#i mean it's in the title and cover and everything else

[seaofreverie]

I was tagged by @carcarrot to share 9 perfect road trip/travel albums! Yippee thank you ❤️

Tagging @become-a-robot @marrasmoon @find-your-way-from-here @crystalblast @where-did-the-groove-go and anyone else who wants to do this!

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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₊ ⊹❀

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡�� ࣪

[lovelake]

His accessories are always calling your attention, practically begging for some TLC (request is from this lovely nonnie <3)

solivan brugmansia x fem!reader | 800+ wc, fluff, suggestive towards the end but nothing explicit, kissing

note: possible mistake on the piercing count for him? some pictures of him have different amounts of piercings so feel free to correct me, i can always change the numbers !! title is from ‘ever (foreign flag)’ by team sleep

masterlist read on ao3

“One, two, three, four…”

The numbers faded into a murmur as you continued counting the amount of piercings he had. Your thumb brushed against his ear, coming across different shapes and sizes of jewelry. To say you were fascinated was an understatement, his fashion was part of the reason you were so attracted to him.

You were sitting criss cross applesauce across from him on your bed, having put his hair into a low ponytail just a few minutes ago. Lot of strands from the upper layer still managed to fall out, but they didn’t really get in your way, they simply framed the new light of your life.

“Eight on your ears.” You eventually concluded proudly, missing the lovesick look Sol was giving you. 

Your gaze was now drawn to his pretty lips. They used to be chapped before you became his girlfriend. Now, they were soft. Kissable. Plush. Enticing, like a pillow inviting yours against them.

He used to get so flustered when he caught you staring at his lips that he would bring a hand up to cover his face, giving you a couple of shy peeks before he calmed down. Seems he was getting more and more used to your affection now.

You gently tapped each steel ring. “Nine, ten.”

Maybe you were a little too excited, you were practically gushing. “They’re so cool! Do you sleep with them all on?”

“I–“ 

“Where’d you get them done?”

“Well–“

“Which one hurt the most?”

Your stream of questions came out all in one go, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. The rare sound and the feeling of his body shaking under yours snapped you out of it.

“Sorry, too much?” You didn’t mean your apology, obviously.

“No, it’s fine,” he said between quiet laughter, giving your cheek a pinch. “You’re so cute…”

He called you that a lot. And beautiful. And gorgeous. And pretty. And lovely. And stunning. But the term he always came back to at the end of the day was ‘cute.’ You’d have to watch out for that cuteness aggression of his, it could strike at any time.

“Sooo?” With raised brows, you prompted him to answer. 

He wasn’t much of a talker, but it came easily when he was with you. With everyone else, he usually only gave a five word response maximum. You’re special. 

“I take them off before sleeping unless I forget, one time I woke up without a couple of them and I…learned my lesson. I did two of the ear ones myself, and got everything else at a piercer in the mall. My second lip piercing hurt the most ‘cause I got it right after the first.”

One of these days, you’d suggest getting matching jewelry. It could be anything. A necklace, earrings…knowing him, he’d like it. 

“They look good on you.” You tell him. So good that sometimes you stayed up late at night wondering how his lip piercings would feel traveling all over your skin. 

“In that case, maybe I should get more. Any suggestions?”

“I think an eyebrow piercing would really suit you. But I dunno, it might get caught in your hair since you usually have it down.”

“I can clip it back while it heals.” 

Smiling, you place a hand on his shoulder so you could lean in real close. You started with his ears, placing a kiss over every single one of his piercings. You swore you felt him shiver, his hand reached for the back of your head. So his ears were sensitive, noted.

Then, his lips. Yours met his twice, just something sweet. You whispered your explanation against them. “Ten kisses for ten piercings. Fitting, right?”

“Yeah…” He sounded dazed. Now who was the cute one?

You couldn’t just stop there. You coyly reached for his choker. “I also like this.”

His cheeks were already red, but this time, he seemed more vulnerable than usual. He wasn’t going to be ready to take it off in front of you anytime soon, if ever, so he was glad you didn’t find it weird. “You do?”

“Mhm, it brings a lot of attention to your neck.”

Goosebumps found a home on his skin, his breathing grew heavier as you continued toying with it. 

You had way too much power over him, he had to find a way to balance the scales. “You…You didn’t finish counting my piercings.”

Now that piqued your curiosity. “What do you mean?”

He took both your hands and placed them atop his chest. One palm felt his heartbeat, the other didn’t. You simply blinked until you explored a little and registered the hardness you felt.

“Oh…” Your stomach did a flip. And suddenly, the temperature in your room matched that of a sauna.

“Yup.” He was full on grinning now, glad he got you speechless for once, though his blush hadn’t died down one bit. “Wanna see them, pumpkin?”

[justwonder113]

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🎧 Shutting you up mid argument with a kiss - Maknae line edition 🎧

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Hyung Line

📖 Summary:  Basically what the title says 🤭

⚠️ Warnings:  Cursing as always; Arguments; kissing; fluff; angst but nothing too extreme; If I missed anything please tell me; NOT PROOFREAD

🖋️ Author’s Note:  Saw a gif of a man shutting a girl up with a kiss and got inspired so hopefully you'll like it. Will do a reverse version too so stay tuned~

📝 Word Count:   3k

📜 Masterlist: | ☕ Ko-fi:

💬Reblogs and comments are truly appreciated—they help more STAYs find my work, and your feedback means a lot to me. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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Han

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To say that you were pissed off would be severe misunderstanding. Your whole day was just a pure nightmare. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong and now, to put it simply, you were basically a walking ticking bomb. The slightest disturbance would be enough to tip you over the edge and make you snap. 

Honestly all you really wanted was to go home and just sleep. Preferably with Jisung cuddling you, but you weren’t picky.  

As long as you got some sleep. 

Your apartment was dimly lit when you entered so that’s why you didn’t notice Jisung’s  bag he most likely he just threw on the ground when he got back home. Thank God you managed to catch yourself mid fall, or else would have broken at least a nose. And you would have to kill Jisung. 

Hoesly you wanted to yell at him. You had warned him at least million times to not leave his junk out in the middle of room like that. But at the same time, you were so tired you decided against it. 

“Hey baby.” You heard Jisung’s raspy voice before you felt his arms around you, his scent immediately surrounding you, almost fully melting away the day’s stress. 

The keyword being almost. 

Because the minute you were done with your stuff you immediately went to your bedroom. 

And the sight made your blood boil. 

“Han Jisung get your ass over here!” 

You head the screech of his computer chair. A heavy thud. And then quick footsteps of Han rushing full speed towards the room. 

“What is it are you okay?” He was so out of breath and visibly panicking and normally you would have found it endearing but not today. Not now. 

You pointed at the bed which was covered with unfolded laundry. You asked Han million times to take care of it. You were tired of watching it migrate from bed to the chair in your room. But here you were. You weren't’ perfect example of cleanliness and you knew Han was a messy person, but it was like he never cleaned after himself. You knew he had hectic schedules, but you weren’t free as a bird either. Also, it was tiring for you to be one always cleaning around the house. So, him leaving the laundry untouched yet again really tipped you over. 

“I’m sorry baby, I completely forgot about it....” Han started frantically explaining himself, clearly nervous and guilty but you didn’t let him finish. 

“No, I asked you so many times to take care of it! It’s your laundry too! You always promise to help with chores, but I am always stuck doing them all alone!” You took a deep breath, noticing yourself how you were slowly picking up a pace as you argued. You hated whenever you lashed out like this, especially at Han, but damn it you were tired! 

“I am not your personal made Jisung! I don’t understand why you treat me as such! Or do you think magical faeries keep the house clean or some bullshit like that. All I wanted was to go to sleep and finally relax but now I have to stress about how the house is a literal mess. It just simply shows how little you respect me!” 

“Baby...” He started again but you were not done. You noticed that he was starting to get anxious, that he was watching you with sad puppy eyes while fidgeting with the hems of his hoodie, lifting his weight from one leg to the other. You felt bad but you had to speak up. 

“Don’t baby me Jisung. I am tired too. How many times are you going to conveniently forget to do something and watch me do it for you?” 

“I’m sorry baby. I really am.” You heard Jisung mutter out. 

“You can’t just get away with this by saying sorry. You always do this! Apologize and then do the same shit a...” You couldn’t even finish your sentence. 

Because he was kissing you. 

His hands cupping your jaw, so gently, so desperately. 

Like you were most precious and fragile porcelain doll. 

You have kissed millions of times. You got through various of different things together. But never like this had he kissed you. 

You felt your anger slowly wash away as you slowly sank into the kiss. 

“What’s with the kiss?” You finally asked, breathless, once he leaned back, your heart beating like crazy. Your whole body on fire.  

Jisung smiled, his hair disheveled from your hands, his lips red and swollen from kissing you. His face clearly flushed, though you doubted you looked any better. but he still looked awkward. He leaned in and gave you another short peck. “I promise I will be better.” You both heard and felt him mutter this against your lips. His voice low, sincere.  “I will help around more.” Another kiss and you felt like floating. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like I didn’t appreciate you.” 

“You better make up for it then.” 

“Right this second your highness.” Smiling just like his usual sunshine self he leaned in and gave you another loving peck before heading to start cleaning up, starting with the laundry on your bed. 

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Felix

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Some people say family is everything. And honestly? They’re right. They’re the people who know you best, who support you through life’s toughest moments, who stand by you no matter what. 

They’re also the people most likely to drive you absolutely insane. And make you want to pluck out your hair strand by strand. 

Like, it’s one thing when a stranger is being mildly irritating—someone cutting in line, talking too loudly on the phone, or walking too slowly when you’re in a hurry. That’s annoying, sure, but you can shake it off. It’s temporary. 

But family? Oh no. They know exactly where your buttons are, and they press them with the precision of a NASA engineer launching a spacecraft. And because you love them—because you can’t just walk away forever—it somehow makes their antics ten times more infuriating. 

It’s the paradox of unconditional love: the people closest to you are also the ones who can send you into a spiral over something as simple as the way they chew their food. 

Let’s just say tonight’s dinner was a total battlefield. 

And you didn’t know if you were winning losing. 

Do you know how some people have this relative everyone or almost everyone keeps comparing you to since you’re born? It’s a complete nightmare if both of you are the same age. It’s always lie do you know they did this they did that, they have the most perfectest grades, they graduated early, they are now studying medicine, law or something really respectworthy like that. Oh they work now, oh NASA just recruited them, oh they saved a president.  

And worst of all they are getting married so when are you. 

It is especially hard when your family knows you’re dating. And your boyfriend of three years (oh no right) is right next you and your family absolutely loves him! So you can imagine how the boot on your neck pressuring you to get married got heavy. 

For the whole night you had to hear basically everyone’s opinion on how you should live your own damn life. They didn’t even let you say anything! And when you finally managed to speak up and say something they ignored you and went over you like you were some dumb kid. 

And then the perfection incarnate decided to have a chat with you and Felix- meaning you had to hear a whole ass speech how perfect their life was. And god that condescending tone! Honestly you still loved your family members, but damn some of them managed to piss you off so much! Like you wouldn’t even say hi to them if you weren’t related. 

Thankfully you were headed back to your house now and since you couldn’t really say anything at dinner now you were compensating by speaking  what was on your mind. Well arguing and ranting was a better word to describe your action but a person’s gotta vent. 

“Seriously the audacity some people have. If I have to hear how someone’s life is so perfect and amazing and how you should just set it as your life goal to live by their example I will lose my mind! And what’s up with this relentless marriage talk and you should have children bullshit?! I will get married and start a family whenever I see fit!” 

You were so passionate about your whole damn rant you didn’t even realize that you got home. You really didn’t stop talking for a whole ride. Talk about yapping. 

“And what was up with them cornering you about asking for my hand? It’s so frustrating! It's our relationship, it’s not something to be discussed so publicly like it’s everyone’s business. We will go in our pace. I mean as long as I’m happy why should it matter, right Felix?” You had barely finished your sentence when he decided to wrap his hands around you and lean in to seal your lips ina loving gently kiss. 

Your breath hitched, it was like your whole mind crashed like an old computer for a second. Your whole body was on a fire in a second, your heart beating like crazy. 

Did he even realize what kind of effect he had on you? 

“You’re cute when you’re worked up like this.” Felix whispered against your ear when he leaned back for some air. The hot breath sending shiver down your spine. 

“You’re such a tease.” You grumbled, but you didn’t really mind being shut up like this.

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Seungmin

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It started with something stupid like the correct way to load a dishwasher. Silly right? But now you had a whole silent war going on with him because both of you were prideful assholes. 

You knew it was dumb, but it just pissed you off how Seungmin always thought that he was always so right. Usually you loved how fact driven and logically thinking he was, you loved his confidence, but whenever pride also got in the way and he got all smug you just wanted to smack him. It made him more cold and smug like he was better than everyone else. And sometimes you felt like you were part of “everyone”. 

You hated when you argued, so you decided to do the next best thing.  

The silent treatment. 

But how long would that last? Especially when Seungmin was determined to make you talk. But eventually his resolve started to crack. 

“For how much longer do you plan to act like this?” You heard him ask, sounding all annoyed. 

You decided to ignore him and resume what you were doing, which ironically was the thing that made you argue in the first place. You were putting dishes in the dishwasher. 

And you obviously did it your way, which made Seungmin tsk. 

“It won’t get washed that way, it’s pointless to have a dishwasher if you’re going to place dishes like that. I told you that baby.” 

And just like that, with one comment from him, you snapped. 

“Can you shut it?” Your voice was harsh. You had never spoken to him like this. 

Seungmin scoffed. “So now you wanna talk?” 

You placed the dish down. “Yes because I'm sick of it! You always have to be right and it’s so infuriating you know?” You took a deep breath, here it went. “It’s like you think you're some genius above the rest of us—so smug, so condescending—" 

You took a deep breath. “Honesly it seemed like you only care about being right all of the time. Honestly sometimes you make me feel like you don’t even care about me!”  

Seungmin scoffed- "Smug? That’s harsh. I prefer ‘confident.” He tilted his head, a smug smile appearing on his face. He continued. “And let’s be honest, would I argue this much if I didn't care about you?"  

"Oh, so now you care? That’s rich—" You started exasperated, your voice rising by the second against your judgement. 

Seungmin stepped closer, his face unreadable. “Obviously I do. That’s why we argue over stupid shit like this! If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here arguing with you about how to place dishes in the dishwasher! I wouldn’t care how you do it. You also wouldn’t be yelling at me if you didn’t care either." You didn’t miss how his voice dropped, in the end, his voice sounded so sincere. But... 

You blinked.  

Not going to lie you didn’t know what to say. He managed to catch you off guard. But you were not going to back down. "I—No. Don’t flip this on me, this isn’t about me, this is about—" 

And then, without warning, his lips were on yours. At first you were confused, then came anger, because he was just shutting you up, avoiding the conversation, but then you realized. The way he held you oh so gently, despite his hands slightly trembling... And for the first time in your short relationship you saw right through him. It's like you saw him for the first time. Instead of shutting you up he was almost like apologizing. It was knowing. Deliberate. The kind of kiss that said, I hear you. That said, I don’t just think I’m right—It‘s just my way of taking care of you. I just want the best for you. 

The frustration dissolves into something else entirely, because really, who gave him the right to kiss this perfectly? His hand came up—just barely brushing against your jaw, lingering like he was waiting for you to pull away, except you didn’t. 

And by the time he leaned back his face still looked unreadable but now you noticed how tenderly his eyes were gazing  at you. 

"I love you." He said it like it was the most simple thing to say and you caved. 

A genuine smile found it’s way on your face. 

“I love you.”

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IN

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It all started when your boyfriend decided he wanted attention. Which normally isn’t a a bad thing but it  can be disruptive when you’re working on a major project, when you have a tight deadline and when you really really REALLY have to focus. 

For the whole evening he didn’t really let you work in peace. He kept whining how you were giving him no attention and how it meant that you didn’t love him anymore. You had to talk to hyunjin later because he was corrupting your boyfriend. 

In the end you couldn’t really focus and you kept getting distracted over and over again. And in result today you were swarmed with complains from your boss. And let’s just sat you were pretty much pissed now. But you didn’t feel like arguing with him so you decided to let go. But you still wanted to vent about how much of an asshole your boss was. 

Jeongin was in a playfull mood today. And normally you loved his goofy side but right noe everything was irking you. You hinted at him several times that you wanted him to focus and listen to you without all the games and jokes but your every hint went over his head. 

“What a bitch!” He gasped dramatically and clutched his imaginary pearls. 

Now that you thougth about it you did overeact. 

You snapped. 

"Can you be serious for like...just five minutes, please?" Your voice was sharp. And you hated how he flinched for a second, not expecting you to snap out of you but you had to get everything out of your system 

IN quickly regained his composure and grinned. "Five minutes? That’s ambitious." 

"Jeongin." - You deadpanned. You hoped that  you using his name would make him realize that you were being serious. 

He blinked innocently still unaware. "What? I am serious. Mostly." 

And that’s was the breaking point. 

The frustration simmered over, and you started to talk. 

"You never take anything seriously! It’s always jokes, always teasing—how am I supposed to have an actual conversation with you when you act like a literal child?" 

Finally looking like he took this seriously now he raised an eyebrow. "A child? That’s dramatic." 

You couldn’t help but throw your hands up. "It’s not dramatic Jeongin. it’s the truth! You joke around so much, I don’t even know if you listen half the time—" 

The teasing glint in his eyes didn’t disappear completely, but something more focused, more intent sparked beneath it. He stepped closer, the usual playfulness slowly turning into something unreadable. 

He started to talk, his voice, sincere. Almost like a whisper. "I listen.”- He started- “I listen way more than you think." 

You decided to challenge him. "Oh, really? Then what exactly did I say just now—" 

You thought something shifter in a second and then you really felt it. 

One second he looked at you with passion, with something so raw, the next second his hand curled at the back of your neck and he kissed you like there was no tomorrow. It was raw and passionate. Your whole body was instantly on fire. You couldn’t help but cling onto him as he deepened the kiss. It was anything but childish—loving, deep, and entirely too knowing. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. To prove to you that he was very much a adult man. 

By the time he pulled away, his smirk was infuriatingly self-satisfied.  

Even more, the little tease started retelling you in every detail just what you had told him. 

"Still think I don’t listen?" Oh you would smack him one of these days. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[gghostwriter]

Time is a Fickle Thing

Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.

The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.

“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.

He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.

Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.

Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”

“What happens next?”

Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.

It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.

In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.

Still, scared even.

Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.

It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.

“Daddy, what happens next?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.

Everything about her was captivating.

“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”

“But—”

“Remember what we promised?”

She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”

“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.

As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.

“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”

He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.

“Is that it?” He teased.

She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”

Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”

Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.

“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.

Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.

“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”

“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”

She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”

“How about giving me a clue then?”

She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”

Oh.

That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.

“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”

She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.

“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”

He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”

Aurora nodded.

“And what about the best part?”

She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”

Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.

“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”

Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

He slowly crept out of the room.

“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.

Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.

Her first steps.

Her first tooth falling out.

Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.

In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.

Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’

It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.

He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.

And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.

Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.

Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.

She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.

Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.

“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.

He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”

You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”

“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”

There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”

“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”

You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”

“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”

“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”

Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

You gave him another kiss.

“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[siolixz]

'*•.¸♡ FATHER FIGURE ♡¸.•*'

Being Lucy's sister came with a lot of perks: good food, nice places to stay at- a rich handsome multimillionaire falling madly in love with you. Did I mention the rich handsome multimillioanire?

pairing: harry castillo x reader (Lucy's sister)

part2

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

context: just fluff and romcom scenarios, older man x younger woman, everyone is over 18 and fully consenting; words: 3k I hope you will enjoy and pls tell me if you like it or tell me if you don't- I will probably write a part 2 with smut if it is well received. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ I will probably write the smut anyways tho loll Yes i have put a George Michael song name as the title put me in jail or whatever. Also I have no idea if his name is Randy or Harry so oh well, who cares hes so sexy.

It was a beautiful day in New York that welcomed you right back here in this city, looking across the cafe for your Lucy. 

You slept in today, after a long plane ride and a longer ride to your sister's apartment you had to get your rest for the days ahead- and for the wedding. Because of spring break and because she received a plus one invitation to one of her glorious matchmaking results- her ninth to be more precise, you just had to join her in New York for the week ahead. You didn’t have anything else better to do, plus, you missed her. 

She smiled at your sleepy face as you sat down in front of her.

As the coffee arrived you finally had some time to catch up on life, on your school and on her job. More importantly, how could John ever break up with her? She’s successful, she's beautiful and she’s brilliant. You told her that you were hoping she could finally get a guy who actually deserves her.

“I hope your wedding will be the tenth-” you started.

“Maybe it will be yours princess, did you think of that?” She smirked at you, clearly enjoying the banter you two were so used to having. 

“So that’s why you called me here- to set me up with someone?” you leaned across the table “Because I’m taking the first plane back to college if that's the case.”  There’s nothing more embarrassing than your own sister setting you up, I mean you could get a date if you tried but the boys back at school are, lacking.. certain qualities you were hoping for in a man.

She laughed at your expression, knowing you were being sarcastic and joking but also not really.  You could hardly hear each other anymore as more people came into the cafe.

She grabbed the hand you had on the table as she said: “You’ve grown so much- I’m so happy you're here with me.”

All day long you walked across New York City, first it was dress shopping- you probably tried on like 10 dresses before picking a gorgeous green floor length dress and your sister a blue dress. She covered everything like the great older sister she is and on you went towards Sephora to get everything you might need or just plain wanted- perks of having an older sister with money- and then it was take out time back home; feet sore and exhausted. You loved and hated being in this city, but you could clearly see why Lucy wanted to live here. So many people, so many stories to tell. You two took a nap and then by late afternoon you were out again for dinner with some of her friends and then for a walk in central park. 

“You know, I think tomorrow is going to be really special.” she linked your arms together as you passed people. 

“Really?” you turned the upper part of your body towards your sister as you walked. “In what way may I ask?”

“Like in a good way; maybe you’ll meet someone.” she whispered the last part “Or maybe in a bad way.” She turned away from you like she was thinking.  “Last time we were at a wedding together, you were very little- remember you got that stomach bug-”

“Ugh don’t remind me Lucy” you grimaced at her macabre reminiscing while she laughed in your face “We just ate-” 

The wedding was truly beautiful, the bride and groom looked great together and the food was completely out of this world. The groom was a finance guy, so it made sense that the wedding would be held in a grandiose style, I mean they had a chocolate fountain for god sake. And free gifts for people- free gifts!

You and Lucy talked with some people, ate some food from the candy bar while gossiping and danced a little bit but you had to take a break as ‘Cupid’ herself was socializing with acquaintances. You texted some of your friends, one from childhood and two from college- all ecstatic about the amazing things there. You had to remember to get Maddy a necklace as her birthday was coming up and Mark asked if you could get him a lucky cat doll and also-

“Is this seat taken?” 

You looked up at the owner of the voice, “Um, no- no it’s not.”

Um, yes it was, your sister was seated there- who even is this?

The stranger sat on the chair, turned his whole body to look at you and placed his hand under his head- like he was engaged in the most passionate discussion. 

From this position you could finally see the man up close- this must be the groom's best friend. Your sister told you as you sat down during the ceremony, even if you were seated far away, you could remember him now. He was right next to the groom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you-”

“No, it’s okay-” Now you’re interrupting him, please stop.

He smiled at you, endeared by your attempt at alienating his worries. His smile reached his eyes and the corners wrinkled, like a testament of this strange man’s seasoned life. He looked at you in an almost parental fashion like he already knew you- wait, do you know him? 

Your sister has a bunch of friends and acquaintances around New York, maybe you did know him. “Do we know each other?” 

“No, I don’t believe we have met.” 

He had this air about him, like he was so comfortable and sure of himself. He smiled again at you, like he knew something you did not, was there something on your teeth?

“My name is Harry, it’s nice to meet you, miss…” You told him your name and he repeated it. 

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because he was very, very handsome. 

“Would you like a drink?” he said your name again and you forgot all about the phone buzzing in your hand.

“Um..”

You looked across the ornate ballroom for your sister for a second.

“Wait, you’re old enough to drink, right?” His smile faltered for a second but he quickly regained it as you reassured him that you were indeed, old enough to drink. 

He ordered a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him and while you chatted, he asked about what you were doing in New York and how you knew the bride and the groom.

“You’re the matchmaker’s sister.” he pointed at you and you teared your gaze away from his beautiful brown eyes to notice the green ring on his finger. 

“I am.”

He must’ve noticed you looking at it as he too, looked at it- then at you and remarked:

“Green is my favorite color.”

This handsome man was clearly hitting on you, but why? You haven’t chatted with anyone this evening besides your sister and some basic chit-chat with the bride. He must’ve singled you out of the crowd as only a man with experience could have probably. Well it wasn’t going to end how he hoped, with you in his bed and him never calling you again. You weren’t born yesterday nor were you that desperate, no matter how handsome he was nor how tall and big he was compared to you-

No, you’re not going anywhere with him, you’re here for and with your sister. Speaking of which-

“I see you’ve made some friends.” She smiled as she came closer and introduced herself to Harry. Harry. What a beautiful name. 

As he turned his head towards her you looked at the curls he had at the base of his neck and thought you could never look at someone more handsome- his face looked like it was sculpted!

She made some polite conversation and It wasn’t long before she had to excuse you two in order to introduce you to some people there.

So in about 2 minutes- you said your goodbye’s and you left him there, silently hoping that maybe he could call out your name as you walked away or run after you and tell you he is madly in love with you ‘please don’t go’ - you audibly giggled next to your sister as you walked away, amused entirely by your schoolgirl-like-dreams as she gave you an odd look.

It was the cosmopolitan’s fault, you were sure.

As the night wore on you tried to see him again but to no avail; he must’ve left with some pretty model or gorgeous woman- the thought left an emptiness in your stomach you couldn’t shake for the whole night.

You were woken up by the sunrays on your face and by an immense amount of thirst that left your throat feeling like you scratched it all night long. You grabbed your phone instinctively and after about 30 minutes of coming back to life you finally got up.

As you entered the living room you saw your older sister on the phone and gave her a small wave.

She nodded her head at you as you walked into the kitchen to grab some ice cold water. 

Why was everything so hot in this apartment? 

After she finished her phone call you could finally debrief with her about last night's events, the most important of those things was definitely her meeting up with John again.

“Life just finds a way I guess.” you told her as she grabbed a coke from the fridge.

“Yeah, I guess.” She opened the can, took a sip and said “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah, what?” You couldn’t deny the way your heart jumped a little bit- maybe a bit more.

“I have a date for you.”

“Lucy, no..” you groaned. Was it with him? God let it be him.

“Hear me out, ok? I have to be at a girlfriend's house this evening and I want you to go, I would hate for you to be inside while I go have fun- plus you don’t have to go on a second date or anything, this is just for fun- no expectations, ok?” She pleaded with her eyes at you.

“I can’t say anything about this guy, but you have a lot in common, he is also a student like you- maybe you can bond over that.”

The day dragged on until 5pm when you had to get ready, you were hoping this guy wasn’t some snob or insufferable, but you trusted your sister. A short red dress and heels would suffice, as you were going to quite a fancy restaurant on the upper east side. When you arrived you said your name to the waiter and sat down at one of the beautiful velvet booths and ordered a glass of water for yourself. Being alone in a place as fancy as this, you did feel quite out of place a little bit.

On to wait for that guy to show up, even though you arrived on time.

Traffic in New York is horrible, so maybe he is fashionably late. 

He was not fashionably late as 45 minutes had passed and you were still alone, you could see people glance at you between the sounds of silverware- pitying you.

Or maybe no one cared, it was hard to tell- especially because you were so embarrassed. 

Your fingers itched for your phone, to text Lucy a 'I told you so'. Netflix and pajamas sounded infinitely better than this empty booth and the pitying glances. God you wish you were home right now, not dressed so fancy and looking so good only to be stood up.

The waiter came back, probably to ask you if anyone is coming. 

No, no one is coming.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up in bewilderment and met the gorgeous brown eyes of last night's enamourment. Harry was looking down at you, an amused look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, almost too loud in this fancy setting. “No, no it’s not.” Your heart started beating fast as he sat down in front of you, he looked even more handsome in the dimmed yellow lights of this restaurant.

He took off his dress jacket and placed it on the chair, you couldn't help but stare at the way his big arms looked, he was a very big man, so handsome too-

“I was having a meeting with my business partner and I looked across the room and there you were. “ He smiled at you like he did last night.

You were happy to see him, very happy.

“What are you doing here, Cinderella?” 

“I was waiting for someone, some guy my sister set me up with- he didn’t show up.” You leaned across the table so only he could hear what you said, not the old couple next to you two as well. 

“What an idiot.” He leaned close to you as well and you could smell his cologne “Well it’s good I am here now, right? We can carry on last night's conversation.” 

As you two ordered food, he asked you what you were studying. 

“Psychology. I have a scholarship.” 

“So you’re beautiful and smart.” He placed the napkin he received across his lap and you felt your ears get warm- you hoped the lights in this restaurant would dim the blush on your face as well. “Do you like what you are studying?” 

“Yes I do. I truly want to start my own clinic back home and help people.” You must’ve talked for like some full minutes about your degree and dreams while he asked you questions. He seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying, like he wanted to learn as much as he could about you.

He told you he would like to be your first pacient when you do become a psychologist and you laughed.

Harry was a funny man, very charming as well, though he had a way of turning a phrase to escape any sort of mention towards his private life, you wondered why that is. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you played with the short hem of your dress under the table. 

“Of course, anything you want.” He took a sip of his drink as he looked at you. His hands looked so big around the glass.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask how old you are?” you could find in his eyes a touch of mischief, like he was thinking of something funny to say so he could see you smile.

“24.” he said. With the most monotone voice he could muster and with a straight face.

“24?” you asked, knowing he was messing around with you but deciding to play into his game. 

“Yes, I lived a rough couple of years as you can see. What’s so funny?” he asked you, faking being angry at your smiling face.

“Nothing.” you tried to hide your smile.

“You better not be laughing at my life story.”

“I’m really not.” you put on your serious face.

A man came by your table as the waiter started bringing dessert, and Harry got up to greet him, the man shook Harry’s hand and thanked him, before he left he gave you a polite smile and a ‘good night’ to both of you as he exited the restaurant with his wife or girlfriend. 

“Old friend.” Harry said as he sat back down again “He just bought an apartment complex.”

“Wow, he must be rich.” 

“Very rich indeed.” he took the spoon from next to the plate and cut through the lava cake he was brought. “Like this chocolate.”

 “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance with me yesterday” He looked at you again and you wanted to die inside when you remembered that you left him.  "You missed out," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm quite the dancer."

"Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don’t worry. I'm a fast learner. I won’t let you get away twice"

"Is that a threat?" you asked.

"A promise," he corrected you as he took a bite of the dessert.

Harry asked for your number by the end of the night and you gave it to him, of course you did.

As he told the waiter that he should put the dinner on his tab you protested, but he would have none of it. He said that this was the most fun he had in a while as he got up and watched you exit the booth. 

“Let me take you home-” He started as he let you walk ahead of him; you tried to ignore the way he looked at you; like he was still hungry.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’ll call an uber.” He helped you put on your jacket before he opened the door for you.

A soft breeze danced around the streets of the city at this late hour- you hugged your jacket closer to you. You didn’t want your meeting to end, but it had to. 

“Nonsense, let me take you home, c’mon.” He climbed the steps before you and turned around so your eyes could meet at the same level. His dark hair, with its natural waves, framed his face and the silver streak in his hair reminded you of something- he was so handsome, how was he so handsome? He smelled great too.

You smiled at him, maybe the drink you had inside made you this courageous. 

“You never told me how old you are.” Everyone passing by you two must think you were drunk by the way you were smiling at each other. He grabbed your hands in his much bigger ones and pressed them close together, like one might do to a child to make them listen- butterflies danced across your stomach again because of the sudden intimacy.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly and he adopted a more serious expression before lowering his voice and telling you: “I’m 49 years old.”

His deep brown eyes searched your face, like wanting to remember it before you start showing any signs of discomfort. 

You wanted to say something, before he interrupted you “If you are uncomfortable, I promise, I’ll take you home and I’ll never say-”

“And If I am not?” you spoke over him. 

His eyebrows relaxed back on his face as relief washed over his expression and a smile slowly started spreading across his lips. His eyes twinkled under the light above you two from the entrance of the restaurant and he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you.

“I’ll take you home then.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this for you and for me. I hope you have a great day and wish u de best.

If you are one of my long time followers, I just wanna say im sorry that I havent written anything in quite a while, but life got in the way and I just couldn't find any inspiration to give you something actually good. But I am back now! And to stay for good this time unless stated otherwise. ILY

[clarii]

Pretty Girl

Summary: After months of teasing and playful banter, Eddie Munson finally reveals his true feelings for the reader. What starts as typical teasing with his affectionate nickname, “pretty girl,” soon turns into something much deeper. Everything gets revealed on New Year’s Eve.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Author’s Note: I wanted to thank you guys for the love by publishing a story connecting with New Year’s Eve in a way. Also, the last phrase had me thinking about High School Musical (if you know, you know).

It was just another regular day at Family Video, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the smell of popcorn from the break room filling the space. You were shelving some newly returned movies when you heard the door’s familiar jingle. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Eddie Munson.

You had worked here for months, and every time Eddie came in, it was the same routine. He’d walk in with his usual dramatic flair—his leather jacket hanging loosely around his shoulders, his wild hair a little more out of place than usual—and head straight for the counter, grinning like he had a secret.

You didn’t mind, though. Eddie was a good friend, and you’d grown used to his antics. That’s why you couldn’t help but smirk when he called out to you across the store.

“Hey, pretty girl!” His voice rang through the aisles as he casually walked toward you, his eyes locking with yours.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Hey, Munson,” you called back, continuing your work. “What’s the deal? Come to rent the latest slasher flick again?”

Eddie leaned against the counter, his eyes not leaving you for a second. “Nah, I’m here for more than just the movies.” He gave a little wink. “But I’ll take something to pass the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a chuckle. “You’re always here for something else,” you teased, your voice light. “Got any new drama to share?”

Eddie pushed himself off the counter and walked over to one of the shelves, pretending to browse the titles, though you could tell he wasn’t really looking for anything. “Just the usual chaos. You know, the kind that makes life a lot more interesting.”

His tone was playful, but there was a hint of something else in his voice. Something softer. You caught it but brushed it off. It was Eddie, after all—always a little too loud, always joking, always teasing.

He paused in front of a horror movie box, turning to face you, a grin on his face. “By the way, you look extra cute today. What’s the occasion?”

You froze, your fingers momentarily pausing in the middle of organizing. “What, now you’re complimenting me?” you asked, your tone light but trying to cover up the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Eddie just leaned in a little, his voice quieter, his eyes softer than before. “I mean it, pretty girl. You always look good, but today… damn, you’re really shining.”

You couldn’t help the heat that rose to your cheeks, and you quickly shifted the conversation. “Just doing my job, Eddie,” you said, shuffling some DVDs around to distract yourself.

Eddie chuckled, walking away to grab a movie. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.” He shot you one last grin before heading to the counter to check out.

Steve and Robin, who were manning the counter together, exchanged a knowing glance as Eddie left. You could tell they were waiting for you to say something, but you just shrugged it off.

“Don’t even start,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Steve leaned on the counter, his smirk not even trying to hide itself. “What’s up with him calling you that? He never calls anyone ‘pretty girl.’”

Robin chimed in, her voice teasing. “Yeah, what’s going on? Is there something you two aren’t telling us?”

You could feel your cheeks burning, but you laughed it off. “It’s nothing. It’s just Eddie being Eddie. He calls everyone weird pet names. He’s harmless, trust me.”

Steve didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Robin, however, was eyeing you carefully, clearly still a little skeptical.

“Whatever you say,” she said, but there was an underlying tone of curiosity in her voice.

The next day at school, you tried to shake off the awkwardness from last night. But it didn’t help that every time you saw Eddie, your heart skipped a beat. As you walked through the halls of Hawkins High, you heard that familiar voice call your name.

“Hey, pretty girl!”

You turned around, and there he was again—Eddie, standing a few feet away, leaning against the lockers with that same devil-may-care grin on his face. Your stomach flipped.

“Can’t you just call me my name like a normal person?” you joked, trying to mask the warmth creeping up your neck.

Eddie laughed, pushing off the lockers and walking toward you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Where’s the fun in that?” His voice was light and teasing, but you noticed the slight softness in his expression as he reached you.

“You doing anything fun after school?” he asked casually, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating faster than usual. “I don’t know. Probably just hang out, catch up on homework.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in Eddie’s smile made you feel like he could see right through you.

He took a step closer, his grin widening. “Well, I was thinking of hitting up the arcade with the gang later. You should come.”

You hesitated, a part of you wanting to brush it off, but another part of you—one that you tried to ignore—wanted to say yes.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie’s grin softened, and he leaned down a little, his voice lowering. “Alright, pretty girl. Just know the invitation’s always open.”

That night, the gang—Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Erica, Steve, Robin, Eddie, and you—were all at the arcade, the familiar noise of flashing lights and game sounds filling the air. You were having fun, laughing with everyone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie was paying a little extra attention to you. He kept leaning in close, making sure his hand brushed against yours when he passed you the soda, shooting you that same playful grin.

“Hey, pretty girl, you wanna go for the high score on this one?” Eddie called over to you as he stepped up to the pinball machine, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You know I’ll beat you, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

You were starting to feel the weight of those words. The teasing, the smiles, the way he would call you “pretty girl” so casually—it wasn’t just joking anymore. You could tell he meant it, but you still weren’t sure what that meant.

Just before midnight, everyone gathered at the Wheeler’s house to get ready for the New Year. Music was playing, everyone chatting about the year gone by, but your mind kept drifting back to Eddie. He was sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours, his usual teasing smile softened into something warmer.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie murmured quietly, his voice low and almost shy as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “May I have a kiss?”

Your heart stopped. You froze, unsure of how to respond. This wasn’t like the usual teasing. This wasn’t just Eddie being Eddie. There was sincerity in his voice, a softness that you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your nerves kicking into high gear. “I thought you were just messing with me,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Eddie smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m not. I’ve meant it for a while now.”

Your breath hitched as the realization sank in. All those times he had called you “pretty girl,” the teasing, the little moments of closeness—it wasn’t just a joke. Eddie had been serious, and you had missed it.

Without saying another word, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss, the world around you fading away.

The kiss had left you breathless, your heart racing as you pulled away, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in everything. Eddie’s gaze never left you, his expression soft and filled with that same warmth you hadn’t noticed before. His hand, still lingering near your cheek, brushed your hair back as though it were a natural thing to do. But the world around you felt like it had gone still, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, suspended moment.

“Pretty girl,” Eddie whispered again, his voice a little more hushed now. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”

You blinked, trying to find the words to respond, but they got stuck in your throat.

You felt a gentle pressure on your hand as Eddie, sensing your hesitation, took your fingers in his, his grip firm but not forceful. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked softly, his eyes searching yours, as though he were afraid that maybe he’d made a mistake.

You nodded slowly, still processing everything. 

Before you could speak, the sound of voices from the rest of the group interrupted, pulling you both back to the present. The kids were huddled together near the TV, Steve and Robin not far off, watching the countdown to the new year.

“Well, looks like everyone’s about to make their New Year’s resolutions,” you said with a small smile, trying to shift your focus. But Eddie’s gaze didn’t leave yours.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured again, his voice filled with affection, “you’ve already got me making my resolution. Just you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth spread through you again. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Eddie grinned, leaning in just a bit closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Hopelessly in love with you, pretty girl.”

Your heart skipped at the words, but before you could respond, the countdown began, and everyone around you started to cheer. The noise around you rose as the ball dropped, the sound of “Happy New Year!” ringing in your ears.

“Three… two… one!”

And just as the clock struck midnight, you found yourself pulled into another kiss—this time, longer, more confident, and filled with something deeper than just the spark of the new year. You could feel Eddie’s heart beating against yours, his hand resting gently on your waist as you kissed him back, your nerves dissipating with every passing second.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, both of you breathing heavily from the kiss, but smiling widely. “Happy New Year, pretty girl,” Eddie whispered, his voice low and filled with meaning.

“I love you too. Happy New Year, Eddie,” you replied softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected, a promise that maybe this was more than just a new year—it was the start of something new.

[seaofreverie]

Every once in a billion years I suddenly get very lucky and pick up one band merch delivery on one day, and then get another band merch delivery from another band on the very next day

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

cr: divider by @kodaswrld / gif @scottxlogan

[buryustogether]

yandere alastor x fem!reader hcs

sfw + nsfw below

i have this idea that, when you were both still human, alastor married you for a marriage of convenience (probably tax purposes). he's not one for love, but he does quite like to make things easier for himself, as well as a bit of reliable companionship from someone he can trust. he found it rather cute that you were head over heels in love with him.

he insists upon keeping you at his side almost 24/7. you accompany him everywhere; to his station while he's broadcasting, about town as he runs his errands, even to his overlord meetings, though you are forced to wait outside. he knows you won't up and disappear; even if you weren't such a good little pet, there isn't anywhere you could run that he couldn't find you.

the other overlords tease alastor about his little 'pet' he keeps on such a tight leash. he doesn't ever object to this title.

gives you dancing lessons and doesn't allow you to rest until you can copy his movements exactly. if you collapse from exhaustion before that, he'll coo and brush your hair out of the way, then haul you to your feet and start again from the beginning.

he won't have you doing much other than keeping your shared home clean and occasionally cooking a meal or two. you're his darling, he can't have you wearing yourself out taking care of him. he'll do most everything - he just wants you to sit there and look pretty for him.

won't allow you to leave the table until you finish the meals he makes for you.

loves to have you hanging on his arm. you're like a precious little trophy for him to show off - only his, and no one else's.

being alastor's beloved companion makes you a prime target for blackmail and kidnappers, but he doesn't want you to fret, dear - he has it covered. his shadows are on your trail in the extremely rare occasion he's not with you, and he's killed demons for less than even looking your way.

doesn't allow any kind of modern technology inside his home or upon your person, even if you died long after him. he considers cellphones to be the property of his enemies, and you wouldn't want him to catch you wearing the symbol of the v's, now, would you?

he picks out your outfits for each day, even has them custom made at the tailor's just for you. he knows best, darling, so don't fight him on this. he doesn't want you going out looking like some common harlot, not when you belong to the radio demon.

often takes out his frustrations of the day on you at night when you're alone in his bedroom. he bites and scratches and thrashes like a beast trapped in a snare, and he relishes in having you wear the marks when he's done.

his favorite position to have you in is plain old missionary; not only is it traditional, but he enjoys having complete control over you while he bucks up into your heat.

like most animal-based demons in hell, he enters a rut once a month and rarely emerges from his quarters; which means you don't, either. at least three times a day, and he only stops to give you rest and to whisper the filthiest things you've ever heard in your ear.

enjoys bondage to an extent, but only on you. he's not opposed to pretty little collars wrapped around your neck, either.

now, when you're in the mood and he's not, he's not totally cruel. while he won't fuck you when and wherever, he'll allow you to straddle his thigh and hump his leg like an animal while he continues whatever work he was doing before.

he may often be brutal, he knows aftercare is extremely important. he can't leave his darling bruised and broken for next time, can he? licks up any blood he may have drawn and ensures you drink when you're done, even if he has to hold your back against his chest and tip your chin up to force the water down your throat. he'll usually run you a bath and, surprisingly, will gently bathe you before dressing you in the finest bedroom silks in hell and putting you to bed.

he doesn't sleep much, but since meeting you, he's replaced many of his nighttime activities with sitting at the side of your bed and watching you sleep.

alastor doesn't love; but he knows he would tear hell apart at the seams if you were ever taken from him.

[little-jana]

"Three Times is a Charm"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: awkwardness?, sweet kisses, use of y/n

Words: 3,5k

Summary: Meeting Spencer Reid was like stumbling upon a rare book—unexpected and thrilling. Our paths crossed not once, not twice, but three times in the most peculiar ways.

I didn’t mean to end up at that bookstore. It wasn’t on my list of errands, and truthfully, I didn’t even know it existed until I spotted the faded sign hanging above the shop door: Old Tomes & New Beginnings—Clearance Sale. There was something irresistible about it, the promise of stories hidden in dusty corners. My car could wait, and my to-do list wasn’t going anywhere. So, I pushed the creaky door open and stepped inside.

The air inside was pleasantly warm, and the aroma of vanilla candles mixed with the familiar scent of old books. I could almost hear the stories whispering to each other, nestled in their places on the wooden shelves. A small bell chimed as the door closed behind me, announcing my arrival. The shop was a maze of tall wooden bookshelves, most sagging slightly under the weight of the books they held, their spines worn from years of handling. It was the kind of place that invited you to stay for hours, to get lost in forgotten pages and dusty memories. And that's exactly what I did. I wandered, my fingers trailing along the spines, occasionally pulling a book down and skimming through its pages before deciding to leave it behind.

Then, my eyes landed on it: Pride and Prejudice —not a rare edition or a first printing, but a well-loved copy with a faded cover and yellowing pages. There was something about it that felt inviting, as if it had been waiting for me to pick it up. I reached for it, standing on my tiptoes, trying to stretch my fingers far enough to grasp the spine. But the stack of books around it was precariously arranged, and as I nudged it, the entire tower of books began to shift.

"No, no, no!" I muttered under my breath, trying to stabilize the pile, but it was too late. The books tumbled one by one, crashing to the ground with a series of loud thuds.

"Are you okay?" a voice called from behind me.

I froze, looking over my shoulder to see a tall, slightly disheveled man crouched down, his hands already gathering the fallen books. His brown hair was messy, and his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as if they might fall off at any second. He was dressed in a cardigan that looked like it belonged in an old library, and his slightly awkward but genuine expression caught me off guard.

"I think so," I said, still kneeling. "Though it seems the books have declared war on me."

The man smiled faintly, then held out a hardcover to me. "Here," he said. "This one seems to have missed the fall."

I glanced at the title. It was Pride and Prejudice. A knowing smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "You have good taste."

"Jane Austen is a classic," he said, a little too earnestly. "Not to mention a master at subtle social commentary. And Mr. Darcy’s arc... Well, it’s iconic."

I raised an eyebrow. "You really are a fan of Austen’s work, aren't you?"

He looked slightly embarrassed but managed to maintain eye contact. "Guilty as charged," he said. "I’m Spencer, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer," I replied. "I’m [y/n]." We exchanged a polite smile, and he moved to help me collect the remaining books. Once we were both standing, I found myself glancing back at Pride and Prejudice, wondering if I should buy it, but I didn’t want to seem too eager.

"You know," Spencer said with a slight hesitation, "I think Pride and Prejudice is the perfect book for someone who wants a little bit of everything. Romance, wit, social critique..."

I looked at him with a playful smile. "You’ve clearly done your homework."

"I suppose I have," he replied, looking sheepish.

Before I could say anything else, he gave a quick nod. "Well, I should probably leave you to the rest of your book shopping. Enjoy the rest of your day."

As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help but watch him disappear down one of the aisles. There was something about him—something intriguing, something different.

---

A week later, I found myself standing in line at my usual coffee shop, juggling my phone, keys, and a to-do list. It was a Monday morning, and the place was packed with people trying to start their day. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans and baked pastries filled the air as I anxiously checked the time on my phone, wondering if I’d make it to my meeting on time.

As I finally reached the counter to pick up my drink, I turned to make my way to a nearby table. That’s when I collided with someone. My coffee cup slipped from my hand in a perfect arc toward the floor.

"Watch out!" I cried, but it was too late. The hot coffee splashed across the table, narrowly missing the man standing in front of me.

He quickly stepped back, raising his hands in an attempt to shield himself, but the damage had already been done. I froze for a second, staring at the coffee stain spreading across the table.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry!" I exclaimed, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.

The man bent down and grabbed a napkin to start mopping up the spill. I blinked. There was something about this scenario that felt... familiar.

"Twice in one week?" I asked, still stunned. "Are you following me, Spencer?"

He looked up, his eyes widening in shock. "No! I swear, I’m not stalking you!" He paused, looking around at the busy café. "I mean, I do come here often, but I don’t think it’s quite the same thing."

I couldn’t help but laugh, the awkwardness of the moment suddenly lifting. "Same here. But I guess we just keep running into each other."

He gave a sheepish grin. "Maybe we’re just... fated to meet by accident."

I gestured to the table behind me. "Do you want to sit with me? It’s the least I can do since I’ve made a mess of your morning."

Spencer looked a bit hesitant but then shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

As we sat down and chatted, the conversation turned from the coffee mishap to our work. I learned he worked for the FBI—profiling, specifically—and was part of a team that investigated serious crimes. I couldn’t help but be impressed. His intelligence and passion for his job were evident in the way he talked about his cases, even though he seemed more humble than I expected.

We exchanged stories about our favorite books and movies, discovering that we had quite a few shared interests. Despite his shy demeanor, Spencer’s intelligence and sense of humor shone through. I found myself laughing more than I had in a long time, and before I knew it, hours had passed.

“Looks like I’ve kept you from your plans,” Spencer said, glancing at the clock and looking a bit guilty.

I waved him off. "No, I’m glad we talked. Let’s do this again sometime."

As we parted ways, I found myself secretly hoping that I’d bump into him again—preferably without any coffee mishaps. Gladly, we got to exchange numbers.

---

Two weeks later, Spencer invited me on a spontaneous picnic. I was hesitant at first; after all, Spencer wasn’t exactly the type to suggest spontaneous outdoor activities. But when he mentioned his favorite park and that he'd packed us both lunch, I couldn’t say no.

We met early on a Saturday morning, the sun barely peeking over the trees. Spencer had a basket in hand, looking as if he’d stepped straight out of a vintage romance movie. His cardigan, now unbuttoned, fluttered slightly in the morning breeze. He had a nervous energy about him, which I found endearing.

“I may have overpacked,” he said, setting the basket down next to a picnic blanket.

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s in there? Enough food to feed an army?”

“Well, no. Just enough food to feed two people who might be hungry after talking about random trivia for hours,” Spencer replied with a smile, clearly amused by his own self-awareness.

We settled down on the blanket, the sounds of the park around us—children laughing, birds chirping, and the distant hum of traffic—mixing with the peaceful vibe of our little picnic. Spencer unpacked the basket, revealing an assortment of sandwiches, chips, and fresh fruit.

“Did you make all this?” I asked, impressed by the spread he’d laid out.

Spencer flushed slightly. “Well, I mean, I don’t cook a lot, but I thought sandwiches would be simple enough. The fruit is from a local farm stand.”

“You’ve got good taste,” I said, picking up a sandwich. “You sure you’re not a secret chef?”

He laughed. “I think my talents lie more in... making the perfect cup of coffee and identifying obscure book quotes. Cooking’s not my thing.”

“I’m not complaining,” I said, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Everything’s delicious.”

For the next few hours, we talked about everything and nothing. We shared little-known facts—Spencer told me about his favorite historical figures and how fascinated he was by World War II espionage. I laughed and chimed in with my own trivia, telling him about random facts I’d read in articles or heard in podcasts.

Every so often, I’d glance over at him and see how deeply he was listening, his full attention on me. It was a quiet, comfortable feeling—one I hadn’t realized I needed in my life. I hadn’t had many deep conversations with people outside my closest circle, but with Spencer, it felt effortless.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the park, we packed up the basket and sat together for a few moments longer. It wasn’t about rushing to the next activity but savoring the peacefulness of the moment. Just us, sharing a space without the pressure of anything else.

“You know,” Spencer said after a while, his voice quieter now, “I think I could get used to this.”

I looked at him, heart swelling with affection. “Me too. I’m glad we did this.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling under the fading sunlight. “Maybe we could make it a regular thing,” he suggested, and I felt the warmth of his words settle inside me.

“That sounds perfect,” I replied, squeezing his hand, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but feel like everything was finally falling into place.

---

From that point on, our meetings became a little less accidental and a lot more intentional. We made plans to see each other every weekend, enjoying more quiet moments, long conversations, and shared laughter. Spencer’s nervousness faded as he became more comfortable around me, and I couldn’t help but fall even harder for him.

One day, after another one of our cozy park picnics, Spencer turned to me with that signature smile that always made my heart flutter.

“I think we’ve made it a habit,” he said, his voice light and teasing.

“Yeah,” I agreed, squeezing his hand. “A really good habit.”

We both leaned back against the blanket, the soft rustling of the trees above and the golden glow of the setting sun casting a warm light around us. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between us, but it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes. I could feel the closeness between us growing stronger, like something was just waiting to happen.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on me, and there was a softness in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. He seemed almost hesitant, his lips parted slightly, like he was debating something in his mind.

Without saying anything, I slowly leaned in, my heart racing, and before I could second-guess myself, I brushed my lips against his. It was gentle, like a quiet promise, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just him and me, the cool breeze, the sound of our breathing, and the feeling of everything clicking into place.

When we pulled away, I saw the same warm, amused smile on Spencer’s face. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“That was... nice,” he said softly, as if he was surprised by the simplicity and sweetness of the moment.

I smiled, my cheeks flushed. “Yeah. It was.”

“I think this might just be my favorite habit of all,” he whispered.

I leaned in again, this time not hesitating, and kissed him once more—this time a little deeper, a little more certain.

As we parted again, I felt like the world had shifted in the most beautiful way. With Spencer, everything felt natural, easy, like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

We settled back into the blanket, hands intertwined, not needing to say anything else. The sun dipped lower in the sky, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like time was slipping away. It felt like we had all the time in the world.

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 08.10 - Fyodor ~

Dom!abilityUser!reader x sub!Fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: wrong use of ability, aphrodisiac, handjob, teasing, marking, biting, little manhandling, mind break, sub space (?), cum eating, finger sucking, dacryphilia, use of pet names like baby - darling, kinda manipulation (on both sides), hints of hierophilia

~ Word count: 5k ~

Nini!rant: did I repeat myself a lot during this fic? I hope not…

Kinktober list 2024

Your vision blurred. The smoke burned your eyes and lungs, and a rough and painful ache spread from your chest to your throat. It didn’t help that your consciousness was fading in and out, or that you felt like blanking out every time you closed your eyes. You coughed, repeatedly, enough for blood to drip down the corners of your lips. Its metallic taste was one of the very things still keeping you sane. Then you dropped to your knees, fingers clawing at the filthy floor, nails filled with dirt as everything around you got rendered to ashes.

The heat made you sweat, and even though you could feel a chilly sensation run down your spine, flickering lights and the crunch of wood burning filled your awareness. With the last bit of strength you had, you looked up, arms reaching out to your mentor. They were the one who raised you, and the one who were shrieking and burning on the ground.

“Ughh- guhh…!!” You tried to talk, to call out to them, yet your voice was hoarse. Only groans of pain alongside incoherent grumbles left your lips as a dark figure approached you. The person kneeled on one knee, using their hand to cover your dry eyes as they whispered, “This is the punishment for their crimes, their sins.” Before long, your vision turned black.

An infinite amount of time passed as you slumbered comfortably. It felt way more comforting than the harsh reality you've been exposed to. When you eventually woke up, you were still alive and breathing, there was also no pain anymore. The smoke subsided, the fire ceased and all the burning buildings disappeared, or were you simply somewhere else? How long has it been since you were knocked out? You sat up from where you were and tried to look around, that’s when you noticed the soft cushion beneath you. Someone brought you here, someone saved you-

“You are awake.” A pretty voice emerged from somewhere. You had a surprised expression on your face, though it almost immediately turned into an alert one the moment you saw whom the voice belonged to. “You- you are..! Urghh!” As soon as you raised your voice a little, you began coughing again, the pain also returned as if it was only playing a prank on you. “I’d advise you to not overuse your voice.” The male said, closing the distance between you two, and taking a seat opposite of you.

There was a large window behind him, where warm rays of sunlight gently illuminated the room. Some of the orange light shone upon his silky black hair, causing it to have a colorful glow. The sky was a mix of red and pink decorated with some elements of orange and yellow, all these shades faded and intertwined, creating a scenery worthy of the title 'perfect'. Based on that alone, it must be dawn right now. In your memory, it was in the middle of the night when that horrific accident happened. It means you’ve been knocked out for at least a day.

Now wasn’t the time to admire nature's beauty, you had more important things at hand, for example, the person in front of you. He has been reticent since he sat down, piercing through your skull with his violet eyes. It felt like he was trying to read your mind, this pressure was suffocating. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.” You mumbled weakly, each word you uttered itched and hurt. This man was the one who burned your home, he’s the one who put your mentor to sleep. But why?

Many strong emotions filled you from the inside, about to make you explode. Though you couldn’t, now wasn’t the time. “Why… did you let me live?” You asked him, hoping to get to know what your value is in his eyes and the reason behind his actions. Was he planning on using you as a war trophy? “What did master do to you?!” Due to your lack of voice, you were whispering, yet the way you stressed your words showed your intentions, you were in despair, and pure confusion.

Instead of answering anything, he poured you and himself some tea, then gestured for you to drink. “It's a simple black tea with lemon and sugar, to soothe your throat," he explained as he reached for his cup, but you bested him to it. Out of concern and wariness, you took his cup instead of yours, not caring about politeness in the face of death. Fyodor didn't stop you, he pulled his hand back to let you have full access to his cup, then grabbed yours and took a sip.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you were thankful for the beverage, its effects showed in less than a minute. Afterward, he got up to go over to you, he leaned forward to cup your cheeks, and his gesture was painfully gentle. It tugged at your heart, it stung and you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the loss of someone dear was still a fresh wound.

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t move, too overwhelmed to act, too speechless to push him away. The burning sensation returned, a small part of you wished you could go down with your instructor. “As for your question, it's because I only punish the sinners.” He showed you a look of pity, full of what seemed to be genuine empathy, brows furrowed as he cooed, “Your mentor, he… he has been torturing the innocent souls of this world, there was no other way.” The way he talked was peculiar, strangely foreign yet elegant.

When the news of your teacher being a cold-hearted murderer echoed through your mind, you felt your world crumbling for a moment. They would never do that- right? After all, if they were that ruthless, they wouldn’t have taken you in. You didn’t know where to look at. What if he was lying? Was your faith in your guardian so poorly that you’d believe false information this quickly? Yet you weren’t able to shake off that ominous feeling, that familiar sense of betrayal and doubt.

"I'm sure it came across as quite the shock, but I ask you to believe me." The male said, pulling out a stack of paper from under the desk, and slamming it onto the tea table. "Feel free to look through it, take as much time as you need. And, my condolences." A hint of bitterness laced his tone. Your heart was wavering now, torn between whether or not you should believe him. The way he acted seemed to be real, though it could also be that he was a fantastic actor. In the end, you decided to reach out to the proof he provided you, holding one of the papers as you scanned over it.

It was a detailed report doting down the various crimes your mentor apparently committed, you even realized some of the events, but in a different setting. "Is... is this for real..? Haha- I can't believe it, and, if that's so, I didn't find out all this time?" Your thoughts hung from your lips and showed on your expression, a part of your world was crumbling down on you.

A sense of guilt and dizzy disgust engulfed you, shaking you from the core, and making you question all the memories made with him and your very existence. Could you still call yourself innocent after aiding such a horrible person with such a nativity? Even though you were still lost in your own little space, he raised your chin up, to stare down at you. Your noses were almost touching with how close he was. And with how the light drew across his features, paired with the romantic nature of the atmosphere, you couldn’t stop an impulsive thought from occurring.

The short-lived idea of him being a saint, a divine sent to expose the truth and bring salvation— he has saved you, twice now. You blinked a few times, wondering how you could think of something like that, it was crazy. Your brain must be struggling to process all this information, which led to you having some insane ideas, that must be the case, surely.

The closeness was making you feel dizzy again, eyes staring right into his dark pupils. He was smiling at you, kindly so, though his eyes had nothing but emptiness behind them. Even someone great like him isn't perfect in the art of acting, the eyes are said to be windows to the soul after all. “Y/n.” Fyodor mumbled his voice tender as it wrapped around your heart like a seductive spell, making you feel grossed out by your body's perception of him.

“Focus on me.” The male reminded you, the corners of his lips going up a little. You resumed staring at him, feeling the mood change involuntarily. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pretty, and he appeared even more beautiful when he calmly suggested, “Y/n, why don’t you join the decay of angels. By doing so, you can pay for the sins of the deceased, and he'll eventually be able to rest in peace.” He wasn’t asking you, he was making a deal.

You didn't know why but something about him made you feel drawn to him, it made you want to peruse him. Whatever it was that caused you to feel this way, you didn’t want it, it was annoying how it kept clouding your judgment. The thought of joining the enemy group so soon without mourning for the departed didn’t seem correct.

But you couldn’t decline either.

All you could do was stay in your seat, a drop of sweat dripping down the sides of your face as you subconsciously admired him. This bubbling sensation spread to every fever of your being, and in the end, you nodded meekly. The smile on his face widened, and then he asked you, “Y/n, please tell me how your ability works.” Once again, he didn’t seek your opinion, only stating what you had to do. But he was also aware you were an ability user, which might tied into the reasons why he saved you.

With a little hesitation, you reached your hand out to stroke his hair, his didn’t pull back or flinch, as if he was used to it, and nudged into your warm palm. Without missing a beat, you whispered in the still rough voice, “It’s poisonous gas.” As soon as he heard that, he noticed a sweet smell coming from the direction of your hand and he shuddered. Eyes widened while the sickening grin didn’t leave his face, as if he was proud of your small victory against him.

Before he could open his mouth, you added, “It’s not a life-threatening one, don’t worry.” He didn’t look angry, only amused as he let go of you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, sneering almost confidently, “A sly one, aren’t you?” You gave him a bright smile in return, "and you're confident much."

After his touch departed from you, he could feel his body heating up, a strange rush of need engulfing him, eating away at him from the inside. He blamed it on the poison, and he wasn’t wrong. His mind searched for the kind of poison this might be, trying to match the symptoms before he got interrupted by you, or more specifically your hand which had been placed on his head, without him noticing, he must have been careless. You scratched his scalp as gently as he has been treating you. It didn’t look like you were caressing a person but rather a cat, crawling at his skin.

For some reason, his heartbeat went higher and his blood rushed to his head, a meek whine slipping past his rosy lips, “Hmm...” He was in disbelief at his own voice, baffled by how foreign it was. Hell, he didn't recognize himself, this was like a completely different person. “What did you do-” Fyodor's gaze shot up to you, he sensed something ominous.

Consequentially the hand on his head moved down and clasped over his mouth while your other one wrapped around his waist. Then you pulled him closer, getting up in the process and pressing him into the soft cushions. The warmth of your body heat still lingered on his skin, it felt strangely comforting. A heavy blush crept onto his features as he furrowed his brows, both of his hands now crawling at your wrist, trying to peel you off him.

Though he didn’t need to do that, since you were willing to let go by yourself. Alternatively, you were holding his slim waist with both hands now, fingers sinking into his flesh loving yet roughly. “Uh-hmm..!” This time, he placed his hands over yours, trying to signal you to stop. Whenever you pressed down on his hips, a tingly feeling would course through him and he’d shudder helplessly. Poor boy didn’t take it that well, head hanging forward while he gritted his teeth. His pitch-black hair framed his face, sliding past his shoulders and tickling you by brushing over your skin.

“Let go, y/n..” he voiced out those shaky words, letting his facade crumble. You got even closer, nose now in the crook of his neck as you took a deep breath. Then you whispered into his ears, “Thank you for saving me and telling me the— truth…” The last word became so quiet he was barely able to register it. After that, you stuck the tip of your tongue out to lick his earlobe, at the same time you drew circles on his hips with your thumbs.

“Hnngh.. w-what are you..?!” Fyodor winced again. Because you were basically pressing your upper body against his, he couldn’t help but lock his hands around your neck, holding onto you tightly as he pressed his chin against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded as more lewd sounds escaped him. At the same time, this weird emotion coursing through him kept making him feel all buzzy inside. Confusion was a word much too vague to explain the state he was in.

On the other hand, you thought the way he held onto you was cute, it was like a little kitten that didn’t want you to leave. “...So please let me repay you.” You uttered, finishing your sentence from before after a long break, then answered his questions, “You are currently under the effects of an aphrodisiac, I thought it might help me service you better.” That’s why he’s feeling this way, so hot and bothered. It was because of your ability.

“M-make it go away then…!” He groaned, glaring at you. You weren’t expecting him to engage in such unsightly acts now, were you? “I am doing that right now. Don’t worry, you’ll feel so good.” A somewhat sinister smile spread on your lips, and then you bit his ear. “UhmM..! No- what?" Fyodor shuddered, head spinning a little from all these foreign sensations. "Are there other ways?” This is bad, it was so pleasurable that it was maddening. His body has become so sensitive all due to the poison, that he was reacting to your every touch, every light brush of your skin against his.

“Begrudgingly, no. Since there’s no other way, try to enjoy it.” You explained, one hand moving to his collar and unbuttoning his shirt while your eager tongue trailed down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a wet path. “Haaah… you- ughh!” He eventually gave in, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivered. Now both hands were working on his clothes, but you did it slowly, teasingly slow. At the same time, you licked over his skin, occasionally sucking on a specific area. It didn’t take long until you found a spot he especially liked.

You knew by how he squirmed around, arms losing strength as they limped and fell back next to his body, a dark reddened spot forming where your lips last touched him. It was too much, this drug was making him go insane, he couldn’t think of anything but giving himself to you. “Please..” he begged unbeknownst to himself, feeling you prying his shirt open. Then your knee pressed against his tightly shut legs, trying to separate them and force your way between.

After you did, you grabbed his waist and adjusted his position a little. He didn’t show any resistance, only whimpering in silence as he let you manhandle him. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes from raw lust, the need for your touch made him so frustrated that he became impatient. “Hurry up.. take responsibility for the mess you made,” Fyodor demanded while wearing a needy expression, you didn't know he was such a touch-starved man. “If that’s what you want.” You smirked devilishly as you took a bite out of him, or rather, you left your teeth marks on his pale skin.

The marks were deep, sinking down on him, like a form of testimony for this shared intimacy. Many hickeys were placed around the bite marks, decorating his sickly-looking body with colors. “Cute,” you commented on his appearance, then moved your lips past his chest down to his belly button. Fyodor didn’t react to that silly compliment, thinking it must have been a slip of the tongue. He let out a shaky breath when he felt you rubbing your cheek against his smooth and soft skin. That single gasp soon turned into a series of huffed moans due to you teasing his nipples.

You used both hands to skilfully circle around the nuds, sometimes flicking them with the tip of your fingers, or nudging them lovingly. Small gestures like this were enough to make him turn his head to the side, cursing out this annoying poison. The more you played with him, the stronger his reactions became. When you got to rubbing his cute and hardened nipples, his thighs squeezed around your waist, subconsciously trying to hide something very inappropriate. But you noticed anyway. He got hard by having his chest played with, enough for him to leak through his pants.

“Fyodor, I didn’t know your nipples were this sensitive.” You gasped excitedly, acting more dramatic than needed. A small yet noticeable wet patch was on his pants, the sticky fluid seeping through the fabric. “It’s because, hah.. of the aphrodisiac.” The male argued, gazing up at you all hostile. “Mhm, sure sure.” Instead of letting it get to you, you continued what you were doing. Humming to yourself before questioning him, “Well, do you want me to touch you?” His eyes basically lit up at that question, drool on the verge of dripping down the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm…” his tone was meek as if he was deliberately hiding his excitement. Putting his pride aside for now, he nodded almost too eager for his liking, and proceeded to avoid your gaze again. Since you got his approval, you decided to take it a step slower, leaning back to take your time to admire him. To worship him. That’s when you noticed how slim he was. Maybe it was due to his hands that were buried in his sleeves, or his shirt that was slipping down his arms, no matter the reason, he looked so petite right now. He was not intimidating or scary at all, not like the demon he was rumored to be.

You’ve already noticed his rather weakly looking physique, but to think it was this apparent. He didn’t really have any toned muscles, nor did he have any colors on his face. To be honest he seemed fragile, like a porcelain doll. When you put your hands on his hips again, gently holding him up and making him arch his back, the only thought running through your head was how easily you could snap him in two, causing you to be even more gentle with him, way more than before. All to take care of this man who was like a saint sent from above.

“D-don’t tease.” Fyodor groaned, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His arms were still holding your back, clinging to you. Seeing him so needy and defiled made you impatient as well, and you rubbed his bulge through his clothes. The dark patch grew in size, and some of the liquid stuck to your hand. “I-I said don’t tease.” He repeated his words, this time putting more emphasis on his tone, toes curling while he tried to close his legs, of course to no avail. “I doubt this is only the work of the aphrodisiac.” You commented, then pulled his pants down alongside his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock.

It was twitching around in an angry shade of red, leaking pre with no end in sight. “You look like you enjoy it so much, it's so lewd.” You commented, smiling satisfied. The boy glared at you, he didn’t seem to appreciate your commentary, sneering, "Don't let that imagination of yours run wild. It's all the work of your ability." Then he locked his legs around your waist before scoffing, “Just get on with it.” He held you close to him, so close you could hear his weak but fast heartbeats. It had a weird sense of calmness to it.

Ignoring the fact his voice trembled with every word, he was simply too adorable to take him seriously. “Of course, if you allow me the honor of corrupting you?” You asked sarcastically, and your snarky question was met with a fierce glare from him. “I’m not getting corrupted, I’m thriving out the pest inside my body. And may I remind you just whose fault it is?”

Following closely were the muffled laughs from you, hoping to not embarrass him. “Yes yes~ it’s all my fault, so I’m taking responsibility.” Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping his dick up and down. “HnggGhh! Ah- ahh.. wait, that’s so s-sudden..?!” He moaned loudly, unable to restrain his voice. Your other hand caressed his body, still placed on his waist and holding him up.

“Was I wrong when I speculated you wanted this to be over quickly?” You pressed your forehead against him, slowing down to rub his sensitive gland. More and more precum collected at the tip, dripping down his member, making lewd squelch sounds whenever you moved your fingers. “Haaah…” he squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at your back to balance out the growingly overwhelming sensations. Moaning into your ear, encouraging you with the sweetest melody known to mankind. “Huh? Yes.. you, you weren’t wrong. So hurry… please.”

Right now, you must be grinning so stupidly, totally captivated by him. You quickened your pace, hands gliding across his skin. It was very easy since he had been dripping so much, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making a comment about it, “You are so wet down there, Fyodor. Are you that excited?” He pinched your back, embarrassed by your words, “Don’t- nggGhh… make my body sound so perverted ♡.” Afterward, he continued to try and bite back his moans, but he failed miserably.

“Ah- hmmm..!! It’s too intense, y/n.” Pretty tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled as quietly as possible, his voice all breathy and broken. When you noticed these fresh tears climbing down his face, you leaned close to him and licked them away. His tears were salty, like any other human, and they were still warm when they reached your tongue. He sobbed meekly in response to your questionable course of action, his cries stiffening a little.

Why was he crying? Was it due to the embarrassment he felt, or the troubling feelings bubbling inside him? Or because he was too overwhelmed by his own emotions, by this growing heat that was on the verge of exploding? Nonetheless, he blamed it on the aphrodisiac, to shelter himself from the truth, to deny reality once more.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to feel this way.” You whispered against his smooth skin, only moving your lips minimally. With the hand that used to be on his waist, you wiped the tears from the other cheek, watching the water dry after a while, commenting with an adoring voice, “So beautiful.” He was stunned by how tender you were with him, it made his skin crawl and his heart tighten. It was noticeable by the way his blush seemed to intensify. His dick twitched against your hand, uncontrollably so, desperate for more friction and attention. “A-a bit more— I, hic, a little bit…” Fyodor said, unsure what he meant with little, but he knew he was close.

Your hand was all slippery with his juices, and you made sure that he knew every single detail. “Look at that, my hand’s all sticky and dirty now, thanks to you.” To demonstrate what you meant, you raised your hand and held it in front of him, waiting until he opened his eyes to have a look. “Ah..” he winced a little at the loss of pleasure, then buried himself into the nook of your neck, choking out a muffled sentence, “I-I don’t want to see that.. just- make this heat stop… it h-hurts ♡.”

When he did that, you felt your own heart skip a beat, and you cooed at him, “Aah.. right, yes, my bad. You are just too cute.” He held his breath, and only exhaled when he felt your finger wrap around his weeping cock. You kissed his hair, wrapping one arm around his head and playing with the hair on the other side, stroking and caressing it. “So very cute.”

Fyodor seemed to have a rather hard time registering the fact these compliments were meant for him, and not just for the heat of the moment. He stayed quiet, except for the occasional whine that’d escape him when you drag your hand up and down his twitching dick. Then you raised the speed of your hands again, now trying to bring him over the edge. His nails dug into your flesh when he noticed a knot forming in his stomach, toes curling while he gritted his teeth. Your touch was simply heavenly, there was no better way for him to describe it.

"Arghh, y/n..? D-don't stop, don't you dare- i- nghh!!" The male threatened though he wasn't able to finish his sentence without his moans interrupting him. "Hmm~? Why can't I stop?" You teased him, despite knowing the reason very well. Your hand pumped him fast and steadily, slowly down only to take extra care of his tip. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak but ending up biting your shoulder with a messy expression. "Mfmmhh..! HnnGh~"

A shiver ran down your spine, you could barely stop yourself from grinning as you asked again, "Is something the matter, Fyodor?" If only he wasn't so messed up right now, he'd be seething with anger. Because right now, no matter what expression he pulled, he looked like a ravished and whithering animal. Wet and dried tears continued spilling from his swollen eyes, his entire upper body was covered in marks like a cherry blossom, and his skin glistened with sweat and a heavy blush.

Now moving down to his lower body, which looked like something straight out of a sinful magazine, he was so wet and sticky that he felt ashamed. To be this aroused from nothing but a simple handjob as well, it was a huge hit to his ego. Fyodor took a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, he mumbled almost inaudibly, "It feels too good.. m' gonna cum.." That was the moment you absolutely lost it, you were so infatuated with him it was worse than hypnotise.

Quickening your pace once more, you chuckled happily, "It's alright baby, cum for me, spurt it alll over my hand ♡♥︎" the sudden rise in intensity and pleasure caught him off guard, so badly that he scratched your back, screaming in ecstasy, "aaHhHGgg! W-wait, s-stop~!! It's- it's too muucHhhh! ♡♡ cumming, cumiiinnnng, pull away, it's dirty~ ♥︎♡" The boy looked like he was going crazy from all this bliss, head thrown back while his pupils turned heart-shaped.

He was mewling, drooling, and shaking from his core, brain way too mushy to think, to see if what he was babbling even made sense. Never would you have thought you could turn such a composed and fine man into this dumb little thing, addicted to the sin of the flesh. You kept moving your hand to help him come down from his high, lips pressed against the shell of his ear, "Shhh, it's alright darling, it's okay. It doesn't hurt, right? So it's okay, defile my hand like how I defiled you."

A few minutes passed in silence. You gave him enough time to get used to the feeling and cope with the reality. In the meantime, your hand departed from him, your fingers were all slick with his body fluid, and a pool of thick semen collected on your palm. While you were wondering what to do with it, his breathing was ragged and heavy, looks like he was still not used to all of this. You reached for some tissues from the table, wanting to clear up this mess if not for him to suddenly grab your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and sucking on them feverishly.

He lapped up all the fluids clinging to you, all while gazing at you with the same eyes as before. Heart-shaped and pleasure-ridden, addicted, and out of his mind. Despite him still having your fingers in his mouth, he cried out, "he heet if stell here, i-if dihmmd woo.." (the heat is still there, it didn't work) before taking your fingers out, gulping down the fluids, and pleading sweetly, "p-please purge me more...♡♥︎♡" This was unexpected, you didn't expect him to react in this way. But you weren't going to complain, you didn't mind taking it a step further. Just...

How were you going to explain that you never used your ability on him?

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

An aphrodisiac sounds like something really fun, right? Though sadly there is no such thing in real life. According to science, all these foods and pills that claim to raise sexual desire and lust have no real correlation with boosting arousal. Because after all, sexual desire is created due to a series of brain chemistry and sometimes hormones. And that is something so complex it can’t be mimicked with chemicals or food.

Chocolate? The sugar raises euphoria and others, but not lust. Oysters? Apparently it raises testosterone levels, though that’s not arousal neither. Cinnamon and exotic spices? Now that’s a stretch. Sometimes the things suggested by people aren’t even healthy to consume! Like the Spanish fly, which helps with getting an erection. But that’s actually just blisters in the urethra, the tube in the penis…. Cuz the fly comes from blister beetles… yea

Though I’m not saying it can’t work, because sexual desire is created by the brain, right? So if you believe eating a banana helps then you can trick your brain, and it ends up actually helping. Or the rumour with the spices, most of the time it’s about the smell, and if you smell something nice that you like, that calms you, you’re more likely to become turned on then agitated or sad.

I wish aphrodisiacs were real though 😔

[deerspherestudios]

THEORY!!

i have had this theory for a while now , but i feel like MO is based on the sleeping beauty. how so? 1.) Mychael's three hens parallels with the three faeries in the sleeping beauty 2.) Menu screen theme but thats more obvious lolol 3.) The princess in the sleeping beauty was cursed to prick her finger on a spindle's needle , when it was time for the curse to take it's action she was almost in a state of hypnosis[?] and walked up to the spindle wheel to prick her needle. NOW mc in MO is sort of hypnotized too because we see on day 3 how mc [sort of] willingly walked upto a mushroom ring [if your choices lead to that] and attempts to touch it. i think i've connected the dots..... /silly 4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep.... sleep... sleeping.... sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi.... 5.) Maleficent cursed aurora because she was considered an 'outsider' and wasn't invited and welcomed to the grand celebration. guess who else is the 'outsider' [sort of]? MYCHAEL!! humans do not welcome him well! 6.) the forest themes... yummy.... i loved the aurora living in a cabin in woods parts of the movie... who else lives in a cabin in woods? you guessed it!! mychael!! 7.) my memory is hazy but i think one of hen's name is a direct reference to the sleeping beauty... primrose was aurora's name when she had to hide her identity as a civilian. thats what i think so far... i might've not worded some of it correctly but i hope this made sense! i really really reallyyyyyyy enjoy MO<3 thank you for sharing this piece of art with us :DDD have a lovely day i hope this ask finds you and doesn't get consumed by tumblr algorithm TnT <333

,,,I'm actually stunned speechless because hey? I kinda see it,,,?

I can debunk it wasn't based on Sleeping Beauty but I commend you for connecting dots I didn't even realize I'd made haha! It's just incredible coincidence you were able to find pretty decent comparisons here.

I don't usually add much to theory posts because that's the fun of theorizing but enjoy me yapping below if you'd like!

Of everything above, the only thing I can confirm is

4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep…. sleep… sleeping…. sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi….

is exactly what I was going for; since Mychael did indeed discover you while you were sleeping (ironically the one point you thought was farfetched haha) and that's what made me choose the main menu theme!

The reason it happened to be a music box version of Once Upon A Dream is because (get ready for Cheea lore here) I played an OFF fan-game titled UNKNOWN as a teen, and in it was a music box version of A Cruel Angel Thesis; it changed my brain chemistry about music box covers ever since. (I don't even watch the anime 😭!)

In fact, I almost used the music box version of Waltz in E-Major, Op. 15 Moon Waltz by Cojum Dip in Astronought's ending scene!

It's also a major part of the reason I gave Mychael a kalimba! I recommend looking up music box covers of songs you know if you enjoy the sound!! <3

Everything else was a coincidence!

Also just an extra tidbit for people who read this: when I was deciding Mychael's favorite Disney movie, it made me think how much he'd want to be Prince Phillip, (I mean genuinely the movie was never about Aurora it was about the fairies lmaoo but I digress) especially after the finale with him defeating Maleficent with the fairies' help.

He'd never consider himself a princely hero but he wishes he could be. And something about meeting your soulmate in the woods by accident really spoke to him.

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 2

Summary: Spencer doesn’t plan on seeing her again—but fate disagrees. A second encounter at the library leads to lunch, crayons, and conversation that slips into unexpected feelings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: Just a lot of fluff, and Spencer being a natural girl dad.

word count: 8.5k (I might’ve gone a little overboard)

Series Masterlist

“Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

That’s what I told the woman in the library two weeks ago when I found her daughter crying.

Maybe that’s why I’m back here. Back in the same library. Same hour. Same section.

Because books are easier than people, and thus I spend all my free time in the Library. Or maybe it was a coincidence. It was just a coincidence that this Library is closest to Quantico and was the same one where I met her. I’m not here for her. I’m not—

Actually, statistically speaking, the odds of running into someone twice in the same place, at the same time, without planning to, are roughly one in—

I exhale. Pick up the dog-eared copy of A Short History of Nearly Everything, flip it open with the spine cradled in my palm like something sacred. Page 203. I already know what’s there. I’ve memorized this edition. The typo in the footnote. The misplaced semicolon.

I set it back.

My fingers twitch toward Cosmos. Sagan. Safe. Familiar. Predictable, in the way that humans never were. Books don’t lie. Don’t leave. Don’t disappear into the world after saying things like “Thank you for being so gentle with her.”

She had a kind voice. Soft but tired. Like it had been through too many nights alone.

I blink and shake the thought loose. Refocus on the shelves, on the choices. As if there’s a decision to be made, when I know I’ll probably leave empty-handed anyway.

I don’t even need more books.

I tell myself I came here to browse, but I could’ve done that anywhere. There’s a secondhand shop closer to my apartment. Bigger science section. Better lighting.

But I came here.

Same day. Same time.

I run my thumb along the edge of a cover, barely registering the title.

It’s not like I expected to see her again. That would be ridiculous. Irrational. Entirely out of character.

But that doesn’t stop my brain from replaying her voice.

"Thank you again. For everything."

I didn’t say much in return. I never do. But she looked at me like I had, anyway. Like I’d said something important without needing to speak it aloud.

She was tired. In that way people are when they don’t trust the world to be kind to them. I know that look. I’ve worn it.

I wonder if she always smells like pancakes and baby shampoo. If she always speaks gently when she’s angry. If she ever lets anyone in.

I wonder how long I’ll remember the curve of her smile. The way her daughter clung to her shirt like it was home.

This is stupid.

I’m being stupid.

I pick up Cosmos. Open it halfway, then shut it again. I’m not even pretending anymore.

I turn slightly, scanning the aisle like maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of—

Laughter.

High, bright, unfiltered. A child’s laughter.

My chest tightens before I even realize I’m holding my breath. It’s probably nothing. Just another kid. There are always kids in libraries, especially on weekends. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t—

Another laugh, this time followed by a tiny voice too far away to make out. But there’s something about the cadence. The way it rises and dips with storybook rhythm.

I close my eyes.

I know that voice. Not in the way I know facts. Not in a way I could quantify. But I know it.

My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the book.

No. It’s not possible. The odds are ridiculous. Coincidence is one thing—this would be something else entirely. This would be—

My heart stutters.

I don’t move, not yet. I just stand there, spine straight, staring blankly at the shelf in front of me like it might explain what I’m supposed to do next.

It could be her, It could be Maddie.

Which means…

She’s here too.

And that thought—that tiny, traitorous flicker of hope—is enough to terrify me. Because if it’s not?

If I turn that corner and it’s just some other little girl with Rapunzel hair and a too-loud laugh?

Then I’ll have to admit that I came here for someone I barely know.

And I’m not sure what’s worse—seeing them again, or not seeing them at all.

I didn’t have to do anything to figure it out. Because before I could even make up my mind about turning the corner, I felt a small tug at the bottom hem of my shirt.

And then—

“Spencer?”

Her voice. High-pitched. Certain.

I looked down.

There she was. Bright-eyed, slightly flushed, her hair a little messier than I remembered, like she’d been running through the shelves unsupervised again. The same Rapunzel doll she had gotten from our previous encounter, clutched in one hand.

And just like that, the rest of the library disappeared.

All the facts. All the logic. All the well-rehearsed mental gymnastics I’d been running through dissolved under the weight of one look from a five-year-old.

“Hi,” I said—because it was the only word I could find.

Her face lit up like it was the answer she’d been hoping for.

“I knew it was you!” she beamed. “Mommy said maybe someday, and I told her someday would come.”

Someday.

I swallowed hard.

It was suddenly, terrifyingly, today.

“Maddie…” I crouched down a little, just to meet her eyes. “Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost again?”

I looked around, scanning the edges of the room for any sign of her. But all I saw were rows and rows of shelves, shadowed corners, and quiet readers. No familiar face. No soft, tired voice. Just absence.

“No,” Maddie said, entirely unfazed. “Mommy’s at the kiddie section, talking to my friend’s mom. I was playing hide and seek with my friend… and then I saw you.”

She said it like I was the thing she’d been hoping to find all along. Like this had been part of the game.

I was about to suggest we head back to the kiddie section and find her mother, but it was clear she had no intention of being rerouted. Her mind was already somewhere else—bouncing ahead like she always seemed to.

“Mommy brought me to the library today, and she read me and my friends a book!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating.

“Oh really?” I asked, settling into her rhythm. “What book?”

“There’s No Place Like Space!” she announced proudly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Cat in the hat?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah! He wears a space helmet.”

I smiled. “Did you learn any new facts?”

She leaned in like she was about to share a state secret. “Did you know Saturn has rings made of ice and rocks and moon dust? That’s what the book said.”

“I did know that,” I whispered back. “But only because I read it too.”

Her face lit up like I’d just told her we shared a superpower. “Really?! what else do you know?”

I smiled, keeping my voice low like we were sharing very important secrets.

“Well… did you know that on Venus, it rains acid? But the air’s so hot, the rain disappears before it ever touches the ground.”

Her mouth opened slightly. “That sounds scary.”

“It is,” I said softly. “But it’s far, far away. Just a cool thing to learn about.”

She nodded, thinking. Then, out of nowhere—like a thought just dropped into her head—she said, “My mommy likes the stars too.”

That pulled at something in me. Quietly. All at once.

“She does?” I asked.

Maddie nodded. “Sometimes we look at them through the window before bedtime.”

I hesitated, then gently cleared my throat. “Hey… do you think maybe we should go find her now? I’m sure she’s wondering where you are.”

Maddie looked back toward the shelves behind her, then back at me.

“Okay,” she said, like it hadn’t occurred to her until now. “She’s by the little chairs.”

“Then let’s go find the little chairs.”

We started walking side by side when, suddenly, Maddie’s small hand found mine.

It was a common thing—kids reaching for the hand of an adult they trusted while walking. It wasn’t unusual.

But did I really count as that? A trusted adult?

I mean, it’s not like I would ever hurt her. Not in a million years. I’d protect this little girl with my life if it came to that.

Still… the idea that a child I barely knew could trust me enough to take my hand without hesitation It felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Like something meant for someone else.

And yet, I didn’t panic, I didn’t pull away. In fact, I felt strangely calm. Like her hand belonged there.

It was small—smaller than I remembered, even—and warm, and sticky in the way little kids always seem to be. But she held on with certainty. Like I was something solid. Like I was safe.

We walked slowly, her short legs trying to keep pace with mine, and I didn’t rush her. I didn’t want to.

I could feel the weight of that hand more than I could feel the floor beneath my feet. Like it anchored me to something I hadn’t even known I’d been floating away from.

I glanced down at her, at the way her gaze scanned the shelves, totally unbothered. Totally sure.

She didn’t look up at me. She didn’t need to. She already trusted I’d follow her lead.

And somehow, I did.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind before I could stop it:

This shouldn’t feel so good.

Because it did.

It felt easy in a way that nothing in my life ever has. Maddie’s hand in mine wasn’t just comfort—it was hope, concentrated into the smallest, warmest palm. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t used to ease. I wasn’t built for things that slipped into place without needing explanation.

She tugged me gently to the left, toward the kid’s section, and I followed without question.

I didn’t even try to tell myself it was just good manners, or that I was walking her back because it was the responsible thing to do. I was following because I wanted to. Because in that moment, I wanted to be wherever she was—wanted to stay in this little pocket of borrowed peace for as long as I could.

The truth was, I’d never given much serious thought to having children. Sure, I’d wanted a family in the vague, hypothetical way people who grew up lonely tend to. I thought maybe, someday, I’d settle down. Maybe have someone waiting at home. A dog, probably. A partner, if I was lucky. A kid, maybe—but that part always felt hazy. Distant. Like a chapter in someone else’s story.

But right now, walking beside Maddie—imagining myself in this setting, not as a stranger or a bystander, but as a father—something shifted.

It wasn’t a sharp ache. Not like the usual stabs of grief or guilt or want.

It was quieter than that. Slower.

Like a soft click. Like something sliding into place.

And while it was a strange concept for me—unfamiliar, fragile, impossible in so many ways—I couldn’t say I felt opposed to it. In fact, for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel afraid of it at all.

We were only a few feet away from the kiddie section now. I could see the tiny beanbag chairs, the colorful rugs. Hear the gentle hum of a mother’s voice reading aloud. For a second, I let myself imagine it was ours—that this was routine. A Saturday morning. A library run. Me, her, and

I stopped myself before the thought finished.

This wasn’t mine. This wasn’t something I got to keep. For crying out loud, I’ve only met the girl and her mother last week. I’m way too over my head.

And when Maddie pulled on my hand again, her other arm wrapped around that worn Rapunzel doll like it was a promise, I tried not to fall any further into it.

“Told you I knew where she was,” she said softly.

I managed a quiet smile. “You did.”

And then—just over the shelves—I heard the voice that had been echoing in my head for two weeks.

Hers.

My eyes shot up toward her, and to my own surprise—

she was already watching us.

She stood just beyond the shelves, half-shadowed by a spinning rack of paperback picture books, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. And she was smiling.

Not big or performative. Just soft. Gentle.

Like she’d been watching for a while. Like this wasn’t a surprise to her. Like maybe… this made sense. I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The way it made my chest tighten. The way her eyes found mine, and didn’t flinch or look away. The way she looked at the two of us—at me—like I belonged in the picture.

She didn’t rush forward. Didn’t call out.

She just stood there.

Calm. Certain.

And somehow, that scared me more than if she’d run.

Maybe this was all in my head. The screw had finally come loose enough to make me believe that this woman—this beautiful, exhausted, soft-voiced woman—was actually smiling at me.

Like I was someone worth smiling at.

Like the sight of me, a stranger, with her daughter didn’t set off alarms, or raise questions, or make her second-guess every protective instinct she’d ever built.

Maybe my brain, forever conditioned to prepare for rejection, had simply decided to give me a mercy hallucination before crashing back to reality.

Because what else could explain the warmth in her eyes?

What else could explain the way she was looking at me like…

like I hadn’t just found her daughter again—

But like I’d shown up.

Before I could spiral any further, she started walking toward us—steady, unhurried, like she wasn’t surprised to see me there at all.

Maddie turned just as she arrived, tugging gently on my hand and beaming.

“Look, Mommy! I found the wizard again! I told you I would!”

Her voice was loud enough to turn a few heads from the nearby shelves, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Her joy was too big for her body.

I glanced at the woman—at her—half-expecting to see confusion or concern flicker across her face. Maybe even wariness. Instead, she just smiled. Not the polite kind. Not the forced kind. Just something real. Soft around the edges.

She looked between me and her daughter, then down at our joined hands. And I swear—for a second—her smile deepened, like the sight didn’t just make sense, but maybe... made her glad.

“I see that,” she said, voice warm with amusement. “You’re getting pretty good at finding him.”

Maddie nodded proudly. “I said I would. You said maybe someday, and I knew it was today.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I probably should’ve let go of her hand, or at least looked less like I’d just been emotionally tackled in the middle of a library. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

She looked at me then—really looked—and for the first time since she’d appeared, the smile didn’t falter.

“Hi,” she said, simple and easy, like this wasn’t strange. Like we weren’t two people somehow caught in the gravity of something neither of us planned for.

And all I could think to do… was nod.

“Hi.”

It came out too quiet, too late—but she smiled anyway, like she didn’t mind.

Then silence.

Not a heavy one, not uncomfortable exactly—just... full. Like neither of us knew what to say first, or maybe we were both waiting for the other to fill in the blanks.

I let go of Maddie’s hand, finally, and immediately missed the weight of it.

She shifted slightly, brushing some hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think we’d actually see you again.”

“Me neither,” I said, and then immediately regretted how abrupt it sounded. “I mean—I come here a lot. Not for—well, not because of…”

I trailed off. Good. Very smooth.

She tilted her head, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Not because of the children’s section, I hope.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah— I mean no! no... I didn’t… plan to. I mean, not in a weird way. I come here a lot. I wasn’t... following you.”

Why did I say that?

But she laughed, and thank God, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just warm.

“I didn’t think you were. Though if you were—this is a pretty safe place to be stalked.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, no. I was… in nonfiction. Science.”

“Of course you were.” The way she said it—soft, teasing, like she already knew that about me—made something flicker in my chest. “What were you reading?”

I blinked. “Oh, uh—Cosmos, again. I’ve read it more times than I care to admit.”

She tilted her head, genuinely curious now. “Why go back to something you already know?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and stopped.

Because it’s safe. Because I know what’s coming. Because people don’t make sense and books do.

Instead, I said, “Sometimes I need something that doesn’t change.”

That earned a slower nod from her. Thoughtful.

“That’s actually kind of beautiful,” she murmured.

I should’ve let the moment settle, but I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

“So…” I said, voice low, uncertain. “Do you come here often?”

She raised a brow, and I realized immediately how that sounded. My ears burned.

“Sorry—that sounded like a really bad line. I just meant… is this your usual Saturday spot?”

Her expression softened again, and to my surprise, she nodded.

“Pretty much every week. It’s our ritual.”

“It’s a nice one.”

“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes flicked toward Maddie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the carpet, flipping through a board book upside down. “It keeps us grounded.”

Something about the way she said us made my chest ache.

And still—I didn’t want to leave.

I could’ve said goodbye. Should’ve. But instead, I opened my mouth again.

“I never caught your name.”

“I never caught your name.”

She turned back to me, almost surprised I’d asked, like she hadn’t noticed we’d gone this long without saying it.

A slow smile crept onto her face. “It’s Y/N.”

Y/N.

I repeated it silently, like a fact I didn’t want to forget. Like something I’d write in the margin of a book I didn’t own but wished I did.

“I’m—”

“Spencer… I know,” she said, that smile tugging just a little higher now. “Maddie wouldn’t stop rambling about you all week.”

My eyebrows lifted before I could catch the reaction, and I felt the heat rush to my face.

She already knew. But somehow, hearing her say my name still felt like the right thing—like speaking it aloud made this real. Not just a strange, passing moment in a quiet library, but something grounded. Something remembered.

“She has a lot to say for someone under four feet tall,” I said, hoping humor would mask the way my chest was suddenly too full.

“She does,” Y/N agreed softly. “But she only remembers the good things.”

Her eyes were steady on mine. Not teasing this time. Just... warm.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Spencer.”

And somehow, it felt like the first honest thing I’d heard all day.

I nodded, unsure what to say—afraid that if I said anything at all, it might break whatever this was. The moment. The quiet understanding. The fact that I was still standing here, and she hadn’t walked away.

But eventually, she glanced down at Maddie, still content in her world of upside-down books and floor-level discoveries, and I could tell she was about to say goodbye. I felt it before she spoke. The air shifted.

“We should probably head out,” she said gently, and began to step back. “She gets grumpy if we skip lunch.”

I smiled, even though the thought of watching them walk away made something in me feel uneven.

Y/N leaned down to gather Maddie’s things, and as she did, Maddie stood and toddled back over to me.

And then—without hesitation—she reached up and wrapped her tiny fingers around mine again.

I froze. My hand curled instinctively around hers, soft and steady, like it had before. Like it still belonged there.

She looked up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

I froze. Not visibly—but inside, everything just… stopped. My thoughts. My breath. My ability to pretend this wasn’t affecting me.

I hadn’t prepared for that. I’d expected a goodbye. Maybe a smile. Not this. Not a question that sounded so innocent and yet landed like a weight in the center of my chest.

Because the truth was—I didn’t know.

I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes. More than I should have. More than made sense for someone who had only just learned her mother’s name.

But wanting something has never made it safe. Not for me.

My gaze lifted—instinctively, automatically—and found hers.

Y/N was already looking at me.

And I could tell from the way her breath caught, the way her hand hovered mid-reach like she’d forgotten what she was doing, that she hadn’t expected it either. Not the question. Not the way I looked at her like I was asking her to answer for me. Like I needed her to be the one to say it was okay to want this.

I didn’t know what was written across my face, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t laugh or step in or rescue me from the moment.

She just… watched.

And in the silence, I felt it—all the things I wasn’t letting myself say. The wish that this wasn’t just a moment but the beginning of something. The hope that I hadn’t imagined the connection. The ache I’d been holding at bay since the first time Maddie reached for my hand and didn’t flinch.

It was all there. Pressed between us in the space of a few seconds.

And she didn’t look away.

Then, slowly, I crouched down to Maddie’s level. My knees creaked a little, and the hem of my coat bunched at my sides, but I didn’t care. I met her eyes, soft and serious, and smiled.

“I hope so,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. Rough around the edges. Still honest.

She beamed, her face lighting up like I’d just granted her a wish.

I reached out and gently tapped her nose. She giggled, and the sound felt like a small sun blooming in the center of my chest.

He tapped her nose, and Maddie giggled—light and free, like the world had never once scared her.

I watched them from just a step away, something quiet unfolding in my chest. The way he looked at her. The way she looked at him. I wasn’t sure when it had started to feel like they already knew each other. Like some invisible thread had pulled them together and neither of them had questioned it—not once.

Watching them bond shouldn’t have affected me this much. But it did. It was. It is affecting me in a way I didn’t expect, didn’t prepare for. And somewhere beneath all that stillness in my chest was something louder—I can’t let him walk away twice.

And before I could stop myself—before I could think too hard about what it might mean—I said, “Spencer, would you maybe like to join us for lunch?”

The words left my mouth before I had time to second-guess them.

He blinked, startled—like he hadn’t expected me to say his name, let alone follow it with an invitation.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

I felt the nerves flood in, quick and sharp. I cleared my throat, rushing to soften the moment.

God. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. What was I even thinking?

Too forward. Too hopeful. I mean—I just met the man. And now here I am, inviting him to lunch like we’re old friends? Like we’re… something?

And wait—was that even just an invitation?

Oh no. What if he thinks I’m asking him out?

Was I asking him out?

I’m not ready to date. I haven’t dated in years. I wouldn’t even know where to start—what to say, what to wear, how to be. Besides, lunch with your daughter and a man you met in the library is not a date. Right?

Right?

He probably thinks we’re a mess. Just a tired, overstretched mom and her talkative little girl, desperate enough to drag the first nice stranger we meet into some kind of father-figure fantasy.

God, he’s probably trying to come up with a polite excuse right now.

I glanced down at Maddie, who was still looking up at him like he hung the moon.

I nearly opened my mouth to take it back. To say I was joking. Or that it was totally fine if he was busy.

But then—

He looked at her.

And something in him softened.

And once again, I just couldn’t stop my mouth.

“There’s a little place just down the block,” I added quickly. “It’s nothing fancy—mostly sandwiches and crayons and spilled apple juice, but… Maddie likes it.”

I didn’t know what I expected him to say. Maybe I was already preparing myself for a polite decline. But then he glanced at her—at the way she was still beaming, still holding onto the weight of his words.

Then he looked at me.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

Maddie gasped like someone had just told her she could live in a candy store.

“Yay!” Maddie shouted, throwing her hands in the air with absolutely no regard for indoor voice levels. “Spencer’s coming with us!”

Her joy was so pure, so loud, so entirely her, I couldn’t help but laugh. It bubbled out of me before I could stop it—part nerves, part disbelief, part just watching her glow like she’d won something precious. And Spencer—he smiled too. Tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, but then a little fuller when she grabbed his hand without asking, without hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him toward the exit, already halfway to the door. “I’ll show you where it is!”

He glanced back at me, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure if he was being kidnapped or adopted.

I shrugged, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. “Maddie, don’t drag him. He’s not a toy.”

She didn’t slow down. If anything, she gripped tighter.

I stepped in to help, reaching for her arm, but Spencer shook his head gently. “It’s okay,” he said, still watching her like she was some strange, marvelous creature he hadn’t quite figured out. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

I smiled, and for the first time since inviting him, I felt the knot in my stomach start to loosen. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, falling into step beside him. “She’s… very persistent.”

“I’m starting to notice,” he said, voice soft with something that sounded dangerously close to fondness.

The three of us walked together, side by side. Maddie led the way like a tiny parade marshal, humming something under her breath, swinging their hands with so much enthusiasm it lifted his arm with every step. Spencer let it happen.

And I watched him out of the corner of my eye—how careful he was not to step too far ahead or too far behind. How he looked down at her, then at me, then away again. Like he was still waiting for the moment to collapse on itself. Like he was quietly, hopelessly wondering if this—whatever this was—was real.

Maddie tugged him forward again, chattering about crayons and sandwiches and something called “the apple juice tower,” whatever that was. I let her lead, falling just a step ahead of him as we neared the glass doors.

But just before I reached for the handle, something made me glance back.

He was watching us—watching me—with that same quiet, uncertain awe like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all in his head.

Our eyes met, and I smiled. Not big. Not nervous. Just enough to say I see you. You’re here. This is okay.

He smiled back. Small, but real. Like he meant it.

The café was exactly the kind of place that looked like it had been decorated by a five-year-old with a glue stick and too much creative freedom.

Paper menus. Crayon buckets on every table. Bright yellow walls smudged with fingerprints and faded murals of dancing sandwiches. The air smelled like grilled cheese and applesauce, with just the faintest undercurrent of desperation.

Maddie walked in like she owned the place.

She made a beeline for her favorite table near the window, climbed into the booster seat without help, and immediately grabbed a crayon to start coloring the laminated menu like it was a job she took very seriously.

I offered a quick, breathless apology to the hostess—who, by now, knew us by name from how often we ate here, and how often I apologized for Maddie. She just smiled, waved us along like always.

I followed behind, juggling Maddie’s water bottle, my slipping purse strap, and the bag hanging awkwardly off one arm. My hair stuck to the back of my neck, and I was already sweating before we even reached the table.

Spencer hovered behind us—shoulders tense, hands tucked carefully into his sleeves like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. He eyed the table before sitting, then reached for a napkin and used it to wipe off the corner of his chair.

I bit back a smile.

He sat down slowly, like the seat might collapse under him, and folded a napkin onto his lap with an almost surgical precision. Then, with the same cautious care, he picked up the menu between two fingers like it might bite him.

“Is this… washable?” he asked, squinting at a suspicious green smear in the corner.

I bit back a laugh.

The way he held himself—tense, deliberate, like the entire environment was foreign terrain—should’ve felt awkward. Should’ve made him seem stiff or out of place. And maybe he was. This place was loud and messy and sticky in all the ways kid-friendly cafés tend to be. It didn’t match his cardigan, or the way he spoke, or the precise way he folded that napkin like he needed it to anchor him.

But somehow, despite how out of place he looked in here… it was charming in a way I hadn’t expected.

Like he was trying. Like none of this made sense to him, but he’d still shown up and let a four-year-old lead him to a table covered in crayon marks and glitter glue residue—and never once complained.

It made something settle in my chest. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. Just… gently.

The way something shifts when you realize someone doesn’t quite fit into your world, but doesn’t seem afraid of it, either.

Maybe i’m getting ahead of myself again…

I smiled as I finally slid into the seat across from him.

“You’re holding your sandwich menu like it’s radioactive.”

He blinked at me, then laughed—nervous, quiet, but real.

“I’m just… recalibrating. I don’t usually eat anywhere that serves chocolate milk with every meal.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing to the glittery chalkboard behind him, “you’re in luck. Today’s special is dino nuggets with a side of animal crackers and a sticker.”

He raised a brow. “Do I have to finish my vegetables to earn it?”

“Only if Maddie lets you.”

From her booster seat, Maddie gave him a solemn nod. “You have to eat two bites. That’s the rule.”

He nodded seriously, matching her tone. “Fair enough.”

Maddie picked up her crayon again, dramatically scribbling across the corner of the kids’ menu like she was signing a contract. “I’m gonna get the dinosaur lunch,” she announced. “And I’m gonna eat the animal crackers first.”

“Bold choice,” I said. “Dessert before lunch?”

She nodded with absolute conviction. “They taste better when they’re still cold.”

Spencer looked genuinely intrigued. “Cold animal crackers?”

I smiled. “The servers here love Maddie. She likes her animal crackers cold, so they put them in the fridge for her. We come here a lot.”

He glanced between us, amused, and I added, “She also keeps a stash in the fridge at home—right next to the ketchup and a collection of stickers she refuses to actually use.”

“They’re for emergencies,” Maddie mumbled, still coloring.

He smiled, clearly charmed. “I think that’s smart.”

Maddie sat back, tapping her crayon to her chin. “What’s your favorite food, Spencer?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting to be called on. “Oh. Uh…” He paused, clearly thinking harder than anyone needed to over the question. “As a kid, I really liked buttered saltines.”

Maddie wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s… sad toast,” I said, biting back a grin.

He laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

“Well I like jelly sandwiches,” Maddie declared, puffing up proudly. “But only if they don’t touch the crust.”

I turned to Spencer, already smiling. “Last week she had a full meltdown because her sandwich was touching the pickles on the plate.”

He raised a brow. “Touching the pickles?”

“Contamination, apparently,” I said. “There were actual tears. Like, betrayal-level tears.”

Maddie shrugged. “I hate pickles.”

Spencer held up both hands. “No judgment. I cried once because I dropped an ice cream cone on a squirrel.”

There was a pause. Then Maddie said, dead serious, “Did it eat it?”

Spencer leaned in just slightly, like he was letting her in on a secret. “It did.”

Maddie let out a satisfied little “huh” and went back to coloring like that settled everything.

I looked across the table at him, and before I could stop myself, I smiled.

God help me… I was enjoying this.

Before anything else could be said, the server arrived to take our order. Maddie ordered for herself, proudly pointing at the “Dino Lunch” with a red crayon-smudged finger, and I gave my usual half-apology as I asked for something simple and spill-proof.

Which, of course, did nothing to stop the inevitable.

Because just as the drinks were set down—and Spencer opened his mouth to comment on the chalkboard specials—Maddie reached for her crayon and accidentally knocked her cup with her elbow.

Apple juice went tumbling sideways, spilling fast across the table and soaking everything in its path: the menu, a handful of napkins, and most dangerously, the edge of Spencer’s side of the table.

“Shoot—Maddie, careful!” I said, snapping forward before I could think. One hand grabbed the cup, the other reached for the nearest napkins, my voice already apologizing. “I’m so sorry—God, I always forget to move it. Are you—did it get on you?”

But Spencer didn’t flinch.

He didn’t startle or recoil. He didn’t look to me for direction or freeze up like he wasn’t sure how to exist inside the chaos.

He just moved.

Quiet. Certain. Crouched beside the table with a napkin in hand, dabbing gently at the spill like it was something ordinary. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

There was no performance in it. No show of exaggerated patience. No offhand comment meant to smooth over the discomfort.

Just presence. Just calm.

And it shouldn’t have surprised me—but it did.

Because I’ve grown so used to being watched during moments like this. To feeling people’s eyes crawl across the back of my neck when juice spills or crayons fall or Maddie’s voice gets just a little too loud. I’ve learned the tone people use when they try to be helpful but can’t quite hide the edge in their voice.

But Spencer?

He just helped.

And it wasn’t just that he helped—it was the way he moved. Careful, like the world had taught him to tread lightly. Like he knew some things break if you come at them too fast.

He handed Maddie a napkin without a word, and she took it without hesitation. Like she already understood his kind of quiet.

And I just stood there, blinking at this man who looked so completely out of place in a room full of noise and color—and yet somehow felt like the most steady thing in it.

The moment passed the way these things always do—juice soaked up, napkins tossed aside, and Maddie already moving on like it had never happened at all.

She was now focused on arranging her animal crackers by species, narrating under her breath which ones were friends and which ones were “going to space.” Spencer watched her with quiet interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Maddie was mid-chew, swinging her legs beneath the booster seat, when she glanced up at Spencer and asked, in the completely unfiltered way only kids can,

“Do you have a kid?”

Spencer blinked.

There was a pause. Not long enough to seem strange, but long enough for me to feel it.

And God, I felt it.

The second the question left her mouth, I wanted to shrink. Apologize. Backpedal so hard I’d fall through the floor. I could’ve sworn the air changed. My stomach twisted. I opened my mouth, ready to say something—anything to fill the silence, soften the edges—but then he answered.

He smiled—small, controlled. “No,” he said. “Just books.”

His tone was light. Almost rehearsed. But something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.

Just books.

It sounded like a joke. The kind you throw out to change the subject. But his eyes didn’t quite match the smile. They didn’t crinkle at the corners. They didn’t hold amusement. They held something else.

Not sadness, exactly. Not regret. Just… distance.

Like the question had touched something he hadn’t expected. Like maybe there was a story there—one he didn’t tell often. Or at all.

I didn’t push. I wanted to. More than I should have.

But I just reached for Maddie’s juice and asked if she wanted a straw. She nodded and went back to organizing her crackers.

And Spencer?

He went back to watching her with that quiet kind of attention—the kind that didn’t ask for anything in return.

The moment settled, the way heavy things do—gently, but not without leaving something behind.

Maddie had already moved on, now focused on biting the heads off her dinosaur nuggets in species order, completely unaware of the silence she’d left behind.

Spencer picked up his water, took a small sip, and then moved his attention towards me. Not at Maddie. Not at the menu. At me.

And of course, that was the exact moment I realized I’d been staring at him.

I panicked, internally.

My brain scrambled for something—anything—to do with my face. Should I smile? Look away? Pretend I was zoning out and just happened to be staring into the space he occupied? My fork suddenly became the most fascinating object in the universe.

But he didn’t seem thrown by it.

If anything, there was something different in the way he was looking at me now. A shift. Not in focus exactly—he’d been paying attention this whole time. But something had turned. Like I wasn’t just Maddie’s mom across the table anymore. Like now, I was someone he wanted to understand.

“You’re good with her,” he said, voice softer now. Not like a compliment, exactly—more like an observation. One he’d been quietly holding onto for a while.

I smiled, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Uh… thanks?”

It came out more awkward than I meant it to. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, buying half a second to breathe.

“I try,” I added. “She makes it easy most of the time.”

Then, like I couldn’t help myself, I added, “She’s also really clumsy. Like, expert-level.”

He let out a soft laugh—just enough to warm the space between us.

“Clumsy’s fine,” he said. “It means she’s moving fast enough to chase things.”

“Chase things?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced down for a second, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “I just mean… she’s curious. Curious kids knock things over sometimes. It’s kind of the price of wonder.”

I stared at him for a second, not because I didn’t understand, but because—

who says things like that?

Somehow, he made Maddie’s juice spill sound like a trait of great explorers.

“That’s…” I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Weirdly profound.”

He gave a half-shrug, eyes still on his water glass. “I think about stuff like that a lot.”

“So you’re one of those… deep and mysterious guys?” I asked, only half-joking.

He looked up at me then, something flickering behind his expression—amusement, maybe, or hesitation. Or both.

“I don’t think I’m mysterious,” he said. “Just… overthinky.”

“Is that the technical term?”

He cracked a small smile. “It is in certain circles.”

There was a pause—one that didn’t feel awkward, just full. I watched him trace the rim of his glass with one finger, thoughtful, like he was weighing what to say next.

“But I guess I’d rather be quiet than careless,” he added after a moment. “Some things deserve a softer touch.”

And just like that, there it was again—that pull in my chest. That stupid, quiet ache for someone who wasn’t just listening, but noticing.

I wasn’t used to that. Not even a little.

People usually speak just to fill silence, to be heard. But he didn’t do that. He left space—real space—for something to exist between us, and didn’t rush to fill it. And in that space, I felt something shift in me.

Maybe it was the way he said it—careless, softer touch, like he knew what it meant to ruin something just by trying too hard.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at me without flinching. Without expectation.

Whatever it was, it made me want to offer something back. Just enough to even the playing field.

“It’s just me and Maddie,” I said, almost before I realized I’d decided to. “Always has been.”

“Just you two?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t surprised or pitying—just curious. Open.

I nodded, brushing my fingers over a wrinkle in the paper napkin beside my plate. “Yeah. I’m a single mother.”

There wasn’t any bitterness in the words. Not anymore. Just fact. Just a quiet kind of truth I’d grown used to carrying.

“I didn’t plan it that way, obviously,” I added, eyes flicking up to meet his. “But life doesn’t really wait around for your timeline to catch up.”

He didn’t rush to fill the silence. Didn’t try to soothe it or fix it or offer up some canned line about how “strong” I must be.

He just listened.

I didn’t know what I would’ve said next—maybe make a joke, or let the silence stretch just a little longer between us—but then Maddie broke through it all with the most casual kind of urgency.

“Mommy, I’m done…”

She pouted, arms folded across her dino nugget-stained shirt, her plate pushed an inch away like that somehow made it official. Her tone was flat, but I could hear it—she was winding down. Bored. And I didn’t have to check the time to know why.

Her favorite show would be starting in about fifteen minutes.

I blinked, like surfacing from deep water, and turned toward her. “Okay, baby. One second.”

She huffed dramatically, which in Maddie-language meant you have exactly forty seconds before I start getting antsy.

Spencer chuckled under his breath, and when I looked back at him, the moment we’d just been sitting in had softened—but it hadn’t vanished.

It was still there. Waiting.

“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing at Maddie as she slumped dramatically in her seat. “She gets like this when she’s bored… plus, her favorite show starts in fifteen minutes, and she’s got an internal clock like you wouldn’t believe.”

He smiled, his eyes still following her as she fiddled with her empty cup. “She’s kind of amazing.”

I let out a soft breath. “She really is.”

I looked at her—my messy, impatient, wonderful girl—and then back at him. And for a brief second, I wondered what this must look like from the outside. The three of us sitting there. Laughing. Talking. Almost like—

No. I stopped myself. It was way too early for almosts. But still… the warmth lingered.

I cleared my throat, reaching for Maddie’s water bottle. “Anyway, we’re gonna head out, but the meal is on me.”

Spencer blinked, like the words took a second to register. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“I know,” I said, managing a half-smile. “But I invited you. It’s only fair.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Just gave me that small, quiet nod that felt like more than it was.

“Thank you,” he said. And he meant it.

The afternoon sun was warmer than expected when we stepped outside, the kind that made you squint even if the sky wasn’t all that bright. Maddie shuffled beside me, her dino-nugget energy finally spent. She yawned dramatically and leaned into my side, thumb sneaking into her mouth like it used to when she was smaller.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and adjusted the bag on mine, heart still a little too full.

Spencer stood just a step behind us, like he wasn’t sure if this was where we said goodbye or if he should keep walking with us. His hands were in his pockets, eyes flicking between me and Maddie.

“Thank you,” I said, turning slightly toward him. “For coming. And for lunch. You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

He said it before I could finish, and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—made me feel like the ground had shifted just a little beneath me.

I nodded, unsure what else to say. There was a question hovering at the edge of my mouth, but I didn’t ask it.

Maddie blinked up at him sleepily and gave a tiny wave. “Bye, Spencer.”

He smiled and lifted his hand, the wave a little awkward, almost formal. “Bye, Maddie.”

He turned like he was going to leave—and for a second, I thought that was it.

But then he hesitated. Turned back.

“Wait—”

I stopped, startled. He looked almost nervous now, which was oddly comforting, considering I felt the exact same way.

“Would it… be weird if I asked for your number?”

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. It was Spencer—uncertain, a little flushed, and completely genuine.

I smiled. “No. It wouldn’t be weird.”

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

And it made me smile even more.

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

It made me smile even more.

He handed it to me without a word, the lock screen already open to the contact form. I took it carefully, thumbs suddenly too aware of themselves as I typed in my name and number.

I hesitated just before hitting save, then added a small emoji at the end—just to keep it from looking too clinical. Too… formal.

“There,” I said, handing it back.

He glanced at the screen, then up at me. “Y/N with a little star.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “Seemed appropriate.”

He nodded, like he was tucking that away somewhere quiet.

“I’ll text you,” he said, slipping the phone back into his coat.

“Okay.”

It felt like the kind of word that meant more than it sounded like. Not a goodbye. Not yet.

He lingered for a breath longer, then gave me that same soft nod—the one that meant he’d said everything he was going to say.

And then, he turned and walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, hair catching a little in the wind.

I watched him go. This time, on purpose.

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