jamespottercumslut

[jamespottercumslut]

𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘛𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘺𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘰𝘰𝘮

𝖡𝗈𝗒𝗌’ 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍. 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗉. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗍��𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝟣𝟢 𝗉𝗆. 𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗐, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖥𝗂𝗅𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝖲𝗈, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍?

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖠𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗆𝗒 𝖳𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖫𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗒

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖫𝖺𝗄𝖾

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖮𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗒

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝖮𝖿 𝖱𝖾𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍

➵ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍

➵ 𝖧𝗈𝗀𝗌𝗆𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾

[jamespottercumslut]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 14

Summary: Spencer, Maddie and Y/N go to the aquarium. Things start getting really homely. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: fluff, Spencer being the best girl dad, kissing (yippie!) word count: 8.5k

Series Masterlist

Bioluminescence is the production and emission of light by a living organism. Typically a defense mechanism. Sometimes a lure. Always beautiful. I remember reading that it only works in the dark—that it takes darkness to make something glow like that.

And as I’m standing here, breathless and late, watching her silhouette framed by the soft neon of aquarium lights, I think maybe that’s what she is to me.

A creature that glows when the world goes dim. Not in a way that demands attention, but in a way that disarms it. And the worst part? She’s smiling like she still forgives me—for being late, for being complicated, for being me. I don’t know how to deserve that. I just know I’d follow the glow if it led me anywhere near her.

“You finally made it,” she sighs, all relief and softness.

“I’m so sorry. Work ran over, and then someone on the subway spilled their coffee on me, so I went home to change—but then I didn’t like what I picked, so I changed again, and then—”

“Hey. Hey,” she cuts in gently, a hand finding my wrist. “It’s okay, Spence.”

Her fingers are light on my wrist, but the touch short-circuits something in me. Not in a bad way. Just… like I was buzzing too loud and she found the off switch.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Okay. Right. I’m here.”

And then she lets go. And I miss it.

Before I can spiral again, a blur of pink jacket and pigtails barrels into me from the side.

“Spencer!”

Maddie’s arms wrap tight around my legs and I stagger just slightly—more from the shock of it than the force.

“There she is,” I breathe, crouching to her level. “How was school today, princess?”

She pulls back just enough to grin at me—one of those full-face, nose-wrinkled grins that makes her dimples pop.

“Miss Carla made us do a class spelling bee,” she reports gravely, like this is the most pressing news of the day.

“Oh really? how did you do?”

“I won!”

Her eyes sparkle with pride, and for a second, I swear the whole aquarium feels brighter.

“No way,” I gasp, dramatically placing a hand over my chest. “You won the whole thing?”

She nods so hard her pigtails bounce. “I spelled dinosaur and elephant and important and even vegetable.”

“Vegetable?” I echo. “That one gets me every time.”

She giggles. “You’re silly.”

I smile, but it’s soft. Barely there. I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to make it about me. But part of me—some smaller, broken part—can’t help thinking: If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like this. Loud. Smart. Unafraid.

“You must be so proud,” I say, glancing up at Y/N.

“She wouldn’t stop talking about you on the way here,” Y/N says softly. “Kept saying, ‘Spencer knows every word in the whole world. He’s gonna be so proud of me.’”

My breath catches. And I look back down at the little girl beaming up at me like I invented the alphabet.

I clear my throat. “Well then. As your official spelling bee wizard, I think this calls for a reward.”

Her eyes widen. “Like… magic?”

“Better,” I whisper, leaning in. “Three tickets to the sea otter show.”

She gasps.

“Come on,” I say, standing. She takes my hand without hesitation.

Maddie slips her small fingers into my other hand like it’s second nature. Her palm is warm and a little sticky—grape jelly, maybe, or aquarium gift shop candy—but I don’t let go. She swings our arms dramatically with every step, humming some tune she’s making up as she goes.

We move slowly at first, weaving through the aquarium's dim corridors. Blue light filters down from above, fractured by water and glass. It bathes everything in something quiet. Something gentle. I think about saying something—about the way this feels too good to be real—but then Maddie gasps.

“Look! Look, they’re glowing!” she cries, her voice echoing just slightly off the curved walls.

And just like that, she takes off. Still close, still within reach, but ahead now—drawn forward by some silent, shimmering current. The colorful fish.

I don’t call her back.

And then—so quietly I almost miss it—Y/N’s hand slips into mine.

She doesn’t make a show of it. Just a simple, steady motion. Like it’s normal.

I glance at her, but she’s watching Maddie, not me. Her expression soft—almost private, like she’s letting herself feel something she hasn’t admitted out loud yet. Maybe I am too.

Her fingers fit between mine so easily, it feels like this has happened before. Like it’s muscle memory. Or fate. Or maybe just something we both needed and didn’t know how to ask for.

She squeezes my hand, and we keep walking, just the two of us trailing behind the bounce of pink sneakers and wonder.

“How was work?” she asks, and her voice tugs me back to the surface.

“It was alright…” I hesitate. “Unfortunately, JJ told the team about you, and now they all want to meet you.”

“Unfortunately?” she echoes, glancing sideways with a crooked smile.

“Well…” I rub the back of my neck. “I told JJ about you in confidence. I wasn’t going to tell anyone yet.”

Her brow lifts, just slightly.

“Not because I don’t want anyone to know about you,” I rush to clarify. “I do. I swear I do. It’s just—”

“Honey, breathe.”

She says it so easily. Honey.

It’s the second time she’s called me that, and it hits just as hard. Like some long-dormant part of me perks up at the sound—hopeful, wild, unreasonably greedy. I want her to call me that again. Forever. Until it’s the only name I answer to.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “What I mean is… I don’t usually talk about my personal life at work. Not because I’m ashamed or hiding anything. More like… you two are special to me… and I’ve seen what that world does to special things.”

She doesn’t interrupt. Just listens. And in that silence, I feel myself spill open more than I meant to.

“Call it paranoia. Or trauma. Or both. But I guess I didn’t want to risk… pulling you into something messy.”

We pause for a second near the glass, Maddie’s laughter echoing through the dim blue glow as she presses her nose to the tank.

When Y/N finally speaks, her voice is gentle. Unshaken.

“Spencer,” she says, not unkind, “I think you might just be overthinking it.”

A soft laugh escapes her—just breath and warmth, like the kind that fogs glass.

“No harm in meeting your friends. I think I can survive a round of profilers.”

I open my mouth to respond—something about how she’d do more than survive, how they’d love her, how JJ already does—but then Maddie spins toward us, her face lit up like one of the exhibits.

“Mommy! Can you take a picture of me with the blue fishies?”

Her hands are already pressed to the glass, hair a little wild from static, smile too big for her face.

“Go get in the picture with her,” Y/N nudges, her voice low and teasing—but there’s something gentle under it. Something like trust.

I blink at her. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” she laughs. “You’re half the reason she’s glowing like that.”

I hesitate, glancing down at myself like I need to double-check I’m worthy of being seen, but Maddie’s already calling for me, her little fingers tapping the glass. “Spencer! Come see! Come see!”

And when I walk toward her—awkward, unsure—I catch our reflections in the glass. She’s grinning. I’m… soft-edged. Unarmored. Lit in blue.

She tugs me closer, small hand gripping mine again like it’s no big deal. Like this is normal.

Before I’m even ready, the flash hits us in the face—bright and clumsy and perfect.

I blink through it, still squinting when I turn to her. But she’s not squinting. She’s smiling. Beaming, actually. Like she couldn’t be happier about standing in front of a fish tank—with me of all people.

Something swells in my chest, sharp and full. I don’t know what to do with it, so I just hold it there. Let it glow a little.

“What are those called?” she asks, still pointing at the tank, her voice small but curious.

“Those are Cherub Pygmy Angelfish,” I tell her, leaning in a little. “They’re small, usually no more than three inches long, and they like hiding in coral reefs.”

She presses her nose to the glass again, breath fogging the surface. “They look like they’re glowing.”

“They do,” I nod. “It’s a kind of iridescence in their scales. They reflect light in a way that makes them look… almost electric.”

She hums thoughtfully, eyes tracking the flicker of blue and gold. “They’re really pretty.”

I glance at her—at the way her face lights up just watching them—and something tugs behind my ribs.

“They are,” I say. But I’m not looking at the fish anymore.

I’m looking at her.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go look at the rest of the fishies.”

Before Maddie can respond, I slide an arm around her tiny waist and lift her effortlessly onto my shoulder.

She squeals—pure delight—her laughter echoing through the dim, glowing corridor as her hands grab hold of my hair for balance.

“Higher!” she giggles, voice ringing out like a bell.

“You’re going to make me go bald,” I tease, steadying her legs with one hand. 

Her little fingers pat the top of my head like I’m her personal steed, and I can feel her happiness radiating through every wiggly bounce.

Y/N turns to look back at us—her smile soft, fond, a little in awe. Like she’s seeing something she didn’t know she needed until just now.

“Let’s go look at the pink fishies!” Maddie exclaims from above my head, bouncing slightly with excitement.

“Those are Squarespot Anthias” I tell her, adjusting my hold on her legs as we walk. “Very popular in coral reef ecosystems.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—“They're so cool,” Maddie says in awe.

I feel my heart twist, soft and sudden.

“They’re usually found around reefs at depths of 10 to 180 meters,” I add, because I can’t help myself. Facts are my fallback when feelings start to rise too quickly.

But Maddie hums in response, like she’s genuinely impressed, and leans forward on my shoulders to get a better view ahead. Her small hands tighten in my hair, not painfully—just to stay close. Like she trusts I won’t let her fall.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Y/N watching us again. Not saying anything. Just… looking. Like maybe she’s memorizing something she never wants to forget.

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something there that makes my throat go tight. Not because it’s overwhelming—but because it’s kind. Steady. Sure.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice low. Almost cautious. Like if I speak too loud, the moment might dissolve.

She nods slowly, then breathes out a laugh—soft and shaky in the way something honest usually is.

“Yeah,” she says. “I just… I don’t know. You’re really good at this.”

“At what?” I blink, genuinely unsure.

She lifts one shoulder, glancing toward Maddie, still perched on my shoulders, still humming under her breath. “Being with her. You just… get her. Like it’s easy.”

I swallow hard. “I… I think she’s the one who gets me.”

Y/N looks over, curious now. “What do you mean?”

I glance forward, pretending to watch Maddie’s little feet swinging gently by my chest, but the truth is I’m buying time. It’s not easy to explain—how much that tiny kid has somehow cracked open parts of me I didn’t know were still reachable.

“I’m used to people… shutting me up. Or dismissing me when I say—well, stuff. The facts. The science. The things that spill out when I’m nervous or excited or trying to connect,” I say, my voice quieter now, almost like I’m admitting to a flaw.

“But she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t make me feel like I talk too much or like I’m boring her. She listens. She asks questions. Like she’s actually amazed.”

I let out a soft breath. “I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that before.”

There’s a pause.

“I think that’s ‘cause she’s as curious as you are,” Y/N says softly.

I glance at her, caught off guard by how much those words land. They’re simple. But something about the way she says them—calm, steady, like she’s not just talking about Maddie—makes something stutter in my chest.

Curious.

She could’ve said smart. Or kind. Or sweet. But she said curious. The same thing I’ve been called my whole life, usually as an excuse. A reason I don’t fit. A label slapped on like it’s a fault.

But Y/N says it like it’s a good thing. Like it’s something worth matching.

And in that second, I wonder—is she talking about Maddie… or herself?

I don’t ask. I just keep walking.

But the warmth in my chest doesn’t fade.

“Spencer! Spencer! Can we go on the fish tunnel?” Maddie calls, already wiggling in place on my shoulders like she’s halfway there.

“Oh?” I say, shifting her weight a little to keep her steady. “Are you sure, Mads? That tunnel has sharks. It can get scary.”

She gasps—not in fear, but in pure delight. “Real sharks?”

“Real ones,” I nod solemnly. “Sand tiger sharks. Sometimes they float right over your head. Rows of teeth and everything.”

“Cool,” she whispers with awe, like I just told her she was about to meet a dragon.

Y/N laughs under her breath beside me. “She’s braver than I am.”

I glance at her, smiling. “Well, you’re gonna have to be plenty brave too, ‘cause the only way out is through.”

She lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Are you trying to psych me out?”

“Absolutely not,” I say, but my tone’s already too light, too teasing to be convincing. “I’m just stating the facts. We’re entering a thirty-foot tunnel filled with circling apex predators. No big deal.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but she’s grinning.

And Maddie? Maddie cheers like we’ve just announced the next leg of an epic quest.

I adjust her on my shoulders and nod toward the entrance, where the tunnel dips under the tank, glowing blue and lined with ripples of reflected light.

“This way, brave explorers,” I say, slipping into that familiar rhythm I use when i’m with them. “Past the coral reefs, beneath the predator’s patrol, through the belly of the beast...”

And as we step inside, the world goes quiet. Water hushes overhead. Light bends.

For a moment, it really does feel like we’re somewhere else. Somewhere deeper.

“Mommy! Mommy, take a picture!”

Maddie’s voice cuts through the stillness, bright and breathless. She’s already wriggling to get down from my shoulders, practically vibrating with excitement. I set her down gently, and she darts a few feet ahead, stopping right beneath a sand tiger shark gliding silently overhead.

She throws her arms out wide, face tilted up, bathed in shifting shades of blue and silver. “Look! He’s smiling!”

Y/N laughs softly behind me and lifts her phone. “Hold still, baby. That one’s definitely going on the fridge.”

I step back and watch—Maddie framed by glass and water and wonder, Y/N holding the moment still with a quiet kind of reverence.

“Get in the picture with her,” she says, voice warm, almost teasing.

I glance over, expecting the familiar flutter of panic, but… it’s quieter this time. We already did this once—by the fish. And the world didn’t fall apart. No one looked at me like I didn’t belong in the frame.

So I nod. Not awkward, not overthinking. Just… yeah.

Maddie beams and tugs me down beside her before I’ve even fully knelt. She wraps one arm around my neck and points the other straight up at the shark overhead.

“Ready!” she declares.

Y/N lifts the phone again, her smile impossibly soft.

“Perfect,” she murmurs.

The flash goes off, and this time, I don't flinch. I just stay there—under glass and glowing water, beside a girl who’s too brave for her size and a woman who keeps letting me in—and I let myself be part of the picture.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Maddie beams, already taking off down the curve of the tunnel. Her footsteps echo, light and fast, as she darts forward, eager to see every shark, every stingray, every flicker of movement through the glass.

“Slow down, baby,” Y/N calls after her, laughing lightly. “And remember to stay close!”

“I am close!” Maddie yells back, without slowing down at all.

Y/N shakes her head, but there’s no real worry in her eyes. Just that soft, maternal knowing—the kind that lives in practiced patience.

We walk side by side, the tunnel arching above us like the inside of a deep breath. Schools of fish dart past, silver ribbons in motion. A stingray glides overhead, casting shadows that ripple across Y/N’s face.

I glance at her—just a second too long.

The light curves around her features, soft and blue. Her mouth is slightly parted, her eyes reflecting some quiet thought I’ll never be brave enough to ask about.

And I realize I’m staring.

Too long.

Again.

I tear my gaze away just as we step out of the tunnel and into the next room—darker, quieter. The ceiling disappears here, and everything shifts into something slower, softer.

Jellyfish.

They float behind tall glass in pulsing clouds, their translucent bodies glowing in gentle waves of lavender, blue, and pale gold. No sound but the hum of the tank filters and the occasional shuffle of other visitors. It feels reverent, almost sacred. Like we’ve walked into a cathedral of light.

Maddie presses her hands to the glass, whispering, “Whoa…” like it’s too beautiful to speak at full volume.

Y/N moves beside her, close enough that I could reach out and touch her if I just… tried.

“They look like ghosts,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.

I nod. “Jellyfish don’t have a brain, or a heart. They don’t even swim the way most creatures do. They just… drift. Glow. Survive.”

I step a little closer to the tank, my voice quiet, instinctive.

“These are moon jellies. One of the most common jellyfish species. Fun fact: they’re made up of about ninety-eight percent water.”

Maddie’s nose is nearly pressed to the glass now, her breath fogging a little circle in front of her.

“They’re glowing,” Y/n whispers, enchanted.

“Uh—well, approximately fifty percent of jellyfish species are bioluminescent,” I explain, slipping into that space I always go to when I’m overwhelmed—when things feel too big, too good, too close. “Bioluminescence means they can produce light through a chemical reaction within their bodies. Usually as a defense mechanism. Or as a lure.”

Y/N looks at me again. Not like I’m talking too much. Not like I’m a museum guide she didn’t ask for. She just listens. Really listens.

Like maybe I’m glowing, too.

“That’s really beautiful,” she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the drifting jellyfish.

I nod, then shake my head. “I think it’s sad.”

She glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Sad?”

“Not the bioluminescence,” I clarify. “That part’s… amazing. But the rest of it? They just float. All day, every day. No brain, no heart. No real control. They just go wherever the water takes them.”

She tilts her head, thinking. “I don’t know… I think that sounds kind of peaceful.”

I blink. “Peaceful?”

“Yeah.” She smiles softly. “They don’t fight the current. They’re not in a rush to get anywhere. They’re just… being. Existing. And still glowing while they do it. I think that’s kind of beautiful.”

I look back at the tank, watching the jellyfish pulse through the water like slow, weightless thoughts.

“To me, it feels more like surviving than living,” I admit. “No direction, no agency. Just drifting because there’s no other choice.”

She hums under her breath, not disagreeing—just considering. “Maybe. But I think there’s something kind of bold about existing quietly. About not needing to fight all the time to be worth looking at.”

That catches me off guard. Her voice. Her certainty. The idea that softness could be brave.

I glance at her again, really look.

“I never would’ve thought of it like that.”

She shrugs, a little shy now. “Well, you tend to think too logically,”

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s… probably the nicest way anyone’s ever called me rigid.”

She laughs. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just… you see the world like a pattern to be solved. I don’t. I think some things are meant to be felt, not figured out.”

I want to disagree. Reflexively. Defensively. But I don’t.

Because she’s right.

And because I like the way she says it—not like a criticism, but like an invitation. To loosen. To soften. To wonder, instead of always needing to understand.

“I like that about you,” I say, surprising even myself. “That you don’t need everything to make sense.”

She looks over, smile still tugging at her lips, and for a moment neither of us says anything.

Then, without a word, she reaches down and takes my hand.

It’s not dramatic. Not a grand declaration. Just her fingers sliding between mine like they’ve always belonged there.

But it stops something in me—stills it. That buzzing under my skin, the constant thrum of needing to prove myself or protect something or pull away before I get hurt.

I don’t pull away.

I squeeze, just a little. She squeezes back.

And we stand there like that, quiet in the glow of drifting ghosts, different in all the ways that matter, and maybe for the first time…

not drifting alone.

“Maddie, you can’t take your shark with you to the bathroom, honey. Put it on the bed.”

She pouts from the hallway, cradling the plush like it’s a living thing. “But he’s scared without me.”

I arch a brow. “He’ll be fine for two minutes. I promise.”

With great dramatic flair, she sighs and gives the shark a little pat on the head before placing it gently on the bed—like she’s tucking him in.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispers to it.

Spencer chuckles softly from behind me, and I swear I can feel the sound in my spine.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing by the bookshelf, holding the jellyfish I picked out for myself at the gift shop—turning it over in his hands like he’s still trying to figure out why I chose it.

I’m not sure I could explain it to him even if he asked.

I just liked it.

The softness. The quiet glow.

Maybe I liked that it reminded me of something sad, but still beautiful.

Maybe I liked that he looked sad sometimes, and still beautiful too.

“I never said thank you,” I say, gently breaking the silence between us.

He looks up from the jellyfish, brows knitting together in that soft, confused way he does when he's unsure if I’m being serious.

“For what?”

“The other day,” I say, turning back toward the kitchen to busy my hands with the mugs on the counter. “When you came over to take care of little old sick me.”

“Oh,” he says, like he forgot. But I know he didn’t. “I think you did.”

“I didn’t…” I pause, fingers curling gently around the ceramic. “Thank you, Spence.”

I turn to face him, letting the words settle between us. “And thank you for today.”

He shifts slightly, still holding the jellyfish plush in both hands like it might float away if he lets go. His eyes flick to mine, then away.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, soft. Almost shy. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know,” I nod, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I’m thanking you.”

Something about that seems to catch him off guard—like he doesn’t quite know what to do with being appreciated so directly. Like he’s used to doing the caring, but not receiving the gratitude.

We just stand there for a moment. The kitchen feels smaller than it did before. Warmer. Like the quiet is holding both of us gently in place.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else—something important—but then:

The toilet flushes.

And just like that, the moment drifts.

“Mama, Can you tuck me in?” Maddie yells from the bathroom like it’s a code red.

I exhale a soft laugh through my nose, glancing toward the hallway. “One second, baby!”

I just touch his arm lightly as I pass, and say, “Come on. Help me tuck her in.”

He follows without a word, quiet footsteps padding behind me down the hall to Maddie’s room. The light’s low, casting everything in a soft golden haze. Her little shark plush is clutched tight in her arms, its face squished into her cheek like it’s part of her now.

When she sees us, she lights up—eyes still heavy with sleep, but joy unmistakable. “Spencer,” she whispers, like it’s a secret just for him. “Did you see my shark? His name is Thunder.”

“Thunder,” he repeats, crouching beside the bed with a smile so gentle I feel it behind my ribs. “That’s a very serious name for such a squishy guy.”

“He’s fierce,” she explains, yawning mid-sentence, “and cuddly.”

“That’s a powerful combination,” he says, and somehow I don’t think he’s just talking about the stuffed animal.

I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a curl away from her forehead. “Okay, cuddly girl. Eyes closed.”

“But Spencer has to say goodnight.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. He leans in close, voice a quiet warmth. “Goodnight, Maddie. Sweet dreams.”

She reaches out and touches his wrist, fingers barely grazing his skin.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

It’s soft. Sleepy. But it cuts right through the air.

Spencer stills. His eyes meet mine.

There’s a question hanging there.

So I answer it for him. For both of us.

“We don’t know, baby,” I whisper, tucking the blanket higher up her chest. “But he’ll see you really soon.”

She nods, eyelids drooping. “Okay. goodnight, Thunder. goodnight, Mommy. goodnight, Spence.”

Her voice fades with the last syllable.

And then she’s gone—drifting into sleep like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

We don’t move for a moment.

Just watch her breathing, soft and even, arms still wrapped around her ridiculous plush shark.

I reach for the nightlight and click it on. The room floods with a soft blue, and gentle stars all over the walls.

We step out into the hallway together.

And this time, when I close the door, I swear the whole world hushes behind it.

The silence that follows isn’t empty.

It’s thick with something neither of us names. That almost-conversation still lingers between us—unspoken, but fully present, like the echo of a song that never finished.

Spencer exhales quietly beside me. His hands are in his pockets now, shoulders just slightly hunched like he’s unsure what to do with all this softness.

“She really wanted me to stay,” he says, voice low.

“I really want you to stay,” I say before I can second-guess it. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just true.

He looks at me like I’ve knocked the wind out of him.

Not because he didn’t want to hear it. But because he didn’t expect to. Like it never even occurred to him that he could be wanted that plainly.

I don’t fill the silence. I let it sit there—between us, warm and steady. An open door instead of a question.

“I…” he starts, then stops. Swallows. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” My voice is steady, but soft. “You’ve stayed before. Remember pizza night? It’s no different.”

His lips twitch, like he wants to smile but doesn’t quite trust the moment yet.

“Pizza night was different,” he says. “There was a movie playing. Maddie kept falling asleep on my shoulder. I was fell asleep too… It would’ve been really difficult for me to mess that up…”

I should tell him it’s not different. I should say that he couldn’t mess this up even if he tried. But instead I just look at him—at the hands in his pockets, the way his shoulders tense like he’s bracing for rejection he hasn’t even been offered.

And I feel it rise in my chest like a tide I can’t hold back.

I want him to stay.

Not just for Maddie. Not just for the comfort of a third mug on the table or a voice reading bedtime stories.

I want him to stay because I ache for the feeling of his hands on my waist again—gentle, tentative, like he’s afraid I might break if he holds too tight. Because I’ve replayed the sound of his laugh from the other side of my couch more times than I want to admit. Because every night I lie in bed and imagine what it would be like to fall asleep with my head on his chest and his voice humming low against my ear—not reading, just being.

I want him to stay because when he leaves, the apartment feels too quiet. Too hollow. Like something essential walked out with him.

And I know what it’s like to be left. I know how to survive that.

But I don’t want to survive tonight.

I want to feel something.

I want to feel him.

My throat tightens. My fingers curl slightly at my sides. And when I speak, my voice is low and aching and raw.

“Please… stay with me.”

Spencer just stands there, frozen like he’s trying to convince himself he heard me right.

For a moment, he says nothing.

But his eyes—God, his eyes. They look at me like I just handed him something precious. Something he's not sure he deserves to hold.

And then he whispers, “You mean... tonight?”

His voice cracks on the last word.

I nod. It’s all I can manage.

He swallows hard. His hands leave his pockets, hovering slightly at his sides like they don’t know what they’re allowed to do.

“I don’t want to misread this,” he says quietly, “I’ve been wrong before. And if I get this wrong with you…”

“You’re not wrong,” I cut in, stepping closer. “You’re the only thing that’s felt right in a long time.”

His breath stutters.

“I keep thinking about your hands,” I admit, voice barely a whisper now. “On my waist. How they felt like... I mean, it was just for a moment, to help me up when I fell the other night… but… it was like something I didn’t know I was starving for.”

He closes his eyes like it physically hurts to hear that. When he opens them, they’re shining.

“I think about falling asleep on your chest,” I go on. “Not even for anything more. Just… to be held. To stay.”

For a second, I think he might cry.

But instead, he closes the space between us and brings one shaking hand to my cheek—light, like a question. His thumb brushes just under my eye.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” he breathes.

And then, finally—finally—he kisses me.

Not like he’s been waiting.

Like he’s been holding his breath for years.

He kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

Like the moment his lips touch mine, everything fragile between us might crack open—so he starts gently. Reverently. Just a brush, feather-light, barely pressure at all. Testing. Asking.

I answer by leaning in.

My hands slide up his chest, feeling the subtle tremor beneath his shirt—like he’s holding himself together with sheer will. His heart is pounding. I can feel it in the space where our bodies almost touch. Not quite. Not yet.

The second kiss is deeper. He tilts his head slightly, adjusting, learning me like I’m something to be studied. There’s a kind of hesitance in him—his lips move with patience, like he’s trying not to ask for too much. But I can feel the ache beneath it. The hunger he’s too polite to let loose.

When my fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulders, I feel his breath hitch.

That’s when he lets go.

His hands find my waist, slow at first, then firmer—still careful, always careful, but no longer afraid. His thumbs press into my sides like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s still half-convinced this isn’t real.

I press closer, and that’s all it takes for something to shift.

He exhales into my mouth, the kind of sound people only make when they’ve been carrying silence too long. His lips part. Mine follow. The kiss deepens, warm and slow and wanting.

He kisses like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s afraid he won’t get another chance.

And I kiss him like I’ve already decided I’ll never let that happen.

It’s not rushed. It’s not frenzied. It’s tender. Intimate. Two people discovering, not devouring. His nose brushes mine. One of his hands slides up, fingers threading into my hair. And when I sigh against his mouth—soft, involuntary—he pulls me just the slightest bit closer.

Because he needs to know I’m real.

And I am. I’m here.

We both are.

When we finally pull apart, it’s not dramatic. There’s no gasp for air, no cinematic swell of music in the background. Just… quiet.

His hands linger on my waist. Mine on his shoulders. We’re close, still, like we’re not quite ready to let go yet.

And we just look at each other.

Really look.

His lips are a little pink from kissing. His eyes—God, his eyes—search mine like he’s still trying to figure out if this really just happened. If I meant it. If he gets to keep it.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But something shifts between us—like the air just got warmer. Lighter. Less afraid.

Then, like we’re on the exact same wavelength, we both let out these little half-laughs at the same time. Not loud, not nervous. Just… soft. Disbelieving.

A beat passes.

“I’m probably a terrible kisser,” he says, deadpan, almost embarrassed.

I snort. “You’re the worst,” I tease, grinning now. “Absolutely terrible. I barely survived.”

His smile breaks through slow and stunned, like it’s climbing out of a place he forgot existed.

“…you’re a great kisser, Spence.”

“You mean that?” he asks quietly.

I nod, still smiling, but it’s softer now. “Yeah. I do.”

He breathes out through his nose, almost laughing, but I see the shift in him—like the compliment settled somewhere deep, somewhere that’s been starved for that kind of gentleness.

“You know,” he says, eyes flicking down for a second, voice suddenly a little shy, “I can probably count the number of people I’ve kissed with just one hand.”

There’s no bitterness in it. No pity. Just fact.

Honest and raw.

I don’t tease him. Don’t make light of it. I just watch him, and I see the flicker of vulnerability behind his glasses—like he’s bracing himself for me to pull away.

Instead, I step closer, until our fingers brush again.

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t good at it,” I say, quiet but certain.

His breath catches.

And then, almost inaudibly, “I didn’t know how badly I wanted it to be you I was kissing… until I was actually kissing you.”

I feel my heart twist in the best possible way.

“So,” I whisper, smile tugging at my lips again, “you gonna make me guess how many it was, or…?”

His cheeks flush.

“Less than five,” he says. “More than one.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Very specific.”

“It’s a statistic,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling again—soft and lopsided and completely unguarded.

And God, I want to kiss him again.

“I really want to kiss you again,” I admit, quiet but sure.

His eyes flick to mine, startled for a second like he wasn’t expecting me to say it out loud.

Then he exhales—relieved, maybe. Or maybe just undone.

“Yeah?” he asks, like he needs to hear it twice to believe it.

“Yeah.”

We’re so close now I can feel the warmth of his breath, the tiny pull in the space between us like gravity’s getting tired of being subtle.

“Okay,” he says, softer than before.

And I lean in.

This kiss is different.

It’s not hesitant like the first, or breathless like the second. It’s slower. More certain. Like we’re settling into something. Like we’re giving ourselves permission.

His hands slide around my waist again, more sure this time. My fingers find the back of his neck, and when I sigh into him, I feel his whole body soften in response—like he’s been waiting to exhale.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

It’s just him and me.

Wanting the same thing at the same time.

And this time, we don’t stop just because the moment ends.

We let it stretch.

Until—thunk.

We both jerk back at the same time, foreheads colliding in a soft but unmistakable headbutt.

“Ow—shit, sorry!” he blurts, one hand flying up to his forehead.

“Oh my God—Spence!” I’m already laughing, covering my mouth with both hands as I double over slightly.

He winces, blinking like he’s making sure he didn’t give himself a concussion. “Wow. That was… that was supposed to be a kiss.”

“Yeah?” I tease, breathless from laughing. “Because it felt a lot like a full-contact sport.”

He groans. “I swear I have decent coordination in literally every other area of my life.”

I step forward, still grinning, resting my hands lightly on his chest. “You okay?”

“I’ll live,” he mutters, cheeks flushed, hair slightly tousled, looking so adorably flustered I want to kiss him even more.

And somehow, that makes it even sweeter.

Because it’s not perfect.

It’s real.

And it’s us.

Two dorks, breathless in a hallway, trying not to fall too hard—and failing beautifully.

“C’mon,” I say, grinning as I reach for his hand. “You’re finally gonna get to see my bedroom.”

He blinks at me like I’ve just offered him access to a top-secret vault.

“Is this... a trap?” he deadpans.

I laugh, tugging him gently down the hall. “Don’t flatter yourself, Dr. Reid. You’re getting clean sheets and maybe a spare pillow, not a grand seduction.”

He follows, and I feel the hesitation melt from his grip. He’s still blushing a little—still stunned from the kiss and the headbutt and the fact that this is actually happening—but his hand in mine feels like a promise.

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting anything,” he says as we reach the doorway. “I’m just happy I got invited past the living room.”

“Yeah, well,” I murmur, glancing at him over my shoulder, “I think you’ve earned it.”

I open the door, flick on the bedside lamp. The light is warm. The bed’s a little messy. There’s a book on the nightstand and a hoodie draped over the footboard.

“I think I have some pajamas that can fit you nicely,” I say, heading toward the dresser.

Spencer pauses just inside the doorway, eyes trailing over the room like he’s trying to catalog every detail—like this, too, might be something he’ll want to remember.

“Pajamas, huh?” he says, brow lifting. “You have a stash for emotionally repressed men who show up in button-downs and sweater vests?”

I laugh, pulling open the drawer. “Actually, I have a stash for when emotionally repressed men finally decide to stay the night instead of running off after one kiss.”

He has the decency to look sheepish at that. “Sorry.”

"Don't apologize," I toss him a folded pair of soft, plaid sleep pants and one of my old T-shirts. It’s worn-in and slightly faded—navy, with a little white constellation graphic on the chest.

He catches it, holds it up like it might be holy. “Is this… yours?”

“Technically. But don’t worry, it’s seen many nights of existential crisis and leftover takeout. You’ll be in good company.”

He smiles at that. A real one. Small but bright, like he’s letting himself believe this is okay. That he’s okay here.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he says, still holding the shirt like it means more than it probably should.

And maybe it does.

Because tonight isn’t just about staying.

It’s about being welcomed.

“Yeah,” I say, backing toward my dresser, already tugging off my top layer. “I’ll change here, so don’t come out until I tell you.”

His eyes widen slightly, like his brain short-circuited at the implication, even though I’m halfway in pajama mode and he knows it.

He nods a little too quickly. “Right. Okay. I’ll just—bathroom.”

And then he’s gone, vanishing down the hall like he’s fleeing a high-stakes negotiation. I bite my lip, smiling to myself as I change into my softest sleep shirt—one that hits mid-thigh and smells like fabric softener and familiarity.

When I hear the door click shut behind him, I pause for a second—looking at my bed, now made for two.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel too big anymore.

“Okay, you can come out,” I call, voice light but a little breathless.

A few seconds later, the door opens. Spencer reenters the room wearing the constellation shirt and the plaid sleep pants—and looking every bit like he belongs in both.

And maybe, just maybe, here.

With me.

“Wow…” I chuckle at the sight of him, eyes trailing from tousled curls down to the constellation on his chest. “You look great.”

He shifts awkwardly in the doorway, tugging at the hem of the shirt. “It’s a little short.”

“It’s perfect,” I grin, stepping closer, tilting my head as I take him in. “You look like someone who drinks tea and stares out windows and has devastating thoughts about the moon.”

“I do have devastating thoughts about the moon,” he replies, almost defensively.

I snort. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s blushing now. Fully. And the way he looks at me—it’s not shy anymore. It’s open. Still a little uncertain, but undeniably present.

Like he wants this.

Like he wants me.

I walk past him to turn down the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of how intimate this all is—sharing a room, a bed, a night.

“You can take the side closest to the door if you want,” I offer, fluffing one of the pillows. “Just in case you need a fast escape.”

He laughs under his breath, stepping toward the opposite side. “Very funny.”

We climb in at the same time. Careful. Slow. Our movements quiet in the low light, like we’re both waiting for this to feel strange.

But it doesn’t.

It feels… calm.

Undeniably right.

The sheets are cool against my legs, the room quiet except for the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of settling floorboards. He lies beside me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

I turn onto my side, facing him. He’s lying on his back, hands folded neatly on his stomach like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

“You always this tense when you sleep over at someone’s place?” I tease gently.

He glances at me, lips twitching. “You say that like it happens often.”

“You mean to tell me this isn’t a regular Thursday night for you?”

“No,” he says, voice dry but soft. “This is… new.”

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling. “It is.”

We go quiet again. It’s not awkward—it’s full. Like the silence has shape. Weight.

My fingers twitch against the edge of the blanket. I don’t know how long I lie there, watching him in the dark—his profile soft, his breathing steady—but at some point, the thought becomes undeniable.

I want to kiss him again.

God, I really want to kiss him again.

Not because I need to. Not because it would make the night more romantic or meaningful. But because I can.

Because he’s here, in my bed, and the way he’s looking at me like I hung the stars on his borrowed shirt makes my heart thrum in my throat.

We lie there, a few inches of space and a whole ocean of awareness between us. The sheets rustle gently when he shifts, turning onto his side to face me.

“I read once that people sleep better next to someone they trust,” he murmurs, voice low and a little hoarse from the hour. “It has to do with cortisol levels and body temperature regulation—there’s this study from 2018 where they tracked heart rate synchronization between couples sharing a bed, and apparently—”

I kiss him.

No warning.

No pause.

Just—him.

Soft and talking and warm and trying to science his way through something so achingly human, and I just can’t help it.

My hand slides across the sheets to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as I press my mouth to his—slow, certain, reverent.

He goes still, for half a second.

Then exhales into the kiss like it’s the first breath he’s taken all night.

His hand comes up, fingers finding my waist under the blanket, tentative but grounding.

He kisses me back like he’s still catching up to the idea that this is real—but he’s trying. And the trying is what undoes me.

When I finally pull back, just a fraction, his eyes flutter open.

“…sorry,” he breathes.

I blink. “For what?”

“I was talking about cortisol.”

I grin, still close enough to feel the ghost of his breath on my lips. “You can talk about anything and everything… Just know, every time you start your little rambles, I get this huge urge to kiss you.”

His eyes widen, like I just flipped the stars inside him upside down.

“You do?” he asks, voice caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to wonder.

I nod, still smiling. “It’s endearing. And hot. But mostly endearing.”

He makes a strangled little sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Well,” I murmur, my fingers tracing slow circles against the fabric at his side, “get used to it.”

His hand slides to rest over mine, warm and steady. And for once, he doesn’t ramble. He just looks at me like he feels every word I haven’t said yet.

And when he kisses me this time, it’s slower.

There’s no rush in it—just warmth, just care. His lips press to mine with a kind of quiet awe, like he’s still a little surprised I’m letting him. Like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment in case he never gets another.

His hand slides from over mine to my waist, fingers splaying gently, like he’s reminding himself I’m real. I lean into him, let him pull me a little closer across the sheets. Our legs brush. Our noses bump again—barely—but this time we both smile into it.

Previous Chapter |

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[jamespottercumslut]

Yall… I just lost my favorite ao3 story 😭. If yall know abt it please let me know.

it’s Y/N x Peter Parker. She was adopted by Tony and Pepper, she had powers and she glows when she’s happy or something like that. They took her blood and put it in kids to replicate her powers and the kid who it actually worked in was named Cyrus (I think) and he was adopted by steve and Bucky. please let me know 🙏thank you!

[jamespottercumslut]

Mid-spicy scene. Very spicy. Very serious. Until—

Y/N (panting):“Oh my god—this is better than garlic bread.”

Bucky (pausing):…Garlic bread?

Y/N:“Like, really good garlic bread. With the crispy edges and—”

Bucky:“Stop talking about carbs while I’m inside you.”

Y/N:“I’m just saying, you’re the main course.”

Bucky:“…I hate how much I like that.”

[jamespottercumslut]

sometimes, you catch yourself watching him.

not as the man the whole world needs, but as the one who braids pigtails with too-big fingers. who remembers the names of every stuffed animal, and checks the car seat straps not once but twice, even when you're running late.

the man you fell in love with. the man you married. who, now, is also the father of your children.

clark loves being a father.

not out of some metaphysical yearning or the need to fulfil some mythic archetype. simply because he is competent. kind. predisposed to care. he navigates his way through fatherhood with the stride he applies to all things of consequence: unshaken and wholly present.

you've come to realise he was always made for this.

fatherhood flatters him more than any red cape or title ever could. the sight of him—sleeping child curled against one muscular arm while he scrolls the morning headlines—feels both incongruous and inevitable. and there's something disarming in how intimately it reveals what you've always suspected: tenderness was his truest form of strength.

watching him from the hallway, his profile lit by the nightlight in the nursery, you think: of all the trajectories his life could have followed, you're unspeakably grateful he chose this one.

you didn't think it was possible to love him more than you already did.

oh how wrong you were.

[jamespottercumslut]

cw// squirting, dumbification

somethings different, clark can feel it.

and he doesn't why.

he's pounding into you the same way he usually does, rubbing your clit the same direction, whispering the same praises as usual... but something is different.

in all honesty, no—not everything is the same. tonight, you both decided to try and push past your limit to see how far you could go during sex with clark.

your mind was foggy with pleasure and your eyes were rolled back into oblivion, the sensation of the veins running down his cock grinding against your slick walls had rendered you stupid. your speech wasn't even coherent anymore—every other word was slurred and your sentences bled through eachother.

he wasn't much better either—his cheeks were an interesting shade of pink and his curls were frizzy, canines biting down into his lips to stop himself from cumming too quick. his mind was a bit clearer than yours, and he could still form somewhat correct sentences like, "j-just like tha– oh my- fuck, it's so warm and— shit..." which only contributed to making you go even dumber.

but this, all of this, was the norm during sexual encounters like these. so why couldn't he shake off the feeling that something was different?

a suddenly clear sentence from your interrupted his thoughts, "holy shit– clark, I'm g'nna cum! gonna cum so fucking hard, i– shit, it feels—" and he knows to double down, intensifying every movement of his.

then, he heard things. truly unusual things.

he heard you heart beat at a pace he's never heard from you before, he heard your blood rushing around your veins faster than it ever did, and he heard... liquid?

though his hearing was disturbed by a loud cry from you, a sweet and desperate "m'cumming, m'cumming!" that had him moaning almost as loud as you did.

what took him by surprise, however, is that right when he was expecting the usual increase in wetness and contractions, he got something entirely new.

liquid. streams of your cum coming out in short squirts, seemingly following the rhythm of at which he was rubbing your clit. it was so messy and warm and sticky, and then he looked at your face, and saw an expression of utmost pleasure right before his body contracted and almost crumbled before you as he felt your pussy squeezing down on him like never before.

clark kent was surrounded by lust, by pleasure—blinding, intoxicating, and so fucking good.

so he succumbed.

he gave in.

he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you up from the bed, wrapping his arms around your head and holding you flush against him as his hips involuntarily kept bucking into you, his cock uncontrollably twitching inside your wet cunt before he spilled into you, moaning your name so loud you both were positive the entire neighborhood got a piece of the situation, filling you to the brim with his seed.

your ograsms lasted longer than normal, sending you into an ecstatic haze that had the both of you shaking and twitching.

when it ended, you both finally collapsed on the bed, sticking to eachother thanks to the liquid evidence of your pleasure.

"s-shit... I didn't.. I didn't know this would happen I'm sorry about the– about the sheets.." you apologized between pants, gulping down the saliva that had pooled inside your mouth.

he chuckles, caressing your shoulders lightly, "its okay... I didn't know you could.. squirt." and he looks at you with his kryptonian eyes, like a predator about to bounce on his prey.

"I know what you're thinking but you're gonna have to wait atleast two weeks for me to even think about attempting that again."

"oh, come on!"

[jamespottercumslut]

I'm making this post on the behalf of Sami and his family, who are now less than 5k away from their goal. Please support their fundraiser here, or help repost and share it, any interaction helps thank you!!

Sami's written this:

"It's a simple image, and yet it carries a powerful message. What do you understand? And what will you do?

My family is forced to flee every day from one area to another. We leave behind our tent and belongings under heavy shelling aimed at pushing us out. Some collapse face-first from exhaustion or lose consciousness—hunger weakens their immunity and blurs their vision. Those who go searching for flour often return carried on shoulders—either injured or dead. Think carefully. Imagine how I must carry my injured daughter Lynn, while my sick mother and father crawl in fear.

Without income and with prices rising, you and your donations are my only hope in the face of this brutal war where my children have been injured and go hungry. "

[jamespottercumslut]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or the end.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i can’t believe that this is the last chapter… this series has been going on for over three months now and i’m so grateful for all of you <3 i’ll be posting an epilogue that takes place some time after this, but if you guys are interested, i am open to writing requests about ygm!reader and frat!rafe in the future!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

"oh, yeah." rafe chuckled softly, "we have a game tomorrow, and i was wondering if you were coming." "vivian mentioned it earlier," you nodded, "i dunno, i mean, i don't really know anything about football." you chuckled breathily, "and... i have a lot of homework..."

"yeah, yeah. i get that..." rafe mumbled, before clearing his throat, "i... i really want you to come." your eyes widened, "you do?" "yeah. i do." he smiled softly, holding the shoe box out to you, "you could even wear this. if you want to. if you're not too busy."

you took the shoe box he was offering to you and opened it, seeing a folded piece of fabric. "what's this?" you chuckled softly, placing the shoe box down on your bed as you unfolded it.

"it's my jersey. i've seen some of the guys loan them to... uh, girls." "how many girls have you loaned it out to?" you chuckled playfully as you admired it, "none. just you." rafe shrugged. you placed the jersey down, turning to rafe and taking a deep breath, a small smile on your lips, "well, maybe you'll see me there. and maybe i'll wear that."

as rafe was about to turn to leave, you took hold of his wrist and he turned back to you, "but if i come to the game, you better win it." you got on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"he wants you to wear his jerseyyy? how cuuute." vivian cooed teasingly, taking a bite out of a piece of cake, the four of you sitting a cafe after your lectures were over, "don't tease her for being excited." zainab nudged vivian's shoulder.

"isn't it super public, though? for me to go to the game wearing his shirt." you purse your lips. "he said he's never let a girl wear it to one of their games."

"mmm, that's true. everyone except rafe has given their jersey to some girl to wear. it's a big deal, babes." "don't intimidate her, viv." "i'm not trying to intimidate her! she should know what she's getting into. everyone's gonna be watching you."

"what… what does that mean?"

"as soon as one person at that stupid game notices you're wearing cameron's shirt, they're telling their friends and then sending it over to KildareUBlindItems. in fifteen to thirty minutes, even the people who aren't at that game will know."

"funny how fast you can calculate yet you failed math." emilia rolled her eyes, "that's because math class is irrelevant. this is the important kind of math."

"so if i wear his shirt… everyone's gonna know that there's something going on between us? i didn't even think about that. i can't have that many people look at me." your brows knitted together. eyes, everywhere. looking at you, judging you, thinking you weren't good enough…

"don't you dare even start that." vivian grabbed your hand, squeezing it. you turned to her, your lower lip stuck between your teeth, a coppery taste in your mouth, "rafe wants you to go. you want to go, correct?" you nodded, "then the rest is irrelevant. besides, you're gonna watch the game with us. if someone stares at you i’ll just throw my slushie at them."

your lips quirked up slightly; you knew vivian wasn't kidding. "speaking of the game," emilia cleared her throat "i… i kinda asked my crush to sit with us during the game."

"what?" your eyes widened, a teasing tone lacing your tone "you finally talked to the girl you've liked since freshman year? the one you've never told a thing about to us?" "yes, that one." emilia rolled her eyes, "but it's no big deal. just be nice? it's just a friend thing, for now."

YOU: should we switch over to normal texting?

MalachiConstant: nah. this is more fun.

YOU: if you insist :p

MalachiConstant: so, have you made up your mind?

YOU: about…?

MalachiConstant: that's not funny

YOU: :p YOU: I might be coming. guess you'll see.

MalachiConstant: well, if you are, we usually have a party after we go home.

MalachiConstant: you should be my date

YOU: you're that sure you're gonna win?

MalachiConstant: if you come watch us, we're definitely winning MalachiConstant: but if you don't, we're definitely losing, i'll be too sad to focus on the game

YOU: you're so dramatic.

MalachiConstant: it's a fact

you laughed softly, putting your phone down onto the bed. angel looked at you, her different-colored eyes fixed on the smile on your face as if it disturbed her.

"i've got a date tonight. with a football captain." you cooed, giving her head a scratch, the cat closing her eyes and leaning into the touch, "who would've thought."

"so, who do you guys think em's gonna bring?" vivian took a sip from her slushie, wiggling her brows. by now, the stands were nearly packed, the game scheduled to start in less than ten minutes.

you, zainab and vivian had only just gotten to the stands five minutes ago, but based on the whispers and occasional glances you kept receiving, people had noticed the number nine on the front of your shirt, along with the number and the name ‘cameron’ on the back of it. without a word, you took vivian's slushie, grimacing when you tasted the vodka through the cherry-flavored icy drink, having counted on the girl's words that she couldn't take having to watch a college football game sober.

"you feel better now?" vivian raised her brows teasingly once you finally handed the cup back to her. you stuck your thumb up, feigning a smile through your burning throat.

"hi, guys."

you looked up to see emilia standing there with a sheepish smile, her cheeks slightly red. next to her, stood a blonde, brown-eyed girl, a small smile on her lips. vivian let out a gasp, looking between emilia and the girl.

"this is sarah cameron." before you could even get a word in, your pink-haired best friend had already jumped to her feet, "you're rafe's sister, aren't you?" "guilty. you guys know him?" the girl chuckled softly. "she does." vivian said with a shit-eating grin and gestured to the shirt you were wearing, and as soon as she saw the number nine on the team's jersey, sarah smiled, "you're her. huh."

"sorry?"

"nothing. it's nice to meet you." the girl held out her hand for you to shake, and you did, telling her your own name, trying not to overthink her words.

shortly after emilia and sarah had sat down, cheers erupted all around you, KildareU’s football team running onto the field led by rafe, the boy looking around until he finally spotted you, a wide grin taking over his lips when he saw what you were wearing.

you smiled and waved at him, rafe lifting his hand and waving right back at you, both of you blissfully unaware of the eyes fixed on you; like always, it was like it was just the two of you.

cheers erupted around the stands as soon as the buzzer rang out signifying the end of the game. to be honest, you didn't know much about football, and you really hadn't paid attention to the game even if you did; the entire time your eyes were on rafe, and whenever he'd so much as glance your way, you could feel your heart doing a backflip in your chest.

you and your friends were leaving the stands when you felt someone's large hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you back, spinning you around so you were facing them.

you let out a hiccup as soon as you were faced with rafe, your eyes wide, the reaction making rafe let out a chuckle. he was breathing heavily, his face covered with a sheen of sweat, but a pleased grin still lingered on his lips, "what, you were just gonna leave without congratulating me?"

"shut up." you gently smack his chest, "i was gonna congratulate you at the party. your team's waiting for you." "this is more important. you wore my shirt." there was genuine fondness in his tone as he spoke, and you could feel your cheeks warming up. "i wore it. and you won."

"thanks to you." rafe tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "you're gonna have to come to all of my games from now on if you want us to keep winning."

"maybe i do." you pursed your lips. "come on, lover girl!" you heard vivian call out behind you, reminding you that your friends were still waiting for you. "i'll see you at the party tonight." you stated, pressing a kiss on rafe's cheek before turning around and running to your friends, rafe watching you with a wide smile on his face.

despite being surrounded by his friends, rafe kept looking over their shoulders, trying to see if he could spot you, his eyes occasionally flickering to his rolex as if it would somehow make you magically appear in front of him. the conversation going on around him went in through one ear and out the other.

"c'mon, man." topper slapped rafe's shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts "why aren't you celebrating?" even though the party had been going on for a few hours now, rafe had spent the better part of the past hour nursing his second beer, "i'm waiting for someone." he mumbled, nudging topper off of him.

"who are you waiting for?" a familiar voice rang out from behind him.

rafe turned around to where the question had come from, and he was faced with you standing there with your head cocked to the side, a coy smile playing on your lips. you'd switched from the jersey into a dress that was the same shade of maroon as their team color.

"you. obviously."

"whoa, rafe, who's this? she your girlfriend?" jonathan, one of his teammates asked, his friends turning to face you. you chuckled softly, "no, we're not—"

"yeah, she's my girlfriend." rafe interrupted you, unable to help the grin that took over his face when he saw the way your eyes widened. his hand slipped to your waist, and the boy pulled you into his side, not letting go of you through the entire night, no matter who came up to him; and whenever someone asked him who you were, he didn't stutter.

"she's my girlfriend."

BONUS:

after the party, rafe was walking you back to your dorm, his fingers intertwined with yours while his coat was wrapped around you, a pleasant buzz still making your tongue a bit loose as cicadas chirped around you.

"you know, i don't mind if you didn't mean what you said."

"what did i say?" rafe furrowed his brows.

"you know," you kicked some of the gravel, "the stuff about me being your girlfriend and everything." when those words left your mouth, rafe stopped in his tracks, your eyes widening as you turned to face him, "what?" you chuckled softly.

rafe's warm hands cupped your cheeks, the boy bringing his face down closer to yours, your heart feeling like it was going to beat right out of your chest, his lips only inches away from yours.

"i meant it. i wanna be with you." rafe whispered, before closing the small remaining distance between you. his lips were warm and soft, your hands snaking onto his torso, pulling him into you.

the yellow streetlight over you flickered as you pulled away from the kiss with a smile so wide it was starting to hurt your cheeks. "say yes." he whispered softly, his calloused thumb stroking your cheek.

"yes."

THE END…?

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com.

[jamespottercumslut]

me when I click on a fic tagged x reader but in the end it's an x oc (I was tricked)

[jamespottercumslut]

the giant squid - harry potter

summary: harry and his friends find out you're afraid of the giant squid wc: 0.8k

The conversation between Harry and his friends is loud and boisterous, their energy undoubtedly a result of the shining sun. You don’t necessarily partake in the conversation, but it’s not because you don’t like the big group of gryffindors your boyfriend is part of. Harry’s arms are around you, and you’re enjoying yourself enough just being in his presence and listening to them. They’re funny, you notice.

Seamus interrupts Ron with a hand on his shoulder, mumbling “Mate, your fears have escalated from spiders to anything that moves! Hermione, how are you dating this man!?” Hermione laughs, rolling her eyes and adding on “Yeah, you should’ve seen how fast he ran away from me when I saw him after he missed our date for detention.”

Your laugh is genuine, and you only double down with laughter when Ron is interrupted over and over again as he attempts to defend himself.

“Right,” Neville starts, “So Ron’s top five fears are: spiders, his girlfriend, his mother, Snape and Ginny.”

“Might as well narrow it down to people in general and you’ve got three empty spots.” You joke with a loose shrug of your shoulders, and a wide grin forms on your face as the group around you laughs. Your boyfriend’s best friend looks at you with pure betrayal flooding his eyes. “Okay, Ron. Top five fears: spiders, people. Uhh, studying, people and spiders-ow!”

Seamus clutches his bicep, and Lavender is quick to wrap her arms around her boyfriend’s waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “At least Seamus can be comforted by his girlfriend.” Dean stage-whispers, and everyone laughs this time, even Ron.

“Alright, but what about Neville’s fears?” Ron asks, and everyone immediately comes to the shyer boy’s defense. There’s a clear favourite in the friend group. “What, so we’re going to pretend Neville wasn’t scared shitless of y/n for the first three months she and Harry dated?” Your eyebrows snap up in shock and you look towards Neville, who looks as though he’d rather be anywhere but under your scrutinising gaze.

“Looks like he still is!” Dean cries, an arm wrapping around Neville’s shoulders. “We sat next to each other for a year in Transfigurations!” You point out loudly, an offended expression on your face. Harry’s chest vibrates behind you, and Lavender leans across the empty circle to tell you “And you should have seen his face after every class. Like he’d seen a ghost.”

“Wow. I truly am hurt, Neville.”

“No, no I didn’t mean-”

“I’m only joking.” He deflates, letting out a relieved sigh that only makes his friends laugh harder. Seamus tugs his girlfriend closer to him, his eyes fixed on you. “Alright y/n.” You glance over at him, feeling oddly targeted. “We know everyone’s fears here but you. What’s your top five?”

Harry stiffens behind you, and he opens his mouth to change the topic of conversation, but your reply comes quick. “Oh, easy. Number one, the giant squid. Number two, giant squid. Three, uh, the giant squid.” Immediately, comments are thrown around as you continue listing the giant squid as your biggest fears. They look surprised at your mundane fear. It was expected for Ron to have a fear of spiders, but no one was that scared of the giant squid unless it tried to drown them.

Harry removes his arms from around you and moves to your side so he can look you in the eyes, an amused smile playing on his lips as he asks “Honey, you’re scared of the giant squid?”

“She’s so scary!” You insist, arms flailing around. “And she loves passing by the common room, which sucks so bad. I’m convinced she knows I’m scared of her — one time she even looked at me in the eye!” Dean slaps a hand over his chest, crying out “She!?” and Lavender questions “What do you mean look you in the eye!?”

You’re not sure if you like this sudden attention on you. You’re reminded in the moment that you’re the only Slytherin here. “Yeah, she. It’s kind of- I don’t know, we all refer to her as she.”

“We, as in the slytherins?” Hermione asks curiously, and you nod your head. “Yeah, and you can see her swimming by all the time in the rooms under the stairs.” Your voice gets quieter as you realise no one knows what you’re talking about. “I’m guessing you guys haven’t been to the common room.”

“No,” Lavender shakes her head, glancing across the circle to Hermione. “We were at that party with you the other night, remember?” She asks, and you nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Oh yeah. I’m guessing the glass rooms were closed.”

“Glass rooms?” Echoes Neville, and you grin. “Yeah. It gets trippy when you’re drunk.”

Everyone goes silent for a long moment, and you scan the group, an idea popping into your head at the intrigued looks on their faces.

“Okay. Clear your Friday night, we have plans.”

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @mischivana, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl

[jamespottercumslut]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 12

Summary: Some absences are louder than words. Spencer can’t focus, and Y/N can’t seem to move forward—not really. Maddie keeps asking when he’s coming back. And when an old routine brings them face to face again Couple: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of yearning and regretting from Y/N and Spencer, feelings of child abandonment Word Count: 9k

Series Masterlist

I like to think I’m someone who can handle tough situations. But the truth is… I’m really not.

No matter how much I try to prepare myself for the worst, when it actually comes, I fall apart. Every single time. It’s like my brain can catalogue every terrible outcome, run a thousand simulations of what could go wrong—and still be blindsided when it actually does.

Like after Hankel… after Maeve…

I thought I’d braced for every possibility. Told myself I could stay detached, that logic would shield me. But I still ended up addicted, broken, begging for clarity in a place that offered none. I still sat in that room after Maeve died, staring at the silence like maybe if I thought hard enough, she’d come back.

And now… now it’s happening again. Not with a killer or a hostage situation—just with a four-year-old and her mother. Just with a moment I didn’t handle right. A flash of fear that turned me into someone I never wanted them to see. And I keep replaying it, like if I study it enough, I’ll find the exact second I could’ve fixed it.

I haven’t been able to read a single page in five days. Which, for me, is like forgetting how to breathe. The books are still there—lined up neatly along my desk at Quantico, stacked on my nightstand at home—spines worn and familiar. But they might as well be written in a language I’ve never seen.

I open one during lunch, stare at the same paragraph, and close it again before the first sentence even registers. JJ asked if I was okay earlier. I told her I was just tired.

But I think something broke when I walked out of that apartment. And no matter how many hours I sit at my desk pretending otherwise, I can’t seem to fix it.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

The way Maddie’s face crumpled when I raised my voice. How her lip trembled. How Y/N came rushing in like I’d struck her, like I’d become some awful version of myself I’ve spent years trying to keep buried. Like she was finally seeing it. The version I tried to warn her about. The one she didn’t want to believe was real.

I keep replaying it—frame by frame—like a crime scene I can’t solve. Maddie flinching. Y/N’s eyes widening. My own voice, sharp and unfamiliar, cutting through the air like a warning shot. I wasn’t even angry. Not really. Just scared. But fear has never excused the damage it causes, and I felt it the moment I saw them both step back. Like I’d crossed some invisible line I can’t uncross.

She told me once that I was gentle. That I had a softness most people wouldn’t expect. I didn’t say anything then, just smiled, because part of me wanted to believe it too.

But maybe I’m not. Maybe I was never soft. Maybe I’ve just been careful.

And the second I wasn’t—just one second—I proved every quiet fear I’ve ever had about myself.

Maybe I am the live wire. Exposed. Dangerous. Something that sparks even when I don’t mean to.

And maybe I was stupid to think someone like her—someone warm and real and trying her best—could want someone like me near her child.

“Spencer, you’ve been staring at that document for ten minutes,”

JJ’s voice pulls me out of my daze, briefly, but she did.

“Yeah… I’m a little distracted… I think I just need some coffee.”

Before she could say or ask anything else, I get up abruptly and practically speed walk to the kitchenette.

I can feel her watching me as I leave. JJ’s always been too good at reading me—gentle when I need it, firm when I don’t want it. And right now, I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone to look too closely and see what I already know: that I’m barely keeping it together.

The kitchenette is empty, mercifully. I go through the motions—grabbing a mug, pouring coffee that’s been sitting too long on the warmer. It tastes burnt and metallic, but I take a sip anyway, like bitterness might shock me back into functioning.

It doesn’t.

It only reminds me of her.

Of that morning—the morning after I stayed.

The apartment had smelled like something out of a movie. Warm coffee and sugar and… blueberries. I remember blinking awake to the soft clatter of dishes and the faintest hum of music from Maddie’s cartoons in the background.

She made the coffee exactly how I like it. Exactly. Four sugars stirred in before I even got out of bed—just like she’d seen me do once, at that little coffee shop. The one we went to after the park on our second date—It wasn’t a date. Not really. Just… a shared moment. A comfortable afternoon with too much awkward smiling and not enough air in the room.

And still—she remembered.

She made blueberry pancakes too. Said it was Maddie’s idea, but I saw the way she watched me take that first bite, like she hoped I’d love them. Like part of her was holding her breath until I did.

I did.

They were soft and warm and just sweet enough to undo me. I hadn’t had a morning like that in… years, maybe. Quiet. Thoughtful. Wanted.

Now all I have is this scorched office coffee and the echo of what it used to taste like when it came from her hands.

I should call her.

I should drive up to her apartment and tell her how sorry I am. How much I miss her. How I can’t sleep without imagining Maddie’s tiny hand in mine, or the way Y/N’s voice softens when she says my name. How I’d trade every book in my apartment, every fact I’ve ever memorized, just to hear her say it again.

But I don’t move.

I just stand there with this bitter mug in my hands, paralyzed by every possibility. What if she doesn’t answer? What if she does—and it’s different now? What if Maddie hides behind her legs instead of running to me?

What if I already ruined it?

My grip tightens around the handle, knuckles going white. I should call. I should.

But the longer I stand here, the more I convince myself that maybe she’s better off. That maybe silence is the only thing I can offer now that won’t make everything worse.

The door creaks behind me. I don’t turn.

“I wasn’t finished talking to you,” JJ says softly.

I close my eyes.

She doesn’t push, not right away. Just walks to the counter, leans her hip against it, and waits. That’s the thing about her—she knows silence can be louder than any question.

“I told you JJ, I’m just distracted. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You mean last night as in the entire week? You look like hell.”

I huff out something that’s supposed to be a laugh. “Thanks.”

She shrugs. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to get you to admit you’re spiraling.”

I don’t answer.

She crosses her arms, gives me that patented mom-friend stare that somehow feels gentler than it looks. “Spencer, you haven’t read during lunch once this week. You didn’t even correct Anderson yesterday when he said serial killers and psychopaths were the same thing.”

“I was… busy.”

“You were staring at a water stain on the ceiling.”

I sigh and rub a hand over my face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I will be.”

She softens, just a little. “Talk to me.”

And I want to—I do. My throat aches with everything I haven’t said, but the words stay lodged somewhere behind my teeth. I stare down at the coffee in my hands like it might offer a script. A way out.

“Is this about that Maddie?”

My head snaps up. “How do you know about Maddie?”

JJ doesn’t flinch. Just lifts a brow, calm as ever. “You slipped and said her name on that missing girl’s case.”

I swallow hard. “Oh yeah...”

I look back down at my coffee. The surface has gone still. Cold.

“She’s four,” I murmur, voice barely audible. “She likes sparkly shoes and sticker books and is a fairy princess.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“A couple of months back, I was at the Library and ran into her. She was lost and couldn’t find her mother, I helped her calm down until her mom came to find her,”

JJ doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me, like she’s letting the picture form on its own.

“And her mom?” she asks softly.

I hesitate. “Y/N.”

Her name feels like something I’m not supposed to say out loud. Like if I do, it’ll make all of this more real. Harder to bury.

“She was… grateful,” I add, clumsily. “Said thank you. We talked for a bit. Then I saw them again at the library the next week.”

JJ doesn’t interrupt. Just lets me fill the silence at my own pace.

“She invited me to lunch after that because Maddie wouldn’t stop talking about me,” I say, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth before it fades again. “Said I could do magic. Really, it was just sleight of hand—coin behind the ear, that sort of thing—but she looked at me like I was some kind of wizard.”

JJ’s gaze softens. “Sounds like someone was smitten.”

I huff a breath, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. I was—I mean… am. We’ve been hanging out ever since. Museums. Parks. Pizza nights. Quiet mornings. She’s…” I trail off, words catching like thread. “She’s everything I didn’t think I could have.”

“So why are you moping around like it’s the end of the world?”

“I messed everything up.”

JJ doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to rush in with a fix. Just waits, like she knows there’s more I need to say.

“First, I practically slapped her in the face with a friendzone sign at the planetarium,” I mutter, my voice dry and bitter. “Then she kissed me, and I… I literally ran away. Like a teenager.”

JJ blinks. “Wait—ran away?”

I groan and rub my face, the shame crawling down my neck like heat. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t—I wasn’t rejecting her. I just… I didn’t know what to do. My brain short-circuited.”

“She kissed you and your brain exploded,” she says, lips twitching.

“Basically.”

“And then?”

I exhale. “Then I freaked out. I accidentally broke one of Maddie’s toys, and she started crying and throwing a tantrum. I was trying to get her to calm down, but I—I snapped. Not at her, but near her. Loud enough to make her cry.”

My voice breaks a little. “Loud enough to make Y/N look at me like I was someone else.”

JJ’s expression shifts—no more teasing now. Just that deep, steady concern I know so well.

“Spence…”

“It gets worse. I was trying to apologize, to defend myself I guess… She said…” I struggle, the words feeling like bile, even though they were true.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until JJ reaches out, her fingers brushing my sleeve, grounding me.

“She said, ‘you’re not her dad, so stop trying to be,’” I repeat, quieter this time. Like maybe saying it softer will dull the edge.

And still, it cuts.

JJ’s brows draw in, sympathy blooming across her face, but she doesn’t say anything yet. Just waits. Like she knows I’m not done.

“I know she didn’t mean it,” I add quickly, too quickly. “She was angry, overwhelmed. People say things they don’t mean when they’re—when they’re scared. I know that. Rationally, I know that. But it felt…”

I trail off, trying to find the word. None of them feel big enough.

“It felt final,” I whisper.

JJ nods slowly, her eyes soft with understanding.

“I just stood there. Completely frozen. I didn’t know what to say. I—I looked at her, and I looked at Maddie, and I couldn’t breathe. I thought maybe she was right. Maybe I overstepped. Maybe I built this entire little world in my head and forgot that I was never supposed to be part of theirs. Because she’s not wrong.”

I stop, trying to calm myself before continuing.

“I’m not her dad. I’m just the weird guy they met a couple months ago, who got too close for comfort. I have no right acting like a parent to Maddie, when I’m not. I’m not her father, and I have no idea how to be her father anyway.”

I force out a shaky breath, like saying it aloud might make the guilt a little smaller. It doesn’t.

“I don’t know how to do that kind of love, JJ. Not in real time. Not with a kid who looks at me like I’m invincible and a woman who—” I falter, the words sticking like splinters in my throat. “—who makes me want to be someone I’m not sure I know how to be.”

JJ steps closer, but she doesn’t speak yet. Just lets the silence sit, heavy but not suffocating.

“I keep thinking about all the things I could mess up,” I admit. “What if I teach her the wrong thing? What if I panic again and say something that sticks to her brain forever? What if I end up like my dad—leaving when things get hard? Or worse, like my mom—unpredictable and broken in ways she never asked for.”

The words feel ugly coming out. Selfish. Unfair.

But JJ doesn’t flinch.

“Spence,” she says softly, “I know you’re scared. I know you’ve spent most of your life believing you’re too much—or not enough—for the people you care about. But that little girl didn’t see any of that. She just saw someone who made her feel safe. Loved. Like magic was real.”

I blink fast, throat tight.

“And Y/N?” JJ adds, her voice dropping. “She let you into her life. That doesn’t happen by accident. You didn’t sneak your way in. She opened the door. And she didn’t do that because she thought you’d be perfect—she did it because she saw the way you looked at her daughter. Because you showed up. Over and over again.”

“But maybe that’s not enough,” I whisper.

JJ shakes her head. “It’s more than enough. And if you don’t believe me, then go ask them yourself. Talk to her. Apologize, if you need to. But don’t just disappear. Don’t let this fear write the ending for you.”

I stare down at the cold coffee in my hands.

“I can’t do it, JJ… I just can’t. The probabilities of her slamming her door in my face are way too high.”

My voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and I hate how small it sounds—how desperate.

JJ sighs, slow and quiet. “Since when do you let probabilities stop you?”

“I don’t… but this isn’t a case file,” I mutter. “This isn’t a statistic I can out-analyze or manipulate. It’s… it’s her. It’s Maddie. If I knock and she doesn’t open that door, I don’t know if I’ll come back from that.”

JJ takes the mug from my hands and sets it gently on the counter.

“You will,” she says. “Because you’ve come back from worse.”

I look at her, and she’s not smiling anymore—she’s not teasing. She’s just looking at me the way she always does when I forget how much I’ve survived. How much I’m still standing.

“I’ve seen you on the floor, Spencer. After Hankel. After Maeve. After prison. And every single time, you thought that was the end. That you were too broken, too far gone, too dangerous to be loved.”

She takes a breath, her voice thickening. “And every time, you proved yourself wrong.”

I blink hard, jaw tightening.

“She’s not slamming the door,” JJ adds. “She’s probably sitting behind it right now, hoping you’ll knock.”

That catches something in my chest. I don’t let it show. Not much.

“I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“Start with ‘I’m sorry,’” she offers. “End with ‘I missed you.’ Say the rest with your eyes if you have to. Just… go.”

Silence settles for a beat.

I wish it were that easy. I wish all it took was showing up and saying the right combination of words. But it’s not. Not for me.

I’m too much of a coward to do that. I can’t just go up there and apologize. Not when I know she’ll look at me with that same expression she had that day—like she didn’t recognize me. Like maybe she never really did.

“I… I have to get back to work.”

JJ shifts like she wants to stop me, but I’m already moving. Before she can say anything else, I bolt—quietly, but abruptly—back to the bullpen, making a beeline to my desk.

I sit down, open a file, and pretend I’m reading.

The words blur instantly.

Across the room, I can feel her still watching me. Not in judgment. Just… in that way she does when she knows I’m lying to myself.

And maybe I can lie to her. Maybe I can even lie to the team.

But I can’t lie to the ache in my chest that sounds a lot like a four-year-old saying my name.

I sit there for a while, motionless behind my desk, the file still open in front of me like it means something. Eventually, my hand drifts toward my wallet.

It’s tucked inside the smallest pocket, folded once to protect the edges.

The photo from the planetarium.

The three of us, crammed behind that cardboard astronaut cutout—Maddie in the middle, popping her head through the smallest circle with stars on her cheeks and a juice stain on her collar. Y/N stood to one side, her expression soft and caught mid-laugh. And me… visibly unsure of what to do with my hands, but smiling anyway.

One of the staff had offered to take it. Maddie giggled out “moon cheese.”

It was stupid. Silly. One of those tourist-trap moments meant to be forgotten in a week.

But I carry it like it’s sacred.

I smooth my thumb across the top edge—careful, reverent. The ink from the date I scribbled at the corner was already starting to wear where Maddie’s head is, just a little from how often I’ve handled it. She looks so happy. So safe.

And I look… happy too.

Not just pretending.

Happy in a way I didn’t think I could be again.

It hits me like a quiet wave. The kind that doesn’t crash so much as pull.

I could have had this. I did have this. And I let fear take it away from me.

“Are those them?”

The voice is quiet, cautious.

I startle slightly and look up. JJ’s standing a few feet away, not intruding—just there. Her expression is soft, her arms crossed loosely over her chest like she already knows the answer.

I don’t say anything at first. Just glance back down at the photo in my hands.

“They look happy,” she says after a moment.

“They were,” I murmur. “We were.”

She takes a step closer, eyes flicking to the picture. “You wrote the date on it?”

I nod, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t want to forget. It felt… important.”

She doesn’t tease me for it. Doesn’t smile like it’s cute. She just nods, like she understands exactly why I’d do something like that.

“I think they still are,” she says gently.

“Still what?”

“Happy. Or… waiting to be.” Her voice drops, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud, it won’t be true. “You didn’t lose them, Spence. Not unless you stay here pretending like that picture’s the only part that was real.”

I blink hard, forcing the tears back.

JJ takes a breath. “It’s Saturday, right?”

I nod.

“Then I think I know where they are.”

My week was rough. Not in the usual tired-mom, no-sleep, too-many-dishes kind of way. It was the kind that settled in my bones—quiet, constant. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way his voice cracked when he snapped. About the look on his face when I said what I said. About how fast he walked away, like he couldn’t get out fast enough. Like leaving was easier than looking back.

And I just let him.

I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. I should’ve let him explain himself. Should’ve taken a breath, sat down, talked to him instead of throwing my pain at him like it would somehow make mine feel smaller.

I let my resentment over the planetarium and the kiss get to me. Let it fester. Let it convince me that pushing him away would protect us—protect Maddie. But it didn’t. It just left a hollow space where he used to be.

And the truth is… he didn’t mean to scare her. Of course he didn’t. He panicked. She had something in her mouth that could’ve choked her, and he reacted. Loud, yes. Sharp, yes. But not cruel. Not violent. Not dangerous.

He was scared. And I turned that fear against him.

I saw the look on his face when I said it—“You’re not her dad, so stop trying to be.”

It was like I’d hit him. Like I’d taken everything tender between us and burned it to ash right in front of him. And the worst part is… I knew it would hurt him. I said it to hurt him.

Because I was hurting too.

Because it was easier to lash out than admit I cared. That I cared too much. That he mattered in ways I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

I spent so much time guarding myself, convincing the part of me that started to hope that it wasn’t real—that it was temporary, that he’d leave eventually. I was so focused on bracing for the fall that I didn’t let myself enjoy the flight.

I hadn’t realized how much I liked the light.

I just focused on how it burned.

And now he’s gone. And I don’t know if he’s coming back.

And it’s my fault.

The worst part is he’s everywhere, but he’s not.

I see him in my couch, laying down, sleeping with my daughter in his arms. I see him in Maddie’s princess tea parties—how she carefully pours pretend tea into an extra cup she still sets out for him. I see him in the park, helping her feed the ducks, crouched beside her like the world slowed down just for them.

Monday, Maddie wore his cardigan. She said that this way he would feel how sorry she was for making him angry, and he would come back.

I could only bring her to my arms and tell her he wasn’t angry at her.

She asked me when he’d come back… I could only say soon, but I knew that wasn’t true.

Because he hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted.

And still, she believed in him. In us. More than I did.

I didn’t know how to explain to a four-year-old that sometimes adults get scared too.

That sometimes love can be terrifying, not because it’s wrong, but because it’s right.

Because it asks you to stay when everything in you has only ever learned to run.

Because it feels too good, too fragile, like one wrong word might shatter it.

So I lied.

I told her soon.

And she smiled, like that was enough.

Like the world made sense again.

And I just held her tighter, trying to stop the crack in my chest from splintering any further.

On Tuesday, Maddie drew a picture at daycare.

Stick-figure me. Stick-figure Maddie. And a tall stick-figure in a sweater vest with wild brown hair labeled, in shaky crayon handwriting, “Spensr.” There was a sun in the corner—orange and pink with a smiley face—and a little speech bubble above his head that read, “I’m not mad.”

The teacher handed it to me during pickup with a big grin. “She worked so hard on this one,” she said, like it was a masterpiece.

I smiled back the best I could. With my mouth, not my eyes.

We didn’t talk about it on the way home. Maddie chatted about snack time and how someone brought stickers, but the picture sat quietly in her backpack, burning a hole through the zipper.

I waited until she was in the bath before I pulled it out again. Spread it on the kitchen table like it was fragile. Holy, even. Her tiny, chubby fingers had colored the whole background sky-blue. She’d even drawn in his .

She remembered everything.

I stared at it until my eyes blurred.

I almost put it on the fridge.

But I couldn’t.

Instead, I folded it—carefully, like it might break—and slid it into the back of the drawer with the batteries and the scissors and the coupons I never used. Not because I didn’t love it. But because seeing it every day might have destroyed me.

Maddie drew us as a family.

She believed he’d come back.

And I didn’t have it in me to take that hope away from her. Even if it felt like holding it was slicing me open, piece by piece.

That night, as I tucked her into bed, she looked up at me with her bunny pressed to her chest and said, “I want to give the picture to Spencer.”

My heart stopped for a second.

“We can leave it at the library,” she added quickly, like she’d been planning this. “That’s where we found him, remember? So he’ll find it again.”

I smoothed her hair away from her face, tucking the strand that always fell over her forehead behind her ear. “I don’t know if he’ll be there, baby,” I said softly.

She just shrugged. “That’s okay. If he comes back, he’ll find it.”

She said it with so much certainty, like it was a fact. Like it was already written in the stars.

I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t lie again. And I couldn’t say the truth either.

So I kissed her forehead, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and whispered, “Goodnight, baby”

Later that night, I sat at the kitchen table again. The drawing was back in my hands.

My thumb traced the little speech bubble—“I’m not mad.”

And for just a second, I let myself pretend I believed it.

Pretend he’d come back.

Pretend he meant to.

On Wednesday, Maddie asked if we could make blueberry pancakes again.

It was the first thing she said when she woke up—before “good morning,” before asking for her usual bunny cup or her show. Just, “Can we make pancakes like we did with Spencer?”

I hesitated. “You really want pancakes today?”

She nodded, serious. “The blueberry kind. He liked them.”

So we did.

She dragged her stool over to the counter, and I let her pour the milk and crack the eggs, even though most of the eggshell ended up in the batter. She giggled through the whole thing. Said she wanted them to taste exactly the same, so he’d come back faster.

When they were done, she asked if we could save a plate for him.

I told her I didn’t think he’d be stopping by.

She frowned but didn’t argue. Just put one on a napkin and wrapped it in foil anyway.

“He can have it tomorrow,” she said, placing it carefully in the fridge.

I didn’t throw it out.

Not even when it started to go soft at the edges.

I just kept opening the fridge, staring at it like maybe it meant something.

Like maybe it could bring him home.

On Thursday, Maddie asked for magic.

It was during her bath, when the bubbles were starting to disappear and her fingers had pruned into little raisins. I was sitting on the floor beside the tub, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, only half-listening as she babbled about mermaids and sparkly castles and how the rubber duck was now the queen of the underwater kingdom.

Then, out of nowhere, she looked at me and asked, “Mommy, can you do the coin trick?”

I blinked. “What coin trick?”

“The one Spencer does. When it disappears and then shows up behind my ear.”

I set my phone down slowly. “Oh, baby… I don’t know how to do that one.”

She frowned, confused. “But you’re a grown-up.”

I smiled, small and tired. “I know. I’m just not that kind of grown-up.”

She sank a little lower into the water, her expression thoughtful.

“Do you think I can do it?” she asked after a moment.

“I bet you can,” I said. “But you’ll have to practice a lot.”

“Can I practice with Spencer?” she asked quietly, like the question itself might break something if she said it too loud.

I didn’t answer right away. My throat had gone too tight, and the steam from the bath felt suddenly suffocating.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” I said softly. “Maybe. If he wants to.”

She went quiet after that. Just let me rinse the bubbles from her hair without another word.

Later, when she was in her pajamas and tucked into bed, she whispered, “I think he’s magic, too.”

I paused in the doorway.

“What do you mean?”

Maddie rolled onto her side, hugging her bunny close. “Spencer. He made the coin disappear, but also… he made me feel better. That’s magic, right?”

And I had to leave the room.

I had to walk into the hallway and cover my mouth with both hands.

Because yes.

Yes, that was magic.

And I let it slip away.

Friday was the worst out of them all.

Not because anything dramatic happened. Not because I broke down or screamed into a pillow or finally worked up the courage to call him. No—Friday was worse because of how quiet it was. Because it snuck up on me.

Because Maddie asked me to read her the storybook Spencer made for her.

We had just finished dinner—mac and cheese with carrot sticks, one of the few things I could get her to eat without complaint—and I was cleaning up the table when she padded over in her fuzzy socks, the book clutched tightly in her little hands.

She didn’t even say it right away. Just held it up, eyes wide and hopeful, the way kids do when they already know the answer they want.

“Can you read it?” she asked softly. “Please mommy?”

“Baby, we’ve read this one a lot, are you sure you don’t want a different one?”

“No, mommy, I want this one. Spencer knows when I read it, he can tell with his magic,”

I froze. Just for a second. My hands still smelled like soap and pasta cheese, and I had a damp dish towel clutched between my fingers. I remember the way her voice sounded when she said it—so sure, so matter-of-fact. Like this wasn’t a wish or a maybe or a game. Like it was truth.

Spencer knows when I read it.

He can tell with his magic.

I could’ve told her that wasn’t how it worked. That Spencer didn’t have magic. That books were just books, and people didn’t come back just because you missed them hard enough.

But I didn’t say any of that.

I just dried my hands. And nodded.

“Okay,” I said gently. “Let’s go get ready for bed.”

She ran up the stairs, clutching the book to her chest like it was sacred.

And maybe it was.

It kind of is.

I followed slowly. My legs felt heavier than they should’ve, like every step pulled more memories to the surface—him in the hallway, balancing a tray of pancakes; him sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting Maddie decorate him in stickers; him on the couch with that book open in his lap, reading in silly voices, pausing after every sentence to let Maddie ask why.

When I got to her room, she was already tucked in, holding the storybook between her hands like it might disappear if she let go.

I sat beside her. She crawled into my side without hesitation, cheek on my arm, bunny in hand.

“You have to do it the way he does,” she whispered.

I nodded again.

And I tried.

“Once upon a time, in a world made of books and stars and peanut butter toast…”

But it didn’t sound like Spencer.

It didn’t sparkle.

She didn’t interrupt at first. Just listened. Quiet. Still.

Then, maybe three pages in, she said, “You forgot the part where the flower giggles.”

“What?”

“Page three. Spencer makes it giggle”

I looked down at the illustration. A little bluebell with a smiley face.

“I’m sorry, baby. I forgot.”

She nodded, but I felt her curl in tighter. Like maybe she was trying to make herself smaller. Like if she folded up enough, the ache would be easier to carry.

I kept going.

Tried my best.

Used the voices. Sang the galaxy song. Pointed out the bunny constellation in the sky like he always did.

But it wasn’t working.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile.

She just stared at the page, her little brow furrowed, lips pressed into a straight line.

Like something was missing. Like someone was.

After a long pause, she whispered, “That’s not the voice.”

I tried to keep my smile steady. “I know,” I said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re supposed to say it like Spencer,” she murmured, lower this time. “He makes it sparkle.”

I set the book down in my lap, just for a second. “I’m sorry, baby… I just can’t do it like he does.”

She went quiet again. Then, so soft I almost didn’t hear it:

“Can you ask him to come and read it to me?”

My heart dropped like a stone in my chest.

“I can’t, sweetheart. He’s… he’s busy.”

She looked up at me then—really looked. Her eyes were glassy, bottom lip trembling. “Mommy, you’ve been saying that all week.”

“I know but—”

“Is he mad at me?”

Her voice broke. Just a little. Just enough to destroy me.

“No, no, honey—no,” I said instantly, setting the book aside and gathering her into my arms. “He’s not mad at you. Not even a little.”

“Then why did he leave?”

She sounded so small. Like she was trying so hard not to cry. Like if she stayed quiet enough, maybe the answer wouldn’t hurt as much.

I blinked hard, holding her tighter. “He just needed time to think, baby. That’s all.”

She pulled back to look at me. Her face was pinched, confused. “But I’m sorry about the tiara. I didn’t mean to scream. I just— I was just sad.”

“I know, sweet girl,” I whispered. “He knows, too.”

“But if he’s not mad, why won’t he come back?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Not one that wouldn’t make everything worse.

I just kissed her forehead and pulled her close again, like holding her tighter might somehow keep all of it from falling apart.

She curled into me, clutching her bunny like it was the only thing left holding her together.

“Maybe he doesn’t like me anymore,” she said into my shoulder.

And that’s when I broke.

That’s when the first tear slipped down my cheek and landed in her hair.

“No, Maddie. No,” I said, firmer now, willing her to believe me. “He loves you. So, so much. Okay? This isn’t your fault.”

She didn’t respond. Just let me rock her slowly, breathing in shaky little bursts that made her back tremble against my chest.

I stayed like that long after she’d fallen asleep.

Just thinking.

Of him.

Of us.

Of everything and anything.

And I decided—somewhere between guilt and exhaustion—that maybe if we slipped back into our old routine, the one before Spencer, we could go back to how we were. Back to something that didn’t ache when I blinked. Something safe. Familiar. Something I could control.

Saturday morning.

I woke up early and made chocolate-chip pancakes for my Maddie.

She used to call them “happy cakes.” We made them together almost every weekend before he came into our lives. I’d let her stir the batter while I handled the stove, and she’d always sneak chocolate chips when she thought I wasn’t looking. It had been our thing.

She woke up to the smell.

Came bounding into the kitchen with sleepy hair and pajama pants twisted sideways, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. And for a moment—just a moment—she looked like she did months ago.

Long gone was the sadness from yesterday.

She smiled so wide it made my chest ache. “You made pancakes!”

“I did,” I said, forcing a smile of my own. “Chocolate-chip ones. Just like we used to.”

She climbed into her chair and kicked her feet under the table. “Does that mean we’re going to the library, too?”

I froze for half a second.

But I nodded.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

“Yep,” I said. “Library day.”

I served her a stack shaped like a clumsy heart. She giggled when the syrup dribbled down the side like a river. For ten whole minutes, it felt okay. She talked about which books she wanted to check out, asked if she could wear her fairy skirt, wondered if they still had the stuffed dragon in the reading corner.

She didn’t mention him.

Neither did I.

But I felt it—how the space he left still hovered in the room. In the way I grabbed two travel mugs instead of one. In the way Maddie reached for her favorite storybook and then stopped herself, as if remembering that it didn’t sparkle the same without him.

Still, I packed up our bags. Brushed her hair. Tied her shoes.

We were going to the library.

Because that’s what we did on Saturdays.

Because routines were supposed to make things better.

Because pretending we were whole was easier than admitting we weren’t.

The walk there was quiet. Maddie held my hand the whole time, skipping every few steps like she was trying to shake off the last of her sadness. The sun hadn’t fully broken through the clouds yet—everything still looked soft and pale, like the world hadn’t quite woken up either.

When we reached the library steps, she stopped short.

“Do you think the fish tank is still there?” she asked, squinting through the glass doors.

“I’m sure it is,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “You can check while I return the books.”

She nodded eagerly and ran ahead, her little shoes tapping rhythmically against the floor. I followed behind slowly, my hands suddenly clammy against the borrowed books I clutched to my chest.

It felt strange walking in without him. Without hearing the quiet sound of his voice beside me, telling Maddie about whatever constellation was on the ceiling mural that day. Without his fingers brushing mine as he took the book bag from me, always too gentle, always careful.

I tried not to think about it. I made myself focus on the way Maddie waved at the librarian, the way she crouched down to say hello to the turtles in the tank. I reminded myself why we were here—to prove to myself that we were okay. That I could do this without him. That we could go back to before.

But then I saw him.

He was in the fantasy section, crouched by the graphic novels. His back was turned, but I knew it was him instantly.

I stopped breathing.

He looked exactly the same—messy hair, sweater sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, a paperback in one hand. I would’ve known him anywhere.

And then Maddie saw him too.

She gasped. Loudly. Gasped like she’d just spotted Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.

“SPENCER!”

She was already halfway across the room before I could blink.

She launched herself into him so hard he nearly dropped the book.

He caught her—of course he did—stumbling back a little but smiling, stunned, like he hadn’t believed this was real until her arms were around his neck.

“Whoa—Maddie,” he breathed, hugging her back instantly. “Hi.”

Her voice was muffled against his sweater. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

I couldn’t move.

I just stood there at the edge of the aisle, clutching the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles turned white.

He looked up.

Saw me.

And everything in me stilled.

There was so much in that look. Apology. Fear. Longing. All of it.

I didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t know if I should walk over or walk away.

Maddie leaned back and put her hands on either side of his face like she needed to make sure he was real. “I thought you were mad,” she said. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

Spencer looked like he’d been stabbed.

“No,” he said instantly, shaking his head. “No, Maddie. Never. I’m not mad at you.”

“Why were you gone?”

“I just… I had a lot of work, sweetheart.”

It was the gentlest lie I’d ever heard.

And she almost believed him.

She blinked slowly, still holding his face, and said, “You didn’t answer when I talked to you in my head.”

Spencer’s mouth parted—just a fraction. I saw it hit him. That she really had been calling for him. In her thoughts. Her dreams. Out loud, even, when she thought I wasn’t listening.

“I tried to,” he whispered. “I wanted to. I just— I didn’t know how.”

“You could’ve come.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Maddie.”

She nodded against him. Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck.

And then she whispered, “I wore your cardigan. It still smells like you.”

I almost turned around.

I almost left.

Because the sound Spencer made—somewhere between a laugh and a sob—broke something in me. He clutched her closer and kissed the top of her head like it was instinct, like he’d been missing this as much as she had.

My throat felt like it was closing.

I didn’t know what I was walking into when I came here. I thought maybe we’d pretend not to see each other. Maybe he’d nod politely and slip out the back before I could say anything. I thought I could shield her from it. Protect her.

But here they were.

Wrapped up in each other again like no time had passed. Like no silence had ever cracked them apart.

And suddenly, Maddie looked up and saw me.

Her eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

“Mommy, he came back!” she shouted, twisting in Spencer’s arms. “He came back!”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I see that, baby.”

“Can he come to the fish tank with us?” she asked, already bouncing. “Please?”

Spencer’s eyes met mine over the top of her head.

There was something there—uncertainty, guilt, maybe even fear. Like he was waiting for me to say no. To shut it down. To walk out with Maddie’s hand in mine and leave him behind for good.

But I couldn’t.

Not after this week.

Not after last night.

“Actually, baby,” I said gently, “why don’t you go wait for us in the kiddie section? I have to talk to Spencer for a minute.”

Maddie tilted her head. “But—”

“Just for a little bit,” I promised. “You can pick out books, but don’t leave that section. Okay?”

She looked between us, eyes narrowing the way she always did when she sensed something grown-up happening. But eventually, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said softly. Then she turned to Spencer and added, “Don’t leave again.”

His whole face folded.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

She squeezed his fingers once before letting go and skipping down the aisle toward the children’s corner, where the low shelves and beanbags waited.

I watched her until she disappeared around the bend.

Only then did I turn to him.

The second I met his eyes, the mask slipped.

He looked tired. More than tired. Like he hadn’t slept all week. Like he’d been trying to outrun something that kept catching up.

“Hi,” he said.

It broke something in me. That word. Simple. Fragile.

“Hi,” I echoed.

We stood there in the middle of the library, the weight of everything pressing down on the space between us. All the things we didn’t say. All the things we shouted without meaning to.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said after a moment, voice low.

“I didn’t either” I said, though it didn’t sound as sharp as it should have. “This is our Saturday routine. It was before you. I was just… trying to go back.”

He nodded, slowly. “Did it help?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Not even a little.”

He looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Just slightly.

“Y/N… you have no idea how sorry I am… about everything. The planetarium, the… the running away, the yelling.”

His voice cracked on that last word. It landed somewhere in my ribs, sharp and unrelenting.

He didn’t look at me when he said it. Just stared at his hands like they were something dangerous. Like he didn’t trust them. Like he was afraid of what they’d done, or what they could still do.

“I never meant to hurt her,” he continued, voice low. “God, I never meant to scare her. Or you. I just… I panicked. I wasn’t thinking. And when you said what you said, I—”

He finally looked up.

“You were right. I’m not her dad,” he said, almost to himself. “You were right. I’m not. I’m just some guy who reads her storybooks and brings her stickers and I had no right to snap at her like that.”

“Stop,” I said, sharper than I intended. “Don’t do that.”

He blinked, startled.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Spence. I was just angry… I mean you aren’t her dad, but you’ve been there for her more than anyone else… you know besides me.”

He stared at me, eyes wide like he didn’t quite believe it. Like maybe he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. I was butt-hurt, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Y/n—”

“No, I mean it. you have no idea how much she’s— we’ve missed you, how sorry I am, how terrified I was that we’d never see you again.”

“You never called,” he said, not accusing—just… stating it. Like a fact he didn’t know what to do with.

I winced. “I was scared. I was embarrassed.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “So was I.”

We stood there for a beat, not looking at each other directly. It was too much. Too bare.

“I thought about it every day,” I admitted, voice low. “Picking up the phone. Just… hearing your voice. But I didn’t know what I’d say.”

“You could’ve said anything,” he murmured. “I would’ve picked up. I would’ve just listened.”

“I didn’t think I deserved that.”

That made him look at me. Not harsh, not wounded. Just there. Fully present, eyes searching mine like he was still trying to figure out if any of this was real.

“You were angry,” he said after a moment. “You had every right to be.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I wanted you to go.”

“I didn’t want to go.”

“Then why did you?”

He hesitated. Swallowed.

“Because I felt like I’d broken something I couldn’t fix. Like the second I raised my voice, I lost the right to be in her life. In yours.”

That hit harder than I was ready for. My throat tightened.

“You didn’t lose anything,” I said, voice soft. “Not really.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded—once, like it hurt.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked quietly. Like he already knew the answer, but couldn’t stand not hearing it.

It took me a moment to answer. But when I did, it was the easiest thing I’d said all week.

“No.”

I watched the relief flood his face, slow and cautious, like he didn’t fully trust it yet.

“We… I want you in my life. I need you in my life.”

His eyes searched mine, slow and stunned, like he was trying to memorize the moment. Like he wasn’t sure he’d get another one like it.

The air between us shifted—quieter, heavier, but in a way that made it easier to breathe. And for the first time in days, we just looked at each other. No fear. No anger. Just everything that had been left unsaid filling the space between our breaths.

Spencer’s hand twitched slightly at his side. I saw it. Felt the way his fingers wanted to move. To reach.

So I reached first.

Only a little—just enough to brush my fingertips against his. A soft question. He answered by curling his hand around mine, tentative but sure.

My heart climbed up my throat.

He stepped a little closer. Close enough that I could see the freckles on his cheek. The exhaustion in his eyes. The ache. The hope.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he said, voice low and raw. “Pretending I can just be normal around you. Be your friend. Act like I’m not thinking about you all the time.”

I swallowed, stunned still.

“I’ve been so scared to say it,” he went on, almost breathless now. “I keep overthinking it—telling myself it’s too fast, that we only just met a couple of months ago, that I’ll ruin it if I say the wrong thing…”

He looked right at me then. No hiding, no flinching.

“But I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot.”

The breath caught in my chest.

“I like you too, Spence… a lot.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

And for a second, we just hovered there—suspended in something quiet and unfinished.

His nose brushed mine.

My lips parted.

And just as I started to lean in—

“Mommy! You’re taking too long! I want to see the fish tank!”

We both flinched like we’d been caught committing a crime.

Spencer blinked rapidly, stumbling half a step back, and I turned my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

Maddie was standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, already tapping her little foot in mock impatience.

“We’re coming, baby,” I called, my voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

She huffed and spun around dramatically, her pigtails swinging as she disappeared back toward the aquarium.

I turned back to Spencer.

His cheeks were flushed. So were mine.

But the smile tugging at his lips—god, it was real.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “That was…”

He laughed softly. “Yeah.”

I squeezed his hand—tender, grounding. And with that, we turned toward Maddie, already marching ahead with purpose.

Toward the fish tank.

Toward something that felt, finally, like forward.

Together.

Previous Chapter |

Taglist: @Tokalotashiz @livbonnet @jakiki94 @23moonjellies @saskiaalonso @ellaomalalaalala @deltamoon666 @person-005 @reidssoulmate @quillsandcauldroncakes @blog-du-caillou @codedinblack @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @lunaryoongie @Marcelaferreirapinho @Reidrs @tiredqueen73 @scarlettoh @reidsjuno @un-messed @Happydeanpotter @ravenclaws-stuff @Ortega29 @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx @pablopablito01 @Frickin-bats @alrat13 @ozwriterchick

[jamespottercumslut]

not all men

yeah you're right. James Potter would fucking never.

[jamespottercumslut]

my heart breaks 😓

When you look up *character* x reader and there's barley any fanfics about them

[jamespottercumslut]

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.

It's like a reward ☕︎

[jamespottercumslut]

To Have and to Hold — Series Masterlist

content warnings: Single parent, slowburn, trauma bonding, post-prison Spencer, smut (NSFW, 18+), parental abandonment, anxiety, panic attacks, yelling/arguments, emotional miscommunication, kidnapping/child endangerment.

Spencer Reid didn’t expect to find a lost toddler in the middle of the library. He definitely didn’t expect her to grab his hand and call him a wizard. But then again, nothing in his life has gone according to plan—not prison, not grief, and definitely not the way his heart stumbles when her mother walks into the room.

She’s cautious. Private. A single mom with no time for complicated men. But Spencer is different—too kind, too awkward, too patient with a little girl who doesn’t understand what the word dad is supposed to mean anymore.

What starts as a quiet friendship slowly turns into something else: bedtime stories, late-night confessions, small moments that feel too big to ignore. And just when it starts to feel safe, everything fractures.

Because building a future means facing the past. And some ghosts don’t stay buried—especially when one of them has a name.

(slow updates)

Chapter 1 — Lost and found

Chapter 2 — The return of the wizard

Chapter 3 — Dandelions

Chapter 4 — Museum Date

Chapter 5 — Photographs

Chapter 6 — You Are In Love

Chapter 7 — On the line

Chapter 8 — Stay

Chapter 9 — Space Song

Chapter 10 — Step on me

Chapter 11 —

Chapter 12 —

This fic will have 30 chapters! (Or at least that’s how many chapters I planned out), if I add another chapter with no name/link, it means I’ve written it already, just haven’t posted it!

Add yourself to the taglist!

you can also read this series on wattpad and A03

[jamespottercumslut]

in his arms - harry potter

summary: harry had been right when he told you not to go back home after graduation. but how could you not when your entire history laid there? wc: 4.2k+ cw: descriptions of violence, reader's abusive parents, hurt/comfort

Harry had been right when he told you not to go back.

But there was a side of you itching to. You couldn’t just ditch your entire life. Besides, where else would you go? It wasn’t an option in your mind to stay with the Potters until you found your own place to stay after graduating.

It was something you and Harry had debated the entire train ride from Hogwarts. His parents were expecting you to join them at Godric’s Hollow. But yours were awaiting you on the platform when you stepped off the train, and you knew then, you had to go home. If it wasn’t for the obligation you felt towards your parents, it was because of the pathetic attachment you had to your bedroom.

Eighteen years did that to a girl.

The Potters watched in horror as you stepped towards your parents, face void of any emotions, bowing your head down to them in submission as a greeting. Lily seriously debated walking up to you right then, but she remembered how her own husband had arrested your father mere months ago, and held herself back to avoid causing a scene. Of course, you had been correct in saying that your father would pay off a judge, his sentencing non-existent, criminal record clean. But you were an adult now; they couldn’t force you into a marriage you didn’t want to partake in.

You barely had the chance to step into your bedroom when you returned to the manor. Your bags had clattered on the floor as you fell forward, harshly pushed through the doorway of your parents’ home.

It was then that you knew you’d made a terrible mistake.

The ache in your knees was bruising, pain clambering up your legs as you spun around on the cool floor, just in time to see the dark material of a belt fly towards you. The leather whipped through the air, and you cried as it snapped against your cheek, the skin immediately reddening at the contact. A growl tore through the otherwise silent mansion as your father leaned down, hands forming fists around the fabric of your uniform, straightening up with so much power that your body was forced off the ground, and you scrambled to put your feet on the ground as he tugged you up.

“You think it’s funny telling your boyfriend’s parents what goes on in the privacy of my house!?” Your heart dropped, mouth going dry. He knew. How long had this anger been brewing within him, knowing you were dating his foe’s son? Knowing that Harry was the very reason you’d rebelled against him and his arrangements to make you a Nott?

He shook you, and your cheeks immediately grew wet from the tears rapidly falling from your eyes. A sob broke through your chest, and your father pushed you away, hands releasing their grip on your shirt so you stumbled onto the ground, hands flying out to catch you before the rest of you crashed into the cold marble floor.

“Answer me! You think it’s funny!?”

“No, I don’t!” You sobbed, not daring you look up at him. In that moment, you wondered where your mother was — if she would ever fulfil her role of protecting you. But she was just sat on the couch, arms folded across her chest as she stared at you. Mrs. Potter wouldn’t let this happen, you thought. And then, Mr. Potter would never do something like this.

But your parents would.

And when the assault was finally over, your father’s knuckles bruised and bleeding, – wand now abandoned on the floor after he got bored of using magic against you – he crouched down next to your trembling form, and muttered “Get yourself cleaned up. We’re having dinner with the Notts tonight.” For the first time since you’d stepped foot into the house, you heard your mother’s voice.

“I don’t want to see a single trace of a bruise on your skin by the time you’re ready.”

Thankful for the dismissal, you pushed yourself off the floor, hiccuping loudly as tears ran down your face, water mixing with blood across the surface of your skin. Your arms ached as you hauled your suitcase up the stairs, muscles too weak to lift it off the ground. You father watched you climb up his flight of stairs, admiring the result of his hard work. When you finally reached your bedroom, you slumped down on the floor, letting your repressed sobs turn into a full breakdown.

Your entire body shook as you forced yourself back up on your feet, dragging the chair from the front of your vanity and securing it underneath the handle of your bedroom door. You tested the handle, ensuring it wouldn’t open if someone tried it. Though the room was silent, it rattled with emotions; raw and vulnerable. You forced yourself to calm down as much as you could, sitting on your pillowy bed as you observed your abandoned room. No one had stepped foot here since you'd gone to Hogwarts.

Your eyes trailed across the comfortable surface of your bed, landing on a small, dusty teddy bear. You laughed breathlessly, reaching out for him. Teddy. He was the only thing to ever give you comfort all these years, and now, he would give you the final push to save yourself.

Gripping him tightly, you ran towards the bedroom door, where your suitcase lay, haphazardly thrown there. Your fingers trembled as they curled around its handle, and you shut your eyes, taking deep breaths in an attempt to stabilise your heart rate.

One more push.

The world around you spun as you pictured the Potter household in your mind, the familiar ‘Happy Place’ doormat saturated with colours in your mind as you disappeared from the room around you. You remembered the three handprints on the house’s front door, a big one on each side of a tiny handprint — Harry’s, when he had been a baby. Mr. Potter's hand was painted in red, Mrs. Potter's in yellow, and Harry's tiny hand was orange. He was a result of blatant love.

And suddenly, you were there. Your legs buckled under your weight, the suitcase barely taking the weight of your fall as you clattered onto the floor. You bit your bottom lip as you cried silently, relief flooding your body.

Standing slowly, you brought your hand up, looking at Teddy, squeezed so tightly in your grip that your knuckles had paled. You shook your head, lifting your suitcase up and taking a few steps away from the front door. It was just enough that you could see past the vast gardens behind the Potter’s house. Sighing, you pushed your suitcase over, and slumped down on it in a seated position.

There was no more energy for sentiments.

Tears continued to stream down your cheeks, your entire brain numb. The pain in your body was a mere ache; ever present, but nothing you hadn’t gotten used to in the past couple of hours. You shook — of course you did. You hugged Teddy close to your chest as you stared into the distance, unaware of the effect the trauma had on your body. Cool afternoon winds broke past you; the skirt you wore didn’t help with protecting you from the harsh environment. At least, harsh for someone in your condition.

You didn’t wonder what you would look like to a passerby. A schoolgirl sat on a suitcase, bruises on her legs and blood staining her creased, white button-up shirt. A schoolgirl who looked as though she had run away from home.

Fuck, Harry was right.

Stupid. You’re so stupid, your inner monologue scolded. All of this could have been avoided if you had just gone with him. Now, you would burden him. You would burden his family. His family who had been nothing but kind to you over the past year. His family, who treated you normally despite seeing past your perfectly curated façade.

You were sobbing again, shoulders shuddering with every unsteady sob that jolted your body forward. God, you were so tired. It hadn’t been enough that you’d been beaten until your body hurt from the inside, out. It hadn’t been enough that you had bled through your own clothes. It hadn’t been enough that you apparated halfway across the country until you deemed yourself safe. No, you just had to spend all your energy crying too.

The first call of your name fell on deaf ears.

The second call was louder, more desperate, and was accompanied by hurried footsteps towards you, a hand reaching out to touch you. You caught the movement from the corner of your eye and immediately flinched away, hands coming up to cover your face as a reflex.

Harry stopped in his ground.

His footsteps had been too loud, his hand too quick to move. He had scared you. He didn’t know what to do, watching you tightly shut your eyes, hiding away from the nightmarish imagery of your father’s memory. The involuntary picture of the way a spell had flown towards you, the bright orange colour leaving your father's wand screaming danger. So Harry mumbled your name quietly, and then again, taking careful steps towards you.

The garbage bag he was in charge of bringing outside was left abandoned on his own doorstep as he crouched next to you, easing your hands away from your face. “Sweetheart? Oh, my love.” All noises from you immediately subsided as you courageously glanced upwards, meeting his eyes through a wall of blurry tears. Harry witnessed the moment you recognised him, eyes widening slightly before your body went limp, eyes rolling back as you slumped forward, into his arms.

His heart rate began accelerating, and Harry swallowed thickly, an overwhelming sense of fear overtaking him.

“Mum!” Harry cried urgently, tears in his own eyes as he prayed that the gap in the front door would be enough to alert her. “Mum!” He repeated, voice breaking as he yelled for his mum. He felt his breathing go unsteady, and he barely heard the front door slam open, making way for not one, but two people to break through.

Lily and James Potter had never heard their son scream this way in their life.

“Oh my god.” Lily gasped in horror at the sight of you, going completely still. Thankfully, James was already easing you out of his son’s arms and cradling you close to his chest as he rushed you into the house, carefully placing you on the living room couch. Lily rushed over to her son, crying to himself as he reached for your fallen Teddy, holding it tight to his chest.

“Sweetheart, come on.” Lily urged, not knowing where to turn her focus. She glanced back at her son one last time before running into the house, telling her husband to take care of Harry as she immediately began checking you for injuries. She started with your worst injury: a long gash that ran from your collarbone down to your bicep. It had completely ruined your shirt, and Lily couldn’t imagine how much emotional pain you had been in not to notice it.

James entered the house carrying your suitcase in one hand, and holding Harry close to him with the other. He was holding back his own tears at the question Harry had asked him just thirty seconds ago, but he needed to stay strong for Harry. He needed to stay strong for you.

Dad, is she going to be okay?

James shuddered as he replayed the fear-induced sentence in his mind. He guided Harry to sit down on an armchair across from you in the living room, but Harry only lasted ten seconds before he was standing up and making his way over to you, sitting on the floor next to the couch so he could caress your hair helplessly, putting Teddy on his lap.

His mum was focused on treating your wounds, however big or small they may be. She lathered a soothing balm onto your bruises, and mumbled healing spells to the cut on your cheekbone until it disappeared. When Lily ran out of things to do next, she cupped your cheek with one hand and rubbed gentle circles on your skin with her thumb.

“You’re safe now,” She whispered, and Harry looked up at his mum, noticing the tears in her eyes. “No one’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.” And your boyfriend started sobbing just in time for his dad to return to the living room with a freshly brewed potion in one hand, the other carrying a see-through vial. Lily eased herself off the stool to sit next to her son on the floor, engulfing him in a tight hug.

“She’s going to be okay.” She reassured him, but that’s not why he’s crying this time. He’s just grateful that his favourite people in the world love each other, no matter how much you think you’re a burden to his parents. He’ll fix that. But Harry let himself be held, wiping his tears away as his dad took the spot on the empty stool, shuffling closer to you.

James pinched your chin between his index and thumb, dipping your mouth open. He passed the vial to his wife, who unscrewed it for him before returning it, and he tipped it between your parted lips. He held his breath while you swallowed — an automatic response — and he allowed himself to inhale deeply before repeating the movement with the second vial.

The draught of dreamless sleep eradicated any unpleasant thoughts from your mind.

It had you floating in a state of unconsciousness, limbs so heavy, and yet you felt so light. It allowed your body to rest for as long as it needed, shushing your brain from its irrational insecurities, brought on by conscious thought. The world around you moved at a slower pace than usual, and it seemed you weren't the only one who’s gone numb.

Harry barely moved from his spot next to you, the same rotation of worries consuming his cognition. His parents were worried about you, and by extension their son. The longer it took for you to heal, the more Harry would spiral. But they knew you’d be okay. At least, physically.

They kept Sirius away for as long as possible. Neither he or Remus had known what happened, and for as long as possible, James and Lily wanted to keep it that way. So they made excuses to avoid seeing their best friends. Not to keep you safe, but to keep Sirius safe. The trauma he had endured with his family had been so similar to yours, so soul crushing, that no matter how healed he was, doubts were beginning to form. They wanted to avoid the relapse of flashbacks and ptsd he had survived once before.

But the Potters seemed to forget about the rare case between Sirius and Remus. Both had exceptional senses, thanks to their alternate forms. It had only been two days after you’d shown up to the Potters’s doorstep that Sirius and Remus had passed by – only with the best intentions in mind. The couple never knew Lily and James to need so much privacy, so they were prepared to ignore the Potters’s sudden plea for it.

Once at the front door, Remus caught a whiff of something.

He sniffed loudly, trying to wrap his mind around the familiar scent. Sirius looked at his husband with a frown and instantly took his familiar form of a black shepherd. Sirius’s ears perked up, snout moving quickly as he circled the front door. He was instantly alert, barking once before taking his human shape once more. He didn’t communicate to his husband the aroma he had recognised, immediately pulling out his spare key from his pocket and welcoming himself into the Potter household.

For the first time in days, the house stirred for a reason unrelated to you. James Potter froze in the entryway of his own, where he was caught with an array of Potions, but he didn't know how to tell his best friend to respectfully get out. Sirius ignored James’s presence, following the smell of blood into the living room, Remus right on his heels.

The world stopped spinning for a second as Sirius took in your unconscious figure, limp on the couch. His vision went blurry, and for the briefest moment, Sirius saw his face on your body before reality snapped back into place. His hands balled into fists at his side, and his voice almost came out betrayed when he asked in a low whisper “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lily’s head snapped up at the sound of Sirius’s voice, taking in the scene before her. Sirius brushed off the comforting hand that Remus placed on his shoulder, taking long steps towards you. He knelt in front of you on the couch, and a hand came up to wrap around yours. “This shouldn’t have happened.” He said with a sense of finality, and his godson choked on air guiltily. Harry knew it shouldn’t have happened. And yet he hadn't tried hard enough to make you stay.

The bloodied uniform had been exchanged for a fresh pair of clothes, but a bandage peeked out from underneath your jumper, and Sirius couldn't begin to image what your injuries looked like underneath the layers of protection.

“What happened?”

“I went to take out the trash.” Harry began, his voice croaky. It was the first time he had spoken since asking his dad if you were going to be okay. If you were going to live. He whispered words of comfort to you at night, but nothing above a whisper. “And she was just sitting on her suitcase. Crying. And when she saw me, she just passed out.”

He sniffled, all emotions resurfacing as he coughed, trying not to sob.

The four adults in the room exchanged worried glances, but nothing was said for a long time. The same ritual occurred; Lily reapplying balm onto your bruises and changing your bandages, James feeding you the potions he had finished brewing with the finest ingredients, Harry caressing you, cheek pressed against your shoulder, the fine sliver of contact with you keeping him alive.

Remus made himself useful whilst Sirius just stared at the movement around him. He disappeared into the kitchen, only returning to the living room when dinner was finally ready. The entire family was summoned into the dining room, but wasn't the same as usual. Harry stared at his soup, listening to the quiet clinking of metal spoons against the bowls. He couldn't eat. Even if it was just lentil soup, something he could surely stomach.

No one attempted to make conversation.

At some point, James pulled out a small notebook and crossed something out. A book with the potion doses he’d given you — something to keep track of so he wouldn't go insane.

Then, Remus’s head snapped up. Sirius leaped.

The silverware on the table clattered as he sprinted out the dining room, and everyone was suddenly up.

You were awake.

The draught of dreamless sleep had been heaven compared to this. All your senses came rushing back to you, and you began to push yourself up, moaning when pain shot up your left arm. You shook, falling onto your back. You groaned, fear shooting up your spine when you realised you were not in your bedroom. A sharp gasp left your lips, but before you could panic, someone was shushing you, bringing a soothing hand to to rest atop your head.

“It’s okay, don’t sit up just yet. We’re here.”

We’re here. You twisted your head to the side and tears filled your eyes when you spotted the approaching crowd. Lily crouched down next to Sirius, and you heard her ask something from a distance, but your eyes were glued to Harry, standing a couple of feet away from you, next to his dad and uncle. It hurt when you shuffle onto your side, but you did so anyway, pushing yourself up on your uninjured arm. Sirius scrambled to help you sit up, letting you lean your weight on him so he could push you into a sitting position.

Your head rang as you straightened up, but the guilt you felt was ten times worse. Your voice came out croaky, raw from all the sobbing you did.

“You were right. I’m sorry.”

Harry pushed past your audience to sit next to you on the couch, and he pulled you into a tight hug that had his parents wincing. But you sniffed loudly, hands curling around his jumper and pulling him impossibly closer to you. The pain in your body come from everywhere, but they disappeared for a moment as your boyfriend held you, mumbling into your hair “Don’t you dare apologise. I love you so much. I’m just happy your safe. Thank you for coming here.”

His expression of gratitude sent a pang to your chest, but you pushed it down so you wouldn't get overwhelmed with more emotions, wiping your tears away to say “Wasn’t the graduation gift I was expecting, to be honest.” The comment didn't diffuse the tension in the way you were hoping. If anything, it only concerns everyone more.

“Oh, don’t do that, honey.” Lily pleaded, placing a hand on your knee. You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling scolded as you pulled away from Harry’s chest, bowing your head down. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, voice weak. Lily lifted herself up to sit on your other side, and she caressed you back with soothing circles. “Don’t apologise.” She told you in a whisper, as though sharing a secret with you. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” You admitted, and it almost sent the mother to tears. Lily took a sharp breath, free hand gripping yours tightly.

“I could never be angry with you.”

“That’s not true. Everyone can be angry with me.”

“Honey, your parents aren’t here.” Your head snapped up to meet the person to whom the voice belonged to. Sirius was still crouched down in front of you, his hair now gathered to the back of his head in a bun. “You don’t have to keep repeating things they’ve told you. No one’s going to be angry with you for it. Lily and James, and Remus and me. We’re not your parents. You’re safe here. Let go of those beliefs they’ve forced into your head.”

It was as though all you needed was permission from Sirius to let go, even though it didn't necessarily bring a positive reaction out of you. You were sobbing, shoulders slumping forwards with every shake of your chest as you mumbled “Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeated, just making sure though he already sounded relieved.

“Okay.”

The tension in the room subsided a bit, and you couldn't help but feel a weight lifted off your chest.

“I’m going to bring you a plate of food.” Announced James, already disappearing from the room. When he came back, it was with a tray. Not only did it have a bowl of soup, but some soft baguette on the side too. In a small plate laid a peeled tangerine, but you weren't sure you could even eat right now. “Thank you, Mr. Potter.” You said, staring blankly at the food. It was as though all eyes were on you, and when you glanced up again, you found yourself shrinking from the attention you were receiving.

“I don’t think I’m really hungry right now.” James picked up a newspaper, sitting on the couch facing you. “Yeah you are, love, you just don’t know it yet. You’ve been living off potions for two days.”

“We can go eat in the dining room, if you want?” Harry asked quietly, and you knew it was more than an offer to sit at a table; it was a chance to get you away from the watchful eyes of his concerned family. Harry took the tray from you and stood up, waiting for you to follow. You winced when you pushed yourself off the couch, and the four adults grimaced as you straightened up. You walked stiffly across the room, following your boyfriend into the dining room. He set the tray down next to his abandoned bowl of soup, watching as you finally reached for the tangerine, ripping it in half.

You offered Harry the first slice, and he gratefully took it from you as a citrusy scent filled the room. He knocked it against your own tangerine slice, whispering “Cheers.” It encouraged you to eat the slice of fruit, eyes trained on your boyfriend, who smiled encouragingly at you while he chewed.

Then, in an almost peaceful unanimity, you both turned to your food. Harry shuffled his chair closer to yours, and finally — knowing that you were okay — he reached for his lunch. Whilst you blew on your soup to ease the steam away, his had long gone cold. But it tasted better with you safe beside him than it ever would in a world where you weren't home: in his arms.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @sharkers00

[jamespottercumslut]

me every night picking who to read about before I go to sleep

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It's a bad habit... anywayssss drop the recs!!!