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sometimesmyartlookscoolsoipostit · 1 year ago

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NSFW Alphabet - Logan Howlett Edition

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Reader Warnings: AFAB pronouns, breeding mention, pet names, bodily fluids, p in v actions, no protection, overall horniness, 18+ MDNI. Author's Note: This man is renting space in my synapses, send help.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is so gentle with you, it almost makes you feel like you’re made out of glass. He prefers to hold you close once you’re thoroughly satisfied, enjoying how your body folds into him to be as close as possible.

If you ask him for water and snacks he’s gone within the second, bringing you whatever you need, and then immediately putting you back on his lap so he can feed you. Don’t argue with him on this, he won’t take no for an answer.

You collapse against the sheets with a sigh, legs still shaky from Logan’s excellent bedside service. You’re practically boneless when he pulls you onto his chest, the dark hair tickling your cheek as he cages you in his embrace.

“Logan, I’m sweaty—“

“Do I look like I give a damn princess?” He grumbles, his hands reaching down to smooth over your hair. “Just let me take care of you, alright?”

Your whining is just for show and he knows this, a small part of you feeling guilty because he always treats you with such respect. He’s not sure what kind of assholes you’ve been dating before but he’s damn certain he’ll be the one to teach you how you should be treated.

You melt in his arms, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his large hands running down your back. His voice cuts through the silence, far more gentle than you’re used to.

“Need anything else doll?” He asks, to which you shake your head.

No, tonight you just need him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s an all around man, asking him that is like asking a man to choose between air and food to survive.

He loves playing with your tits, loves biting at the swell of your breasts before sucking on them, loves burying his face in the valley of them—

He loves using your thighs as an anchor when he eats your pussy, rolling his eyes when they squeeze around his head—

He loves the sight of your ass bouncing back when he fucks you into the mattress, the sound of your combined hips ringing loudly in his head—

He really just loves you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It only took one time for him to be utterly addicted to your pussy. He refuses to cum anywhere that isn’t inside you at least once, just the sight of it falling from your abuser cunt has him going back for seconds. The sloppy sound of your juices and his cum as he thrusts into you is like asmr.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Masochist to the extreme. You kind of had a feeling with the way he shrugs off pain but you didn’t know how bad it was until you scratched him just a bit too hard while getting your guts rearranged.

Your nails dig into the meat of his arms, a deep-seated groan erupting from the back of his throat at the feeling. Immediately you look down to see the angry red marks left behind that heal within seconds, an apology on your lips interrupted by his voice growling in your ear.

“Do that again.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The man is over two hundred years old, he lays down pipe like a master plumber. Knows all your spots better than you do, knows exactly what gets you going because he can practically taste the arousal in the air. Those senses of his are no joke.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary so he can see your face, doggystyle so he can fuck a hole into the mattress and breed you.

Prefers missionary normally if only for the fact that when he puts even half his full weight on your body you’re forced to lie there and take it, unable to so much as squirm while he fucks you within an inch of your life. Enjoys doggy when the beast inside needs to scratch a particular itch that only seeing you ass up with cum dripping down your thighs can reach.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

A wholesome 50/50 of being love-struck and horny, he has his moments of laughter but they’re almost always immediately followed by pure lust. You’d think he’d be super serious all the time but he’s surprisingly gentle. He prefers to watch you enjoy yourself, he’s much more of a service top in that regard.

Want him to eat you out until you’re pushing his head away? Want him to fuck you nice and slow, keeping you right on the edge? Whatever your flavor is, he’s down for a taste.

That’s not to say he doesn’t have his rough moments as well. It’s very easy for him to lose himself so he tries not to go overboard for your safety, but if you ask him to let loose he’s not going easy on you. Just remember when you wake up unable to walk that you asked for this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not groomed at all, just an overall hairy man. He’s got the prettiest happy trail from his navel to his dick that makes his eyes roll when you drag your nails across it. If it made you uncomfortable he’d make an effort to trim.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very intimate, wants you to know just how much you mean to him. Even when he’s being rough with you he makes sure that your comfort is priority. Talks you through it.

You’re face down, ass up, just the way he likes it. Your thighs tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm, pussy practically drooling for him as your slick dribbles down the plushness of them.

It’s a sight that Logan could never get tired of.

His fingers rub soothing circles around your sensitive clit, gathering your wetness between two fingers and listening to your breath hitch when he replaces them with his cock, lightly prodding at your entrance.

“How we feelin’ princess?” He asks, coating his length with your juices.

You mumble praise into the pillow, and sure he can hear it with his enhanced senses, but that’s not the point—he wants you loud and clear.

Gently he lifts you off the bed, a strong arm around your waist as he rocks himself between your swollen folds, lips trailing at your ear as your head rolls back.

“Come on doll, I need to be able to hear you,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

Your hands grab at his arm, a desperate whine on your lips. “Fuck me, please.”

His chuckle reverberates in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he was younger and still learning how to fight his animal instincts, absolutely. Nowadays he doesn’t really think about it, but occasionally Logan will struggle with keeping his thoughts off of you, especially when you’re wearing something nice and he doesn’t have the time to drag you back to the bedroom.

He’d prefer if you were the one touching him, but his hand will do for now, if at the very least to hold him over until you get home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise - Like mentioned before, adores talking you through it. Favorite nicknames for you are princess, baby, and sweetheart, and his voice in your ear is like heaven.

Pain Kink - BIG masochist. Use him like a scratching post, he loves it. He’ll never admit it but if you bite his lip hard enough to bleed he’ll moan like a whore.

Primal Play - Come on now, the man is an animal at the best of times and downright feral at the worst. This extends beyond the bedroom too, he’s very protective of his mate girlfriend and would move mountains for her.

Breeding - This is an extension of his primal play, he adores filling you up with his cum, whether or not you get pregnant. Something about the sight of it just screams at him like a claim that only he can give you. It’s his cum that paints your pussy, and no one else gets to have that honor.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ideally the bedroom but he’s one of those people that couldn’t care less, if he wants you he wants you. It’s going to be up to you to be the voice of reason, and if that fails? Better learn to keep your volume down.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Domestic acts, making him feel like a normal man rather than the weapon the world wants him to be.

Making him breakfast? His hands are playing with your hips the whole time, whispering sweet nothings against the skin of your neck, swaying to the imaginary rhythm he sets. Cleaning the countertops? He drapes his wide frame across your back, pinning you to the cold granite while he tells you how good your ass looks in your pants, heavy hands making it known just how much he appreciates your attire. Bring him breakfast in bed in nothing but an apron? He’s pulling you into the sheets and not letting you go until you’re screaming his name.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As much as a masochist he is, the last thing he’d ever do is hurt you. The most you could ever convince him to do is manhandling you or spanking, but the moment he senses anything but enjoyment he’s on his knees apologizing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Y’all remember what Doja Cat said about big noses?

If he passes out between your legs he’ll die smiling, if he makes you pass out then he’s never going to let you hear the end of it. Very likely to overstimulate you until you’re pushing him off you, only to pin your hips down and keep on going. Enjoys palming your thighs and burying his face as far into your pussy as he can, his philosophy is if you can still speak he’s not doing well enough.

As for him, he becomes so submissive when you suck him off. It’s the only time he’s guaranteed to let you take the reins, he prefers watching you work rather than taking over. Tucks your hair back, strokes your head, whispers how good you make him feel and how your mouth feels like heaven. When he cums he’ll ask you to open your mouth before swallowing and the sight of your cum-stained lips gets him hard like nothing else.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally very sensual, can easily change with the drop of a hat. Long, deep strokes that reach all the right places and make you see stars. Massive service top vibes, one of those lovers that always knows what you need at the moment (he totally can’t hear your heart pounding in your chest, no sir.)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes, and proud to admit it too. Always promises that he’ll be quick, but it never is. He can’t help it, y’know? You make him feel too good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, but the catch is you have to tell him. You can throw him every hint in the world but he won’t so much as touch you until you use your words. Logan likes hearing how desperate you are, he’s a bit mean like that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Why would you ever bother asking that? His limit is when you decide to tap out, if even that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Didn’t really understand and thought you were insulting him at first by offering to use toys in the bedroom. It wasn’t until you gave him a show that he realized just how much he was missing before.

If anything, he doesn’t feel the need to use them on you, but loves watching you use them on yourself.

The small toy buzzes in your hand, the sound of it ringing loudly in the four walls you call a bedroom. Soft sighs accentuated by needy whines, baby pink sheets snaking around your soft thighs, the muffled sounds of your moans when you bite your lip—

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Logan says, mesmerized at the view, eyes glued to where the vibrator meets your swollen clit. He palms at the tent in his jeans, cock twitching when your back arches off the bed with a cry of his name.

He can fucking smell it—your arousal, your need—it makes him drunk, intoxicated off your pleasure. It makes his throat go dry, makes him want to crawl over you and keep you locked beneath him, greedily wringing out every last bit of it.

Your voice cuts through the fog of carnality, a gentle distraction from the beast that threatens to break loose with every passing second.

“Enjoying the view?”

He can only bring himself to nod.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s such a fucking tease it’s unreal, but he’s also very impatient. It leads to moments where you’ve been edged for so long that tears are brimming your eyes, and when you look at him with those puppy-dog eyes he can’t bring himself to hold off any longer, all previous plans discarded in favor of folding you in half and exposing your puffy cunt to his hungry gaze.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He gets louder and louder the longer you go on as his animal side overpowers him. He’s no stranger to noise but when he’s deep inside you he can’t help but resort to grunts and growls of your name, makes it known just how good you feel wrapped around his cock.

I personally like the idea that because of his mutation he follows mating rituals like real wolverines do, so if you’re into that he’s extra loud during mating season, to the point that he has to bury his face into your neck or else the whole building will hear him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes it when you wear his clothes because they smell like you afterward. Encourages you to do so, and maybe hides your shirts during laundry day as an excuse (but he’ll never admit it.) When you’re not around he’ll even hold the fabric to his nose and take a deep inhale, imagining it was you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As mentioned before, an overall hairy man. Strong muscles with a healthy layer of fat, likes to laugh at you when you bury your face between his tits because they’re nice and soft.

When it comes to his dick he leaves nothing to be desired—it’s heavy, like real heavy. Nice and girthy with a fat tip that makes your breath catch in your chest every time he glides it in, the slap of his balls against your ass soon following suit. A nice pretty pink with a couple of veins running throughout.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always when he’s around you, but trained enough to know there’s a time and place. If he had his way you’d never leave his house, but that’s also his protective nature talking.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Likes watch you fall asleep first to make sure you’re safe and sound—a bit paranoid and overprotective in that sense, but he can’t really help it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him, so it calms him down to know that you’re not going anywhere. Once he’s sure you’re alright he’ll go to sleep, preferably with you on his chest.

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sometimesmyartlookscoolsoipostit · 2 years ago

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multiverse monday! casual dominance with poly!marauders in which james applying ur lip balm for you bc ur lips get dry, remus ties ur shoes and stuff like that PLEASE TYSM <3333

"Pucker up, m'love." James taps at your cheek, directing your attention away from Remus who's tying your shoes, kneeling at your feet.

"Oh!" You gush, pushing your lips out into a pretty pout so that James can smear strawberry chapstick over them. The change in angle means that the braid Sirius is weaving into your hair nearly comes undone, and the man scoffs, voice close to your ear.

"Oi! Mind lettin' me work?"

"Sorry, Siri." You mumble, mouth mostly closed as James lines your lips with the balm.

"Not you, darling," Sirius hums, leaning in to kiss your temple, "I was talking to the big oaf doing your makeup."

"Hey!" James's jaw drops, and he reaches forwards, quick as a flash, to smear chapstick against Sirius's angled cheekbone, "Call me an oaf."

"Both of you," Remus hisses from your feet, nudging James's calves out of the way as the man tries fighting with Sirius, "Are in the way. Darling, do you want your socks bunched up by your ankles, or up to your thighs?"

"Thighs," You decide, and Remus's slender fingers stretch the fabric until it's over your knees, "Thanks, Rem."

"Kiss," He demands, as compensation for his work. You gladly lean in to share some of the chapstick James has just slathered on your lips, and it gives the two men behind you room to wrestle.

"Dickhead," Sirius sneers, laughing hard when James sticks a hand against his ribs, "Ah! You asshole, that tickles!"

Remus is barely able to catch James's arm before it swings out towards you, gripping the man's wrist and nearly twisting it. James looks to Remus, eyes widening when he realizes he'd nearly whacked you in the face, mouthing a 'sorry!' that you don't see because you're still kissing at Remus's mouth.

The only response that James gets is a scarred, slender middle finger thrown his way, and Remus escorts you out of the room before James and Sirius can even get back on their feet.

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sometimesmyartlookscoolsoipostit · 2 years ago

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this is how you fall in love

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW x FEM READER

summary just you and rooster, forever

warnings fluff fluff fluffy fluff not proofread !

a/n pls send me a man like rooster thanks

masterlist

the night bradley first met you, he knew one day you two would share a home filled with love and laughter.

despite the dim lighting of the bar and the crowd of people, you still catch bradley's attention from the very moment he steps into the bar. you're dancing with your best friend next to the jukebox, a grin plastered on your face. you're wearing a short red dress, the skirt of your dress swishing around you as you move to the rhythm to the music.

bradley can't help but stare. no one notices, except penny. she rests her forearms on the bar, leaning forward. she says, "she's single, you know. go shoot your shot." he smirks slightly, then turns to look at you, catching your gaze.

usually, when you're caught staring, you immediately look away. but with the help of a little liquid courage, you hold bradley's gaze, refusing to look away first. he stares at you and you stare back, even as he gets up from his seat at the bar and makes his way over to you.

"hey, gorgeous. i'm bradley, but everyone calls me rooster. can i buy you a drink?" he says, staring into your eyes. you'd be a fool not to accept. you were many things, but definitely not a fool.

"that would be wonderful." you tell him, smiling. you tell him your name and follow him to the bar.

throughout the course of the night, bradley learns your favourite colour, why you're in town, and most importantly your number.

"call me." you say, pressing your lips to his cheek after he drops you off at your doorstep that night. bradley replies with a "yes ma'am" and watches you fumble with your keys. his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he leans against his car, waiting for you to make it back into your apartment safely.

only when you lock the front door behind you does bradley drive off.

—

the very friday the next week, bradley takes you out for dinner. he knocks on your front door at 630pm sharp, with ample time for you to make it for your 7pm reservation.

with a reservation at one of the best restaurants in town, you made sure to dress your best. you wore a long black dress, which hugged your body in all the right places. your hair was pulled back into a sleek low bun, your lips painted dark red. you looked pretty, and most importantly, you felt pretty.

bradley lets out a low whistle as you do a little spin for him. your cheeks flush as smile softly. you hold onto his forearm for balance as you put on your heels, and the whole scene feels oddly domestic.

strangely enough, you didn't mind. you had only met bradley once before, but the two of you had talked throughout the week, and you already felt comfortable with him.

"what are you smiling so happily about?" bradley chuckles, snapping you out of whatever fantasies you were thinking about.

"nothing." you reply, but your grin remains on your face.

—

the moment you realised you were in love with bradley was around the time where you were 3 months into dating. it had starting raining during your lunch date, so to shield you from the rain, bradley put his zip-up hoodie on your shoulders and used his body to shield you from the rain.

once you made it to the car, he opened the car door for you, and closed it behind you like a true gentleman. then, he walked back to the sidewalk. curious, you stared in his direction. you watched as he bent down and started picking things up from the sidewalk and moving them into the trimmed grass next to it. he was picking up....worms?

five minutes later, he came back running to the car.

"sorry for keeping you waiting, babe."

you didn't really know what to say, so you just replied, "it's okay. the worms...looked like they needed help."

"thanks, i knew you'd understand." he grinned as he started the engine.

—

the moment you knew you were going to marry bradley occurred when you were at mav and penny's for dinner. you had dropped something on the floor, and bent down from your seat on a chair to pick it up. without batting an eye, bradley put his hand over the sharp corner of the table, while continuing to talk to mav.

that very moment, you knew that you were going to marry him someday. you knew he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. being with him felt natural, like it was the way things were meant to be.

no matter what happened in life, at some point the two of you were meant to argue over whose apartment to move into.

the two of you were meant to squabble over what colour the bathroom towels for your new shared apartment should be.

the two of you were meant to walk down the aisles of a supermarket to look for the nicest-smelling detergent.

the two of you were meant to squabble over things like the toilet seat being left up. (bradley learnt his lesson after that fight. the toilet seat was always left down. whatever you wanted, you got.)

the two of you were meant to sit at the dining table with cups of tea, going over your grocery list for the week.

and that was exactly what the rest of you life with bradley "rooster" bradshaw was like.

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sometimesmyartlookscoolsoipostit · 2 years ago

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@steddiemicrofic prompt ‘Cake’, 311 words

Rated G, pre-relationship fluff, no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You need to tell me your favourite flavour,”

Eddie’s head whipped around.

“Wha-?” he asked. “Mine?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, his hands in a sink of soapy water. “Your birthdays up next, right? I need to know what you like,”

Eddie stared at the side of Steve’s head, clutching the dishtowel he was using to dry the clean plates.

They were clearing up after a Party-only (and corroded coffin) get together for Dustin’s birthday.

Steve baked the most amazing strawberry cheesecake, and even made a special dairy-free cupcake for Gareth.

“Gonna bake a cake for me, Harrington?” snorted Eddie.

“Yes,” replied Steve easily. “I do it for everyone’s birthday,”

Eddie focused on the mug in his hands. No one ever baked him a cake before.

When Eddie was a kid, birthday cakes were store bought. They were perfect, don’t get Eddie wrong, but he was always curious about the homemade kind. If Wayne could have, he would have, but Eddie also knew his uncle was working every hour god sent to keep them fed and warm, so he never asked.

Steve was watching him closely, leaning sideways against the sink with a bubble-covered hand on his hip.

“You don’t need to do that,” mumbled Eddie, willing the blush he felt across his ears to go down. “Why would you even want to?”

“Because I care about you,” said Steve quickly, before a flush of red lit up his own ears. He cleared his throat and started washing dishes again. “So just tell me what flavour you like,”

Eddie bit his lip. They were both staring straight down at their own hands, the air thick with a tension matched only by middle school dances.

“I like…” Eddie said meekly. “Lemon. I like lemon, please,”

In his peripheral vision, Eddie saw Steve smile.

“That’s my favourite too,” whispered Steve, nudging Eddie with his elbow.

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sometimesmyartlookscoolsoipostit · 2 years ago

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hi i love your writing

could you do something with reid loving that reader is pregnant. fluff or smut or both

A/N Hello! Thanks for the request! Dad!Spencer is the cutest thing on the planet so this is some unapologetic fluff. And now I have baby fever.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, idiots in love. Loosely based on Haley and Hotch's conversation in 1x1. Very fluffy and probably very cheesy and sentimental too... Sorry, you give me girl dad Spencer and suddenly there isn't an impure thought in my head, I just want to lovingly stare at him like I'm the dead wife in an action movie montage.

My requests are open, check out my masterlist for more 🌸

“Okay, what about Amelia?”

“No, Amelia Dyer, Victorian serial killer. She killed multiple infants over a thirty-year period.”

“Okay, okay, how about, Myra?”

“Myra Hindley, she and her partner Ian Brady abducted and killed five children and teens in the early sixties.”

“God, not that then. There can’t be a psychopathic murderer called Belle, right?”

“You’re making this too easy for me, y’know. Belle Gunness, Hell’s Belle, she’s one of the most prolific female serial killers of all time, even 100 years after her supposed death. It’s fascinating, you know, people think that she actually faked her death - when the doctor who performed the postmortem testified, he noted that the cadaver was about five inches shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than Gunness supposedly was….” You raise a single eyebrow at your wonderful husband, and he immediately shuts up.

“I’m rambling aren’t I?” He smiled down at you as you sat curled up as much as you could in your favorite spot on the couch, the cosiest part of your shared apartment. You smiled back up at him as he leaned down for a kiss and you gladly craned your neck up in response, meeting his lips for a sweet moment.

“Hotch was right you know,” you joked when the two of you parted. “All of the best baby names have been taken by serial killers.”

“Yeah, you’d think with the ratio of female to male serial killers, a girl would be easier to name.” He leans down to kiss you again before falling into a crouch next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and placing his hand on your stomach.

“How big did you say our little girl is now?”

“Y/N, you asked me that half an hour ago. I know pregnancy messes with your brain a bit, but if you’re that bad we’re going to have to get you back to Dr Patel and see if you’re doing okay.” He was joking of course, but you showed him your little pout anyway, knowing that he loved seeing the silly expression on your face.

“Humor me, Doctor.” He strokes your stomach and moves away, but not too far away, taking up right next to you on the couch, and pulling your legs over his lap.

“At five months, she’s roughly 10 inches long with a weight of about 0.5-1 pound. But that ‘How Big is My Baby’ book would say that she’s roughly one banana in length.” You giggled up at him and he grabbed your hand and just held it, content to have you in his arms in any way, big or small.

“I can’t believe it’s been five months already,” you giggle as he presses another kiss to your hand.

“I get it. It doesn’t feel quite real yet to me, either. I thought for so long that fatherhood just wasn’t in my future, but you’re the gift that keeps on giving I guess. I don't know what I did to deserve you.” Even if the words weren’t so sweet, with all of the hormones, you would’ve started crying at anything. Or at least that’s what you’re going to tell him when he sees the small tears threatening to drop into enormous loving sobs.

“Spencer Reid, I am not a gift. I am simply the woman with the correct combination of sense and foolish luck that got to marry you.” He’d done this before, and you were used to his small habit of self-deprecating talk, but after a year of marriage and three years of dating before that, you’d managed to work him down to the occasional comment.

“Don’t try to argue about this, I’m definitely the one benefitting the most from the situation right now,” he joked with you, and you could see the genuine adoration shining from behind his eyes. It was a little spark that not many got to see, a glimpse of true happiness in someone usually so reserved.

“Spencer, you’ve given me foot rubs everyday this week, you’ve read more pregnancy and parenting books than every OBGYN and midwife in the area combined, and you’ve somehow attended more of my clinical check-ups than me, and I’m the one whose pregnant.”

“And you’re growing our child inside of you, which is itself more impressive than anything I could ever do with a book and some modern acts of chivalry.”

“Yeah, tell your boss that. I think the only thing keeping Emily from pulling her hair out over your constant absences is that she thinks she’s competing for the title of godmother. She thinks Penelope and JJ are trying to corrupt me with parenting advice and all those baby clothes Pen keeps bringing over.”

“She’s going to be crushed when she remembers we’re not religious, right?”

“Devastated,” the two of you shared a laugh on the couch, and it quickly devolved into a giggle fit after Spencer leaned over and tickled your side. You jolted away from his touch, but he was on you again, attacking your sides with small caresses, and you were gasping for breath between laughs.

“Spence stop- ahh!” Your squeals stopped as you cried out in shock. It was small but you felt something tap against your stomach. Spencer stopped immediately upon seeing your expression change, and a serious look settled on him as he assessed you for any damage.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you in pain anywhere, is the baby okay?” He shot out the questions rapidly, one after the other, barely leaving space to catch his own breath from the laughter of earlier.

It happened again and you put a hand to your stomach, finally realising what’s going on.

“I think I just felt her kick. Spencer, I think I just felt the baby kick.” You couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your face, as much as you couldn’t help the tear that dropped from your eye as your hand rested against your belly again, scared to move for fear that the baby wouldn’t communicate with you again.

“What? Now? Can I- Can I try and feel it, too?” His hands hesitated at first but when you enthusiastically nodded and used your other hand to put him close to yours, you could feel his eagerness to feel the small kicks of your daughter as well.

Almost as if she was waiting for him, as soon as his hand was in the right position, your little girl kicked again, almost as if screaming “I’m here mommy and daddy,” for the two of you to hear.

“I think she’s trying to tell us not to have fun without her,” Reid whispered in your ear, kissing your tear streaked cheek, and using his free hand to rub them away from the other side of your face.

“I am so thankful everyday for this gift you have given me. And for the record, the gift isn’t the baby. The gift is the overwhelming happiness you bring to my life, and the beauty you make me see in this world. The fact that you’re going to be the mother of my child gives me the confidence to get up and go to work every morning because I know that there is joy and there is kindness and there are beautiful people in this world, and you are one, and she will be, too.”

His attempts to dry your tears are now completely vanquished as you let your emotions run wild, but you almost laugh when you realise that his eyes are just as glassy as yours, and you both sit there, overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated joy that a small kick from a child who has yet to be given a name has bought you.

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