#honey's birthday bash

[xhoneygirlxx]

We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

-

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

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[kedsandtubesocks]

I KNOW I ALREADY TOLD YOU A COUPLE DAYS AGO BUT I GOTTA SAY IT AGAIN AND ILY but happy birthday honey!!! i hope you get to have all the sweet treats (literal and fictional boyfriend alike!!) and all the cozy blankets and warm drinks ♥

ERIN YOU’re SUCH A SWEETHEART I CANT THANK YOU ENOUGH!!!!!

I LOVE YOU! THANK YOU foR MAKING THIS DAY AND THIS SPACE SO SPECIAL!! 😭😫

[januaryembrs]

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine rookie gets a boyfriend, and Spencer can’t help but think he would be so much better for her. But that definitely isn’t the jealousy talking, right?

Length: 8k

Warnings: nothing really, jealousy? talks of sex? embarrassment? Mention briefly of vomit because of allergic reaction.

main masterlist.

author’s note: I want to write for these two until my fingers are two little stubs and even then I’ll learn with my toes. Can be read as a stand alone!

He thought he was going to be sick when he saw her that random Thursday, leaning against her desk, a sweet, bashful smile on her face. Or, more specifically, Spencer thought he was going to need to at least sit down when he saw the man standing next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the little daisy earrings Penelope bought her for her birthday almost laughing at his gobsmacked expression. 

He liked Agent Taylor Bingley. He respected the fresh faced desk jockey from the third floor that swanned around their bullpen, usually discussing warm up routines with Luke. He was quick on his feet, a pretty decent shot. Never missed a report, never tardy, even offered his parking spot up to Spencer on more than one occasion because he didn’t mind the long walk from the other lot. He flew under the radar, and when he was noticed, it was because he was a particularly kind soul. 

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen him without those rosy cheeks that made him look almost always sunburnt, or that trademark boyish grin a handsome guy like him had down to a tea. So it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see him lingering around his sunshine girl. 

Except she wasn’t his, not by a mile. They just spent almost every second of the work day together.

“Check it out, rookie has an admirer,” Tara said, the heels clicking against the floor as she passed the door, where Spencer seemed to have stopped, his eyes narrowing at the happy couple, “Can’t say I blame him. She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Spence?”

She didn’t realise she was rubbing salt in a superficial wound, but Spencer felt his jaw feather with annoyance. Because she was beyond a pretty girl, she was honey and all the months of Spring and a hot drink on a rainy day and finishing a good book and the dessert your mom let you have on your tenth birthday. Not that he could admit that. So he just nodded, right as Taylor leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek. 

She shied away, smiling to her lap and playing with her fingertips, not looking up from her little potted plant that sat next to her on her desk, and Spencer knew it was because she floundered when people gave her too much attention.

Like when Garcia had said her blouse and bun combo she’d worn the other day made her look like a sexy teaching assistant, she’d stammered something close to a thankyou and headed to the kitchenette to get herself a glass of water. Or when Rossi had said the bangs she had cut herself two weeks ago looked cute, that his daughter had been desperate to try something similar, she’d spilled her coffee down her front not even two seconds later because she had been so occupied telling the man it was no big deal. 

“Morning, Doctor Reid, Doctor Lewis,” Taylor said, his pearly white teeth gleaming with that West Coast, surfer boy tan that made Spencer want to huff. The man was insufferable. Well, correction, he was insufferably nice for someone Spencer was desperate to pick apart with faults the second he’d seen her preening over their sunshine rookie. 

“Morning, Agent Bingley,” Tara said civilly, smiling back at the Agent that passed them to head to the elevators. She caught a glimpse of Spencer, and was quick to make herself scarce in the interest of needing to check in with Penelope, because she knew what that stormy look in his eye and the way his lips pressed into a thin line meant, profiler or not. 

Spencer didn’t pay much attention to Lewis leaving his side, not that he was trying to be rude, his eyes were zeroed in on the way she fumbled around her desk, looking for imaginary mess to tidy, which included rearranging the pots of glitter pens and highlighters next to her monitor, only to put them back exactly how they were before. 

“Agent Bingley, that’s new,” Came a voice over her shoulder, that made her jump in her seat, and her expression was skittish when she swivelled around, Spencer towering over her with calculating eyes. Luke rolled his chair around the divider to lean in on the conversation, having witnessed the whole thing in high definition since her desk was right next to his. 

“Oh, Taylor?” She squeaked, and Spencer didn’t need to touch her face to know it had gone hot just by the way she simpered and fiddled with the hem of her knee length skirt, avoiding their gaze, “Yeah, he took me to the aquarium at the weekend and we got lunch. It’s not really serious or anything, I don’t think,” 

She seemed unsure, her lips pursed together and a tiny crease between her brow he hated, and it was then Luke’s deep laugh rumbled next to them. 

“Does he know that?” Luke asked, and she shot him a look, wide eyed and confused, as he cleared his throat, “I was thinking I could take you out again in that pretty red dress-”

She threw a wad of scrunched up notepaper at him, an embarrassed smile on her face as she shook her head at him, “You have spent way too much time with Penelope, you’re turning into gossiping school children,” 

But she seemed happy, like the thought of the conversation she’d had with Agent Bingley made her all the more girlish herself as she giggled lightly, her gaze meeting Spencer’s empty expression. He wished he could hide his jealousy better, perhaps even seem happy for her. She deserved someone soft and saccharine and humane like Bingley, not a rough shell of what once was a brilliant man. He knew he should feel somewhat pleased for her, at least now he had empirical, hard evidence on why he couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t. 

“All I’m saying, rookie, is if you got that man bringing you breakfast and sweet talking you after one date, you’ll have him wrapped around your pinky by the time he’s your boyfriend,” Luke chuckled, and Spencer thought he might just burst a vessel with how hard he clenched his jaw at that dreaded b word. 

Alvez had no idea just how much he had twisted a knife in Spencer’s gut, which was plunged even further when he saw that sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him. 

“Ignore him, he’s a busy body,” She chirped, her teeth peeking from her lips when she hid a grin, “You wanna get coffee later? Taylor brought me tea and I’m dying for the good stuff,” 

Spencer nodded with a small smile, because her attitude was infectious, and selfishly thinking that Bingley couldn’t be that perfect for her because she only ever wanted tea when she felt sick, usually towards the start of the month that he guessed was in correlation with her menstrual cycle but would never ask. She wouldn’t want tea for another two weeks, and would likely take an extra shot in her cappuccino today because this was when she felt the most lethargic.  

Swivelling back around in her chair to log onto her computer, she remained completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

For once, Spencer wished he’d been late to work.

–

Two months. They had been dating for two fucking months. As far as Spencer could tell, from Penelope’s need to chatter about their sunshine rookie and her hot, stud muffin of a boyfriend, things had only been official for about five weeks of that time, but it hadn’t stopped Spencer from wanting to swallow glass because that would likely be less inconvenient than seeing the two of them together. 

Taylor usually brought her breakfast whenever they would get back from a case, which infuriated Spencer because he always bought her tea. She was a people pleaser, Spencer knew it before he had ever thought of her as anything other than the shiny newbie with too much joy and doe eyes he’d never seen before. But now, knowing her better than anyone else in the office did because she practically shadowed his footsteps, it was blaringly obvious to him that she had either never told him she didn’t like tea first thing in the morning, or he had never bothered to take notice. 

Spencer felt an odd puddle of smugness and fury when on more than one occasion he saw her pouring it down the drain, cold after sitting there for hours until it was unbearable and she couldn’t force herself to drink anymore. It was obvious to him, so why wasn’t it obvious to her own boyfriend? Spencer thought bitterly. But then Agent Bingley did leave a sour taste in his mouth these days.

Speaking of which, Spencer felt that pang in his chest the way he always did when the happy couple walked into the office together. Her hand was usually in his, though she seemed to simper under the weight of the team's glances; knowing and teasing as he’d take her to her desk and whip out the to-go pastries that he’d bought them that morning. 

“Morning, Spence,” She skipped past his desk, Taylor trailing behind her like a dog, though she seemed not to mind keeping him waiting a moment as she spoke to her friend, “How was Doctor Who?”

He smiled despite his grudge, because she always remembered what he said. He’d told her once that Thursdays were his evening to watch the show, and every time Friday morning rolled around, she’d bound up to lean over his computer and ask. 

“It was okay, I’m excited to see what they do with a Female Doctor, even if I’ll miss Capaldi,” He replied earnestly, and her eyes filled with glee. 

“Did they give her a new one of the doo-hickies they have?” She asked, his chest butterflying with an aching sort of affection because she seemed to remember everything he ever told her. 

“Sonic Screwdriver?” She nodded her head, even though Spencer knew she didn’t quite understand the show entirely, “Yeah, I prefer Sarah Jane’s Sonic Lipstick however,” 

“I wish I had one of those, I could reapply and save the world, how cool would that be?” She said, and they laughed together a little, before Taylor popped his head over Spencer’s computer with that dentist white beam and his excitable eyes, bluer than any sea rolling onto shore. 

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” Agent Bingley said, and the smile withered from Spencer’s face, morphing into a civil nod, his expression unreadable. 

“Morning, Agent,” He said, his eyes tracking back to his screen as he suddenly found Emily’s group email about staff room fridge etiquette invigorating. 

Taylor must have taken it as a sign the Doctor Reid was busy and finally let him have a minutes peace, that is until she took a seat at her desk and he leaned next to her, handing her a warm bagel. 

Spencer heard them chatting for about ten minutes, of which he was trying anything to tune them out, including roping Luke into their own conversation. It wasn’t until there was a lapse in the chatter that Spencer’s ears pricked up, and he heard her stand up from her desk, eyes wide as she spat a mouthful out into a tissue. 

“Does this have coconut in it?” She asked somewhat fearfully, Spencer’s head whipping around to her little corner of the bullpen. Her little self help stickers dotted around her desktop stared back at him, her reminder to ‘drink water’ almost horribly ironic the second he’d heard her question. 

His stomach dropped when Taylor frowned, “Yeah, it’s coconut and raspberry, is-is that not okay?” 

Spencer was quick to stand up out of his own seat, rifling through his satchel to dig out his water bottle, making it to her desk in just two long paces and handing it to her without another word as she looked up at him worriedly. 

“If you need to puke, it’ll probably be for the best so that you can get the traces out of your stomach. You can’t have the steroids before you hurl or it won’t work,” He soothed, and she nodded, sipping on his water with shaky hands, and Spencer was quick to catch the way her skin had a slight sheen to it that hadn’t been there before. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gage if she was well enough to make it to the bathroom on her own or if he would need to drive her to the ER. Either way her expression worried him. 

“I-I thought it was white chocolate,” She peeped, looking extremely sorry for herself as she dumped the chewed up brownie in her bin, and Taylor almost appeared at her side, looking entirely lost as he stroked a hand down her hair. 

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” He asked, seafoam hues trailing down her sweating face in terror. 

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Spencer cut in, his tone a little harsher than needed, and her boyfriend’s expression wilted like a kicked puppy. 

“Shit! You never mentioned, I’m so- I’m so sorry, honey,” Taylor went pale, and she didn’t look much better as she pushed past the two of them, heading for the bathroom, Spencer a single pace behind her. 

“I got her, don’t worry,” He called over his shoulder to Agent Bingley standing there like a gaping fish, his hand running through his blonde sweep as he watched her all but running out of the office, Spencer’s long legs keeping up with her. 

“Is your skin getting prickly yet?” Spencer asked. Swouldn't go into anaphylaxis, at least not as far as they knew, but the large hives that would appear on her chest and neck and the vomiting was not ideal. She kept a tray of steroids in her desk incase an accidental cross contamination happened (and because Spencer had forced her to have some on hand), but seeing her panicked eyes as she tasted the chalky fruit had made him fawn over her like she was marked for the plague. 

“Neck is getting itchy,” She replied, tugging at her collar and pushing the door to the unisex bathrooms open, heading for the nearest stall, “You don’t have to stay for this bit, it’s not-”

He cut her off by sweeping her hair into a ponytail, as if to tell her to stop worrying about him, and he stroked a hand over her arm to let her know he was right there, because he knew she really hated anything gory and gross like that. 

He hushed her when she’d try to apologise, hand her his bottle of water in between moments where her whole body seized.

And for a minute, she thought that Spencer might be the only person who she’d ever let see her like this. Not Luke, or Garcia and certainly not Taylor. 

The thought of it kept her quiet for the rest of the morning. 

-

They seemed to move past the whole debacle quickly. Luke said Taylor had taken her to a fancy restaurant uptown to apologise, making a huge point to avoid the coconut banoffee pudding like it was an explosive. 

“You guys are so cute, you’re like Jane and he’s literally your Bingley. I swear your kids are going to be sweet enough I could drizzle them right next to ice cream,” Penelope said over the SUV console speaker, Spencer in the driving seat and her in the passenger, flicking through her files as they approached the victim’s house. 

The rookie blanched, “Woah, woah, kids?” She protested, and even Spencer felt himself nearly swerve the minute the bubbly IT geek said it. She looked shaken, awkwardly chuckling and reaching to tuck hair behind her ear, “Slow down, Garcia, we’ve not even- you know what, I think we’re talking about the wrong thing here-“ 

“You’ve not even what?” Penelope burst out, her need for the lastest gossip overwhelming the reading of the room. She swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat to face out of the window, her knees touching the door with a thud, “Have you guys not had sex yet?” 

“Penelope!” The woman screeched, her face hot and gobsmacked that she’d even said it out loud. 

But it was telling enough, and Spencer’s face whirled over the console to her, guilt written on her features. 

“I just assumed you guys had done it seeing as both of you are the hottest couple I know, I mean I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you if I was a guy-“ Penelope tried to save herself in the only way she knew how, by digging herself a deeper hole. 

Spencer’s hand shot out for the centre screen, “We’re losing you, Garcia, you’re breaking up, bye,” He pressed the end call button, and he didn’t need to look at the girl’s face to know she was the epitome of mortified. 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, the awkward silence of the car killing him as much as he knew it was her, but he thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut. It took him a minute before he opened his mouth to speak again, if not to ask her if she wanted to stop at a drive thru for breakfast, but she beat him to it. 

“I was going to say we’ve not even said I love you yet,” She murmured, keeping her body entirely swivelled away from him, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller, as if she could just smush herself into the seat so he wouldn’t say anything. She cleared her throat, scratching her wrist nervously, “But I guess that’s also true too,” 

“Why not?” Her eyes snapped onto Spencer when he braved those two words, and he sensed he’d overstepped some sort of boundary before he realised it sounded like he’d been speaking about the latter, “Why haven’t you said it?” He clarified. 

She went quiet, her shoulders shrugging being the only sign that she’d heard him, gaze trailing back out her window. 

“He’s not said it yet either, and I don’t think I want him to. Not yet at least,” Her voice was soft, heavy as if every single one of them was coming from her heart, “Love is such a big emotion I think if he did say it, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Like, if I’m going to say it back to someone, I want to be sure I feel it otherwise it’s like I’m betraying everyone else’s version of love, you know?” 

He thought she might just be an angel bottled up and thrown into his life, and he sometimes wished he could take a look inside that head of hers because how she had protected her beautiful look on the world after seeing so much hurt staggered him. He had become cruel and cold and heavy where she looked at the lecherous shithole heading for disaster they called Earth and saw right to its soul, gave it a hug, told it she would care even when no one else would. 

He tore his eyes from the road, and took in the outline of her face, mindlessly watching the pedestrians on their daily commute to grab lunch, a dog peeing against a lamp post, a motorcyclist bobbing and weaving in between the midday traffic, her doe eyes never missing a trick.

Forcing his gaping expression back on the road, because he might just swerve and hit the damn rider off his bike if he let himself get lost in his little dreamscape that consisted of nothing but her and her face and her thoughts and her words, he cleared his throat, not sure how to add to the poetic, rose tint she seemed to see the world in.

“That’s good, that you’re taking things at your own pace, atleast,” He said, not particularly profound but at least it was something, “You shouldn’t do things just because someone else wants you to, even if you think it would make them happy,”

“But I like making people happy,” She countered, her expression troubled as she looked over at him with a quirked brow, “I like making you happy especially,”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” Spencer asked, his mouth drying up, his stomach flipping in cartwheels when she giggled to herself like for once she was the smart one snd he was the one who needed teaching.

“It took you three and a half weeks to crack a smile when we first started working together,” His jaw clenched, because he was the one who counted the statistics. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. I thought a seasoned agent like yourself probably would get frustrated teaching the dumb newbie the ABC’s, even ones that admire him. But then I thought, instead of getting so butt hurt about it all, I could just give you a reason to smile and you’d see that I’m not just a useless rookie learning to roll over for treats.”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He’d hate himself forever for being so cruel to her those first few weeks, the clipped tones when she’d add something in a particularly chirpy voice, the way he would forget his manners sometimes when she’d bring him a coffee, because his head had been so deep in survival mode that being nice didn’t matter. Being nice had got him nowhere in Mexico, in fact it had shown his soft underbelly and drawn a target on it. 

“I never hated you,” His voice croaked out, weak and pathetic, and it's times like that he remembered ten years ago talking to her would have made him blush, pop a boner, and lose half his IQ all in one go. Coughing, his knuckles turned white at the wheel, and he avoids her gaze that feels like a pitfall trap, “It’s difficult to go back to how you used to be when you’ve got a thousand eyes on your back waiting for you to lower your guard,”

“I know, I know that now, I jus-” She floundered, worried she’d touched a nerve, but he stopped her by leaning over the console and putting a gentle hand on her kneecap.

“Relax, I know I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around,” Spencer said, his timbre quiet but honest, “You were one of the few things I looked forward to, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” She said, agog, like she was waiting for him to turn around and say it had been a joke, “You didn’t think I’m too loud or, like, too much?”

“How can there be too much of you? If your body wasn’t in correct proportion, your organs wouldn't function-”

“Spencer,” She said, though he knew she was smiling even without having to look, “You know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know,” He replied, a smug little smile quirking on his own lips because he loved making her happy too, “No, I could never find you too much.”

She simpered under his words, his hand a stoked flame on her skin as she brought her fingers over the top of them to squeeze them together, before she changed the subject because she knew her cheeks might just explode if they heated anymore.

–

They were back from a long case, one that had made everyone tired and grumpy, especially because they needed to swing by the office for an hour of admin even Emily couldn’t wriggle them out of. 

And ofcourse, as he always was when Spencer was feeling like he was already about to strangle someone out of annoyance, Agent Bingley was right there when they entered the lobby.

She hadn’t slept well on the jet, despite Spence loaning her his jumper to use as a pillow, and she was in desperate need of coffee, the kind that Spencer and Penelope forced her to try instead of the cold caramel thing she liked. She’d even go for one of Luke’s zero sugar, zero milk atrocities right now.

“Hey guys, how was the flight?” Taylor jumped in to ask, and everyone gave some sort of variation of a groan because that was exactly how it had felt. His attention turned to her, as she pulled up the rear with Spencer attached her her hip because she had been practically sleepwalking the entire way there, “Hi honey,”

“Taylor, hi,” She said, her eyes perking up when he held out a hot take away cup for her, “You really didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense, herbal tea is supposed to alleviate headaches and help get you to sleep,” He replied, his other hand behind his back quickly whipping out to produce a bunch of flowers in front of her face.

She barely had time to flash him a grin to hide the disappointment that it was nowhere near as caffeinated as she’d like, nor that she didn’t even liked herbal tea, before a bunch of lilies were thrust her way.

“Lillies,” She said, her hand covering her chest at the touching sentiment, “Taylor, you shouldn’t have,”

“I know they’re your favourites,” The blonde replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and effectively putting a wall between her and Spencer, whether he meant to or not. Her expression wavered, and Spencer's eyes went straight to her, waiting for her to correct him. Because they weren’t her favourites, not even in her top five. Hyacinths were. Or Foxglove. Or Delphiniums. Not Lillies. 

She nodded wordlessly, and the three of them headed for the lift, where the rest of the team held the door for them, her expression tiptoeing between guilty and smiling, Taylor’s almost ecstatic to see her after her long few days away, and Spencer’s entirely pissed off that the sun kissed jerk couldn’t see every sign blaring in his face. 

“I might have to cut off the stamen when Ace comes over,” She queried, her eyes roving over the beautiful white petals opening towards her like a book.

“Ace? Who’s Ace?” He said, and Spencer and JJ exchanged a glance, because the whole elevator was now privy to their conversation as David pressed the six button. Taylor reached forward to push the three for himself.

“The dog I foster sometimes, the one I told you about. He helps me when I need to talk through some things. He’s a very good listener,,” She said with a dopey smile on her face, her eyes casting over her boyfriends face with a willing expression, because she knew for a fact she’d told him at lengths about the bouncy Spaniel that adored her, “He comes over for playdates, but the pollen inside lilies are poisonous to dogs,”

Taylor scrunched his nose up, “Ugh, I hate dogs, they’re so slobbery and the always seem to smell awful,” He commented, her face dropping the slightest in a way that made Spencer’s hand curl into a fist, because how dare Agent Bingley take that away from her, “I thought you were a cat person?”

“I like them both equally, but Ace is sweet. He curls up on my legs after we’ve gone for a walk,” Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, and she felt stupid for even mentioning it, well aware that the rest of her team were listening in on her childish description of the old dog that wanted nothing but love. 

“Why do you need a dog to talk anyway, babe? You have me,” Taylor said, in a way that was supposed to sound comforting but made Spencer want to shake him and tell him to listen to a damn word she was saying. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked at the lilies again, feeling entirely ungrateful for wishing they were something else, and the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Taylor kissed her cheek and waltzed out of the lift with a quick goodbye to her team that was returned in murmurs. Turning to look at her, his body already in the anteroom of his own floor, he smiled sweetly at her, “I love you,”

JJ and Emily whipped their heads to her face, expecting to see some kind of puppy love blossom there, only to find wide-eyed panic, her smile slowly slipping. Rossi cleared his throat when she said nothing, the air turning stale as the team waited for her response, Taylor looking at her expectantly, and she wished the ground would open up then and there to swallow her whole, because that would probably be better than whatever this was.

Tara nudged her shoulder, waking her out of her daze, Luke scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it was then after a beat more of silence that Taylor opened his mouth again, “Babe, did you hear what I-”

She leaned forward to press the close door button, her doe hues in full flight mode, her fingers only picking up the pace when her boyfriend took a step closer towards the elevator, and Emily brought a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter when the doors slammed shut in front of him, their sunshine rookie entirely spooked and needing a quick exit.

The tiny metal box went silent, Spencer watching her face meld from alarm to horror, to sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you kid, that’s one way to do it,” Rossi said, patting her on the back and she shoved her face in her hands, the stems of the dove white flowers brushing against her cheek roughly.

“Please tell me that didn’t just happen,” She groaned through her fingers, JJ chuckling as the doors to their own floor opened up.

“Oh honey,” She said, rubbing the girl’s back gently, leading her out onto the BAU carpet that felt harsher against the souls of her shoes than it ever had before, “I think what you need is a coffee and a long talk with someone who isn’t a dog,”

Spencer watched her shuffle to slump down behind her desk, her expression still rattled and lost, JJ’s eyes flicking to him every now and then in a way that urged him to be the one to do just that because it was obvious by now who she talked the most openly to in the office.

But by the time he’d braved walking over to her desk, she’d already rushed through her report, excusing herself home for the day, and he knew her well enough to know she needed some breathing room before he could approach the subject, otherwise she would shut the doors on him too.

He hated the spiteful part of him that revelled in Taylor’s expression when that metal screen had slammed in his face.

—

It was three days later, and she had enforced a strict ban on talking about that day in the office. For once she didn’t look like she was going to break her resolve either, since every time someone tried to weasel information of her she would either pretend she hadn’t heard, or would excuse herself to make her fifth coffee of the day, or even had thrown her paperwork on the floor when Luke had pushed her for an answer just for an excuse to avoid the topic.

In fact, Spencer himself had been tempted to get her alone because he knew she would crack without much pressure from him, though the thought of using her trusting nature against her seemed wicked, and so he stopped himself and settled for curiosity.

It wasn’t until they were away on a case and they were shoved in a room together that the subject of Taylor was even brought up, and even then it was entirely out of his control.

“I’ll take the couch,” Spencer said, his eyes falling on the double bed in the centre of the room, striding over the other side of the room to throw his to go bag down on the two seater sofa that would wreck his back.

“Don’t be silly, we can just share the bed.” She said, as if it was the most obvious solution, which it was, “I sleep talk a little, but just give me a shove and I’ll shut up,” 

Spencer paused, watching her fumbling around her bag for her toothbrush and paste.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind?” He asked, his palms clammy because he worried for a moment it was wrong to bring it up, and his chest butterflied when she froze, “Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about it, I just thought I wouldn’t like my girlfriend sharing a bed-”

“We broke up,” She said, taking pulling a large pink shirt out her bag and some strawberry printed shorts, her toiletries stuffed in her pockets, “So don’t worry about any of that stuff, we can share,”

And she waltzed into the bathroom without any more explanation, the lock clicking behind her and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

They had broken up? Was it because of what happened in the elevator? Was it because of what Penelope said in the car? Was she the one to break up with him or the other way around?

Spencer felt like a gossip, even though his thoughts had gone no further than his cranium, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and in her pyjamas, he had already changed himself, tucked himself under the cover in the hope she understood they didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

She smiled at him, tucking her dirty clothes back in her bag and heading for the bed, slipping under the plush duvet with a soft ooft. 

“Light on or off?” She asked, her finger hovering over the switch beside their bed.

“On, if that’s okay?” He replied and she nodded wordlessly, shuffling down under the covers, pulling them up to just below her armpits. Crossing her arms over her stomach like she was snow white waiting to fall into a poison-laced slumber, her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, and his thoughts banged loudly against his temple. The silence of the room seemed to only turn their avoidance tactics into a cacophony they couldn’t ignore.

“If you’re going to ask questions, I might as well tell you before we get back to Quantico.” She said finally, her sigh heavy and exhausted and she looked over at him, his brunette locks splaying over the pillow in waves, his facial hair scratching against the sheet when he flicked his head over to her too. 

Hazel had never been such a pretty colour than when they sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another, almost daring the other to speak first. He swallowed, his mouth watering at how she looked, tucked under the sheets, her body lax and soft under her pyjamas, her hands skimming over her stomach nervously.

“Is it because of the day in the elevator?” Spencer asked after a few minutes, breaths suddenly becoming difficult to regulate naturally unless he forced them to be, because he was so close to her under the covers, his entire body too long and gangly for just a twin bed, he could smell her shampoo and conditioning combo in full force. Her spearmint tongue rolled words around her mouth for a minute, dropping down to his Star Wars shirt he felt childish for wearing the minute he saw her looking at it.

“Kind of, he just wanted us to move so fast, it just kinda made me nervous, but I always thought being nervous was supposed to be good, you know?” She sighed, forgetting to breathe in between her splurge of words that had been building up inside her for weeks, “Like you said the feeling of excitement and fear are almost identical so I think I just convinced myself I was being dumb and I was being a bad person for not just giving him what he wanted. I’m supposed to love him, right? Being his girlfriend and all that,”

He had said that; because scientifically that was exactly correct. The hormones released during love and during fear were, down to their core, chemical matches, and it felt funny she’d remembered that fact considering she made him feel somewhere in between too. He knew she was special, just as much as he knew the idea of tainting her with his core terrified him. Like he secreted some kind of radiation that would ruin her if she got too close for too long. But he couldn’t help it. How do you stop yourself from wanting something good? It was just science. A Pavlovian response. 

“You’re not supposed to do anything. There’s no timeline for how you feel, and you can’t force yourself to feel something any quicker or stronger than you do,” He said, shaking his head when she bit her lip, her fingertips playing with one another ontop of the sheets.

“He wanted to know when I was ready to have…” She swallowed, her cheeks heating, “Intimacy with him. A-and it’s not like I’ve not done it before, I had a boyfriend in high school, but I just felt like with him…”

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowing as he felt a surge of annoyance flash through his blood that she had wound herself up so much just because of some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few months. 

Her eyes widened, taking in the storm brewing in that beautiful woodland gaze of his, and she shook her head quickly, “No, no, nothing like that. This was all on me, it was all just me being dumb,”

“You’re not being dumb just because some guy didn’t like the answer you gave,” He corrected, exhaling deeply and letting his frown drop, because he knew she hated when he did that, “Why didn’t you want to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She shrugged, looking back up at the dusty lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs that smattered around the wooden panels.

“I don’t know, I just kind of never saw the two of us.. becoming intimate, you know?” She said, her tone sheepish like she was in confession and he was a priest sat on the other side of the divide. He looked over at her, scanning the outline of her face, but she seemed adamant on avoiding his gaze, because she knew she would spill everything the minute she looked at him. With Spencer, there were no secrets, and that was entirely the problem. 

Spencer’s lips pursed, thinking of exactly the right thing to say to such a delicate soul when she was laying herself hypothetically bare for him. 

“You don’t have to be intimate in a relationship if you don’t want to. No one who loves you should ever make you feel like there’s an expectation or like you owe them that,” Spencer explained softly, edging his pinky finger out the tiniest bit to catch the back of her hand that now lay flat on the bed, her head turning up to meet his round forest hues that looked down at her with more softness than he’d felt in a long time. 

He wished he could stay here with her forever. In the quiet of this room, they were just the two of them, not Doctor Reid and the Special Agent he had a huge hopeless crush on that was years his junior and thought she could fix everything wrong with the world. 

“I know,” She sighs, and his heart caught in his throat when her pinky raises up to meet his own, the tips of their fingers brushing against one another like they were meeting each other for a slow dance. He had touched her many times before, but there was something illicit about this time. Like their skin had become oppositely charged and was pulling the other one in with an electric crackle, “He never pressured me but I felt like I could have tried harder to want it.”

“If you don’t want it, you don’t ever have to have it. A lot of people reach your age when your frontal cortex is developed and realise they might be asexual, it’s not a bad thing-” He tried reassuring her, but she was quick to shake her head again, bashfully ripping her eyes away from him to look at their caressing fingertips. 

“No, no. It’s not that I never want to be intimate ever, I just never really felt comfortable around him enough to let myself want it. Like I couldn’t just be me with him, I was just being what he wanted me to be. Like he never really knew the real me,” She explained, and she rolled over onto her side to face him, her other finger coming up to absentmindedly trace over the prominent vein that ran up his arm, stopping just below where his old needle scars were at the crook of his elbow. If she saw them, she didn’t say a word, but Spencer felt like she was trailing a flame over his skin. He thought if she took his manhood in her hand she’d probably get the exact same response from him, because with every invisible swirl and line she drew over his skin, he felt a heat ripping through his loins. “Does that make sense? Like I didn’t think he would like the ikky parts of me so I ended up putting on a charade,” 

“Y-yeah,” He replied, and his stammer made her look up, eyes wide and innocent as she watched him all but falling apart under a single fingertip. God he was pathetic. Mid thirties and nearly finishing in his boxers over a pretty girl touching his arm. Only it wasn’t just a pretty girl. It was her. His sunshine girl. “But I don’t think you have any ikky parts, to be honest,”

Her eyes deepened into pools of awe, and he watched her trail a glance down his nose to his mouth vulnerably.

“Spencer, you’re being too kind,” She whispered, and he swore his chest lurched.

He cleared his throat, and moved to roll over towards her too, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was clogging between them, only for it to become dialled to a hundred, trapping them in a tiny box where they were looking at one another, laying on the bed they were being forced to share and almost holding hands, because committing to full thing was scary like they were ten years old in a playground. 

“Of course that makes sense. It’s much healthier to form intimate relationships with people we trust and feel safe with than rushing into things,” Spencer tried to breeze past the tension, but her breath was fanning over his face, almost tripping him over his words, because she was still looking at him like he knew all the answers. Because he usually did. Except for this time. This time, he felt like he was walking blind towards his point, “Not that one night stands should be shamed or anything, but it’s much better to engage in sexual intercourse with someone when it feels right,”

She breathed out deeply, licking her lips, and her finger movements stopped. 

“So it’s just a when you know, you know, kind of thing?” She asked, her brows pulling together in a saddened frown, “I’m not, like, broken or anything?” 

He sat up on his elbow, grabbing her wrist tight enough she would listen the minute he said it to her, because he never wanted to hear her say that again, “There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me?�� She looked up at him with glassy eyes, wide and shocked to see him so desperately insistent over her, “You feeling secure is more important than any guy out there, no matter how nice they are, got it?” 

She nodded after a beat, because she thought her brain might have stopped working with the way he was leaned over her, looking down at her with a glimmer of the harshness he’d been drowning in when she first met him. These days he seemed to have mellowed out the tiniest bit, except the straightforward tone he held with everyone else who wasn’t her, or the general heavy handedness he didn’t seem to realise he was capable of. Like in the way his warm, rough hands gripped the skin of her wrist, his expression somewhat frustrated though not with her as he looked down at where she was half beneath him.

“Spence?” She whispered into the electricity between them, her eyes trailing over his nose again and ghosting over his half attempt at facial hair. They were just whisps, but they suited him embarrassingly well. He didn’t reply, just stared at her to wait for her response, “I feel safe with you, you know that?” 

He swore his heart was thumping out of his chest. She looked divine under his hand, sweet like a pudding begging him to taste, and he couldn’t help it when his thumb trailed up the side of her jaw, brushing just under her bottom lip, and she seemed to press herself further into his touch, a cat being scratched behind velvet ears.

“You’d tell me if you ever wanted me to stop, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, gooseflesh crawling up his arm when she nodded, her eyes boring holes into his soul when she looked up at him like that.  

“Always,” She answered honestly, blinking at him once, twice, before she took a deep breath for courage, “But what if I never wanted you to stop?”

Spencer nearly moaned when he crashed their lips together, and he heard her squeak in delight beneath him, his large hand cupping her jaw, weaving into her hair, tugging her closer. She felt like her was consuming her whole, and she had no qualms about it, not when she reached a hand up to his shoulder and tugged him even more on top of her, the weight of him on her chest comforting and achingly right. 

He pulled away to breathe for a moment, but she was chasing his lips, her touch maddening and he swore his brain switched off when she ran a hand up his spine, slipping under his shirt and tracing over every one of his vertebrae making him shiver. Her lips were stronger than any craving he had ever felt, the instant dopamine rush embarrassing for a man of his age, so hardened by the world reduced to putty, ready to beg for more because now he’d had a taste of her ambrosia, he didn’t think he could ever think straight again. A man sent crazy by forbidden wine.

He pushed her hair away from her face, using his long fingers to wrap around the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer to him, his other arm skirting down to her clothed waist and pressing their bodies together. She whined in his mouth, and Spencer thought he could finally die happy.

He pulled away to let her catch a gasp, her fingers carding through his long, brown curls, scratching against his scalp in a way that drew a low growl from his throat. He needed more, needed her, more than the air he gulped down ravenously and he found himself kissing at her soft neck, her head tipped back in bliss as he kissed every inch he could.

“The reason I didn’t want it with Taylor,” She choked between manic breaths, her hands holding onto him so tight he knew she didn’t have any intention of asking him to stop, “Was because it didn’t feel like this,”

Spencer wove their fingers together, pushing her hand above her head as the other came up to tilt her face towards him, looking into her bleary eyes for a second, their noses ghosting past one another, her mint breath delicious on his lips.

“It never feels like this, baby,” He whispered, their foreheads pressing together before he gave into her again and pressed his lips against hers so hard she whimpered into his mouth.

And she believed him.

--

[lambify]

@sstarsoft requested a starter:

" so then i was thinking, we could make her a tuna burger or something, and put the candle in that ... " he tips his head a little, looking over to the boy sharing the bed, faltering: " ... hani, are you okay? you seem distracted? did daesung say something? "

[cerisereids]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲- 𝐀.𝐇.

Pairing- Aaron Hotchner x Girly!Assistant!Reader

WC- 7.5k (LORDDDD) (literally belle shut up challenge level impossible)

Summary- With your birthday around the corner, you decide to throw a blowout bash. The people you work with have no idea how to let go. Least of all your boss, Aaron Hotchner. Yet, he doesn't show.

Contains- 18+ MDNI, angst to fluffy smut(ish), girly!reader, reader has long hair she can run her fingers through, spicy but no explicit smut (still 18+ tho don't play), non-explicit sex scene, reader standing on business, discussions of Hotch and Haley's divorce

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !!

The satisfying click of your white kitten heels fill the hallway as you bounce off the linoleum tiles. You’re in a delicate balancing act, juggling a tray of your famous cupcakes as well as glittery pink invitations. Gold lettering splays across the front ‘You’re Invited!’ They’re cheesy little things you had made at the local print shop, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your gloomy office needs some cheer. 

You push the door open with your hip, backing into the room with small little steps as you enter the BAU. Your instantly relieved by a pair of strong arms guiding your through the doorway. “Got it, sugar?” Derek’s voice asks, his hands hovering in precaution. 

“I am just fine! Here! Take one!” You set the cupcake tray down, plucking one out for him, handing it to him with an invitation. His brow quirks, a small smile rising on his lips.

 “What’s all this for?” He asks, bemused. 

“Well, my birthday is coming up, so I thought I’d have a big, blowout, bash! It’s been too long since you guys loosened up, really got to let go and have fun!” You squeal, stepping back slightly as the rest of the team quickly finds the dessert. Like bees to honey, you like to say. 

“So, you decided that instead of celebrating yourself, to insist on us celebrating you?” Emily inquires around a mouthful of cupcake. 

“Pretty much!” You pinch her cheek affectionately, and she giggles. Your gaze turns ever so slightly, catching the window of your boss’ office. Bile rises in your throat. He won’t be so easy to coax out. Both now, and to the party itself. The mere thought of it makes you nauseous. 

Emily saddles up beside you, lightly nudging her elbow with yours. She nods to Aaron’s office, and blood rushes to your cheeks. Your gaze drops to the ground, which you scuff with the bottom of your shoe. You lift your head up, your hair falling down your shoulders like a waterfall. 

“He in?” You ask, resuming your naturally bubbly state, a wide smile plastered over your anxiety. 

“Yup, when is he not?” Emily responds, curious, like a cat. You snap out of your anxious state, giving a playful shrug. You bat your lashes and turn, grabbing the tray and remaining invitations. 

“Hey, I wanted seconds!” Spencer calls after you. You roll your eyes, your clicking heels once again the only noise as you walk away. It’s no secret who you’re going to see. 

Aaron’s office door is slightly ajar, so you enter the same way you did earlier, by hip. His brow quirks upon your arrival, but you don’t forget to clock the way his eyes catch you, scanning up and down your frame. You wore one of your favorite dresses today, a pink, ruffly number that resembles a sunset. It cascades down your body like it was made for you. By the way Aaron’s looking at you, he thinks so, too. The way he looks at you is electric, like a bolt of lightning cracking your spine as you take each other in. Your breath shortens, catching in your throat at the sight of his tired, brown eyes. 

“Hey, big guy,” you lilt, your voice in its usual effervescent tease. You don’t miss the way he flushes down to his neck at the nickname. 

“What is this all about, hm?” he raises a brow, his voice smooth like silk. His eyes widen as you set down the tin of cupcakes, revealing their chocolatey goodness to him. His favorite. You hand him an invitation, nerves bubbling in your stomach as he reads it over. Your cheeks heat, like you’re 17 again waiting for an invite to the prom.

Then, he glances up at you. There’s a sparkle in his eye when he looks at you. You’re not sure if he knows it’s there, but you cherish it. You cherish the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, the world. You cherish the way not a single other colleague receives the exact gaze you do, soft, patient, kind. It’s your best kept secret. 

You breathe out a sigh at that look, relief washing over you like fresh sunlight. 

“Did you make these? They’re beautiful,” he inspects the card in his hands, and your heart thuds against your ribcage, nerves buzzing once again. His nonchalance is like a tightrope, inching you closer either to safety or certain death. 

“Thank you,” you reply. It’s quiet. You’re afraid that if you raise your voice, your heart will come out of your throat. “I make them all myself.”

You settle on his desk, resting a light hip on it while you watch him intently. He studies you, eyes flitting over your face as he takes in the glitter of your eyeshadow, the soft swipes of gloss on your lips. His own are parted, tongue peeking out in a tantalizing way that sets your heart aflame. 

You raise a brow, asserting an effective upper hand. You watch his brow go soft, and you know you have him. It doesn’t take much for you to convince him. Of anything, really. Since you started working for him, he’s taken actual time off (rarely, but he has), eats dinner at a regular time each night, and manages to get a little more sleep. The team calls it witchcraft, sorcery. You’d call it the sheer force of the desire to keep the man you’re deeply in love with alive and healthy. That’d be too complicated, though, so you bat your lashes and accept their praises. 

“That’s really incredible,” it’s soft, his tone. Gentle and low in a way that’s reserved only for you, for these quiet moments in his office. Whether you’re talking about a case, your weekend plans, or the next set of nails you’re getting, he saves this special cadence just for you. Smooth and velvety, liquid chocolate spilling from his tongue. 

“Thank you,” your eyes glimmer as you shift on his desk ever so slightly. Your hip pops toward him in a way that has him licking his lips. Confidence surges through, you sit up taller. “Will you be there?” You bat your lashes, your prettiest doe eyes on full display. “It would mean everything to have you there.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yay!” You squeal, hopping off his desk. You fix him a cupcake, taking the last one on the tray and placing it delicately on a pink napkin. 

“You’re only allowed to eat this if you’ve had lunch. Have you?” You’re all business again, in the blink of an eye. You poise a sassy hand on your hip, your brow arching. 

“I had a piece of toast and a pickle,” he admits. It’s sheepish, and you roll your eyes. 

“That’s a disgusting combo. Have another piece of toast before you eat that,” you roll your eyes playfully before stalking off. A barely audible ‘yes, ma’am’, follows you out. You pause, smiling to yourself before heading to your desk. 

“You really think he’s gonna show?” Penelope asks, her tongue swirling around her third daiquiri of the evening. You sigh, popping your hands on your hips as you take a step back from your large window, inspecting your decorative work. 

It’s the night before your big party, an event you normally thrive on hosting. Now, though, it’s the cause of the anxiety sparkling inside you, like your heart’s swimming in carbonated water. You adjust the rollers in your hair, the fluffy sleeves of your pink silk robe falling to your elbows as you do so. 

You center yourself for a moment, focusing on the comforting way the delicate fabric frames your body, falling over your tank top and sleep shorts. You wiggle your feet, currently stuffed into pink bunny slippers. Your gaze finds the moon, full and round, you absorb it. You welcome anything that helps you not crush under the debilitating weight of your affections for Aaron Hotchner. 

“I don’t know! He told me he’d be there!” Your voice is antsy, you wring your hands together with a small smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. While Penelope’s brilliant, she’s not a profiler. She’s also drunk. You pray these two things add up in your favor.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him go out. Not since the divorce, but if he were for anybody, it’d be for you. That much I know,” she pats a supportive hand on your shoulder, though it does nothing to quell the nausea that comes from the d-word. 

You’d been a strong reliant for your boss while he’d finalized his divorce, almost a year ago now. Getting him late night coffees, sitting on the couch in his office while he completed paperwork, bringing in little treats just to make him smile. They always did, everything you did garnered a smile out of him. 

That’s why you were teased in your first week on the job, after you’d questioned the team’s comments about their stoic leader. “He smiles all the time, what are you guys talking about?” Their sarcastic grins and chuckling was the first time you were fully aware that the relationship you had with your boss was…different than the others. The amount of time that’s passed since then, the bond you’ve made with your boss, makes your head spin.

Still, you aimed to be respectful everyday. No matter how many details you knew about his issues with Haley, the stress of taking care of Jack while he was away, you kept a professional distance. You would not cross that line. In the year since he’d taken the ring off, though, it’s been…different. A wall has come down, a layer unshed. You don’t know what to do with it, with him. 

“Hey, does this look good over here?” Emily calls, snapping you out of your Aaron-induced haze. You plaster another smile on your face, though this time it’s not too difficult. You were thankful to merely witness J.J. propping Emily up on a stool so she can pin a pink disco ball in the center of your expansive living room. Relief washes over you, the love for your friends momentarily distracting you from the ache in your chest. 

“Looks great, thanks Em!” you pat her ass playfully, laughing when she squeals. 

“Anything for you, my darling!” She calls after you as you make your way through the living room to the kitchen, grabbing your own glass of the elixir that now has Penelope fully slumped forward on your kitchen island. 

“Pen? You good?” You nudge her slightly, and she jumps at the contact. 

“Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I’m great! Cool as a cucumber!” She adjusts her own pajamas, a buttery yellow silk set that comes with a matching eye mask. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you pour your own drink. “You really think Aaron will come tomorrow?” You ask her, your voice is meek. You hate it, that this is what he does to you. 

“I would be truly shocked if he didn’t, my sweet,” she answers, and though her words are slightly slurred, her tone is serious. You smile. 

“I agree!” Emily calls, walking into the kitchen to refill her own cup. J.J. trails behind her, nodding emphatically. 

“I mean, have you heard anyone else here call him Aaron? Like…ever?” J.J. says. You jokinglya move your head side to side, rattling the thought around your head. They all giggle at your response, and your cheeks heat up. You rest your chin on your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with the giddy group. 

“He’ll show. Don’t even worry about it,” J.J. states, the others nodding in agreement. 

You blow out a sigh, downing the rest of your drink in one swig. 

The bass from the speaker reverberates through your house, the walls nearly shaking from the vibrations. You’re only slightly tipsy, a bit dizzy as you slide open the glass door leading to the patio. Nearly every square inch of the pool is full of people, bodies bobbing around, elbows above water to preserve red solo cups. 

The wind blows through your hair, your eyes falling shut. You try to bask in it, absorb the setting sun as you had with the moon the night before. It’s not working. Aaron still hasn’t shown. Your attempts to not get upset about it are weak, feeble, an embarrassment. You thought fresh air would do you some good, but now, in your tipsy, clouded haze, you scan the crowd of faces. Some of them you know, most of them don’t. Above all else, you still don’t see the one you want. You feel stupid for thinking you would. Your heart splinters, cracks in the foundation breaking the whole. 

You sit on the porch step, your face falling to your hands. What’s wrong with you? Throwing parties is like a love language to you- Gatsby himself would be jealous. It’s not atypical for friends of friends of friends to find themselves in your yard. Tonight, though, you’re upset. Upset that none of them are there for you. Upset that you don’t even matter. Upset that the one person who could fix this feeling hasn’t shown. He isn’t here for you. After everything, everything you have done for him. After he promised. Tears prick the insides of your eyes, and you release a shuddering breath.

“Hey, Party Princess!” You look up to find Penelope, arm in arm with Derek. Both of them look a bit too drunk for their own good. Penelope’s face falls immediately upon seeing your teary gaze, your pouty lips. 

“Oh angel! What’s going on?!” She squeaks, sitting down beside you immediately. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you lean into them instinctively. 

“Someone special not here, pretty girl?” Derek asks, crouching down to meet your eye level. The acknowledgement of your situation only makes the tears fall. 

Penelope forces your head parallel to the ground. “Look down! Don’t let the tears streak your makeup!” You release a wet laugh at that, inspiring laughter from Derek and Penelope as well. You can hear the relief in theirs, that Aaron Hotchner hasn’t rendered you incapable of laughter. 

You feel Derek’s hand over the expanse of your shoulder, a warm, comforting grip that soothes you only slightly. Your gaze is still on the concrete, shame creeping up your spine at your emotions. “I’m sorry, guys,” you splutter, tears falling faster now. 

“No! No, don’t apologize,” Penelope squeals, finding a tissue in her bag and handing it to you. “Blot those pretty eyes, hon, and let’s go dance! Don’t spend your birthday crying over some guy!” 

You do as she says, closing your wet eye so your lash meets the tissue, small bits of mascara left as residue. You finally lift your head up, meeting Derek’s gaze. “There she is!” He smiles, “the most beautiful girl in Quantico.”

“Hey!” Penelope smacks his bicep. He laughs, holding a hand there in a show of faux pain. 

“Sorry, one of the two most beautiful women in Quantico,” he responds, walking backwards to the bar. He grabs you a shot of tequila, your favorite, and propositions you. 

“That’s much better,” Penelope smirks, satisfied. She moves from beside you, ready to assemble a lime and some salt. You stop her, a hand to her forearm. “No need.” You throw back the shot, your head tilting all the way back as you down the burning liquid. It singes your throat, and you wiggle your head from side to side as it goes down. 

That same counterfeit smile curls your lips, your eyes just as sad as they were before. “Let’s party!”

Aaron Hotchner  is a piece of shit. He knows this. His ex-wife knows this. Hell, Jack probably knows it, too. But now she knows it, and for some reason, that’s his final straw. He stands at her front porch, suit jacket long abandoned, tie forcefully loosened from hours of hunching over his desk. His hair is messy, thanks to his fingers running through it every 5 minutes. The bags under his eyes have darkened throughout the night, and he can tell from his reflection in the window that he looks like hell. The last place he should be is at a party, let alone this party.

He takes in her expansive house, a gift she inherited from her parents once they moved to Calabassass, she told him once. The front is made of classic white stone, a baby blue trim framing the door and windows. It looks as if it hasn’t been touched in years, only to fine tune and keep it looking pristine. Though, the perfection on the outside provides a direct contrast to what little he can see going on inside. He has a view of the kitchen from where he stands, empty beer cans line the kitchen island, pink streamers and popped balloons litter the floor. 

He sees the outline of someone familiar enter the kitchen. Penelope, if the bouncing blonde hair streaked with hot pink was any indicator. He watches as she stumbles about, a large figure, Derek, holding her up by the elbows as she attempts to make a mixed drink. He hopes it’s not for herself. He then realizes what a creep he must look like, a dark figure standing alone in front of a house that’s not his, staring in the window at a party he failed to attend. He turns, ready to leave, firm in his decision that this was all a big mistake to begin with. 

He stops, though from the opening of the door. He whips his head around, relief and disappointment washing over him to see Emily. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if it had been her opening the door. Fall to his knees, grovel, probably. His cheeks tint a bright red at her knowing, disappointed stare. “You fucked up tonight, Hotchner,” her affirming tone washes over him like he’s been dipped in acid, singeing his skin and finding its way to his guts. He’s nothing but a puddle. 

“Where is she?” He asks. It’s meek, feeble. A tone nobody he’s ever worked with heard him use. Emily raises her brow at that, both in shock and suspicion. 

“The backyard, near the pool. She’s had a lot to drink, though. So be careful. You may not be someone she wants to see right now.” Emily’s pitiful smile only makes him feel worse. He can’t leave now that he’s been spotted, though. It would catapult him from normal amounts of jackass to the jackass Olympics, something he’d never be able to recover from. Not when it comes to her. 

He follows Emily in, the remnants of what seemed like a blowout bash now diluted to a handful of bodies in each room. Most of them are the team, who are shooting him looks of shock and pity as he makes his way through the house. His heart beats through his ears as he slides the glass door open, stepping under the pink balloon arch to find her. 

She’s sitting alone on the edge of the pool, her feet dipping in slightly. He takes her in, giving him a brief moment of selfish reprieve before she sees him, before he has to confront the ways in which he’s broken her heart tonight. A floral pink dress flows around her, the sleeves billowing in the wind. The ruffles of the tiered dress are bunched around her hips as she sits, the hemline raised to prevent wetting the fabric. She’s a vision, the pale moonlight ghosting over her frame like a spotlight made just for her. His heart breaks. All of this, and he’s left her so lonely. He is a piece of shit. 

The creak of the porch step calls her attention, her head swinging around her shoulder to see who’s come to join her. The look on her face as she sees him…it’s too much to put into words, even for a profiler as experienced as Aaron. He watches each emotion cross her face. Her instinctual reaction was relief, her eyes brightening like a lightning flash through his heart. Her brows furrow soon after, discontent clouding her features. Anger is soon to follow, the pink gloss on her lips shining as they curve downward. 

She lands on anger. Stays there as she moves to stand, not caring where the water splashes as she swings her feet out of the pool. She stomps over to him, feet smacking against the pool deck as she barrels into him. The force is light, her drunken state impacting the collision. He still stumbles a bit, catching both her and himself as they tumble. 

“Where were you?!” she spits, the fire in her eyes paralyzing. He’s speechless. “I waited for you! I waited for you all night! You said- you said you’d be there! You promised!” Her voice gets louder with each syllable, her fists colliding into his chest with each breath. She turns, walking toward the water once more. 

He follows slowly, tentative. His hand reaches to her elbow, fingers lightly touching the skin. She turns, smacking his hand away. He flinches at the sudden contact, not expecting such force from her. “No!” She exclaims. Tears prick her eyes now, her hand is shaking as she holds up a finger in his face. Aaron’s heart splinters at the sight, guilt searing his veins like a deadly disease. 

“You don’t get to touch me, you don’t get to act like you’re the victim here. You. Didn’t. Show.” She spits, venom punching every word. He can see the group forming at the door out of his peripheral vision. It’s just the team, thankfully. Though he knows he’s lost this right, he’s relieved random strangers aren’t privy to his colossal fuck up. 

“God, I feel so fucking stupid!” She exclaims, running ten fingers through perfectly tousled hair. “Sitting here in this dress, that I picked out for you, at this party, that I only threw for you!” Her voice cracks on that last word, tears finally spilling over her lash line. 

“Me?” He mumbles. It’s the first word he’s said to her all night. It makes him feel like an idiot. There’s heat in her gaze, a deadly forest fire. But she’s silent. He keeps going. “You threw this party for me?” He sounds dumb. He knows it even before she rolls her eyes. A fantastic idiot, that’s what he is. 

“God, Aaron!” She’s yelling, now. The use of his first name knocks the wind out of him every time. This time, though, with the pain lacing her tone, it hits like a tornado. “For the best fucking profiler in fucking America, you have no clue how to read people!” 

He raises a brow at this, and she yanks at the root of her hair, a loud, desperate, ‘ugh!’ tearing from her lips. “I’m so hurt, Aaron, You hurt me. I’m so angry, and I’m so, so in love with you, that I’ll probably fucking forgive you in the morning.”

The words hit him like a bullet train, slicing him clean in half. His mouth falls open, a small ‘o’ that only serves to make him stupider. She stalks over to the bar on the deep end of the pool, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of vodka from the interior. She takes a long swig, eyes falling closed. Tears fall down her cheeks, streaking her perfectly applied makeup. She stumbles a bit, nearing the edge of the water, and his heart rate picks up. He makes the mistake of reaching for the bottle. It only results in a forceful shove, the bottle falling between the two and shattering on the ground. 

Her fury only intensifies now. Her vindictive gaze could turn him to stone. He looks down at the mess, catching her shoeless feet. He grips her wrist before she can move. Her bare feet, drunken state, and the shards of broken glass are a recipe for disaster. He doesn’t care how big of an asshole he is, how much she might hate him right now, but he can’t risk letting her get hurt even more. He’s expecting her reaction, an immediate instinct to shove him off of her. He can’t even register the impact it has on his already fragile heart, because in her alcohol induced frenzy, her shove knocks them both in the water. 

The splash envelops Aaron like a slap to the face. He opens his eyes immediately, and he doesn’t even register the sting of the chlorine in his eyes. His only mission is to find her, to make sure she’s safe. He sloppily wraps himself around her, bringing them up to the surface. They both gasp upon arrival, breathing as if they’d never get the privilege again. He splays a hand across her back, pushing her toward him until they’re chest-to-chest, until she can’t wriggle out of his grasp. He won’t let her go until she’s safely out of the water.

The frantic rise and fall of her chest against his steadies him. It’s enough to ground him, to help him find his bearings as he spots the ladder leading out of the pool. He feels her relax slightly in his arms as he begins to move, her own wrapping around his neck. He lets out the smallest sigh of relief. She doesn’t completely hate him. With how he acted tonight, he’s surprised he’s even been afforded that much. 

He lets her go first, hands finding her waist and lifting her to the first step. His hands hover around her as she stumbles up the ladder, ready for any possible disaster to strike. He follows quickly, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin in a way that would make him feel exposed around anyone else. He rolls his sleeves up to his shoulders, shaking his hair out like a dog. She flinches when he sprays her, giggling quietly. The sweet, fluttering noise is contagious, Aaron laughs himself before muttering a quiet, “sorry.” 

He watches her face change as she remembers again. Remember why they ended up in the pool,  why she’s mad at him in the first place. Light, joyful eyes darken into a cloudy, stormy gaze. Her eyes are like a bow and arrow aimed right at his heart, ready for the kill. He’s ready to admit defeat, to just lay there and let her skin and eat him alive. He avoids her gaze. Cowardly, he knows. 

“So. Fucking. Unfair.” They’re punctuated by a look of desperation and disdain, desire and destruction. His head shoots up again at that, shame creeping up his spine once more. It settles in his neck, constricts his airflow. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve treated you terribly tonight and-”

He’s cut off by a groan that could spark an earthquake. She pulls at the roots of her wet hair in frustration. “Not that. Well- partially that. It’s fucking unfair that you get to skip my party, break my heart, show up, and then emerge from my pool looking like some sort of Adonis. Un-fucking fair, Aaron Hotchner.”

She moves closer to him with each passing word, to the point where his name is merely a whisper, uttered to him only inches from his own face. He studies her, the water droplets falling down her tear-stained face, the look in her eye, now softened to one of desperate devotion, despite all he’s put her through tonight. She’s breathtaking. Just as she was the day they first met, and everyday since then. An otherworldly beauty that has seemed to captivate him, mind, body, and soul. 

She inches even closer, her fingernails raking up his bare forearms. A shiver unzips his spine, invoking a light chuckle from her. As her lips inch ever so closer to his own, he nearly lets himself get lost in it. When she releases a shaky sigh against his mouth, the potent stench of vodka strongly reminds him that she is in no place for such an activity tonight. He scoops her up, folding her over his shoulder as he turns to get her indoors. 

He ignores her squeals of protest, the splattering of her palms on his back, though he can’t help but imagine this exact scenario in a different light- one where she’s sober, and he’s carrying her through his bedroom door. He opens the glass door with one hand, sliding it the rest of the way with his hip. He thanks his lucky stars that the only people left are Penelope and Derek, who likely stayed in case of any possible drownings. He nods at them, a succinct, ‘we’re good, get out.’

The message is heard clearly, the two of them shuffling out the door, but not before taking multiple glances at their boss, who’s carrying his hammered employee like a sack of potatoes. He’s in for an absolute earful come Monday, he’s sure of it. 

Her room is easy to spot, a bright pink door with her name plastered at the top. He smiles to himself, his heart swelling at the way she revels in her inner child. Sparkly room decor, birthday party invitations, a birthday party in general. He’s almost envious of the way she effortlessly mixes her childish woe with her adult sophistication. Even around the office, she clacks around in whatever heel came out of her rotating closet that morning, all while spouting off fine tuned details of any current or prospective cases. 

These are things he’s lost touch with as he’s aged, that whimsy, the wild eyed gaze she gives to new challenges. He hopes she never lets it go. He hopes she’ll be 80 with bedazzled glasses and  the best hair in the room. Knowing her, he has nothing to worry about in that regard. 

He plops her down on the large couch on the far end of her room, not wanting to douse her bed with chlorine. She needs a good night’s sleep. She whines as she attempts to wiggle out of her party dress, the straps proving to be very stubborn as she maneuvers around the couch. He turns instinctively as she figures it out, her dress bunching around her thighs before she lifts it up over her head. The small sliver of thigh he did see is burned into his brain forever, though. There’s no escaping that. 

“Aaron, I need my pajamas,” her voice is soft, tired. 

Aaron clears his throat awkwardly. “Where are they, honey?”

He practically hears her gleam at his words. He knows she’s basking in his pet name the way she always does, like a cat who got the cream. “Top drawer. I want the silk pink set,” her voice has a certain lilt to it now that nearly has his eyes rolling in the back of his head. Pink silk. He’ll die. He could just die. It would probably be less painful than handling her delicate sleepwear, throwing it behind him without turning around. 

She giggles as she puts it on. “You can look now. I’m all covered.”

He turns, eyes trained on the floor, just in case. He’s truly not prepared for what he sees when he turns around. Her smooth legs are crossed at the ankle, her plush thighs filling out the fabric of her soft pajamas. The top is barely enough fabric to be called such, a thin tank top leaving so little to the imagination, he nearly combusts on the spot. The peaks of her nipples are enough to do him in permanently, to put him in the ground for all eternity. He’d deserve it, too. 

“I can’t move. Need you to get me to bed,” she mumbles, her body falling limp against the couch. He rolls his eyes, moving to scoop her in his arms, bridal style this time. The implication makes him choke on his own spit. 

“Wait!” She exclaims, just as he’s reached the foot of her bed. He stops in his tracks. “Need to get the rest of my makeup off, Aaron. Need the bathroom.” Her head falls against his chest, and he can’t say no. Sighing, he adjusts her in his arms and carries her to the ensuite bathroom. 

He sits her down on the closed toilet, covered in a pink, fuzzy fabric. She wiggles, getting comfortable as her eyes fall shut. 

“The soft, fuzzy washcloth on the counter automatically takes off makeup with water. If you could just wet it, I can get the rest.” She’s truly sleepy now, the alcohol taking her over almost entirely now. 

He won’t make her do all of that work, not after everything he’s put her through tonight. He heeds only part of her request, wetting the washcloth and ringing out the excess water. He crouches in front of her, putting a gentle hand to her jaw as he begins to lightly scrub the remaining bits of makeup off. She sighs, one of content and exhaustion. His heart soars. He thinks he may have to start going back to church just to make up for the grace he’s been granted tonight. 

After he moves through the next two steps- cleanser, then moisturizer, per her instruction- they’re back where they started, at the edge of her bed, her nestled in his arms. He lays her down gently, turning to sleep on her couch downstairs. He’s stopped in his tracks with a single tug to the wrist. His heart stops. 

“Stay,” she mumbles. He’s powerless. He peels off his wet clothes, making peace with sleeping in damp underwear, before she mumbles something more. “There’s extra sweatpants in the room to the right. Take them.” He has no choice but to listen. 

You wake with a pounding head, the morning light filtering in like a knife designed to split you in two. You groan, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the sober reality you’ve been thrust back into. You’re caught off guard when you roll into an absolute brick wall of a man, panic rising in your throat before you realise who it is. The only positive is that he’s familiar, that you know it’s not some random guy you hooked up with and let stay the night. On the other side of that coin, you’re waking up next to your boss, the day after you confessed your love for him. 

The arrival of that memory triggers the rest, and they flood in like a broken dam. Your tears, the vodka, the broken glass, the pool, the way his pecs looked in his white shirt, soaked to the bone and clinging to his chest. 

You shake off the thought, though the motion only wakes Aaron. You curse lightly under your breath. It takes everything in you not to crumble at the raspy groan Aaron lets out, seemingly just as surprised to be waking up in a foreign environment. His eyes widen when they find you, pure shock lacing his features before he slowly pieces together the events of the night before. A small smile curves your lips. “Good morning, party pooper.”

Aaron at least has enough gentlemanly instinct to make breakfast. He’s quick to tie your pink apron around his waist, cracking eggs and frying bacon with ease. You perch on one of the stools at your kitchen island, still littered with beer cans and empty solo cups. You sip your coffee as you watch him. You hate how gorgeous he is, how he has the right to look like that even when you’re mad at him. 

Sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lack of a shirt tantalizing. Your eyes zone in on the slivers of skin afforded beyond the apron. You squeeze your thighs together at the hair on his tummy, the hair that trails lower, and lower…

You jump as he puts a plate in front of you, not expecting for him to be done so soon. “Oh!” You squeal, the sound muffled slightly by your coffee mug. You’re using the glass dish as a crutch now, holding it in front of your face like a shield. You know he can tell exactly what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it, but it doesn’t stop you. He should know how you’re feeling right now, with him in front of you, looking even more delectable than the fresh, sizzling bacon. But he’s still the same man that broke your heart merely hours ago. 

He plates himself before nodding his head towards the semi-clean kitchen table. “Let’s eat there, so that way we’re not talking over pyramids of Sam Adams.”

You smile softly at this, swinging your legs around to hop off the stool. He takes your plate before you can, sitting it at the head of the table. You sit, and take a bite. It takes everything in you not to moan. If it weren’t for last night, maybe you would’ve. You sit in silence for a moment, soft chewing and forks clinking against plates the only noise. The only noise, at least, until Aaron looks directly at you. 

“I’m so sorry. I know that there’s not enough apologies in the world to make up for how I’ve treated you. I just- I couldn’t…” his voice trails off. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Couldn’t what?” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips, hanging between you two like a ticking time bomb. His eyes flit to the table, his hands clasped together in what looks like silent, desperate, prayer. 

“I couldn’t face rejection again,” he states, plainly. The wheels start turning in your head. Moving, but still unsure of the destination. “You saw so many details of my divorce, the ugly ins and outs. I couldn’t even fathom the thought that you’d be- that you would have any sort of feeling towards me. That you would love me in the way that I love you. Now that I know what I know…”

You’re there. You’ve reached your destination, and you can’t help but collapse your head into your hands and laugh at the stupidity of it all. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the noise you emit, but it’s all worth it at the smile that appears on his own face, cheeks bunching up around his eyes. It makes your heart swell. 

“So, you’re telling me…you didn’t come to my party because you were afraid I’d reject your feelings, and I spent the entire night drinking and crying on rotation because I thought you were rejecting me…” You spell it out, wild hand motions matching the absurdity of the situation. 

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He smiles, and heat rises to your cheeks. A silence settles over you then, the gravity of what this means hitting the both of you like a truck. “I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, though I know that sounds redundant because of my actions.”

You let out an incredulous chuckle at that, a huff of air conveying multiple emotions at once. “Aaron…I need to know that you won’t just run when things get hard. I know that you and Haley had something…else. I don’t want to be a repeat of that in your healing journey, or get in the way of your duties with Jack, or-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, a warm hand grazing your forearm over the table. “You’re not just a part of my healing journey. I learned a lot when Haley left me. You saw it. You held a heavy hand in that change. You gave me something to strive for, a glimmer after I’d thought I messed everything up. And instead of treating you the way I know you deserve, I ran right back to my old patterns. I can’t explain how sorry I am. How can I make it up to you?”

You raise a tentative brow. “The self awareness is a good sign, Aaron, but I need you to know that I’m a one and done kind of girl. Typically a none and done kind of girl. I’m making a very special exception here, sir.” He nods at this, eyes boring into yours. “You’re not going to keep me if you keep your old patterns. It’s one or the other, and you can make it up to me by making that decision. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He nods emphatically, fingers lacing between yours across the table. You sigh, a true, genuine smile on your face for the first time since before last night. You finish your breakfast in a content silence before dragging him back up to your room. 

“It’s one of the only spots in the house not littered with alcohol!” You’d told him, your reasoning quite sound in your eyes. Aaron rolls his, though a smile persists anyway. 

You fall onto your mattress, lifting your arms up for Aaron to join you. He lays beside you, your finger grazing along the waistline of his sweatpants. You revel in the way he shivers at the contact. He makes himself comfortable and you sling a leg across his hips, neck craning up to look in his eyes. A tense silence falls over you two then, thick and wanting. He tests the waters, slowly inching his face closer to yours. You bridge the gap, greedily smashing his lips to yours. 

He kisses you like a man starved, his arms curling around your back as he tries to consume as much of you as possible. You break from the kiss, only for him to pepper multiple tiny ones on your lips, his own drifting to your chin, your jaw, your neck. You turn on your side so your chest to chest with him, the feeling of your tits pressed up against his was enough to make your head spin. His rigid body relaxes in your arms as his lips find yours again. 

You clutch at his shoulders, a small whimper fleeing your lips in between greedy kisses. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that? Drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, hands finding the soft skin under your sleep tank. “Yeah?” you coo, and he groans. 

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, and you clench your thighs together. His ravenous hands frantically search for every spare part of your body they can find. “Walking around the office in those skirts, those cute fucking heels,” he punctuates his statement with more kisses. Your head is spinning. 

“I’m glad you like them, I pick them out just to drive you crazy,” you joke, and revel in the way his eyes roll back in his head. You rock against his hard length, and he shudders. 

“I need you. Now.”

Aaron lays still under the covers, fingertips raking up and down her back as if she’s made of porcelain. He releases a shaky breath, lips pressing to the top of her head. She’s drifting in and out of sleep, and the selfish part of him wants her awake, to be there with him, to kiss him some more. The nurturing part of him knows that she needs the sleep, that her hangover likely isn’t helping in her fight to stay conscious. 

“I can hear you thinking, y’know?” she murmurs, her words smushed in his chest. He laughs, a small, breathy sound escaping his lips. 

“Yeah?” He inquires, voice coated thick with love. “Just thinking about you. About what you need to feel better,” he exaggerates this point by rubbing thick fingers along her scalp. She shudders in response. 

“Think I need to sleep,” she mumbles, her lids half shut. 

“I think you do, too,” he answers, his never ending smile still on his face. “But I want to be with youuuu,” she drags out the last word, her lips pouty. He kisses them eagerly. She responds with the same fervor, her arms slinking around his neck. 

He can feel himself stir again, his now naked frame hiding nothing from the woman in his arms. 

“I think you want the same thing,” she says, suggestively. Her eyebrows wiggle as her fingers slide dangerously low. Against his body’s wishes, he grips her wrist gently. She pouts again. He kisses her again. He’ll never get tired of it. 

“Boo!” She pouts, and it’s so adorable he almost pulls her on his lap to finish what they started. 

“You need sleep, honey. I’m going to clean up downstairs, you let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods as he slides out of bed. He jumps when she swats his ass. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, but she just smiles, resting her head on her propped hand. 

“What? Like it’s my fault you have a cute butt!” She shrugs. He shakes his head, cheeks flushing as he moves to put on his now-dry clothes from last night. 

“Sleep,” He orders. She wiggles her brows in challenge. 

It takes all his will power to leave her there, naked and wanting. It’s for the best right now, for both of them. Her lids have returned to their half closed state, and he ghosts another kiss over her lips before he goes. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth.

“I love you, too. Get some rest.”

“As long as you’re here when I wake up,” she mutters, nestling into her pillow. 

After last night, he couldn’t dream of being anywhere else.

[yawnderu]

Birthday Boy — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

content: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff.

"Hey, big guy." You greet, pushing past him while holding a cake on your arms, setting it down on his desk. He simply gives you a confused look, eyebrows raising under the balaclava, closing the door hesitantly.

"Fucking hell." He mutters softly, arms crossing as he rests his back against the wall, his behemoth frame looking down at you as you steal a lighter from his desk, lighting the candles.

"I know you said you don't do birthdays but I just thought you deserve to have a day for yourself, so I kind of... gave you a birthday, I guess." Your embarrassment grows the more he stares you down, a bashful smile growing on your face when he says nothing. Your attention is grabbed by a deep chuckle coming out of him, shaking his head before he walks over to you, skull gloved fingers gently flicking your forehead.

"Why?" Is all he can ask, curiosity tainting his tone before he lets out a soft groan, looking down at the cake decorated with a messily written "Happy Birthday, Simon" and awfully drawn skulls all over. He wouldn't admit it, but he finds it even more charming.

"Just because." You reply shortly, hands making contact with the thin fabric of his black compression shirt, gently holding him by the biceps, guiding him to a chair in front of his desk where the cake was. He lets you drag him without any complaints.

"I'm gonna sing ya happy birthday, okay?" Your words are met with another groan, his elbows going to the table, face resting on his hands as if this situation is stressing him out. He eventually nods his head, looking up at you.

"Yeah, yeah." He mumbles, the fire from the candles making his eyes stand out even more in the dim room, the dark brown now a sweet honey color, showing you just how dilated his pupils are as he looks at you. You sing him happy birthday, making a small show out of it with claps and an overly cheery voice, dragging groan after groan out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing as he tries his best to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.

"Make a wish and blow the candles." You encourage after you're done singing, hands gently massaging his sore shoulders as you excitedly wait for him to comply. And he does, hesitantly getting closer to the cake and not doing anything for a few seconds before blowing the candles. A laugh of pure relief escapes your lips once the candles are off, tapping his shoulders gently before letting go.

"Good man. I made the cake, y'know?" You start cutting the cake, making sure to cut an extra big piece for him— with what little he has told you about himself, you can tell it's been a while since he got celebrated— If it even happened at all.

"I can tell." He replies teasingly, tone full of humor as he gets up and narrowly misses a punch thrown his way. He can't help but let out a small laugh, getting into a playful fighting position, pretending to throw a few punches your way and making a show out of making sound effects for each one. None of his punches connect, of course, but you use the opening he left to smear a little bit of frosting on his arm, making him groan loudly.

"Bloody hell." He grumbles, the cheeky smile you shoot him making him playfully roll his eyes. He eventually settles down, sitting in bed and lifting his balaclava halfway, tasting the sweet treat. He takes his time to savor it, nodding his head in approval as he looks down at you before digging in again.

" 'S good." He praises after another bite, attention now fully on the piece of chocolate cake on his plastic plate. You take this moment to admire the exposed half of his face— his soft jawline and thin pink lips, hints of a stubble covering his cheek and chin, a little bit of his eyeblack tainting his cheeks as well. You feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles, grasping at straws just to admire him.

He gives you a side eye and you look back down at your plate, starting to taste the cake as well, as if you weren't just staring at him like an infatuated hyena. You're too deep in thought to even realize his eyes are on you until you feel his finger smearing frosting on your nose, a laugh of pure disbelief escaping your lips.

"You little cunt—"

[honeydippedfiction]

Finally a fellow J Herbert lover😭 can I get 19 and 24 from the established relationship with him please?

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#19. Staring at your lips when you talk. & #24. Giving up their seat to let you sit or pulling you to sit on their lap.

Justin Herbert x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

There was a time when Justin Herbert could’ve sworn he was good at keeping his cool.

He’d been trained for pressure since high school—third and long, lights glaring, crowd roaring, game on the line. That was his comfort zone. The chaos never rattled him. He read defenses like open books, stayed calm in collapsing pockets, and shrugged off sacks like they were minor inconveniences.

But none of that prepared him for her.

She’d talk, and he’d forget how to blink.

It didn’t matter what she was saying—something about her day, a funny video she saw, some story from work that he probably should’ve been following. But the second she leaned forward, lip gloss catching the light just right, her voice soft and animated—Justin was gone. Floored. Silent.

Sometimes, he’d catch himself mid-thought, halfway to replying, but completely blank on what she’d actually said.

And when she smiled, like really smiled, he felt it in his chest, like a clean hit right to the heart.

“Babe, are you even listening?” she’d ask, amused, one brow raised.

He'd snap out of it, blushing faintly like he just got flagged for pass interference. “Yeah… yeah, of course.” Total lie. He couldn’t remember the last sentence she said, but he could describe her lip color down to the undertones.

Justin was down bad, no other way to put it. That big, towering quarterback energy meant nothing when she walked into the room.

He was in love. Fully. Helplessly.

And God help him, he couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯

"You're not listening to me again," she said one afternoon, giving him that playful, narrowed look as they sat on the couch. Her legs were curled underneath her, hoodie sleeves pulled past her palms, and her lips—God, those lips—were glistening pink with a hint of shimmer.

Justin blinked like he was waking from a trance, rubbing the back of his neck with a guilty grin. "No, I am. I swear."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then what did I just say?"

His mouth opened. Nothing came out. Not a word. She smirked, shaking her head like she already knew the answer.

He laughed, sheepish and utterly smitten. “Okay, fine. I was distracted.”

“By what?”

He leaned in, low and easy, brushing his thumb over her chin like he couldn’t help himself. “By your lips,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth that bloomed in her smile betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he said, leaning back. “But it’s true.”

It was always like this. The man who stared down defensive ends without blinking somehow couldn’t stop staring at the way her lips moved when she talked. He’d memorize every shade she wore—glossy mauve, honey nude, cherry tint—like it mattered, like it was a detail that could save his life someday.

And it wasn’t just that. Justin had never been a touchy guy—not in public, not really at all. But around her? He couldn’t help himself.

They were at a teammate’s BBQ once, lounging in a yard full of folding chairs and too much beer. She stood nearby, chatting with a group of people she didn’t even know that well, sipping lemonade through a straw with that same devastating gloss on her lips. Justin was seated, half in a conversation, but mostly watching her from across the patio like a man possessed.

When she came over, looking for a spot to sit, he stood up without hesitation.

She blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“Sit,” he interrupted gently, nodding at the chair.

When she hesitated again, he reached out and pulled her down—not onto the chair, but into his lap.

The laughter around them didn’t faze him. Teammates elbowed each other, cracked jokes about the quarterback being “down astronomical,” but Justin didn’t even look up.

She laughed, settling against him with an arm around his shoulders, her cheek brushing his. “You know they’re talking about you, right?”

“I don’t care,” he murmured into her skin.

She looked at him, brows raised.

“I’d give up my seat every time,” he said. “Or just keep you here.”

“Here?” she echoed, smiling.

He nodded. “Exactly here.”

✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯✯¸.•´¨*•✿ ✿•*¨`•.¸✯

Later that night, when they were alone again—lights low, music playing soft through a speaker—he pulled her close once more, guiding her onto his lap again without asking. Her head rested against his chest, and he held her like something precious, fingers tracing idle patterns on her thigh.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked, voice quiet now, more curious than teasing.

“What?”

“Pull me into your lap. Give me the chair. Like I’m royalty or something.”

He thought for a second, then kissed the top of her head.

“Because I want you close,” he said simply. “And if I can’t be staring at your lips, I need to at least be holding you.”

She laughed, full and genuine, and he felt it vibrate through him. Like home.

He knew what people saw when they looked at him—NFL star, franchise quarterback, six-foot-six of textbook cool. But that version of him didn’t matter when she was around.

With her, he wasn’t trying to be calm or in control. He wanted to be ridiculous. Soft. A little whipped.

He was all in, no hesitation. Down bad, and loving every second of it.

She shifted slightly in his lap, turning just enough to study him. The room had gone quiet except for the low hum of music and the occasional distant sound of traffic outside the window. Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, and he looked up at her, eyes searching, caught between awe and ache.

“You really don’t hear a word I say when I’ve got lip gloss on, huh?” she murmured, amused.

Justin gave a slow, helpless smile. “Not a single one.”

“You poor thing.”

“I’m suffering,” he deadpanned, and it made her laugh again—but softer this time, more thoughtful.

And then, she finally put him out of his misery.

She leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving him just enough time to lose his breath but not enough to recover it. Her lips pressed against his—warm, soft, and slick with the very gloss that had been tormenting him all day. A kiss that wasn’t hurried, wasn’t flashy, but full of something real and quiet and deep. Something that said, I see you. I want you just as bad.

Justin melted into it, hand sliding up to the back of her neck, the other gripping her waist like he never wanted to let go. And maybe he didn’t.

When she finally pulled back, just a few inches, her eyes were soft, her smile knowing.

“There,” she whispered, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. “Feel better now?”

He nodded, lips parted, a little dazed.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Way better.”

And as she curled against his chest again, both of them sinking into the moment like it was made just for them, Justin knew—no touchdown, no record, no roaring stadium could compare to this.

This was the win.

[dc418writes]

•Lemons & Limes•

✨Pairing✨: Terrence Richmondxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Safe to say, maybe you shouldn’t be left alone…and you should probably listen to your husband

🚨: mention of a deceased relative, pretty much all fluff💕

A/N🎤: hi☺️! So this is my submission for Terry’s Birthday Bash created by @megamindsecretlair ! I think it’s such a great and sweet idea that’ll definitely add some much needed fun to the community🌸! Feel free to participate if you’d like, and don’t forget to support the other submissions!

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

You just had to mess with that electrical panel.

All you had to do was wait until Terry came home so he could try to figure out what happened, - like he told you to do - but no. That overly confident, hyper-independent part of you was so convinced you could fix it after recalling an episode of some home renovation show that you half watched as you occasionally dozed off.

“Seems easy enough, I just flip the switch off and on, and things should work again,” you said to yourself as you opened the mounted panel. Sure enough, all the lights in the house switched off after pushing the large black switch to the left. When you pushed it to the right though, you were still surrounded by darkness. You tried again, and again, yet still nothing prompting your subdued panic to boil over.

Now here you sat in your husband’s Ford truck, nervously twirling your thumbs around themselves as you waited for him to get you both checked in at a nearby hotel. And of all days, on his birthday.

The chill of the night air briefly touching your skin has goosebumps raising along your arms as Terry slides into the drivers seat with a sigh.

“Everything okay?”

“They’re booked,” he answers pulling the seatbelt across his body until it locks with a click. “And so is every other hotel in town.” Gotta love college basketball playoff season.

“Oh…well one night without lights-,”

“We don’t know how long it’s gonna take to fix,” he counters carefully pulling out onto the busy road. “Might even have to re-wire everything, which could mean more than a night without lights.”

Well if you didn’t feel terrible before..

“It’s a motel about 30 minutes out. We can stay there tonight and figure out the rest tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you shyly mumble beginning to nervously twirl your thumbs again. Just as to the hotel, Terry doesn’t say a word during the ride to your next destination and you don’t either. The only sound coming from the truck’s rumble and the radio station playing a mix of old and new R&B.

You’re sure he’s just quiet because he’s trying to think of what to do next; how to handle your house’s faulty wiring and its impending cost. His silence only makes your guilt more suffocating though, convinced that it might be you and your hardheaded tendencies that’s finally snapped his last nerve.

“What do you wanna eat?,” he finally asks turning down the busy strip filled with bright, neon signs for clubs, bars, and restaurants. Admittedly most weren’t outwardly pleasing, but you could still find a good meal and an equally good time.

You shrug. “M’not really hungry.”

“…what all did you eat today?,” he asks taking turns looking at you and the cars ahead.

“Um…breakfast with you earlier…and some crackers...”

After turning into the drive thru for Wingz & Thingz, you can feel Terry’s sea-green eyes practically attached to the side of your face. That famous side eye already saying, “Girl please, we both know you starving so why you playin games?,” before he could.

“What?,” you ask daring to meet his eyes pretending like you didn’t know that he knew something was up. He simply kisses his teeth before answering the employee through the staticky speaker.

“Can I get a 10 piece hot honey, extra wet, with fries, and a 15 piece lemon pepper please?”

“I said-,”

“I heard you,” he retorts with a hint of a smirk to his full lips that has you bashfully biting at the corner of yours.

“Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

-

The rusted, metal door of your room opens with a heavy thud as it knocks against the adjoining wall making it rattle. Ever the protector, Terry has you stand outside - but still close by - while he checks to make sure nothing is off. Both of your respective duffles slung over his broad shoulders as if they weighed nothing.

“It’s good,” he calls signaling it’s okay for you to enter. However once you cross the doorway, you can’t fully say you agree on ‘good’. The multicolored, geometric comforter was something straight out of the 70s, which matched the orangish-red carpet and overall aesthetic of the outdated room. Gingerly sitting in the light brown, swivel chair next to the window, you feel that pang of guilt again taking in your slightly depressing surroundings, and how all of this is ultimately your fault.

“I know it’s not the best, but-,”

“Are you mad at me?,” you finally ask just wanting everything out in the open rather than your mind constantly go back and forth.

“Why would I be mad?,” he asks with a quirked brow as he sets your bags to the side.

“Because I didn’t listen and messed up everything. Because we’re here in this room with questionable stains on the carpet, and I’m sure equally strange ones on the sheets, on your birthday when we should home and you stretched out in your favorite chair.” You could hear the brown leather crackle and pop now as he shifted to get more comfortable before eventually reaching out for you as you passed to join him. Hell, it was your favorite chair too.

“First off, I haven’t been excited about my birthday since I was…what..16? So I wasn’t expecting anything huge,” he replies stepping closer and closer until he can squat in front of you placing his large hands on your knees. “And I’m not mad at you. That’s what’s been bothering you?”

“Well, you barely talked in the car which is different than how you were this morning. Clearly it’s something and I figured it was me being hardheaded.”

“Respectfully baby, I knew you were hardheaded before we got married and know it’s not gonna change no time soon. I made my bed, I know how to lie in it.” Your feigned shock and playful smack to Terry’s shoulder has all his 32 showing in that adorable laugh of his.

“Hey, at least I admit it!” Unlike your own mother who swore she didn’t know where you got it from.

“You right.” Terry’s laughs settle into a low sigh as he lets his thumbs run along the insides of your knees. “Really though, I’m more frustrated and annoyed than mad. Again, not at you. My damn half-brained cousin should’ve been come to look at the wires, but it was always something. Guess I’m no better though still calling when I know he’s not gonna show.

“So if anything, all this is my fault. I know you were just trying to help.”

“It’s not your fault either,” you try to soothe resting your hands on either side of his neck. Your manicured nails lightly scratching his nape has a low hum of appreciation rumbling his chest. “Really, it’s whoever stayed there last because they knew and didn’t say nothing. I hope they always stump their pinky toe.”

“Damn, so violent.” You simply shrug making your husband deeply chuckle with a shake of his head. “Alright food first or shower?”

“Food! I’m starving and honestly scared of that bathroom...”

“Oh now you starvin?,” Terry smirks gently pulling you out of the chair. “Could’ve sworn-,”

“Yes I know, I know it’s in the past now,” you playfully roll your eyes shooing him towards your waiting containers. “Food please?”

With his back turned, you hope he doesn’t notice you sneakily digging into your bag to retrieve his gift wrapped neatly in shiny, silver paper. You should’ve known better though seeing that your husband was an ex marine trained to be hyperaware of his environment.

“I know that’s not what I think it is,” Terry announces as soon as you stand up again. His thick arms crossed in front of his chest when he turns around. “You didn’t have-,”

“I heard you,” you smirk stepping closer with his gift in hand. “It’s still your birthday though, and if you think I’m not getting you anything at all, you clearly don’t know me.”

You don’t miss the small smile that curls his lips when he takes the rectangular box making you giddily smile yourself. Once he’s ripped through the paper, his chest tightens at the familiar, gold, Casio watch waiting in its clear case. The underside purposely facing upward so Terry could see the inscription of his initials and a set of coordinates.

“It’s where your uncle was stationed. I talked with your grandma and she helped me find it.”

Terry adored his uncle Louie, practically idolizing him since he was a child. Wherever Louie went, little Terry wanted to go eagerly standing by his room door with shoes on the wrong foot waiting for him to walk out. Some of Terry’s best memories were riding around in the passenger seat of his black on black mustang - much to his grandmother’s displeasure - with the windows down as they sped down the highway going any and everywhere. Louie was ultimately the reason he signed up for the military, still wanting to be like his infamous uncle even in his young adult years.

Terry still had a hard time forgiving himself for missing the funeral. Was honestly still pissed at his higher ups for not approving his request.

“He’d understand baby. He knows how them people can be,” his grandmother tried to comfort over the phone. “He knows how much you love him.”

“She wasn’t quite sure if it was the same one-,”

“It’s perfect.” As many times as he got in trouble for putting it on, he’d be able to pick it out from any lineup. “Thank you.”

Free hand on your hip, he pulls your body closer so his lips can meet yours immediately taking the day’s earlier stresses away.

“Happy Birthday. It’s not exactly how I envisioned giving it to you, but-,”

“I don’t care about presentation and all that. I’m breathing. I’m with you. I promise that’s all I need baby.”

+ so I feel like this didn’t come out the way I wanted, but then again maybe it’s just me 🤷🏽‍♀️ lol. Either way I hope you enjoyed🌸 and Happy Birthday to my imaginary husband and baby fahtha Mr. Terry Richmond🥰✨!!

[mistiell]

We Keep this Love in a Photograph

summary: since Joel gifted you a polaroid camera for your birthday, you've developed a habit of sneaking pictures of him whenever possible. He doesn't think he's worth the film "wasted" (His words, not yours), but after catching you looking over your accumulated gallery, you manage to win him over.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Joel's a little self conscious, Reader's gender isn't specified, and they have hair but the length isn't specified either. If I accidentally did use a gendered term, lmk and I shall fix it. <3 NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: HOLY SHIT I'M BACK!!! This fic was inspired by this TikTok. I saw it and the Joel obsession possessed me so viscerally I had to make a comeback lmao.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

It started on your birthday.

You’d shared with Joel one evening, wrapped warm and snug in his arms within your soft haven of sheets, during one of those late night conversations where vulnerability doesn’t seem like a thing so daunting, that you used to love photography. Loved immortalizing things you loved or things you found beautiful. He’d asked what kind of camera you’d had, what kind of things you usually took pictures of.

“Polaroid.” you’d told him softly, fighting you keep your eyes open with his tracing shapes into the curve of your waist. “And I already told you. Whatever I found beautiful.”

The morning of your birthday, you woke to the smell of coffee and a clumsily wrapped box sitting on your bedside table with a note taped to the top; Happy birthday, honey. Love, Joel. And in smaller print near the bottom left corner; P.S. Wait until I’m here to open it. Wanna see your face.

You’d smiled, bashful, brushed your teeth in record time, scooped up the box, and made your way downstairs towards the sound sizzling and the tapping of a spatula on a pan. He gave you a good morning kiss, pretended to make a fuss about waiting until after breakfast to open it and watched with a smile as you carefully tore it open, popped off the lid, and visibly softened at first sight of the contents.

It was a polaroid camera. Coincidentally, the very same one you’d had twenty years ago.

You’d cried, he’d panicked. You hugged him so fiercely, any worry that he’d fucked the whole thing vanished as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you close.

That was months ago, and in the time since, you’ve accumulated quite the gallery. You take pictures of just about anything and everything, but your main muse is Joel.

Which is what’s led you to have half a shoe box full of polaroid of mostly him. He’s no idea of your little stash, and you intend to keep it that way. You’ve come to learn he’s got a thing about being photographed. Always nitpicking his appearance no matter what you say. He asks sometimes when he catches you why you don’t choose something nicer to look at, and your answer is generally always the same. There is nothing nicer. He walks into a room, and all you want to look at is him. Yeah, he’s got some more lines, got some more meat on his bones, his hair is a little more grey than it is brown these days. But he doesn’t see it the way you do.

He’s got crows feet and smile lines etched almost as deep as the crease between his brows. He looks healthy now that he’s actually got food to eat, meals you’re both sure to share every morning in your kitchen and every evening in the dining hall. His greys are a tangible reminder that he’s alive, that he’s survived, and that he now gets to live, and you’re incomprehensibly grateful for every russet strand turned silver. He’s all the more beautiful for all of it. And here, tucked into your armchair, polaroid pinched between thumb and forefinger, you get to commit every little detail picked up by your camera to memory.

Your gaze follows the sloping curve of his lovely nose, profile softened by the sun shining white behind. It’s only one half of his face, but the beaming smile he’s sporting makes you feel whole. His hair was just starting to get longer, then, curling near his nape and flicking round his ears to kiss his jaw.

“What’s all this?” You startle, head leaning into the plush back of the chair to look at him upside down as you press the pictures into your diaphragm. He seems curious, if a little confused.

Caught, you swallow, “If I said nothing, would you believe me?”

“Not for a second.” He smiles teasingly, bending to give you a quick peck, bottom lip warm where it slots between yours. Your hold on the photos loosens, and when his gaze dips to them, the smile shifts into something closer to a frown, a little cagey, “S’ that me?”

“Yeah.” You answer simply, before joking tentatively, “Swear I’m not a creep. You’re just pretty.”

“See now, that’s exactly what a creep would say.” He teases, and you’re glad for it – that he’s not upset. Rounding the chair, he sits on the arm, elbow propped up on the soft back of it and knuckles warm on the nape of your neck.

“Pretty.” He echoes, blowing a short puff of air out his nose, “Never been called that before.”

“Well, you are.”

He smiles again, bashful and a little disbelieving. There’s a short moment where he just looks at you like that, backs of his fingers sliding down your spine a few notches then back up in a tender line before he juts his chin toward your collection. “Show me?”

Warmth blooms in your stomach and fizzes up behind your sternum. You grin, handing him the one you were holding before sifting through the shoe box for your best works. He accepts your compliments and sweet talking reluctantly, but hangs onto your every word as you describe where you were, what you were doing, what made you sneak the picture in the first place.

You start to worry his limited responses mean he’s gotten caught up in his head until his hand slides up the side of your neck and settles over the side of your head, the warmth of his calloused palm encompassing the entirety of your ear as he guides your temple to his lips.

“Love you.” He murmurs into your hair, and the warmth sizzles like its carbonated, bubbling and burbling within the cage of your ribs.

You turn your face, slip your fingers beneath the curtain of hair at his nape and lift your chin to kiss him soft and slow. He rubs an affectionate line into the soft skin behind your hear as he hums, vibrations thrumming against your lips.

You lean back just enough to murmur, “I love you to.”

He smiles, kisses you again. And again. And once more. He asks you to show him more of your pictures, and you oblige. It’s early evening when you’re finally through, at which point Ellie’s come home and Joel’s started on dinner. You let her sift through the polaroids while you move to join Joel at the counter.

You won’t realize until later that she’s snuck a photo of the two of you by the stove, Joel’s large palm on the small of your back where you’ve taken over stirring a pot, gazing at you like you’re the only thing he’d like to listen to for the rest of his days as you talk and talk and talk.

That one, he hangs on the fridge.

[xhoneygirlxx]

Fade Me

Older!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: your night is ruined when your date is a no show. maybe the handsome stranger at the end of the bar can fix it.

warnings: slight angst. reader is 30, Eddie is early 40s. Modern au! Reader's date sucks. Eddie is a sweetheart. Fluff. Swearing. Shitty writing and grammar mistakes!!! Not proofread!!!! Also Minors go away, I'm an 18+ blog.

*if I missed anything lmk

a/n: WELCOME TO MY BIRTHDAY BASH EVERYONE!!!!!!! I'm so excited to be celebrating with all of you guys!! This isn't my best work but I think its cute and that's all that matters. Love you all and hope you guys like this <3

Oh, maybe, you could devastate me.

Little lady, come and fade me.

Everything at the moment was pissing you off, setting spark to the last small fuse that sat within you. The pain from sitting on the hard bar stool was shooting pain right to your tailbone, not going away no matter how many times you switch your position. The unforgiving squeeze of the uncomfortable heels radiated pain all over your feet and you knew they would be swollen in the morning. The group of rowdy girls at the back of the bar were shrieking with joy over something you have no idea about, but you did know that you wanted to drag all of them by their scalp and remove them from the bar. 

This was stupid, so fucking stupid, and you knew from the very start that it wasn’t going to work. It never does and the next time you see your friends, they aren't going to hear the end of it. Dating sites and dating in general were things you didn’t like to partake in and for good reason. 

Out of all your friends, you happened to be the only single one and you were fine with that, but they weren’t. They begged you, since the moment you broke up with your college sweetheart, to get back out into the dating world. It was actually irritating that they cared so much about your relationship status so much, if you were hooking up with anyone, all under the guise of wanting you to be happy. Truthfully they did want you to be happy and they knew you craved having a relationship, but you were pissed and wanted to stew in your own anger.

Well, right now you were everything but happy. In fact you were furious. Furious with yourself, with them, and most importantly your stupid ass date, Luke. After your thirtieth birthday, your friends all but tackled your phone out of your grasp, making you a stupid tinder profile. 

“Thirty is the new twenty one, babe,” Dahlia said as she and the two other girls scrolled through pictures to post. 

Twenty one your ass, you think, especially with the way you’re fighting a yawn at only nine thirty on a Friday night. 

So you gave in, swiped on a few different people who snatched your attention, one of them being Luke. He was handsome, smiling brightly with a bottle of Corona in his hand and a pair of Raybans perched on the bridge of his nose. His bio was simple, straight to the point, and it was the least douchey thing you’ve read while on the app. 

After making short conversation, you learned that he was an investment banker, working in the Citibank building downtown. His interests were the same as yours, very shy yet loved to have a good time with friends. The best selling point was his dog, Cali, that could be seen in a few of the other pictures he had. 

You were sold, with his witty banter and the fact that he had his life together at thirty two didn’t make the decision hard, especially when all the other people you know that are your age don’t have a solid plan. Which in argument's sake is fine, however you weren’t getting any younger and the want to get married and start a life with someone was getting strong, even though you’d never admit it to your friends. 

So that’s why you’re sitting in a swanky bar in downtown Indy, waiting patiently for your date, who happens to be an hour late, in a dress you spent sixty dollars on. It was a pathetic feeling really, putting this much faith into a stranger in the hopes of finding the one. It’s actually why you didn’t want to do it in the first place and why your friends would have to face your wrath when you get home. 

The buzzing of your phone on the wooden bar jolts you awake, the wave of adrenaline coursing through your veins making your heart pump erratically. 

IMessage 

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand. 

With a defeated sigh you turn your phone face down, not having the energy to cuss the asshole out for making you wait so long. Pulling your focus on the bartender, you flag him over and order a martini. Dry martini. Very dry. 

When the man places the glass in front of you, he gives you a weak smile as if he knows what’s happening. He probably does know what’s happening, he’s probably seen this happen more times than he’d like to admit and it only adds to your frustration. 

Muttering a small thanks, you take a big swig from the crystal glass, letting the liquor burn down your esophagus. It hits your stomach causing an instant burn, more fuel to the fire that’s been shimmering below the surface. The pity you started to feel has now turned into a new found rage. 

Quickly picking up your phone, you ignore the burn from the sting of the bright light, and tap on Luke’s text. 

Staring at it, you can feel the fire ripping through your body, all the anger and embarrassment you’ve let build up while sitting here coming out as you read his last message. 

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand.  

You: That would’ve been awesome to know about an hour ago. Thank you for wasting my Friday night asshole. 

Before you can text more insults, a gruff voice interrupts the quick tapping of your acrylic nails on the screen.  

“Trust me sweetheart, he’s not worth it.” Pulling your gaze from your phone, you try to find the owner of the voice. 

Turning to your right you see him, two seats away from you, tucked away into the corner at the end of the bar. You’re not sure when he got there or if he’s been there the whole time but his presence alone is pissing you off. You’re ready to aim your dagger like tongue at him and tell him to go fuck himself when you take in his appearance. 

A plain black tee shirt pulled taunt across his broad chest, tattooed arms squeezed by the material just right. On his hands sits more black ink and nice silver rings, gleaming in the low light of the bar. His hair is brown with a streak or two of salt and pepper mixed in, wisps of hair framing his face from where it fell out of the low bun it’s been pulled into. The crows feet by his eyes are fitting, especially when his dimpled smile is peaking through from where it sits behind his glass of whiskey. 

He seems older, at least from the discolored hair and stubble on his chin, but he’s very handsome. Actually he’s hot and if you weren’t so mad right now, you’d be flirting with him. That’s not the case though, not when he has a smug ass smile on his face like he’s all knowing. 

“What d’you know?” You bite back, waiting for the handsome stranger to answer. When he takes more than a second to answer, you cock an eyebrow at him like it’s taking him too long. 

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” He replies cooly, putting his glass down on the coaster, “Don’t text her, it’s not worth it.” When his eyes meet yours, you can’t help but stop breathing. 

Big brown eyes looking right at you, so soft and gentle. You sink into the warmth of his eyes on you, almost letting yourself drift away. But you’re mad and this stranger is the perfect person to let it all out on. 

“No they’re not a she, and even if it was you don’t know anything.” You look back down at your phone, tapping away at your keyboard finishing what you had started. When you hear him huff out a laugh, the frown that was on your face before quickly deepens. 

“You’re right, sweetheart, I don’t know anything. What I do know is when a pretty girl like yourself has been sitting alone at a bar for longer than an hour and suddenly starts tapping away on that thing, like you are right now, I know she’s been stood up.” 

His statement brings you right back out of your phone, willing yourself not to wipe that ‘know it all’ look right off of his pretty face. Your scowl is piercing right through him, hating the way that he could see right through you and yet not having a clue who you were. 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” He throws his hands up in surrender, “But I promise, whatever douche made someone as stunning as you, wait in a bar this long for ‘em, doesn’t deserve you. Plus, you’re too pretty to be lookin’ that angry.” He picks his glass up, finishing off the rest before nodding to the bartender for another. 

In any other situation you’d be telling them off, yelling at them to get lost, but something about this stranger feels different. You could write it off and say it’s because he’s attractive but in all actuality, it’s because he’s gentle when he says it. His eyes aren’t roaming your body like some pig, hoping to get into your panties by sweet talking to you. It’s like he actually cares about you, the stranger in her pretty dress who has been stood up by her date, like he’s known you his whole life. 

Slowly you set your phone down, relaxing the sour look on your face, and you take a deep breath. The last thing you want to do is cry, especially in a bar, and especially in front of the caring hot stranger. 

“Is it that obvious?” You ask shyly, picking up your martini glass for another sip. The man shakes his head, moving his posture so that he’s leaning towards you. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, “Don’t start thinking down on yourself. Yes it was a little obvious but my suspicion grew more when you didn’t order a drink after sitting at a bar for five minutes.” 

The statement makes you laugh wetly when he says it, a single tear escaping your eye causing you to wipe it hoping it’s not noticeable. If he sees it, he doesn’t say anything, instead moving over to the seat next to you. 

“Listen, don’t let whatever dickhead person ruin your night. From what I’ve witnessed you’re a pretty badass chick, so whatever frat bro did this to you should be scared.” An inked hand places a white napkin in front of you, a peace offering that you’re quick to take. 

“That’s the worst part, he’s not even a frat bro. He’s a finance bro.” When you chance a look up at him, he’s looking right back at you, pearly white teeth staring at you. 

In a split second he’s laughing, a deep belly kind of laugh with his head thrown back. As much as you want to defend yourself, tell him that Luke wasn’t your first choice, you can’t. Following suit, you start giggling as well, placing the white napkin to the corner of your eye to collect any unushered tears. 

“I gotta tell you sugar, that’s even worse.” The pet name doesn’t get lost on you, heart stuttering the minute it falls from his lips. Trying to pull yourself together, hoping he didn’t see the way you stiffened at the name, you clear your throat. 

“Tell me about it,” You playfully roll your eyes, taking a sip of what’s left of your drink. 

When you move your sight back over to him, he’s leaning back, dimples showing off, almost like he knows something you don’t. He does know something however, he knows that he has some sort of effect on you, watching you with pink flushing your cheeks and it’s not from the alcohol. 

“So,” You break the silence, “Sugar, huh?” You furrow your brows questioningly and it only makes him smile bigger than before. 

When he leans forward you catch a whiff of his scent, pine and cedar, musky and smoky. He’s even prettier up close and your eyes are trying to map out every detail of him so that you can remember it when you go to sleep tonight, dreaming of the good looking stranger who made your night better. 

“Well, between the softness of your laugh and your scowl that could kill,” his voice is low and husky, saying a secret for only you to hear, “You have a little bit of sugar and spice. Kind of like that cartoon with the badass power wielding girls.” 

“Do you mean the PowerPuff Girls?” Cocking your head to the side you laugh, his true age showing in the way that he described the Cartoon Network show. 

“I’m showing my true age, huh? Well, in my defense I was fifteen and you probably weren’t born yet.” His crows feet become more defined. Shaking your head, you wave to the bartender for another martini. 

“Actually, I was five but you were close enough.” His eyes go wide in shock with your admission. When another glass is placed in front of you, you send a smile to the bartender and he gives you one back. 

Looking back at the man next to you, you raise an eyebrow, questioning why he’s so surprised at your age. Blowing out a big breath it seems he’s been holding the whole time, he takes a swig of his own drink. 

“Sorry, I just,” he sighs, looking back up at you quizzingly, “wow, you’re really thirty?” Although there’s no malice behind his question, you can’t help but frown at him. He notices and immediately back tracks. 

“Fuck, no not like that I just meant,” You wait for him to dig himself a deeper hole. When he finally gets his thoughts together, he looks at you, really looks at you and it makes you want to melt. “Listen, I really didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Honestly, I felt like a perv when I first started talkin’ to you, thinkin’ you were like twenty one. When you said you were thirty, I was just surprised, that’s all. Maybe a little excited knowing I might have a chance.” 

You take in what he says to you, how sincere his voice is, and you know he isn’t lying. You don’t want to give in so fast though, you want him to sweat it out a bit. So you take a sip of your drink, your eyebrow still arched in fake annoyance. With an extra shot of courage, you look over at him, fake pout on your red stained lip. 

“How can you have a chance when I don’t even know your name?” Your voice is like silk, smooth and soft. The older man clearly likes it, the way a smirk is formed on his pink kissable lips is a clear indicator. 

“M’Eddie, Eddie Munson,” He offers you his ringed hand for a handshake, “And you are?” You give him your name and he hums with delight. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” 

You snort loudly at his comment, covering your mouth to stop from any further laughter from falling from your lips. Eddie arches an eyebrow at you, questioning what you found so funny. 

“I’m sorry, that was just so corny.” Another giggle slips from you and the cool facade he had crumples, laughing along with you. 

“S’pretty bad, huh?’ He scrunches his nose and you think it might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Yeah it was bad, who told you that would work?” You take a sip of your martini and look at him from over the rim of your glass. 

Chuckling and shaking his head, Eddie rubs his forehead as if he’s stressed. Now he’s the one fumbling and nervous, you got him in the palm of your hand. 

“Goodness, it was going so well too.” You continue to tease, the playfulness dripping from your voice. Looking over at you Eddie can’t help but smile, those damn dimples back on display. 

“You’re trouble, sugar.” It’s said with the utmost confidence and it has you blushing.

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet, babe.” It’s an invitation for him to find out and you hope he catches it. 

“How about I find out on Sunday over dinner and some drinks? What do you say?” Eddie leans into you when he says it, getting the closest he’s been to you, letting his husky voice fill your ears. 

Trying to hide the chill that runs up your back and the excitement that settles in your belly, you lean in just as close. “I’d say you have a date, pretty boy.” 

The two of you stay like that for a minute, smiling like giddy teens. Breaking away from the small moment, he pulls his phone out from his pocket, unlocking it and opening up the phone app to type in a new contact. 

Handing you the phone, his face seems boyish and giddy, you’re sure if he wasn’t sitting he’d be bouncing on the ball of his feet. Typing in your number, you shyly smile up at him handing back his phone. 

“I better hear from you Eddie Munson or finance bro won’t be the only one gettin’ his ass kicked.” Pointing a finger at him, you try your best to look as mean as possible but your plan quickly fails when you see his eyes shining at you. 

“Yes ma’am.” Throwing a wink at you, he reaches into his wallet and pulls a crisp hundred out and places it on the bar top. “I’ll be seein’ you soon, sugar.” Wrapping his fingers around yours, he places a kiss to the back of your hand. 

The feeling of his lips on your skin makes you ache for more, and the moment it’s gone you wish you can make him do it again. Pulling your lip in between your teeth, you look up at him like he’s hung the stars. 

The moment is cut short when the bartender asks Eddie if he wants change. Surprisingly he doesn’t look at the older man with anger for ruining it, instead he gives him a nice smile. 

“No Paul, the change is all yours. Also, this beautiful young lady’s drinks are on my tab.” Nodding his head, the bartender thanks Eddie for the generous tip. 

Pulling his attention back to you, he cuts you off before you can chastise him for paying. “Let me pay for the pretty girl who made my whole night, it’s the least I can do.” 

Rolling your eyes, you try hard to not let him see how flustered you are. When he bids you a goodnight, you can’t help but feel the ache of his absence. The whole time you’re in the Lyft home you think of him, staring out the window and replaying everything in your head. 

Once you get home, you sit in silence on the end of your bed, not worrying about the shower you need to take. You can’t believe the luck you had in meeting Eddie and a part of you wants to thank Luke for not showing up. 

The ding of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, your heartbeat picking up when you read your screen. 

Maybe Eddie: Hey it’s Eddie, just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I wanted to ask if you could thank that loser for not showin up, he really did both of us a favor tonight. 

When you read it, you can’t help but giggle a little. Although corny and maybe a little dorky, Eddie had thought the same thing as you and for some reason it sent the butterflies in your tummy on a rampage. 

Maybe Eddie: You’re totally laughing at me right now, aren’t you?

Bursting into laughter, your tummy flips in excitement, imagining him blushing on the other side of the phone. Tapping away on your screen, you send him a reply. 

You: Oh you know it 😉

You: Thank you for making sure I got home by the way, I appreciate it. 

Eddie: I should’ve known. Glad you got home in one piece. 

Eddie: Night, sugar. See you Sunday 🖤

Fuck a text, you were going to send Luke a thank you card and maybe some chocolate.

I hope you guys liked this! I can't wait to continue this week with all of you! See you all tomorrow with the next fic :)

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[asapeveryday]

WBB MASTERLiST ★彡

I only write x-reader!

PAiGE BUECKERS

SERIES: THE LAST TIME -after a non-commital hookup at paige's halloween-birthday bash, your relationship with her turns more personal than either of you can handle

The Last Time Part 1 (smut)

The Last Time Part 2

The Last Time Part 3 (smut)

The Last Time Part 4 (smut)

SHOCK FACTOR -mild trash talk, a shady interview, and an even shadier live leaves the internet crazy over beef between you and paige. it doesn't seem too important till your teammates want to go on a road trip. first stop? connecticut

Shock Factor Part 1 (rival!bball player x paige)

Shock Factor Part 2 (rival!bball player x paige)

Shock Factor Part 3 (rival!bball player x paige)

Shock Factor Part 4 (rival!bball player x paige)

Shock Factor Part 5 (rival!bball player x paige)

Shock Factor Part 6 (rival!bball player x paige) (smut)

FTF -you watch as paige get's a little too friendly with a freshman on uconn's media team. she notices

Fuck the Freshman (1/2) (media girl x paige)

Fuck the Freshman (2/2) (media girl x paige) (smut)

BONFIRE/BP -tipsy makeouts at a uconn bonfire leave you wanting to see more of her. it doesn't hurt that the next time you see her features more alcohol, and a pool

Bonfire (1/2)

BP (2/2) (smut)

NOCTUARY - TLOU AU -in a world where every day is a battle to stay alive and uninfected by the cordycepts virus, she catches you at the right time and saves your life. with nowhere else to go, it seems she's your ticket to better days...but that doesn't mean they'll be easier (ONGOING). -WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, breif allusions to physical/mental abuse, toxic relationships and perceptions of love, sexual content

Noctuary #1

Noctuary #2

Noctuary #3

Noctuary #4

Noctuary #5

Noctuary #6

Noctuary #7

ONESHOTS/HEADCANNONS

Pb as your gf!!!

Breath Me In (house party, drug use, smut)

A Little Break? (academic weapon x Paige, smut)

In the Mirror (insecure reader x Paige, smut)

Night Shift (nurse!reader x Paige, smut)

All Night (Paige x reader + honey packets, smut)

No Light, No Armour (knight!paige x princess!reader)(fantasy au)(smut)

More soon..

NiKA MÜHL

We Have Now

Make a Wish (smut)

Swim (smut, angry sex, shower sex)

U Belong To Somebody Else (cheating, smut)

More soon…

—————-

OTHER…

More soon..

[kedsandtubesocks]

AHHHHHHH I HOPE I DIDNT MISS YOUR BIRTHDAYYYYYYY! Happy birthday darling! I hope your day is just as amazing as you are!!!

It feels weird to ask you for something on YOUR birthday, but if you’re up for it, let’s do a 💖🔮

ILYSM OKAY BYEEEEE ♥️♥️♥️♥️

BEE YOU ARRIVED JUST IN TIME AHHHH 🥳

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I know you’ve been taking a break from here so taking the time to come send me warm birthday wishes is so special and I appreciate you 🥺

And oh my goodness it’s all good! Think of it as us playing some fun party games lol it really is because I’m so grateful to be here and all the love y’all give me so this is just a little gift I wanted to give back 🥰

💖 let’s get you a Pedro boyfriend babe

Oh you and dear Joel would be such an endearing match!! Beneath all the gruff and tough surface, he’s so soft and caring especially would be for you. I think you remind me of how warm the simple things can be and how beautiful it is to enjoy taking time for yourself! Plus I have no doubt he would be your BIGGEST fan and supporter! Always tells everyone “my lady’s an artist!” And says it with his chest with his words soaked with pride!!! While Joel is your steady shoulder to find strength in, you are his soft strength like the peace that comes with a good nap that rejuvenates you ♥️

🔮 ooo a tarot reading let’s explore!

I’m gonna keep the Joel loving going for you ☺️

Like I said, Joel is talking about your art all the time! I even think he has you paint on a few things around the house! Lovely flowers and sweet butterflies to lighten up the room, plus it’s a fond literal reminder he gets to see of you around the house

As gruff and serious as he can be, Joel, I believe, at his heart is still a big dorky goof and does that thing where he points at your shirt like “you got a stain there darlin’” and then swipes at your nose so playful and light

He LOVES to serenade you! All forms of country songs that he earnestly whisper sings to you in the comfort of your kitchen to belting out ‘Jolene’ to make you giggle and sing along with him

Thank you again dear Bee I’m wishing you all the best and hope you take care!! 💐🥹

[rillils]

what do you think our boys are doing on this special special day

honey!!!!! ILY💕 but also you caught me on a really low-battery kinda night, so this is the best i could do, but. BUT.

i think steve has plans. i think he wants today to be about self-indulgence first and foremost, and the most self-indulgent thing steve can think of doing, is spoiling bucky rotten since the moment bucky opens his eyes.

i'll tell ya what, i think bucky's getting breakfast in bed.

i think the first thing he's gonna see when he blinks his sleep-sticky eyes open is steve, not next to him in bed as he expected him to be, but carefully backing into the bedroom to hold the door open.

steve's almost bashful grin, blond hair still ruffled on top of his head, old t-shirt and pyjama pants riding low his hips - the entire, strapping 220 lbs of his bulk padding awkwardly into the bedroom with a tray of food in his hands: buttered toast, diced fruit, a nice hot cuppa coffee made just how bucky likes it, a tall stack of pancakes with a single candle sitting brightly right on top, steve's hand cupped before the little wobbly flame so it won't be snuffed out before bucky has a chance to see it.

sweetheart, bucky's gonna think, heart feelin' so tender you'd think he'd had it cooking in a crockpot all day long, sweetheart because that's his stevie through and through, and because that's often the first word on bucky's lips in the morning anyways.

i see steve carrying the goodies to the bed while singing 'happy birthday', a little off-key, a little giddy, almost tripping over a couple times 'cause alpine keeps winding her fluffy body around his ankles - she's a domestic hazard, really -

and when he sets the tray down in front of bucky, eyes twinkling with this youthful sort of hope, like a kid about to unwrap his own presents, and asks bucky to "make a wish, buck", his pink lips sweeter than sin, well bucky almost cracks and tells steve his best-guarded secret.

(it's not really a secret, not to either of them, not these days.)

(he don't need to make no wishes.)

(he's already got everything he's ever wanted, and it's right here, in his bed, offering him a smile and a candle to celebrate his life with. offering him the life bucky's finally happy to celebrate. the life they keep building together, adding to it one day at a time.)

i think they end up feeding each other little morsels of breakfast, like say: a slippery slice of strawberry, a piece of nearly-burnt toast dripping with jam, a forkful of pancake soaked in maple syrup. all sweet, all richly decadent. i don't think they end up eating a lot though, not right away.

they reach for each other, fingers nice an' sticky, lips shiny with butter and syrup, and somehow steve's slipping back under the duvet, nestling low, low between bucky's thighs,

and bucky's toes are curling, his whole body sweet, warmed by steve's mouth, arching into steve's kisses, his fingers licked clean by steve's searing tongue, and it's a good job steve doesn't mind getting his hair tugged on a little, bucky thinks a tad wildly - because when steve scoops some syrup off of the plate with his fingertip, and trails it languidly down the length of bucky's flushed cock just to lap it up with the flat of his tongue, bucky isn't sure he knows how to control his hands anymore.

[astrophileous]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I need anything fluffy (and I mean the most stomach churning, toe curling, quiet screaming fluff please 🥴🩷) for professor!spencer because I am actually frothing at the mouth DO YOU FEEL ME🗣️‼️ (mwah ily kith kith)

I might have written two blurbs for this request and I might have driven myself crazy trying to determine which one I should post so here's to wishing I didn't make the wrong choice 🤞 this one is special for you avis I hope you enjoy it MWAH 💖

Warning(s): gn!reader, I imagine reader being in grad school but you can imagine reader in college as well--that just means there's gonna be an age gap in there, if professor-student romantic dynamics isn't your thing you shouldn't be reading this, profanities(?), established relationship

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Have a good day, my love.

You grinned giddily at the text message popping up on the screen of your phone. Without wasting another second, your thumbs moved swiftly over the keypad as you typed in a response.

You too, honey. See you tonight at dinner <3

"What are you so smiley about?"

You quickly shoved your phone into the pocket of your pants before looking up towards the owner of the voice. Gladys stood to your left with a quizzical tilt to her eyebrows. Her eyes assessed you from head to toe before they landed back on your face.

"I'm not smiley. Who's smiley?"

"You are." Her eyes squinted. "Something smells fishy."

"You should check your bag. Maybe you accidentally threw your cat's wet food in there again."

"That was one time!"

Gladys scampered after you as you made your way into the lecture hall. Akbar was sitting on the third row when you walked in, immediately scooting over to make room for both Gladys and you to slip into your respective seats.

"Hey, did you guys hear?" Akbar asked as soon as you and Gladys plopped down next to him.

"Hear what?" Gladys asked.

"Apparently, some people are saying that Professor Chuckie is hitched."

Gladys' eyes grew comically wide. "He's what?"

Your brain was working in overdrive, trying to decipher whom exactly Akbar had meant by Professor Chuckie. Between him and Gladys, the two of them had a tendency of coming up with dozens of ridiculous code names for every single person they ever encountered in life, to the point where you were constantly struggling to keep up with them all.

"Who's Professor Chuckie again?" you eventually asked.

"Chuckie? From Rugrats?" Gladys hinted.

Your frown deepened. "Who?"

"Oh my God, (Y/N)." Akbar sighed. "You know the man. Fluffy curly hair like Chuckie from Rugrats."

After swimming in a pool of confusion for the next few minutes, Gladys eventually took pity on you and blurted out, "It's Professor Reid, (Y/N). Professor Spencer Reid from Criminology department?"

Your stomach dropped to the floor.

How did they—

"A buddy of mine was at the criminology lab today and told me that everyone was talking about it," Akbar explained. "The Spencer Reid is married. It's a huge news."

"Damn right, it is." Gladys scoffed. "Why are all the fine men in my life already taken? I hate it here."

Akbar rolled his eyes. "Right. As if you ever had a chance with him anyway."

As your two friends proceeded to bicker with one another, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a temporal abyss as your brain tried to process what Akbar had just said.

Spencer Reid is married.

Everyone was talking about it.

A lump formed at the base of your throat as you faced Akbar again, "Hey, how did they—how did your friend find out that Professor Reid was married?"

"He showed up to work with a ring this morning."

Your heart was racing inside your chest. "That's it? Not a very conclusive evidence, isn't it? Maybe the man just likes his jewelry."

"Nah, I'd bet my money that he's hitched," Akbar said. "My buddy told me one of the students tried to ask him about it and he just kinda smiled and nodded. Never really answered the question, though."

"That does sound kinda sus," Gladys opined. "Makes me wonder what kind of person managed to bag a specimen like that."

You hummed distractedly in reply, too busy mulling over everything to actively participate in the conversation your friends were having. Your professor strode into the hall barely five minutes later, and before long, the class officially began, forcing you to shake off any irrelevant thoughts about Professor Chuckie and his ring from the deepest corners of your mind.

Today was the day every group in class had to present their last progress report before finals rolled around. As soon as the fifth group finished their presentation, you walked to the front of the class with Akbar and Gladys following closely behind.

Akbar stepped towards the desk, trying to connect his PC with the class projector. He fumbled with the cable for a few minutes before he sheepishly glanced at you and Gladys. "I don't think it's gonna work. Either of you brought a laptop today?"

"I brought mine," you announced. "Wait here."

You ran back towards your table to grab your laptop before connecting the device to the projector. As soon as the desktop of your laptop appeared on the big screen, the entire lecture hall suddenly erupted in a round of synchronized gasps.

Gladys was staring at you, a clear sign of shock on her countenance. "(Y/N)?"

"Dude," Akbar muttered breathlessly. "What the hell?"

You swept your gaze repeatedly between the two of them and the rest of the class, confusion dawning inch by inch with every second that ticked by. "What? What's going on?"

Akbar nudged your shoulder, gesturing you to look behind towards where the projected screen of your laptop was being shown to everyone in the room. Your mouth instantly ran dry when you realized what had the whole lecture hall so stunned for the past few minutes.

It was a picture—the one you had set up last week as the wallpaper of your PC desktop but somehow had managed to completely forget about—of you and Spencer lounging on the living room couch of your shared apartment, holding up your hands to show off the identical bands encircling your ring fingers. Spencer was smiling big towards the camera with a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders while you peeked behind his neck with a portion of your face concealed behind his untamed curls.

It was a sweet photo to commemorate the most important day of both of your lives, taken merely hours after you exchanged vows at the city hall and entrusted each of your own hearts towards the other person to keep, nurture, and love.

And now, that same photo was up on the wall of Room 2404 as an impromptu spectacle for your entire Data Analytics class to see.

From behind the desk, Professor Clegg cleared his throat. "So, (Y/N). You and Dr. Reid, huh?" He peered at you from behind his glasses, not the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, but a brightly twinkling mirth in his eyes. "I guess congratulations are in order."

You exhaled a tired breath and replied, "Thank you, Professor."

Once your presentation was over, you retired back to your seat and discreetly typed in a message as another group came forward to present their work. You threw your phone into your bag after hitting send, trying to ignore the whispered demands of your two friends as they badgered you for answers.

Across the campus, Spencer's phone dinged with an incoming text.

He pulled out the device promptly, failing to contain his smile as he read the message you had just delivered to him.

Thanks a lot for the heads up 👎 Looks like there's no need for me to keep my own ring hidden in the wallet anymore >:(

[idv-sunsxin3]

Rody Lamoree // Random Dating HCs

{Dead Plate and characters belong to Studio Investigrave}

Note// He is like, 80% my type... I love him, though, dhdbdb I guess it's gn for s/o. I'm kinda a straight girl (who loves bl and yuri---), so sorry if I sound too straight./ih

•He is clingy, extremely affectionate, and touch starved... Relationships didn't end well with him because of that. But you managed to soften that by giving him plenty of love and attention when you both make time for each other. You can't say no to his puppy eyes;;;

•Can't cook for his life, is either you teach him how to cook or you both order takeout. If you do decide to teach him, he might fail miserably once in a while like injuring himself somehow or burn water--- he'll feel so bad that he is the reason you're carrying burden through the process but he'll sob more once he notices how patient, caring, and supportive you are while guiding him...

Rody// *sobs while looking at Y/N as if they're god*

Y/N // you okay there, babe?

•He'll die peacefully when he gets called pretty boy, Honey, hunny bunny, puppy, darling- no matter how cheesy or weirdly cute, it is Honey, him feel so giddy amazing 🥺✨️

•He is canonly buff and strong, so I can't help but imagine he is more than happy to carry you around on his shoulder or in bridal style to the point you don't even need to walk at all when he's with you/ih

•He'll compliment you a lot. He is your #1 fan. He'll quickly notice the changes in your appearance in one glance.

•New Haircut? Worshipping you right now. You wore something new? He'll take pictures of you in different angles, including selfies of both of you - red carpet material. You did your nails? Oh god, slay... Oh, what's this? A keychain you bought? That is so cool. He'll be so dramatic about it that it's so funny;😭

•Like man-- he's so supportive. Overwhelmingly supportive. He won't deny anything you decide and just support you till the end-- Like he's too in love to even care. He wouldn't even help but smush your cheeks together and say, "WTH WHY ARE YOU SO PRETTY AUGHHH;;;" (thx to the sketch Rachel made;;;)

•He'll usually respond to you whenever you text him - or even as soon as possible to respond back through letters. He always loves your voice, so there would be times he asks if you can call each other. Having him lean to the side of the wall as he is blushing by the soft whispering in his ear you make through the phone.

•He'll do all his power to spoil you with gifts and expensive dates despite being broke. He'll go the extra mile to always do something so special in your anniversaries.

•Even in Valentine's Day, to the point he may forget to treat himself... you gotta remind him that his birthday is your pride and joy. Like, it's the day god blessed you for letting a beautiful being like him spawn/lh

•HEAR ME OUT- I'm looking respectfully.... No one should deny that this man is pretty muscular ♥️ He is so bashful when you praise his strength. You would also have the privilege to touch his biceps or lean your head on his chest,,,(I swear I'm normal). Just the feeling of you tracing his arm, shoulder, spine, and chest makes him go crazy and so down bad -

•He won't stop talking about you once a question related to you comes up - the victim will never hear the end of it -

•Canonly when you date him, He'll give you flowers that are plucked out of the ground since he cannot afford to bye a prettier bouquet from a flower shop...

•When he's sad, you have to give him words of assurance or hold him close... You can even order any kind of fast/junk food, and he'll be so happy that you would do that for him😭🥺

•If you happen to be smaller than him, he would find the opportunity to hover over you and wrap you up with his hoodie or coat before pulling you to an embrace. Kinda like shoving your head inside the coat;;;

•Besides writing songs and playing the guitar for you, he would also try to sing for you if he wasn't so hella shy about it. hhh;(he sings surprisingly decently tho!!!)

•He loves having a bike ride with you- he once promised that if he ever affords a car, you'll always get the passenger princess treatment, no buts!!!

[luveline]

Could I request something from the kisses before dinner universe (if you’re taking requests that is!) just es to see the girls trying to do something nice for their parents. Or reader has the girls help her do something nice for Steve since he does so much for them (or vice versa bc mom does so much for them too)

thank you for your request! hope this is okay!! dad!steve x mom!reader, 4.5k

Avery pulls her hat over her ears and grits her teeth, eyes scrunching closed. All the new baby does is cry, cry, and cry. 

"She's loud," Bethie says.

"So loud," Avery say. 

Seconds after, Dove starts to cry, like a bomb being dropped, or a siren call. She wails and wails. The sounds are endless. Avery's hat won't block them out. She throws it across the room, agitated. 

"Stevie," Avery hears you say softly, super tired, "sorry, honey, you don't know where Dove's buppy is?" 

"No idea." 

Avery looks toward her socked feet at the end of the bed, where Dove's baby bottle lays dirty against the rumpled blankets. She grabs it quickly and slides out of bed, careful not to bash into Bethie where they'd been lying down together. Avery just got a brand new TV in her bedroom for her birthday, which means they can be 'lazy excuses for girls' if her dad is to be believed. Avery knows lazy is a bad word, but Steve says it like it's funny. She always laughs. 

"Mom," Avery says, running into Dove's room. 

"What, baby?" you ask absentmindedly, a crying Dove on your hip, hands yanking aside her blankets in search.

"I have her buppy." 

You turn, smiling, grateful and bubbly as you accept the bottle and ruffle her hair. "My life saver! Thank you. Did your movie finish? I'll come and change the tape."

"Not yet." 

"Okay. Tell me when it does, angel, I’ll come and do it straight away." You lean down. "Don't bother daddy, okay? Just come and ask me if you need something." 

"Can I have some juice?" she asks. 

"Yes, you can have some juice. Can you be patient? I have to make Dove a bottle. Five minutes?" you ask. 

Avery nods without a frown. She really wants juice, but she wants Dove to stop crying more. You give Avery's cheek a little squeeze and leave for downstairs, taking the steps very, very slowly. "It's okay, Dovey," you mumble. "It's okay. I know, you're tired, I'm tired too." 

Avery doesn't want to see the baby —she loves the baby, you and Steve love the baby, everyone loves the baby— 'cos she's ridiculously loud, and Avery needs her ears to work or she'll never be a famous violinist, and then what will she do with her life? She only just started music classes. But Avery misses her dad desperately, having seen him for a ten minute period when he picked her up from school and not a second longer. 

She creeps into the big bedroom. It's a disaster. Steve is sitting in bed with the baby in his arms, rocking her back and forth, hand patting her butt and lower spine steadily. He's shushing with every pat, eyes closed. He looks like he has an unhappy tummy. 

"Daddy?" she whispers. 

His hand flies to his mouth, finger over his lips in the universal sign for Please, be quiet. 

"Are you okay?" she whispers. 

He nods vehemently, finger still over his lip. Avery remembers your recent ask too late —Don't bother daddy. Her eyes flare wide and she tiptoes back to her room, flopping onto the sheets next to Bethie with a defeated sigh. 

"It's hopeless," she dramatises. 

"It's not hopeless, it's just bedtime," Bethie says, much more talkative when it's her and Avery alone. Her pronunciation isn't the best, she's nearly two years younger than Avery, but it's more than passable. "Don't worry, Ave." 

Avery drags her face up from the sheets and pouts at her younger sister. "Mom and dad are both busy and we'll never get ants on a log." 

Bethie tips her head to one side. "Baby's sleeping now." 

"But dad wouldn't speak to me!" 

"Heather's sensi‐stive." 

Heather isn't the baby's name, officially, but it's the one Bethie likes most. Avery liked Tiffany, but no one else liked Tiffany, which was dumb. Tiffany is the best name ever. Way better than Heather.

"Tiffany," she says pointedly, "isn't sensitive, she's just new." Or, that's what Steve says. "We didn't vacuum enough when she came home so now she's not used to big sounds." 

"I'm not used to big sounds," Bethie sighs, curling in on herself. Avery does as she's seen Steve do when Bethie sulks, draping herself over Bethie and hugging her gently. She kisses Bethie's hair. Bethie grumbles, "Avery." 

"What?" Avery asks, rolling off of her. 

Bethie doesn't answer. Avery sits there thinking, and after a while it's clear you're too busy to bring the juice upstairs. 

"Maybe we should try helping." 

Bethie lifts her head off of the pillow. She looks much more like you than the rest of her sisters, same hair, same eyes, same pretty smile. Avery looks the spitting image of her dad in comparison, pretty and in a different way. "What can we do?" Bethie asks. "We're only little." 

"No, dad says we're only little, but mommy says I'm a big girl, like, all of the time. And so does Grandpa." 

"Grandpa says we're too loud." 

"Dad says grandpa's… uhm, senior. It means crazy," Avery says. 

"So we should be little?" Bethie asks. 

"No!" Avery says, annoyed. 

She jumps off of the bed and grabs Bethie's hands, encouraging her sister onto her feet. Together, they cross the landing to peer into the master bedroom, where Steve is still swaying the baby in his arms, his rumpled t-shirt stained with spit up and milk. They're practised at sneaking and Steve is too distracted to see them, whispering soft things into the top of the baby's head. 

Avery is a bit jealous, but she has a plan.

"I don't think we should do that," Bethie says.

Avery's dragged her into the bathroom. It's hard to get inside because of the child lock, but luckily Avery is more than adept. Her dad says she can't ever, never show Bethie or Dove how to do them, the same way she can't show Dove how to unlock the gates at the top and bottom of the stairs yet. She made Bethie close her eyes on the way in. 

"Don't worry, Beth, I've seen daddy do it millions of times already," Avery says confidently. 

They've opened the washing machine and shoved all of Steve's dirty clothes inside. He won't have to do them before bed tonight, and that means more time for snuggles. Avery climbed up onto the side of the machine using a precariously stacked contraption of potties and an upside down laundry basket, and now she's eyeballing how much detergent needs to go in. 

"This is heavy," Bethie complains, her arms shaking from the weight of the Tide liquid. 

Avery really wasn't supposed to show her how to open that cabinet, but she felt it necessary. Bethie won't eat the detergent, anyways, Bethie barely likes eating normal food. Avery pulls the detergent up, having finally decided that they need more. She lets a thick splash of green drizzle down onto the clothes, nodding approvingly, and screws the lid back on. 

She drops the detergent down and a rogue towel muffles the thump, sliding off of the machine and closing the lid. 

You appear looking urgent in the doorway.

"Hey, what have I said about the bathroom? You can't use this one when no one is with you, okay? Do you know what I'm saying?" 

"Sorry, mommy," Bethie says tearfully. 

You soften. "It's for you to be safe, baby." Your softness doesn't quite extend to Avery, though it doesn't fully disappear either. She's most in trouble. "Ave, you know the rules. You can come in here, but you're not supposed to bring the girls with you. I'm not happy with you." 

"Mom, I'm sorry," Avery says, not taking it quite as hard as Beth, "but Bethie needed to pee super badly, we couldn't make it downstairs." 

You buy her lie. "Okay. Okay, but not again. Promise? I just don't want you girls getting into something you shouldn't." 

"Promise," Avery says.

You smile down at them both before looking over their heads. "Daddy must've forgot to turn on the machine. Press start for me, Ave. Big green button." 

Avery clicks the big green button on the washing machine smugly. They already helped. 

You lead them out of the bathroom and back into Avery's room, where cups of juice and an exorbitant amount of snacks wait on the nightstand. They sit on the floor while you make Avery's bed, a plate of ants on logs between their knees. 

"Dove's sleeping downstairs on the beanbag," you say. The baby monitor in your pyjama pocket doesn't make a peep. "So if you do need to pee, please be quiet. And up here, too, I think daddy finally got the baby to sleep as well." 

"Is it bedtime?" Bethie asks. 

You fold back the corner of Avery's comforter. With a sigh, you sit at the top of her freshly made bed and hold out your arms. "No, it's snuggle time. Come and keep me company." 

Bethie rockets into your arms. Avery doesn't rush, focused on eating as many logs as she can, washing it down with a huge swig of strawberry and raspberry juice. You hoist Bethie over one thigh and hold her to your stomach, groaning, "Oh, there she is, there's my girl. Daddy said you didn't eat any of your dinner when you got home, do you wanna tell me why? I won't tell anyone else." 

"I just wasn't hungry." 

"Really? Did you have a big lunch?" 

"No…" Bethie rubs her face against your neck. "Daddy wasn't happy because I didn't eat any lunch." 

"Oh, sweetheart," you say, "daddy worries about you. You don't have an appetite." 

"A what?"

"You don't get hungry enough," you explain.

"That's not like me, I eat lots and lots," Avery says proudly, smiling at you through Bethie's hair in your face. 

"You do! You eat lots and it makes you smart and strong. That's why I want you to eat lots, too," you say, moving your focus to Bethie again, finger poking her chest gently, "You're just as strong and smart as your sister, but you need to keep eating. Maybe I can make you something else, if you don't want the ants on logs, how does that sound? I can make you anything you want, Beth." 

"Can I have something too?" Avery asks, licking peanut butter off of her finger. 

"Of course you can. Maybe something not too big for you, though. I don't want you to feel sick." 

Avery considers that a win. You keep prodding at Bethie, wondering why she isn't hungry. You offer her soups and sandwiches and when that doesn't work you suggest ice cream and candied orange slices. Avery can't understand why her sister would say no to all of these things, but she doesn't have time to ask. Steve wanders into the room looking like he's been trampled by an elephant, hair sticking up and eyes sallow. There's a new baby monitor in his hand. 

"Hey," he says, yawning wide. His teeth snap together and he smacks his lips. "Holy macaroni, she's a toughie. Every time I tried to put her down she'd wake up again." 

Avery has been waiting for this moment all day. She abandons her ants, wiping sticky fingers in her nightie as she crowds Steve's legs. She wants to be picked up, but she's a little too long and Steve's too tired. He bends down to put his arms under her armpits and hug her to his chest, grabbing her up half-hearted and depositing her on the end of her bed. He sits down next to her, and he pats his lap. 

She squeals happily and complies. 

"Hello," he says fondly. 

"What have you even been doing all day?" she asks him. 

He sighs. "I really don't know, Ave. I don't. What have you been doing? Besides half a jar of peanut butter." 

She giggles as he wipes the peanut butter off of her cheeks and the corners of her mouth with the bottom of his t-shirt. "I've been with Beth." 

"We watched FernGully," Bethie supplies helpfully. 

Steve melts as you have, the two of you slouched against the walls bordering Avery's bed. You have matching dark circles. Avery thumbs at Steve's uselessly, wondering if he needs a good wash or a good sleep. He smells nice, she decides, if a bit milky, pressing her face into his neck as her arms lie flat to his shoulders. 

"Is your monitor working now?" you ask him. 

"It's really loud," he assures you. 

"Okay. I'm worried I'm gonna fall asleep while Dove's downstairs on the beanbag." 

"Did you lock the baby gate?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then don't worry. All our furniture is anchored properly. The worst she can do is murder the pot pourri again." 

"I don't want to fall asleep yet, I missed my girls so much," you say, kissing Bethie's cheek. "So, so much. Maybe I can call in sick tomorrow." 

"Honey." 

"It won't hurt anyone," you say. 

"Later," Steve says, talking to you but smiling at Avery, chasing her gaze with his. "We'll talk about it later." 

"So mean to me," you joke in a murmur, sliding flat onto your back, Bethie against your chest. 

Avery can hear you whispering to Bethie, tiny snapshots of a conversation. Are you sure there's nothing wrong, bubby? and If dinner was yucky, it doesn't matter, you can tell me. 

Steve starts to brush Avery's hair out of her face, big fingers exceedingly gentle as he tucks silken strands behind her ears. She had it cut to her chin like Aunt Robin a few weeks ago, and the shorn locks fall to her shoulders now. Steve brushes through them slowly, methodically, tucking it all back with a familiar calmness in his warm brown eyes. 

Avery turns enough to watch TV, content to be held by the very best dad in the world, her hand screwed in the neckline of his shirt so he can't run away.

Having finished her hair, Steve moves on to Avery's face. He draws lines against her small eyebrows, flattening sticky up hair with care. He frets at the tiny mole taking form on her ear, the one he made her go see the doctor for. Just a beauty mark, the doctor said. 

"Well, she's beautiful everywhere," Steve had said. "How was I supposed to know the difference?" 

"Dad," she whispers. 

"What?" Steve whisper back. 

"Am I pretty?" 

Steve pushes her hair out of her face and frames it in two hands. "You're the prettiest girl in the world, Ave." 

She blushes and his face does this thing where he looks like he's going to cry, but Steve doesn't cry around them much. He cried when the baby came home, and again the next day with the baby in his arms. Avery was freaked out the first time, but Aunt Robin said he always does it. He cried way worse than that when you came home, Avey girl. He was like a waterfall, they had to put you in a new babygrow. Avery tried to picture it, her dad crying with a tiny baby Avery in his arms, there are enough pictures of them together, but Steve always looks happy. 

"You think that?" she asks. 

"I more than think it," he says. "Isn't my girl pretty?" 

You and Bethie crane your heads. "She's gorgeous," you say with a smile. Bethie nods her agreement. 

"Oh," Avery says. She'd wanted them to say that, it was why she asked, but now all the attention is on her she's not sure how to handle it.

Steve chuckles and drags her forward. "You're soooo pretty," he says into her hair, sandwiching her in the tightest hug ever. "You're beautiful. B-E-A-U-tiful." 

His niceness makes her really happy to have been nice back; he's being so gentle that Avery decides she's going to tell him about the laundry they put on for him, but he rubs her back some more and she starts to forget. It's not so far from bedtime… 

She falls asleep against his chest. 

"Can you hear that?" you ask.

Steve looks up from Avery's dozing face to you. "What?" 

You pull the baby monitor from your pocket and hold it to your ear. "I thought it was making a weird noise." 

Steve listens intently. Now that you mention it, he can hear something. "D'you put the laundry in?" 

"You forgot to put it on," you say.

"I was getting around to it. You wanted whites, right, for work?" 

"You didn't turn it on." 

"Honey, I haven't touched the machine today, not even to fill the drum. What is that noise?" he asks. 

You ease Bethie off of your lap and stand with a groan. "It's gonna break," you say decisively, "that sounds like a death rattle. Which is exactly what we need right now, more bills."

Steve lays Avery down. She can't have been sleeping for ten minutes but she's a heavy sleeper and doesn't rouse, only curls inward with her hand on her chin. Bethie holds out her hand and Steve takes it, the two of them joining you in the doorway of Avery's bedroom. 

"It won't break, don't worry," Steve placates. 

"What are we gonna do if it breaks?" you mumble, rubbing your tired face.

"We'll have to wear dirty clothes," Steve says. 

"That's not funny." 

Steve frowns. "It so is, you're just tired. And anyway, the washing machine isn't gonna break–" His eyebrows rise. 

"Steve–" 

"Holy fuck," Steve says, squeezing Bethie's hand. "Well, that's bad." 

A line of foamy bubbles are pushing out from under the bathroom door and darkening the carpeting. You rush to open the bathroom door, unleashing a wave of suds that cover your toes. "What the fuck," you say, "what the fuck? Steve, what the fuck." 

Bethie puts her hands over her ears before Steve can do it for her. 

He joins you in the bubbly bathroom, the two of you horrified and baffled at once. "What the fuck," you say again, this time sounding tearful. You click the off button on the washing machine, and while the sloshing, thick sound it was making ceases, bubbles continue to flood out. Together, you and Steve flattens your towels on top of the floor to smother the soap. You're most panicked about the carpet because it'll get damp and the wood underneath it might rot, and Steve's most concerned about the washing machine, because despite his reassurances, he's worried it really might be broken. 

Bethie, quiet, sweet Bethie, stands on a wet towel, her socks soaked, and bursts into guilty tears. "I'm sorry," she cries.

"Why are you sorry?" Steve asks.

You may be confused and irritated, but nothing ever stops you from scooping up your baby and comforting her within and inch of her life. "Beth," you say softly, "don't panic." 

She's crying pretty hard compared to her usual tears. Steve hasn't seen her this wound up since that washable pen burst in her mouth over a year ago, maybe even two. 

"Me and Ave tried to do the laundry," she admits, shaking, each word said through a staggering sob. "We wanted daddy to have less to do so we could have bedtime cu-cu-cuddles." 

"Oh, no," you say gently. 

Bethie sobs. You rub her little back. Steve doesn't like seeing Bethie cry, but he can't help smiling in the moment. It's sweet, and it's a tad silly, but the damage done wasn't nearly as bad as Bethie seems to think it is. You and Steve are worriers, is all. 

"It's okay," you say, laughing yourself as Bethie wraps her arms around your neck and nearly strangles you in an attempt to soak in your love. "Beth, nobody's mad at you, okay? It was just an accident, it didn't hurt anyone. That's really nice, trying to do things for daddy, but the washing machine is for grown ups, baby. It's hard." 

"Mommy?" Dove calls from the baby monitor.

You let out a tired groan. "No," you whine. 

"Want me to get her?" Steve asks. 

You look like you really want to say yes. "No, that's okay. It's fine." You kiss Bethie's cheek. "Daddy has to take over, my love. I'm not mad, okay? Don't feel sad." 

Bethie nods sadly. You hand her over, hovering, and press a loving kiss to her cheek as Dove begins to cry. 

Steve watches you take your socks off as you leave, throwing the wet bundle of them back haphazardly into the bathroom. Bethie smushes her face to Steve's chest and cries. He shifts her weight in his arms. They're burning from exertion, but he doesn't complain. 

"What did you and Avery do?" he asks. "You're not supposed to come in here without me or mom, you know that." 

"We just put the laundry in the washing machine," she says. 

"How did you even lift the lid?" Steve asks. 

"Avery climbed up," she says, words stringing together into one amorphous blob of sound. 

"Beth, why are you crying?" he asks, giving her back a quick pat. 

"I didn't mean to make the bathroom explode," she says tearily. 

"Ugh," Steve says. He puts the toilet seat down and sits, Bethie in his lap, his chin propped on her forehead. "Who cares? I don't even like this bathroom." 

"You're not mad?" she whispers. 

"Do I look mad?" 

Bethie leans backward to take in Steve's face. He smiles at her, brown eyes light in the glaring bathroom fluorescent, his usually even complexion pale. Bethie raises a hand to feel his dark shadow, cringing at the scratch of stubble against her fingers. 

"You don't like my beard, do you?" he asks. 

"What beard?" 

"Oh, ouch. I'll shave tonight, bub, don't worry. I know you don't like it. Mommy doesn't like it either, she says it makes kisses too annoying." 

Bethie giggles quietly. "Not too annoying," she says. 

"No?" Steve asks. He leans down to kiss her cheek and her nose and her eyebrows. "How were they? Scratchy?" 

"Really scratchy." 

"Annoying?" 

"No," she says happily. Steve preens. 

Bethie actually helps him tidy up the huge mess of the bathroom. Steve opens the washing machine and grabs all the soapy clothes from the drum, dumping them among the sodden towels in the bath tub. He and Beth wash as much soap out of them as they can, until she's practically falling asleep standing up in soaked pyjamas. 

He gets her some new ones, helps her change, and tucks her into bed. She's asleep before he's said goodnight. 

Exhausted, Steve has no choice but to persevere. He squeezes the excess water out of the newly unsoaped clothes and puts them and the towels in the washing machine, too tired to bother with separating anything properly. He doesn't add detergent. 

When that's going, he mops and dries the bathroom floor so everyone's feet can stop making sticky sounds when they walk. He puts the last dry towel on the wet patch of carpet and steps on it. He should rub it, soak up all the excess moisture, but he does not have enough energy. 

You ascend the stairs with Dove, your arms shaking from the strain. She's sleeping, so at least there's that. You take her into her room and leave her baby monitor on the side. Dove definitely doesn't need a monitor anymore, it's only for when she's napping downstairs and everyone else is upstairs. Blanket over her legs, you tuck her in and kiss her smooth forehead. 

"You need to shower," you say to Steve as you close Dove's door. 

"All the towels are wet." 

You frown as you pass him by, rubbing his forearm with your finger briefly. "What about a robe? I know it's not ideal, but you're gonna catch a cold, your clothes are wet." 

"I'll get changed." 

"You deserve a warm shower," you insist. 

"Honey," Steve says softly. Your shoulders relax at that one simple word. "I'm fine. We both need to change, and then we need to sleep." If he showered now he'd pass out against the glass like a saran wrapped turkey. 

You and Steve change into fresh pyjamas in silence, worried about waking the baby who sleeps in her cot in the corner of the room.

"I'm gonna go get Avery," Steve says. 

You're not surprised. "Softie." 

"You're a softie," he says, pinching your hip. 

Avery's where Steve left her, sideways across her sheets. He knows Bethie wouldn't have masterminded the laundry plan by herself. He frowns at the thought that Avery might be missing him so much that before bedtime cuddles were on her mind. 

"Avery, honey," he says, stroking her cheek and her shoulder with either hand. 

She murmurs and wiggles away from his touch.

"Ave, come and get in with me and mom. Does that sound okay?" He really doesn't like the idea of his oldest feeling lonely. Sleeping with kids in the bed sucks most of the time due to their flailing and lack of blanket related etiquette, but Steve can deal with it tonight. Just like Bethie, he has a guilty conscious. "Ave?" 

Avery blinks sluggishly. "I can sleep in your bed?" she asks. 

"Please, would you? I want a cuddle. Does that sound cool?" 

Avery finally opens her eyes, her long lashes riddled with sleepies. "That sounds so cool," she says croakily. 

He can't carry her, he'd drop her at this point. They hold hands on the way to your room, finding you an inch from sleep on top of the blankets. He and Avery laugh as quietly as they can as they pull them from under you, and when they climb in together, you steal Avery from his side, awake enough to know one of your girls is close by. 

"Dad," Avery whines, reaching out her arms until he does what she wants. 

Steve throws his arms over you and Avery, snuggling in closely. She relaxes into your chest, her hand clinging to the front of Steve's shirt. 

Steve closes his eyes. 

"We didn't brush our teeth," Avery whispers.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," you plead, also whispering. 

"We'll get cavities." 

"We'll brush double in the morning," Steve promises. "Please, Ave. Sleep now." 

Averys easily convinced by Steve's hand in her hair. "Okay," she says through a yawn. "Love you love you." 

"Love you, honey." 

"...Dad?" 

Steve sighs. "What?" 

"Did you see? Me and Bethie did laundry." 

"I saw. Thanks, babe." 

"We–" 

"Sleep, Ave. Please go to sleep."