like there was something sitting quietly between the two of you that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had and neither of you had looked directly at it until now.
"Yeah," you said softly. "It would've."
For a second, neither of you spoke, neither of you hung up either.
Somewhere between Alberta and Pittsburgh, with a lake outside one window and city lights outside the other, it felt like the conversation had shifted onto unfamiliar ground.
Not enough to turn back yet not enough to move forward. Just enough that both of you knew something had changed.
-
The next morning arrived with a headache.
Not a catastrophic one, just enough of one to remind you that two glasses of wine had somehow become four and how you clearly couldn't handle your booze anymore.
Thank god it was your day off. You'd spent most of the morning moving slowly, making a trip to the store for supplies before returning to the apartment with a bag full of groceries, painkillers and absolutely no intention of leaving the house again.
After a shower, you pulled on an oversized t-shirt, climbed into bed and put something mindless on the TV. You weren't really watching it. Your attention kept drifting back to your phone. In between doom scrolling TikTok, you kept flipping to your messages.
Nothing from Robby.
You told yourself it was normal since he was a couple of hours behind. He could still be asleep or hiking, he could be doing literally anything.
Still, your thumb hovered over the conversation and you found yourself thinking through parts of last night's call. Especially the end.
Would've been a shame.
You groaned and tossed the phone onto the bed beside you. "Get a grip."
The phone buzzed almost immediately.
You grabbed it so fast it was actually embarrassing.
Robby:
Morning
You:
afternoon actually
Robby:
Right
How's the hangover?
You:
presumptuous much?
Robby:
I'll take that as confirmation
You:
i’ve survived worse
Robby:
Doctor approved medical assessment
You:
exactly
The conversation stayed comfortably familiar at first. Small things, nothing important. What he'd done that morning and what you were doing now. The weather in Canada versus Pittsburgh. The coffee he'd burnt.
You laughed quietly at something he'd sent and snapped a quick picture in response.
Mostly intending to show him the disaster of snacks you'd surrounded yourself with on the bed.
You hit send before really looking at it.
A few moments passed, longer than usual. You frowned.
You:
???
The typing bubbles appeared.
Robby:
You know you're in that photo right?
You opened the image again. Your stomach immediately dropped.
Between the blankets and the snacks was a very obvious stretch of bare leg disappearing beneath the hem of your t-shirt. If you zoomed you could definitely see the edge of lace from your panties.
Heat crept into your cheeks.
You:
well
too late now
His reply took a little longer this time.
Robby:
Suppose it is
Something about the message felt different though you couldn't have explained why.
The conversation slowed. Not because either of you wanted it to end but because both of you seemed suddenly aware of it. Aware of each other.
You:
you're being weird
Robby:
I am not
You:
you absolutely are
Robby:
And what if I'm just thinking?
You:
dangerous
Robby:
That's rich coming from you
You laughed and the tension eased for a moment then returned just as quickly. The phone sat warm in your hand. Neither of you quite saying what was on your mind.
Both of you hovering suspiciously close to it.
Then-
A knock sounded at the apartment door. You sat upright.
"Oh for god's sake."
You:
one sec
Robby:
What?
You:
someones here
terrible timing honestly
Robby:
That sounds ominous
You:
don't go anywhere
Robby:
Wasn't planning on it
You tossed the phone onto the bed and headed for the door.
When you pulled it open, Abbot stood on the other side with two coffees in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Jack?"
"Good afternoon."
You stared. He stared back.
"Why are you here?"
"Robby asked me to check the place hadn't burned down."
You folded your arms.
"And?"
Jack looked past you.
"Still standing."
By the time Abbot eventually left, the afternoon had slipped away with him. He'd actually brought you coffee because he was passing by, knew Robby cared about you and wanted to check in. Sweet actually.
Your conversation with Robby had fizzled into a couple of harmless messages before disappearing entirely which somehow felt worse. Because now you were thinking about it and judging by the phone call that arrived later that evening, so was he.
You answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"I can't believe you left me hanging like that."
You laughed immediately. "Excuse me?"
"We were having a conversation."
"Jack showed up at your apartment."
"And somehow that's my fault?"
"Everything's your fault."
His laugh crackled through the speaker.
"You know," he said, quieter this time, "I did actually spend the next few hours wondering what happened."
Your heart stumbled slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
There was a pause. Comfortable but dangerous.
"Well," you said, settling deeper into the sofa. "Lucky for you, I'm free now."
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to make your stomach flip. Then Robby laughed softly.
"Good."
The word settled somewhere low and God you hated that it did. Or maybe you loved it. Either way, you found yourself smiling into the darkness of the apartment.
"You sound very pleased with yourself."
"I am."
You laughed softly.
"Because I answered the phone?"
"Because I was beginning to think Abbot had kidnapped you."
"Trust me, if he'd kidnapped me, you'd know about it."
You eased into conversation again, tucking yourself deeper beneath the blanket, listening to him talk about a trail he'd found that morning. He was halfway through describing some impossible view over a lake when he suddenly stopped.
"Can I ask you something?"
You frowned. "Depends."
"That picture earlier."
Your pulse immediately betrayed you. "What about it?"
There was a pause. "Nothing."
You laughed. "That's not how questions work."
"I know."
"So?"
Another pause. You could practically hear him weighing his words.
"I just didn't realise you'd sent it like that."
Heat crept up your neck.
"Like what?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Unfortunately, you did.
The worst part was how carefully he was speaking. How neither of you was actually saying anything and yet somehow both of you knew exactly what the other was talking about.
"It was an accident."
"I figured."
"You sound disappointed at that."
The silence that followed lasted a fraction too long. Your breath caught, just slightly. Then Robby laughed low and quiet.
"That's a dangerous thing to accuse me of."
You stared at the ceiling. Very aware of the oversized t-shirt you were still wearing and how your nipples were suddenly hard beneath it.
"I think you've become a lot more confident since Alberta."
"Oh yeah? Is that a bad thing?" he asked.
"No, it's kinda sexy actually." You laughed, so did he. Then a second passed and you felt the boldness creep in, so much so it decided your next move. "Do you want me to send another?"
You could practically hear Robby choke on his own breath and in the time he tried to get on top of his words, you'd pulled the blanket away, your phone up high with the front camera on, snapping a pic that showed a lot more than the last.
This time it was the bottom of your face, lips plump and pouty, your t-shirt tugged 'innocently' higher to give way to the band of your panties flashed across your hip. Your legs were crossed, not for the picture but to try and ease the now insatiable ache between them. As for your nipples? There was no denying they were the star of the show.
You sent it before thinking twice.
"Fuck." Robby breathed and you knew he was looking right at you.
"Is that better?"
You heard him take a deep breath and could imagine the blush on his cheeks. "You're gonna be the death of me."
You couldn't help but smile. His voice had gotten lower, a little huskier, almost like he was out of breath.
"Robby?"
"Yeah?" He breathed.
"What are we doing?"
He took a minute to answer. Not sure of what he should say, what he wanted to say. "I don't know." You couldn't see but he rubbed his face over his hand, coming to rest at the base of his neck. "I don't fucking know."
He was sat on the sofa at the cabin. The fire was going, lights dim and warm. Ever since you'd sent that first picture he'd been tight against his jeans but then you sent another and fuck, his hand came to adjust himself over the denim.
"But I'm not sure I can pretend I'm thinking of anything other than that picture right now."
You felt a little smug. That was, after all, why you sent it. It was so nice to feel sexy, for someone to be looking at you the way he was, someone you wanted to see you this way.
"Yeah? What you thinking about?" You knew what you were doing. Knew how it would draw the last breath out of him but you also knew you'd crossed a line and there was no going back. Not that you wanted to.
Your hands trailed over yourself, light touches over the cotton of your t-shirt. Your body jolted when finger tips ghosted the outline of a nipple, trailing left to pay the other as much attention. Fuck, it felt good.
Robby knew the pair of you were in dangerous territory but god, he wanted to be there. His head fell back in disbelief, as if he were mad at himself for what he was about to tell you over the phone.
His resident.
"You touching yourself in my apartment." He paused, waiting to see if he'd taken it too far only to hear a quiet moan from you in response. "Playing with yourself in the guest bedroom..."
"I am." Your hand snaked from your tits slowly to your panties, cupping yourself over the lace and that's when you felt it. "Fuck Robby I'm really wet…”
Jesus Christ. He felt himself jolt against his own hand, the one that was palming the growing outline of his cock.
"Fuck, baby. You're really trying to kill me huh?" He huffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief that this was happening. Almost three months of texts, phone calls, voice notes. A camera roll shared, bad days eased by mindless humour and companionship. A relationship built on all of that.
"You want me to go to your bed?" You almost panted down the line as you moved against your hand. "Fuck myself in your sheets?"
"Shit," He exhaled.
"You want that?"
"Yeah…" His reply was too fast and he cursed himself for it. But all he wanted was the image of you, two fingers deep, coming to his voice while soaking his bed spread. "Please baby, do it for me."
And with that, you got up. He heard rustling down the line as you made your way from the guest bed to Robby's. It wasn't a room you'd gone in much. You'd said you were going to snoop through his drawers, his closet just to be nosy but turns out you had too much respect for his privacy. That was months ago. Now you were crawling onto the bed, setting your phone on speaker next to you as you positioned yourself right in the middle.
Robby was waiting patiently. He'd done no more than rub himself a few times over his jeans, grinding a little into his hand but then knowing it'd be too much and he'd end up blowing his load like a teenager. Instead, he waited. For you. To enjoy you.
You laid your head back against his pillows, inhaling him as if he were right next to you. "Mmm, smells like you in here." You said quietly. "It's like you're here."
He wished he was there. You did too. Wished it was his fingers swiping through your wetness, dipping into your panties and feeling how worked up you'd got from sending him one (not even) dirty photo.
"Tell me what you're doing." It felt like an order even though it wasn't and your pussy jumped at the idea. "Wanna hear you."
"Fuck. 'M rubbing myself over my panties." You whispered lightly. "Wanna take them off."
"Take them off baby." He'd hoped you'd throw them to the side and forget, only for him to find them on his return. "Spread your legs, let me hear."
It'd be hard for him not to hear with how soaked you were.
It was amazing how one phone conversation and suddenly this is how you found yourself, legs open for Michael Robinavitch.
With your panties gone, you anchored your legs apart. Fingers sliding through your dripping slit, gathering your arousal to swirl it in tight circles around your clit. The slick sounds filled the room, they filled the cabin too.
Robby couldn't take it anymore. You heard the sound of metal, a belt unbuckling before a zip slid down in haste. He freed himself, pulling his cock from his boxers, thick and hard. He was leaking from the tip, all red and worked up just from listening to you. It felt so fucking good when he finally stroked himself.
"Oh fuck." He tried to bite it back, failing miserably.
That was music to your ears.
"You hard for me Robby?"
"You have no idea. Feels so fuckin good, thinking about you." He fucked his fist nice and slow, wanting this to last and despite his cock not being inside you, he wanted you to cum first.
You decide it wasn't enough. After all this time, the calls and the pictures, you needed to see him. And you wanted him to see you.
"Wanna see you." You picked up your phone, hand still working your pussy. "Can I face- face time you?" Your words faltered a little as your fingers sped up, rubbing your sensitive clit.
Robby froze for a second. He'd got this worked up just by thinking of you in such a state and now, you were actually going to show him?
"Mhmm, yeah."
And within a second you'd pressed the button the change this to a video call. When he accepted, he saw the dark room lit by a single bedside lamp. You'd slowed your motions for a second, to pick up the phone properly and see him for the first time in months.
"Hey." You smiled, like it didn't matter what the pair of you had been doing just seconds ago. You were so happy to see his face. The slight tan he'd caught, his greyed out beard and stubble around the neck.
"Hey." He couldn't help but smile too. Knowing your hands were down your pants but not being able to get past the heat in your cheeks, how your hair had fallen across the bed and despite stating you had a hangover, you were fucking glowing.
He pondered it for a second, how he might have not noticed this before. The way your eyes narrowed when you smiled, how you looked at him.
"You look beautiful."
That might have turned you on more than anything in the last fifteen minutes. You were breathless, a little wrecked, in disbelief at any of this.
Then you set the phone down on the bedside table to free up your hands. That's when you pulled off the t-shirt entirely, leaving your perfect tits in plain view for Robby to see.
His eyes grew wide as he surveyed every inch of your skin before you laid back into the cushions as you were before, shifting to your side facing the phone.
"Is this what you were thinking about?" You snaked your hand back down to your cunt, dipping in but not all the way, just enough for Robby to hear the slick mess.
"Even better." His hand slowly started to work on himself again, matching your rhythm as he held the phone in front of him.
Your mouth parted when you finally sank a finger inside, then another. Two digits curled deep in your pussy, rolling your hips against them and you never took your eyes off him.
"Fuck Robby." You sped your motions a little, so did he. "Wish it was your fingers, wish it was you inside me."
You weren't sure where it came from. The filthy tongue, the boldness. You weren't shy in bed but he was your boss. The boss you were innocently house sitting for until you decided to get attached.
"Christ." He bit back a moan at your obscenity. "Imagine it's me baby." He started fucking his fist faster, wishing it was your pussy. "Imagine it's my cock deep inside you, I'd fuck you so good, make you feel so fucking good."
It dropped from his tongue with little effort. He thought about how much he wanted to be buried inside you, how he'd wanted that for a while and was too scared to admit it.
"Mmmph Robbyyyy." You whined his name, breathing hard, riding your fingers as you felt the coil tighten in your belly. "Let me see you."
He did the same as you, positioning the phone on the side table that sat at the same height as the sofa. It left him in view from the waist up, free hand roaming his covered chest, the other pumping his cock hard.
You watched him intently. Heard the sounds of precum slickening his strokes as his hips drove up with every beat.
"Fuck I'm close-” You worked yourself with both hands, two buried to the knuckle and the other rubbing your clit with such ferocity. "Really fucking close Robby I think I'm gonna cum soon."
"Cum for me angel, let me see. Such a good girl."
Your hands worked even faster and suddenly, the coil snapped with words of praise and you were coming in Robby's bed.
"Oh my god oh my-” Then silence, your body went rigid as you clamped your hands hard, riding out the most intense orgasm you'd had in years.
You were a sight for sore eyes. Mouth wide open, tits bouncing with every movement and all it took was your guttoral moans for Robby to feel himself close to the edge too. He was fucking himself so hard and fast, it was almost a blur on screen until you heard him pant, a strangled "Uh uh uh" and then-
"I'm gonna cum baby oh fuck-”
You watched him spill his load all over his hand. Thick white ropes dripped down his knuckles, marking his jeans as he stroked himself through it, twitching at his now very sensitive cockhead.
You were both left breathless and sweaty, each reaching for your respective phones.
"You-” He was trying so hard to catch his breath. "-are something else."
You both laughed breathlessly. Fuck, this felt good.
You stayed on the phone for hours after until he ordered you to bed. Told you to sleep well, that he'd be thinking of you.
And that night was the best sleep of your life.
-
Everything felt different after that night except it also all stayed the same.
You spoke every day. Called most nights, FaceTimed, voice noted when you were cooking dinner or carrying groceries. But now it seemed like nothing was left unsaid, that you were both being honest with each other. It was amazing.
The only thing eating away at you right before you fell asleep was the idea this might end. When the three weeks crept closer, when the sabbatical would end. Would everything go back to how it was before?
"Hey can I ask you something?" You broke mid conversation.
"Anything."
"When this is over. Your sabbatical I mean. When you come back and I'm not here." You trailed off slightly. "...Will this all go away?"
There was silence on the line for a second.
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
Your smile reached your ears. Good because-” You inhaled deeply. "I don't think I can go back."
-
You worked like a dog over the next four days.
At one point you'd even picked up a double because Lena had practically begged for night shift cover, and despite every intention of saying no, somehow you'd found yourself agreeing anyway.
It meant you barely saw daylight all week and you didn't get to speak to Robby much either. Not in the way either of you would've liked.
You checked in between shifts, during breaks and whenever you made it home with enough energy to keep your eyes open. He'd send the occasional text during the day, but most of your conversations happened at night. Sometimes a quick call, sometimes longer if exhaustion didn't drag you under first.
It was a brutal four days. By the end of it you were running almost entirely on caffeine and stubbornness, convinced you'd briefly developed double vision somewhere around shift three.
When you finally crawled into bed at the end of it all, you slept hard.
Since your FaceTime call, you hadn't stepped foot in the guest room. Every night you ended up in Robby's bed instead, tangled in his sheets and surrounded by things that smelled faintly like him.
He loved knowing that.
Day five arrived with something close to actual rest. You woke around nine and, for the first time all week, didn't feel like death.
After a shower you made coffee, pulled on some loungewear that wasn't technically pyjamas and settled onto the sofa with every intention of finally finishing the book you'd started at the beginning of all this.
You'd texted Robby before getting in the shower. There was still no reply. You assumed he was asleep or hiking or somewhere without signal. Either way, you weren't worried.
Twenty-five minutes later there was a knock at the door. You sighed immediately.
It had to be Jack.
Apparently nobody trusted you to spend three months in an apartment unsupervised.
Already preparing your speech, you marched towards the door and pulled it open.
The words died in your throat.
"Robby."
For a second your brain simply stopped working. Because Robby was supposed to be in Canada. Robby was supposed to be another two thousand miles away. Robby was supposed to be a voice coming through your phone speaker. Not standing in front of you.
"Hey."
His smile spread slowly across his face, tired and genuine all at once. His cheeks were pink from the road and his eyes looked glassy around the edges, like he'd spent too many hours behind the handlebars and not nearly enough sleeping.
You stared. "What are you doing here?"
He laughed softly. "Good to see you too."
"No, seriously." You gestured vaguely at him and the doorway. What are you doing here? You were in Canada. That's like-" Your brain searched desperately for a number. "It's like five thousand miles."
"Not quite."
"Robby-”
He kissed you.
Just stepped across the threshold and kissed you.
His hands came up to cup your face as he guided you backwards into the apartment, the front door swinging shut somewhere behind him.
Every thought disappeared. All the questions and confusion, gone.
Because he was here, after months of messages and phone calls and hearing his voice through a screen, he was finally here. The last four days worked in his favour, you being so busy. He'd hit the road almost immediately, covering far too much mileage to be considered safe. All to make it back to you.
You kissed him back immediately, both hungry and relieved. Like you were making up for every mile that had sat between Alberta and Pittsburgh.
When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to look at you, forehead resting against yours.
"Two and a half thousand miles," he corrected quietly.
You laughed.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
"You know," you murmured, fingers still wrapped around his wrists, "this is a very dramatic way to get your keys back."
Robby laughed, the sound warm and familiar.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His thumbs swept across your cheeks.
“Good thing I never came back for the keys”
Your heart squeezed.
And this time, when you kissed him, neither of you had anywhere else to be.
The one thing about Brendon Park is that he isn’t shy, he knows what he wants, and he puts it all onto the table. You find that out on your first date with him after what felt like months of swiping on Tinder, “I want to get married” He tells you, just after dinner had been placed in front of you.
“To me?” You quip back, “shoot, I mean I don’t think courthouses are open this late”
He rolls his eyes, “no, I mean. Maybe.”
You smile, this soft smile that highlights how much you had been smiling through this days. Makeup creased into the lines of your cheeks, “I understand, you’re a surgeon. You want kids I assume?”
Brendon cuts into his steak, “that and, someone who’s waiting at home for me, not that I expect a woman- you’re very well educated you have a brilliant job. I don’t expect anyone to wait at home for me but- it’s nice waking up to a warm body. Having a reason to leave the hospital”
You nod, slowly biting a piece of the chicken. Humming in delight, “I understand. I get lonely too. I think I’ve redownloaded tinder, hinge, bumble about a thousand times”
That entices a snicker out of him, “honestly, I got it one night after a bad date from one of my coworkers. Figured no harm”
You nod, “so coworkers, you like them?”
Brendon shakes his head, “not at all, yours?”
You nod, “well, I work in government so I sorta have to say yes”
He pays for dinner, offers to walk with you around downtown Pittsburgh, holds your hand when you reach for it when you guide him somewhere, “you don’t come here a lot huh?” You ask, falling in quick steps beside him, your pinky still entwined with his, “to the downtown area?”
Brendon looks out, “usually after work I just want to get home, I used to go to the farmers market, but I guess I just stopped going”
You hum, “I try to go, usually when my nieces and nephews come for summer”
“You have nieces?”
You nod, “Leah and Noah. Twins. They’re nine. My sister and brother in law come out every summer. We rent a house in Bay Shore, by Philadelphia. Spend summer there” You explain, “they live in Wyoming, her husband is in rodeo”
Brendon nods, “dangerous job”
“Yeah. But I think they’re thinking of moving here. He recently broke his hip in two places so she’s been pushing for him to, y’know settle down”
Brendon wraps the whole of your hand in his, letting you balance on him as your walking slows, pace shifting as you try and find a better way to walk on your stilettos. When you saw how tall he was you’d figured no reason to not where heels; and were now regretting the choice of not wearing the smaller heels, “you alright?” Brendon pauses, as you shift slightly.
“Yeah, my feet are killing me. Im having too much fun with you though”
He smiles softly, “I can carry you back to your car?”
You think he’s joking at first, it’s why you scoff out a, “yeah, sure. Right”
But he does, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, legs kicked over his arm and back pressed into his forearm, “see? Where’d you park?”
Brendon Park makes it obvious he likes you more than as friends, because who else brings you flowers once a week during his day off. This towering bulky man carrying the most delicate peonies in his arms, “I got you peonies this time”
You look up, smile already creasing your lips as you push up from your desk, “these are beautiful Brendon… you really don’t have to do all of this y’know?”
He raises his eyebrow, “I do, I like doing it. I like that you know Im interested in you”
You raise onto your tip toes, kissing his cheek softly, leaving a slight mark of your red lipstick on his cheek, “thank you. I’ll call you tonight?”
He nods, leaning down to kiss you on your lips. Soft, and sweet. Like a promise of tomorrow, that he’ll probably see you tonight. And he’ll see you this weekend too.
It doesn’t take long before you’re actually dating officially, deleting dating apps, even if they’d been deleted the night after your first date. And then you’re spending the night at his house.
That big, empty house with rooms to fill. You’ve been together for six months when you ask about kids, “were. We’re in it for the long run right?” You ask, rubbing his chest softly to stir him back awake.
Brendon grumbles before turning his head to you, eyes closed but ears listening, “we’re getting married, not now. But yeah I want to marry you. Is that what you mean?”
“I meant like. I know we’re gonna get married. Pretty sure you said that on our first date” you toss your leg over his hip. Cuddling into his chest, “I meant like kids, do you want kids?”
“Yes. If you want them” He nods, rubbing between your shoulders, “what ring do you want, for your engagement ring”
Now it’s your turn to close your eyes and listen, “oh. Oval, I don’t really care what size, as long as it’s not like. Microscopic. Clean. Silver band; or white gold” you explain, “I can send you some pictures in the morning?”
“Sounds good, I think- your sister and I are going ring shopping, I know it’s supposed to be a surprise but. I want to make sure I get you something you like. That we’re on the same page”
He can feel you nod against him, yawn and stretch out slightly before rolling over. His silent signal you’re ready to be the little spoon, and he’s happy to oblige.
It’s how he ends up married a year after your first date, it’s a silent affair. Your family, his. Golf course in July.
And after years of coming home alone, waking up by himself. He finally has someone warm to wake up to, to kiss in the morning. At least; before your daughter Evangeline starts wailing.
warnings: rossi!reader, reader is insanely smart, not as smart as spencer but still smart, takes place at the end of season 7 episode 2
summary: you come home to your dad giving a random cooking lesson to his team, which you didn't expect, but what you didn't expect more was to see the cute guest speaker that spoke at your college a few years ago
a/n im willing to write more for this I just had this idea and had to write it, also creds to @spencereidluver for the inspo I love the idea of reader related to Rossi and I can't wait to finish reading ur story
Normal was never a word you would use to describe your dad, but sometimes even he surprised you with just how random he could be sometimes. He had always been the one taking care of you since your mom was rarely in the picture. He always made sure to get you whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted it. He took you to Disney for your 5th birthday, and splurged to buy you and your best friend tickets to your favorite concert for your 16th birthday. You were his favorite thing in the entire world and he would do almost anything for you.
He was always proud of you whether it was winning first place in your fourth grade spelling bee, or having taken enough college classes at the local community college to graduate high school with your associate's degree. Not to mention while being valedictorian, class president, and juggling even clubs to put a clown to shame.
That especially applied when you got into one of your dream universities, Virginia Tech, and the tuition had cost enough to fund a small city. Of course, your dad saw it as no problem and paid it as quickly as he could. You then spent the summer before you left getting everything you could possibly need for that following you.
Then for the next four years you would occasionally make the drive to visit whenever you had the time to and felt like it. Once you graduated with your bachelor's you then applied for your master's degree at Yale. You thought it was a long shot, but Yale had always been one of the places you aspired to go too, but never thought you were good enough. Or, you thought you'd pull a Rory Gilmore and mess up your life and derail all of your dreams.
Fortunately though, whenever you thought you were about to crash and burn, your dad was there to put the fire out. He managed to calm every storm of yours that threatened to mess up everything you had worked so hard towards. You were forever grateful to have someone so supportive as your dad, even if you did occasionally have a few hiccups along the way.
You still visited your dad when you could, just not every weekend like you used to be able to. But, you made time every once in a while to visit him when you weren't busy and you made sure to make it back every holiday season and every summer to see him.
Now after graduating with your master's three years ago you were on your second year of your PHD. You decided to take a gap year after working so hard the past four years, which you greatly benefited from. Your dad had suggested it after seeing you almost fully burn out near the end of your masters. Your dad gave you money to travel around the world for a bit before returning home for the remainder of your time. That year made you feel ready and confident enough to apply for your PHD at Yale, and now after nearly two years you haven't gotten as burnt out as you used to, which you accredit to your dad suggesting your gap year.
After finishing a paper you had spent the last few months on you had a small break before you needed to start working on your next assignment. You decided to take that time to visit your dad down in Virginia. You had left sometime in the early afternoon, but due to the long drive you hadn't arrived till after the sun had gone down.
You pulled into the driveway, and usually you would've noticed the extra amount of cars. Except, you were so exhausted from the drive, that you beelined straight to the front door once you got out of your car. You unlocked the front door with your house key, trying not to slam the front door close as you walked inside.
"I'm home," you shouted, your voice sing-songy as it rang throughout the house.
You heard laughter down the hall in the kitchen, which was unusual in your dad's house. He wasn't one to have people over often. You sent your bags down in the hallway to worry about later as you followed the voices. You turned the corner to see a group of people in the kitchen, blocking your dad from view.
"What is going on?" you questioned, too tired to logically understand what was happening.
Everyone in the kitchen turned around to look at you. Most of them were holding a glass of wine and those that weren't were busy trying to clean up some sort of spill on the counter. Your dad finally noticed you, lighting up at your presence.
"Look whose home to do their laundry," your dad joked as he made his way around the kitchen to give you a hug.
You swiftly hugged him back before pulling away.
"I'm not just here to do my laundry," you said.
"So there is a pile of laundry that desperately needs to be done?"
You rolled your eyes at him, "I'm twenty five I can do my own laundry at home."
"Don't remind me how old you are," he said, "It reminds me just how old I am."
You both laughed before one of the strangers in your kitchen asked a question.
"So this is the famous David Rossi's daughter I'm assuming?" the blonde haired woman asked.
Your dad turned around to present you to the group of people in the kitchen.
"This is my team," he said, then pointed to each individual person, "This is Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, and of course Aaron Hotchner."
"Its good to see you," Hotch said, giving you a nod.
You've known him since you were a kid and had been someone you saw around occasionally your whole life. You actually babysat Jack for him once when he was in desperate need of a babysitter and you were luckily in town that day. To you Hotch was like the favorite uncle that you look forward to seeing at family reunions.
The rest of the team greeted you, shaking your hand, and smiling at you. They seemed like good people, but you weren't surprised since your dad would only want to work with the best of the best.
"Can I ask what's going on here?" you questioned, still confused as to why all these people were in your kitchen.
"Ah," your dad said, returning to his spot behind the counter, "I am giving these guys a much needed cooking lesson."
You nodded your head, "I see, and I assume it's going good since nothing is on fire."
Jennifer, or JJ, as she told you to call her, chuckled at your words and so did Emily.
"There wasn't a fire, but the counter and floor is covered in pasta sauce currently," Derek said, holding up the roll of paper towels in his hand.
You just shrugged, "It could be worse," you told them, "There's a crack right there from when my dad dropped a pot on the side of the counter."
You pointed at the spot thinking of the memory. Technically he dropped it because you had accidentally distracted him, but the team didn't need to know that.
"You're bringing that up?" your dad asked, to which you nodded, "Alright, then how about the scorch mark on my cabinet, or the countless times you've set off the smoke detectors?"
You made a face as your dad recounted your accidents in the kitchen, "Touché," you said, "Anyway, it was great meeting you guys, but I had a long drive and I think I'm gonna call it a night."
The team said a murmurer of goodnights to you as you turned around to make your way to your room. You thought of your bed and how soft it would be and how cold your pillow probably was. You thought about how fast you would fall asleep once you were all snuggled up in your bed, but that thought was broken the second you collided with someone's chest.
You were dazed for a second, but then took a step back, and looked up at the tall stranger in front of you. He said an array of sorries as he frantically apologized for not paying attention to where he was going.
"It's fine," you said, a small smile on your face from how worried he seemed.
"Sorry," he mumbled one more time before fully setting his gaze on you.
You looked up at him and were immediately entranced by him. Not just because of his pretty brown eyes, or how gorgeous he looked to the point you physically felt like your eyes were glued to his, but because of something else.
Someone in the kitchen cleared their throat, snapping you out of your daze as your head whipped around to see your dad looking at the two of you.
You turned back to the man in front of you, "Sorry," you said, "I just thought I recognized you from somewhere."
You were too tired to care about filtering out your thoughts and instead let your curiosity be spoken.
"I see," he said nervously, starting to fidget with his hands.
You two were silent for a second before your dad spoke for the two of you.
"Spencer," he said, getting the man's attention, "This is my daughter [name] Rossi, [name], this is the BAU's resident genius, Dr. Spence Reid."
At the mention of his name a lightbulb went off in your head as you immediately remembered how you recognized him.
"I know how I know you," you said, "You were a guest lecturer at Yale a few years back."
He nodded, "I did, I was a few times actually."
"I remember, I was doing my master's back then," you told him as he listened intently as you spoke.
"I'm guessing a chemistry or psychology major then?" he guessed.
You shook your head, "Sorry, but you're wrong there Dr."
His face contorted in confusion, "But I only ever taught those back there."
"My friends majored in those subjects and they convinced me to go with them," you said with a shrug, "I could barely pass high school chem, and surprisingly I'm not all that into psychology."
"Oh," he said, "What did you major in then?"
"Physics," you told him, "Currently I'm working on my PHD."
"Really?" he exclaimed, lighting up like a Christmas tree, "What specifically are you studying?"
"Astrophysics."
"You can't be that bad at chemistry then," he said, "The study of exoplanets requires chemistry to understand their exact makeup of their chemical compounds."
"That's why I study stars, no organic chemistry there."
"Why organic chemistry?" he asked, confused as to why you brought that up.
"Cause that's what your lecture was on," you said, surprised he forgot since he said he had an eidetic memory.
"Oh, right," he said, "Guess I forgot."
You thought that was weird, but let it slide.
"It was nice meeting you, but I had a long drive and I'm exhausted."
"Oh, yeah, it was nice meeting you too," he said, moving out of your way for you to make your way to your room, but before you could fully make it past him he spoke again, "Uh, nice shirt by the way."
His voice got quieter as he finished his sentence as if he was losing the confidence he was trying to gain to compliment you.
You looked down at your shirt as your smile grew, "Thanks,"
It was one of your stupid science shirts your dad had bought you as a joke a couple years ago. You continued your way to your room, unable to wipe the smile off of your face. Of course the genius your dad had told you about who had more degrees than you did years in college, appreciated your funny nerd shirt. You were so enthralled in your conversation with the Dr. that apparently you hadn't noticed how the entire team was watching the two of you, until you could faintly hear them teasing Spencer.
The second you laid down on your bed and your head hit the pillow your eyes were shut and you were moments away from a deep slumber. Some of your last thoughts consisted of Spencer and the hope that you would see him again soon.
Valarr Targaryen x highborn!reader (no physical description, no specific house mentioned, pick one for yourselves:))
Summary: based on this idea. Valarr has always been a shy, slightly socially inept child, until you held out your hand and invited him to join your friend group. The friendship blooms, and soon you are each other's dearest, closest childhood companions. So close, in fact, that you write a pact to marry each other when you both come of age. When your family has to leave King's Landing, you are devastated, but Valarr promises you will meet again when you are to wed each other. A decade later, you've forgotten about the contract, but he never has.
Tags/Tropes: fluff! so much fluff! friends to lovers, he falls first and hardest, innocent love, betrothal, getting together, reader is oblivious and confused until the end, childhood friends, yearning Valarr, YEARN pretty boy yearn!, Baelor has a headache. Reader has supportive parents (don't we all wish for some)
Rating: sfw (surprise!)
My Masterlist
WC: 12,960 words (whoopsie)
-
197 AC
The godswood of the Red Keep was full of children's laughter. In the wake of the Blackfyre rebellion, it had been nigh on two and a half years since these woods had been graced with the pitter-patter of the small feet, loud giggles which cut through the air like little wind chimes and screams of joy. Now the little lordlings and ladies were returning to the godswood, the heavy air of solemnity lifted like a veil.
Valarr was sitting by the heart tree, watching the other children play come-into-my-castle from afar. The little prince, at the green age of five, was fidgeting with the hem of his cloak with his little fingers, wishing but not daring to join the game. In the middle of the makeshift castle's borders made out of tree branches, Aelor, his cousin, only one year his elder, was holding his court with a young courtier's son. Around them were at least five to six other children of the Keep, shouting out their suggestions for the identity of the lord of the keep.
"By your weirwood tree you can only be the bannerman of Lord Tully, Lord Bracken, and so I name you" the courtier's little son declared at the entrance of the tree branch castle, his chest puffed out in certainty.
"Wrong! You're all wrong! I'm Lord Blackwood, you've got my sigil all wrong!" Aelor shouted out in joy, pumping his small fist in the air. "Nobody made it into my castle, so I win!"
Valarr got up from his observation post, and timidly made his way to the group of boys. "Aelor, I want to play too! Maester Archibald said that I am good at learning the sigils of the houses! I could.."
"No! we don't have any more space for you, cousin. We're already too many, and we have to wait so long for our turns", Aelor cut him off. The older princeling had never liked his cousin very much, his mismatched blue and brown eyes and dark brown hair with only a thin streak of white drawing a stark contrast to the rest of his family. Everybody else had beautiful, pure Valyrian features, even Daeron, with his dirty blond hair, had lilac eyes to show for it. But Valarr looked half Dornish in coloring, just like his father Baelor.
Rejection stung Valarr's eyes, especially after he had been so brave to get up and ask the boys to play. As he nodded and made his way back to the heart tree, a small hand reached out and tapped on his shoulder.
When he turned around, he came face to face with you, a child of five as well. You had a big grin on your face, eyes twinkling and hair done up in a braided bun. He knew you from sight; your mother had come to court recently with her household to be a companion to his own mother.
"Our mothers are friends, so we should be friends too!" You exclaimed, "we're going to play monsters and maidens, you should come play with us!" You waved at the little group of boys and girls a few yards away.
Valarr blushed at the invitation. Though children were careless beings, they weren't careless enough to disregard the obvious hierarchy between their parents. Other children were taught to be weary of accidentally injuring him; leading to most other children's hesitation to let him into their games. He felt addressed to as an ordinary child for the first time in his short life, and grasped his first chance at a friendship with his small hands.
When he nodded, you took his hand in yours, shouted out to your little group of friends that he "absolutely had to join" your game of chase, and hurriedly dragged him to them.
That was the first time he felt the warm, fluttering happiness of making a new, genuine friend.
-
The two of you were fast friends, soon inseparable apart from the hours spent at your lessons. When Valarr would curl up with a fairytale book under a tree, his little head already adept with his letters, — maesters called him a prodigy, already reading deftly and starting to write at only five years of age — you'd sprawl out next to him and listen to him read aloud stories of knights, dragons, and princesses, begging him to read you another story before supper time.
"If we were the princess and the knight from the story, we could befriend the dragon instead of killing it", you mumbled, staring into the leaves rustling in the wind and the bright blue sky. "We could fly away on the dragon, and build a castle on a beautiful unknown island. Then we'd only eat cake, and go on adventures all the time, just the three of us. We'd declare the island ours, and nobody else would be allowed in!"
Valarr's cheeks flushed pink. You liked it when he blushed, you liked pink and you liked Valarr's squishy cheeks. It was a great combination.
"But what about our families?" He lightly furrowed his brows. Valarr, the little prince, so dutiful even at his age.
"They could still visit us whenever they want, they're family!" You exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing. "
"That'd be nice", he smiled lightly, already envisioning your castle on an island far away, living with you, the dragon, and flying into the sunset for adventures. He'd be your knight, and you'd be his princess. He'd protect you from any harm and get you all the lemon cakes you wanted.
-
198AC
When Valarr's sixth nameday came, you'd already been six for three whole moon cycles. By then, you'd been inseparable for almost a year, and your families were completely endeared by your friendship.
You woke up on the morrow buzzing from excitement for your closest companion's nameday, almost vibrating in your chair while breaking your fast with your parents. They suggested visiting prince Baelor's family in his solar to bring his son's nameday present, a richly ornamented saddle for his pony.
"Val's six too now, Papa!" you cried out, elated by the thought of being allowed to visit your friend so early in the morning.
"That he is, my darling." His eyes crinkled in amusement.
You were practically bouncing at the door when your household set out from your quarters, running laps around your parents and the servants holding the big boxes meant for Valarr.
When your little procession arrived at the door to Baelor's solar, you sprinted off and nimbly sidestepped the poor startled guards at the door, slamming the doors open and running into the room to see your dearest friend.
"Happy nameday Val!" You shouted, running straight at him and hugging him tightly. The impact of the hug was great enough that he let out a huff of breath, and only croaked out a quiet "thank you".
Behind you, your parents were apologizing to the guards, but entered nevertheless, and greeted the heir's household. The servants placed the present boxes on the floor next to the gift pile, then bowed before they took their leave.
"My prince, dear Jena, we wish you the jolliest and the most blessed nameday for Prince Valarr. Apologies for our daughter's.. overflowing enthusiasm to congratulate his little grace."
Your mother dipped into a curtsy, your father bowing his head next to her.
Lady Jena was having none of the formalities, and crossed the room in quick steps to greet your mother in a hug, followed by two quick kisses on the cheeks. "Thank you dearly to you both for the lovely wishes, that is most kind. And Baelor and I are simply delighted that our children are so close. It endears me greatly that their friendship blooms so wonderfully just as ours did."
As the adults sat on the high-backed lounge chairs while discussing their mysterious adult topics, Valarr and you padded to his little brother's crib, Valarr wishing to introduce you to his mere 3-weeks old baby brother.
"He's so little", you wondered at his impossibly tiny hands and feet.
"His name is Matarys", Valarr introduced him. "Matarys, this here is my closest friend", he then solemnly introduced you to the little newborn, stating your given and family name to the babe as if the little one was to remember it. You giggled at that, and played with his tiny hands.
"Do you want to open the gifts with me?" Valarr suggested, pointing at the high-piled boxes of gifts from the entire realm.
You nodded, excited at unboxing the undoubtedly beautiful gifts sent to the crown prince. You both sat at the foot of the pile cross-legged, delightedly tearing through the delicate packaging and revealing the gifts one by one. There was a bejeweled dagger, the pommel a golden dragon's head with a ruby in its open maw. The next was a beautifully stitched doublet, made of shining black and red velvet. Your parents had gifted him a gilded saddle and bridle for his pony, with jeweled ornaments running through the straps. As you looked through the gifts, your face suddenly saddened.
"What's the matter?" Valarr asked, his brows scrunching up in concern.
"I have nothing to gift you", you murmured, fidgeting with your necklace. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, commissioned by Baelor at Valarr's insistent demand for your last nameday. The fine golden chain held a delicate pendant, a huge blue topaz placed between winding golden vines. Baelor and Jena had gifted you a matching diadem, a masterpiece done by the castle's goldsmith with blue topaz ornaments and swirling ivy vines.
You regretted not insisting on getting Valarr a present of your own, especially as he had asked his father to commission something so beautiful just for you three moons ago.
Valarr's eyebrows furrowed further in confusion. "Your parents have already gifted me the saddle and bridle. You have no need to get me anything else."
You shook your head, and looked down to the floor in consideration. Then, you took your ring off your pointer finger, a small signet ring with your family's sigil on it.
"I can't take that, that's yours." Valarr shook his head.
"Yes you can, I have many other rings just like this", you insisted as you took his left hand and slid it onto his index finger. "Also, now you have a gift from just me, which is good because best friends should always gift each other things for their namedays."
Valarr flushed while looking down at the signet ring on his finger. He didn't protest any longer, and smiled shyly at you. "Thank you. I'll always cherish it." He nodded solemnly with his promise.
-
The idea came to you on a sunny day, when you were both lying in the grass, out of breath from the last game of monster and maiden. The two of you hadn't found any other children to join you, already tied up in other games or off to lessons. But playing only with Valarr was just as fun as with the whole group, his company always beat everybody else's. You were looking up at the clouds, thinking that they looked like a herd of sheep traversing a light blue lake.
Suddenly, the idea struck you.
“Val,” you called, and he hummed in response. “We should get married when we’re older.”
Valarr craned his neck around to look at you, confusion evident in his eyes.
“If we get married, we could be best friends like this forever. Just the two of us. Septa Marya says that one day, my parents will choose a Lord for me to marry, but I don’t want to do that. We could get married like the princess and the knight, and go on adventures and see all the wonders of the world, just like in the books.” You continued, still gazing up at the clouds, imagining the scenes from the fairytales.
He smiled at that. “Yes, we should get married when we’re grownups. I’d like that. Maybe we could go sailing across the Jade Sea, I read that dragons still live there.”
You sat up, looking at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Do you promise?"
"I promise. On my honor." He sat up to face you, and nodded with all the solemness a six-year-old could muster.
"We need a more serious promise, though. In case we grow up and forget", you added.
Valarr hummed in agreement. "We could make a vow on the parchment. My father says that a promise made with words on a parchment and then sealed with the houses' sigils are binding."
"If you want to promise to marry me", he quickly added, a soft blush creeping onto his cheeks. "You don't have to if you don't want to." But your excitement took momentum, and now you were consumed by the idea of being being friends with Valarr forever, without having to marry someone you did not know yet like Septa Marya said.
"I want to! We have to get married Val, it would be the best thing! But," you hesitated. "How would we make the vow? I don't know how that works."
"I saw a parchment at my father's desk once, I can do it. We just need the big signet rings from our fathers so we can stamp the seals." Val's so smart, you marveled.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with barely muffled giggles and whispers, as Valarr fleshed out the plan for you. Your little conspiracy meeting only ended when your mothers each sent their maidservants to collect you for supper; even then, you parted ways reluctantly.
-
The two of you chose to execute your plan while the royal party was on a hunting trip. Your parents would be absent from the Keep, with only the servants and the maester or septa to keep watch over you. It would almost be too easy to sneak off to the Hand's Tower and draft an unofficial official document.
After your parents left the Keep, you sneaked to the solar, where your father's velvet doublet hung over the backrest of a chaise longue. When you patted the breast pocket, where you had observed your father tucking his ring into before riding off to the kingswood, you felt the distinct shape of a ring under your fingers. You pocketed it, evading the eyes of the maidservants. Your heart was beating wildly, and your hands were visibly shaking, never having taken something without leave before like this. But as you left the quarters and headed to the Hand's Tower, the anxiety soon turned into giddiness, with your giggles barely contained as you skipped the rest of the way.
This felt like an adventure, a mischief, something that the characters from your fairytale did. Like a princess outwitting a cruel witch to reverse her spells, or a young knight valiantly stealing the keys to the cage of his one true love from the pockets of the sleeping giant. If you did this, you and Valarr could live out your dreams, never separated from each other's closest friend.
Valarr was waiting at the door to his father's office, grinning widely from excitement. The door was not locked by some wonder, and the two of you padded in to the chamber, giggling and whispering from the excitement.
Valarr sat himself in his father's chair, sitting at the edge of the seat so he'd be able to reach over the desk, while you sprawled across the armchair, facing him. "So what now?" You asked. Valarr was the mastermind of this plan, after all.
"Now, we write our promises", Valarr stated, pulling out a blank parchment from a drawer after searching for a moment. He dipped the quill into the inkpot, and his hand hovered over the empty page. "Are you sure?" He raised his eyebrows, seeking your confirmation with a hint of insecurity in his expression.
"Yes! It's going to be amazing when we're married, Val. We're going to go see the God's Eye, the Free Cities, and have a baker make us treats for all meals!" You giggled. Your priorities clearly stood with confectioneries tied to the royal sugar bakers.
"I am going to need to see how to write just like father does", Valarr mumbled as he pulled a parchment with a filled out contract — something about orchards and taxes — and a seal stamped upon it, "it needs to look official."
Valarr was now leaning over the parchment, occasionally looking over to his reference material, brows furrowed in concentration so the letters would be as orderly as possible. While he painstakingly wrote down the short terms of your contract, you were busy lying across the armchair and listing off all the things you wanted to do once you were grown up. Valarr, ever the polite, dutiful child, made sure to answer with "yes, sure" or a hum every once in a while.
Once done, he pushed the parchment filled with his over to you, his eyes shining with pride. On top of the parchment, both of your names were listed with the proper titles.
This contract made on the fifth day of the seventh moon of year 198 AC between the two persons parties above binds them in a pact of marriage. When Prince Valarr Targaryen comes of age, the two parties will be joined in marriage in a sacred ceremony.
This agreement is valid in every corcom circumstance without conditions.
Signed,
Valarr Targaryen
Your lips moved quietly as you sounded the words out, stumbling over the unfamiliar words. Next to his signature at the bottom of the page, the three-headed dragon of his house was drawn clumsily.
"What is a pact?" You lifted your eyes, curious over the new word.
"I think it means an agreement or promise in official words, I found it on this sheet." Valarr waved the other parchment in his hand.
You nodded, quietly marveling at Valarr's adeptness with his letters. The words sounded so grown-up; and the penmanship was slightly wonky, but to you, it looked as perfect as any.
"Now what?" You asked again.
"Now you sign your name, and we stamp it. Then, it's official." Valarr said solemnly.
You took the quill from his hand, and dipped it into the ink. Septa Marya had shown you how to write your name, stating that it was the foremost essential thing a lady should be able to spell. You pressed the tip of the quill into the page, your effort evident in your furrowed brows and tongue sticking out of the side of your mouth. The signature was a little shaky, but it was written in your best cursive, and you reckoned Septa Marya would be proud. Then, you scribbled the sigil of your house next to it, just as Valarr had.
"Now, we stamp", Valarr put the stick of black wax on the desk, a slight look of hesitation on his face. He was afraid of burning his fingers on it, but he tried his best not to show it as he heated it against the candlelight and dripped the wax onto the parchment. He then rummaged through the drawers and produced a big signet ring, which he then pressed into the wax. You watched, fascinated by the process. Elated, you took the wax from his hand and copied his actions, stamping your father's signet ring into the little pool of wax.
"Is it done? Is it official now?" You bounced in your seat, clapping your hands from excitement while Valarr blew on the seals to dry them.
"It is", he confirmed once he was done, a big grin splitting his face. You squealed, then pulled him down from his father's chair to hug him tightly. You were going to marry Valarr, and now you were going to be best friends with him until the end of days.
-
The news of your departure from King's Landing came abruptly on a cloudy afternoon. Your parents had summoned you to the solar after your lessons, and sat you down on the armchair across from them with a serious look on their face.
Your initial confusion faded and a feeling of despair and sadness descended upon you as they explained that you'd all have to return home. As they went on about the inheritance conflicts between the minor houses of your region and how they, as their liege, would have to be present to manage the quarrels, your mind wandered to everything you’d be leaving behind. What of your friends here? What of the delicious cakes and beautiful gardens? And most importantly, what of Valarr, your best friend?
Their faces blurred as your eyes welled up with tears. Although you pressed your lips together to appear brave, a helpless sob wrenched itself from your mouth.
Your mother noticed your distressed state, leaving her seat to kneel before your armchair and hug you tightly until you'd calmed. Your mother's hand drew slow circles on your back, whispering words of consolation.
"When do we leave?" You asked as your mother loosed her hug, teardrops clinging to your lashes.
"In four days, at daybreak." Your father had a look of sadness as well, knowing that his daughter had found true, close friends at court. His guilt at having to tear you away from them due to his and your mother's duties as lord and lady paramount apparent in his expression. He’d always been exceptionally lenient to his only daughter’s wishes, but now he was faced with a wish he could not possibly fulfill.
But the promise. What of the promise with Valarr? You were going to get married. Panic washed over you.
"But what about Valarr? We were going to get married. I promised him," the truth spilled out of you with a new wave of tears. You let out a poorly contained sob, and your mother held you again in her arms as you buried your face in her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, sweetling. We both are. But sadly, it cannot be helped." She patted your back, assuming the talk of marriage was simply a talk of a child's whimsy, a play-pretend between two children. Children could be quite imaginative when playing, after all.
You sniffled, but nodded. No more fairytale readings with Valarr, no more playing lord of the crossing or monsters and maidens with the children of the court — and Valarr, of course —, and no more pony rides with your parents and Prince Baelor's household. Your little heart ached from the farewell, but you knew you could not stay when your parents were returning to your ancestral home.
When you took your leave to go to the godswood, your eyes were still red and swollen from the tears. Valarr spotted you from afar, and got up from his seat under the heart tree — our seat, you thought — to greet you, but his face fell when he saw your expression. He placed the fairytale tome on the ground, and walked up to you to meet you halfway.
"What's the matter?" His eyes searched your face, seemingly trying to guess the source of your distress from your look alone.
"We're leaving, Val. Mama and Papa just told me", you choked out, the lump in your throat from suppressing another sob growing almost painful.
His eyes widened at first, then fell into a sad frown. "But you're coming back, right?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't know", the corners of your mouth tilted down even further, "could be months, years 'till we get back.”
His gaze fell to the ground, his lips pulled into a taught, downward frown mirroring yours. He started fidgeting with the ring on his index finger, your signet ring on his index finger.
"It's going to be okay", he tried to be reassuring, though his voice shook slightly. "We took a vow, remember? When we're grown up, we'll get married, and we'll see each other again then. I will make sure of it."
"Promise?" Your voice trembled.
"Promise." Valarr nodded. Your Valarr. Your dearest, closest friend in the world. You nodded back, and you walked together to the heart tree, settling into your usual seats, and Valarr opened the book to read out your favorite story anew for the umpteenth time, the one about the princess, the knight, and the fearsome dragon.
-
208 AC
You sat on the terrace of your ancestral home, overlooking the gardens. The warm, early spring breeze threaded through your hair, the sun shining gently over your skin. The gardeners were working tirelessly, planting saplings and flower seeds for them to bloom once summer came. The watered wine on the side table had grown lukewarm under the sun’s rays, the open book in your lap laid forgotten as you watched the gardeners work their magic.
“My lady,” your maidservant called gently from behind you. “Your lord father wishes for you to join for afternoon tea in his solar now.”
You simply nodded, closing the book shut and placing it on the side table to stand up from your comfortable seat. Your mind was still firmly with the gardens, and what it would look like once the fruit tree saplings and the flowers bloomed. You hoped that there were peach trees among those planted today, peach tarts were truly one of the most delicious creations in the whole realm.
When you reached the double doors to your father’s solar, you waved off the guard’s question to whether he should announce your arrival, and swung the doors open yourself. Your parents were already seated at the tea table, lounging comfortably while leading a hushed discussion with smiles on their faces. You chose a chaise longue to sprawl on, and picked up a lime biscuit to nibble on.
“Father, mother, what might be the joyous matter you are discussing?” You raised an eyebrow, ignoring all the crumbs that were spilling all over your gown.
“We have royal invitations to the Red Keep, we leave in a sennight’s time,” your mother turned to you, a smile spreading on her face at the thought of visiting her dear friend, Lady Jena. “It will be marvelous to return there, do you remember when we spent a year at the Keep? You used to have quite a few friends there as a girl.”
You vaguely recalled the hazy memories, already a decade past now. Running through the godswood, learning to ride a pony, the games played with the other children, and the stories read under the heart tree.
“I remember,” you smiled, “I was devastated when we left. I think I had quite a nice time there.”
“You did,” your father smiled fondly. “And we think it would be nice for us to visit again. Your mother has missed Lady Jena’s company dearly, and you could reunite with your childhood companions. We would like for you to accompany us to the Red Keep.”
Your mind then jogged a deep-seated memory, Valarr. Your Valarr, who had been one of your dearest childhood companions. You remembered his plump cheeks, the curious white streak through his hair, and his mismatched eyes. For a few months after your departure, you had exchanged ravens - you had help from Septa Marya to write your letters - but, as children go, the contact had dwindled slowly. But he had always held a fond, nostalgic space in your heart.
The idea of seeing your childhood friend was not entirely unpleasant, you decided. You pouted in consideration, then asked: “What is the occasion, anyway?”
“The King has declared a royal tournament in honor of Prince Valarr’s sixteenth nameday. There will be plenty of our bannermen participating, and some of your cousins. You will not lack in company whilst we reside there.” Your father explained.
“And it would be a marvelous opportunity to find you a match! You’re a woman grown, love, and perhaps a handsome Lord or knight would catch your fancy,” your mother added joyfully.
You weighed the pros and cons on your mental scale, your pout persisting as you looked down at your tea cup. The long carriage ride to the Red Keep sounded dreadfull, but the occasion did seem quite merry. Plus, if you were lucky enough, you could secure a match of your preference as to avoid marrying an old, wrinkly Lord as some of your lady acquaintances had. Finally, you gave a nod in agreement.
“Wonderful! Remember darling, we leave in a sennight. Make sure to instruct your maids to pack your prettiest gowns! Oh, what a beautiful feast it will be,” your mother clapped her hands in elation, then sighed with a dreamy look. Your mother did always regard these occasions with her typical sense of whimsy, and her excitement to revisit her old friend, Lady Jena, only fanned her joy.
You nodded and smiled, perhaps it would indeed be nice to visit the place from your childhood again.
-
As the guests to his nameday tournament continued to stream in through the Red Keep’s gate, his eyes searched through the processions, his ears perking up at every announcement of the stewards. Most guests were arriving many days in advance to the festivities, but the presence he was most looking forward to was nowhere to be seen yet, despite the letter of acceptance sent by a raven days ago. He fidgeted nervously with the little signet ring on his right little finger, the child's ring now being too small for any other digit.
As he mechanically greeted the arriving Lords and Ladies, his mind kept wandering off to the neatly folded piece of parchment in his desk drawer. Only three more days, he reminded himself. Only three more days before his nameday, and there would be no more proposals of marriage pacts from houses he cared little for, no more dutifully reviewing the portraits sent from every corner of the realm, and he could finally declare his intentions before his family and the council.
As the sun started hanging low, his hopes for the day were starting to dwindle as well, before he spotted a procession in the distance, the unmistakable flag whipping in the wind with your sigil proudly stitched upon it. His heart leapt up in anticipation, but he commanded himself to remain steady at his father’s side.
It seemed to take an eternity for the carriage to finally pass through the gates and spill out its inhabitants. As he duly noted your father and your mother stepping out of the carriage, his eyes were tirelessly searching for your familiar face. When he finally spotted you, it felt as if the gods had slowed time before his eyes.
It had been almost a decade since you last saw each other. He had been besotted with you then, a simple playground child’s fancy, but now, the woman grown walking towards him, carelessly exchanging jests with your parents, snatched his breath away from his lungs and left him gasping for air. Time had changed you, but at the same time, it hadn’t changed you at all. The childish features had left your face, leaving behind a delicate, lovely visage, seemingly carved by the Maiden herself. The curvature of your nose, dropping into a philtrum and smoothing into the arch of your lips had stayed exactly the same as he remembered, as had the playful glint in your eyes.
As the rounds of greeting went by and you came to stand in front of him, he felt as if the gods had grasped him from the present and placed him back in time, standing dejected by Aelor in the godswood, as you tapped on his shoulder for the first time and invited him to join your group to play. He had fallen back then — as hard as a six-year-old with no real understanding of love could fall — but now he was helplessly spiraling again as you dipped into a curtsy before him.
"Prince Valarr," you greeted, his name falling from your lips sounded like the sermon bells of the Great Sept themselves to his ears.
"My lady," he collected himself and steadied his voice, "it is good to see you again after all this time." With all the grace himself, he carefully took your hand — a beautiful hand, he remarked — and kissed the back of it lightly. He could only hope that the slight nervous tremor would go unnoticed by you. When his gaze lifted to your face again, his eyes trailed down to your neck, where the blue topaz was glinting in the notch between your collarbones. The embers in his heart were fanned into a full-blown flame as he recognized the pendant, his pendant, a sign of his childish affection for you from a decade ago. You had kept it. What's more, you were wearing it even after all this time.
"As it is to see you," you smiled at his recognition, "I still hold our memories of childhood quite dearly." To anyone else, it might have come across as simple courtesy, but to Valarr, the fact that you held fond memories of him felt like salvation granted by the Seven themselves.
Valarr would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity, holding your hand loosely in his grasp, looking at your face as the setting sun graced your skin with a golden glow. But as the round of greeting went by, he was forced to let you go, and greet the rest of your household in tow.
Then, he heard his mother speak words to your mother that sounded as though angels were descending from the heavens and blowing horns: "Dearest, it has been way too long! Oh, how I have missed you so. We must meet for a family afternoon tea, just our two households." She held your mother's hands in her own two hands, both giddy at the long-awaited reunion.
"Of course, Jena. Whenever you'd like. I'm sure my husband and my daughter would greatly enjoy it as well." Your mother beamed, and it was decided. Your two households would take afternoon tea in two days' time, in the privacy of the royal gardens. Valarr stole a glance at you, and his heart stuttered at your soft smile.
-
On the day after your arrival, you sat in the gardens under the white marble pergola with the other young ladies of court, as would be expected of you. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the upcoming tourney, which was no grand wonder as the castle seemed to be buzzing in preparations for it. The first day was set to be on the prince's nameday, with all the champions' jousts taking place on that day. The next few days would consist of melées and lower ranked jousts. You sat next to an old acquaintance of yours, a daughter of a bannerman of your father, only a year your senior, making her seventeen years of age.
"Oh, I hope Ser Devin will ask for my favor! How dreamy that would be," she looked into the distance with her eyes glazed over. Currently, she was swooning over your eldest cousin, who was part of a junior branch of your house and stood first in line to inherit his father's lands and castles. Personally, you did not understand the appeal, but politely smiled and nodded as to not spoil her fun.
"And are you looking forward to seeing any specific knights in the tilts, my lady?" A girl your age sitting on your other side inquired. If your memory serves you right, she was the daughter of a Stormlord.
"Oh, well I suppose I will cheer for my cousins, of course," you said, as it was common courtesy, "but otherwise, I must say that I am not quite sure yet. Perhaps the knights of the Kingsguard, they are famed to be the most magnificent knights of the realm, after all."
Some ladies sitting in your vicinity nodded at that. A girl you did not recognize started with a faint flush on her cheeks: "I most certainly am excited to see Prince Valarr in the lists, he is the very picture of chivalry, not to mention how handsome he is!" Murmurs rose in agreement.
Well, you could not deny her on that front. Valarr had definitely grown into his features; soft, pudgy cheeks had long been replaced by sharp, carved lines. His mismatched eyes he used to be insecure about only added to his handsome face. But frankly, you had a hard time imagining the sweet, timid boy from your childhood being so gallant in the lists.
"The Prince comes of age upon the first day of the tourney, I wonder what sorts of arrangements will be made in regards to choosing a match for him. How dreamy it would be to marry such a handsome prince! He is even the heir's heir, as if his gallantry and handsome were not enough." Another lady spoke out wistfully.
"Well, if it is his affection you are seeking, I am afraid we'd all be out of luck on that front," lamented a slim, brunette girl, surely a few years your senior. "He's already been presented with hundreds of potential matches and it's said that he turned down every single one of them, one of them from my own family."
"So do you suppose he simply has no intention to marry?" Your lady acquaintance's eyes widened.
"Aye, or I reckon he has a paramour, every man has desires, after all," snicked the brunette girl.
You frowned, as that sounded highly unlikely for Valarr, but held your tongue. As if the sweet, gentlest boy you used to know would ever dishonor himself and a woman that way.
"Whoever that woman is, I do greatly envy her," another girl you did not recognize sighed deeply, "What wouldn't I give to be in her place."
-
The afternoon tea on the day before the beginning of the tourney took place in the more private areas of the godswood, the little clearing in the woods had been transformed into a small gathering space, with chaise longues and cushions placed on the grounds beneath ornamented parasols. The only other presences aside from your two families were the servants, and the occasional small children running by, playing their games in the godswood just as you and Valarr had as children.
Lady Jena chatted happily away with your mother, lounging comfortably on the cushions. Prince Baelor sat on a chaise longue, facing your father, discussing lordly matters with him. You were sprawled out across the feather cushions and half-heartedly following the conversations when you heard someone clear their throat from behind you.
When you tilted your head back to face the person, the upside-down face of Prince Valarr greeted you. He was holding a hand out and lightly smiling, as far as you could tell from your position.
"Would you take a walk with me?" He asked, an almost unnoticeable hint of pink gracing the tip of his ears.
You have an affirmative hum, then got up to your feet to turn and face him. He was offering you his left arm to hold, which you gingerly accepted.
"Are you looking forward to the tourney, my prince?" you asked as to make polite small talk. He had grown into a quite tall young man, and you had to crane your neck to see his face at a close distance. As you did, you admired the beautifully carved lines of his cheekbones and jaw, he really had turned into an exceptionally handsome prince.
Valarr frowned slightly at that. "There is no need to be so formal, we did use to be quite close, after all."
"Well then Valarr," you corrected yourself, "are you excited for the tourney?"
Valarr's pink flush extended to his cheeks at the sound of his name falling from your lips. "Yes, among other things, I suppose."
"One's sixteenth nameday is always an occasion to look forward to," You agreed casually. "I am sure it will be a day to remember."
Valarr's steps slowed, which meant that you came to a halt with him in tow. "Speaking of sixteenth namedays," his cheeks were really quite pink now. You wondered if he was feeling warm under the sun's rays. "I believe yours has to come to pass three moons ago, if my memory serves me right." He smiled shyly.
You were slightly taken by surprise. Had he really remembered that detail?
"Yes, it has. Although, I denied my parents the pleasure of throwing a tourney or any form of extravagant celebration for the occasion." You mused.
"I had something commissioned for you," he reached into the pocket of his doublet with his free hand, and produced a small, square box. "You did tell me back then that best friends should always gift things to each other for their namedays."
You pulled your hand away from Valarr's arm to examine the box. When you opened it, small, ornate earrings made of twisting golden vines holding a blue topaz in the middle came to sight. Your breath caught at the goldsmith's intricate handiwork.
"Valarr, this is.." You searched for words. "Beautiful, thank you. It is really most thoughtful of you." It indeed was, as you noticed that it matched your necklace gifted from him all these years ago perfectly.
"You must forgive me," you scrunched your eyebrows, a slight pang of guilt going over you, "I did not bring any personal gift for your nameday. My parent have brought a-“
Valarr's smile did not falter as he interrupted your panicked words. "No matter, I had something in mind as to what you could gift me for my nameday, anyways."
You looked at him in confusion.
"I would like to ask for your favor to wear at the tilt tomorrow," his mismatched eyes searched your face. For what, though, you could not tell. "For old times' sake," he added hastily.
It made sense, you supposed. It was not unusual for knights to wear their sister’s, cousin’s, or a close companion’s favor, so Valarr simply must have continued to value your childhood friendship more than you expected. Still, it confused you as to why he would not wear the favor of a lady he wished to court.
“Of course,” you agreed, to his relief. “It would be an honor to have you wear my favor.”
He offered you his arm again to keep on walking, which you gladly accepted. As you walked further around the godswood, the sounds of children playing grew closer.
“Hai-yah!” a boyish voice cried out. When you turned your head in the direction of its source, you spotted two young boys, one with a shock of silver hair, another one with a tuft of auburn hair. They were wielding tree branches as if they were swords, clashing them against another and running wildly through the woods.
As you watched them, a strange sense of nostalgia bloomed in your chest. You distinctly remembered these woods, the familiarity growing stronger with every step. The two of you used to run through these very woods a long time ago, laughing wildly and jumping over the twisting roots.
“Little brother! Cousin! I must ask you to compose yourselves before our distinguished guest,” Valarr called out to the two boys. They slowly halted their wild chase, and padded over to you.
“My lady, may I introduce you to my brother, this is -“
“Matarys,” you interrupted Valarr’s introduction when you recognized the soft, auburn curls. He had been only a newborn when you last saw him, but Lady Jena’s auburn locks and Prince Baelor’s stern jaw was evident in the young princeling. “My Prince, it is an honor to meet you. Last I had seen you, you were still only a babe.” You dipped in a shallow curtsy and introduced yourself.
Valarr smiled fondly at you recalling the short meeting.
“The honor is all mine, my lady,” Matarys bowed, albeit a little clumsily. “Are you the lady friend my brother has been talking about?” He studied your face.
“Matarys,” Valarr hissed, the tips of his ears burning. Matarys let out a giggle, but held his tongue.
“And I’m Egg, my lady!” The silver-haired boy cried out, bouncing in excitement. “My name is actually Aegon, but everybody calls me Egg for short.” He grinned.
“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Prince Egg.” You dipped into a curtsy, your use of his nickname earning a giggle out of him.
“One day, I will be Ser Aegon of the Kingsguard! You see, I’m already training hard to be a strong knight.” He puffed his chest out, which reminded you a little bit of a small bird puffing its feathers to make itself seem bigger. You smiled fondly at his antics.
“Speaking of,” Egg turned to Valarr. “In case your squire cannot come, could I squire for you, cousin? Daeron does not wish to participate, but I would like to be a squire. Ser Donnel has already said I would make a good one! I-“
“Sure, cousin,” Valarr mirrored your fond smile at the little boy. “Gareth is quite healthy as of now, but at the event that he may not be able to partake, I will send for you.”
Egg whooped in joy, thanked Valarr, and took his leave by making an exaggerated bow. He dragged Matarys with him, who politely bid his farewells to you while Egg pulled at his arms.
“He has grown so fast,” you murmured as you resumed your walk, “sometimes, I cannot believe how time has passed by so quickly.”
Valarr hummed in agreement, and the two of you started back to the clearing.
-
On the bright and early morrow of his nameday, Valarr Targaryen used his privilege as a crown prince of the realm, and ordered his page to summon the Small Council for the first time in his short life. After he dressed himself in a formal doublet and trousers, he opened the small drawer of his writing table, and took the small, folded parchment out. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the hide and the wax seal. The passing of time and his frequent touches had frayed the edges, the surface smooth from the oils of his fingers. The creases and wrinkles showed that it had been folded and unfolded many times over the past decade, but the content etched in ink was still very much legible, clear as day. He tucked the parchment safely in his breast pocket before leaving his quarters.
He willed his drumming heart to calm on his walk over to the council chamber. The nervosity made him restless, his hands lightly shaking upon close inspection. As he waited for the council members to arrive, he mindlessly turned the signet ring with your house’s sigil on his right little finger, willing it to give him courage for what was to come.
The members of the council arrived one by one, some with still bed-tussled hair. His father, Baelor, was perfectly composed as ever, and raised his eyebrows at him in curiosity as to what the summons may be about. The remaining council members sat down groggily, and mumbled a good morrow and merry nameday wishes to Valarr.
“My Lords, father, I thank you greatly for your presence, and your heartfelt nameday wishes. I wished to bring a matter before the Small Council this morrow, ahead of the tourney starting at midday.” He did his best to speak with the quiet authority of his father, and stilled the small tremor in his voice. “As you all know, I have come of age today, and wish to let my intentions for marriage to be known. After all, it would be my utmost duty to the realm to marry and strengthen the line of succession.”
Many nodded, Baelor merely raised his eyebrows even further at his son’s sudden declaration of his interest for marriage. After all, he had sternly rejected every single courtships and proposals until now, and he had begun to suspect that he had no intention to marry at all.
“That is most wise, my prince,” croaked the old Grand Maester. “The council has a list at ready of all the eligible ladies of the realm, including-“
“Thank you, Grand Maester. However, that will not be necessary”, Valarr interrupted with a raised hand, “for I have been promised to a lady for nigh on a decade already.”
All eyes in the council chamber widened almost comically. Using the stunned silence, he took the parchment out of his breast pocket, unfolded it carefully, and placed it on the table. Baelor reached calmly for it, and read the words carved into it, remarking the childish handwriting. The Grand Maester rose from his seat, and leaned down from behind him to inspect the document as well.
“What is this?” his father asked, eyes lifting from the parchment.
“A marriage contract,” Valarr stated plainly. “It’s been signed by our own hands, and has the official seals of our houses on it.”
“I can see that,” Baelor furrowed his brows. “When-“
“My prince, if you would excuse me,” Grand Maester interrupted. “Marriage contracts usually involve witnesses, and I can’t seem to see any accounts of them.”
“I am a witness to this contract,” Valarr declared firmly. “I was there when it was written, signed, and sealed, obviously.”
“My apologies, your Grace, but a witness is usually-“ the old maester croaked.
“I am a prince of the realm, and a man grown as of today. Do you mean to doubt my abilities to stand witness to such significant matters?” His voice deepened, summoning an air of authority and sternness seldom witnessed in him.
The room fell into silence. Finally, the silence was broken when Baelor spoke. “According to the date, this was agreed upon when you both were but six years of age. Do you mean to stand by this contract nevertheless?” The look on his eyes was illegible.
“I do not take vows for naught, father,” Valarr stood his ground. “I have given my word upon my honor, and will stand by it. I have loved her since I was a boy, and will not take any other to wife.” He hesitated for a sliver of a moment, then added, “if she will have me.”
Baelor put the parchment down on the table, and pinched his nosebridge. The Grand Maester immediately picked up the document, and inspected it so closely, Valarr was worried he may bury his nose in it.
“My Lord Hand, the seals and signatures are indeed.. genuine. And if the prince and the lady are in fact, both of age, then I fear that there are no grounds upon which this contract can be denied.” He sighed.
Valarr watched his father’s reaction. For what seemed like an eternity, Baelor’s eyes remained closed, with his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he opened his eyes to face his son, and placed his hands on the table.
“And you are certain, my son?” He asked, an exasperated look on his face.
“I have never been more certain, father.” The young prince met his gaze steadfastly.
“Very well,” Baelor huffed out, “I will speak to her father about this after the jousts today. Considering the delicate nature of this.. pact,” he waved his hand at the parchment, “I will need to approach this matter in a careful fashion.”
Valarr felt a great weight lifted from his chest, and breathed out in relief. Through the window, the sky seemed to shine a brighter blue, the trees the most vibrant green, and the sun’s rays graced everything with a golden glow.
“Thank you, father.” He bowed his head slightly.
“Do not thank me yet, son. We will see how the day goes, and whether her family will agree to this arrangement. Until then, nobody is to speak of this matter to those outside of this council.” With that, Baelor rose from his seat, and dismissed the council with a curt nod of his head. As Valarr watched the rest of the council members scurry out, he felt he could’ve hugged his father, so great was his gratitude at this moment.
-
The gates of the Red Keep was buzzing with excitement as carriages and horses carried the spectators of the tourney out of the Keep and towards the tourney grounds right outside of the city gates. As you sneaked a peek out of the carriage window, you could see children running alongside, shouting in glee as they made their way to the tourney as well.
You held a silk ribbon in your house colors in your hands, fidgeting mindlessly with it as you watched the narrow streets of King’s Landing pass by. The topaz earrings dangled from your ears, swinging along with every bump and pothole in the road. Your parents were chattering about the participating knights, and voicing their concern for your cousins’ safety. You were admittedly not too concerned about the matter, the jousting lances’ tips were made out of soft wood, made to shatter, and your overeager aunt and uncle had commissioned very intricate armors for your cousins to joust in.
When you rode past the city gates, your eyes were greeted by hundreds of colorful pavillions and banners snapping in the wind. The empty meadow outside of the city walls had been transformed into a marvelous tourney ground, bustling with life.
The carriage stopped, letting your family step out onto the spring grass. Your parents craned their necks as they searched for your cousins’ pavillion, which was spotted rather quickly due to the tall flag with your heraldry stitched upon it. You threaded your arm through your mother’s, walking past the busy squires, merchants shouting out for the nobles to look at their wares, and steelworkers hammering away in their tents.
Once arrived at your relatives’ pavillion, your parents eagerly entered, wishing to bid your cousins good fortune for their tilts. You were briefly distracted in front of the entrance by a small mouse scuttling about, watching its movements, when a warm touch on your shoulder startled you.
Your body whipped around in surprise, and yelped when you came face-to-face with Valarr standing before you in his armor. His broad frame, with the added breadth of the armor, easily towered over you.
“Hi,” he was already smiling, dimples forming on his chiseled cheeks. His mismatched eyes were glinting with something you could not quite place. When he spotted the jewelry dangling from his ears, his smile widened.
“Valarr, hi,” you breathed out.
“I wanted to come see you before the jousts started shortly,” he took a small step towards you. The heat eminating from his body was almost palpable, even through his thick steel armor. “For the favor.”
That made sense, you supposed. You did promise him a favor for the tilts today.
You were still holding the silk ribbon in your hand, the floral stitchings along with your house sigils had been embroidered by your own hands.
“May I-“ you gestured at his arm hanging by his side.
“Oh, yes, of course.” He slightly lifted his arm, allowing you sufficient space to wrap the ribbon around his upper arm, and secure it with a bow.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.” He took your hand, and bent down to plant a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I must get going, the champions must be present when the start of the tourney is announced. I hope I’ll see you in the stands.”
"You will," you smiled back at him, "happy nameday, Valarr. And good fortune in the lists today."
"I have all the fortune I need, but thank you," Valarr mused, holding up the arm with your ribbon tied around it.
And with that, he took his leave. You blinked, processing whatever just occurred, then collected yourself and entered the pavilion to wish your cousins good fortune.
-
Your mother's closeness with Lady Jena ensured that your family's seats in the stands were situated right next to the royal box; offering an excellent view over the jousting grounds. As you sat, the herald blew the horn, marking the start of the tourney, and announced the champions as they rode in.
The crowd burst into a roar as the knights in shining armor rode in on their mounts, you quickly spotted Valarr, the white streak in his hair a clear beacon even from a distance. Your ribbon on his arm was snapping in the wind, you could faintly hear the whispers of courtiers speculating whose favor the Young Prince could possibly be wearing. Riding on his pitch black destrier clad in elegant armor, he really did paint a handsome picture, his body moving fluidly with the horse, adeptly commanding it with a squeeze of his legs and a light tug on the rein. His black armor with his house’s sigil enameled on the breastplate glinted in the sun, and you briefly wondered whether that was done intentionally as to blind his opponents in the sunlight.
The champions raised their swords as the crowd cheered, then all bowed their heads to the royal box in a show of respect before riding off to the sidelines where their squires were waiting. The champions’ first opponents rode in as well, searching for their squires in the chaos of it all.
“Helmet!” You heard Valarr shout out to his squire, his voice a couple notes deeper than usual. He was always soft-spoken and gentle, and you had never heard him sound quite so commanding before. Soon, his white streak was hidden under the helm, and he was only recognizable via his armor.
As the knights lined up by the lists, the warhorses were impatiently huffing and stomping on the ground. You squinted to see who Valarr’s first opponent be, and identified a blue enameled fish upon the armor. A Tully, then.
The horn blew, and kicking up a great dust storm, the mounts galloped forward, the riders upon their backs lowering their lances. The first pass was over in a blink, the wooden tips of tourney lances bursting against shields and armors, and you saw that some riders had been unhorsed already.
Your eyes seeked Valarr out, and to your relief, him and his black destrier emerged from the dust cloud victorious; his opponent lay unhorsed on the ground. Valarr dismounted at the sight, and walked over with a hand on the sword’s hilt to his opponent, struggling to get back on his feet.
From a distance, you faintly heard him yell out, “I yield, my prince! I yield!” Only then, Valarr eased the grip on his sword, and held his hand out to help him get off the ground. The crowd burst out in another wave of cheers at the sight; praising the Young Prince for his chivalry.
In the next tilts, Valarr faced five more challengers, one of them being his own cousin, Aerion Brightflame. He donned a spiky black armor, paired with a helmet showing a monstrous visage upon it. After two titillating matches, Valarr finally rode him down; after which Aerion rose against him, unsheathing his broadsword. The melée that followed was not short-lived, steel met steel in a flash of sparks and wooden shields splintered under heavy blows, until Valarr unarmed him and held him at swordpoint.
The crowd, highborns and smallfolk alike, were roaring in his support; a glinting hope in their eyes that Baelor Breakspear’s line proved to be just as skilled in arms as he was. An ember of pride was fanned every time he raised his lance arm after unhorsing an opponent, your favor waving in the wind. Maybe it really had brought him good fortune.
Your cousins fared adequately enough, Devin, the eldest, unhorsing two opponents before being unseated himself in the third tilt. The others had not been so lucky, and fell from their horses in their first rides. But they all seemed unharmed, aside from minor scraps and bruises.
The tilts, which started at midday, continued until the sun was nearing the western horizon and a pale moon shone on the opposite side of the sky. There was only one tilt left for the day; Valarr was to ride against Ser Roland of the Kingsguard. After a brief break, Valarr returned to the lists. He swung onto his black destrier, riding to the sidelines as his squire followed with the helmet and shield in his arms.
As Valarr held his helm in his hands, his head turned towards the stands. At first, you thought he might be looking at his family in the royal box, but his gaze came to rest upon you. His hair was matted from sweat, dark brown strands plastered across his forehead from the heat and exhaustion, but his face held a determined look. You held eye contact and gave your dear childhood companion an encouraging nod before he slid his helmet on. You could not be sure due to the distance, but it almost seemed as if the corner of his mouth lifted in a soft smile before it was obscured by the enameled helmet.
His squire promptly delivered him the shield and put the lance in his hand, and scurried off to the weapons’ racks as to be ready when Valarr would need his next lance.
Ser Roland looked formidable as well on the opposite side of the lists, he was sitting upon his chestnut warhorse, clad in all-white armor and cloak of the Kingsguard. He was older, and more experienced, which pushed the odds in his favor. However, Valarr rode as if he had been blessed by the Warrior himself that day, the memory of the success in the council chamber that morning filled his tired muscles with strength, and he felt almost battle-high.
Not a moment too soon, the herald announced the start of the final tilt. “May the Crone guide your lance, and the Warrior grant you strength!” He cried out, then blew the start horn.
The sound of the hooves striking the ground thundered across the meadow, the cheering of the crowds so loud your ears were threatening to ring. In a flash, both lances broke cleanly off the shields, and both riders remained seated. You held your breath as Valarr seemed to sway slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. As he urged his destrier around, you were not sure if the glint of his mismatched eyes gazing in your direction was only imagined or not.
The second pass was more brutal; the riders met in a clash of bursting wood again, but Ser Roland had met Valarr’s pauldron with the tip of his lance, sending the Young Prince reeling from his seat. In contrast, Valarr’s lance had harmlessly broken against the Kingsguard’s shield.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Valarr’s body lurched backwards, with only one foot remaining in the stirrups. However, to the delight of the spectators, his hooked his foot firmly around it, and pulled his body upright again, sitting tall upon his mount.
As the horn urging the third pass blew, Valarr kicked his destrier’s sides firmly with his greaves, riding with his torso lowered against his mount, and his shield raised in defense. In the final moment before impact, Valarr’s lance drifted laterally by a minuscule bit, its tip bursting against Ser Roland’s breastplate in a shower of splinters. Ser Roland was cleanly unhorsed, landing with an uff on his back.
The crowd erupted in a roar, and you felt yourself grin at his victory. He had won his nameday tilt, your sweet, gentle Valarr had truly grown into a most gallant knight.
While the cheers died down and Ser Roland was helped up by his squires, the herald climbed down from the stands and marched towards Valarr holding the wildflower crown. The victorious prince lifted the helmet off, revealing a proud smile upon his face. He nodded to the royal box in a show of respect, to which Baelor and Jena rose their cups in response.
Valarr took the wildflower wreath from the herald, and the grounds fell into silence in anticipation to which lady would be crowned queen of love and beauty by the Young Prince. You looked on in anticipation as well, but your breath caught in your throat when he urged his destrier towards your family.
He softly called out your name, and you felt all eyes turn towards you. “Would you grant me the honor of crowning you as the queen of love and beauty?” You almost choked on your own spit from surprise. “For old times’ sake.” He added in a hushed voice, his eyes glinting under the blueish lights of dusk. Despite the apparent exhaustion, he looked beautiful. In the background, you vaguely perceived an excited squeal from your mother.
You barely registered yourself nodding before you made your way down to the railing and lowered your head to accept the wildflower crown. Valarr gently lowered it on the crown of your head, and brushed a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. In your daze, the deafening applause and cheers from the crowds sounded almost muffled in your ears. You accepted the crown in a haze of confusion and perplexity. To the onlookers, his eyes held the look of a man utterly enamored when gazing upon you, clear as day. Not that you noticed.
-
The festivities in the Great Hall were as grand as any, if not grander. King Daeron the Good had not been frugal at all when planning his grandson’s sixteenth nameday feast, quite the contrary in fact. There were seven absolutely extravagant courses gracing the tables, not even counting the appetizers and desserts. You dug in as your hunger had grown quite insistent during the day, t’was hard work sitting unmoving in the stands under the sun. Jests aside, the food was marvelous, every course truly a testament to the castle’s cooks.
When the last course had been cleared away by the servants, the guests started to take to the dancefloor. Strangely enough, Prince Baelor had vanished from the dais around the same time. Probably some matters of the realm, you brushed it off as the Hand of the King attending to some royal affairs. You adjusted the flower wreath on your head as it was starting to slide down to your brows, and watched the dancing pairs glide across the floor. As you reached for your goblet of wine, a warm hand reached from behind and tapped on your shoulder.
“Valarr,” your face broke into a smile when you saw the victor of the day’s jousts. “My congratulations for winning in the lists today, you rode splendidly.”
“Well fought, my prince,” your father, seated next to you, joined in with his own praises.
“Thank you, truly.” Valarr tilted his head in gratitude. “Would the queen of love and beauty grace me with her first dance?”
You looked down at his hand held out in invitation, before nodding and graciously taking his hand in acceptance. As you walked to the middle of the floor, heads turned as they spotted the crown prince and the flower wreath perched atop your head. You both took up the starting pose, with your hand placed on his shoulder, and his arms wrapping around your waist to rest on the small of your back. His hand gently held your free hand, and you drifted into familiar steps of the dance.
“Do not be alarmed,” Valarr whispered, “but I think my father has just summoned yours to his solar. I saw his page speak to your father, and leave the room with him.”
“Oh?” Your head tilted in bemusement. “Whatever might that be about?”
Valarr’s cheeks reddened at the question, and your confusion deepened. Perhaps he did not feel well discussing his father’s more confidential proceedings, so you decided to leave the topic for the sake of the poor boy. Your two families had been close for a decade now, surely they had enough matters to discuss. If it was important enough, your father would disclose it to you later anyways.
“Your final tilt against Ser Roland was magnificent, by the way,” you teased, “I had feared you might lose your seat during that second pass, but the recovery was quite impressive.”
The poor prince’s cheeks grew impossibly redder. Even as a child, he’d never been adept at handling praise. He could only mumble out a thank you. The contrast between the valiant knight at the lists and the blushing prince in front of you was almost adorable; perhaps Valarr had not yet entirely outgrown the sweet, timid boy he used to be.
As the song came to an end, a Lord you did not recognize stood in front of you, requesting your next dance. Valarr, ever the kind, dutiful prince, took his leave to return to the dais.
The status as the queen of love and beauty of the day came with a steady stream of dancing partners, you forgot their names almost as soon as they introduced yourself; you were never really adept with names and faces anyways. When your feet began to ache and you excused yourself to take your seat by your mother’s side, a page intercepted you just as you were about to pull out your chair. Your mother raised an eyebrow at that, her husband had been occupied in a meeting with the Hand for a good while, and apparently it now required your presence, as well.
“M’ady, I apologize for the interruption. The Hand and your father require your presence in the Hand’s solar.” The young boy, twelve years of age at most, stuttered out.
“Of course, would you be so kind as to lead the way?” You smiled as you lowered the crown from your head and placed it on the table, assuming you’d be returning in a short while.
-
The dim, torchlit corridors leading to the Hand’s solar were unfamiliar at first sight, but as you ventured further with the young page, the memories started swarming back. The afternoon teas with the two families, Valarr’s sixth nameday morrow, and sitting idly while your father discussed lordly matters with Prince Baelor surfaced with every step you took.
Soon enough, you stood in front of the familiar double doors leading to Baelor’s solar. This time, you patiently waited as the page announced you before stepping in. You were greeted by the sight of Baelor sitting at his desk, his father sat in the armchair facing him. The candlelights bestowed a rather serious atmosphere in the room.
“Father, Lord Baelor,” you took a shallow curtsy, “I have heard you sent for me.” You searched their faces for hints as to what this may be about, but failed miserably.
“My lady, thank you for joining us,” Baelor tilted his head. “We have quite important matters to discuss with you, specifically-“ he briefly searched for words, “regarding your marriage pact.”
Your head went blank. “..What?” What is it with a marriage pact now?
Letting the evidence speak for itself, Baelor slid a piece of parchment in your direction. You approached his desk, and lifted the document to your eyes. The parchment was obviously quite old, but not old enough to crumble in your hands. The soft, smooth surface indicated frequent handling, as did the numerous creases. The writing upon it was carved into the hide in a child’s handwriting, and it contained a very briefly written marriage contract between you and Valarr. When your eyes reached the end of the parchment, you identified your own handwriting as a child, crooked and wonky in a way the late Septa Marya used to scold you about. Your thumb traced the wax seals, worn down by time but still obviously genuine.
Oh. You now feintly recalled the day where you produced this document. It came as a surprise that Valarr had kept this all this time, but then all Valarr did the last few days was so surprise you.
“Valarr presented this contract to the Small Council this morrow, he says he will not take anyone else to wife.” Baelor calmly explained, watching your face closely. “The Grand Maester has inspected the document himself, and has declared it genuine. I initially wished to discuss this matter with your father alone, but he has insisted on hearing your opinions on this. Believe me my lady, neither of us will see you married unwillingly on the basis of a pact you signed at the age of six.”
You briefly unpacked your mental balance scale, weighing your options. The benefits included the fact that 1. he was your dearest childhood companion, 2. he had grown into a quite handsome man, and 3. he was considerate, gentle and kind. The only drawback was.. Well, you rummaged through your head, but failed to come up with any.
“Will you have him?” Baelor asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern at your silence.
“Yes, I will,” the words left your lips without a hint of hesitance as you placed the parchment back on the table.
“Are you sure, daughter?” It was your father’s turn to question you.
“Yes, why not?” You shrugged. “He’s grand.”
“Grand?” The Hand’s eyebrows rose in amusement at you describing his son as grand. You and Valarr’s antics today were certainly providing Baelor’s facial muscles with quite an exercise.
You nodded, as if your statement was to explain anything and you did not understand what the confusion was about. He truly was grand, after all. There wasn’t much else you could wish for in a future husband. The crown prince and your father were staring at you with a look one could only describe as bewilderment.
“Just to confirm, you will accept the terms of this.. contract, and take my son as your lawful husband?” Baelor asked, a slight look of confusion upon his eyes, wondering whether you had heard the question correctly.
“I will, my prince.” You nodded again, your casual tone steadfast.
“Then it is settled,” The Hand looked to your father, who nodded in agreement.
As you and your father took your leaves from the solar and shut the doors behind you, you came face to face with Valarr, who had obviously been pacing. His gaze shifted between you and your father, a look of hopefulness evident in his eyes.
“Val,” you softly called his name. “Guess we truly are getting married now.” You shrugged lightly, and giggled.
A sigh of relief punched itself out of him, and he looked to your father.
“You have my blessings, my prince. You can consider yourselves.. officially betrothed now.” He offered a slight bow.
“That is most wonderful news,” his face split into a smile as he stepped towards you to clasp your hand within his own two hands. “I swear, I will do the utmost to make you happy, anything you want. Simply tell me, and I will see it done. Even if it is not in my power, I promise I will make it so.”
You blushed, then looked down, suppressing a wide grin. Only then, your eyes trailed down to his right hand, where the small, children’s sized signet ring rested upon his little finger. Your breath caught in surprise as the torchlight glanced off the polished band.
“You kept it,” You murmured.
Valarr looked confused for a moment, but lowered his gaze to follow yours. When he realized what you’d meant, his joyous smile melted into a more calm, fond one.
“Of course I have, it’s from you. And I promised to always cherish it.”
Oh. You felt as though somebody had smacked you on the back of the head. Every hint, every glance, every word clicked into place in that moment. Valarr had been in love with you all along, since you were all but children. He’d taken care to remember all your childish promises to each other, even keeping the scrap of parchment tucked away safely for nigh on a decade.
“Have you really? After all this time?” Your voice was hushed, your heart picking up its pace in your ribcage. Your lips parted slightly in awe.
“Yes, love. It’s always been you.” Finally, he confessed, his beautiful, mismatched eyes gazing adoringly at you.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
- Epilogue -
When you returned to your family’s assigned quarters, your motherr was already waiting at the tea table, eagerly waiting to hear what all the fuss had been about. When your father retold the events of the evening, she was practically bouncing in her seat in excitement at your betrothal.
“In retrospect, I must ask you, daughter,” your father turned his head towards you, “have you been aware of the existence of that document all this time?”
“Frankly, I had forgotten,” you shrugged. “But now that I saw it, I do remember sneaking into Prince Baelor’s office that day.” Your parents tried to look scandalized, but the air of amusement was evident.
“Darling, she did try to tell us that one time, remember? When we told her we were leaving King’s Landing.” Your mother’s eyes lit up, recalling your confession which they both had assumed was simply a child’s fancy. “She said that she was going to marry him, and that they promised.”
“Well, nobody expects their six-year-old daughter to go and sign a marriage contract,” your father snorted. Honestly, that was a fair assessment.
“The most important thing is, it did turn out quite well,” you held up your palms in defence, a smirk on your face. “I am quite satisfied with the match, if I dare say so myself.”
Your parents laughed out at your understatement laced with a jest. Indeed, it had turned out quite alright.
Note: I loved writing this so much!! I already have so many ideas for little snippets of their first kiss, wedding night and fun little misadventures, so if it's wished for, I'll be more than happy to write them! Thank you all so so much for liking my initial concept for this fic, it means the world to me <3
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: did nobody tell you, that it is bad luck to wear wayne pearls in june?
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, some fluff, happy ending, 3.6k words, mentions of death, blood, reader's birthday is in may but aside from that no other details are given, selina cameo, darling used twice, not edited 😛
<𝟑: based on this request! i hope you like it :)
By the time your birthday comes around, it feels as if Gotham is waking up from its drowsy winter sleep. May comes with the promise of the future, something bright looming nearby.
Maybe it is that, or the fact that you and Bruce have been dating for the better part of two years (or maybe the true reason is that he is hopelessly in love with you). Whatever the answer might be, it does not change the fact that Bruce has gifted you his mother’s pearl necklace for your birthday.
It is heavy and smooth between your closed hand—but not slippery—the pure white colour shifting slightly under the light. At first they are startlingly cool, but quickly warm up to your flesh. You are a grinning mess, clutching them with a vice at the same time you decorate Bruce’s face with invisible kisses.
He allows himself a tiny smile. You almost drop the pearls.
“I thought the trip to Italy would excite you more.”
You laugh, slightly breathless. The whole day feels like a dream. Because on top of the heirloom, Bruce has gifted you a weekend getaway to Italy—for once, he promises not to disappear.
That memory from a month ago hits you as you stare at a black satin dress. Selina plays with her flute, eyeing something much different. The dress is gorgeous; long, smooth, a sharp silhouette decorated with lace details.
Selina sips her drink. “Bruce is going to have a heart attack when he sees you in that.” Her grin is wicked. “You should totally buy it.”
You run the pad of your finger where the lace of the bodice meets the silk of the skirt. “I’m thinking I’ll pair it with her pearls.”
“They’re yours now,” Selina reminds you. You don’t dwell much on her words because she’s already spotted an amazing pair of shoes. “I like my heels studded but they match perfectly with your dress.”
You hum absentmindedly, still playing with the fabric.
Selina glances at you over the rim of her glass. “What?”
“Nothing.” You blink, finally snapping out of it.
“Liar.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not a bad thing.”
“Then tell me.”
Your fingers trace the lace of the dress again. “Things are good with Bruce.”
Selina waits. Her eyes are focused on you with so much patience and intensity… She makes it impossible not to tell her.
You sigh. “Really good.”
“There it is,” she says. “The terrifying confession.”
You snort. “He makes me happy.”
She pretends to gag. “Now you’re just being disgusting.”
“Selina.” You press your lips together.
“Sorry. Continue.”
Despite yourself, you smile. “He’s thoughtful. He’s always there when it matters. He remembers things I don’t even remember telling him.” Your mind drifts to the pearls again. “And sometimes he looks at me like I’ve hung the moon and the stars.”
Selina’s expression softens for a fraction of a second. “But?”
You shoot her a look. “How did you know there was a but?”
“Because nobody talks about Bruce Wayne for that long without one.”
You laugh. The sound fades quickly. “Sometimes I feel like there’s a part of him I’m never going to know.”
Selina doesn’t answer immediately, she just sips her champagne really slowly. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Not like this.” Your voice comes out quieter than intended. “There are days he disappears completely. He’ll cancel plans, stop answering calls, and then show up exhausted with some excuse that barely makes sense.” You shake your head. “I know he’s hiding something.”
Selina’s gaze lingers on you. “And?”
“And nothing.” You shrug. “I don’t need to know everything about him.” That isn’t entirely true, but it is true enough. “I just…” You search for the words. “I wish he trusted me with whatever it is.”
For a moment, something unreadable crosses Selina’s face— gone almost as quickly as it appears. “Bruce trusts you more than you think.”
The certainty in her voice makes you blink. “That’s oddly specific.”
Selina takes a slow sip of champagne. “Call it a hunch.”
Just as you’re about to answer, you hear the sharp crack of glass crashing against the marble floor.
Time stretches in that silence.
Another buyer has dropped her courtesy champagne flute. You see the scatter of fragments; delicate and bright, skittering across the floor like ice. Immediately a young girl gets on her knees to pick it up while the older woman laughs nervously, flushed in the face.
Selina drops her voice and whispers in your ear: “I think someone didn’t understand one glass per person.”
You laugh, your sudden increased heartbeat slowly going back to normal. You pick the heels and the dress. “Did you see anything you like?”
Selina is eyeing the necklace of the tipsy (definitely drunk) woman. “Hmm yes,” her eyes snap to yours, “but I think I can do better than that.”
The gala looks plucked from one of your dreams as a girl; it’s summer, so the hosts have decided to go with an all-white theme. It gives the feeling of being in a cloud, high up in the sky. The soft song of the orchestra (thick jazz but in allegro, so it is lively against the oppressive heat outside), the coruscating lights hidden amongst the decorations on the ceiling.
The conversations blur together, champagne flows freely, and Gotham’s elite laugh and chat.
Neither Bruce nor you like galas that much, but you have to admit, this is amazing so far.
And it isn’t because Bruce’s hands are settled on your hips, or because he is looking at you that way he sometimes does ( often, actually. You just fail to notice).
You two glide across the dance floor, and you wonder how you managed to convince him to dance.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you say, looking up at him.
A smile tugs at Bruce’s mouth. “You’ve been staring at me.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
You pretend to think about it. “I’m prettier.”
His grip tightens almost imperceptibly at your waist. “True.”
You laugh. “Bruce, you're supposed to argue."
The smile that follows is small, but real. "Can't."
You feel your chest squeeze. The world seems quieter when Bruce looks at you like this. You blush, and his smile widens just a fraction further.
There is something startlingly vulnerable about the way Bruce Wayne loves; he never says it often—but he doesn’t have to. It's in every cancelled meeting when you need him, every remembered detail no matter how minuscule it is, every last small moment and gesture that has I love you behind it.
It's in moments like these when all of his secrets and the skeletons in his closet don’t bother you. What harm can dust do, if he keeps looking at you that way?
You rest your forehead briefly against his shoulder. “I don’t want this to end.”
Bruce’s expression softens. “The night is young.”
“You know what I mean.”
His thumb brushes lightly against your side. “Then we’ll create more moments like these.”
The promise is so immediate that it makes you smile. He says it with such conviction, as if there is no other answer… as though he would simply move the world around until he can make it happen.
The music shifts, a new song picks up, the people laugh, someone nearby drops a glass of champagne—
And suddenly Bruce goes still. Not completely, he still keeps guiding your body through the music, but enough for you to notice.
His gaze lifts over your shoulder, and you see that the warmth has left his expression.
You frown. “Bruce?”
His attention snaps back to you too fast. “Stay close to Selina.”
A chill crawls down your spine. “What?”
Before he can answer— the first gunshot rings out.
The music stops with a screech from one of the instruments. Screams erupt across the ballroom.
Another shot follows. Then another.
Panic explodes through the crowd, and you have an iron grip on Bruce’s suit, fingers slightly quivering.
People shove past one another toward the exits. More champagne glasses shatter, and amongst the chaos, someone falls.
“Bruce—”
“I know.” His voice is steady, infuriatingly low. His grip tightens around you. But then he lets go.
You feel the loss immediately, that blanket of security yanked away from you.
“I’ll find you.”
Your heart lurches. “What are you talking about?”
Another gunshot cracks through the room. People scream. Someone slams into your shoulder. You stumble. When you look back—
Bruce is gone.
Vanished into the chaos. The fear crashes into you all at once; the gunmen, the danger, Bruce isn’t there—where is he? What if—
A rough hand suddenly seizes your arm.
You barely have time to react before someone drags you backward. “Move.”
You freeze for a second, your eyes stopping their frantic search and settling on what is in front of you.
An assault rifle points toward your chest.
Two other women stand nearby, equally terrified. One of them is already crying.
The gunman shoves you toward a side corridor. “Let’s go.”
You look desperately over your shoulder one last time, still searching in the crowd for Bruce. The crying woman whimpers, and you have to stop looking. He is nowhere to be found. Your eyes meet the second gunman flanking the group, he points directly at you with the weapon. Well, the message is clear.
And for the first time that night, you are completely alone.
The two men drag you to an empty room– it must’ve been an old office, because there are only a few boxes at the corner and an empty desk pushed towards the wall. The men flicker the lights on, harsh and bright, making you squint.
When they close the door, and position at the door rifles in hand, your stomach sinks further. They make the three of you get on your knees on the floor, arms behind your back.
The distant collapse of sound outside the room—muffled through walls thick with wealth and insulation—gunfire, shouting, something crashing. Hard. Each impact reverberates faintly. The men grip their weapons a bit more tightly each time a bang can be heard.
The crying woman has calmed down, only sniffles and small gasps can be heard from her. But then you feel it, the tremors of the lady on your right.
She’s trying to suppress her crying. It's not loud at first. Just broken, shallow breaths that keep catching on itself. But it escalates too fast. The sound slices through the room like a little wounded bird, gasping and sobbing. Hands and body quivering uncontrollably.
You notice immediately; the man holding the rifle shifts. It’s not much, maybe an inch or two. There's a twitch of impatience in his grip. He glances sideways toward the door behind him, toward the sound of chaos outside. His jaw tightens, he doesn’t want to be here, you realise.
“Hey,” the other woman snaps under her breath, harsh and panicked. “Shut up—just shut up—”
But the woman can’t. It's hysterical now, uncontrollable and raw. She takes in big gulps of air but it just makes her tremble now.
They’re going to shoot her, your mind screams at you. Time goes too fast for you to grip or try and make anything out of. Time is speeding away from logic and reasoning.
Your body moves before your thoughts finish forming.
You step in front of her— or waddle. It’s an awkward movement, when you’re wearing a silk dress, heels, your hands behind your back and your legs pressed to the floor.
Time has gone too fast. Now, it stops.
Even the crying does. You see the man move his rifle in slow motion. One second you’re there… the next there’s a crack slicing through the room. Your mind remembers the broken champagne glass, from earlier today, and sees the resemblance.
Time picks up again. Pain is hot and immediate, exploding somewhere in your body. It’s too much— too much— for you to even think of where the bullet might be. Your body folds and collapses to the side.
The crying woman screams, the men freeze and silence resumes.
“He said no casualties—”
“That wasn’t supposed to—”
Their voices overlap, fractured and panicked. Movements restless that make the other two hostages inch towards you.
Your hand moves instinctively to your chest. It's warm and viscous, you palm the base of your throat. The necklace’s strand has snapped.
The pearls are no longer a line of shining perfection— they are scattering, slipping, breaking free in uneven arcs across your collarbone, your dress, the floor. Some are already rolling away into the widening stain of red that you are only now becoming aware of.
Blood. There’s blood. And a lot of it.
Your breathing sharpens—not in pain, but in disbelief. No. No, no, no— Not this. Not the necklace.
It does not make sense, the way your mind latches onto that detail with desperate precision. Not the wound, not the men, not the hostages, not the gun, not the room—
The necklace. Bruce’s mother’s pearls.
Your vision blurs slightly at the edges and you force yourself to reclaim ownership of your limbs, not caring about the pain. Your fingers are shaking while they search.
You start picking them up one by one, frantic, clumsy, slipping against the slick surface beneath them. They roll. They disappear into folds of fabric, into the darkening stain, into places you cannot quite see clearly anymore.
“No—no, please—”
Your voice breaks in a way that embarrasses you immediately, but you cannot stop. Blood stains your fingertips as you try to find them.
Behind you, someone is shouting.
You search through the blood, palming to find the pearls but they keep slipping away, like trying to capture beads of water.
The men are arguing now, louder, spiraling, their earlier control dissolving into something messy and uncertain.
But all you can think about is Bruce. Bruce, who gave you these. Bruce, who trusts you with things he does not give anyone else. Bruce, who will see this. Bruce, who will see you like this— it's June. Just a few days from now it will be the 26th. Bruce--
Your throat tightens.
It's not even fear for yourself that hits first. It's the image of him seeing this. The broken pearls, the blood, you.
Batman barges in, but you barely realise. Another voice nearby and frantic, telling you to stay awake and to breathe, to stay with her. But you are shaking too hard to respond properly. And you are still holding the pearls. They’re sticky now.
Batman is suddenly there. In front of you. Too close. The world tightens around him like everything else has been pushed away.
His head tilts slightly. “You’re losing too much blood."
You barely hear him. His voice is like sound above the water your head is submerged in.
But his voice is not cold (everyone but you notices), there’s something off underneath— it doesn’t match his exterior coolness.
One of the women speaks over him, panicked. “We tried to stop it, but—she won’t— she keeps—”
“I know,” Batman cuts in.
Your grip tightens instinctively around what remains of the necklace. Not a sound comes out of you.
Batman’s gaze drops to your hands. He sees the bloodied pearls.
“Ambulance won’t make it in time,” he says. A pause. “I’m getting you help.”
The world is a blur once more. You’re not even aware he’s picking you up, bridal styles and away from everything. Even the Batmobile is a blur. One second you’re here, the next you’re there.
You are crying the entire time.
“I’m sorry,” you keep saying, though you are not sure who you are apologizing to anymore. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— Bruce is going to— he’s going to be so— he’s going to—”
Batman does not look at you, but his hands tighten slightly on the wheel.
Alfred is there before you fully register arriving at the cave. You don’t even notice that it's Alfred. There’s rapid talking, a tremor in the air and hands that try to grab you.
You flinch away instantly. “No— don’t— don’t take them—”
Your fingers curl tighter around the pearls, pasty because of the blood and too fragile, they are the only thing anchoring you to the real world.
Batman is beside you again, but he’s closer. And lowering himself to your level.
“Listen to me,” he says. It doesn’t come off as a command, his tone is… careful. Soft even. “You’re safe.”
You shake your head violently, tears still falling.
“They’re broken,” you choke out. “They’re broken and I— he gave them to me and I broke them and he’s going to— he’s going to—” Your breath stutters.
“I can fix them,” Batman says.
That makes you freeze. Your eyes snap up to him. A beat.
“I can fix them,” he repeats, slower this time. “But I need you to let go.”
Your grip tightens reflexively. “No.”
“Just for a moment.”
“No— no, I can’t—”
Your voice breaks entirely. And then the world tilts. Everything dissolves away.
When the world comes back, it’s like being bathed in cotton. You see through a slightly white filter, the meds softening the blow so your body just feels light.
The cave ceiling stretches above you, vast and unfamiliar at first, until memory begins to stitch itself back together in uneven pieces; the gala, the gunfire, the necklace… Your breath catches immediately.
“Hey.”
The voice is close. You turn your head. Bruce is there.
Sitting beside you like he hasn’t moved once. The eyebags under his eyes are more prominent and there’s a file in his hand, he closes it and drops it to the cold stone floor.
His posture is still, but not rigid in the way you are used to seeing in public. Unarmored in a way that makes your chest tighten before you even understand why.
“Bruce…” Your voice comes out weak, cracked. “The pearls—”
“I know,” he says gently.
Your throat tightens again instantly, as if your body has been waiting for permission to fall apart.
“I tried,” you whisper, shame flooding in before anything else. “I tried to save them, I tried to keep them but it— everything was happening and I couldn’t and I’m sorry—”
“Hey.” He’s soft.
You blink up at him. He hasn’t looked away from you once.
“There are no apologies needed,” Bruce says quietly.
Your breath stutters. “It was your mother’s—”
“I know what it was,” he says. A pause. Something shifts in his expression— something carefully contained for years, now loosened at the edges. “I also know what it is not.”
Your brow furrows slightly, confusion cutting through the exhaustion.
“I should have told you sooner,” he says.
Your heart stumbles at the tone more than the words.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
Your mind struggles to catch up. Find out what exactly? Your mind is giving you the answers in flashes, but things are still hazy and making conclusions seems like a herculean effort to you.
Then they click: the disappearances, the timing, the way he moves. The way he always knows. Last nights events.
“No,” you whisper, almost disbelieving. “You’re—”
“I'm Batman,” he says simply.
The cave suddenly feels too large to hold it.
Your fingers twitch weakly against the sheets.
“And I need you to understand something,” he continues. A brief pause. “What happened tonight— was not your fault.”
Your throat tightens. “I broke them,” you say immediately. “I broke your mother’s pearls—Bruce, I broke them—”
“I don’t care about the pearls.” His gaze doesn’t stray away from you, not even to blink. “I care that you’re here,” he says. “That you’re alive.”
Your breath catches.
“You’re bleeding,” he adds, quieter now. “You were dying in my arms and all you could think about was apologizing for something that doesn’t even matter.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out.
“I don’t need things,” he says, voice steady again, but no less intense. “I don’t need heirlooms. I don’t need objects that can be replaced.”
A beat. Then, tender— unbearably so. “I need you.”
Your eyes burn instantly. The tears return before you can stop them, but this time they feel different. It's not panic, more like relief.
Bruce finally reaches out carefully. His hand rests gently over yours, brushing your skin is soothing notions.
You realize you are shaking slightly.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, but it is weaker now. Less certain. “I didn’t mean to ruin it…”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says. Then quietly, “You mattered more than them the moment I met you.”
Your eyes close. “Bruce?”
“Yes, darling?” He keeps rubbing your skin, and you fear you’ll fall asleep before you get to tell him.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, darling?”
You blink up at him. “Can you sleep with me?”
He’s already moving. Slowly— annoyingly so— you make space for him on the small bed. He carefully wraps an arm around you, and presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you.” He says again.
You snuggle closer to his warmth. “So, you’re Batman.”
He hums, and your eyelids flutter. Sleep is coming down on the both of you.
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