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weirdmageddon · 9 months

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i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

#homestuck #homestuck meta #dave strider #mom lalonde #roxy lalonde #hs #strilonde guardian swap

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ozzgin · 2 months

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Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

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electric-demons-in-love · 4 months

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Random Vox, Valentino and Velvette Headcanons:

-Velvette loves painting Valentino’s nails. Due to his multiple arms she has plenty of blank canvases to experiment with colours and fancy designs. Val will use this time to rant to Velvette about everything irritating him that week.

-Every month or so the three have a treat day where they go to the mall together.

-Satan help any poor retail workers who have to deal with them.

-Vox doesn’t tend to buy much so he’s the designated bag carrier.

-They totally have a line of fashion dolls based on them (like Barbie or Monster High). They’re very hot collectors items.

-Velvette designed outfits for one of Verosika’s tours.

-Vox has totally caused blackouts during his and Val’s bang sessions. Velvette is not impressed.

-“Fucking hell you twats I was in the middle of a movie!”

-The day afterward Vox always has to go on air and publicly apologise. He makes up some bullshit excuse as to why it happens but his flustered expression gives it away. No one is brave enough to call him out.

-Velvette teaches the boys British slang and insults while Val teaches them Spanish curse words.

-Vox occasionally DJs at some of Valentino’s clubs.

-When he’s feeling down or nostalgic Val will sit in his room and listen to 70s music.

-None of them eat well. Vox consumes nothing but takeout and coffee, Velvette lives off sweet treats and Val’s diet mainly consists of cigarettes and alcohol.

-Val loves to leave lipstick marks all over Vox’s screen right before the tv demon goes on air.

-Vox has the worst fashion sense out of the trio. Velvette and Val constantly have to pick out his clothes because they wouldn’t be caught dead with him in the outfits he chooses.

-Going off the fact that Val is canonically a good artist, sometimes he sketches out ideas for Velvette’s fashion collections.

-They have drunk karaoke nights at the studio and it is absolute chaos.

Part 2 Part 3

#hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #vox #valentino #velvette #headcanons #staticmoth

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edenavari · 5 months

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On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else.

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed.

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right?

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps.

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him.

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger.

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts.

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again.

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope.

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic.

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested.

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss.

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life.

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief.

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute.

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge.

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own.

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious.

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats.

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget.

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie oneshot #first kiss

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g0dlyunsub · 23 days

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hey! Idk if u take requests but I love your writing style and have a request! Can you do a Spencer x fem reader where she doesn't work for the Bau but they have been together for like 7 months and she is girly and like loves fashion and is superrr pretty and the team doesn't know about her but they see Spencer out with her one day and can't believe he's with her/has a gf bc they're so different and they tease him about her bc he's just head over heels in love with her and they are so obsessed with each other and it's just so cute!!! Thank you in advance!!!!🤍🤍

yes, i do take requests! thank you for the kind words, and i hope you enjoy this one <3

picture perfect.

you work shifts at a local coffee shop where a man frequents every friday evening. at first glance, the two of you are polar opposites; while you are covered in flowery pastel colors head to toe, he dresses strictly in professional attire. when love eventually blossoms between you and the doctor, he makes every effort to be with you – even when teased by his coworkers.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: none? some suggestive overtone.

word count :: 2.3k

author’s note :: this is probably the fluffiest text i’ve written by far, i swear i’m biting straight into cotton candy. fingers crossed that i’ve portrayed the story well… accompanying song :: the perfect pair by beabadoobee

he doesn’t know how to deal with these unfamiliar feelings, especially when they’re eating away at his thoughts at work. his usual ability to read at 20,000 words per minute seems to be reduced to half its pace for almost seven days now, one of his worst nightmares in full action. he doesn’t know what to think when your bubbly face lights up in his head – when your pretty features accentuated by the glowy highlights around your eyes and the soft glassiness of your pink lips etch into his imagination. thoughts of you come to light like a switch in his head, and they pop up during the worst times, including a police chase on the highway, an interrogation with a female unsub that styled her hair similar to yours, and worst of all, whenever he tries to make coffee in the office. it’s almost a pavlovian response, the way he unconsciously gulps in tingling nervousness as he pours the sugar into his cup.

but he’s a man that thinks with his head, a man that doesn’t listen to his heart.

he’s a man that thinks with his head. when you hand over his usual, dark espresso with three sugar packets on the side, with the words cheer up, doctor reid! <3 scribbled with winged hearts all around the cup, he has to excuse himself and run to the bathroom. there, he spends ten minutes clenching his shirt, squeezing the fabric with sheer strength because you and your actions are irresistibly adorable. he can’t look in the mirror, because he sees you standing right next to him in the reflection, and it drives him crazy.

he’s a man that thinks with his head. when he enters the coffee shop on one friday afternoon with a cut near his left brow, you immediately stop what you’re doing and go over to his table before he can even settle down in his seat. you insist on covering the wound, and you pull out a pink flower-patterned bandaid from your apron pocket. he watches as your hands lightly tremble to remove the adhesive strips, and melts at how you brush his hair aside to press the bandaid lightly against his forehead. it only takes a whiff of your vanilla scent to lose all sense of time and his surroundings – he can only look up into your heavenly eyes, which blink slowly in the hazy lighting.

he’s a man that should think with his head. when he sees you wearing an outfit that isn’t your coffee shop apron for the first time, he stops dead in his tracks.

it was late that friday, and it was well past his usual time to enter the shop, but he could never let a full week pass without surrounding himself in your jolly aura.

as you prepare to close the blinds and flip the store sign, you see a familiar face press a hand to the other side of the front door. you immediately let him in, and he’s frantically apologizing for his tardiness.

“it’s completely fine! i’ll get your regular going in just a second!” your bubbly laugh fades as you head back to the counter, and for the first time, he soaks in the emptiness of the shop’s usually chatter-filled environment. there’s only one overhead light turned on, and the scent of lavender drifts with a candle’s airy smoke.

he’s fixated entirely on your outfit. you’re wearing a ruched top with pink laces and frills for straps, and paired with a pleated mini skirt with knee-length socks, you’re a beautiful sight to behold. when you catch him looking, you strike a small pose, one hand on your hip and an empty coffee cup on the other. you then burst into your soft giggles.

he can’t. he absolutely can’t.

his eyes are glued down to where his hands are clasped on the table. when you ask him if he’s had a rough day, he answers with a simple two-word response, sort of. you don’t question him further, and he’s thankful you don’t.

if he believes in anything other than science, it’s aphrodite and her blessings to bestow your pluperfect presence before him. it’s as if cupid shot an arrow directly into his heart, or if a mage cast an irrevocable spell on him. he doesn’t want to imagine a life without you.

and every night since then, he wonders if you have a boyfriend. he wonders if he could somehow ask garcia to search you up, but he knows he shouldn’t exploit his position to take his chances with you. at least his head doesn’t want to.

his heart tells him to take a chance.

he decides to take the leap of faith.

he knows your favorite flower, clothing brand, and lip tint like the back of his palm. he recites the answers every morning, a secret rehearsal he conducts as he straightens his tie in front of the mirror. he makes a purchase from your favorite flower shop a few blocks away from your store, and sucks in a deep breath before flicking his watch so it rolls up his wrist. he gently presses on the door handle.

you’re busy as usual, preparing cups and plating desserts for each customer. the line moves forward with a rhythmic pace, and you greet each customer, regulars and first-timers alike, with the same smile. your eyes enlarge when your favorite customer stands in front of the cash register, and the sight of his face instantly transmits a sigh of relief from your lips. you look down at his hand, where you notice he’s holding your favorite flowers that are wrapped tightly in pink gift paper.

“ah, didn’t know you liked those too!” you lower your head to examine the flowers in their full glory, and spencer even brings them up to your nose so you can smell the sweet scent.

“they’re for you, actually.” he speaks matter-of-factly, but there’s a hint of excited overtone.

“you got these… for me? i- thank you so much! you didn’t have to!” you hurriedly accept the bouquet as he extends his hand over the counter, and set the flowers down on a neighboring table. you scurry over to the cake display and plop a slice of cake on a small plate, before handing his usual drink with extra sugar on the side.

“all on the house!” your lips shape up into a beautiful crescent shape, and he finds himself fiddling his watch to resist looking you in the eye. he gives you a lopsided smile, and nervously grabs two forks from the counter before leaving you a ten dollar bill in your tip jar.

“i-if you’d like, you can come find me during your break. we can have the cake together… again, that’s only if you’d like,” his fingers jitter as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and before you can object, he’s making strides back to his seat.

when it’s break time, you find spencer in his usual corner, his cake left untouched.

“you shouldn’t have waited, really,” you grab a tall stool and set it so you’re sitting with your knees touching his. he looks up from his book, time and eternity by seiichi hatano.

“this is your favorite dessert, isn’t it?” he moves the plate towards you so you can take the first bite. when you do, staring right into his eyes as your tastebuds hit the fork, he instinctively licks his lips.

spencer tells you that he needs to get something off his chest.

“what is it?” you ask, and he points to your apron. loosen the knot behind your back, he tells you, and you do. you feel a note twisted in between the fabric, and you confusedly uncrumple the crinkled paper.

it reads, will you be my girlfriend?

the dot of the ‘i’ in girlfriend is drawn in with a shaded heart, and you bite your lip back as the cute aggression kicks in.

you don’t even hesitate. you have so many questions about how the paper’s even got there in the first place, but you couldn’t care to ask. you’re fervently nodding at him, leaning in and giving him a tight embrace. he hadn’t expected you to react so quickly, so he hesitates for a brief second before wrapping his arms around you.

present day, and he walks with you side-by-side, your hand enclosed in his. you’re humming a soft tune and he’s looking at you with a wide grin on his face. he’s so lucky to have you, an absolute dream come true. he’s grateful for how he gets to spend every night with you, a significant advancement from once every week at the coffee shop.

speaking of the coffee shop, it’s been seven months since the two of you sat together in the quaint corner of the café, and since then, he’s utterly fallen for you. his eyes follow your every move, and he listens as you ramble about your favorite dress on sale at the large shopping mall a few blocks from the apartment. while he makes mental notes of all of your favorite items, the reality is he’s finding it to be an incredible struggle trying to focus on your words. his focus hones in on your exposed neck with a laced choker wrapped around. it’s such a fragile piece of fabric, weighted with a heart-shaped locker with his initials. his initials.

he gulps. he wants to stick a finger between the fabric and your neck, and he wonders what it’s like to have you wrapped around his finger, so intimately linked.

just as his thoughts intensify, a voice breaks out from across the street.

“reid!”

you squeeze spencer’s arm as a group of well-dressed people approach the two of you, waving while their mouths hang open in surprise.

“there’s no way i’m seeing you on a shopping spree right now!” a woman with straight jet-black hair grins, her thumb hooked on her belt loop as she leans to one side. a woman with blonde hair and red glasses sporting a colorful spotted dress shortly joins the union alongside another man, who exudes a mysteriously charismatic air with his bold sunglasses.

they acknowledge your presence each with a handshake and introduce themselves.

“you never told me you were seeing someone,” morgan whistles, patting spencer on the shoulder.

spencer’s quiet during the entire exchange, and he mumbles quietly about how he’s busy helping you run errands.

“you guys moved in together yet?” the man continues to ask, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he smirks. you nod and gleefully say yes, to which spencer lets out a squeak.

“oh would you look at that! our little spencer’s all grown now! my man,” morgan leans in for a side-hug, and spencer awkwardly bows his head down. his entire face is now red, his lips buried in the soft texture of his scarf. garcia and emily look at you and spencer with an awestruck expression.

“where’d you find such a beautiful woman?” emily points a finger at you while interrogating spencer, and while you’re sure she’s just being nice, you can feel the heat surfacing from your cheeks.

“shut up, emily,” your boyfriend puffs, and he quickly grabs your hand and shoves it in his pocket. he mouths, let’s go, but you’re too polite to leave a conversation that hasn’t formally ended.

“aww, is our hollywood genius shy?” morgan prods at spencer’s arm, while spencer brushes his hand off with an annoyed expression. meanwhile, the girls compliment your style and continue to shower you with questions, asking you where you were headed to and how you met spencer.

“well, i’m glad to know you’re a beautiful person, inside and out. i sort of knew spencer was seeing someone, but i didn’t expect any of this. you’re the cutest woman i’ve ever encountered, and i’m sure spencer’s overjoyed to have someone like you,” garcia talks excitedly and grasps your hands in her palms.

“and i’m lucky to have met someone like him.” you smile sweetly, tilting your head to look at spencer. he’s looking at the ground as if it’s more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“take care of him for us, will you?” morgan winks at you.

“of course.”

“and remind him every day that he’s with the most beautiful person in the world.”

you feel a tug at your jacket, and you turn around. spencer’s face is lit up with a deep shade of pink, and you know he’s signaling that he wants to head home. you quickly turn to the group to tell them you have to go, and they nod understandingly. garcia offers a tight embrace and pouts as spencer practically pries you away from her.

when the two of you turn the corner, he looks back over his shoulder to make sure his coworkers are out of sight. he then encloses you in a tight embrace and kisses your forehead.

“i’m sorry about that sudden… encounter,” he speaks into your ear, and you feel your heart flutter. your eyes close momentarily, and when you open them, he’s peering down at you while his hand rubs up and down your arm.

“don’t be, i enjoyed talking to them,” you whisper back, staring into his steady gaze.

“i’m sorry for not telling them earlier, but i really meant to. i love you... so much.” he vocalizes the last five words with a breathy tone, and you freeze, replaying the moment over and over again in your head.

they’re words you wish could be assembled and framed on a wall, transformed into something tangible that captures the picture-perfect moment of his romantic confession.

“tell me that a hundred more times when we get home.” you give him a cheesy grin before you blush at the realization of your own words.

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