Fandom: The Apothecary Diaries.
Pairing: Jinshi x Maomao!Reader.
Rating: suggestive.
Summary: you’re summoned to Jinshi’s chambers late at night under the excuse of his recurring headaches—but it quickly becomes clear that it isn’t medicine he needs; it’s you.
🔞 Warnings: power imbalance, forbidden closeness, secrecy/hidden feelings, emotional vulnerability, intimacy through comfort/touch, light angst, comfort(?), DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING.
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The summons came just as you were settling into your own bedroll, the night’s chill already creeping in even though all the windows were shut and the building was sealed off. Winter was already at the doorstep, and you had to face it.
A sharp, urgent knock at your door, followed by the voice of one of the inner palace maids, shattered your sweet daydream.
“Sorry... He’s asking for you, Lady. Headaches again. Says only you can mix the remedy that helps.”
You sighed, pulling your robe tighter around your shoulders.
Again...
It was the fifth night this week.
The impossibly stressed, impossibly isolated Chief Palace Officer that no one truly knew, that no one could understand or read his mind.
He was a truly impossible mystery.
But… he was really impossibly beautiful with his divine features.
He always had headaches when the moon was high. And he always asked for you. The apothecary, whose knowledge was… adequate.
But not, you suspected, the reason for your nightly visits.
You gathered your small kit of herbs and oils, the ones he pretended helped. Not because you weren’t good, but because he didn’t need them.
The corridor was a tunnel of shadows, lit only by the occasional lantern hanging from a beam and you could see the shadows of trees and flowers reflecting on the paper walls. The breeze was gentle, scented with incense. Your own footsteps echoed softly against the polished wood floors, being careful not to make noise and avoid waking the other ladies in your area.
His quarters were in a quieter wing, away from the hustle of the administrative halls, away from his office. The door was massive, imposing, almost as much as his noble status.
You knocked softly.
“Enter.” His voice was a low thread of sound, strained.
You pushed the door open.
The room was as it always was: orderly, smelling of incense and ink.
He sat at his personal desk, an open book, half-finished and scribbled over with his notes. He wasn’t working. He never brought work into his room, but it seemed he couldn’t help bringing his duties with him. He was sitting there, in his blue sleeping robes, in profile to you, looking the window that showed a sliver of the moonlit garden.
“You called for me, Master Jinshi,” you said, keeping your voice neutral.
He didn’t turn to look at you. “The pain is… persistent tonight.”
You moved closer, setting your kit on the floor beside him. You couldn’t place it on his desk without his permission.
“Would you like the lavender and chamomille compress? Or the ginger infusion?”
“Neither.”
You paused. That was new.
He finally turned his head, and the sight of him stole your breath, same as it always did. Even if you didn’t feel attraction the way others did, for him, you could still recognize it: he was objectively beautiful.
The moonlight caught the curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw, the unsettling perfection of him. But his eyes… they weren’t pained. They were tired. Deeply, profoundly tired. And they held something else—a raw, unguarded want that he usually kept locked away under layers of politeness and power, or nobelty.
“Just… sit,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. It wasn’t a command from an officer, it was a request from a simply man.
Your pulse jumped. You hesitated.
You looked around, searching for a floor cushion. You sat on the farthest cushion in the room.
“Not there,” he said, his eyes following your movements.
You stood up and moved to another cushion, a bit closer.
“Not there, either...” he repeated, slightly irritated.
You got up again, glancing around the room as you moved even nearer. Just as you were about to sit, his voice sharpened, more insistent.
“Y/N, come here.” He gestured for you to come closer, tapping his thigh twice, indicating that you should sit there.
Slowly, you moved closer, approached him, and sat on his lap, as he had requested.
His body was firm underneath you, warm. He adjusted instantly, one arm curling around your back to support you, the other hand coming to rest gently on your thigh over your robe.
You were sitting on Jinshi.
In his lap.
His scent—floral, Jasmine, clean skin—filled your senses.
“Is this… even allowed?” You whispered, your face close to his shoulder.
“Nothing is permissible, for me,” he whispered back, his lips near your ear. “But you are… necessary.”
This was a line you’d danced around for months. The night summons. His bouts of illness. The lingering touches when you handed him a cup. The way his gaze would follow you as you analyzed elements, as you tested poisons, venoms, as you reflected on cases. The way his arms sought you out, drawing you in. You’d told yourself it was just his eccentricity, his reliance on your… company.
“I can’t sleep,” he said, and it sounded like the truest thing he’d ever said to you. “Too many… obligations. Duties. Plans, and schemes, and the weight of everything I have to hold together. I lay down and I feel the walls pressing in, pressing me.” He turned his gaze back to you, piercing. “But when you’re near… I feel at peace.”
You understood then. It wasn’t your remedies.
It was your presence.
“You could have just asked me to sit with you,” you said.
“I couldn’t, you know it…” he answered, a faint, bitter smile touching his lips.
He reached out then, his hand hovering near you.
“It’s cold. Are you cold?”
You were. You’d rushed out without an extra layer.
“Come here,” he said, and this time it was soft, almost pleading.
Your breath caught sharply, a gasp you couldn’t suppress. This was… This was beyond any line. You looked at him, at the open, fragile vulnerability in his eyes, the slight tremble in his extended hand. You saw not the untouchable noble, but a lonely man in a vast, empty room.
His hold on your back tightened, not forcefully, but possessively. He pulled you closer until your face side was flush against his chest, your head naturally finding a place against the curve of his neck. You could feel his heartbeat through the layers of fabric, a steady, rapid drum against your cheek.
“Your robe,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the knot at your waist.
“Master Jinshi…”
“Just the outer layer,” he said.
“Let me… let me feel you closer. Please. Give me some of your warmth. I’m cold,” he lied.
His fingers worked the tie, slowly, delicately, as if he were caressing your body instead. The robe loosened. He didn’t pull it off you; he opened it. He parted the fabric like opening a gift, peeling it back from your shoulders until it pooled behind you, held by his arm around your back. You were now in his lap, wearing only your thin, inner sleeping attire: a short, transparent, body. Revealing your hardened nipples and the shape of your vagina.
Jinshi nearly choked, bringing a hand to his mouth and widening his eyes in surprise.
“Why are you wearing that?! Where is your nightdress?!”
You smiled mischievously. It was clear Jinshi didn’t know you well enough yet—nor did he understand your habits.
He, then, exhaled; a long, shuddering breath. His eyes drank in the sight of you in the simple garment. His hand, which had been on your thigh, slid up. Not under the body, but over it. The fabric was thin enough that you could feel the exact pressure of his palm, the heat of his touch. He stroked your side, from your hip to your rib cage, a slow, hushed devoted caress.
“Your presence is all I need,” he said, his lips brushing your temple as he moved closer to you.
You turned your face towards him, and your eyes met. He didn’t let you look away. He held your gaze, his own dark, violet eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the air catch in your lungs.
“Look at me,” he breathed, though you already were. “Don’t hide from me.” He said, taking your chin between his fingers and holding it steady, forcing you to keep your gaze on him.
You saw everything in his look: the exhaustion, the desire, the fear, the fragile hope. You felt your own mask crumbling, your own professional detachment melting under that stare.
His lips parted. He leaned in, letting his breath mix with yours, letting the anticipation build until your own lips tingled with the same want. Then, with a tenderness that shattered you, he pressed his mouth to yours. His hand fell back onto your thigh, squeezing it gently.
His lips just pressed against yours while your eyelids closed. You felt his mouth mold against yours, warm, wet and impossibly gentle. Your hands, which had been clenched in your lap, uncurled. One lifted, trembling, to rest against his now bared chest. The other found his hand on your thigh and you laced your fingers with his, intertwining them tightly. Your fingers tightly entwined with his were everything.
He moaned into the kiss, a low, quiet sound of relief. “Mmm…”
The sound sparked something in you, a heat that pooled low in your belly. You kissed him back, pressing a little more firmly, letting your lips slide against his. He responded instantly, the kiss deepening. His mouth opened slightly, and you felt the tip of his tongue trace the seam of your lips. You opened for him, and the kiss deepened.
His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring with a slow, sensual thoroughness that made your head spin. You met him, tangling your tongue with his, tasting the subtle flavor of tea and him. His arm around your back tightened, pulling you so close you could feel the hard plane of his stomach against you, the rising tension in his body.
The kiss broke, not from stopping, but from needing air. You both pulled back a fraction, panting softly, lips glistening. His eyes were wide, full of pure need, his pupils dilated.
You leaned in, capturing his mouth this time. This kiss was less tender, more… needy. You sucked on his lower lip, and he gasped, his fingers squeezing yours. You felt him shift underneath you, his hips pressing up into your weight. A firmness there, growing against your thigh. You didn’t shy away. You leaned into it, letting the sensation stoke the fire inside you.
He moved his head, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw, to your neck. He nuzzled the sensitive skin there, his breath hot. Then his teeth grazed you: a gentle, playful bite on the curve where your neck met your shoulder. Not painful. Arousing.
You wanted more.
“Mmm…” you moaned, the sound escaping your mouth.
He smiled against your skin, a faint, proud curve of his mouth on your skin. “You like that?”
“Yes,” you breathed.
“I imagined a poison-tasting masochist like you might like it.”
He did it again, a little harder, followed by a soothing kiss on the same spot. His hands moved. One stayed intertwined with yours. The other slid up from your side to cradle your face. He held your jaw, turning your head gently so he could kiss you again, deep and searching.
Your free hand crept up to his hair, slipping into the thin violet strands at the nape of his neck. You tugged gently, and he groaned; a deep sound of pleasure that vibrated through his chest into yours.
“Your hands on me,” he murmured between kisses, “your scent on me, the way you sigh… it’s all I think about.”
Finally, he confessed. And hearing him say those words to you, whispered on your skin, knowing he was already promised to someone of his own rank... made you tremble, your breath catching in your throat. And a warm, wet sensation filled your thighs, making your lower abdomen tighten.
You’d felt his attention, but to hear it stated so plainly, so vulnerably…
You kissed him harder, pouring your own unspoken answers into it. Your body arched subtly against him, your chest pressing into his. The thin fabric of your body was all that separated your skin from his robes. You could feel every shift of his muscles, every quickening of his breath.
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his hand still holding your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone.
“I want…” he started, then stopped, his eyes glistening suddenly. Not with desire, but with something sharper, more painful. “I want this. You. Here. Near me. I can’t let you go.”
“This is not my home, you know it,” you whispered back, your voice thick.
“I know,” he said, a tear escaping, tracking a silent path down his perfect, pink skin of his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. He let it fall. And the tear that was his fell onto your chest, onto your skin. “I won’t survive losing it. I won’t survive losing you.”
The honesty was brutal. You felt a pressure on your chest.
“You won’t lose me,” you said, the words feeling both true and foolishly brave.
“You can’t promise that,” he choked out, another tear following the first. “People are constantly being poisoned and killed, kidnapped and sold. This palace consumes everything. It could… do the same to you, and I… I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you.”
His crying was quiet, almost silent. Just the tears and the shaky breath. It made him seem younger, softer, stripped of all his armor, of all his courage. Of his status.
You brought your intertwined hand up, pressing his knuckles to your lips. You kissed them. He blushed violently. “Nothing will happen to me,” you whispered. “I’m here, Jinshi. I’m here… Hold on to me.”
He stared at you, his wet eyes wide. Then he surged forward, kissing you with a new, desperate fervor. This kiss was salted with his tears, a mix of sorrow and passion that tasted bittersweet. His hands moved feverishly now, one sliding down from your face to your neck, to your collarbone, tracing the edge of your body. His other hand, still locked with yours, pulled your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart so you could feel its wild, galloping rhythm.
The kiss grew messy, hungry. You were both panting, moaning into each other’s mouths. Small, broken sounds.
“Ah… Jinshi…”
“Mmm… yes, Y/N. Just… stay here, with me. Don’t leave me. I’m not asking, it’s a command,” he panted into your loose hair as his purple eyes bored into yours.
His lips traveled from your mouth to your cheek, kissing away the wetness that had gathered there from your own empathetic tears and his tragic intensity. He kissed your eyelids, your forehead, then back to your mouth, savoring you. Slow. Deep. Stopping time.
Underneath you, his body was fully tense, the evidence of his arousal pressing unmistakably against your thigh through his robes. You rocked against it subtly, and he gasped, his head falling back for a second.
“Don’t… don’t move like that, you stimulate me,” he turned his head to the side, his voice rough.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your face heating. But you weren’t.
“I want…” he started again, swallowing hard, his eyes returning to yours, “I want to... make love to you.”
You cupped his face, wiping the last tears with your thumbs. “You’re a pervert!” You yelled at him, wondering how he could think of those things and why he wasn’t satisfied with the other women falling at his feet.
He opened his eyes wide, staring in shock.
“What are you saying?! You’re the one who’s not normal! When you love someone, it’s obvious you want to do… certain things! Damn it, Y/N! You come from a brothel! You should know these things better than I do!” He shouted in response.
“So you love me, then? What will your future wife think? And what will you think when I leave the court? Will you still love me?” Your tone was suddenly serious, your expression icy, cutting straight into his soul.
He shook his head, not in denial, but terrified that, if he ever had you, he would no longer be able to survive your absence.
God, he loved you—but he had never admitted it to himself. Never. He wasn’t ready to lose you.
“I’ve always loved you, ever since they brought you here. I will always love you,” he sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers almost imperceptibly threading through the strands, brushing against your skin, his gaze lifting toward you and looking at you with desperate love.
“But for tonight... stay in my arms, like this. Holding me. Letting me hold you. It’s enough. It’s more than I’ve ever had.”
He pulled you fully into an embrace then, both arms wrapping around you, your face buried in his neck, your body curled into his lap. He held you like you were his entire life.
You held him back, your arms around his shoulders, your fingers stroking his hair. You sat there, entwined, for long minutes, just breathing each other in. The moon shifted outside the window.
His breathing slowed, deepened. The tension in his body began to seep away, but not his erection. You felt him settle, though.
“Don’t go,” he mumbled into your hair, his voice slurred with sleepiness. “Not yet. Not tomorrow. Never.”
“I won’t,” you whispered.
“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Y/N.”
So, you stayed. For the night.
Jinshi slowly fell asleep, holding you close, covering you with your robe and wrapping you beneath his as well.
The night passed.
You felt his heartbeat slow against your ear. You listened to his breaths become even. His hand, even in his drowsy state, found yours again and intertwined your fingers, holding on. You could hear him sighing in his sleep, whispering how he didn’t want to lose you, how much he loved you, and how you were his.
And there, you realized that you were his headache…
Author’s Note: I just discovered this anime and fell in love with Jinshi! I’m waiting to receive the manga! *-* Thank you for taking the time to read this story! ♡
cw: as stated above, this story is heavily centred around the hanahaki disease, and all it's symptoms alike, so there will be blood in this story—please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable ❤️🩹 plus brief mentions of you being a lady in waiting, but for the most part i dont remember using pronouns (correct me if im mistaken!)
wc:3,452
“im yours for hours, you're always mine.”
its been a couple months now working under lord jinshi, something many women would envy to be in your place. but life was mundane working under such circumstances. the place was usually quiet, but you weren't alone—lady suiren had worked here for much longer than you had.
it was nice to work alongside another woman, having time to chat with her, and her actually understanding you. and its not like gaoshun was unreliable. he was just.. different, being a man, and all. but is was nice in the outer district, even if you weren't working alongside many other ladies in waiting. you grew to prefer it this way.
but things slowly started to change once you found yourself accompanying high eunuchs jinshi and gaoshun to the jade pavilion. you've never served one of the concubines personally, but it wasn't much different from your usual work. to serve, was your job. but you didn't have the same job as the other two men. which confused you as to why you'd been brought along.
was your work needed elsewhere? the idea slightly scared you, personally because.. you liked your current position. you would never dare to admit it out loud, not even to lady suiren. but, you enjoyed lord jinshi's presence more than anything. you felt guilty in all honesty, since you knew it wasn't your place to catch feelings. but.. you couldn't exactly help it.
the months that have passed have almost turned into a full year since you've been by his side, and since then, your feeble feelings only grew bit by bit. initially, you thought nothing of it, brushing it off as a sign of admiration. but you weren't that foolish. you knew all too well. after all, it wasn't uncommon for women like you to fall for a beautiful man such as himself.
you've heard the rumours, the passing whispers spoken about this man. how he's perceived by others, and how high many of the other ladies in waiting hold him to such high regards. and maybe thats when the ache in your heart began.. when you truly noticed just how well he treats everyone. it seems second nature to him. and yet, whenever you watch, you cant help but feel shame.
because deep down, you wished all his flattery, gentle touches, and sweet remarks would be directed at you. even if it were for only a second—even if.. it were a lie. but that wasn't your place to decide, and you've told yourself over and over. you worked for him, and nothing more.
but once you arrived at the jade pavilion, posture straight as ever, your eyes caught onto a girl not far from you—she seemed to be around your age. her green hair matched the clothes she wore, complementing her top, while her skirt tied things together. but after inspecting her, and letting your eyes wander, you found them catching sight of jinshi staring at her.
this made your eyebrows slightly raise, your breathing going still for only a moment. you stared once more at the girl, learning her name to be “maomao.” such a cute name for a girl like her. and it seemed like the other ladies in the crystal palace also adored her, she seemed to be well loved.
but after a couple of minutes passing, questioning yourself as to why you were even here, your eyes couldn't help but look at the man your heart grew attached to. and it only wavered seeing the sight of him interacting with the newly acquainted girl. it made you question many things, but before you could think about it much longer, maomao made her way to you, using you as some sort of shield to get jinshi away from her.
it had seemed like he was consorting with her about who knows what, and the giggles from the other ladies only made your heartbeat quicken even more. had lord jinshi ever looked at you the way he just did towards maomao? had he even looked at her in some specific way, or were you just over complicating things? why were you even questioning this from the start?
so many questions and thoughts roamed your head, giving you little time to react to your surroundings. it was only when gaoshun spoke your name, did you finally snap out of it.
“are you doing all right?” his steady hand on your shoulder grounded you, making you look towards him, before realising the others were staring.
“pardon?” you uttered, blinking a few times as you took a deep breath.
“you seemed like you were lost in thought,” jinshi's voice spoke out, his hand holding his chin as his head slightly tilted.
“oh, i..” but that was all you mustered up before coming up with an excuse. “i must not be used to being surrounded by so many people– excuse me, for i think i'll take a quick breather outside.” and as you sought yourself out, you rose a hand to your mouth as you began letting out dry coughs.
you were outside of the building, when the coughing persisted, making your chest hurt with the sudden force. but once you looked down into your hand, feeling something, your eyes caught the sight of small flower petals. they looked to be.. purple lilacs? a beautiful flower, but you coughing them up made your heartbeat quicken. ..what was happening?
fearful, you cough a few more times just to see. but, when no petals came up, your brows slightly furrowed. glancing down at the ones in your hand, nothing could have prepared you for what was to come. nothing could have warned you for what you were about to experience and go through.
and yet, here you were, discarding lilac petals once more, over and over. it must’ve been a couple of months that passed since your first encounter, ever since you met maomao. and ever since a couple of months ago, when you learned the secret glances jinshi gave towards a certain someone.
at first, you denied all knowledge of it, pushing it aside, and stating it was none of your business. what matter did you have in saying who jinshi spoke to and looked at? none, so thats exactly what you did, nothing. but.. when you began to frequent the jade pavilion more and more over the past few months, your chest couldn't help but swell at new emotions and findings.
it wasn't a secret, and definitely not towards lady gyokuyou's ladies in waiting. they would all chuckle amongst one another whenever lord jinshi sought out the apothecary, always whispering to each other how cute it was that maomao hadn't “noticed.” and when you heard them say this, you couldn't help but intervene, turning towards them as you spoke up.
“what do you mean by that? notice what?”
“oh, just how fond high eunuch is of lady maomao! cant you see?” yinghua questioned, her eyes finding the two of them once more from around the corner.
jinshi, being fond of maomao? since when? thats all you asked yourself while the others kept staring, giggling as they spoke about how cute maomao was.
and suddenly, your body went cold, breath catching in your throat when you felt the prickly thorns encasing your lungs give it a tight squeeze. you brought a hand up to your mouth, silently leaving the others as you rushed off to who knows where.
and when you looked up to see where your feet led you to, you found yourself standing before the quack doctor—name given to guen by maomao's courtesy. you found yourself visiting him more when you couldn't go see lady suiren, who was still located back in the outer court in jinshi's estate.
“my! what brings you here in such a rush?” the older man questioned, his face full of concern as you barely managed out a response.
“could you get me some of that tea from last time?” you asked, speaking through your hand. and without so much of missing a beat, the doctor was rushing off to the back in preparation for your tea. as soon as he was out of sight, you let the flowers spill from your mouth, rushing to dump them out—when you saw blood staining the petals.
terror struck you, pupils dilating as you felt your hands shaking with the horrific sight presented before you. you couldn't believe what you were seeing—too afraid to admit and accept that your condition has gotten to this point. and as you were struck with fear all throughout your body and mind, you failed to realise that the doctor returned, until you heard the sound of ceramics hitting the floor, shattering upon impact.
“wh—whats.. what's happening–!” he let out, startling both of you as you turned to look at him. you couldn't respond, though, with your throat feeling coarse all throughout.
the sight of blood and flowers spilling from your mouth must've stricken fear through his mind, causing some sort of flight reaction, because before you could try and stop him by reaching out, he rushed out of the medical office, darting to wherever you weren't around. the reaction stung, but not as much as what you were feeling in your lungs.
and as you coughed up some more, you couldn't help the hand that clutched the fabric near your chest—your lungs aching as you tried taking jagged breaths. and as you tried regaining your composure, choking up almost full lilacs at this point, you heard the sound of rushing footsteps making their way towards you.
but as you tried standing up, getting a grip of your surroundings, you felt yourself losing conscious, and collapsing to the ground as you tried covering your mouth before the fatigue caught up to you. what a gruesome illness this was, so cruel, and so forceful.. yet so beautiful at the same time.
to die forcefully from the inside out, while coughing up beautifully bloomed flowers, only to then be tainted with your own blood. stripping your ability to speak, and even breathing, now, up until this point.
and the next time you awoke, eyes squinting at the setting sun's rays that peeked through the windows, you recognised where you were. you’d been brought back to the estate, back to your room where you laid in bed.
slowly going to sit up, you're forced to let out a few more coughs, almost gagging at the sheer size of the lilacs now that you're choking up. you shook at the feeling and sight, but snapped out of your stricken state when a set of knocks were heard on your door.
“[name]?” but after hearing the voice that spoke your name, a chill ran down your spine, making you shiver at the thought of the person. “youre awake, yes? i'm going to open the door–” and as jinshi slowly uttered those words, you saw the bedroom doors open, revealing him as he emerged into your room.
“y–you.. shouldn't come in here,” you whispered through your hoarse voice. “im sick, and i wouldn't want to give it to you..’
“nonsense..” he mumbled, shaking his head as his face was adorned with a worrying expression. he dismissed your worries, proceeding into the room without a single doubt.
you chose not to speak, too afraid to engage in any sort of conversation in your current state.. too afraid you'll say something you'll regret later on. it was only when lady suiren and maomao entered your room, did you feel relief wash over you. only a little, though.
“[name], how are you feeling?” maomao questioned immediately upon arrival, making her way to your side as suiren followed not too far behind.
“im okay,” you muttered, eyes looking anywhere but at the people in your room. it was a lie though, and the others surely knew it. it was uncommon to just randomly find someone choking up bloodied flowers as if it were nothing. and you didn't want to tell them how difficult it was to breathe at the moment. so, instead, you kept conversation to a minimal, focusing on your breathing more than anything else.
“do you know the cause of this? just what sickness is this?” you heard jinshi ask, it was directed towards maomao, but you were sure you had a rough understanding yourself.
“..i remember hearing about it from my father briefly when i was younger. its supposedly called hanahaki, a disease where patients afflicted by its grasps show symptoms of coughing up flowers until the point of death..”
“death?!” jinshi and lady suiren exclaimed, their eyes going wide while waiting for maomao to say something, anything.
“yes, till they die of suffocation.. but,” maomao stopped, her eyes finding yours, as if trying to uncover something with her next words. “the disease can be cured. it originally stems from a deep root of feelings—most of the time—romantic feelings, towards a specific someone. if those feelings are returned, then the disease is cured.”
this entire conversation felt like a humiliation ritual. to be read like a book, and stated that you'd die due to your feelings. it felt as if shame were taunting you, and in front of the man your heart yearned for, nonetheless.
“which is why i needed to speak with you,” maomao continued, catching your attention as you stared at her. “who is it that causes these flowers to bloom?”
“no.. i—i can't say…” you resist, shaking your head as tears threaten your eyes.
“why? are they someone out of reach? you know that isn't a problem..” the irony for jinshi of all people to be saying this to you. it made you almost want to laugh, but you couldn't.
“say that you love me, say that i'm all you need…”
“no, that's not the issue..”
“then what is? who? who is it?”
“you should probably give her some space..” lady suiren suddenly interjected, jinshi becoming confused at this. it was only when gaoshun came to his side, did he take the hint to leave.
“you know.. there is one other way to cure all this,” maomao softly spoke, shaking her head at the mere thought. “..theres.. a medicine i can make, one that can cure you. but.. ..but you will lose all the feelings you hold for this person.”
“can i be honest for a second..?” you mumbled, tears beginning to fall from your eyes at the thought of spilling the truth. but suiren seemed to understand. she understood you all too well after all this time.
“its him, isn't it?” the older lady spoke, a solemn look on her face.
“him? whose that?”
but the older lady didn't answer that, it was your part to tell her this information.
“i think.. if i had to choose between those three options, i'd much rather go the coward route, and let the flowers consume me..”
“but why? who is it?” maomao persisted, worry lacing her tone after hearing you say you'd rather die than experience the other options.
“you know, maomao,” you croak out, feeling the vines that encased your lungs squeeze them to the point of giving you a headache. the room felt like it was spinning. “even the ladies in waiting under concubine gyokuyou managed to realise it.. jinshi's admiration for you.. its admirable, really—”
“is that really important right now?” the younger girl spoke out, a frown evident on her lips as she looked at you with waiting hesitation.
“i would say so, yes.” you smiled, before your chest suddenly stopped moving.
“[name]?.. [name]! hey, wake up! y–you haven't finished telling me what you were going to say..!”
with the panicked calling of your name, the two men from before came rushing into the room, laying eyes on the sight of full blossomed lilacs sprouting from your mouth—vines and leaves alike accompanying them.
“no—it cant be..” jinshi uttered out, refusing to believe the sight of you before him.
“is she..” gaoshun tried speaking, but his voice betrayed him before he could say much.
“t–the.. the medicine.. i have to make the medicine—” maomao managed out, her voice shaking a little at the sight of how fast the flowers were sprouting.
“there's a medicine?!” the sound of jinshi's voice raising could be heard, frantic to find a cure for this curse.
“but is it what she would have wanted?” lady suiren intervened, placing a hand on maomao's to try and stabilise her.
“perhaps not.. but im too selfish to not save someone i can.. i dont want her life to end like this, not when she has so much to live for. i may not have known her for long, but i feel like i understand her enough to want this.”
“then the person she loved was lord jinshi.” suiren quickly whispered into the younger girls ear, just quiet enough for the man to not hear. and upon hearing this, maomao tensed up, her head turning towards the man in question instantly.
“what? what is it? do you not have the ingredients for the medicine?” fear stricken, he questioned immediately.
“no– its not that, its just that.. the one she loves, is you…” a deafening silence befell the room within seconds, everyone catching their breaths at maomao's sudden newfound intervention.
the man couldn't help but stand there helplessly, staring at you, and only you. he made attempts to get closer, and the others took this as a sign to leave you both be.
and once the three left, jinshi wasted no time in getting to your side, his hand wrapping around your own as he brought it up to his face. and the moment it touched his cheek, the coldness of your skin on his made his eyes water, spilling without a second thought.
“i know i may be cynical at times, and i find it difficult for others to truly perceive me in such a high light. but if its true, ..i want to hear you say you love me. im a selfish man, and i wouldn't be the one i am today if it weren't for you. for the past yearr, you've changed my perspective on so much. so much so, that when i met maomao, i thought it'd be nice for the two of you to meet..”
taking a deep breath, he let his hair fall to the side of his face as he cradled your cold hand.
“i thought that if i had someone similar to you help me express my emotions and feelings, then it would be easier for me when i meant to say and express it all to you. how foolish of me, though.. to cause you so much pain without realising it—i truly am selfish, aren't i? but i still love you, more than anything, i love you. so please, say you won't forget me..”
and through tear–filled eyes, he saw the flowers that surrounded you, slowly fade away—the coldness of your hands also regaining their warmth after his confession.
as you slowly began opening your eyes, your chest rising once more, jinshi crashed his arms into you, wrapping them to hold you, and to never let go.
and when your breath caught in your throat this time, it wasn't due to flowers suffocating you, it was because you were awoken to a sight you never deemed imaginable.
“but.. how?–” you softly questioned, arms coming up to the man that held you in his arms.
“did you think i'd never love you back?” jinshi questioned as he slightly pulled away—just enough to come face to face with you, his brows furrowing in disapproval. “well, i do,” he stated, his lips kissing your own.
“i love you.” he spoke, kissing you again.
“i.. i thought i'd be someone temporary to you—”
“never.” he shut the idea down before it could fester.
and then, he kissed you again. and again, and.. again. so gentle, yet impactful at the same time. as if they were words of their own, grounding your once restless mind.
“so say it.. say it from your own lips. i want nothing more than to hear you say you love me, too.”
upon hearing his words of reclamation—face relaxing in the process, a small smile made its way to your lips—your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you spoke.
“i love you.”
and when the man kissed you one last time, much longer than all the other times, you got to finally realise one important thing—something that made you smile into the kiss as your mind wandered.
to be loved, is to be seen. and from this day forward, those words will forever be ingrained into your memory like a reliquary.
omg i really hope there are no typos because this is the third time i rewrote this damn plot. as much as i love and adore the hanahaki trope, i cant write it to save my life..
anyway, i hope to all who read enjoy! all notes are appreciated 🥹🫶
also sienna my heart belongs to you for creating such a masterpiece of a song 🙏
An oppressive galactic empire claims that THEIR starships' faster-than-light engines are fueled by the enslaved gods of their defeated foes. You freed a "high priority" prisoner on one of their ships. Now their FTL engines don't work.
You are a drop-pod mechanic. To pass the time, you write a short, encouraging message on the inside of every pod you repair. Today, a heavily scarred veteran comes looking for the person whose message kept him sane.
"Well done, mortal. I suppose you'll want to trade the changeling for your child?" "Trade? Are you insane? I'm keeping them both. What kind of worthless, twisted parent abandons their child to kidnap another?"
Here’s more VM requests. Again, however you wanna write it, I’m mostly obsessed with Percy but however many people you want and if you wanna write it like a Headcanon or one shot I’m fine either way. But reader using the fake out make out tactic with them? They’re hiding from the guards and reader slightly dishevels their clothes before pulling whoever into a heated kiss to fool the guards.
- extremely short, I'm sorry. Also sorry it took so long, it's been a rough couple of weeks.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Percy hissed as the two of you ducked down yet another alley, temporarily losing the guards. You were both panting for breath, leaning on your knees. "How did I get dragged into this?" He grumbled, adjusting his glasses. You stared at him with wide eyes.
"This was your idea!"
"They went this way!" You looked around for somewhere to hide but there was nothing to take cover behind. He started to run but you grabbed his shoulder, shaking your head.
"What are you doing?" He asked as you took off his glasses and hid them in one of his pockets. You unbuttoned the top of his shirt and ruffled his hair, backing against a wall and pulling him close to you.
"Do you trust me?"
"I-" you cut him off as the guards rounded the corner, pulling his face toward yours until your lips met. He responded with surprising eagerness, like a man drowning who finally found water. His hands found home on your waist and in your hair as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. His body melded against yours as though you were made for each other. You found yourself pulling him impossibly closer, not realising how much you had wanted this.
"Oh, Gods." One of the guards huffed, turning around. "Let's look somewhere else."
The footsteps faded and Percy stepped back, breathless. "Why did you - what - how did you know that would work?" he whispered and you smiled at him.
"I just knew." You paused, looking up at him. You swallowed and stepped closer to him again leaning up and pecking his lips. "Come on. Let's find the others."
Includes Grog, Pike, Scanlan, Vax, Vex, Percy, and Keyleth
WARNINGS: (Temporary) major character death, some scattered angst
A/N: So guess who's been working on this one for three years? 😅 Text under the cut since it got hella long (18 single-spaced pages in Docs) Hopefully it was worth it. Can y'all guess my favorite character?
Grog Strongjaw - Seeing Color
There's nothing quite like the thrill of a fight - the pounding of adrenaline, your racing heart, the sweet sting of strain through your muscles, the burn of bruises forming under your skin where your opponent’s fists had struck you, and the roar of the crowd.
True, adventuring had brought you your fair share of fights when you’d been part of a party - traipsing cross-country to stop bad guys and explore and hold out hope of meeting your soulmate, but even that couldn’t compare to the fights in the Crucible.
You’d heard tell of the infamous fighting ring when your party had passed through Vasselheim years ago, and you’d entered yourself into that night’s fights. That first fight had been enough to convince you of where you needed to be. You resigned from adventuring that night, taking the next few weeks to stake out a claim there in Vasselheim before making yourself a regular contender in the Crucible fights.
It was another such night, with your blood singing through your veins and your knuckles burning from where you’d split them across some half-orc’s jaw when your head started spinning from more than just the blows you’d taken.
Your eyes had glanced, for the briefest of seconds, over the crowd of onlookers crowded around the brim of the pit to watch the fight, and your eyes met the bright brown ones of a Goliath standing near the front of the crowd. It took you a moment to realize that you could see the color of his eyes, not just the shades of grey that you should’ve seen there. If you could see color then that meant that this man was your soulmate-
A sharp blow to the side of your head jerked you back into the moment and the rhythm of the fight. You forced yourself to look past the rich browns of the dirt, the green skin of your opponent and the red of his blood, shaking away the overwhelming onslaught of new colors and going back to what you know.
You’re shifting your weight from foot to foot as you watch your opponent, ducking a few more of his wide swings, before finding yourself ready to end it. You planted your back foot, slipping deftly under your opponent’s arm and throwing your shoulder into his stomach, using your momentum to take you both to the ground.
You don’t allow him time to recover, planting yourself across his chest and using your leverage to rain brutal punch after brutal punch into the half-orc’s face until you see the consciousness slip from his eyes. As soon as you’re sure it’s not an act, you push away from him and to your feet. You step away, wiping a hand under your surely-broken nose and pausing only briefly at the sight of your crimson blood staining your skin.
Right, you thought, I saw my soulmate. He was gone when your eyes drifted back to where you’d seen him last and you felt a twinge of disappointment shoot through you. You shook your head, allowing yourself to be hauled up out of the pit and moving to track down the bookie to collect your earnings.
Now with your adrenaline waning and your coin purse weighing heavier against your hip, you begin to weave your way through the crowd, nodding your thanks as people clap you on the shoulder and congratulate you. You pause as a small red flower is thrust before you, stopping short.
Your gaze trails up from the flower to the person holding it, a smile tugging at your split lip as you find grey skin and tattoos and those same sweet honey-brown eyes over a shy smile.
“You, um,” he starts, tripping over his words as he tried to find them, “You fight good.” He holds out the flower to you, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest as you realize there’s still a clod of dirt clinging to the roots. He must’ve gone off to find this for you when you hadn’t been able to spot him in the crowd. “I, uh, I dunno if you started seeing color too…?”
You nod and his smile becomes a little relieved, tension easing from his shoulders the longer he talks to you.
“I just thought,” he clears his throat and you catch the sight of an elvish man in black and a gnome in purple snickering at the two of you a little ways off. You presume these are your soulmate’s friends, laughing as he fumbles through conversation. You can’t help but find the stuttering charming. “Well, it’s not as pretty as you, even in color, but I wanted you to have something.” He pauses, seeming to only now realize he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “Grog,” he says, sticking his hand out for you to shake.
You tell him your name in exchange, and slip your hand into his. Instead of shaking it, you tug him along after you, figuring it would be good to get to know your soulmate away from the crowd and the prying eyes of his friends. He follows you eagerly.
Pike Trickfoot - Twin Heartbeats
There had always been a second heartbeat thrumming alongside yours in your chest. You’d felt it speed up before when your soulmate was overcome with adrenaline, but for the most part it was always steady and slow and soothing - even now, with your own slowing to a stop.
You’d been passing through Whitestone with your adventuring party when you’d been set upon by a group of vampire spawn who were less than pleased by your arrival.
You were able to help down the first few of the spawn before one snuck up behind you and put a knife through you. Your friends had called out for you but you knew they were too far away to get to you in time, especially with the remaining vampires blocking them.
There’s a grating sound from behind you, like a heavy door opening, and more people shouting as they enter the room. There’s a blast, a bit like the sound of a cannon firing, and the ground rumbles as someone large barrels past you, an enraged shout escaping them as they charge the vampires.
Blood is soaking your armor around the blade of the dagger plunged through your ribs but you can’t seem to focus on the spreading warmth or the clash of fighting around you. You can feel your soulmate’s heart spike sharply even as your own pulse weakens, and a few seconds later someone drops to their knees at your side. They press one hand over your wound and two fingers to the side of your throat to feel for a pulse.
“Shit,” they curse as they recognize the weakness of your pulse against their fingertips. “Not like this, not like this.” They say, and you cringe as they rip the dagger out of you, warm hands putting pressure against your wound. “We were supposed to meet somewhere nice. A tavern or a festival or something, not with you dying.”
You’re confused. This person is talking to you like they know you but you don’t recognize their voice. Unless…? Oh, you realize belatedly, head still muddied by the blood loss, They must be your soulmate.
You fight to open your eyes, taking in snowy white hair and pretty blue eyes and a concerned frown and you didn’t want to die before but now you really don’t because your soulmate is adorable and you can’t stand the thought of dying without getting to know her.
“Hi,” you croak, forcing yourself to smile.
A stunned half-laugh escapes her and she looks almost on the verge of tears as she presses her hands firmly over your stab wound.
“Hi,” she says back, eyes and hands beginning to glow with a brilliant golden light. It’s warm, like sunlight. “I’m not letting you die before I get to know you.”
You nod, agreeing like you have a say in the matter. For her, you’d figure out a way around death.
The pressure against your wound remains steady and you can feel the skin and muscle knitting back together under her fingers. Slowly, your heartbeat steadies, evening out to match hers, and you force yourself upright as she finishes healing you, catching sight of the ongoing brawl where her party is helping yours turn the tides against the vampires. You look back to her, eyes bright with challenge, “Most vampire kills decides where I take you for our first date?”
She grins, grip tightening around the handle of her mace as she charges in ahead of you. “You’re on!” she calls back over her shoulder.
You can’t help but smile as you follow her, heart beating in tune with hers, and know that you’d be happy to follow her anywhere.
Scanlan Shorthalt - Shared Melodies
Music had always been a part of your life. From the time you were little you’d had tunes and the starts of songs echoing through your mind. Of course, few of them had been your own - most of the songs had been in another’s voice. Your soulmate’s voice.
As you’d grown, so had your soulmate - the high playful voice of childhood deepening into a grown man’s tenor, soft and slightly raspy with years of experience. With the frequency of some of his songs, you’d come to figure he was a performer of some sort - likely a traveling bard. You’d learned some of his favorites through the years and couldn’t help but wonder over the stories that had shaped them, about what he’d felt and thought and lived through to make his songs what they had become.
You had often wondered what your soulmate looked like, if his features were soft like his tone or more defined like the way the lyrics rolled from his lips. You wondered if he would be your height or taller or shorter. You knew you didn’t really care about his looks though, not when his songs had given you insight into the type of person he was. You didn’t have to have seen him to know that you would love him.
It had been weeks since the last time you’d heard your soulmate’s singing playing through your mind with a chorus of other instruments to back him up, so you knew that he was likely traveling again.
This same knowledge made it hard to care about something so trivial as going to work when for all you knew your soulmate could be in danger, though you knew your town’s little tavern would not open without you there to run it. With that same knowledge, you forced yourself to unlock and throw wide the doors of the establishment.
You’d scarcely taken your place behind the bar when your first group of patrons filed in, a rather motley crew of half-elves, a Goliath, a human, and a pair of gnomes. They quickly claimed one of the large corner booths and the dark-haired half-elf woman came over to haggle for drinks. You stood your ground and finally she relented, paying full price and returning to her table laden with drinks.
It was still early so business remained slow, only a few of your regulars trickling in to take their usual seats at the bar. You’d fallen into your usual rhythm of serving drinks and taking payments when the music started. You could recognize the opening notes of one of your soulmate’s favorites, though it was louder now than it usually seemed. It wasn’t until you realized that you were hearing a slight echo of your soulmate’s voice that you looked up, your words cutting out from where you’d been speaking to a patron as your gaze darted up to the small stage at the other end of the tavern, where one of the gnomes from the party from earlier had taken up, singing and playing his lyre like it was more natural to him than breathing.
You were transfixed, unable to look away from this man who was apparently your soulmate. A smile tugged at your lips as you realized you’d been right - while it was nice to be able to put a face to the voice, it wouldn’t have mattered what he looked like. You’d have loved him either way.
When his song trailed to an end, you waved him over to the bar. He took one of the empty seats without argument, though the free drink you slid him seemed to be a surprise.
“Enjoyed my performance that much, eh?” he grinned at you, winking when he caught your eye.
You returned the smile easily, wiping at a stubborn spot on the bar a bit to the side of him. “Figured it would be a good start to pay you back for all the free performances I’ve gotten over the years,” you said, a slight chuckle escaping you at the baffled look on his face. “You’ve been working on that one a while, yeah? I think you picked up the melody a year or two ago, right? And you’ve been working on the lyrics since.” He’s speechless so you press on, “I think I liked the verse about the girl with the violets in her hair better than the new chorus though.”
That seems to get his attention. “I- I never performed that version,” he says quietly, his confident charade faltering for the first time since he stepped foot in your bar. “How do you know it?”
“You never performed it publicly,” you corrected, tapping a finger to the side of your head gently, “Doesn’t mean you didn’t have an audience.”
His performer smile fades as a smaller one takes its place, less show-stopping but so much more real that it almost makes your heart stop. “Maybe you’d like a private show later then?” A bright blush creeps up on him and you can tell that he’s having trouble keeping up the playboy facade when faced by meeting his soulmate. He scrambles to correct himself, “Not for that - well, unless you wanted to - but I’ve got the starts of about a million songs about you that I want to play for you. I mean, they’re not really done yet because it was hard to write something about your soulmate without really knowing them but-”
You lean forward and kiss him to interrupt his rambling. “I’d love to,” you say, ignoring the excited whoops from his friends at their booth. And you really would, happy to hear any tune your soulmate may wish to play, more than happy just to spend time with him.
Vax'ildan Vessar - Prophetic Dreams
You are no stranger to prophetic dreams. You’d seen visions of yourself standing beside the other members of Vox Machina long before you’d met them, witnessed the atrocities of the Briarwoods before they came to Emon, seen the dark figure guiding Percy’s actions before it exposed itself, and had even been able to see the light returning to Whitestone before the vampires’ defeat. But this- you’d never had a vision quite like this.
Some of your visions are peaceful, sure, but they have never made you feel quite so safe as your current dream does, with the soft light of dawn spilling through the window of your bedroom back at Vox Machina’s keep, dusting gently over the figure lying beside you in your bed. You watched as they shifted, long dark hair parting easily around the elegant point of an elvish ear and spilling in waves across their pillow. The blankets had slipped low along their side, the smooth pale skin of their neck and shoulder exposed to the chill morning air. You watch them sleep for a few moments, enjoying the peace that their presence brought you, before they shift, seemingly about to turn toward you. In the second before you would be able to see your companion’s face, you were jolted back to wakefulness.
“Shit,” you mumble, sucking in a harsh breath as you come face-to-snout with a massive grizzly bear. Your racing heart settles only slightly when the bear lets out a pleased grumble and noses at your cheek. “Good morning to you too, Trinket.” With your greeting, the massive bear rises back to his paws and lumbers back to the open door to your chambers and out into the hallway, presumably off to find Vex.
You begin to push yourself into a seated position when the thought reminds you of your dream. With the elvish features and dark hair, it’s entirely possible that the figure in your dream could have been Vex’ahlia, one of your companions. You’d heard of people being blessed with dreams of their soulmates, but would have never guessed yourself to be among them, let alone for your soulmate to have been someone you’ve already met.
You find yourself dressing in somewhat of a daze as you think, only snapping back to sharp focus as you enter the vast dining room of the keep, the rest of the party already sitting down to breakfast.
“Good morning everyone,” your eyes dart sheepishly toward Vex as you take your usual seat at the far end of the table beside Vax. She’s seated beside Percy, chin perched elegantly on her hand as she watches him speak.
“Nice of you to join us, sleepyhead,” Vax teases, shoving at your shoulder playfully.
You manage to drag your eyes away from his sister in order to swat his hand back, though you can’t fight the slight upward tug at your lips. Vax had always been able to make you smile, even through your worst days. You’re friends with the rest of Vox Machina of course, but you and Vax had always been closer than the rest.
“Whatever,” you huff, digging into the breakfast that the servants had laid out for all of you. You can’t help shooting a couple of glances in Vex’s direction now and then, but you try to do it surreptitiously enough so the others don’t notice.
Vax nudges you again, dark eyes fixed on you intently when you finally turn to look at him, “There a reason you keep eyeing my sister like that?” he prompts softly, voice lowered enough to avoid attention from the rest of the party.
You shrug, keeping your eyes trained firmly on your breakfast, but you could feel the treacherous heat of a blush warming your face as he studies you. “Had a weird dream last night. Can’t get my mind off it.”
“If you had a sex dream about my sister, I certainly don’t want details.” Vax’s face twists in mock disgust as he looks at you, “And I certainly wouldn’t talk about it around everyone, if Vex doesn’t kill you herself, Percy certainly will.”
Your gaze snaps up to meet his and you scramble to protest, “That’s not- it wasn’t like that!” You clear your throat as the rest of the group looks over at your exclamation, “Sorry,” you say, waving them off. “What do you mean?” you continue once everyone resumes their previous conversations, “Why would Percy be mad?”
Vax makes a face, wincing like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They, uh, they don’t want to tell everyone just yet, but they’re engaged.”
You can’t even form words in response, thoughts derailing at your best friend’s admission. Admittedly, you hadn’t given Vex much thought romantically before today, but after your dream you’d been sure that she was your soulmate. A future that you could count on, but now that Vax had told you she and Percy were involved-
You push your seat back from the table, mumbling a quiet “Lost my appetite” as an excuse and quickly ducking out of the room.
You move without thinking of the destination, feet carrying you down the hallway and up the stairwells until you reach the top of your favorite tower. You step out onto the balcony, sitting down on the edge of the platform and letting your legs hang over into the open air as you stare out over the horizon.
The scuff of a boot on stone alerts you to his presence before he even speaks, though you have the suspicion that it was more for your benefit than of an oversight on Vax’s part. He’d always been too stealthy for your well being.
“Care to tell me what caused that reaction?” he says softly as he sits beside you, pulling a small dagger from its sheath and flipping it idly between his fingers.
You sigh, fingers clenching into fists where they rested against your thighs. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“From you? Certainly not,” he reassures you, bumping you lightly with his shoulder. “If there’s something upsetting you, there’s reason for you to be upset. You’re not one to make a big deal out of nothing. If you want someone to listen, you know I’m here for you.”
A deep breath whooshes out of you as you try to convince yourself to start talking. Eventually you force yourself to begin, “I think I had a dream about my soulmate last night.”
Vax’s hand falters and the blade slips through his fingers, plummeting through the air and streaking toward the ground, only to reappear at his belt seconds later. “Is that so?” he says after a long moment, voice strained and tight in a way you’d only heard before when he’d been injured. “Did you- did you think my sister was your soulmate?”
You shrug, unable to meet his eyes. “It was a pretty valid guess with what I saw.”
Vax hums, hands stilling on the hilt of his blade, “I’ve had dreams about my soulmate as well. Do you care to know what I saw in mine?” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “I saw the setting sun, brilliant gold staining the treetops of the forest stretching out beyond the walls below me. I watched the night start to fade and the stars emerge and as beautiful as it was, all I could think was that I couldn’t be happier because I was with my favorite person in their favorite place.” He pauses, seeming to steel his nerves before continuing. “I was right here, looking out over the keep, and I didn’t need to look to know who was beside me.”
“Are you saying-?” You can’t even bring yourself to finish the question, mind racing as you try to process what your best friend is suggesting.
Vax lets out an amused little huff, back to flipping his dagger deftly between his fingers. “You know I’m in love with you, right? I have been for years now.” He shrugs as he catches the blade once more, shooting a soft glance at you, “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want to pressure you at all, just to suggest that your dream may not have been about my sister.”
Your dream races through your mind once more, the sweeping black hair pooling on the pillow and the sharp point of an ear. The pale skin nearly glowing in the light and the comfort you felt. All of these features could belong to Vex, sure, but could have belonged to Vax just as easily. If you were honest with yourself, you doubted you’d have felt that safe around his sister since he had been the only one able to bring you such peace. Even now, with Vax’s confession hanging over you and the silence stretching ahead, you don’t feel alarmed at the situation. It feels right, natural in a way that you wouldn’t have anticipated but couldn’t have felt easier now that you thought about it. You aren’t quite sure how you had ever assumed your dream was about Vex, when you should have known it was about him.
“I think you’re my soulmate,” you say finally, eyes darting over to peek at him just long enough to catch the soft look on his face as he examines you. “I think it was you all along but I was too afraid to give the idea any real consideration.” You heave a deep breath and your shoulders sag as you slump against his side, leaning your head easily against his shoulder, “I can’t say I’m in love with you yet, but I can’t say I won’t be.”
He leans over to press a gentle kiss against the top of your head and you can feel the shift of his lips as they pull up into a grin, “That’s okay,” he says, an arm coming up to loop easily around your shoulders to hold you close, “If I get even a chance to stay beside you, that is more than enough for me.”
In that moment, as the sun continues its ascent over the horizon and the golden light begins to settle, you understand the ease that a soulmate is meant to bring - the safety and comfort they provide - and can’t help but thinking that the chance to be with Vax was worth far more than a life with anyone else.
Vex'ahlia Vessar - Shared Marks
The drawings hadn’t always been there - when she’d been a little girl, Vex’ahlia had wondered if she even had a soulmate since there’d been no signs of a shared bond or physical soulmark. She’d wondered whether they existed, what they’d be like - if they’d know her straight away or if it would take time for both to recognize the connection.
Then she turned fourteen and the smudges started appearing, thick dark smears of ink coating the sides of her hands and staining her fingertips. She’d thought it was some strange disease since it’d happened while she and Vax had been camping out in the forests outside of some miniscule town, but Vax had watched on in awe and pointed out the way some of the trailing lines looked like letters - badly drawn and wonky in shape, but letters nonetheless, and Vex realized that there was someone on the other side of her tether afterall.
The letters had smoothed and straightened with the years, but their author never wrote to Vex directly, no matter how many times she reached out. She’d all but assumed that her soulmate didn’t care to know her and given up when the first little doodle arrived. It wasn’t much, just a crooked little flower etched into the pad of muscle at the base of her thumb, but it felt like more than just a practicing of letters - it felt like it was for her.
Since then, the drawings have become a bright spot for her - something that she finds herself eagerly checking for each morning and hoping appears before sleep claims her each night. There’s no rhyme or rhythm to when they appear, not really, but over the last year or so the subject matter has been becoming more and more specific.
It’d started subtly - just a little bird on the inside of her wrist. A blue jay. She wouldn’t have even thought it was personal if it weren’t painted the exact shade of blue as the feather she wears in her hair.
Then there was an arrow that spanned the length of her leg, sharp edged and perfectly fletched, with lightning crackling around the edges.
The next one was a bundle of thorns ringing her wrist, far too similar to the thorn forest where she’d been possessed in the feywild to be a coincidence.
It’s late, well past midnight, when the sensation of a paintbrush over her skin jerks Vex from her sleep and she moves blearily to the tall mirror against the wall of her chambers to watch the colors bleed to life against the canvas of her skin. It’s all oranges and pinks and reds blending into a vivid gold across her abdomen, a sunset taking form - a rich black cuts through, creating ground and the shadows of trees and mountains. A landscape then, Vex thinks to herself. The darkness gains further shape, shadows coalescing into the form of a woman and a large animal beside her. It’s a bear. The painting is of her and Trinket.
Vex’s unseen artist brings in a grey to accentuate the pair and the detail is nothing short of tender - there is love in the intricacy and she can’t refute her suspicions any longer - her soulmate is someone she knows, another member of Vox Machina.
The realization is overwhelming, sure, but it’s also sort of reassuring - that whoever fate thinks she’s meant to spend her life with is someone who’s already proven to have her back and value her skills. It’s… easier somehow to think of this other half of her heart as someone she already cares about. It’s also infinitely easier to narrow down who it might be.
Obviously her brother is out, as is Keyleth since Vex knows the Ashari’s soulmate mark matches Vax’s. Pike and Scanlan are eliminated for similar reasons and Vex feels confident in discounting Grog, since the Goliath’s huge hands would make the level of detail in the drawings virtually impossible. This leaves her with Percy and, well, you.
A paladin from Baldur’s Gate, Vex had assumed you’d be as stuck up and self-righteous as most of the other paladins she’s met but you’re not. You’re a newer addition to the team, but fit into the group as easily as breathing - quick to prank Vax and Scanlan and Grog, but never hesitating to stop the situation if it starts to go too far. You’d stepped between Percy and a blast from Delilah Briarwood in the battle at the Ziggeraut, helped Grog pick himself up after his loss at the Crucible, helped Keyleth with her research into the other Ashari tribes, and even helped Scanlan figure out what to do next when he learned he was a father.
She’d given you a hard time once, late at night when the two of you were on watch and the rest of the party were asleep in their bedrolls, teasing you about tying yourself to someone else’s ideals by taking your oath and you’d smiled like you were letting her in on a secret.
“My oath is to myself,” you said, voice soft enough that she almost wondered if she’d actually heard you over the crackling of the campfire, “To trusting myself to know what is right and what is wrong and to do what I can to help keep the balance.” You’d looked sheepish in the golden glow and Vex had been shocked to find herself thinking you cute, “It’s not something many would understand, certainly not something most paladins would relate to, but it’s what I devote myself to.”
The sound of your voice haunts Vex now, even as the ticklish sensation of the brush’s strokes fades and her mysterious artist leaves her once more. She can’t look away from the scene of her and Trinket captured by the light of the setting sun, perfectly at home in the trees. She’s not sure anyone has ever known her so well before.
Vex doesn’t sleep that night.
-----
You’re already at your usual place at the long table when Vex makes her way to breakfast the next morning, still clad in your ever-present armor, even when there’s no plans for an adventure for the next fortnight. Vex takes her seat across from you wordlessly, ignoring the conversations around her in favor of studying you.
You smile softly at her, nudging a plate already loaded with her favorites toward her. “Had to fight Grog for the last of the bacon, but I saved some for you.” you said, like this thoughtful little action wasn’t giving her a crisis.
Keyleth calls your name and you start, hand retracting as you turn to face her and Vex’s eyes catch on a flash of color as you move.
There's red crusted under your fingernails.
Of course, it could always be blood, but your armor is spotless and you’re not careless enough to leave your hands bloody if you’ve already polished your armor. And with armor like that - a kit that covers your full torso and down your arms, there’s really no way she’d have ever been able to see any artwork hidden beneath. But your fingers - you were deft enough to create detail like the ones she’d seen last night, creative enough to piece together magic like the designs you wove from thin air.
It had to be you.
Vex reaches over to snatch the ink pen Percy was using to scrawl out blueprints on the back of a napkin and presses it hard to the back of her hand, smearing the dark liquid in a messy swipe across her skin and watching intently as an identical blur bleeds to life across the back of yours.
Your fingers tense instinctively at the feeling of the ink creeping over your hand and you catch her eyes as you shift to pull your hand under the table surreptitiously. She can see the moment you realize she knows when you set your fork back down with a clink, a tense look on your face as you push back from the table and stalk out of the room without another word.
-----
Vex finds you in the armory, sitting with your back to the wall as you drag a whetstone along the edge of your sword. You don’t even look up as she enters, though the tightness in your shoulders confirms that you know she’s there.
“How long have you known?” she asks, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “How long have you known you’re my soulmate and not told me?”
You swallow sharply, like the words cut deeper than any blade would be able to. “Since Whitestone,” the words are soft, something you never thought you’d have to say aloud. An admission of guilt you’d been unready to give. “I drew a protective sigil on my wrist, something to ward against necrotic energies, and I saw it on yours a few minutes later.”
She remembers that - the strange whorls and barbs of runes she couldn’t read bleeding to life just where her arm guard didn’t cover. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Vex hates how fragile her voice sounds - how it sounds like she’s close to tears.
You finally look at her then and Vex realizes that she’d never known what color your eyes were until this moment. Hadn’t realized how lovely they are.
“I didn’t think you’d want me even if you knew,” you say, and it kills her how matter-of-fact you sound. “I don’t have anything to offer - no money, no land, no title. Vex, you deserve far better than me.” Your eyes drift back toward the door like you’re seeing far past it, “It always seemed like there was something between you and Percy, so I decided I would leave myself out of the picture so you could pursue someone who’s a better match for you without the weight of destiny dragging you down.” There’s something bitter in the twist of your face, in the sharpness of your voice on the word ‘destiny’ and Vex feels an answering pang in her chest.
She frowns at you, crossing her arms over her chest. “That wasn’t your decision to make,” she bites out, pressing on when it looks like you want to argue, “It’s my decision whether I want to pursue something with Percy or if I’d rather explore what we could have together. You had no right to take that choice from me.”
The rhythmic grinding of the whetstone against metal finally stops and you look up at her. There’s a long moment when you look like you want to argue with her before she can see the set of your jaw loosen and you nod, “You’re right.” You sigh, pocketing your whetstone and sheathing your sword as you stand and move to stand in front of her. “It’s your right to decide what you want for your future and I won’t stand in the way of that.” You look… smaller… without your armor, like without the thick plates of steel to protect you, you’re back to being only human. She’s a little taken off guard to see you without it, especially when you must’ve known she was upset. You take a deep breath, like you’re forcing yourself to press on, “Vex, I’ve loved you for a long time. Before I even realized you were my soulmate. I certainly don’t deserve you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”
Vex can’t help but smile as she leans in to kiss you. Really, what more could she possibly have hoped for in a soulmate?
Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III - Names
The sound of a struggle jerks you from your fitful sleep, but you stay still, slumped against the back wall of your cell, eyes closed and breathing even, until the gate of the cell beside yours slams closed and you can hear the guards disappear off down the corridor they’d come from. Then you push yourself upright and make your way over to the thick stone wall separating your cell from the Briarwoods’ newest prisoner.
“You alive over there?” you ask, leaning against the shared wall. It extends a few inches past the thick bars at the front of the cells and the side walls of the cells are solid stone, making it impossible to see into any of the other cells apart from the one across from you, but even if you’re unable to see the new prisoner, an enemy of the Briarwoods has the potential to be an ally of yours.
There’s the shuffle of clothing, a pained hiss and then a thump against the other side of the wall, like whoever was on the other side had fallen against it.
“I have to get out of here,” your new companion groans. The voice is deep, masculine. It’s accented, thick with Whitestone’s regional dialect, but also strained in a way you were plenty familiar with. He’d been screaming.
“Briarwoods or Ripley?” A shudder wracks through you at the thought of your own experience with the Briarwoods and their lackeys. You can still feel the burn of Sylas’ fangs in your throat.
It takes a moment, but the reply comes. “Ripley. This time.”
You hum, knowing just how thorough her ‘testing’ can be. You move to pass your hand through the bars at the front of the cell, stretching as far as you can toward his cell. Your companion does not move, so you wiggle your fingers pointedly. Eventually he relents and slowly slips his hand into yours.
A smile crosses your lips for the first time you can remember since being imprisoned, and you let the warmth of your magic fill your veins, congregating where your palm meets his. His fingers relax in your hold and his breathing eases a little as you heal the worst of his wounds.
“Incredible,” he breathes, flexing his fingers and marveling at how quickly the pain had vanished. “How did you…?”
You shrug, though you know he can’t see you, “It’s a paladin thing. They took my sword when they tossed me in here and Delilah found a way to block the rest of my magic. I guess they left this because it's handy to have a constantly replenished bloodbag for Sylas.”
Your companion makes a sound of disgust, but he settles against your shared wall as close as he could figure to where you stand and you mimic his position.
The night passes quickly with someone to talk to and the following weeks pass similarly, with one or the both of you dragged off to be tortured during the day and you doing what you could to patch each of you up during the night. You’d come to know each other as the time passed - he’d told you about his parents and his siblings and what it was like to grow up in Whitestone, and in exchange you told him about yourself, though you both were careful to avoid giving your names. Names mean knowing one another, solidifying the bond between you - giving yourself something to grieve in a place where loss is all too easy to come by.
It’s another such evening of licking your wounds and easy conversation when you find yourselves interrupted by the door at the far end of the dungeon crashing open. You fall silent and feign sleep as you normally do when the guards make their rounds, but you can hear your companion shifting to get a better look at the newcomers.
You can hear five - no, six- people racing past, arguing about a bounty and finding a cultist, when one set of footsteps stop, pausing in front of his cell.
“You there,” a woman’s voice calls, loud enough that you can tell she’s addressing your friend. “Happen to be some sort of cultist?”
“I beg your pardon?” You can hear the dry derision in his voice, all the outrage he could muster in his exhaustion.
There’s the soft scuff of a shoe, but that’s your only sign of one of the other intruders returning. You doubt you’d have noticed it if you were any less perceptive.
“The other cells are empty,” a man’s smooth voice tells the woman, rich and soft and you can catch the faint hint of an accent. Not from Whitestone. “This must be our asshole.”
You nearly snort, but start to move instead, slowly shifting your weight up onto your feet so you can surge forward at the first sign of trouble. Your armor would have made such a stealthy maneuver difficult, if not impossible, but unarmed as you are, you’ve become remarkably light on your feet.
“If you’re looking for the raving mystic, you’ve missed him by two days,” your companion’s voice says, even and steady as you’ve ever heard him. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d have almost been fooled into thinking him uncaring. Only you knew how he’d cried the night the only person he’d seen in weeks that hadn’t been out to hurt him had died. “This environment didn’t agree with his constitution.”
The rest of the intruders had returned by this point and you can hear a few disgusted grumbles at the sight of your friend’s decomposing cellmate.
“Suppose we can kiss that reward goodbye,” the first man muttered, and from your new vantage point you can make out a pale half-elf with dark hair, a similar looking woman beside him. Siblings?
You filed the observation away as you took in the rest of the group, weighing your odds.
“Maybe not,” the dark haired woman replies thoughtfully, stepping closer to the cell bars. “You don’t seem like you belong in a place like this. We’re a bit short on funds and you talk like you come from money.” She hums, and you can see the way her dark eyes study your companion. You wish you knew what she’s seeing, “How much would it be worth if we break you out?”
“A small fortune, I dare say,” your companion says, and your brows raise. You’d assumed he was someone well-born by the way he spoke and the stories he’d told you, but you hadn’t thought he was someone worth a fortune, small or otherwise. The dark haired woman gives a signal and her brother moves to start picking the lock on your friend’s cell. “If I wasn’t flat broke at the moment,” he finishes and you could slap him for ruining his own escape. He huffs at the strangers’ silence and presses on, “Why bother lying? You’d find out soon enough there’s not a silver to my name anymore. I am totally alone in the world.” He pauses, and you’d give everything in your power to know what he was thinking, “Almost totally alone. Perhaps you can relate?”
The woman seems to consider it for a moment, sharing a look with her brother “You’re shit at negotiations,” she says.
“He is brutally honest, though,” you say, moving forward to lean against the bars. The corner of your mouth twitches up at the way the group startles, surprised by your sudden appearance. They’d forgotten you were there. “It’s a skill you may very well need in the future.”
She turns her gaze to you and it’s clear to see that she’s weighing the worth of your words, “Fine.” She signals her brother again and he clicks the lock open, sliding the gate to your friend’s cell open, “Let’s see where the truth gets us.”
The weight in your chest loosens as he steps free of his cell, stretching out to his full height for the first time in weeks. He’s scruffy and needs a shave and his hair’s more dust-colored than white, but he’s handsome and free and that’s all you could’ve hoped for for him. You stretch your arm through the bars and clap him on the shoulder, “I hope you live a good life,” you say, starting to pull your hand back.
His fingers closing tight around your wrist halts your retreat back to your corner, “I am not leaving you here to rot.” The firelight refracts against his glasses and his eyes are blazing as they bore into you. “Especially not when it’s my name on your wrist.”
Your heart lurches and your gaze drops to your wrist - the sleeve of your shirt long-since shredded by Ripley and the Briarwoods’ attention and the name of your soulmate on full display. Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III. It’s been inked into your skin for as long as you can remember, but you’d never imagined actually meeting him. Part of you still doubts it, but you can see the shapes of your own name peeking from the sleeve of his tattered shirt where it’d ridden up his arm.
His smile doesn’t falter as the dark haired rogue moves to unlock your cell as well, “Please, love, call me Percy.”
Keyleth of the Air Ashari - First Words
There’s a surprising amount of pressure to always have the right words when any of them could be the ones that your soulmate recognizes - that any unfortunate string of words could be what tells your soulmate “It’s me, I’m right here! Please see me and choose to stick around!”
It’s romantic, sure, to know that someone out there will hear her say something and know it’s her but for someone with anxiety like Keyleth’s, it’s also kind of the worst type of soulmate bond to have. Why couldn’t she have had one of the easy ones, like having her soulmate’s name written right there on her wrist or seeing color when she meets their eyes for the first time? Why did she have to live her life in perpetual fear of saying something stupid in front of some hot (Keyleth’s an optimist - she likes to think she’ll be attracted to whoever Fate has decided is perfect for her) stranger and hoping they don’t take one look at her and turn right around.
It’s something that’s always in the back of her mind, even when it definitely shouldn’t be what she’s focusing on. Like now, for example, when Vox Machina is helping clear the debris and search for survivors after the Chroma Conclave attacked Emon. The skies have split into a massive deluge of rain, water coming down in thick sheets that’ve helped to smother most of the remaining fires, but the damage the dragons caused was plentiful and plenty of people were still injured and killed, dozens more caught in the destruction.
The fight had taken most of her magic and she’s exhausted, muscles shaking as she strains to move a thick support beam that had several survivors trapped in a building on the verge of collapse. She startles as another set of hands join hers, the stranger heaving from the other side of the beam - their breath comes heavy but they seem to possess the strength that she’d already expended.
“Ready when you are,” the voice comes and it takes a long moment for Keyleth to realize that she’d actually just heard the words that’d been haunting her for years - that this person, whoever was on the other side of the smoldering joist, was her person. She swallows hard, grits her teeth, and strains. Inch by inch, the support shifts until the people trapped in the building are able to escape.
“Get clear!” Keyleth’s soulmate tells her once the last refugee has made it out and she’s quick to take a couple steps back as she and her soulmate both release their hold on the still-smoking beam. And that’s when she sees you for the first time, and you’re not what she’d pictured because you’re so much better.
You, in your singed and torn city guard uniform, with soot smudged across your cheek and a gash across your temple still bleeding sluggishly. You, with the rain plastering your hair to your face and your clothes to your body. You, who just helped her save people. Who didn’t ask how to help, just jumped in because it’s what needed to happen. You, who very well might be one of the hottest people she’s ever seen, like whatthefuck- You, who’s staring at her like she might be a little bit crazy because, oh, you’d asked her a question hadn’t you?
….she doesn’t know what you’d said. Gods, had she really been too busy thinking about you to listen to you? She blinks, mind reeling as she scrambles to think of anything and -
“Great weather we’re having, huh?” There’s a split second of confusion - this utterly baffled look in your eyes - that has her doubting what she’d heard you say, that makes her wonder if you’re actually her soulmate or if she’s horribly misread the situation and about to make a fool out of herself and she’s started weighing the benefits of running off to live in the woods forever (not all that bad of an option, really) and then you’re laughing and it might be the best sound Keyleth’s ever heard.
“I was never much for rain,” you manage as your laughter fades, and that barely there curl of a smile has Keyleth all but melting. Your eyes soften as you look at her, “If today’s shown me anything, it’s that you can find incredible things in the rain.” Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable and Keyleth doesn’t feel like she has to ramble to fill the quiet. You smile playfully and drop into a low bow, offering your name to her like you’re a noble at some fancy party meeting royalty and she snort-laughs as she lets you take her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. She might’ve been embarrassed for it if you didn’t look at her like she’d hung the sun.
She takes your hand, slips her fingers between yours, and walks with you deeper into the ruined city, determined to do as much good as you can. Together.
Summary : You didn’t realize how protective someone could be till Spencer came into your life , especially after what he saw .
Based off season 7 off of one particular part in season seven…
MDNI — read at your own risk but MDNI (18 + only)
content warning : lots of angst , hurt , comfort , reader gets hurt a little by her ex , at the bar , Spencer gets very protective of reader , pining for each other , small age gap pre relationship , happy ending, little trauma,
Word count: 2.5k
A: notes : this piece hits little different I love a Protective Spencer Reid ..
You’re standing in the hall of the court house with the rest of the team , waiting for Spencer to come out. Your stomach’s tight, nerves on edge — you can feel the tension radiating through the door before you even hear his voice.
“My team member’s life was at stake! If you wanna punish me for taking a risk, then I encourage you to do so,” he says, voice sharp, shaking with anger he’s barely holding in.
“Calm down, Agent…”
There’s a pause, heavy enough to make your chest ache. Then his voice cuts through, lower, rougher.
“This is calm. And it’s Doctor.”
You flinch a little at the sound — not because you’re afraid, but because you’ve never heard him like that before. There’s a heat in his words, a kind of fury that only comes from care. From love disguised as defiance.
You press your back against the cold wall, closing your eyes. He’s angry because of you. Because he almost lost you. And the realization hits like a punch — he’s not just defending his actions, he’s defending you.
When the door finally opens, you can see it written all over him — the fire still in his eyes, the tension in his hands, the way his jaw clenches when he sees you waiting. You don’t say anything, not at first. You just breathe him in, trying to steady yourself, because you know that was his version of calm.
“Spence,” you say softly, your voice trembling more than you want it to.
He looks at you, eyes still dark with everything he’s holding back. “I don’t regret it,” he says, voice low and rough, like it’s scraping against the edge of his restraint. “I would protect you any day, any night. He won’t ever lay a hand on you again.”
“Spence…” you whisper, but it catches halfway in your throat.
The words hit harder than you expect — not because of what he did, but because of how much it cost him to do it. You can see it in the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his breath comes uneven, like he’s still standing in that moment, still seeing you hurt.
It hurts to look at him, to see how far he’d go just to keep you safe. There’s anger there, yes, but underneath it is something raw, something breaking. He’s blaming himself for things that were never his fault, and you hate that you can’t take it from him.
You want to tell him you’re okay, that you’re here — but your voice shakes, and your chest feels too heavy. So you just stand there, eyes locked on his, and for a moment neither of you breathe.
Because you both know — he means every word.
A few nights back, before the team was in the courthouse — before Spencer had to take the stand — you’d all gone out to the bar. It was supposed to be a quiet night, a chance to breathe after the case.
You didn’t expect him to show up.
Your ex.
He came out of nowhere, his voice already sharp with something ugly when he called your name. You tried to ignore him, to walk away, but he wouldn’t leave you alone. The more you tried to reason with him, the harder his voice got — the kind of tone that used to make your stomach twist.
Then he reached for you. His hand locked around your wrist, fingers digging in hard enough to make you flinch.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, breath thick with anger.
“Let me go,” you told him, over and over, but it was like the words weren’t registering — like he couldn’t even hear you.
And that’s when you saw Spencer move.
He and Derek were across the room, but the moment Spencer saw the look on your face — the fear, the pain — he was already there.
“Let her go,” Spencer said, his voice low, firm. “Now.”
Your ex laughed, eyes narrowing on him. “Who are you, pretty boy?”
Spencer didn’t even blink. “The man who’s telling you to let her go.”
“I’d do as he says,” Derek warned, stepping closer, his tone sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar.
“Oh, really?” your ex scoffed.
You tried to pull away again, desperate, but his grip only tightened. Then, before you could react, he hit you — open-handed and cruel.
And that was it.
Spencer’s control snapped. He was on him before anyone else could move, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him to the ground. The sound of the struggle silenced everything — even the music.
“Who the hell are you to push me like that?” your ex spat, struggling under Spencer’s weight.
Spencer’s voice was deadly calm when he answered. “I’m the FBI,” he said, jaw tight. “And you’re under arrest for assaulting a federal agent.”
Your ex froze, the fight draining from his eyes as he looked at you. “You’re FBI now?”
You nodded slowly, your voice barely there. “Yeah,” you whispered.
And for a second, Spencer’s eyes flicked to yours — just long enough for you to see it. The fury. The fear. The protectiveness. He didn’t care what it cost him. He would’ve torn the world apart before letting that man touch you again.
Now at the courthouse, everything feels too still — too quiet after what happened that night.
“So,” you say softly, your voice echoing faintly in the long marble hallway. “We’re good?”
He looks at you, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re good.”
“They’re not… doing anything to you?” you ask carefully, searching his face.
He shakes his head. “No.” A pause. “I was defending you. From your ex.”
You nod, but your chest tightens. “I know. But the way you spoke, Spence…”
His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you see it — that flicker of guilt, of something heavy still sitting in his chest.
“I know,” he says quietly, voice breaking just a little. “I lost it. I shouldn’t have, but—” He exhales sharply, looking away. “When he touched you, when he hit you, something in me just… snapped.”
You swallow hard, the memory flashing behind your eyes — his hands trembling afterward, the blood on his knuckles, the way he couldn’t even look at you without his voice shaking.
“Spence,” you whisper, stepping closer, “you don’t have to explain—”
“Yes, I do,” he cuts in, his voice raw. “Because that’s not who I am. But with you… it’s different. I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you. Not again.”
Your heart twists at the sound of it — the fear, the ache, the truth in his voice. You reach for him, fingers brushing against his sleeve, and you feel him flinch — not from you, but from everything he’s holding inside.
The silence between you stretches, full of unspoken words and every emotion neither of you can hide anymore.
You pull him into a hug before he has the chance to pull away. His body tenses for a second, but he doesn’t flinch — doesn’t move. You hold him tighter, arms around his shoulders like you’re trying to keep him from falling apart.
“Spence,” you whisper softly into his ear, “I—” but the words catch. You can’t think. Can’t breathe past the lump in your throat. All you know is that you need him close, just for a moment longer.
He exhales shakily against your shoulder, and for the first time all day, you feel him let go — just a little.
Then you hear footsteps. JJ and Derek coming down the hall.
“Ready to go?” JJ asks gently.
“Just a minute,” you both say at the same time.
They share a look — quiet understanding — and nod before walking ahead.
Spencer’s voice is low, rough against your ear. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says. “Nothing. I promise.”
“I know,” you whisper, eyes burning. “I know, Spence.”
A moment later, you hear Hotch’s voice behind you. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
You step back slowly, watching as Spencer turns away, shoulders drawn tight. You follow Hotch a few feet down the hall.
“Your ex,” Hotch says quietly. “He’s in prison. He won’t be getting out anytime soon.”
You nod, trying to steady your breathing. “Thank you,” you manage, though your voice wavers.
Hotch studies you for a moment, eyes sharp but soft around the edges. “Are you okay?”
You swallow hard. “I’ll be fine.”
His gaze flicks past you, to where Spencer’s standing — head down, hands clasped, lost in his own storm. Then back to you. “Is there something there?” he asks carefully.
“Where?” you say, playing dumb even though your pulse gives you away.
“You and Reid.”
You hesitate, eyes finding Spencer again — the way he keeps glancing toward you when he thinks no one’s looking, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding everything inside.
“I don’t know,” you whisper.
Hotch nods once, quiet, understanding more than he says. “Just be careful,” he murmurs. “Both of you.”
And when he walks away, you stand there for a long moment, staring at Spencer — your chest aching with everything you still can’t say.
You walk back over to Spencer, heart tight in your chest. “Can I ask you something?” you say softly.
He looks up at you, eyes wide, and nods. “Yeah… of course,” he says, voice low, nervous, like every word is a step on fragile ground.
You take a slow step closer, feeling the tension radiating between you. “Spence… what is this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“This?” he echoes, voice shaking slightly.
“Yeah… us,” you murmur, almost afraid to say it. “Is there… an us?”
He swallows hard, gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours. His jaw tightens, fingers clenching at his sides, and then, finally, he lets it out.
“I… I don’t know what this is,” he admits, voice rough, shaky. “But when he… when your ex grabbed you, when he hit you… something in me just—switched. I was terrified. Terrified for you. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. All I could see was him touching you, hurting you, and I… I lost it.”
Your chest tightens at the raw confession. You reach for him, but hesitate, afraid you’ll break the moment.
“I’ve never… felt like that before,” he continues, voice quiet now, almost breaking. “I’ve protected people before, but… you… you’re different. And seeing you scared like that, knowing I could have been too late… I just…” He pauses, swallows hard, voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t let anyone ever touch you like that again. Not him. Not anyone.
You take a small step closer, letting your fingers brush his sleeve. “Spence…” you whisper, heart pounding. “You don’t have to carry that alone. I’m here.”
He looks at you then, eyes raw, searching, and lets out a shaky breath. “I know… I just… I can’t turn it off. Not with you. Not ever.”
The silence stretches, heavy with all the things neither of you knows how to say. But for the first time, it feels like maybe… you don’t have to.
You take a breath, trying to steady the rush in your chest. The air between you feels too thick, too heavy with everything unsaid.
“I want to be with you,” you say softly, the words trembling as they leave your lips.
His head lifts, eyes searching yours, and you can see it — that flicker of something he’s been fighting to hide.
“If you feel something for me… please tell me,” you whisper, voice breaking on the last word.
He doesn’t move right away. You can see the battle in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch like he’s holding back from reaching for you. The silence stretches long enough to hurt, and you almost wish you hadn’t said anything at all.
Inside, everything’s turning — hope, fear, the ache of wanting something you’re not sure you’re allowed to have. You can feel your heartbeat everywhere, in your throat, your chest, the space between you.
“Spence…” you breathe out, but before you can say anything else, he exhales — slow, shaky.
“I do,” he says finally, voice barely there. “I feel it. I’ve tried to fight it, I’ve tried to make it make sense, but every time I see you, it’s like…” He stops, searching for the words. “It’s like my whole world just… finds you.”
Your eyes sting, because it sounds like a confession and a warning all at once.
You take a step closer, heart unsteady. “Then stop fighting it,” you whisper.
And for a moment, he just looks at you — like he’s memorizing you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear — before he finally lets out the breath he’s been holding.
He pulls you into his arms before you can even process it — sudden, sure, like he’s done thinking, done hesitating. His heartbeat is strong against your chest, steady in a way that grounds you.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges — like it costs him something to admit it.
You breathe out, everything in you unraveling. “I’m yours,” you whisper back, the words trembling but true.
For a moment, the world goes quiet. You both just stand there, holding on, breathing each other in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. His arms tighten around you, his hand tracing small circles against your back — grounding, protective, real.
You can’t believe it. You can’t believe this is happening — that it’s him. The one person you thought you could never have, not because he didn’t want you, but because you were too afraid of what he might say if you ever told him how you felt.
And yet here you are — in his arms, in this fragile, impossible space between what you both tried to hide and what you can’t deny anymore.
He looks down at you then, eyes soft, full of something more than love — something deeper, something that feels like understanding, like he’s known you all along.
You don’t speak. You don’t have to. The silence says everything.
“How about coffee?” he says, voice quiet, tentative — careful, like he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to hope.
“It’s a date,” you say softly, your chest lifting a little, heart still buzzing from everything that just happened.
You glance up at him, hesitating. “Can we stop at the bookstore first?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He nods almost immediately. “Of course,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, careful, almost shy. “I’ve got to get this one book anyway,” he adds, brushing a hand through his hair like it’s the most casual thing in the world, though you can see the quiet excitement in his posture.
“For Gideon?” you ask softly, curiosity tugging at the edges of your nerves.
“Yes,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I told him I’d get it for him. He wants to check it out himself, but I said I’d pick it up.”
You nod, letting a small smile escape. “The bird book,” you whisper.
He glances at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it softens. “Yes… the bird book,” he says quietly, almost shy, like he’s not used to someone noticing, someone caring enough to remember.
You take a step closer, feeling that odd mix of relief and disbelief — that this is real, that he’s here, that you’re standing next to Spencer Reid, the man you’ve wanted closer to for so long, and he’s smiling softly at you.
Inside, your thoughts are spinning — the fear, the past, the what-ifs — but right now, they’re muted by the simple rhythm of him walking beside you, by the possibility that maybe… just maybe, some things can be easy.
