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daydreamgoddess14 · 16 days ago

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The Menu Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Dinner

Love on a plate.

Thank you @buckybarnesfic for the banana pudding suggestion, and @azriona's grandmother for the 1937 recipe 😘

Thunderbolts* / F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader brewing.

Word count: 3k (this one got away from me a little, but I hope you can see why 🥹)

Four days.

They’d been gone for four days.

It had taken two just to hear from them - Yelena managing a crackly call to say they were alive, still mid-mission. You’d barely left the tower since. Bob missed them too much, and the idea of him sitting in the empty penthouse by himself broke your heart.

So you stayed.

If you were honest, you needed the company as much as he did.

Four days of chess. Card games. Movies you half-watched.

Four days of stress cooking. And stress cleaning.

The penthouse gleamed. The laundry room was empty. The floors practically shone.

It had been a few weeks since girls’ night. Since the tangle of karaoke and cocktails and waking up in Bucky’s shirt. Since something began to shift, quietly but undeniably.

With all of them.

John still teased you, but gently now, with an offhand affection. Ava let you see more than just bravado and cutting sarcasm. Yelena drifted in and out of the kitchen like she’d found somewhere she belonged. Bob didn’t flinch when you touched his arm, or when you told him he was doing great. He was more bitingly funny than you'd first realised, his sarcasm easily matching Ava now, but never cruelly. And his good days far outweighed his bad ones.

Alexei swaggered through the kitchen everyday like he’d just saved the world single-handedly, tossing you a wink and declaring you the true hero for having food ready. He fake-flirted shamelessly, calling you his “angel in an apron,” and you rolled your eyes, laughing when Yelena threatened to knock him out with a spoon.

But then there was Bucky.

Quieter. Observing more than speaking. His usual stillness was edged with something unfamiliar, something unsettled.

When your eyes met, the sound in the room seemed to dip, just slightly and each time you were never quite sure who looked away first.

You hadn’t expected to find a place here. But somewhere between the shared meals and small kindnesses, you had.

And now they were late coming home, and something in your chest wouldn’t unclench.

You and Bob were marathon baking.

Muffins, tarts, cinnamon buns dripping with gooey, shiny icing. The radio was on and you were doing your best to distract each other from the waiting.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open noiselessly. Bob was on the move before you, making his way towards Yelena, scowling and limping. Alexei dumped his duffle bag in the middle of the room with a heavy sigh. You were drawn to Ava, being supported between John and Bucky.

You reached for her first, a gentle hand on her cheek, then John, wordlessly scanning him for visible blood and wounds. While you looked at him, your hands moved from Ava to Bucky, your fingertips instinctively lingering on a tear in his tactical suit. Your eyes eventually caught up to your hand. You both froze, feeling his sharp intake of breath that didn't come from pain. He didn’t pull away. If anything he leaned in just the tiniest amount.

Ava threw a wink in your direction. “We’re fine, babe.”

“Nothing permanent, anyway,” Yelena added, pulling your attention away from Bucky and into a warm hug. She smelled like gasoline and gunpowder.

You held her tighter than you meant to. She didn’t let go first.

John, hovering nearby, gave you a once-over, then opened his arms. “C’mere, chef. It's good to be back.”

You laughed, stepping into his hug. It was solid, familiar, and brief.

And when you pulled back, Bucky was still watching you. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.

His expression was unreadable, hiding his relief at being home.

"Ugh I need to shower," Yelena sighed. "You smell like sugar and cinnamon, and I smell like shit!"

"You all get cleaned up, I'll start dinner."

"What's cooking tonight?" John asked immediately, "if I see one more protein bar I'm gonna dropkick something or someone."

"A welcome home surprise," you smiled. "And until then I've been stress baking so… you're welcome."

You gestured to the counter packed with treats.

Bucky brushed past you on the way to drop his gear, the faintest touch at your back as he passed.

John was already making a beeline for the muffins.

“God, I missed real food.”

Behind him, Bucky’s voice was quieter.

“You’ve been busy,” he muttered, as you put a still warm cinnamon bun on a plate for him and licked the icing from your fingers. His eyes followed the swipe of your finger, something darker there than you’d seen before. It made heat pool between your thighs.

“Had to keep me and Bob distracted somehow,” you laughed. It sounded false.

Bucky hummed, but it sounded a little strained. When you looked up, he was already looking away.

With snacks in hand, they all disappeared again to clean up and unpack. You persuaded Ava to sit down long enough for you to check her over.

It wasn’t long before they trickled back, hair still damp, faces scrubbed clean. The kitchen buzzed with the hum of homecoming.

John was mid-story before he’d even finished cracking open a beer.

“I swear to God, if I hadn’t grabbed the intel when I did -”

Alexei barked a laugh. “You mean after I save your star-spangled ass?”

“You were unconscious!”

“Was a short moment!”

Yelena groaned, flopping onto a stool next to Bob. “Please, not this again.”

“I’m just saying,” John insisted, gesturing wildly with his bottle, “someone had to show a little initiative.”

“You set off two alarms,” Ava pointed out dryly. “That’s not initiative, John, that’s chaos.”

They laughed and it rippled through the kitchen, tired but warm. You caught yourself smiling, your heart full and soft as the weight of worry and uncertainty finally started to lift.

Alexei threw an arm around John’s shoulders and pointed dramatically. “Next mission, I work solo. No more babysitting, only the mighty Red Guardian!”

John just grinned and raised his bottle. “You’d miss me.”

“I'm not sure he would,” you teased, slapping his hand away as he tried to lift the lid on a mystery pan.

“C'mon, Chef! Just a hint, I smell hot sauce?”

“No hints!” You dodged him as he tried to flick the kitchen towel at the back of your knees. “Ow!”

The noise was chaotic and homely.

“Wait, where’s Barnes?” Ava asked, glancing around like Bucky might be hiding under the counter. “We can’t relive our glorious victory without Captain Broody.”

Alexei threw his arms up. “I need him. He is the only one appreciating my stories.”

“He’s probably hiding from you more like,” Yelena smirked, stealing one of the last muffins.

You smiled, but your eyes flicked toward the hallway. You hadn’t seen him since he’d taken his bun and disappeared.

Just as John went to holler for him again, footsteps sounded down the hall.

“I’m right here, idiots.” Heads turned as he stepped into the kitchen. Bucky’s eyes met yours just for a second. He smiled gently, then looked away.

“Now here is the daddy!” Alexei whooped.

You felt heat flood your cheeks.

The Russian was impossible to ignore - and worse, Bucky had definitely noticed your reaction, both to him and to Alexei’s outburst.

Your breath caught hard in your throat.

He looked unfair like this. Comfortable. Clean. Quietly lethal.

His steps slowed slightly as he passed behind you on the way to the fridge, close enough that you felt the warmth of him at your back. His voice brushed your ear, low and amused.

“Easy,” he murmured, not quite teasing. “You’ll burn the sauce.”

You hadn’t realized your hand was still hovering over the pot.

You dropped the spoon with a clatter.

The rest of the room carried on. No one noticed.

But he did.

And when you glanced back over your shoulder, he was already sipping from a bottle of beer and shaking his head at something Bob had said.

You reached for your own, your mouth suddenly dry.

John and Alexei were still recounting the mission, each claim getting bolder and more outrageous.

Bucky laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, incredulous at their bravado.

It was a good sound. A warm one. It settled in your chest like sunlight.

Ava leaned over and tapped the neck of her beer bottle against yours.

“Missed you,” she said quietly.

It was so unlike her that it caught you completely off guard. You blinked fast, breath catching.

“Me too,” you managed, your voice thin.

“It's good to be home,” she nodded firmly.

You could feel tears pricking in your eyes and tried to swallow down the thick tide of emotion that had hit you so suddenly.

“I just need something from the pantry, be right back.”

It was all too much.

They’re here. They’re alive.

You'd been holding it together for four days, and now you could feel yourself beginning to unravel.

In the pantry, you pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears before they started.

A choked sob escaped. You bit down on your knuckle, hard, hoping the music and laughter outside would be enough to cover it.

You couldn’t catch your breath. Your chest was rising and falling too fast, shallow and shaky. You pressed your back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to make a sound.

The door opened softly behind you.

You didn’t hear footsteps, just the gentle hush of movement, and then arms wrapped around you.

Strong. Warm. Steady.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, and you pressed your face into his chest. He held you like he’d been waiting to. His cool, vibranium palm moved slowly up and down your back, anchoring you, grounding you.

You sobbed silent, helpless shudders that wracked through your body like aftershocks. And he didn’t flinch or shift, just held on.

One big hand settled at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing gently behind your ear.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart” he murmured eventually, so low it barely registered as sound. “You don’t have to hold it all together.”

You heard the boisterous laughter beyond the door and knew it wouldn't be long before they noticed that you had disappeared. That you and Bucky had disappeared.

“I just - Bob and I were so worried,” you said quietly once you'd gotten your breath back.

You felt him nod against your temple, the fabric of his shirt warm against your cheek. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances.

“I know,” he said softly. “Lena said you stayed here?”

You let out a tiny, watery laugh against his chest, “couldn't leave Bob on his own, he was the only one keeping me sane.”

“And here I thought it was the other way around.”

His hand slid from your back to your arm, and when he pulled away just enough to see your face, his eyes searched yours like he was making sure you were really ok.

“I should… go back in,” you whispered, already missing the weight of his arms.

He didn’t let go right away. “Take a second.”

Your breath hitched again at the care in his voice.

“We’re all here,” he said, so gently it almost undid you again. “You don’t have to rush back.”

But still, he didn’t stop you when you straightened, smoothing your hands down your shirt. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the stainless steel shelves. Your cheeks were flushed, you felt like a mess of emotion.

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, but stayed close, a steadying presence.

“Thanks,” you said, voice small.

Bucky gave a little nod, his eyes soft but unreadable.

Then, as you turned to reach for the door handle, his hand brushed lightly against yours. Not stopping you. Just… a touch. A reminder.

You didn’t pull your hand away right away.

Neither did he.

For a second, the only sound was the thrum of voices and music beyond the door, and the hush of your breath finally settling.

When you looked up, he was already looking at you.

There was something new in his eyes. Something quiet. You opened your mouth - to say what, you weren’t sure - but then someone laughed loudly just outside and the spell broke.

You both stepped back at the same time.

You offered him a shy smile. “Thanks… for not letting me fall apart.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, then gave a faint shrug. “Pretty sure you're stuck with us now.”

Then, softly, with the faintest hint of amusement, “Besides, if you fall apart, who’s gonna yell at Alexei for not giving up on the Daddy thing?”

You let out a breath of laughter, the moment easing just enough to breathe again.

“Someone has to keep him in line,” you giggled, opening the pantry door and blinking into the golden light of the kitchen.

By the time you returned from the pantry, the noise had only grown. Alexei was recounting something wildly exaggerated, John shouting over him with corrections no one believed, and Ava howling with laughter on the stool like it didn’t still hurt to move.

You slipped back into the space like you’d never left, like you belonged here.

Yelena squinted at you, then smirked when Bucky followed a few seconds later.

“Dinner's nearly done,” you told them all.

Bob laid the table. John grabbed another round of beers while Alexei loudly restocked the fridge. Then they all dropped into chairs and watched you work your magic.

You noticed Bucky hadn’t taken his eyes off you. It made your hands tremble, threw off your rhythm.

He wasn't remotely subtle about it.

John noticed. “Mom’s fussing again,” he teased.

“She’s not your mom,” Bucky replied shortly.

The sounds of the hot plate sizzling filled the air and you brought over the first tray of food.

“She made buffalo wings, pal, my favourite!” John bit back at Bucky.

With the tray safely on the table, you swiped your hand across the back of his head.

“Call me Mom one more time, Walker and you'll be wearing the wings.” You warned with a smile.

“You're making cheeseburgers?” Alexei asked, halfway out of his seat. “I love American cheeseburger! With the little pickles and the plastic cheeses.”

You flipped the burgers and came over with another side dish.

“Looks like I'm the favourite, Walker. Mac and cheese!” Yelena called up the table victoriously.

The mac and cheese was followed quickly by another tray.

“Chips?” Ava marveled. “Not stupid skinny fries?”

“What's wrong with fries?”

“What's right with fries, Bob? This is how you cook a fucking potato.” Golden, chunky cut, triple fried chips. Ava pinched one and took a bite. “Oh, fuck me that's good! Have you got any -”

Before she could finish, you sent a bottle of vinegar through the air which Yelena caught with ease.

“Ugh, really?” She grimaced.

“Don't knock it till you've tried it! Besides, don’t you heathens pickle everything anyway?”

You brought over the tray of burgers last, cheese melting, pickles stacked, toasted buns still warm from the oven. Alexei groaned like he’d seen God.

“You cooked for each of us,” John said when he looked around the table, almost surprised.

“She's been planning it for days,” Bob said proudly. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Kind of your thing, huh?”

You just smiled, brushing your hands on a tea towel, watching them all dig in.

But Bucky didn’t move.

You caught the furrow in his brow, the faint crease between his eyes as he looked at the table and saw what you'd done.

It wasn’t just dinner.

It was belonging and love, served in courses.

A place for each of them - a plate, a chair, a part to play.

You could have bottled the blissful sighs as everyone tucked in. Sharing their favourites with each other.

Sharing the love.

He didn't say much during dinner, but afterwards, when you placed desert on the table, Bucky stopped in his tracks.

He didn’t reach for it right away. Just stared for a second, spoon in hand.

“Is that banana pudding? Shit, I haven't had that for years,” John stared.

“We found a recipe from 1937,” Bob said with a smile, “as the taste tester, it was… not great.”

“Poor Bob never wants to see banana pudding again,” you laughed. “It took some perfecting to get it up to scratch, and I was not about to go for some god awful steamed carrot pudding option!”

Bucky's gaze lifted to yours. Quiet and steady. Grateful. And that was enough to make your heart swell with pride.

After dinner, they all drifted toward the couches, the lull of full stomachs and quiet contentment settling over the room.

You stood to start clearing up, but before you could even lift a plate, Bucky was there. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached for a tray.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured. “You’re beat. I can -”

“You cooked,” he said simply, stacking dishes. “Least I can do.”

The silence between you was gentle, companionable. But you felt the current under the surface. The heat of his nearness.

“You ok?” he asked after a beat, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m fine,” you lied, cheeks flushed.

His voice dropped, soft and knowing.

“You sure? You’re warm.”

A pause. His eyes flicked to your lips, just briefly. “...You running a fever, doll?”

You froze.

You’d had your suspicions, of course - your pulse rate, every catch of your breath, every hot flush. Did he know?

You busied yourself with a dish, needing something to anchor you. The quiet stretched between you again, but not in a bad way. It was full of all the things you weren’t saying.

You didn’t ask about the mission. You weren’t sure you wanted to know whether he’d felt the absence.

But after a moment, his voice came quiet and rough.

“I missed this.”

You felt him take a slow breath.

“This -” he gestured to the dishes, the kitchen, the fading sounds of laughter behind you, “- was what I thought about out there.”

And then, like he didn’t even realise what it would do to you, he said, “It helped. Knowing you were here.”

Please note, may contain sugar. Don't forget to tip your hostess with reblogs and ALWAYS ask for second helpings!

Tagging on request: @doilooklikeagiveafrack @althea-tavalas @tellybearryyyy @delfitaylorsversiom131989 @maryevm @ramp-it-up @nissaimmortal @thebuckybarnesvault @alagalaska

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bluesidez · 1 year ago

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GymRat!Miguel Part 2

content warning: mentions of food because big boys gotta eat, there’s a ref photo for an outfit in here that is unfortunately NOT a plus-size girl 😞 (I couldn’t find a big girl wearing an outfit like that for the life of me, but let’s use our imagination), 18+ towards the end so MDNI!

word count: 1.7k (not very drabble-like, ik) kinda proofread

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up when his 6 am alarm rings, eyes tired and bleary. His roommate is sound asleep, thank god, and Miguel is just staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes before he decides to move. He has an 8 am and he needs some type of breakfast before he heads to class.

GymRat!Miguel who uses the college cafeteria to his full advantage. He made sure that his dad’s money went to the highest meal plan. One free meal plan a day and a loaded campus card for everything else. He stacks his plate high with everything the cafeteria is offering today. Sausages, eggs, 2 bananas, a blueberry muffin, and a protein shake he brought from his room.

GymRat!Miguel who made friends with one of the cafeteria ladies, Ms. Beatrice, by the third week of school. She noticed how much he visited the cafeteria and always snuck him an extra treat from the kitchen when she saw him.

“I missed you last Tuesday!” she says, squeezing his shoulder when she walks up to his table. She slides a wrapped egg sandwich across the table. “I was saving some extra cookies for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Miguel thanks her, happy to have something light for later, “Ah, I was stuck in the library doing a group project. Sorry about that, Ms. Beatrice.”

“As long as you’re getting your education, I don’t mind,” she says, hands on her hips. “Don’t go out there skipping class now, ok?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Miguel says, waving her goodbye. His mom would kill him if that ever happened. Not that he would tell her, she just had a sixth sense for his “fuck-ups.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes it to his class fifteen minutes early to arrange his part of his desk to his liking. Sometimes he feels so embarrassed when he needs to grab something in the middle of class, his ears hyperfocusing on every little noise he makes in quiet, crowded areas. He always makes sure to get out his laptop, a pen, a pencil, a highlighter, a notebook, some white-out, and a water jug. He prefers to be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who’s feeling anxious when the sorority girls pass by his table, giggling and twirling their hair. They attempt to make conversation with him, speaking ill of the professor. He just nods along for the sake of being a gentleman. He thought the professor’s Millennial attempts at Gen Z jokes were kind of funny, albeit very 2010. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he actually enjoyed the lectures.

GymRat!Miguel who’s never been more excited for a lecture to start in his life. He didn’t know many more “wow”’s snd “that’s crazy”’s he had left in him. The noise of the ice hitting their plastic coffee cups as they struggled to get every drop out was starting to grate against his ears. He missed you and your sticker-covered water bottle. He looked over at his jug and smiled when he saw the ‘Game Over’ sticker you gifted him before the last lab. You noticed his joystick keychain and felt that his water bottle was empty.

GymRat!Miguel who declines the girls’ offer to join them on a morning jog after. He liked to work out in solitude and morning jogs with them would mean conversation. He would also have to be extra conscious about what he wore. No older lady walking her dog needed to spot him jogging with shorts that were too short for his own good and a tank top cut so deep that it was like string on his chest.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to head to the library in between class to kill time. He figured he can see if there are any science fiction he can check out to read in his free time. As he walks there, he opens Instagram to scroll. No, he has not been checking the app since this morning to see if you let him in, he’s not a freak. He stops walking when he checks his notifs to see that you accepted his follow request. He wastes no time to click your page again and is bombarded with tons of photos.

GymRat!Miguel who has to close the app immediately when he sees your first photo. It's a picture of you outside of a restaurant in a knitted two-piece. The top is open just a bit to see your chest and the long skirt is low enough to see a part of your stomach peeking through. Your smile is radiant and the caption is something about congratulating someone. You look delectable and Miguel can’t afford to run back to his dorm to let his mind wander over it right now.

GymRat!Miguel who gets another notification as he steps into his dorm room after his last class of the day and sees that you’ve liked and commented on his most recent post. It’s a mirror picture of him flexing his arm after his last work out. His shorts are riding high on his thighs and the curve of his ass is very noticeable. Gabriel had blew up his phone with voice memos of him cackling after he posted it.

“Looking good!! 🫣 Get those gains Miguel! 💪🏾”

Miguel runs a victory lap in his dorm room, thankful that his roommate wouldn’t be back until that night. He’s jumping and punching the air excitedly as if he were a boxer. If he wasn’t fearful of busting his ass, he’d do a backflip. Take that, Gabri.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to go back to your account, running on the hype of that one compliment from you. He stares at that first photo again, still mesmerized as if he didn’t see it earlier. He gives a like and starts typing.

“Wow…”

No, that’s corny.

“Loving the blue…”

Is he a frat guy?

“You look stunning”

Was that too much? He decides to add on a heart eyes emoji, afraid he might be coming on too strong.

GymRat!Miguel who goes a little further down your page. There’s a photo of you in a crochet cover up, your swimsuit peaking through the material. He groans as he slides to the next picture and the top of your cover up is off and it’s just a view of your back with your bikini string wrapped around it. Your lower half is in the water and if he can imagine it just enough, he can feel himself right behind you, taking in the view of your ass against him.

He’s hard. Again.

He decides to just let everything hang while he has the dorm to himself. His boxers are to his ankles as he sits on the bed, back against the wall. He keeps staring at your swimsuit pictures. Your breasts pushed together while you lean over the boat. Your hips swaying in a clip of you dancing with your friends. Your stomach on display as you lay in the sand, ready for him to squeeze.

He grit his teeth as he played the clips over and over again, his hand moving fast to bring him his relief. He closed his eyes and imagined he was there, watching you swaying before him. He would join you, grab your hips and let you guide him in the dance. He felt faint as he let go, voice shouting and white splattered across his shirt and fist.

He breathes fast, trying to calm down. He decides to like the photo dump and comment some aimless beach emojis under the post. It was the least he could do after using it to get off. How embarrassing.

GymRat!Miguel who jumps when his phone dings again. He was prepping to go to the gym when your response comes flying to his phone. His heart picks up when he sees you replied to his comment.

“That is so sweet of you to say! 🥺 Thank you 🥰”

He doesn’t know if you took it as a friendly gesture or a sign that he wanted you. Either way, he’s over the moon. There’s a pep in his step as he blasts Super Shy in his ears on the way to the gym. He had a new motivation to push harder in his sets.

GymRat!Miguel who tacks on 10 extra pounds during his arm workout. The guys in the gym are eyeing him in wonder and horror as he uses the 70lb weights for tricep extensions. He thinks of seeing you in lab later that week and decides to do some hip thrusts.

He can never be over-prepared.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to take a picture at the end of his work out to post on his story. He’s sweating, hair dripping towards the ends, his chest glistening. The angle is awkward as he moves the camera below him and flexes an arm for the picture. The story was meant for one girl and one girl only, so he didn’t really care how silly it looked to others.

GymRat!Miguel who almost fist pumps on the walk home when you like his story and leave a reply. He checks the private messages, grin on his face before he even reads what you have to say.

“Looks like you had a nice workout. I might have to join you next time and get some tips 🤔”

Miguel swiped the app up and texted Gabriel:

“Don’t ever question my game again”

"? Wtf are you talking about"

Miguel opened up his messages with you again and replied to text him whenever and he’d be happy to help.

GymRat!Miguel who winds down for the night, scrolling on his phone before he closes his eyes. Of course you posted a story and of course he pressed it within record speed.

It was a photo of you laying down all bundled up with a cute ‘good night’ gif moving across the bottom. You had on a spaghetti strap tank top and if your blanket wasn’t in the way, he’s sure he would see more than that.

You looked soft, adorable, kissable.

He liked the story and responded back a “good night” and closed his phone. He wanted you to visit him in his dreams once more.

dividers by: @gigittamic 🩵

a/n: tumblr mobile kept deleting full paragraphs of my draft. not happy about that because I kept losing my flow. 😒 it happened like THREE TIMES 😭

Thanks for reading! Like, comment, reblog, and tell me how you feel! 🩵

Wanna be added to the taglist for GymRat!Miguel? Comment and let me know. 🤗 (PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. This series has been and will get even more NSFW!)

taglist: @ghost-lantern 🫶🏾🥺

#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #plus size reader #spiderman 2099 au #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara au #miguel o’hara x plussize!reader #miguel o’hara x chubby reader #miguel o’hara x chubby!reader #miguel x fem!reader

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corkinavoid · 10 months ago

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A list of things I've done that pissed my mother off, but as Batfam + Team Phantom edition

Bruce: got into a verbal fight and held a year-long grudge at my teacher for not giving me a fair grade at an annual competition, and proceeded to go out of my way to win said competition next year

Alfred: refused to eat her food, got told to cook for myself and did so, ending up with both my dad and sister saying my banana bread was the best thing they've eaten

Dick: swung on the bungee rope over the dry riverbed turned into junk yard, fell, miraculously did not die, went to that same bungee rope the next day

Babs: organized a stake out, found out which neighbor had been messing with trash bins when everyone blamed raccoons, called said neighbor a raccoon for the next three weeks

Jason: kept reading books at night with a flashlight, when said flashlight was taken away, lit a candle and accidentally almost set the house on fire

Tim: fled to a different country across the globe without telling anyone except my sister, who's been 7 at the time, and did not respond to any calls or messages for three months

Steph: picked a dress with glitter for a dinner with her relatives after specifically being told not to, was forced to change, but took my revenge by exploding a glitter bomb in the car when we have already arrived at the relatives' house

Cass: responded with 'sorry I didn't quite catch that could you repeat' to her very long rant, over text

Damian: successfully clawed and gnawed at a classmate's face after they destroyed my painting

Duke: was the leader of school rebellion over the 'no wigs allowed in school' rule in sixth grade, managed to convince two teachers to join, ended up with the rule taken down

Danny: accidentally shocked myself with a tazer I stole from her handbag, cried, when she came to ask what happened, showed her by repeating the accidental electrocution

Dan: pushed my maternal aunt into the pool and watched her flounder, knowing very well she is a bad swimmer, when confronted about it later argued it was the kiddie part of the pool and she could not have drowned

Jazz: told her I was in love with a girl she disliked, when she voiced her opinion on it, made a whole argument about how I'm supposed to learn from my own mistakes and not from her experiences

Dani: zoned out while she was yelling at me, came back to her saying 'you're no better than a pig', impulsively told her 'it's because of genetics' and started oinking

Sam: painted my nails and toes on my left hand and left foot black, dyed my hair purple, but only on the left side, as well as got a piercing on the left eyebrow, while the whole right side was left 'natural'

Tucker: learned to change the wi-fi password and held power over the internet every time she took my electronics away by asking a friend that lived nearby to come by my house and using their phone to change the password

Bonus:

Selina: repeatedly stolen antique jewelry from grandma because she, in turn, stole it from my other grandma

Valerie: turned rogue, teamed up with the opponent team in lasertag and helped them win over my own teammates

Talia: threatened a person I will carve their eyeballs out with a spoon if they ever as much as look at my sister funny again, a month later gave them a decorated silver teaspoon as a birthday gift

Jack Fenton: failed my driving license test seven times, three of which were on purpose

Maddie: ruined her plans of my picture-perfect marriage by friendzoning a son of her friend, claiming I'm saving my love only for the important things like mozzarella

Vlad: scared my sister shitless by telling her a scary story about ghosts under her bed and then hiding under her bed and making 'boo' noizes

Clockwork: purposefully made her experience deja vu by wearing the exact same clothes and greeting her the exact same way in the exact same place for three days in a row

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

hi Jade! Can I make a kbd request of Steve and the girls spoiling r for mothers day?🥹love u!

The spoiling starts early in the morning. Heavy, hot kisses from your husband, his thumb pressed gently to the column of your throat. “Love you,” he’d said. He’d been squeezing your side in his other hand as he said it, like he couldn’t keep the pressure in.

You shower, and Steve lays out soft loungewear for you to change into. He tends to Wren as you dress, shushing a big cry before it can start and wake her sisters, stooped over her bassinet. “Hello, honey,” he whispers sweetly, giving the bassinet a gentle rock. “Hello. Are you going to be a good girl today for your mommy? I think you are.”

You sit on the end of the bed, dressed. Mother’s Days are pretty good every year, like a second birthday, and you’re looking forward to a good long day of cuddly girls and kisses. Steve gets crazy acting like you’re the best thing since sliced bread (though he occasionally does it for no reason at all), and tonight you’re promised a hand just under your chest as he tells you how much you’ve given him.

But for now, you’ve got breakfast to make.

“Can I ask for something?”

Steve pulls Wren up into his arms with a self indulgent groan. “Oh, anything.”

“Can you make me hot chocolate?”

“It’s literally all I want. I need to make that for you right now, or I might die.” He beams and nudges your shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

You trail downstairs with him and Wren where she’s popped on his hip. She’s in the stage of life where she is still wholeheartedly just a baby, but a baby who can smile, and laugh, and communicate with you all and especially Dove. She started crawling just a few days ago, and she’s a happy, smiley girl when she isn’t annoyed at being put down.

Steve makes you hot chocolate so thick the spoon moves slowly when he puts it in. He kisses behind your ear as he places it in front of you at the table, Wren now safely transferred to a high chair beside you, where you’re feeding her mashed banana on a bendy spoon.

She smiles at you like you’re the light of her life.

“Is that nummy?” you ask.

“She’s getting chubby.”

“Yes she is,” you croon, giving her cheeks a squeeze with one hand. Her lips shine with banana spit. “She’s my chubby girl, oh, I love her. She’s growing up so fast, my sweet girl.”

Steve wraps his arms around you from behind. He doesn’t say anything, just hugs you lightly, long minutes of his touch as you feed the baby her breakfast and occasionally take a sip of your specially made drink.

“Are you saving up all the niceties for tonight?” you ask, tipping your head back to see him.

“I wrote it all down already on your card.” He speaks in a gentle tone like you had, leaning back to allow you comfortable space. “I’m just trying to get a load of you before Avery comes downstairs.”

Rousing and footsteps. “That’s sort of freaky.”

“I have a sixth sense.” He looks over your face with enough longing to feel like a touch, a finger running down your nose and over your mouth. “I’m gonna have to make more hot chocolate.”

Avery takes her time getting to the kitchen, but when she’s there, she’s quick to throw herself at your legs. “Mom,” she says, grinning at you, “it’s your day!”

“It is,” you say.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” She puckers for a big kiss.

The day is kiss after kiss after kiss. Steve has more than a card, he has a necklace for you with each of the girls initials embedded into small circles, and he has a bag of your favourite candy the size of your head, though he mentions it in private where the girls can’t hear him. Dove, once she and Beth wake up, has made you a drawing with flowers that you pin to the fridge with pride. Beth gives you a bouquet of mildly wilted flowers she and Steve had picked in the garden the night before, as well as some interesting stones, and an empty snail shell.

Avery, who you’d wondered after a few hours might have forgotten, presents you before dinner with a homemade book. She’s folded a few A4 pages and split the pages in half, topside illustration, and bottom half story. “It’s about you,” she says insistently.

The story is simple. You eating breakfast with them. You going to work (though what Avery thinks you do at work is a mystery, she draws you at a desk with a notebook and a big smile). You getting home, and kissing each of them, a speech bubble that says, “How are you, baby?” pointed from your mouth. You rub their backs, and sit down on the couch to read with them. You tuck them into bed and kiss them, and then Steve tucks you into bed and kisses you.

It’s amazingly close to the real deal, and her drawings are lovely. She’s taken so much care to write the story, you hold her for at least ten minutes after reading it.

“Thank you,” you say, your nose against her cheek. “I love being your mommy. It’s my favourite thing in the whole world.”

“I love you being my mommy.”

You squeeze her nice and tight.

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pillow-coded · 1 month ago

Text

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 3

Summary: After a quiet night message turns into a soft promise, Reader invites Spencer to the park. A toddler’s breakdown nearly derails the day, but it’s Spencer who meets her exactly where she is — and suddenly, they’re all a little less alone.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: Emotional toddler meltdown, real awkward ending, plus so much fluff (it hurts).

A/N: I meant to post this earlier this week, but I've had a shitty week so sorry about that. anyway, this one is really cute and kinda awkward towards the end, but still.

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

The apartment was quiet—finally.

Maddie’s hand rested over my heart like always, warm and sticky from the bedtime banana she’d refused to finish. Her little fingers curled and uncurled with every soft exhale, grounding me more than the weight of any blanket ever could. She never meant to anchor me. But somehow, without even trying, she did.

I shifted just slightly, careful not to wake her as I reached into my nightstand drawer. Wet wipes. My saving grace since day one. There’d been too many late-night messes, too many diaper blowouts and milk spills and crayon smudges on my pillowcases. I’d learned better than to be caught unprepared.

I dabbed gently at the tacky spot on my chest, trying not to laugh. That girl could turn anything—fruit, felt tip pens, an empty laundry basket—into a memory. She should’ve been asleep in her own bed. Usually, she was. But tonight she’d asked to stay with me. Something about how happy she was, how the day had been “like ice cream in the sun.” Whatever that meant. All I knew was that her smile hadn’t faded since we’d come home.

Maybe it was the Library, or the Cafe. Maybe it was the way he’d made her laugh. The way he looked at her with such fondness.

I blinked against the dimness, trying not to think about it. About him.

But then my phone buzzed softly under the pillow.

I slid it out with one hand, careful not to jostle her. The screen lit up the room in a faint glow, barely illuminating the messy bun I’d half-heartedly tied at the crown of my head.

Unknown number.

I blinked at it.

[23:19] Unknown Number: Hi, it’s Spencer.

I sat up a little. Thumb hovering.

[23:19] Unknown Number: Just wanted to let you know, I had a good time today.

A pause. Then another message followed.

[23:20] Unknown Number: Thank you for lunch.

That one made me smile. Not because it was overly sweet or bold or flirty—but because it was him. Direct. Polite. A little awkward. Very much him.

I stared at the screen longer than I meant to, rereading each message like it might offer more if I tilted the phone or looked closer. It didn’t. But it did make my chest feel weird—tight and warm at the same time.

I typed out three or four different replies, deleting each one.

Then finally:

[23:22] Y/n: It was nice seeing you again. I think Maddie had more fun than she does on her birthday.

Send.

It took less than a minute.

[23:23] Spencer: She’s... really great.

I smiled. And then, because I couldn't help it:

[23:23] Y/n: So are you.

I hovered over the unsend button.

But didn’t press it. Instead I deleted it.

The message disappeared, swallowed by the screen like it had never existed. Still, the words hung in the air like breath on a mirror.

So are you.

Too much. Too soon. I wasn’t sure if I meant it platonically or not—and that uncertainty was a little terrifying.

Before I could spiral further, my phone buzzed again.

[23:25] Spencer: She’s... really great.

My heart softened.

So he was still thinking about her. About today. About us.

I smiled and let myself reply, more confident this time.

[23:26] Y/n: She hasn’t stopped talking about “The great wizard Spencer”

The bubble popped up almost immediately.

[23:27] Spencer: That’s a pretty solid title. I might put it on a business card.

That made me laugh. Like, an actual out-loud laugh that made Maddie stir against my arm. I stifled it quickly, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead.

[23:27] Y/n: I’ll let you know if she starts asking for autographs.

Another pause. Longer this time.

[23:29] Spencer: Would it be alright if I saw you both again sometime?

My heart did that fluttery thing it hadn’t done in way too long.

[23:30] Y/n: Of course. We’d like that.

[23:30] Y/n: She’s obsessed with the park by the old church. The one with the ducks. We’re probably going next week.

A beat.

[23:32] Spencer: Let me know when. I’ll bring more magic tricks.

I smiled down at the screen. Warm. Stupidly warm.

[23:33] Y/n: Maddie’s gonna love you if ducks and magic are involved.

[23:33] Spencer: I’m okay with that.

The reply hit harder than I expected.

I didn’t dare move Maddie—her head was still tucked against my chest, one hand limp across my ribs—but I did kick my feet a little beneath the blanket. A stupid little wiggle like I was fifteen again and someone had just texted “I like your smile” between classes.

I bit down a grin and locked the screen, hugging the phone to my shoulder like a secret. Like I could fold myself around it.

Like maybe I already was.

Then, I tucked my phone away and curled myself around Maddie. Her breathing deepened again, steady and small.

And this time, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t feel so alone.

═══════

��Mommy! Mommy! I want to feed the ducks!”

She was already running before I could finish tying my shoe. Hair bouncing, little legs wobbling across the grass like she’d been launched from a cannon.

“Hold on, Maddie!” I called after her, one hand digging for the crusty ziplock bag of old sandwich bread I’d shoved in my coat pocket. “Wait for me!”

We’d barely been at the park for ten minutes. I'd imagined a peaceful morning—sunlight on the pond, maybe a moment to sit and breathe while she ran around chasing butterflies or scaring pigeons. But no. We’d seen one cartoon episode of Peppa Pig where they fed ducks, and suddenly this was a mission.

By the time I caught up, she was already pressed against the wooden railing by the water’s edge, bouncing on her toes.

Her whole body thrummed with purpose. And maybe it was ridiculous, how serious she looked in her little sneakers and her sparkly hair clips. But I knew that look.

She took ducks seriously. Like, seriously.

Ever since that one spring we got caught in the rain walking home from daycare, and took cover under the big oak near the pond. She was barely two, still in that phase where she called umbrellas “brellas” and clung to me like I was her only anchor in the world.

We sat on a bench under my jacket while the rain came down, and out waddled this duck. So calm. So… bold, really. Like she was the one letting us take cover in her park.

Maddie was mesmerized.

She pointed and whispered “duckie” like it was holy. And then the duck quacked—loud, short, ridiculous—and Maddie burst into laughter so hard she hiccupped. She talked about that duck for weeks. Drew it. Named it. Told anyone who would listen about that duck. Even though back then all she could say about the situation was “duckie” and “rain”,

She loves ducks.

And I should’ve known—should’ve remembered—that with Maddie, joy is always right on the edge of disaster.

“I need the bread!”

“Here,” I panted, pulling out the bag and handing her a crust. “One piece at a time, okay?”

She nodded like she was listening. She wasn’t.

The first piece went fine. A duck quacked. She squealed with glee. I smiled—right up until she tried to rip a second slice in half and it crumbled entirely in her hands.

Her face froze.

“Oh no,” she whispered, staring down at her hands.

The crust had crumbled. A soft, torn mess now instead of the perfect piece she’d carefully picked. She blinked down at it once, twice—then her lower lip started to wobble.

“I didn’t mean to break it,” she said, her voice shaking like a cup about to spill. “It was for the baby duck.”

That was all it took.

Her shoulders curled inward, little fists tightening around the useless crumbs. She wasn’t loud—not really. Just crushed. Her eyes filled fast, lashes clumped with tears that slid down before I could wipe them.

“Maddie, hey,” I murmured, already crouching beside her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can still give it to them. The ducks don’t mind if it’s—”

“But I wanted to do it right,” she choked. “It was supposed to be a big piece. For the littlest one.”

I felt my chest ache. Because of course it wasn’t just about the bread. This was about doing it right. About getting the moment just the way she imagined it in her head.

Maddie wasn’t the kind of kid who melted down often. She didn’t throw things or stomp or scream. When she fell apart, it always looked like this—quiet, crumpled, like she thought she’d ruined something important and couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

Sometimes I feel like she’s too much like me… and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

That soft kind of perfectionism, the one that doesn’t make a scene but still bruises you from the inside out—that’s mine. She must’ve picked it up without me even realizing. And now here she was, four years old and already trying to carry disappointment like it was her fault.

I rested a hand on her back, rubbing gently in small circles.

“It’s still a gift,” I whispered. “They’ll still love it. You were being really thoughtful.”

She sniffled, trying to blink away the tears. But she was still trembling, overwhelmed in that way only a little kid can be—feeling everything all at once with no place to put it.

I exhaled through my nose, brushing hair from her face as she started to sob.

“Mads, I know it’s hard. It’s just bread, baby. The ducks are still going to love it, okay?”

She wasn’t hearing me. Not really. She was too deep in it now—splotchy cheeks, hiccupping breath, the kind of cry that meant her logic center had officially left the building. I sat back on my heels and rubbed a hand up her arm, unsure if I should wait it out or—

“Hey.”

The voice was soft, careful. I turned.

Spencer.

He was walking toward us slowly, hands tucked in his coat pockets, eyes trained on Maddie like she was something fragile—like he didn’t want to step too hard and shatter her.

He crouched beside us, not directly in front of her, but angled. A little to the side. Not taking up too much space. Not pushing. Just… there.

“Did you know,” he said, voice low and steady, “ducklings sleep in a line, and the last one watches for danger?”

Maddie hiccupped mid-cry.

Spencer glanced at her. “They take turns. The one at the back is like the brave little lookout. And when that one gets tired, they all shuffle around and a new duckling takes over.”

Her breathing slowed.

Not stopped—but slowed. She looked at him. Her brows were still pinched, lips still trembling, but her eyes were on him now.

“Really?” she sniffled.

He nodded solemnly. “Mm-hmm. They’re very organized. I don’t think they cry when their bread breaks.”

Her bottom lip twitched—almost a smile, almost a sob. She wiped her face on her sleeve and looked down at the crumbs in her palm.

“I was gonna give it to the baby duck,” she whispered.

Spencer reached over, gently gathering the soft little bits of crust from her hands like they were something worth keeping.

“I think the baby duck will still like it. Maybe even more.”

She didn’t answer. Just nodded slowly, eyes darting to the pond where the ducks were still floating, completely unfazed by the emotional crisis unfolding beside them.

I looked at him—at this man with too-long sleeves and a napkin in his back pocket and somehow, somehow, the exact right words for her. He met her where she was. Not above her. Not behind her. Right there.

My throat felt tight, watching them. Not romantic, not yet. Just… grateful.

He glanced at me.

“She okay?” he asked quietly.

I could only nod.

She was still sniffling, but the storm had passed. And he—he had been the one to calm it.

Spencer leaned back on his heels and looked down at her gently. “Come on, Maddie,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s go sit for a bit.”

She nodded solemnly, still clutching the now-crumbled crust in her palm like it was important. Like she’d earned it.

The three of us made our way to a sun-warmed bench just off the path. Maddie plopped beside me for all of thirty seconds before spotting a stick and toddling back into the grass with renewed purpose.

“Stay where I can see you,” I called after her automatically.

“I am here,” she chirped, not looking back—already dragging her stick through a patch of mud like she was etching runes only she could read.

I smiled, shaking my head, then glanced at Spencer. He was sitting beside me now, arms resting on his knees, eyes still half-watching her.

Maddie had wandered a few feet off the path, turning slow circles in the grass. Her cheeks were still blotchy, her nose pink, but her energy had returned with that stubborn, sunlit determination only kids seem to have. She hummed softly to herself, poking at a leaf like it owed her an explanation.

The quiet between us wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… earned.

“Thanks again,” I said gently. “For what you said to her. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through to her like that.”

Spencer shook his head, eyes still following Maddie’s slow loops through the grass.

“Of course you would’ve,” he said, like it was fact. “You’re her mom.”

There was no teasing in his voice. No patronizing edge. Just this calm certainty, like he didn’t even question it—like being her mom meant I had all the answers, even on the days I felt like I was making it up as I went.

I didn’t say anything at first. Just watched Maddie squat to poke a stick into a puddle, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

“She really wanted to do it right,” I murmured.

“She did.”

His tone was so sure, so full of quiet admiration that I had to glance over at him.

“You’re good with kids,” I said.

He shrugged. “I read some parenting books. Once.”

I laughed under my breath. “You studied parenting?”

Spencer nodded, like that wasn’t a strange thing for someone without kids to do. “I thought… maybe, one day.” He paused, then looked down. “And it helped. Knowing things, I mean. Back then.”

Something in the way he said back then made my smile falter. Just a little.

There it was again—that curiosity I can’t seem to shut off. The kind I usually try to smother when it comes to strangers. But he wasn’t a stranger, not really. And he didn’t owe me anything. He’d only met me twice. But still… the way he spoke around things, softened the edges of certain truths—it made me lean in.

The parts he was awfully vague about glowed to me, and as always, I was attracted to that glow.

“Maybe one day?” I pry. God, I hate myself for it, but I can’t help it.

He looks taken aback for a second, like he didn’t expect me to ask. Then his gaze drops again, quieter this time.

“I just… always thought I’d have kids someday. I guess it just won’t ever happen.”

There’s a shrug at the end of it, but it feels forced—like he knows better than to hope, so he’s trying not to want. Like wanting hurts too much.

I don’t answer right away. Because what do you say to that? You still could? Never say never? None of it would land right, and I’m not sure I’ve earned the right to reassure him.

So I just sit with it. With him. Letting his words settle like dust between us while Maddie hums in the distance, dragging her stick across a tree root like she’s solving a puzzle only she understands.

I turned my eyes back to Maddie. She was trying to balance her stick on a rock now, humming to herself like she hadn’t just had a meltdown fifteen minutes ago.

That’s the thing about kids. They rebound faster than the rest of us ever learn to.

The silence stretched between us, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt like something was being carefully made—not spoken, but built all the same.

The breeze picked up, rustling through the trees, scattering a few dandelion tufts past our shoes. Maddie tried to catch one, missed, and laughed like she hadn’t missed at all.

“Maddie, come here sweetheart,” I called gently, not because she was far, but because I wanted her a little closer. She looked up, blinked, and came skipping back without hesitation, stick still clutched in one hand.

She settled on the grass by my feet, twisting the hem of her shirt, perfectly content.

I looked at her. Then at Spencer.

“Mads,” I said, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear, “why don’t you take Spence on a hunt for dandelions?”

Her head popped up, instantly intrigued.

“The one who brings me the most wins.”

It was a lighthearted prompt, but I meant it. Not the game itself—but what it could give him. A small piece of something I could tell he thought he’d lost.

I didn’t know what he’d say. But part of me hoped that maybe if he felt just a little needed—if she looked at him with that wide-eyed kind of wonder only she could pull off—then maybe it would lift the weight he was carrying. Even just a little.

Maybe it would help soothe whatever part of him still ached from wanting more.

Maddie gasped like I’d just handed her a treasure map. “Come on!” she squeaked, grabbing Spencer’s hand with both of hers.

He barely had time to react before she was tugging him toward the grass, already scanning the lawn like a detective on a mission.

Spencer stumbled a step, startled, then let out a soft laugh—more breath than sound—as he glanced back at me with wide eyes, like Is this normal? Am I being kidnapped by a preschooler?

I just smiled and waved them off. “No mercy, Spencer. She plays to win.”

He shook his head, still smiling as Maddie dragged him deeper into the dandelion hunt—stick in one hand, Spencer in the other.

I watched them go—his long, unsure stride trying to match her bouncing steps, her chatter already spilling out in enthusiastic bursts. Something about which flowers counted and which ones were didn't have enough fluffy petals as if that were a rule.

Spencer looked completely out of his element and, somehow, like he belonged there anyway.

It did something to me.

Something warm. A little sharp around the edges.

Because I hadn’t expected to see that look on his face. Not so soon. Not here. But there it was—genuine, soft, and just the tiniest bit overwhelmed in a way that made me ache.

He didn’t even notice he was still holding her hand.

And Maddie didn’t either.

She just pointed excitedly to a patch near a tree and pulled him along with that same relentless certainty she had when she knew exactly what she wanted.

And for a second, I let myself wonder what it would look like—really look like—if that image in front of me wasn’t temporary. If this wasn’t just a moment, but a beginning.

That image is quickly scratched off when my brain comes back to the real world, and remember this is my third time seeing him.

I leaned back on the bench and closed my eyes for half a second, letting the sound of her laughter and his quiet responses drift through the breeze like music I didn’t know I’d been missing.

That softness barely had time to settle in my chest before reality tugged it back out. Because this was only the third time I’d ever seen him.

I let out a breath and leaned back on the bench, closing my eyes for half a second—just long enough to take in the sound of Maddie’s laughter and Spencer’s soft replies. It all drifted in on the breeze like music I didn’t know I’d been missing.

Their voices got louder before I opened my eyes.

“We found so many!” Maddie announced, bursting back toward the bench like she was returning from war with trophies. Her hands were full—dandelions, leaves, a stick or two for good measure.

Spencer followed behind, looking slightly winded and holding his own handful of flattened stems and dandelions with missing petals. His hair was a little messier now, a leaf stuck to his elbow, and he looked... happy. A little confused by it, but happy.

“I think we cleared out half the park,” he said, glancing at me as he approached.

“She said we have enough,” he added, gesturing to Maddie. “Her exact words were, ‘This is too many for a crown.’”

Maddie dumped her collection into my lap like a florist with no concept of restraint. “You have to pick the best ones,” she said seriously.

“I’ll try,” I smiled, already sorting through the tangle of greens and golds. “But I might need a caffeine boost first.”

Spencer hesitated. Not dramatically. Just for a beat—long enough that I noticed.

Then: “Do you want to grab a coffee? There’s a place just across the street. I mean—if you’re not in a rush.”

He said it casually, but there was something hopeful tucked inside the words.

I looked at Maddie, who had now moved on to weaving blades of grass together like she was inventing rope.

“I think we’ve got time,” I said, glancing back at him. “Especially if they have chocolate milk.”

Spencer smiled—really smiled—and offered his hand to help me up.

“Then it’s a date.”

He blinked, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

I didn’t correct him, just smiled.

The café was familiar. The kind of place I used to seek out during long layovers and quiet Saturday mornings. Warm lighting. Muffled conversation. A low hum of espresso machines. It should’ve made me feel grounded.

But nothing about being around her ever felt grounded.

Y/n ordered Maddie’s warm chocolate milk like it was second nature—“just a little foam, please, not too hot”—and I couldn’t stop watching the way her hand hovered protectively near her daughter’s back while she spoke. Easy. Confident. Effortlessly cool, in that way people are when they don’t know you’re watching.

I stepped up to the counter, said my order too quickly, and regretted it immediately. Black coffee. Four sugars. I should’ve asked for something else. Something less... revealing.

We moved to a table by the window. Maddie climbed into her seat like it was a jungle gym. Y/n slid into hers with a kind of fluid calm that made me hyper-aware of how long it took me to sit down.

The moment I touched my cup, I was already wrapping a napkin around it. I always do. It wasn’t even about the heat. It was the texture. The condensation. The smudges. I didn’t like the way paper cups felt.

Across from me, Y/n was watching.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” she murmured with a smile. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or just amused.

I should be better at telling the difference. I’m a profiler, for crying out loud… but I just couldn’t.

It didn’t help that her voice was so gentle. Or that her smile wasn’t mean—but it wasn’t entirely neutral either. It lingered in this space I couldn’t read. And I hate not being able to read people. Especially when it’s her.

I looked down at the cup, at the napkin crinkled under my fingertips. “Four and a half,” I said quietly. “Sometimes five.”

“Wow,” she replied, leaning back with wide eyes that might’ve been mock-horrified, but still kind. “You don’t strike me as a sugar guy.”

I shrugged, bracing for the joke. “You’d be surprised.”

She didn’t laugh at me. Just took a sip of her drink and tilted her head like she was trying to figure something out about me. And it made me want to explain it. Like if I could just offer enough context, maybe I wouldn’t feel so exposed.

“It’s just… it balances the bitterness. I don’t like sweet drinks, but straight black coffee is too acidic. Sugar dulls that. And it’s not like I drink a ton of it—just… every morning.”

She smiled again. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to justify liking your coffee weird. I drink mine with a little too much milk. It's okay for it to be weird.”

I blinked. “It’s not—”

She raised an eyebrow.

Okay. It’s weird.

I flushed and looked back down at my cup, fingers tightening slightly around the napkin.

I glanced to the side—Maddie had gotten up and was now twirling slowly near the edge of our table, holding her warm milk in both hands like it was some sort of magic chalice.

Her voice was soft and distracted as she spun, “This is a potion… for frogs and wishes and—and sparkles—”

I smiled without meaning to.

Y/n did too.

And for a moment, I thought maybe this wasn’t so strange after all. Maybe this little pocket of normalcy—this table, this coffee, this conversation—was something I could belong in.

“I think it’s endearing,” she added after a beat. “The sugar. The napkin. The whole—” she gestured vaguely at me, “thing.”

The whole thing.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. But she said it like it wasn’t bad.

And that... that kind of terrified me.

She didn’t allowed me to overthink it too much, because she quickly switched the subject.

“What do you do for a living?”

I blinked.

It was such a normal question. One I’d answered a hundred times. But for some reason I felt like answering it would make her run for the hills.

Because this—whatever this was—felt like the first thing in a long time that I didn’t want to screw up.

And telling people what I do usually has a way of screwing things up.

Not immediately, not always. But there’s a shift. Their eyes go a little wider, their questions get more cautious, the air between us starts to carry weight. They picture blood and bodies, serial killers and endless darkness. They imagine me as some hardened version of myself—someone who can’t possibly fit into a soft, ordinary world like this one.

They don’t see the way it costs something. Or how much of myself I’ve had to wall off just to keep doing it.

And maybe the worst part is, I don’t even blame them.

So yeah. I hesitated.

Because Y/n doesn’t feel like someone passing through. And I don’t want her looking at me like I’m another thing to be careful around.

I just want her to keep looking at me like this—curious, a little amused, like I’m someone she actually wants to know.

“I, uh...” I hesitated. Then frowned slightly. “Why are you asking?”

She raised an eyebrow, sipping her drink. “Just curious.”

Before I could respond, there was a sharp gasp and the scrape of a chair leg against the floor.

I turned just in time to see Maddie—spinning, laughing—bump full force into a woman carrying a tray.

The tray jolted. A to-go cup teetered. A lid flew.

Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the edge before the woman caught it, steadying everything with an almost superhuman reflex.

Maddie froze mid-spin, eyes wide. Milk dripping from the rim of her cup.

I stood up without thinking, already reaching for the napkins.

Y/n was faster. She was by Maddie’s side in a second, one hand bracing her daughter’s arm, the other already offering an apology.

“Oh my god—I'm so sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Maddie, hey—baby, slow down, remember?”

The woman blinked, then laughed. Not sharply—kindly. Like someone who’s been there.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling at Y/n. “I’ve got three at home. They’re always so hyper.”

Then she crouched slightly, looking Maddie right in the eye. “Just gotta be careful with coffee, sweetheart. Grown-ups get very dramatic when their caffeine disappears.”

Maddie gave a quick, serious nod like she’d just been handed ancient scrolls.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“No harm done.” The woman stood, tray still in one piece. Then she looked up—at me, at Y/n, at all three of us standing around this tiny table like something sacred had just been spilled.

“You guys make a cute family,” she said.

Y/n opened her mouth—just slightly—like she might explain. But nothing came out.

I didn’t say anything either.

Our eyes met. Just for a second. Maybe two.

But it felt longer.

She didn’t smile. I didn’t, either. There was no soft laugh, no quick deflection—just that look. Still, quiet, sharp at the edges. Like we were both holding our breath under it.

I should’ve laughed. Said something. Cleared the air before it turned into something neither of us was ready to touch. But my throat felt tight. My mouth didn’t move.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want to correct the woman.

Because in that moment—just for that fleeting, fragile second—it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like something we’d almost earned. Like a dream I hadn’t let myself have, standing there, looking at her holding Maddie so gently, like this was their rhythm and I’d just... joined in.

Her eyes were the first to flick away.

But not far. Just down—to Maddie. To the hand still curled lightly around her sleeve.

She didn’t say we’re not. She didn’t laugh it off either. And I knew Y/n, Well, at least I knew enough. She was quick-witted, sharp. She always had something to say.

The fact that she said nothing? That spoke louder than anything else.

My grip on the napkins tightened. I didn’t realize I was still holding them.

I wanted to ask what she was thinking. If she felt it too—that strange pull between us, like a truth neither of us had the right to claim yet.

But Maddie broke the silence before I could.

She looked up at both of us, blinking slowly. Her voice came out in a whisper, fragile and curious.

“We’re a family?”

It hit me like a pin to a balloon.

And that was it. The moment fractured.

Y/n’s expression changed instantly—like someone had flipped a switch. That softness in her eyes vanished, replaced by quiet panic. Her voice came quickly, too quickly.

“No, sweetheart…” she said, crouching slightly beside Maddie, her hands smoothing down the child’s arms as if that might ground them both. “Spencer’s our friend.”

She smiled as she said it. Gentle. Reassuring.

But it was the kind of smile you put on when something needs to be undone.

And she was right. Of course she was right.

We weren’t a family.

I had only just met her. Twice, technically. Maybe three times, if you count the bookstore. And already I was letting myself entertain some ridiculous narrative like I belonged in this picture—like I could fold myself into their life without warning or invitation.

God. I really should’ve said something.

I should’ve corrected the stranger. Should’ve stepped in before Y/n had to. Should’ve done something to stop that little ache in Maddie’s voice before it landed in the middle of us like that.

Instead, I just stood there. Silent. A napkin still balled in my hand like I didn’t know what else to hold.

I wasn’t her dad. I wasn’t her partner. I wasn’t even really their friend.

I was just some guy who got too comfortable in a moment that didn’t belong to him.

We eventually sat down again. Maddie was calm now, sipping what was left of her milk and humming quietly to herself, as if the moment had never happened.

But I could still feel the tension clinging to my spine like static. Y/n didn’t look at me. She just wiped her hand on a napkin and sat back in her chair, her face unreadable.

Then—too casual, like she was trying to smooth the silence with a joke—she said, “Most dads would’ve panicked with a spill like that.”

It hit harder than it should have.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to imply that you were implying that I was. I just—sometimes people assume things, and I didn’t want it to sound like I thought—”

I stopped. Inhaled. Shut my eyes for half a second.

God. Stop talking.

Y/n didn’t say anything right away. Just stirred her drink with the little wooden stick, slow and unbothered.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” she said finally. Calm. Simple. Kind, but not comforting. “It was just a comment.”

Right. Just a comment.

And I’d made it weird.

I nodded, even though it didn’t feel like enough. I didn’t know how to say I didn’t mean to get weird about it because the truth is I wish I belonged in that picture. So I didn’t say anything.

I just folded the edge of my napkin tighter and stared at my coffee like it had the answer I’d missed.

“She’s funny,” I said instead. My voice came out quieter than I meant.

Y/n finally glanced over.

“She likes you,” she said. And her tone had changed—not playful, not distant. Just… honest.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because I liked her too. Too much. Too soon. And I had no idea what to do with that.

So I didn’t do anything.

Not when she looked away. Not when Maddie reached for her hand. Not even when I thought, for the briefest second, about reaching for it too.

I just sat there, fingers fidgeting with a damp napkin, trying to act like I hadn’t already imagined what it might feel like to belong here.

To be part of their little world.

To be hers.

Maddie giggled at something only she understood, milk still clinging to the corners of her mouth. Y/n smiled at her, soft and real, and I felt it hit me in the chest—how easy it came to them.

How hard it was to sit across from that and pretend I didn’t want in.

The sunlight had shifted, hitting the table just right. I watched the reflection of her hand on the glass.

And let it stay there, just out of reach.

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#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #post prison spencer #post prison reid #girl dad spencer reid

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omgfangirlland · 19 days ago

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I've been reading about supernatural reader having a toddler with Dean. And I propose that her and Dean a child, though magic like supernatural reader, can't have a baby naturally for one reason or another so her and Dean make a baby using magic. I feel like it would add another layer to Anxious Dad Dean

(I'm assuming this is all one anon, and I didn't read this through, so sorry for any mistakes)

I'm such a big fan of neglected reader or just batsis in general looking like Martha y'all don't even know- I also have to get this out of my brain before I continue answering:

Reader: I'll get you a baby.

Dean, thinking this is some next level flirting and is shocked you spoke it with Sammy around: *stumbles in incoming traffic*

And the alternative:

Reader: I'll get YOU pregnant.

Dean: Promise?

I can get behind this-

So I have two thoughts- "amazonian" baby girl made from clay and "demon" baby boy gifted by Crowley with a hellhound as a bonus protector.

What I'm saying is twins. I have settled on twins.

The thought would start with Dean cuddling you in bed or on a couch, slightly drunk, after running around with the baby of the family y'all saved that day. Maybe a little jab from you along the lines of him looking nice with a baby on his hip, and him just straight up saying he'd love to have a baby with you, maybe five and a big wedding- "And one of those ugly dogs that the kids will get mad at me for calling it ugly".

And while he falls asleep with no worries, it keeps you awake.

Thinking it through- it was a nice thought. Having a family, a loving one and proving to both of your fathers that you can do so much better. But that was a conversation to happen while sober.

And it definitely happened when Bobby and Crowley were present, and whether they thought it'll be a nice gift or whether they wanted their kids happy (You can't get Dad!Bobby even from my cold dead hands, and I also think Crowley would get attached to you purely because of the zero filter you have) they get their kids a kid-

Well, a kid each. They both thought they had an original idea, alas, they did not. Bobby pulled out an old magic book of Amazonian rituals, and Crowley finally cashes in a "first born" contract and takes a pup so the kid(s) will be protected whenever and wherever.

Now- Dean didn't cry- but he was teary the whole time he held the two(and hissed at Sam when he tried to take one of the kids, honestly, he barely let you hold them, the compromise was you sitting on his lap and holding the kids while he had you three wrapped in his arms). You both were terrified.

Mainly due to the fear of turning into your fathers, but also- you now had two little creatures who despite not needing to be as baby proofed as a human baby, were still fragile little things that needed the best- Sam wasn't sure where all the money came for but when he asked you just smile and said vengeance(Crowley stole a few cards from Bruce and gave one to you).

You, after Dean handed you a blanket: No. Texture is nasty.

Dean, throwing the blanket at Sam who was pulling two carts filled with toys, clothes, 30 different types of baby food and formula milk, dog stuff, and books for the baby and parenting tips for both of you: The texture is nasty, Sammy, we need something better!

Sammy, tired from Dean's constant doubting of everything and anything in this store: I will teach your kids to bite you- (he did teach the kids to bite Dean on command and to give you kisses on another command)

----

Dean, face scrunched as he tastes all the baby food they got: Who thought green beans mixed with banana is a good baby flavor?... Who thought apple, squash and zucchini is?!

You, mixing something in a bowl: Banana and biscuits mush. Very good for adults too. (to this day I eat this, it's such a good munch but fair warning- it can be a texture nightmare for some)

----

You're a more relaxed parent, but you hold the kids more, while Dean takes the "check on the babies every hour to make sure they're breathing" type of parenting- helicopter dad? idk man is stressed and worried 24/7- He chills once they enter toddler stage, but his eyes are always on them to make sure they don't smash their heads against the floor (he's thought a few times during the walking stage to just put the rascals in helmets and rugby padding)

I, personally, would think Morgana or Cersei would be amazing for the baby girl and while I'd itch to name the kid after a prince of hell, I fear Dean would be too superstitious about it- so Lucian, Acheron or Anwir would be something he better agrees with.

Now, the kids are both mischievous once they start walking and talking- not in the brat type of way, but in the trickster "mom said only a cookie but if we entertain dad or uncle Sammy enough we can manipulate them into giving us seconds" type of way. And while the baby girl is the planner of the mischief, the baby boy is the emotional manipulator aka the one who lies better(I also think the boy took after you, quiet and looking more like the Wayne part of the fam but with Dean's eyes while the girl is Dean with your eyes.)

The quote marks around the amazonian and demon are there for a reason- they're not exactly that, but show signs of powers/inclinations. The baby girl has better reflexes than either of you and is more resilient but not to the point WW and Donna are, and the baby boy is more supernatural inclined, senses/sees ghosts and demons in their true forms, is allergic to holy water but not to the point it burns, just a mild itch.

So, coming back to Bruce and his parents seeing the babies, Like I said, Bruce would pass out seeing you with one kid, two of them? Heart failure. Add to that that you look like Martha when the light hits you one way(and he has flashbacks to when his mom died) while looking like his ex wife when the light hits the other way- and little toddler man looks eerily like him- the man is not okay. And the poor baby girl looking like the jobless, national terrorist you found in a ditch(his thoughts not mine)- but that's fine grandpa Bruce is in business- What do you mean you don't want him in your babies lives?

Yeah, he's delusional, not even a bit, straight up thinks he can tell you to leave Dean and you will come back and live here with the kids. Remember when I said Sam will throw hands? Dean will jump across the coffee table before he can. (Martha is cheering him on, but shh. Thomas is just too busy cooing at the young kids to care)

It hurt more coming from you than if the men(he refuses to acknowledge either Sam or Dean) were to call him a deadbeat who could barely be called a sperm donor.

Dick will have an existential crisis with Jason because now they're officially old™️and have niblins, and I think the info will break Damian in the Damian.exe has stopped working way, lil man just can't process that he's an uncle. The rest won't really be affected beyond being sad that they can't see them irl, just in the video the cameras captured.

Bruce in a moment of stupidity would probably try to go the cps route but like- he doesn't know where the fuck you're at, and John C. sure as hell ain't telling him- "Nope, not fucking with people protected by Angels and Demons, you bellend. Lie in the bed you made."

The whole fam learns that what the police records say isn't the full truth, but they still don't deem the Winchesters as good people to be around- and Bruce is really only raising his tension by watching the few CCTV records of Dean slow dancing with you to some old rock music while Sam naps in the booth with the babies, kissing you like you're the most important person in his life- like even then he was mocking Bruce.

Peepaw Crowley starts fucking with the family when he finds out the shit they tried to pull by hitting where he knows they'd be the most inconvenienced at- the businesses, both vigilante and day business.

#anon ask #dc crossover #neglected reader #dc x supernatural #supernatural crossover #dean winchester x reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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