strawbewee

[strawbewee]

[strawbewee]

Literally sobbing. A judge, a US judge defended us. A judge brought up intersex people, using the term intersex, to *defend* us by not allowing our erasure. I'm having a lot of feelings right now

[strawbewee]

[strawbewee]

So important

[strawbewee]

I was curious so I was listening to the stolen Red album by Taylor Swift right?

I got to All Too Well

ITS HEARTBREAKING

She sounds so young and just little and you can really feel how Jake screwed her over. Actually breaks my heart. Her reclaimed version is much more mature, but the OG version is so much more real, she was so hurt when she sang it.

Give it a quick listen tbh

[strawbewee]

EEEEEEE SCREAMING 💙💙💙💙💙

can we have bed time with dad!spencer, his baby boy and reader? 

Jude has brown eyes like Spencer. They have the same mouth and nose, the same thoughtful gaze. “That’s me,” Spencer says, Jude’s back to his chest, an arm between his legs to keep the little boy steady, “and this is you.” He points at Jude before smoothing a hand over his chest. “See us? That’s dad and Jude.” 

“Us,” Jude echoes. 

“Yeah, that’s us.”

Jude works his lips up into a smile. 

They smell like talc and lavender oil for the teeny tiny burns on Jude’s fingertips. He touched the oven door a few days ago while it was still on, Spencer gets hot remembering how hard Jude cried. It took more kisses than he bothered counting to make him stop screaming, an ice pop held to his small hand with a hand towel wrapped around it, squeezed to the bathroom door together —the first place Spencer could remember seeing a towel, Jude still sobbing. 

Spencer wants Jude to associate the bathroom with normal things. Peeing, showering, and not the little burns. If he can have happy associations, that’s better. Like dad and Jude’s night time routine, where Spencer brings him in here to brush his teeth and dab his face clean with a cloth. Some nights he needs to detangle his hair, or give his baby an impromptu shower, and some nights Jude is already asleep by the time Spencer remembers these things. 

“You’re really handsome,” Spencer says, pointing at the mirror, “see? You’re beautiful. See your smile?” 

Jude giggles excitedly. “I am beautiful,” he says proudly. 

“Exactly, you’re beautiful. Are you happy?” 

“Yeah,” he says, tipping back, his curls tickling Spencer’s nose. 

“Are you comfy?” Spencer whispers. 

“Think so.” 

“You think so,” Spencer says, beaming to himself as he kisses the top of Jude’s head. “You’re smart, Judey. Okay, how do we know we’re comfortable? Are your clothes tight? Do you want to take off your socks?”

“No.” 

“Okay, good. Does your mouth still taste all minty from the paste?” 

A flicker of disgust. “Yeah, it does.” 

“I’ll get you your sippy cup. You don’t seem tired, are we having a story?” he asks, voice turned to fatherly syrup as he shifts Jude around. He turns off the bathroom light and shuts the door behind them as they leave. 

“No, I wan’ be in the big bed.” 

“You do?” 

“With you.” 

“Okay, that’s okay, you can be in the big bed, are you sure you don’t want a story too? We can read about Edward the rabbit again.” 

Jude doesn’t bother answering. Spencer tends to read to him every night unless Jude has expressly shouted that he doesn’t want one, ‘cos that’s what his mom did for him, and Spencer loves his mom. 

Spencer fills Jude’s sippy cup with water (not so much a sippy cup as a bottle), and they retreat together to the big bed. In the middle of the bed, tired and curled up and waiting for them, is you. You perk up enough to drag yourself to one side of the bed as you kick down the sheets. 

Spencer isn’t used to this, but he should be. (This, because there isn’t really a word for it? For being friends and for not being intimate and for sleeping in the same bed together whenever you stay the night.) 

“Hi, baby,” you say, holding your arms out for Jude. 

Spencer gives him over. Jude suckles his drink, a picture of the baby he was when Spencer first got him as he turns into your chest. He’d need all the help he could get back then. You’d given more than he could ever ask for, and Jude knows you for that. 

You tip Jude against you and press yourself flat, your hand spread over his back. 

“Are you reading Edward Tulane tonight?” you ask quietly. 

“Just a bit. Couple of pages.” 

“Sounds good. You okay, mister?” you ask Jude. 

He nods around his drink. 

Spencer turns the light off and the lamp on, bathing you and Jude in a kind orange glow. The mattress sinks under his weight, dipping under yours, encouraging you closer together in the middle. You barely notice the outside influence, shuffling across the pillows to rest your face against Spencer’s arm. 

“Did you want milk?” Spencer asks him. “You can have some, it’s okay.” 

“Minty,” Jude whispers. 

“Minty,” you whisper in support. “Daddy takes good care of those teeth, huh?” 

Jude loves being spoken to sweetly. He closes his eyes as you pull him like a curve to you, squished and cuddling. You’re his mirror, eyes fluttering shut as you sniff his hair. Spencer loves your smile —he knows what you’re thinking, because he knows what you’re thinking. Jude still smells like baby. 

“Maybe this book is too sad,” Spencer says, thumbing to the last page he’d read from. 

“It’s not too sad, and we won’t be awake long.” 

“My Judey told me he’s not tired,” Spencer says. 

“My Judey needs his sleep,” you whisper.

Jude smiles and lets the rest of the cup fall away from him. “Can say you love me?” Jude whispers. 

“Who, baby?” Spencer asks. 

“You and you,” he says. 

You take a deep breath, whispering grandly, “I love you.” 

Spencer follows suit with a hand wrapped around Jude’s calf. “I love you, too. So much they don’t have a word for it yet. You know your middle name, you know what it means? Anwil, it means loved one, because I love you a lot. And I have forever and ever.” 

“And ever?” Jude asks. 

Spencer rubs his leg softly. “And ever. More than Y/N does.” 

You gasp in offense. “No way!”

Jude giggles but settles as you run your fingers through his hair. Spencer lays down and cracks the book over his chest, falling into his usual reading cadence, though he doesn’t bother much with special voices. Jude’s eyes are already shut and he’s jelly on your chest. 

He leans over mid story to brush hair from Jude’s ear. “I love you,” he says, to be sure.

Jude says something back that sounds like, “too.” 

[strawbewee]

pegging ging freecss.

that is all, thank you.

[strawbewee]

luigi mangione, the SUSPECTED (innocent until proven guilty) united healthcare shooter, has been charged with terrorism. that’s right. a man who supposedly shot ONE SINGLE PERSON is being charged with terrorism. because in america, billionaires lives matter enough that a SINGLE rich man’s death is considered a terrorist act against this country. think about that.

[strawbewee]

no place like home for the holidays | aaron hotchner x reader

summary: aaron comes home from a long case just in time for christmas

word count: 0.8k

cw: f!reader, fluff, slight angst at the beginning

You had gotten used to being alone. It was harder on the holidays, but you knew it was out of your control. Aaron was busy, and you knew his job was important. Sometimes you even felt selfish to think of your own feelings when he was in the midst of saving people.

Despite it happening often, it still stung that Aaron was still away on Christmas Eve. He’d missed a lot of special occasions before, but never Christmas. You weren’t sure why, but something made it seem more important. Jack had been asking him all week if he’d be back in time to open presents, and, as usual, Aaron couldn’t make any promises.

The house was ready for tomorrow morning, all except for a main member of the household missing. Glancing over at the tree, you saw the pile of presents, imagining Aaron’s sitting there unopened tomorrow morning. Sighing, you resign yourself to washing the last dishes left in the sink. You had stayed up for a few hours, hopeful that you’d get at least a text from Aaron. There was nothing of that sort, and you decided it was time for you to accept your fate.

You’re putting a plate into a cupboard when you hear the door open. You jump at first, but you realize it’s Aaron from the gentleness. He always tries to be quiet on late nights like this, not wanting to wake anyone in the house.

“Y/n?” he whispers, surprised to see you awake so late. 

You stare at him, and for a second you think you must be dreaming. “You didn’t text,” is all you can think of to say.

“That’s quite the warm welcome,” he says as he drops his bag and makes his way over to you in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry.” A smile grows across your face. “I didn’t think you’d make it home in time.”

He hugs you, even tighter than he usually does when he gets home. “Me neither,” he responds, “but we solved it just in time. I didn’t want to text in case the weather delayed the jet.” He’s whispering, both of you knowing you’ll never be able to get Jack back to sleep if he realizes Aaron is home. 

He presses a light kiss to your forehead. “I got you something,” he says, reluctantly releasing you. 

“Shouldn’t I wait until tomorrow to open it?” you ask as he excitedly pulls something from his bag.

“No,” he brings over something wrapped in a plastic bag. “I don’t think the wrapping matches the rest of the gifts,” he says, acknowledging the hasty presentation.

You unwrap it, pulling the bag away to reveal a small turquoise box. “Aaron, you shouldn’t have spent so much on me,” you say, realizing what he’s gotten you. You open the lid to see pearl earrings with a small gold outline.

“Yes, I should’ve,” he protests. “It’s my job to spoil my wife.”

You look up at him, his love evident from the way his brown eyes regard you. 

“Thank you,” you say. It’s always hard for you to accept the way he spoils you, no matter how much he insists giving you gifts makes him as happy as receiving them. His affection makes you feel shy sometimes. Everyone outside of your family knows him as stoic and serious, but he shows you how much of a softie he really is in moments like this, where it’s just the two of you within the walls of your home. 

“I know you love that movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “and I thought I’d get something for you even though you couldn’t be there.”

You lean up to kiss him and run a hand through his hair, still shocked that he made it home.

You pull away and question him: “You put Tiffany earrings in a grocery bag?” 

“I had to disguise them somehow,” he grins down at you, smile shining under the low light.

He presses one final kiss to your forehead before telling you that you need to sleep. You get under the covers, anticipating him joining you once he gets out of the shower. You feel cozy, more so than before he got home. Of course, you’d have a good Christmas without him, but part of your heart is missing whenever he’s away.

He crawls into bed with you, your back fitting perfectly into his chest. 

“I can’t wait to see Jack’s face tomorrow when he sees you’re home,” you whisper. “It’ll make all the gifts I got him disappointing in comparison.”

He lets out a light laugh and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you say, on the edge of falling asleep. 

He’s clearly more tired than you, as he only lets out a hum and a short “love you”. 

“Love you, too,” you say, closing your eyes, basking in his warmth as you fall asleep.

[strawbewee]

DYING I LOVE DAD!SPENCER 🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

green-eyed monster | s.r.

in which Spencer comforts your oldest daughter when she's jealous of the new addition to the family

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: jealousy, newborn baby, not proofread, i might be missing something word count: 1.48k a/n: girl dad spencer!!! everyone cheered!!!!

Spencer carefully shut the bedroom door behind him, cringing when he heard the door latch, hoping it didn’t wake you or the baby. Getting her to sleep last night had been a struggle, leaving her with two very sleep-deprived parents, but seeing as you were the one who had been feeding the newborn, Spencer did his best to let you catch up on sleep.

Not only did you need to rest, but he’d been the one to give your elder daughter dolls to play with this morning, and that distraction would only work for so long. Sure enough, there were little feet running down the hallway, nearly colliding with Spencer’s legs as she skidded to a halt. “Mama,” she gasped, out of breath from running.

“Hey, lovey,” Spencer whispered, holding a finger to his lips, “Mama’s sleeping.” He tried to herd her downstairs to fix her something for lunch.

She tried to slip between his legs to get to the door, but before she reached the doorknob, he swiftly scooped her up and set her on his hip, “Nooooo,” she whined, trying to climb out of his grasp and reach out for the bedroom door again. “Mama,” she called again, her little nose crinkling as tears well in her eyes.

Leah went limp in his arms as she realized that he wasn’t going to be bringing her to see you anytime soon. “Oh,” Spencer cooed as he hoisted her up, resting her head on his chest, each tear that sept through his t-shirt breaking his heart. “Honey, mama’s asleep, we can see her later,” he tried to assure her, but sometimes reasoning with a toddler was a miserable waste of time.

“The sun is awake, so Mama can be awake,” she insisted, huffing as Spencer set her down at the breakfast bar so he could start filtering through the meal options. Penelope had set up a meal train to help out, and he eyed the Tupperware in the fridge and wondered if chicken nuggets were going to be a better option.

Pulling out the freezer drawer, Spencer grabbed the bag of frozen nuggets and set them on the counter before preheating the oven. “Mama and Lacy were awake with the moon last night, so they need a little extra time away from the sun,” Spencer explained, rounding the counter so he could stand next to Leah.

He rested his hip against the marble countertop, reaching a hand out and smoothing back her curls. He found himself wishing he had a hair tie with him to pull the wispy strands from her face. “Lacy’s stupid,” Leah mumbled, resting her face in her hands and pouting.

Spencer leaned over the counter, resting his palm on the cool stone and taking a deep breath, “We don’t say stupid.”

“But I did,” she countered, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms in front of her chest. Everyone had warned you about the shift from one kid to two, but you hadn’t had enough insight about how to handle the jealousy from the older child.

He couldn’t blame her; she’d been the only child for years before you introduced a second baby into the mix. Not to mention, she’s only three, and her understanding of babies is limited at best. “Do you remember when Mama and I told you that the new baby needs extra help? It’s ‘cause she’s so little.”

Leah grumbled something indiscernible under her breath. The baby had been exciting for her when she got to tag along to doctors’ appointments and help paint the nursery, but ever since the two of them met in the hospital, Leah’s been almost hostile. “I want Mama,” she whispered, sticking out her bottom lip.

Spencer sighed defeatedly, “I know, lovey. I’m sorry,” he resisted his urge to bring Leah to see you. He wanted to wipe the pout from her face but couldn’t do it at the cost of waking you and Lacy up.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen you in the week since you got home from the hospital, just last night, Spencer had volunteered to take Lacy while the two of you watched a movie in the master bedroom—you both fell asleep watching Finding Nemo.

As he made sure Leah was taken care of, he worried that in the stress of preparing to become parents to two, he had neglected to take the time to prepare Leah to be a big sister. You’d gotten her a bigger bed, complete with a princess canopy, and helped her learn how to play by herself, but none of that mattered if she felt like you didn’t have time for her.

Quietly, Spencer brought Leah back upstairs, watching her carefully in case she tried to get to you, but she veered over to her bedroom instead and climbed up on her bed. Leaving the door open a crack, he laid down next to her on the bed. “Why can’t Mama play?”

“Because Mama just had a baby, and that makes you sleepy and it hurts a lot, so we need to let her get rest,” he spoke gently, turning on his side so he could mind Leah’s reaction to his words. Sometimes he felt like you had a better time getting through to her. “I’m sure Mama will play with you again once she rests more.”

Leah huffed, “Stupid Lacy.” She laid down on her back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Spencer propped his head up on his arm, “Leah,” he said, a slight warning in his tone, “Do you have kinder words to say about Lacy?”

She mumbled an answer, and he playfully poked at her side until she spoke up, “You called her princess.”

Frowning, he scanned through his memory to recall calling Lacy princess. He had called her princess, one time in the hospital when the two girls first met. “Did it bother you that I used the same nickname for the baby that I use for you?”

The toddler nods softly, sinking further into the fluffy pillows on her bed.

“Will it be okay if I keep using the same nickname for you, Lacy, and mama?” Spencer asked, tenderly reaching out and sweeping some stray hairs from her forehead.

“No,” she answered shortly.

Spencer hummed in response, “You know, it’s a very important job to be the oldest princess.” Leah looked over at him curiously, his first baby. “Someday, Lacy’s gonna need you instead of needing mama, and I need to know that I can trust you,” he continued.

Leah’s pout faded softly, “Need me?”

Nodding, Spencer smiled softly, “Uh huh, she’ll need her big sister.”

“Oh,” she breathed, brown eyes going wide with recognition and curiosity.

“She just needs to get a little bigger first, okay? You have to be patient,” Spencer reminded her of what was easily her least favorite task. That was only further emphasized by the way she scrunched up her nose at the mention of patience.

The two of them waited in silence while Leah seemingly processed the information that had been given to her, “Daddy?”

Spencer looked back up at her, “Yes, princess?”

She shook her head dramatically, “Mama can’t be a princess,” she claimed.

He might’ve laughed, but the look on her face told him that she was dead serious, “Oh? Why not?”

She sat up on the bed, crisscrossing her legs beneath her, curiously touching the tulle of her canopy, “If sissy and I are princesses, then Mama has to be the queen.”

“You’re right,” Spencer told her with the same confidence, “Your Mama is a queen.”

Giggling, Leah went back to lay down on the bed, the two of them sharing a suspicious look when the door to her bedroom creaked open, revealing you on the other side, “Mama!” Leah called out excitedly, standing up on the bed, Spencer could see her physically restraining herself from jumping on the mattress, which was off limits.

Your tired eyes lit up as you walked into the room, handing Spencer Lacy’s baby monitor before laying down on the opposite side of the bed. “Hi, lovey,” you greeted her, pressing a kiss to one of her soft cheeks.

“Guess what?” She asked, looking mischievously between her two parents.

Narrowing your eyes as you pretended to think about it, you smiled at your daughter, “Hm, what?”

Leah beamed at you, “Daddy said you’re a queen!”

Your eyebrows shot up, pleasantly surprised by your toddler’s secret, “Oh, he did, did he?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Mhm, and sissy and I are princesses,” she proclaimed.

“So, Princess Leah, what do you think of our castle then?” You asked her softly, tapping the tip of her nose and eliciting a fit of giggles from the three-year-old.

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking around her own bedroom critically before turning back to her parents, “It could use more pink.”

[strawbewee]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[strawbewee]

shitting in the kohl’s bathroom while scrolling through reactions to the election is a new kind of empty

[strawbewee]

I know I did not wake up to find Trump winning the election

[strawbewee]

Whole-heartedly BEGGING writers to unlearn everything schools taught you about how long a paragraph is. If theres a new subject, INCLUDING ACTIONS, theres a new paragraph. A paragraph can be a single word too btw stop making things unreadable

[strawbewee]

Jenna Ortega for the Beetlejuice Beetlejuice press tour #her stylist always understands the assignment

[strawbewee]

😭😭😭 I will always eat up girl!dad Spence fics omg 🩵🩵🩵

morning rush

warnings: none :)

Spencer bolted upright, eyes snapping open to the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock. 7:20 AM. His heart pounded as he realized just how late he was running. The bus came at 7:45.

In a rush, he scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of laundry he’d meant to fold last night. He quickly grabbed his toothbrush and furiously scrubbed, half-wishing he could teleport between the bathroom and his closet. He didn’t have time to properly fix his hair, so he pushed it out of his face with a haphazard hand, knowing it would probably fall back into place at the most inconvenient moment.

Eliza. His heart sank a little as he hoped today wouldn’t be one of those mornings where getting her out of bed was a battle. If she started crying about not wanting to go to school, they’d both miss the bus.

With a grunt, he slid into his slacks, leaving his belt unbuckled in his hurry. He was halfway through struggling to put on his socks when he paused, mid-hop on one leg. From down the hall, he heard the soft sound of running water and a tiny voice—Eliza’s voice.

He peeked into the bathroom, and his heart melted at the sight. There she was, standing on her little stool, gazing into the mirror with a determined look on her face. She was doing her affirmations, the ones they practiced together every morning.

“I am brave. I am smart. I am kind.”

Spencer watched her reflection as she brushed her teeth with fierce concentration, occasionally dribbling toothpaste down her chin. She didn’t seem to notice or care, too focused on the task at hand. When she finished brushing, she reached for the hand soap—*the hand soap,* Spencer noted with a smile—and lathered it up before washing her face in tiny, circular motions.

Her hair was in a lumpy, uneven side ponytail, with strands sticking out in every direction. She wore her favorite pink sweater, a little too big on her now, and paired it with purple leggings covered in stars. They clashed horribly, but that was Eliza—colorful, bold, and unapologetically herself.

He could have fixed it. He could have brushed out her hair, made it smooth, put her in an outfit that matched. But he stood there, frozen, watching as she proudly stepped down from her stool, checked herself out in the mirror with a satisfied grin, and marched out of the bathroom.

Spencer followed her quietly, still in awe, as she made her way to the front door. She sat down on the floor and began the process of putting on her shoes. She fumbled a bit with the laces, her little fingers struggling to make the loops work, but she was determined.

Eliza looked up at him with a huge grin, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her untied shoes half on her feet. “Daddy! I got myself ready for school today!”

Spencer’s heart swelled with pride. She was so proud of herself, beaming from ear to ear. He could see the small imperfections—the mismatched clothes, the messy ponytail, the untied shoes—but none of that mattered. Her spirit was shining so brightly, and he knew he couldn’t bring himself to correct her, even though every fiber of his parental instincts wanted to smooth things over.

Instead, he smiled back, walking into the kitchen to find something quick for breakfast. He grabbed a banana and a granola bar, hoping it would be enough to keep her full until lunchtime.

“You did amazing, Eliza,” he said, handing her the banana. “Let me just help you with those shoes, okay?”

She gave a little giggle as he crouched down to tie her shoes, her small hand resting on his shoulder for balance. When he stood up, she gave him a quick hug, wrapping her arms around his legs before bouncing back to grab her backpack.

As they headed out the door together, Spencer couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He looked down at his confident, colorful, determined little girl and knew that, messy hair and mismatched clothes aside, she was perfect just the way she was.

[strawbewee]

SQUEALING I LOVE DAD SPENCE 🫶🫶🫶🫶

sawyer and spencer- s.r. x fem!reader

spencer has no idea how to take care of your son, but he'll try

Spencer stood in the living room, watching as you gathered your things near the front door. He had heard you earlier, casually mentioning that you were heading out for a few hours, but it hadn't really sunk in until now. He glanced over at Sawyer, your son—his soon-to-be stepson—who was standing at the coffee table, gripping it with his small hands, a binky in his mouth.

The little boy wobbled slightly, teetering as he practiced his new standing skills, and Spencer's heart thudded in his chest. He adored Sawyer—he really did—but parenthood still felt like a foreign language he was struggling to understand. He wasn’t sure when to step in, when to let things go, or how much he should be doing. The boundaries between being your partner and Sawyer’s stepfather still felt blurry.

"Are you sure you're okay with Sawyer for a few hours?" you asked, turning to him with a questioning look as you slipped your shoes on.

Spencer straightened up, pushing aside his internal doubts and offering you a quick nod. "Yeah, of course. We’ll be fine," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

You gave him a warm smile, walking over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. I won’t be gone too long. Just a few errands."

Sawyer babbled something unintelligible, his binky bouncing slightly in his mouth as he looked up at Spencer with wide, curious eyes. Spencer stared back, feeling a mix of affection and panic swirl in his chest. This was the part of parenthood that scared him—the responsibility of being someone this small’s entire world for a few hours.

As you headed out the door, Spencer gave a little wave, still trying to keep the calm facade. Once the door clicked shut, he turned to face Sawyer, who had now plopped down on his bottom, his little legs splayed out in front of him. Spencer swallowed nervously.

"Alright, buddy," Spencer said, walking over and crouching down to Sawyer's level. "It’s just you and me. What do you want to do?"

Sawyer blinked up at him, the binky still firmly lodged in his mouth, then gave a little giggle as if Spencer had just told the funniest joke in the world. Spencer couldn’t help but smile back, his heart softening a little at the sound of Sawyer’s laughter.

“Okay,” Spencer muttered, running a hand through his hair. "How hard can this be?"

Sawyer suddenly reached up, his tiny fingers grabbing for Spencer’s sleeve, and pulled himself up to a wobbly stand again. He wiggled, still holding onto the coffee table for balance, his eyes focused intently on a toy car that was just out of reach.

Spencer watched, his instinct to help warring with the knowledge that you always encouraged Sawyer to figure things out on his own. He wasn’t sure when it was appropriate to step in, or if he should let Sawyer try it on his own.

After a moment, Spencer decided to sit back and watch, his hands hovering near Sawyer, ready to catch him if he fell. "You got this, Sawyer," he encouraged softly. "You can do it."

Sawyer glanced at Spencer, then back at the toy. With a determined little grunt, he let go of the table and took one wobbly step toward the car. Spencer held his breath, heart racing as Sawyer lifted one chubby foot, then the other. He swayed dangerously for a second, and Spencer’s hand instinctively shot out, hovering just behind his back—but Sawyer didn’t fall.

Instead, he reached the toy car and plopped down, triumphant, grabbing the car with a delighted squeal. Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a mixture of relief and pride flooding through him.

“You did it!” Spencer smiled, his nerves easing slightly as he sat down next to Sawyer. "Good job, buddy."

Sawyer looked up at him with a grin, his binky hanging half out of his mouth, and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. For the first time that evening, he felt a small surge of confidence. Maybe he didn’t have this whole parenting thing completely figured out, but in this moment, it was okay. They were figuring it out together, one wobbly step at a time.

"Alright," Spencer said with a soft smile, picking up a second toy car and gently rolling it across the floor. "Let's see what else we can do before your mom gets back."

Sawyer clapped his hands, clearly excited, and Spencer felt the knot of anxiety in his chest start to loosen. Maybe he was still learning, but moments like this? They felt just right.

Spencer spent the next hour on the floor with Sawyer, rolling cars back and forth between them. The more time he spent with Sawyer, the more his nerves began to settle. He even started to enjoy himself, finding the little boy’s infectious giggles and curiosity charming. It was a stark contrast to the chaos Spencer usually faced at work, but this calm, domestic moment had its own challenges—and rewards.

As the afternoon wore on, Sawyer started to get restless, his attention shifting from his toys to the kitchen. Spencer recognized the signs—his soon-to-be stepson was getting hungry. He’d seen you go through the routine before, so he stood up, dusting off his pants, and carefully scooped Sawyer up into his arms.

“Alright, I think it’s snack time,” Spencer said, smiling down at Sawyer, who was already trying to squirm out of his arms to reach for the refrigerator door.

Spencer opened the fridge, glancing around for something he could prepare quickly. His eyes landed on a bowl of pre-cooked oatmeal you must have made earlier. He grabbed it, setting Sawyer down in his high chair and microwaving the oatmeal until it was warm.

When it was ready, Spencer stirred in a little bit of milk to cool it down and then pulled up a chair beside Sawyer. He grabbed two spoons—one for himself and one for Sawyer—then sat back with a sigh. This was another part of parenting that felt odd to him. He never would’ve imagined himself sharing a bowl of oatmeal with a toddler, but here he was.

Sawyer reached for the spoon, his little fingers curling around it awkwardly. Spencer helped guide the spoon to Sawyer’s mouth, then took a small bite himself, smiling at the surprised look on Sawyer’s face as he tasted the oatmeal.

“It’s not so bad, right?” Spencer asked with a chuckle, watching as Sawyer made a happy little sound and reached for more.

They ate together, Sawyer taking messy, enthusiastic bites while Spencer cleaned up any stray oatmeal that dribbled onto the high chair. It was a simple, quiet moment, but there was something soothing about it.

After a while, Sawyer started to slow down, his bites becoming more sluggish as he leaned back in his high chair. Spencer recognized the familiar signs of fatigue—his eyelids were drooping, and his movements were less coordinated.

“Are you getting tired, buddy?” Spencer asked softly, standing up to wipe Sawyer’s hands and face with a damp cloth.

Sawyer let out a small, whiny sound in response, rubbing his eyes with his chubby fists. Spencer carefully lifted him out of the high chair and held him against his chest, his heart softening as Sawyer instinctively nuzzled into him, his small body fitting perfectly in Spencer’s arms.

“There we go,” Spencer murmured, swaying gently as he carried Sawyer over to the couch. He sat down carefully, still holding Sawyer close as the little boy snuggled into him, his head resting against Spencer’s shoulder.

Sawyer let out a sleepy sigh, his hand clutching a fistful of Spencer’s shirt as his eyes fluttered closed. Spencer felt a rush of warmth as he looked down at him, the weight of Sawyer in his arms suddenly making the anxiety of the day fade away. He hadn’t overstepped. He’d taken care of Sawyer, and it had been okay—more than okay, actually.

Spencer continued to rock gently, resting his cheek against Sawyer’s soft hair. The little boy’s breathing became slow and steady, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the quiet, intimate moment they were sharing. For all his fears about parenthood and being unsure of when to step in, right now, with Sawyer asleep in his arms, everything felt right.

When you finally returned a couple of hours later, you found Spencer still sitting on the couch, cradling Sawyer in his arms. The sight made your heart swell with affection. Spencer looked up at you with a soft smile, his eyes full of warmth and pride.

"How did it go?" you asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Sawyer.

Spencer smiled down at the little boy, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "We had a pretty good afternoon. Shared some oatmeal, played with cars... and now, I guess it’s nap time."

You leaned down and kissed Spencer gently on the forehead, whispering, "Thank you."

Spencer met your gaze, his earlier doubts nowhere to be found. "I think we’re going to be just fine," he said softly, his arms wrapped protectively around Sawyer.

And in that moment, you knew he was right.