#easiest set i’ve ever made everything went right

[luthqrs]

EMILY PRENTISS in CRIMINAL MINDS 2x16 | ‘Fear and Loathing’

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 11: Petplay with Hancock.

Pairing: John Hancock x Fem!Reader/Sole

Word Count: 2689

Warnings: Petplay, Oral (M receiving), Reader/Sole is refered to as Kitten and Kitty, P in V sex, Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it), Mention of Reader/Sole being in Subspace. Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

“Petplay?” His raspy voice questioned as we shared a cigarette on the couch in his office in the Statehouse.

“Yeah.” You answered hesitantly, eyes locked on the burning cherry as you took a slow drag. “It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like, but the jist is one partner pretends to be an animal, most go for a dog or a cat, easiest to imitate, and the other partner is the owner. Sometimes it’s sexual, sometimes it’s not…For me it is…” You were thankful for the low light of the room as you felt your face flaring.

It wasn’t every day that you asked your partner to treat you like a cat in bed, even if it was something you’d done before, but it was different when time for ‘normal’ sex was so far between because of, you know, total atomic annihilation taking over the world.

“And you want us to try it?” He clarified carefully, taking the cig back from you and taking a drag. You knew Hancock was no stranger to risky sex or kink, the man had openly told you about some of his craziest sexcapades in his life, but there was still a measure of fear and vulnerability in what you were asking that made you worry for his answer.

“Yeah.” You said on a breath, like you’d just been holding it.

“You know, Dollface, you never cease to surprise me. Just when I think I got you all figured out, you ask for some of the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard of.” He smirked as you realized he was being aloof on purpose.

You let out a hard sigh as some of the anxiety bled from you. “Dick…” You muttered, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to find a time to ask about it, we’re both just always so busy, either with the Minutemen, or Goodneighbor, or Shawn…Hard to find a good time for anything but a quickie.”

He nodded along with your words, you were right, things had been unusually busy as of late. “Then maybe it’s time we take a day or two to ourselves, I can leave Goodneighbor in Fahrenheits hands, you can leave Preston in charge for a bit, I bet Piper or Nick would love to have Shawn for a day or two.” He pulled you to his side and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Then, we can have at each other till the sun comes up and goes back down again.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your head, then he whispered in your ear. “I wanna hear what my kitty sounds like when she purrs for me…”

His words sent a thrill down your spine and made butterflies flutter in your belly. There was heat in your eyes as you looked up at him, seconds from leaning in for a kiss when a sharp knock sounded at the office door. “Quick fucking, there’s work needs done!” Came Fahrenheits ever annoyed voice.

“Wish we had been fucking…” Hancock groaned as he threw his head back in frustration, then looked at you out the corner of his eyes. “Duty calls, Sweets.” Then he was on his feet and offering his hand to you. “Care to join? I think most of these thugs are more scared of you thank her at this point.” He joked.

You snorted a laugh as you let him pull you to your feet. “With Ashmaker in her hands, somehow I doubt that…” You answered as you both went to meet with the redhead.

It was another three weeks before everything was set up for you and Hancocks little vacation. As far as you knew, that was because of how long it took for everything to calm down even slightly and get word sent to all the parties involved in making it happen, but what you didn’t know was that it was partially Hancock stalling while he waited for a surprise to arrive by courier.

But when all was ready, Shawn was in Diamond City with Piper and Nat, Fahrenheit was ruling the roost in Goodneighbor, and Preston was shooing you away with the promise to keep the Minutemen from imploding in your absence.

This meant you and Hancock could disappear to your hidey-hole in the Red Rocket Station, where no one would bother you.

Walking through the door felt like being able to breathe again.

Hancock wasted no time taking your pack from you and disappearing into the backroom, which had long since been repurposed as a bedroom. “I’ll take care of these, go ahead and start getting comfortable.” He said with a quick kiss to your cheek before he was gone.

His rush had been expected, he was as pent up at you, but usually that meant he was clingy, wanting constant contact and never leaving your side. Normally he would have asked you to come with him to unpack.

Rather than let your suspicious curiosity get the better of you, you went to the garage, also repurposed as a living room, and fixed the pair of you a couple drinks then plopping down on the couch with a happy sigh.

Hancock called into the room a moment later asking if you minded turning the radio on, and when you got up to do so you heard him enter the room behind you. There was a split second of shuffling before he was at your back, pressing kisses to your neck and down to where it met your shoulder.

“God, I missed this…” He hummed happily as a slow song began to play.

The pair of you started to sway before he turned you and pulled you into a proper slow dance, foreheads pressed together tenderly, lost each other’s embrace as music filled the room.

He spun you slowly before pulling you back in and pulling you into a kiss, soft and slow just like the moment. No rushing, no urgency, just you and him, and all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

When the song ended you both sat on the couch to enjoy your drinks and relax from the road. Conversation never lacked for the pair of you, even if you were being very intentional about not talking about work, there were a thousand and one things you two could and did talk about.

Once your glasses were empty Hancock sat up. “I have a surprise for you, figured if we wanted to do this, we were gonna do it right.” He said as he reached over the end of the couch where you couldn’t see and produced a box. “Took some time to find someone to make it, and get it to us, but it was worth it.” He said as he passed it to you.

You lifted a brow. “What is it?” You asked, though you were already opening it slowly, like you expected it to blow up. Inside you were met with a headband with a pair of cat ears on it. The quality was certainly nothing like what you’d seen pre-war, but it was still beautifully made.

Soft fur the same color as your hair on a simple thin black fabric headband, thin enough that it would disappear into your hair when you put it on. You wondered for a moment how the maker had so perfectly matched your hair color, or where the fur had been sourced from, but those were questions for later, it didn’t feel human, and that was good enough for you.

You were at a loss for words as you looked at it. It was perfect.

“I’m gonna assume from your stunned silence that you like it?” Hancock teased softly as he watched you, chuckling softly when all you could respond with was a nod. “Good. I was worried it wouldn’t arrive before we left, but the courier showed up while you were packing yesterday.” He admitted, looking down at it bashfully. “You barely missed seeing him before he left.”

You recalled the moment he was talking about; you’d come outside to ask him where something was and he was holding the box and jumped when you said his name, then made a comment about needing to cut down on the jet.

“Wanna put it on?” He asked, an excited expectancy radiating from him, like a kid on Christmas morning.

You nodded. “Mind giving me a hand?” You asked, offering it to him.

“It would be my pleasure.” He said as he scooted closer and took it from you then carefully slipped the band around your head, moving your hair around till it covered the band and left only the ears visible.

“How’s it look?” You asked as he sat back to look at you.

“Purrfect.” He joked with a smirk, pulling a snorting laugh from you.

“Shut up, you cornball!” You managed through your giggles.

He leaned in as they died down and with a much softer grin said. “Beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but they suit you perfectly.” Then he pulled you into a tender kiss.

When you parted you felt the air shift slightly. “C-can I…?” You didn’t need to finish the question before he was nodding, eyes half lidded and full of heat.

He watched as you slipped off the couch to settle on the floor between his legs, sitting back on your heels in as close a manner to how a cat sits as you can manage, hands on the floor between your knees. His lips parted as he let out a careful breath at the sight.

“Look at you…” He drawled as he looked you over. “Never seen a prettier kitty in my life.” He said, slipping into the part of the owner easily, and you preened under his praise as he sat up a bit and ran a rough hand over your head, petting you sweetly.

Slipping into the headspace was easy, even after all the time that had passed, a small mewl fell from your lips as you nuzzled into his touch happily, and he continued to pet you as you settled against his leg, lazily rubbing into him the way a cat does when scenting, making little sounds like a purr.

“Such a good girl, Kitten…So beautiful…” He was speaking softly as he watched you descend further and further into subspace.

He’s seen you like this plenty of times, the two of you are kinky ass motherfuckers and it comes with the territory, but he never gets tired of watching your brain go blank and float away, the way your muscles loosen and the tension in your face drains away.

And God does he love to take care of you when you’re like that.

“Kitties don’t wear clothes, do they?” He murmured as he looked you over.

One could call it a team effort, taking off your clothes, but really it was mostly you lifting your arms and maneuvering however he needed you to to get them off, and once you were sat there, fully nude, was when you saw he was already hard and straining against the front of his pants.

The action was entirely without thought as you leaned in and nuzzled against the bulge, and it punched a shocked groan out of him. “Fuck, baby…!” He gasped, but didn’t stop you as you continued, but soon it wasn’t enough for either of you, and you reached out to untie the flag he used as a belt to get access to what you wanted.

“So needy, Kitten…Here, let me help.” He said, moving your fumbling fingers out of the way and taking over, untying the flag, then unbuttoning and zipping the past, pulling himself free with a relieved sigh.

“No paws, don’t want those claws to hurt me, do you?” He said with a teasing quirk of his lips.

You shook your head before leaning in, first brushing your lips over his sensitive tip, followed by your tongue. Calling them kitten licks is on the nose, but it’s really the only way to describe how you ran your tongue over his heated flesh.

When the tip began to leak you took it in your mouth and gave a slow suck, earning a low moan and hand gripping your hair. “Shit…Just like that…” He moaned as you sank lower, taking more of him in till you could bob your head slowly.

A look up found him already looking down at you, lips parted and breaths coming hard, eyes dark and drinking you in like water, it made a wave of heat roll through you, making your thighs clench in an effort to get some relief.

His eyes darted down to track the movement. “Think you can go to the bedroom for me? I’ll be right behind you.” He promised as he gazed down at you with those pitch-black eyes, always so full of life and emotion for all their monochrome color.

You made a sound like an affirmative and shifted to your hands and knees, now fully in the headspace and feeling no shame or embarrassment at crawling through the makeshift house to the bedroom, the whole time feeling his eyes on you.

You waited kneeling on the floor for him, and he came in shortly after with a can of clean water and a rag in hand, which found their home on the nightstand.

He stood over you next to the bed and patten the mattress. “Up you go.” He prompted, and you wasted not time climbing up. Once you were settled, he returned to petting your hair with one hand while the other tilted your chin up to look at him, he had this look in his eyes like he could stare at you forever if you let him.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in and left kisses on your forehead, then your temple, cheek, nose, and then finally lips. You sighed into the contact and leaned in, hands gripping at the sheets to keep you from falling into him with how off kilter you felt.

“Turn around and bend over for me, I want to see my Kittens pretty pussy.” He ordered against your lips before letting go so you could do as told.

And you did, with shaky legs and arms, body desperate for his touch, you faced away from him and pressed your face into the bed, ass in the air, which cooled the slick that had been leaking from you since you opened that box.

Hancock groans behind you at the sight before you feel him take your hips in hand. “Fuck…Now, that is a pretty sight…” He said before dragging a finger through your sopping folds. Letting out a high pleading sound you pressed back into his hold, only to earn a light slap to your rear. “Now, now. Don’t be impatient.” He chided before his touch disappeared, leaving you feeling a little adrift.

But then you heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor and his touch returned, and this time it was the thick tip of his cock that was teasing you, and it took everything in you not to buck back into him, desperate for him to fill you up.

Thankfully he didn’t make you wait long before he was pushing into you, his low moan mixing with your high gasp as he pushed in to the hilt. No movements were made for a short moment, the air was silent, then he started moving, and the sounds of skin on skin, the wet noises of his cock filling over and over, and both your pleasure wracked voiced formed a symphony in the room.

It was the kind of noise you couldn’t make at home, lest someone hear through the hole riddled walls.

The pleasure was shorter lived than either of you would have liked, so pent up from weeks without each other, that you both build up and came crashing down in a mess of shaking limbs and grasping hands.

But as quickly as the first round ended, the second one began, and Hancock was far from done with his Kitten.

[joesheistyy]

Bad Day

I’ve had a shit day so I’m writing about it 🫠

——

Nothing could seem to go right today. One thing after another did not go to plan, made a mess, or overall was just shit. You never liked to bring your work life home, but sometimes you just had to let your frustration out.

After getting to work at 8am, you spilled coffee down your cream colored crew neck, not noticing it until hours later. You got scuffs on your new bag, very visible ones at that. Your head hurt, you forgot your lunch and didn’t have time to go get anything…the list goes on and on.

Getting in the car upon work ending, you checked the time to see the clock reading 6:37. An hour and 37 minutes later than you should have been working. A groan escaped your mouth as you hit your head into the headrest of your drivers seat. All you wanted to do was disappear for a few days.

Driving home consisted of stupid traffic and people who didn’t know how to drive. Many close calls when it came to safety. Your usual 15 minute drive became 30 which put you home at a time when you would much rather be already relaxing.

You pulled into the driveway, hitting the garage door sensor to send it open. The battery on your sensor was dead, imagine that. You put your car in park in the driveway, deciding to not even park it in the garage.

You grabbed all your work belongings and headed for the front door. You then realized your keys were buried in your bag, the one with new scuffs on it. Ringing the doorbell was the easiest option, hoping Joe wasn’t busy so he could open the door.

About a minute after standing there, you caved and set your belongings down, deciding to dig for your keys. No Joe in sight.

You opened the door and propped it open so you could drag all your belongings inside. Everything was dropped in the entryway. Shoes flung off, purse on the floor, keys out of sight again.

Stomach growling, you headed to the kitchen to find even the littlest thing to satisfy your longing hunger. You grabbed an orange and peeled it over the sink, letting the peels to sit there to toss later.

As you continued to munch on your orange, footsteps approached from the stairs. Here comes Joe in his good-day having mood. You were not up for any of it.

“Hi honey, how was your day?” He asked cheerfully, just happy to see his girl.

“Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse day,” you complained.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You don’t even want to know. One thing after another made my day go to shit and far from any sort of recovery,” you stated, heading for the stairs so you could go change.

Joe stayed downstairs and turned on your favorite TV show. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the mood to watch TV.

After putting on comfortable clothes, you went back to the kitchen to make dinner. A simple air fryer meal was calling your name. Mini corn dogs and french fries.

Joe was waiting for your arrival into the living room as you made your dinner. Once everything was cooking, you poured yourself a rather large and questionable amount of wine. When the food finished, you put it on a plastic plate and headed for the living room.

You plopped down onto the armchair, not sitting close to Joe like you normally did. He gave you a glance, but you were focused on your food.

“Baby, talk to me. I know it makes you feel better,” he pried as you kept eating silently.

“Joe, I really don’t wanna talk about it,” you said as you put another mini corn dog into your mouth.

“Come on babe, please?” He begged like a kid in a candy store.

“Joe I said no. I don’t want to think about it, let alone re-live it,” you said sternly as you got up to head for the kitchen. Joe got up and followed.

You put your plate into the sink and turned on the faucet to give it a pre-dishwasher rinse. Joe approached you while you were at the sink. His arms snaked around your waist and that irritated you, you wanted space to breathe after such a bad day.

“Joe get off,” you tried to push his arms off.

“No,” he replied as he buried his head into your neck.

“I said, get off,” you shoved at his arms. He pulled back with a look of astonishment on his face. You never acted like this when you had a bad day. You usually wanted to be comforted, but not today.

Joe didn’t fight back, he only walked off sadly to go back to sitting on the couch. You headed up to the bedroom quietly in hopes that you could get a little alone time.

When you made it up to your shared bedroom, you headed to take off your makeup and lay down. The warm cloth used to take off your makeup cleansed your skin of the day’s stress, and you took a deep breath.

The day finally caught up with you after you got comfortable in bed. Your bedside lamp was on while you laid on your phone trying to watch TikTok. As time passed, you felt a teardrop come out the corner of your eye. You were laying on your side which sent the warm, salty drop to splash on your pillowcase. Once one fell, a few more followed. You didn’t have one specific reason to cry, but the events of the day had kept stacking up.

You continued to watch TikTok through your clouded eyes, but then you heard Joe come into the room. You quickly wiped away your tears, not wanting him to know you were crying.

He took his shirt off and came over to the bed to lay down. You were turned and facing him, and when he saw your face, he could tell you had been crying.

After climbing in bed, he gently took your phone out of your hands and turned it off, then pulled you into his side. You let out a little sniffle as you morphed yourself into your little Joe nest. You had one specific way you would lay with Joe when you were going through anything.

His hand reached down to brush at your scalp and move your hair away from your forehead. He looked down at you with a slight frown, hating when you would cry.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day baby, can I do anything to help?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“Not necessarily. Just don’t leave my side,” you let out a soft giggle followed by a sniffle.

"I won't baby, and we'll make sure tomorrow is a better day for you," he leaned down to kiss the top of your head, resting his chin there afterwards.

You fell asleep on his chest and let the shit day turn to beautiful sleep.

----

I started writing this like two weeks ago and its also not good so im sorry y'all haha

[basilone]

'Stairs' and 'homecoming' for Benny? Juno xx

Thank you for sending me this one! 💙Like we talked about when you first sent me this, this one is set post-war... Benny's homecoming, of a sort, as seen through someone else's eyes. 😉

where the heart is

Her linen skirt fans out over the stairs, obscuring its dark wood with shades of sand and dust. The little half moons of red carpet dig between her toes as she seats herself instead of walking on them. It’s sturdy carpet, almost stiff beneath her feet, that does nothing to soften the wood’s hardness.

Darlene sighs a little to herself. Leans back until the next stair lies hard against her back, steadying the low ache that’s been settling near her hips. Leans back on her elbows, even, as though she is sunning herself somewhere warm instead of indoors in misty Chicago. This is as far as she dares go in this house that’s not her own: halfway up the stairs, close to the kitchen, with another adopted stray for company.

“D’ya think she’ll smack Benny with that same spoon she was stirring with?”

“Depends,” hums Darlene, frowning a little at Stella Lombardi’s bright smile. The dark-haired woman is wobbling back and forth on the stairs in front of her, arms spread ballerina-wide, seemingly unperturbed by the noises down below. “If he gives her enough lip, maybe,” she allows, “but Ben’s always said he don’t dare do that to his mama.”

“I don’t think Mrs DeMarco is that scary.”

“You’re a Lombardi. Ain’t a thing in the world that’s scary to the likes of you.”

“There’s plenty, Darlene,” says Stella, sighing as she gives up her balancing act. “Going home wasn’t easy. Thought they wouldn’t let me out of the house anymore, but Gianluca said they can’t expect me to fall in line anymore.” Gianluca, Darlene remembers, is the eldest of the Lombardi children. Head of the family now, or so it appears. “A lot of the guys daddy thought I’d be a good marrying type for have died overseas, you know,” adds Stella, “so there’s hardly an argument against Bill and me tying the knot.”

“Does William know you’ve been talkin’ about that?”

“I’ve been hinting. Strongly.”

“Maybe ya should ask him.”

“That what you did with Benny? Ask him?”

Darlene snorts out a laugh. “Didn’t need ta do any o’ that. Boy’s been talkin’ about marryin’ me since the day we met, if Gale’s to be believed.” She thinks she can trust Gale Cleven’s word on anything, because he’s the honest sort of man who’d sooner keep silent than lie. “He’s been askin’ for a long time. Didn’t believe him, at first.” Warmth fans out into her cheeks. “I think I started to believe him right before they all crashed, ya know?”

“Not a lot of marrying you can do in a prison camp.” Stella’s arms come up to hug her knees as she gazes at Darlene. “I remember him talking about wanting to marry you, right before. Thought that was why you and Lottie had that almighty fight once Buck and him both went down.” A shadow crosses Stella’s face as the sitting room door below clicks shut. “You made it look so complicated. This falling in love thing.”

“Everything around it was, sure. But falling in love with Benny?” Darlene shakes her head. Smiles. “Easiest I ever did. Getting engaged in Italy was long overdue after all that.”

“Getting pregnant in Italy was long overdue, too,” smirks Stella, nodding at Darlene’s slightly rounded belly. “Max and me had a whole bet going about it, because you two kept disappearing in England too many times. Thought you’d run out of rubbers or something.”

“You’re kiddin’, right? With all of Dougie’s stash right there?”

“Fair point,” giggles Stella. “Think I won the bet. Max… Max doesn’t know that yet. But she’s gonna.”

Darlene’s hand squeezes Stella’s knee a moment. “Do you know where she is?”

“Nah. Not yet. Been waiting for Brady to write me back, maybe he knows. Think that’s the dumbest fucking thing about this homecoming business, though. Everybody disappearing. Marrying. Getting babies without us knowing it. Rosie said that Ham’s wife is pregnant now, and Jean Crosby’s been talking about another baby, and… I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

“Suddenly we’re back to being from everywhere.”

“Yeah. You think you’re gonna go home?”

“What, to Georgia?”

Stella nods. “Go see Lottie?”

“Lottie ain’t home to me no more,” sighs Darlene, feeling the old familiar twist in her belly at the thought. “Don’t even know if she went there. She might be in Wyoming. You said…”

“Her and Buck.”

“Yeah. I ain’t going to Georgia for my family, Frosty. You and Benny and this damn baby are all I got.”

“And the rest of us in the DeMarco clan, too,” pipes up a new voice as a soda bottle is proffered through the stair’s balusters. “Here, take it, I’ve got two more.” It’s one of Benny’s cousins – Aradia? Darlene thinks it might be – waving another bottle through as Stella takes the first. Darlene’s hand locks around the new bottle. “There you go. Bernardo’s in there telling his mama about your family right now. Makes sense you wouldn’t go out to see them.”

“What else are they saying?” asks Stella with interest, leaning forward.

Aradia sighs. “His mama’s a little snippy about the order in which he’s doing things.” Dark eyes peer up at Darlene inquisitively as Benny’s cousin rounds the staircase. “Having lots of sex before getting engaged, having a baby before marriage, gallivanting around Italy before coming home at all… I mean, I get it, Ricardo and I didn’t do things the Catholic way either,” snorts Aradia out, seating herself on the stairs below, “but Bernardo’s never been this damn crazy about a girl at all. It’s even worse that they can’t find fault in you. Think they’re gonna adopt you if Bernardo doesn’t marry you.”

“Plenty o’ fault in me,” refutes Darlene, blushing crimson. “Just what in the blazes is he tellin’ his mama? Can’t make out a damn word of what they’re sayin’ in there.” All that she can hear are muffled voices, raised just enough to not have every word be audible. “D’ya think I should…?”

“What, walk in and see the minefield?”

“Yeah?”

“Operation Rescue Benny,” laughs Stella.

“That boy hardly needs saving. Last I heard, she was telling him he’d better treat you right or else,” says Aradia, waving a lofty hand. “Something about giving you whatever you need. I walked out into the sitting room when he was telling them how much he loves you. Ricardo only says that about me when he’s drunk off his ass, and here Bernardo is…”

“I love Darlene so much, I am going to marry Darlene,” giggles Stella, “Darlene’s the prettiest, do you know how smart Darlene is, Darlene made this drawing, Darlene painted my plane, Darlene said I look good in red, Darlene Darlene Darlene…”

“Shut up!”

“No, but Lombardi’s got a point,” nods Aradia.

“Stella,” says Stella, extending a hand for Aradia to shake. “And I know what you mean, Bill doesn’t talk like that about me either.”

“Yeah? William was telling Rosie how much he likes you,” smiles Darlene, waving some cool into her heated cheeks with her hand. “Heard it myself. Waxin’ with poetry about you, he was. Said he was going to miss you, Frosty.”

“Frosty?”

“Crew nickname.”

“Right,” nods Aradia, “women flying combat…”

“Not your cuppa?” asks Darlene, seeing the slight wrinkle to Aradia’s nose. “Stella was real good at it. Lead bombardier alongside James Douglass, yeah? Ain’t a drop she can’t do. Lots of them women were aces at what they did.”

“I’d be scared of going down. Being in that camp, like Bernardo was…”

“You’re never alone, though.” Stella’s smile is minuscule, but it’s present all the same. “The guys would never have let us be on our own. And if you die in the sky, you’re carried by them. In their hearts and all.”

“D-Did anyone…?”

“Yeah. Don’t wanna talk about that, but yeah. Some of them died. Some of them were in camp with Benny. I got lucky, being in England, never going –”

Stella’s last words are drowned out by the slam of a door.

“You okay, Bernardo?”

“Ben?” asks Darlene, spotting a slightly balled fist out of the corner of her eye. “You all right?”

“Dia, go see mama,” says Benny, jerking his head at the kitchen as he gestures at Aradia. “She’s asking for you. Something about the wedding. I don’t fucking know.” He sighs. “The hell are you all sitting on the stairs for?”

“Thought we could listen in,” smirks Stella.

“I needed somewhere to sit,” corrects Darlene, groaning as she extends her legs. “Our baby’s fucking with my innards, Ben,” she announces. “Gonna be the size of a whale if this keeps up.”

“Prettiest whale in the world,” chuckles Benny, dodging a slap to his head from Aradia while she shuffles past him to the kitchen. “Mama’s fussing about you not fitting into a wedding dress. Papa’s saying he can make you one, if you want.”

“Wh… Ben…?” She swallows tears that are swimming in her eyes. “He… He said that?”

“Yeah. A DeMarco bride’s gotta look the part, right? I told him you might not want white, so you should probably… I don’t know… talk to him at dinner or something.”

“In your earshot? I think not,” she sniffles, brushing a stray tear off her cheek. “I got a dress already. Might need altering unless we marry tomorrow.”

“We could.”

“Fuck that, I haven’t got a dress for that yet,” snaps Stella, looking back and forth between them. “You are not getting married without the rest of us there to see it, you hear me? I won’t let you.” She rises to her feet. Draws herself up to her rather unimpressive height. “Little sister veto, mio fratello,” she comments archly to Benny as he ascends the stairs. “Gonna tell your mama we need to invite the crew, and Kenny, and Rosie, and Bucky and George, and –”

“Jesus Christ,” mouths Darlene as Stella rushes down the stairs and almost flies into the kitchen. She groans as the full extent of potential wedding guests begins to reel around in her brain. “So much for a small wedding, huh?”

“Italian weddings are never small, love.” Benny’s eyes crinkle as he sinks down on the stairs beside her. “Most you can hope for is that Dia stops mama from inviting the extended family. Sorry.”

“Ya don’t sound too apologetic ’bout that, Ben.”

“I like telling people I love you.”

“Oh, do ya?”

“Sure do,” he smiles, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Crazy about you. And about our baby.”

Darlene chuckles. Drops her head onto his shoulder. “Sorry I made ya come home with little pregnant me for company, Ben. Woulda been easier for ya if that wasn’t the case.”

“What, the family? If they wouldn’t bitch about that, they’d have complained about the lack of letters or the crash or the camp or flying in a warzone or me bringing a Lombardi into the house or about Cannoli…”

“Your mama loves Cannoli,” murmurs Darlene, remembering how the woman had instantly doted on one of Meatball’s puppies. “But I hear ya. It’s different from my family, ’s all. Mine woulda chucked you outta the house and kicked me down with ya the second they saw my big belly. Keep… Keep thinkin’ yours should. Except they won’t.”

“Because they’re not assholes,” snorts Benny out irreverently, pulling her close to him. “And you look like a million bucks, Mrs DeMarco,” he whispers, kissing her cheek a second time. “Like one of those paintings you love so much.”

Her cheeks flame again. “Don’t say that!”

“Tough,” he grins, “already did.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me.”

“And I love ya,” she sighs, squeezing his hand. “So damn much.”

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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[honeypiehotchner]

Version of You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot

Call 1-800-799-7233 if you think you are in danger/a victim of domestic violence, or visit this website for resources, live chat, and more (for the USA). This is a link to the wikipedia page that has international resources. 

(I wanted to put that first because this fic deals with an abusive relationship and some scenes show the abuse. If you relate to any this, please seek help via the resources above. I want desperately to say my DMs are open, but for my own mental wellbeing, I have to let you know that the resources that I give above are about all I can do to help. You’re welcome to DM me if needed, but please know that it might take me a minute to reply, and I still will point you in the direction of resources that can better help you. I love and support and am with every single one of you, but I can only do so much through a screen xx.)

This is 100% a comfort fic, but I am safe and okay, I promise 💛 (Truthfully, this was really therapeutic to write.)

Small note: mental and verbal abuse is depicted here, not physical (though it does come close), but I wanted to remind you that just because abuse isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not harmful or real. Mental and verbal abuse is still abuse.

Summary: Hotch helps you find the courage within you to end your abusive relationship for good.

Warnings: depiction of an abusive relationship, verbal/mental abuse, violence (domestic and otherwise), angst, happy ending

Hotch Masterlist

Aaron is stunned and disappointed to find you’re still at your desk when he walks out of his office at the grand hour of 8 p.m.

You don’t even hear his office door open or close, but you do hear his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches your desk to say goodnight, you’re already attempting to cover up any traces of emotion on your cheeks.

But Aaron is a profiler. On top of that, though, he’s one of your best friends. He’s known you for six years now, and given how much time the BAU members spend together on cases, he’d argue he knows every single person here better than they know themselves.

You’d agree. You hardly know who you are anymore. But somehow, Aaron knows. Aaron can see.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, already setting his bag down, already pulling a chair over, already sitting next to you.

You’re ready to tell him it’s nothing, to tell him to get home to Jack, that it isn’t important — but it is.

You’ve been with your current partner for almost eight years. Anyone would hear that and ask if marriage is on the horizon, or children, or something of the sort. But not Aaron. Because Aaron can see the pain in your eyes.

Truthfully, he’s seen that pain in your eyes for the past two years. Maybe more.

But recently, it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.

You’re on a “break” with your partner. Whatever a “break” even means, because you still receive phone calls and texts from them all day. You send the calls to voicemail unless you absolutely aren’t doing anything, and the texts you reply to with one word.

Going home is fine because your partner is gone — for now. Work called them away, so you’re home alone for at least another three days, but you expect they’ll want you to pick them up from the airport.

You’ve never longed for a case the way you’re longing for one right now.

This “break” has been easiest because your partner has been gone. You know if they were here, it wouldn’t have been a break at all.

“It’s made me realize that I...I want a break. A real break.”

“You want to break up,” Aaron says it for you, knowing you’re too afraid.

Your hesitant nod confirms this for him. “I do. I think I really do.”

Aaron has known the relationship hasn’t been the healthiest. You don’t open up about your personal life that much at work — you never have — but it has always been telling that you never go out for drinks with the team. And when you did, you’d have to answer texts every ten minutes. Your partner never accepted an invite to join the team for drinks or dinner, but would often get angry at you for being out, as if you hadn’t tried to invite them.

Raised voices, broken glass. Not a single hand was ever laid on you. No, instead, it was a wine glass your mom gifted to you when you graduated college when your partner was angry that you had gone out for drinks with the team after a difficult case. A coffee mug you gifted your partner for their birthday faced the brunt of their anger when you didn’t reply to a text message fast enough — because you were parking your car in the garage. Plates, picture frames. A coffee table once, three years ago. It had been a house warming present.

But they’ve never hurt me, you always argue — only with yourself. No one knows the truth, that you clean up after their outbursts, that you’re grateful to have some knowledge of first aid so you can tend to your cuts from the broken glass, or so that you could stitch up your partner’s hand with ease, because hospitals are expensive and the excuses you’d have to fabricate even more so.

They always apologize. Which is true. Apologies are frequent in your house. Sometimes verbal, sometimes in the form of flowers either on your desk at the BAU (that only Hotch seems to notice with a sad smile) or left on the counter at home. Sometimes, rarely, a fancy dinner and some gift, usually a necklace.

“If you need any help at all,” Aaron says, looking you in your eyes, carefully, intently. “I’m here. For anything.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your stomach rumbles loudly in the silence, making you chuckle awkwardly.

“Hungry?” He jokes, but is half serious. “I was planning to get something on the way home, if you’d like to join.”

You think it over for a moment. Your mind immediately jumps to say no because you think your partner is home...but they aren’t.

“Sure,” you say. “Why not. What’s on the menu?”

You gather your things and Hotch waits patiently, rattling off some ideas for food to eat until one grabs your attention.

Your phone buzzes with a text. Where are you?

Aaron notices your change in posture with a sigh. “Is that them?”

You nod slowly. “Asking where I am.” You quickly type back, Still at the BAU.

The reply is almost immediate, as always. Just checking. Love you.

Relief washes over you as you type back, Love you too.

Aaron doesn’t like what he sees. The panic that surges through you just from a text message, making you stand up straight, hold your breath, clench your jaw. Then the relief that relinquishes you when a reply comes and it isn’t negative for once. The sudden changes, the way your emotions are yanked back and forth. He hates it.

But he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “Ready?” And waits for you to smile.

+++

Hotch really doesn’t mean for dinner with you to turn into somewhat of a routine. But it does.

It’s brought more smiles to your face than Hotch thinks he has ever seen in the past six years. And for that, he doesn’t regret the dinners.

Neither do you, until the worst thing that could possibly happen ends up happening one night, three weeks since the first dinner.

Your partner is going out with friends, so you think you’re in the clear to get dinner with Aaron. And when your partner asks where you are again, you say you’re still at the BAU. You were, but you and Aaron were in the elevator to leave when you sent that message.

The two of you grab dinner at one of your favorite spots, at a table outside because the weather is perfect, the sky is clear, and stars are beginning to show. It’s magical. Until it’s a nightmare.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine. They’re supposed to be out with friends.

Aaron automatically stands, shoulders squared and face set. He’s wearing his gun, and you are, too, but you’d never use it on your partner. You can’t say the same about Hotch, though, and that terrifies you.

“Babe,” you say with a smile, and Hotch tenses, hearing the pet name fall so easily form your lips. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with your friends?”

Your partner crosses their arms over their chest. “And I thought you were still at work.”

“We are,” Hotch speaks up, startling you. “We’re discussing a case.”

Your partner looks around, raising their eyebrows. “I don’t see any papers.”

“Because we went digital five years ago,” Hotch replies coolly. “But aside from that, a federal investigation is none of your business.”

You swallow thickly, waiting for your partner’s reply.

But to your surprise, they only nod. “I understand, sir. I was only checking.”

Hotch holds back a scoff, but instead returns the nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Your partner holds their hands up in surrender. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you at home,” you say quickly. “Love you.”

“See you at home,” they reply, making you frown as they turn and walk away.

When you look back at Hotch, you nearly scream. It takes everything in you not to make the hugest scene right there, outside this nice restaurant, underneath these stars.

Your phone buzzes. One hour. Do not be late.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Just. Don’t, Hotch.”

+++

The next day, you knock on Hotch’s office door, twenty dollar bill in hand to pay him back for your dinner last night. You left in a hurry and didn’t get to pay. Thankfully, at least, arriving home with forty minutes to spare saved you from an even worse reaction from your partner.

“For dinner last night,” you mumble, sliding the twenty across Hotch’s desk. “Thank you.”

As you turn on your heel to leave, Hotch calls out to you. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Aaron says, making you turn back around. “I hope you’re...alright.”

You’re so very far from being “alright” that you almost laugh. Instead, you shrug. “It’s been worse.”

“Did they hit you?”

You’re too shocked to move. “What? No! Why the hell would you even say that?”

“Because I’ve been worried about you.”

“They have never laid a hand on me,” you snap. “Ever.”

“But they’ve come close,” Aaron says gently. “You know they have.”

You only scoff. You feel hurt. Insulted, even, that he would assume something like that. Your relationship with your partner is rocky, of course, but never physical abuse rocky. Never that bad.

But has it come close?

Sure, maybe you’ve felt the wind off a beer bottle when it grazed by your head on its way to the wall. Maybe you have had to duck to avoid getting glass to the face. Maybe.

Maybe they have come close. Closer than you want to admit.

But they’ve also loved you. Held you while you cried. Rewarded you after you cleaned up the broken glass. Left you flowers and jewelry and love notes.

They love you. Don’t they?

“It’s fine,” you whisper, blinking back the stubborn tears that have jumped to the front of your eyes. “They love me.”

“Love isn’t violent,” Aaron replies gently. “Love shouldn’t make you as terrified as I saw you when you left last night.”

“I know,” you choke out. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Hotch is rounding his desk and gathering you in his arms before the first tear slips down your cheeks. He holds you while you cry, letting you get it all out.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, resting his chin on top of your head. “Don’t worry.”

+++

It all comes to a head a few nights later when your partner springs a question on you. The question.

There, standing in the bathroom, you’re too stunned to speak.

“What d’you say, baby? Let’s get married, you and me.”

You don’t reply. You toss the makeup wipe in your trash can, flick the light in the bathroom off, and walk out into the bedroom.

“Baby?” They ask.

You’re facing the dresser, halfway to setting out a pair of pants for work tomorrow. “I...I can’t.”

“What?” Their reply is immediate and angry. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t,” you repeat, refusing to change your answer. “No.”

By the time you turn around, they’re standing up from the bed, arms crossed over their chest. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” you say firmly. “I’m not marrying you.”

“And why not?”

“I—”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“What?”

“Your boss? Are you fuckin’ him?”

“No!”

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

You’ve never raised your voice back at your partner. They’ve always been the one to raise their voice, and you stayed silent, tried to talk them down, be the quiet voice of reason.

But not anymore. You’ve had enough.

“You don’t want to?” They scream. “It’s been eight years and now you don’t want to. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” you say through gritted teeth. “But I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Baby…” They sigh, stepping closer, lowering their arms. “Why not?”

“Because,” you reply slowly, backing up. “Just because.”

“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”

“It’s good enough for me,” you say. You step to the side and keep backing out into the hallway, getting ready to run if need be.

“Where are you going?” They all but growl. “What’s wrong with you?”

You’re scaring me, you want to scream, but you don’t. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine? Well I’m for damn sure not fine, I’m heartbroken,” they seethe. You see the tell-tale signs that they’re about to get angry — angry enough to start throwing things. You realize in a moment of horror that a paperweight is within their reach.

And they reach for it.

“Don’t,” you murmur, freezing when their fingers wrap around the glass. “Put it down.”

“Why?” They ask, calm as ever. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve just done to my heart?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, no!” Your reflexes have gotten better since being at the FBI, and you duck right in time. The paperweight crashes against the wall behind you, shattering, denting the wall, and covering the couch in fine pieces of broken glass.

“See what you’ve done!” Your partner screams. “This could’ve been easy! You could’ve said yes!”

You spot your car keys on the counter next to you, and when they turn their back to you to grip at their hair, you slide the keys off and into your pocket.

I have to get out of here. It’s a thought that you never have. Normally by now you’d be vacuuming up the glass on the couch, apologizing every five seconds, pouring them a glass of whiskey or a beer or something. But not now. Not anymore.

You’re a few steps from the door when your partner notices. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you freeze. “Go take a shower. Cool off. I’ll clean up this mess and then we can talk about this again, okay?”

They almost don’t accept your offer, but after a second, they nod. “There better be a beer waiting on me when I get out.”

“Of course,” you smile.

Your smile makes them suspicious, but they turn and head into the bedroom without another word.

Shaking, you turn to the closet to grab the vacuum, turning it on and beginning to suck up the glass off the couch.

But when you hear the shower curtain pull closed, you escape, leaving the vacuum running.

+++

It’s pouring down rain, you aren’t wearing any shoes, and you’re knocking on your boss’s front door. Can your life get any more pathetic?

When Aaron opens the door, he’s practically hauling you inside and out of the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, already leading you down the hall toward the bathroom. “You’re shivering, we need to get you out of these clothes — you aren’t wearing shoes, fuck, Y/N, what happened?”

“They asked me to marry them,” you choke out. You aren’t even crying. You haven’t cried yet at all. “I said no. They almost hit me.”

Aaron feels a dangerous surge of anger course through his body. “Did they hit you?”

You shake your head, and it turns into a full-body shiver.

“Okay,” Aaron says, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Okay, let me get some clothes for you. Do you want to take a shower?”

You shake your head again.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

You sit, shivering, on your boss’s toilet for a few minutes before he returns with clothes. A t-shirt and pair of sweatpants of his. Old ones, he says, they don’t fit him anymore. You smile slightly when you realize the shirt is from his college, the sweatpants from his law school. No wonder they don’t fit him anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you say. “I—I think I left my phone there.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get changed and get warm. Do you want some tea? Anything?”

“Just some water, please,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

After he leaves, you change out of your wet clothes and into his shirt and sweatpants. You carefully hang your wet shirt and shorts over the edge of the bathtub, hoping that’s okay.

You venture out of the bathroom and follow the noise into the kitchen where you find Aaron putting up dishes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, straightening up. “Do you want ice with your water?”

“Um, sure.”

The sound of ice clinking into the glass makes you flinch, and you’re grateful Aaron’s back is turned away from you.

“There you go,” he hands you the glass.

“Thank you.”

You sip it quietly while he goes back to putting up the rest of the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Once he finishes, your heart is still racing, now with guilt from coming here unannounced. What if he was on a date? What if Jack was here?

“The guest room is all yours,” Aaron says softly. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what to do.” You pause, rubbing your thumb over the condensation on the glass. “But I told them I’m not marrying them. But I...I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Or where I was going.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not. They’re gonna be mad. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t go back. Not alone, they’ll—”

“Hey,” Aaron shushes you, walking around the counter to get to you. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go with you. You won’t be alone.”

“Thank you.”

+++

The next morning, you and Aaron head into the office early so you have time to grab your go-bag and change into your work clothes that you left in there.

Thank God for having a job like this where it’s normal to have a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and anything else you need in a duffle bag under your desk.

You and Aaron are the first people in the BAU, so you’re able to grab your bag and head to the bathroom to change without any questions. Once you return, you stuff the bag back under your desk and sit down, ready to bury yourself in reports for the day.

But before you can, Hotch calls you into his office.

“What’s up?” You ask when you step into the doorway.

“We didn’t eat breakfast,” he says, and that’s when you notice the two coffees and muffins sitting on his desk.

“Oh,” you chuckle. “I completely forgot.”

“Me too,” he smiles. “Here, sit.”

The two of you eat the breakfast in silence, but somehow you don’t mind it. You’re not in much of a talking mood, anyway.

Rossi arrives next and stops by Hotch’s office, not at all surprised to find the two of you eating together, though he does join with his coffee a few minutes later. The silence vanishes with Rossi, leaving laughter in its wake as he tells old stories about Hotch.

When the rest of the team arrives, they follow the noise to Hotch’s office, and soon you’re surrounded by your family. Your real family.

Once eight-thirty rolls around, you all begin to disperse, back to your respective spaces to start working for the day, and everything feels normal.

And then, in a matter of seconds, it isn’t.

The second your eyes land on your partner standing down in the bullpen, you fall to your knees, scaring the shit out of Hotch.

“What happened?” He blurts, kneeling down to you. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no...No, Hotch, they’re out there.”

Hotch doesn’t need their name. The fear on your face is enough.

About this time, you hear Derek’s voice growing in volume. The most you can make out is, “Put...down…!” And that’s when your blood runs ice cold.

You pat your right hip, hoping, praying, your weapon is magically there, even though you know it’s not. You put it in the safe when you got home last night. You didn’t have time to grab it before you ran out and drove to Hotch’s place. You left it there, in the safe, because you never think twice about it since it’s locked away.

But now…

“Don’t do this, man,” Derek yells. “Put. It. Down.”

“Where is she?” Your partner yells. “Tell me where she is!”

“I’m not telling you shit until you put the gun down,” Derek says, firmly. You’re frozen in place, on the floor next to Hotch’s desk as you listen.

“They have my gun,” you whisper to Hotch. “I didn’t think they— I don’t know how they knew the code, I change it every week, I thought—”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Hotch shushes you. “You stay here. Do not move. Try to get under my desk if you can.” He pauses. “There’s an extra pistol underneath. I want you to grab it just in case.”

You nod, but then a memory of last night grips you. “No! You can’t go out there!” You hiss, gripping Hotch’s arm.

Outside, you hear Emily’s voice adding to Derek’s, trying to talk your partner down. It’s a scene out of a horror movie. Straight from your worst nightmare.

“They already feel threatened by you, they’ll just shoot you the second they see you.”

“Not when they already have five guns on them.”

“Let me come with you,” you offer.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aaron, I have eight years of experience talking them down. I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch doesn’t like that you’re right.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod. You’re shaking all over, but you still nod.

“Okay. Crawl over and grab the pistol from my desk. Tuck it in your waistband, on your back. Go now.”

You stay low as you crawl over, finding the pistol strapped underneath his desk on the right side. Once it’s tucked in your waistband, you stand, facing the window. Hotch stands too, with his back to the blinds, and thank God they’re closed.

“Is she in there?” You hear your partner scream. “Is she with him?”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re gonna fucking kill me.” You hate that the possibility is very real. They have your gun. They could shoot you the second they see you. You’re not wearing any protective gear.

“No,” Hotch replies. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Come out here, you lying bitch!”

Hotch looks ready to kill your partner himself.

“Babe?” You call out, putting on a false tone, the same one you always use when talking them down. “Babe, what are you doing here?”

You step into the doorway, feeling another frozen chill of fear shoot straight down your spine. They look crazed. Insane, even. Worse than you’ve ever seen, worse than last night, worse than the last eight years.

“Don’t babe me,” your partner seethes, but the gun is still trained on Derek.

You know it makes no sense, but you want them to turn the gun on you. Not Derek. Derek can’t be hurt because of you, not like this.

“Put the gun down,” you say, trying to stay calm and sweet, the way you usually have to be at home.

“I’m not listening to a damn thing you say,” your partner yells, and then the gun turns on you. “There he is.” The gun isn’t aimed at you. It’s on Aaron.

“Put it down,” Aaron’s level voice floats through the terror roaring in your ears. “I won’t ask again.” He shifts and you realize then that he has his own weapon trained on your partner.

“You won’t need to. Come out from behind my fiancé you coward.”

“She’s not your fiancé,” Hotch says. “And you won’t shoot her.”

“Want to bet on it?” Your partner lowers the gun slightly, now pointing it straight at your chest. Strangely, you don’t feel any panic surge through you. It’s telling. That even now, your head is telling you, they won’t hurt me, they never hurt me before.

“Don’t do it,” Derek yells. “I will shoot you, man. Don’t do it. You have six guns pointed at you right now. Do you really want to do this?”

The metal of Aaron’s pistol bites into your lower back when you shift on your heels. Your arms are frozen by your side, too afraid to reach for the gun.

“Put it down,” Rossi yells.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Derek adds. “Don’t make me get to one. Five. Four.”

Your partner’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Aaron catches the movement. Nods once when Derek says three. And on two, Derek pulls the trigger before your partner can do it first.

A broken scream rips from your chest when the bullet lodges itself in your partner’s side, your gun clattering to the ground. Derek steps forward and kicks the gun further away, out of reach.

Hotch lifts you around your waist and pulls you back into his office, kicking the door closed with his foot.

You’re numb to everything as he sits you down on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you finally sob, letting out every scream that you’ve been holding in.

+++

Your partner is taken to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound.

Hotch tells you they won’t stand a chance at being acquitted, too many charges looming over their head already without the addition of domestic violence. You hardly hear his words, but you nod like you do.

He takes care of you while the commotion outside struggles to calm down. A blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, you hug a pillow to your chest, sniffling every few minutes as fresh tears cascade down your cheeks. Spencer brings you a mug of steaming tea that you barely manage to thank him for. Hotch thanks him properly for you before softly shutting his office door.

For months, you’ve been thinking about leaving them. For so long, you’ve wondered what life might be like without them. Now, you don’t know a thing.

You don’t know what to do. Where to go. Will you have to testify in court? If you do, will you have to talk about the...abuse? The abuse that you can barely bring yourself to label blatantly as abuse even though Aaron, your brain, everyone screams at you that that’s what it is — abusive behavior.

When you were a teenager, and even in your early twenties, learning about signs of abusive, unhealthy relationships, you never thought you’d end up in one. You thought surely you’d recognize the first signs and get out of there.

But instead, you did exactly what they said most people do. You brushed them off. You thought, oh, they just love me deeply, that’s all. They want what’s best for me, that’s all. They want me to be safe and protected, that’s all.

And that’s lovely, but there’s a difference. Between caring and controlling.

You never thought the difference would be so hard to see.

“Come on,” Aaron’s soft voice pierces through your thoughts. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You blink. “Where?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he replies gently. “Your apartment?”

Immediately, you shake your head. But then you pause. Because aside from your apartment and the BAU, you have nowhere else to go.

“Would you be comfortable going back to my apartment?” He asks. “I understand if it’s uncomfortable. I’m sure Garcia or Prentiss would be happy to let you stay with them, and I’ll gladly send them home with you.”

As much as you love Garcia and Prentiss, you strangely feel more comfortable with Aaron. After all, Pen and Emily don’t— or didn’t know about your partner’s behavior. Only Hotch knew.

“If you don’t mind, I’m...I’m okay with your place.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he smiles. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need.”

That makes you smile, though the expression feels foreign on your lips. “Don’t you have to stay?”

“It can be dealt with tomorrow,” he replies. “The paperwork will still exist tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“Okay,” you accept defeat. “Can I take this blanket?” You don’t like the idea of this weight leaving your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says.

You fall asleep in the car.

You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted. And by the time you woke, Aaron had already carried you into his apartment. Startled, you gripped his arm a little too tight, but he shushed you carefully, letting you know you’re safe, he just didn’t want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.

He set you down on the guest bed where you tried and failed to get some rest last night, but now, you sleep like a baby.

+++

Months after the incident, the guest room at Aaron’s apartment has become your temporary home.

You still haven’t been back to the apartment you owned with your partner — even though their name is on the lease, not yours. You went once with Aaron to pick up your clothes and anything else important, but it was a quick trip. You were desperate to get out of there.

Aaron didn’t like what he saw. The broken glass, the dents in the walls. The way your body language changed immediately. Your unwillingness to return there is fine by him.

It’s a slow, uphill battle as you begin to heal. Your partner still sits in jail, awaiting their trial date. You know you might have to testify, but you know your team might have to be there as well, so that makes you feel better.

Aaron has been incredibly respectful of your space. You were the one who brought up the idea of carpooling to work, one of you driving every other day, to save on gas for the both of you. He had assumed you wanted to drive on your own and always have your car — which is true, but you didn’t mind riding with him.

He’s the only one your terrified brain doesn’t seem to be scared of.

And you’re not complaining. You’re grateful to feel a small ounce of safety after feeling every sense of unsafe for the past eight years.

+++

Your ex-partner’s trial comes and goes in the following three months. You did testify, along with the rest of your team, the verdict is guilty. Life in prison.

You wept on the steps of the courthouse from the sheer relief of it all.

“They’ll never hurt you again,” Aaron had told you and you didn’t believe him for one second.

Still now, as you know for a fact they are sitting in a prison cell, you have a small fear. But you think you always will.

You continue “rooming” with Aaron — that’s the best way you can think to put it — and you’ve come to really enjoy the weekends when Jack comes over. At the start, Aaron would try to take Jack out to the park to give you time alone, or you’d go spend some time with Penelope, but after a while, you started staying. And after a little while longer, Jack started warming up to you, and expecting your presence.

One weekend, you hear Jack and Aaron playing in the living room while you’re in Aaron’s office, trying to get some work done. And halfway through signing your name on a piece of paperwork, you hear Jack “whispering” to Aaron about you.

“Do you like her?” Jack whispers, but it definitely comes across as more of a soft shout.

Aaron’s eyes widen, and he presses his index finger to his lips. “A lot,” he says, but you don’t hear him — though you were straining pretty hard.

“Me too,” Jack giggles. “Is she your girlfriend?” He teases, poking his dad with his Lego sculpture.

Aaron pokes his son back with his own design. “No, buddy, she isn’t.” Again, you can’t hear him, but Jack’s question made your heart hammer in your chest.

You know you’ve had some feelings begin to develop because truthfully, they were blooming months ago, back when you began having dinner with Aaron. But then everything happened, and you still loved your ex, and things got too complicated.

Now, though, seven months out from the start of it all, the feelings are still there.

Aaron hasn’t made any moves, so you’ve kept silent. You don’t know how much of his good deeds are simply out of his own kindness. And you certainly don’t want to mistake it for something it’s not.

But kids pick up on things adults try hardest to hide.

You continue with your paperwork, listening to them continue to play.

It’s not until after Jack goes home to Hailey that his question is brought up, and it’s only because Aaron asked what was bothering you.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But I’m here if you do.”

He’s always here. That’s what made you have a crush on him in the first place, years ago. He’s always there for anyone who needs him.

“I heard you and Jack earlier,” you start. “When he asked if I’m your girlfriend.”

Aaron sighs. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just confusing for him because to him, living together equals relationship since all he’s known is me and Hailey—”

“I’d like to be,” you interrupt his nervous rambling. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You…” He pauses. “Are you sure?”

“Aaron, I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything—”

“I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything,” he counters. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” you whisper.

When he kisses you, it’s what you’ve longed for all this time. It’s exactly what you’ve been yearning for. It’s exactly the kind of love you know now that you deserve.

Recovery has been messy, and will continue to be messy for some time, but you’ll have Aaron next to you every step of the way. Always.

[fandomlit]

neutral, chap. 3 (dream smp x reader)

series summary (in game!au) when an exiled tommy finally rebels against a manipulative dream, he finds safety in neutral territory, a place owned and guarded by you. staying in your safe haven opens up the younger one’s eyes to your way of life, while also revealing your deeper past before neutral; a past that involved a war for your love.

chapter summary after teaching tommy how to make cookies, you surprise him with your archery skills as you fight off mobs swarming outside of your house. tommy comes to a conclusion that makes him slightly ashamed of himself; being neutral doesn’t make you weak.

warnings swearing, killing of mobs (zombies, spiders, skeletons), some mental health talk (kinda)

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gif cred belongs to @netheriteaxe

it was storming the next night. after a nice dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, y/n proposed that tommy help her make some dessert for them to enjoy.

“you sure i can’t mess this up?” tommy asked warily as she opened her small, self-written recipe book and placed it in front of them.

“im sure,” she assured, patting his cheek endearingly. he made a face. “your face is gonna freeze that way, kid.”

“whatever,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as she laughed. “what are we making?”

“cookies!” she smiled. “one of the easiest things you can make.”

tommy sighed. though it was embarrassing to admit aloud, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the experiment. “what do we need?”

“well...” after thirty minutes of patience from y/n, frustration from tommy, and unhelpful side commentary from ghostbur, the cookies were nearly ready to place in the furnace.

“how big should i make them?” tommy questioned, looking up at y/n from the baking sheet she had spread out for him.

she shrugged, placing her hand on the back of the chair ghostbur sat in. “however big you want. measure with your heart.”

“you also said that about the chocolate chips,” ghostbur commented. “now we’re all going to have cavities.” y/n whacked the boy on the back of the head, keeping her expression kind as she looked at tommy. 

“however you want them,” she assured. tommy nodded in return, turning back to the baking sheet just a loud banging came from the main entrance of the house. y/n peeked out of the kitchen. “oh, wow, that’s a lot of mobs..”

ghostbur leaned back to see. “goddamn!”

“tommy, you go ahead and portion and pop those into the oven,” y/n spoke, running a hand through her hair. “i have a feeling my door’s not gonna last much longer.” she rushed out of the room without another word.

“having fun yet?” ghostbur questioned as tommy began to portion out the blobs of cookie dough.

“kinda,” he shrugged. “y/n’s a good teacher.”

“she is,” ghostbur agreed.

“it’s also kind of nice to have a break from more chaotic things,” tommy continued as he worked. “you know, y/n surrounds herself with peace. she’s not a fighter like you were and i am. so, it’s nice to do as she does.” ghostbur chuckled and tommy looked up just as he finished portioning out the dough. “what?”

“whoever said y/n wasn’t a fighter?” ghostbur teased. just then, said girl came back into the kitchen with a bow in hand and a quiver full of arrows slung over her shoulder.

“cookies in yet?” she asked, eyes gleaming with excitement he hadn’t yet seen from her. her words were rushed out, and he stuttered to reply quickly.

“y-yeah, well, about to be,” he managed out. “what are you doing?”

y/n grinned at him as he lowered the tray of dough into the furnace. “someone’s gotta deal with the mobs out front.” before she disappeared, tommy called out to her.

“wait, y/n!” he called. “can i come with?”

“sure!” she laughed. “ghostbur, set a timer for fifteen, please!” tommy rushed to follow her as she practically raced up the stairs. ghostbur grinned after them.

“where are we going?” tommy huffed out as y/n led him down a hall he was yet to discover.

she slowed down, opening up a door that revealed the stormy night to him. “right out here.” tommy stepped out onto the small balcony. tarps covered the sides, preventing them from being pelted by the brunt of the rain and wind, but allowed them access to viewing the main entrance from the side.

“are you good with a bow, tommy?” y/n asked, still smiling as she delicately plucked an arrow from her quiver.

“uh- not really..,” the boy admitted, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

“that’s alright,” she smiled reassuringly as she lined up the arrow in her bow and pulled the string back. “i assume you’re better with a sword?”

“much better,” he nodded. she let out a hum before releasing the string from her fingertips, and tommy could barely keep up with the arrow that flew through the air and lodged itself in between a skeleton’s shoulder and collarbone, causing the mob to collapse into a pile of uselessness. tommy’s mouth suddenly felt dry as y/n loaded another arrow. 

he had never seen someone take down a skeleton in one shot, not even dream.

tommy watched as she closed one eye, aiming at three zombies lined up. she took a breath before tugging harshly at her string, then letting the arrow zoom through the storm and cleanly through the three’s heads. they all crumbled into a mass of rotten flesh.

“four mobs and two arrows?!” tommy managed as y/n reached for another. she looked over and laughed at the surprised boy. “how the hell did you do that?”

“i’ve always been good at aiming,” she spoke casually as she worked to load another arrow, aiming now at a spider working its way up her walls. she managed to lodge the arrow into its leg, effectively tearing it off of the creature and causing it to tumble onto the zombie below. they heard it hiss just before another arrow pinned through its heart and the zombie’s head, rendering both creatures silent. “not so much with close contact fighting.”

“i think this makes up for it,” tommy spoke distractedly, shaking his head with amazement as he watched her fingers move with instinct and practice. she launched another strong arrow into the hoard.

she laughed as she continued to work. “i fumble when im up close..” arrow after arrow whizzed from her bow. “from this distance, i can take my time. i can breathe, i can calculate.” mobs went down, pair after pair sinking to the cold, wet grass below. “and when we can do those things, our work only shows it.” she knocked down one last skeleton before she dropped her bow to her side. there were now only a few creepers and spiders mulling around.

“that was amazing,” tommy spoke after a moment of silence, looking at her with wide eyes. she gave him a smile. “i.. wow.”

she laughed just as ghostbur peeked his head out. “five minute warning.”

“thanks, ghostbur,” y/n nodded. “come on, kid. let’s towel off and eat some cookies.” tommy nodded, following her back into the house. he stayed behind with ghostbur as she went to grab towels.

“so?” ghostbur spoke with a knowing grin. “how was that?”

tommy shook his head, still processing the skill he had just experienced. “she’s the best archer i’ve ever seen! she didn’t miss a single target, she knew exactly where and when to aim, i-” he let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “i can’t believe i thought she couldn’t fight. of course she can fight.”

“neutral doesn’t mean weak,” ghostbur spoke wisely, placing a hand on tommy’s shoulder. the boy looked up at him with pursed lips, guilt weighing in his chest. “y/n is the strongest woman i know; she cooks, she welds, and she can work a bow like you’ve never seen. never expect anything with her, tommy. she’ll never stop surprising you.”

tommy nodded. “neutral doesn’t mean weak, eh?” ghostbur gave him a smile. “of course it doesn’t. it’s not like she chose this life.. there was a war.”

“right,” ghostbur confirmed. “it’s alright to be wrong sometimes, tommy. especially about someone you’ve known and lived with for what, a week?” he nodded. “see? you don’t have to know everything all the time.”

“okay,” tommy nodded, his voice quiet as ghostbur squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “wow. it’s strange to be able to hold myself to a lower standard.”

“y/n is teaching you some amazing things about mental health, tommy.”

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[wearywinchester]

Found

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the outcome of a hunt is less than ideal, Dean’s there to make it better.

Requested by Anonymous: “Would you be able to write a Dean x reader fic in which they get separated during a hunt and he finds her stabbed and bleeding in the basement?? Maybe she's passed out??”

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff

You were quiet as you walked along the dirt path, dampened from the earlier drizzle. Dean’s hand was heavy in yours as he held it tightly, tugging you closer to his side the moment he’d felt you’d strayed too far away or walked too far behind. His mood was evident, clear in the way his jaw stayed locked in its tension and clearer in the way his cheeks were flushed a pale tinge of pink. He was angry, he was worried, he was scared.

He may have felt better now that you were with him again, that you were standing on your own two feet, but that fear still lingered there in waves each time he thought about what could have happened.

He knows he shouldn’t think like that, he knows it’s not good for him to dwell on things that could have happened instead of keeping his attention on what really did. Because you were here and you were alive and that was all he needed but still, that thought stuck stubbornly in his head and plastered itself in the forefront of his mind, having his stomach a mess of knots that wouldn’t let him forget it.

Your shoulder ached, numbing and throbbing partially from the torn fabric Dean had tied tightly around it to stop it from bleeding anymore than it already had. At least until he could handle it properly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, quiet and soft as he casts his gaze down at you.

You simply nod as you set your eyes on the ground, on your boots and his as you walk along towards the car. You can hear the underlying anger in his voice no matter how soft, anger that isn’t entirely directed at you but it was very much there and you heard it, heard the vulnerability mixed in there too.

He just hums, tugging you a bit closer to his side once more when the path narrows some, hand warm and calloused around yours. You feel the press of his lips on the top of your head as you walk, something that would never go unnoticed and something he’d always do no matter how upset he may have been with you.

He was upset and rightfully so.

In your life as a hunter, there were a lot of uncertainties in everything, and there was never a hunt you’d been on where everything went as expected. Never a hunt where something hadn’t gone wrong no matter how big or small it’d been. There was always something in every hunt that reminded you to keep your guard up, that reminded you to expect a change in plans and to prepare yourself for the very worst.

But even with that being said, you can’t be perfect every time, no matter how prepared you are.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to get separated, even on the easiest of hunts. But it was always something that bothered Dean, always something that had him nearly pushed over the edge each and every time it did happen. Because every time you get split up it makes him less happy with the idea of you hunting in the first place. It only adds to his incessant worry simmering in his stomach over the fact that he knows you won’t ever quit, not for a long while.

The mere thought of what could happen to you every time the three of you get in that Impala for a new case is something that makes his stomach twist into knots and churn. It doesn’t matter if it happened every time or just once in a blue moon, regardless of that it happens way more often than he’d like it too.

And it happened again.

You’d gotten separated back there, and the cause wasn’t lost on you. You were hunting a rogue pack of werewolves, there were just two of them left after the other had been snagged by another hunter. You’d heard one of them in the near vicinity, something Sam or Dean didn’t take notice to. Maybe it was a trap, surely it was—it wouldn’t be the first time you’d been outsmarted by a monster but you always came out on top in the end.

Regardless, you found yourself taking off in the direction of the noise, never having been one to do anything but throw caution to the wind. When you thought back on it now that you were in your current predicament, it wasn’t your smartest decision, not even close because it turns out it very much was a trap, one put together by a more than frightened werewolf.

They must not have been turned for very long, he couldn’t have been. You could tell by the way he acted, on edge as something akin to fear danced across his expression. You could see the way his nerves had wrapped around every move he made, and you could see his hesitancy before fleeing and giving in to the temptations one would have as a werewolf.

But you’d been alone, alone in a basement with a werewolf plenty stronger than you and your blade. You didn’t even try and compare your strength, knew it was comical to even think you had a fair chance. You gave it your all and put up a good fight, but you found yourself stuck in a vulnerable position when he’d knocked the knife right out of your hand.

He could see the fear flicker in your eyes just as much as you could see the very same in his, but you didn’t let that stop you in that moment. Not as you gave it another shot. In your own stupidity you took another shot.

He may have been riddled with nerves but his adrenaline seemed to outshine that by a million miles, taking the knife gripped tightly in his hand and taking a swing at you in his own self defense. Your yelp was unmistakable when the blade pierced your skin, sharp and unforgiving as it jammed into your shoulder without pause. Your agony was unmistakable as he looked in your eyes, panic sinking in the golden yellow of his own as he yanked it back out.

His panic was clear as day as he’d looked between you and the bloodied knife in his hand, chest heaving as that adrenaline continued to pulse through him. You could see that fear, the fear of the two angry hunters who’d surely come to look for you without an ounce of doubt. One especially furious hunter who’d take him out without a beat of hesitation.

He looked at you, at your widened eyes and startled expression before he dropped that blade with a seemingly deafening clatter, watching your face scrunch and contort in pain for a moment longer before he ran off in a hurried escape, leaving you alone.

You were left to fend for yourself in that basement should he choose to come back, left to double over in pain and sink to sit on the concrete floor. The injury wasn’t severe, it could have been far worse and you knew that. But the pain was still much more unbearable than you’d hoped for and that was what had stolen your attention. That and the sight of the blood on your palm when you pulled it away from your shoulder was enough to have nausea simmering and bubbling in your stomach.

You knew it wasn’t good when you felt yourself breakout into a sweat, your ears ringing. It was all there, all telling that you were about to pass out until you’d gone and done it.

That’s how Dean found you, slumped against the wall by yourself as a more than noticeable stain sat against your shoulder.

Now here you were, back with a less than thrilled Dean Winchester and Sam who’d kept quiet despite how relieved he was that you were okay.

The only sound was the occasional clear of a throat and the snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves under tired and stomping footfalls. You noticed the way Dean glanced down at you every so often with all the concern in the world in his eyes, and you noticed the dimples by the corners of his mouth as he pursed his lips.

Despite that, you still felt the brush of his thumb across your knuckles as your fingers curled around the back of his hand. It was a tender action, one that comforted you more than you’d admit.

He opened the door for you as you got to the car, wanting you to sit up front with him this time. After that, he found that even having you in the backseat was farther than he’d like you to be even if there was no longer a threat for you to be separated any more.

It was quiet the whole way back to the motel—no classic rock on the radio, no nothing. The tension wasn’t quite as bad as you’d expected, not really. But it was quiet save for the rumble of the engine and the tapping of Dean’s thumbs on the wheel. The occasional clear of Sam’s throat and the grumble falling from Dean’s lips when someone cut him off.

He snagged your bag from you before you could carry it yourself, slinging it over his shoulder as he helped you out. The two of you went off into your room as Sam disappeared into his with a mumble of a good night, locking the doors behind you.

The first thing you did was kick off your boots as Dean shrugged off his jacket, lips pursed once more for a brief moment.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, a sigh leaving your lips and a look tossed his way as you wander to the motel bathroom.

The lighting was less than flattering as you turned on the light, Dean coming in behind you after having snagged his first aid kit from his duffel. He set it down in favor of bringing his hands up to the dirtied fabric tied around your shoulder, loosening the knot he’d tied before unraveling it completely.

That pressure had fallen away now that it was gone, that pressure that relieved some of the pain and now it started to seep back in as you scrunch your nose. The look on his face was less than pleased as he looked at your exposed shoulder, blood smeared on your skin and half dried.

You saw his frown and you saw the crease between his brows deepen, saw the anger simmering as he bit the inside of his lip.

“He’s lucky Sam found him first,” he mumbled, angry as he flipped open the lid to the kit.

He was careful as he wiped away the dirt and blood, pausing whenever you winced and lightening his touch every time.

“I’ve had worse,” you say softly, an attempt to make him feel better though it only made it worse.

“You were stabbed, Y/n,” he says, irritation in his words as he puffs a huff through his nose, nostrils flared. “You’re bleeding and it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

“Well, it’s not,” you say, and your nonchalance has him less than pleased as he grabs a half used roll of gauze to wrap around your shoulder.

“Y/n, you passed out from the freakin’ thing and you still look like you might do it again. So stop acting like it wasn’t a big deal ‘cause it damn sure is to me,” he says, voice raising a fraction as his cheeks tinge pink once more his movements with your shoulder still ever so gentle despite it.

“I passed out because I saw the blood, Dean,” you try to reason, tone on the cusp of annoyance as you feed off of his anger.

He shakes his head as he looks away, his hand dragging down his face and over his mouth, lingering there for just a few moments. He clears his throat as his tongue swipes over his lips, jaw tensing when you brush past him out of the small bathroom and into the main area.

His gaze followed after you as you rifled through your bag in favor of more comfortable clothes, changing out of your jeans. You winced uncomfortably at the raise of your arm, immediately regretting it as a yelp leaves your lips.

He’s quick to stand at your side as he helps you take your dirtied shirt off, digging around in his bag and snagging a t-shirt of his. He always brings extra, he knows you like them far more than your own pajamas, knows they bring you a little more comfort.

“Could have asked for help, you know,” he says, brows still furrowed as he helps you put it on in a way that is far less painful than your stubborn actions.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, two words he knows is a lie and it has him huffing as you disappear into the bathroom.

You see the scrape across your cheek when you look in the mirror, can see just how tired you looked and you could see just how much it took out of you. You still felt faint, still looked like you could go for a round two with passing out. There was no hiding that, no way around it no matter how many times you told him you were fine. They were just words to him in moments like this, words he took with a grain of salt and rarely ever believed to be true when you spoke them.

Not when this kind of thing happens.

You sigh as you grab a washcloth, turning on the faucet and dampening it under the tap. You brush it along your cheek, wiping it clean of the dirt and debris before dragging the cold fabric across the rest of your face. It made your cheek look a little better, a little less scraped but it was still there, no matter how faint it’d been.

You draped it over the counter and switched off the light with a sigh, stepping back into the room. Dean had been in a change of clothes, sat against the headboard with the blankets splayed over his lap. His look was brooding and displeased as he flipped through the channels on the motel tv, and you saw the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

You’re quiet as you look at him for a moment, as you wait a beat before climbing into bed, tucking yourself into his side. He doesn’t react for a second, brief before he relaxes with a heavy sigh and tugs you all the more closer. He doesn’t care that he’s angry and doesn’t care that he’s frustrated, he’ll never push you away in moments like this.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that isn’t uncomfortable like it had been earlier as your head rests on his shoulders. You merely hear the sound of the tv, the sound of his breathing as his heartbeat presses against your palm from where your hand rests over his chest.

It’s after a few moments that you lift your head once more and look at him, your gaze softer than before as it bounces across his face. Soon after, he’s turning his head, meeting your gaze and it has you biting your cheek for a moment. Just a moment before you lean up and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

When you pull back you see the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly, you see that crease between his brows smooth out just a little more. You see him settle down. You give him one more for good measure, lips lingering over his cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper, forehead pressing to his temple. You can see his confusion when he pulls back, pulls back in favor of pressing his forehead to yours. “You always come ‘n find me. You’re always there.”

You hear the softness of his chuckle, you feel it brush over your mouth as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, moving upwards and pressing to your forehead before he looks at you once more.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he brings his hand up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along that scrape you’ve got there. You can see he’s unhappy about it, can see the unease dancing across his face as he swallows thickly at the mere thought of it. But he looks at you, looks in your eyes with a certain fondness, a certain softness in his gaze for a moment more before he drops his hand and tucks you under his chin.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he says, words quiet as he kisses the top of your head.

He’d do it in a heartbeat, he always will.

Your smile is soft as you brush your thumb over his knuckles, nodding lightly against his chest. “Just try not to go runnin’ off like that.”

You laugh softly, looking up at him once more. You lean up and kiss him, tender as his freckled nose bumps yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, soft against his lips before you lay back against his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment as he lets out a breath, smiling to himself.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispers.

He knows you’re too stubborn for your own good, too independent. He knows you’ll wind up doing the same thing because that’s what you always do. It scares the life out of him but he’ll always be there.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lanea-1

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Finding Love (L.F)

Warnings : like one swear word, mentions of divorce, reader doesn’t believe in love

Word Count : 2891

Synopsis : her best friend set her up on 7 dates for a project he called “finding love”, but none of the guys made her heart flutter the way he does. 

“Okay, so there’s just some final questions you have to answer.” I nodded, barely looking at my best friend, thinking about the conversation I had with his professor just a few days prior.

           “I hope Felix’s grade won’t suffer because I didn’t find love with this project.” I told her. “He worked really hard, picking out 7 different guys he thought would compliment me well. And they were all lovely, but Miss, I just don’t believe in love. I tried because I don’t want Felix to fail, but none of them sparked anything in me.”

           “Y/N, Felix’s grade will not suffer just because you didn’t find love, though I don’t think that’s true. Forgive me if I cross a line, but I believe you already found love before this project began, but you’re scared. For you, love has always equaled loss, and this person is someone you could never lose, so you refuse to love them. Think about it for a minute.”

           “Felix is my best friend.” I countered and watched as she smiled.

           “I never said it was him.” I just stared at her, going through her words again. “Think about it, Y/N. Love isn’t as scary as it seems.”

           “Did you enjoy the dates you went on?” I met his eyes, pretending like I was listening the whole time. I nodded and watched as he wrote my answer down. “Let’s go through each of the dates and then continue the rest of the questions.” Again I nodded as Felix set the papers down and focused all his attention on me.

           Chan was the first guy I went on a date with for Felix’s project. He picked me up and I felt comfortable with him as soon as I opened the door. He greeted me with a warm smile and an awkward laugh as he stumbled over his introduction.  

           We ended up at his place, ordering some food and watching dumb romcoms on Netflix. The two of us laughed at the over-the-top cringey moments, and at some point, we fell asleep. I don’t remember falling asleep, I just remember waking up some time later, wrapped up in Chan’s arms with him still asleep.

           It was an enjoyable date, something very lowkey, but there was no spark. It felt more like a hang out than a date.

           “Did you just leave while he was sleeping?” Felix asked with a chuckle.

           “No! Of course not!” I countered, laughing at how ridiculous that would be. “I woke him up and he walked me home.” Felix nodded, urging me to go on.

           Minho was next, and at first he seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he quickly opened up. “I figured since it was a nice day, we could have a picnic.” He told me with a smile as he walked towards the park.

           It was really relaxing. We just sat on the blanket he brought, munching on the food he made while getting to know each other. He told me about his family and his friends, what he was studying, and what he hoped to accomplish in life. If I’m honest, I could listen to Minho talk about his dreams for hours and not get bored.

           When he asked me about myself, it was like I drew a blank. The only stories I could come up with were all about Felix. How we met, how we agreed to attend the same college so we wouldn’t be separated, how he is the only person I’d ever need in my life.

           “You talked about me?”

           “You seem surprised.” I laughed. “You already know you’re my favourite person. Of course I’m going to talk about you.”

           “Look at you being cute.” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks at the compliment, something that didn’t happen with the guys I went on dates with. Sure, they complimented me, and I was flattered, but they didn’t seem to effect me the way Felix does. “Continue!”

           To me, the date with Minho was the most intimate. It’s the one that felt the most like a date. But again, the spark wasn’t there.

           Changbin was the third, and I must say I was surprised. I’ve heard the rumours about him around the school, so when he took me to the planetarium, I was rather surprised. “Felix said you were into astronomy.” I smiled so wide when we got inside and the show began. I spouted off random facts I knew to Changbin who seemed really interested in what I had to say. He listened to every word I said, and even spouted off some of his own facts.

           It was like running into an old friend, someone you haven’t seen in years but missed dearly. We clicked immediately and it felt like finding a safe place. For a minute I wondered if this is what people were talking about when they found their soulmates. But the longer I spent with Changbin, the more I realized that the connection I was feeling was purely platonic, on both ends. He’s definitely someone I see in my future, but only as a friend.

           “Hey, at least we’re getting somewhere!” Felix explained. “For a whole minute you thought he could be it!” I laughed at how excited Felix seemed, but my heart seemed to fall to my stomach. Why was he so focused on me finding love? Why does he seem excited to see if I fell for one of the guys he set me up with? “Keep going! 3 down, 4 to go!” He smiled at me, and I felt butterflies erupt in my stomach. No. No that’s not right. I must have eaten something weird.

           Hyunjin took me to an escape room. I’d always wanted to do one but was always scared. Hyunjin didn’t really give me a choice, telling me I would have loads of fun. So, we went. Unfortunately, he chose one of the hardest rooms they offered, thinking we were smart enough to escape.

           It was fun looking around different rooms, trying to find the clues to escape. He was really easy to work with, and though we didn’t escape, we made it pretty far. We then grabbed some ice cream and just walked around, learning more about each other, and complaining about how difficult the room was. “You know, if I wasn’t so distracted by how pretty you looked, we totally could have escaped!”

           “Oh so you’re saying it’s my fault?” I giggled, taking another bite of my ice cream.

           “It is! But it’s okay, I forgive you.” He smiled as he stole a bite of my ice cream.

           “Yah!” I screamed before quickly stealing a bite from his and sticking my tongue out at him.

           “You’re lucky you’re cute.” We parted ways soon after, but I had a smile on my face the rest of the day. It was really fun and something I wasn’t expecting from these dates.

           “Would you go out with Hyunjin again?” I shook my head and Felix’s wide smile seemed to faulter. “Well moving on then!”

           The date with Jisung was the most cliché, but it was still a lot of fun! We went to the amusement park and spent the day riding all the rides and even trying our hand at the different games. I’m fairly sure I ate my weight in sweets that day, but Jisung didn’t judge, and honestly ate more than I did.

           I was nervous at first, but I was quick to fall out of that and just be myself. Jisung is someone that makes you feel comfortable being whatever kind of person you are.

           As the sun set, we finished the day off on the ferris wheel. Super cliché, but it was really cute how excited he was. So I followed him onto the ferris wheel and took in just how beautiful the amusement park looked at night time, with all the lights on and couples walking around hand in hand.

           He walked me right up to my front door and told me to have a good night. I watched as he walked away out of sight before heading inside. My feet were aching, but I couldn’t stop the smile from forming.

           “Let me guess. Still no spark?”

           “No spark.”

           “Well okay, date number 6!”

           Seungmin took me to the aquarium, and it was so much prettier than I remembered. The last time I was there, my parents took me and my older brother. I remember looking at all the pretty colours, in awe of just how pretty the fish looked.

           This time around, though I was still in awe at how pretty everything was, I was more focused on watching the little kids run around in amazement, wondering if that’s what my brother and I looked like to the adults when we came.

           Seungmin seemed really nervous the whole time, barely saying a word and instead leaving most of the talking up to me. But he didn’t seem annoyed, instead he seemed intrigued by all my stories. He shared a couple of his favourite memories about the aquarium and told me why it was his favourite place. “Let me take a picture of you!” I exclaimed at one point. “To add to your memories at your favourite place.” I think that was the moment I first saw him smile wide. It was so precious, and I would have done almost anything to see it again.

           “Oh so you’ll go to the aquarium with Seungmin but not me!?” Felix pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

           “Yah! It was your idea that I go on these dates!” He continued to pout. “Okay fine. Let’s go to the aquarium sometime.” He smiled wide, uncrossing his arms and clapping. “You are probably the weirdest person I know.”

           “But you love me!” More than I think both of us realized. “But enough about us, what about date number 7.”

           The date with Jeongin was the most unexpected as he took me to the library. We picked out a book for the other to read, found somewhere secluded to sit, and began to read. At some point, he handed me a headphone, and we listened to music together as we quietly read.

           Every once in a while, he would do or say something that would make me laugh. It’s like he made it his mission to make me laugh as loud as possible and get us kicked out. It worked, by the way. I have no idea what he said, but I couldn’t contain my laughter, and the two of us got kicked out.

           We ended up at a quiet café just down the block and just talked. We talked about the book we were reading, about school, friends, family, past, aspirations for the future. He was the easiest to open up to. He never looked at me with a look of pity, the way others do when they find out my tragic past, and instead made a joke to lighten up the mood.

           I think I spent the longest time with Jeongin. We just kept telling stories and laughing and before we knew it, the barista was coming up to us to tell us they were closing. Neither of us even noticed it was dark out.

           “So it seems like all 7 dates were successful in one way or another.”

           “I suppose you could say that.” His professor’s words kept ringing in my mind. My whole life, I’ve believed love was something just in books and movies. I would see the couples on campus claiming to be in love, just to break up later.

           I watched my parents argue every single day before divorcing. I watched my brother fall head over heels in love with a girl who played with his feelings. A part of me wanted someone to come along and change my views on love. Show me that love can be a beautiful thing. Falling in love was a risk, and I just wanted someone to be worth the risk.

           And as I sat beside my best friend, recounting the seven dates he set me up on, I was hit with the realization that I found my person a long time ago. Felix was the person I turned to when I needed a shoulder to cry on, he was the first person I wanted to tell all good news to. When I pictured my future, he’s right there beside me.

           He was right in front of me this entire time, and I just refused to believe it. As much as I hate to admit it, his professor was right. To me, love has always equaled loss. You love someone, you lose them. Felix is the only person in my life I couldn’t lose. It would be like losing a piece of me.

           “So out of the seven of them, is there someone you’d consider going out with again?” Felix picked up his papers he previously set down on the table, no longer looking at me.

           “No.” I answered simply, completely coming to terms with the fact that I’m in love with my best friend. “They’re great guys, but I think I know someone better.” I smiled, looking down at my hands clasped in my lap.

           “You do?” Suddenly, the project he’s been working so hard on was forgotten. He looked at me, and I looked right back, admiring his soft features. I guess a part of me always knew he was the one for me, it was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.

           “I do.” I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s the best person I know. And honestly, he’s the only person I’d consider going on a second date with.”

           “Did you go on a date I didn’t know of?” He asked, looking through all of his notes, trying to see if maybe he had missed something. Maybe he had set you up with 8 people but forgot. But there was only one name in his notes that could be a possible 8th date. A name he wrote down in case one of the others turned down this experiment. A name surrounded by question marks; his own.

           “Why is your name written down?” I asked, pointing at the notes he was looking through. “I think I’d remember going on a date with you.” I giggled, looking up at him.

           “Oh, I was just a back up. In case one of the others fell through.” I nodded, coming to that conclusion myself. But the thought of going on a date with him gave me butterflies.

           “I think for the sake of the experiment, you should see if you could be the one to prove me wrong.” He stared at me with wide eyes, obviously wondering what was going through my head. “I mean, you do know me the best. I think if you tried you could win me over.”

           “The project specifically said 7, Y/N.” I slumped back in my seat.

           “Unfortunate. Well I guess we could go on a date just because.”

           “What?” I let out a small laugh at his bewildered expression before sitting up in my seat, leaning closer to him.

           “I’m asking you out.” The words didn’t seem to register in his brain, so I continued. “I talked to your professor, and she opened my eyes. She told me that for me, love always equaled loss, so I never let myself fall in love, especially with you. Because, you’re the one person I can’t lose.” I watched as his expression changed as the words registered.

           “Are you confessing to me right now?” I chuckled as I nodded.

           “Yeah I am. I’m confessing to you right now, Felix.”

           “Holy shit.” I couldn’t help but let out another laugh. “So you’re telling me that you went on seven different dates with the seven biggest heartthrobs of our school, but you’re in love with me?” I nodded, my confidence slowly fading the longer this conversation continues. Honestly, I’m not sure why I confessed. There’s never been a moment in our years of friendship where I thought Felix could have feelings for me. There was just a part of me screaming to let him know, to confess. “Forget the project, I’m taking you out right now.” He said while throwing his papers over his shoulder.

           “Felix!” I exclaimed while laughing, looking at him now standing.

           “What? I’ve been waiting years for this! The project can wait. Right now, I’m taking the love of my life out on our first date.” I couldn’t help the smile that formed as I took his hand. His project was long forgotten as the two of us went out and did all the things we did as friends, but now there was more hand holding and a lot more kisses.

           Love isn’t as scary as it seems. With the right person, love is beautiful. And though Y/N didn’t find love with the 7 boys I set her up with, she found love. A love that at first terrified her but made her happy at the same time. Falling in love is a risk, but it’s a risk she’s finally willing to take. And as the person she fell in love with, I hereby promise to never make her regret taking that risk.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he��s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

**

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

**

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

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[stufftippywrote]

not an astronaut

This is based off a personal experience. Tw for fat-shaming, homophobia, and general assholery from an asshole kid.

The bell rings cheerfully as Bitty steps through the doorway. This was one of his favorite places when he was younger. The eclectic curios, every shape and size and color, packing the shelves were an endless source of fascination for young Eric Bittle, and the owners were friends of the family, so they knew Bitty well and didn't freak out when he picked up a ceramic pepper shaker or glass figurine and held it in his hands like an ancient treasure.

He walks through the store with that same sense of wonder now, 30 years later, and brushes his hand reverently over the shelves. They’re not looking for anything in particular today, but Bitty has told Jack about this place so many times, he simply couldn’t help but visit. Besides, you never know when you might find the perfect accent piece for the new home.

Chicken-shaped serving bowls, a porcelain figurine of a girl dancing, a set of silverware in a dusty wooden case. Bitty is spoiled for choice. As he browses, there’s a movement at the back of the store, and he catches a glimpse of someone hauling boxes through a door. He wonders who runs the place now. The sign still says Thompson’s Antiques, but he knows Mrs. Thompson passed and Mr. Thompson is getting on in years. Could it be that…

A prickle of fear runs through him.

The figure in the back drags the box to a nearby aisle and starts unpacking it, placing items on a low shelf. Bitty’s curiosity overflows. He moseys into that aisle and begins to speak, but the man raises his head before he can get a word out. He has to catch his breath all over again.

The man’s face goes slack. “I know you,” he blurts.

Eric puts his hands on his hips and gives a bright smile. “Davey Thompson. So you’re here after all!”

~~~

“Davey, this is Eric. Eric, this is our little boy Davey.” Mrs. Thompson’s smile is bright as she urges her son forward. “Why don’t you two go play at the playground while Mommy and her friend talk?”

The kid is tough-looking, with ruddy cheeks and a thick build. Eric reaches out his hand to lead Davey along the way. The minute they’re out of earshot, Davey snatches his hand back like he’s just touched a hot stove. Eric turns, surprised.

“You’re fat,” Davey says.

Eric blinks.

“You look dumb,” Davey adds on. And thus a quote-unquote “friendship” was born.

~~~

Davey stands up. He still has the same tinted cheeks and stocky build that Bitty remembers, but his face is sunken somehow, and he’s built up muscle where baby fat used to linger on his arms and shoulders. He’s got a tattoo on one arm – a Japanese koi fish, mid-splash.

“Nice ink,” Bitty comments.

And Davey Thompson, for possibly the first time in his life, smiles at Bitty. “Thanks.”

“The shop looks nice,” Bitty says, surveying the shelf like it’s his domain. “Hasn’t changed much since I used to come here.”

“You’re – you’re Eric Bittle, right?” Davey says, sounding almost scared of the answer. “From school?”

“From way before school,” Bitty responds. “You’re looking good.”

“Uh. Thanks. Same to you.” Davey looks uncertain, almost sheepish. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Davey tries to break it. “Um. So. What are you –”

He doesn’t seem to have the strength, or the will, to come up with the rest of the sentence. Bitty picks it up. “I’m a pastry chef,” he says. “I have a bakery and I cater, and I’ve put out three cookbooks. Can you imagine that?”

Davey looks kind of stunned. “Wow,” he says slowly. “Good for you. Where’s the bakery?”

“Up in New England. Providence, Rhode Island, to be exact.”

Davey snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you went to college up there. For hockey, wasn’t it?”

~~~

Bitty takes a swing at the ball. He misses, and it goes tumbling behind him into the net.

“Hah, you’re the worst goalie,” Davey says.

Somehow, Bitty finds the courage to say, “Let me play forward.” But his words are swallowed by the passing of a car on the cross street.

“What?”

“You be goalie.” Bitty gives the phrase all the menace he’s got in an eight-year-old body.

Davey laughs, a cruel laugh that sounds like ripping paper in Bitty’s ears. “Why? I can score on you all I want. That’s why we made you goalie.”

Resentment simmers like a low sun in Bitty’s gut. He wants to challenge Davey to play him on actual ice. He knows Davey can’t skate. As bad as he is, Bitty can’t possibly lose to him there. But the words stay stuck inside, plastered to the inside of his stomach, making him feel sick.

“Worst goalie ever,” Kevin chimes in.

“The worst, the wooooorst,” all four of them sing to him.

Bitty crouches low and is glad they can’t see much through the oversized goalie mask. Someday, he thinks, someday I’m gonna get them.

~~~

“Something like that,” Bitty answers easily. “And you’ve been here running the store?”

“Pretty much.” He doesn’t look very proud of that fact.

“I remember you used to say you were going to be an astronaut.”

“Ah, well –” The rose tint on Davey’s cheeks grows a shade deeper. “We were kids. I figure I missed my shot to make something of myself.”

All of Bitty’s nurturing instincts come alive. “Don’t say that. You’re doing well. Doing good, honest work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nah, man. It was just the easiest thing to do, once Mom got sick. I had to be here for her, and I … just stayed.”

Bitty gazes at him. This isn’t the attitude he expected from Davey Thompson, not in the slightest. He seems so defeated, as though Bitty’s arrival has reminded him of everything he isn’t. Bitty doesn’t want to be that for him, but he doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter. He quashes the small, self-satisfied demon that’s cackling in the back of his head. He’s not that kid anymore, either.

Just then, the chimes jingle at the front of the store. The babbling voice of a young child brightens the room. “Ah,” Bitty says, “there they are. He had to keep them outside a while before they calmed down. Little kids just work themselves up into a dither sometimes.” He offers an apologetic smile to Davey and retreats down the aisle toward the front of the store.

Suze is quiet, but it’s clear she was crying her eyes out earlier. She hangs on to her Papa with a fierce fist. Robby’s eyes are bugging out at the sight of the store. “What’s that?” he keeps asking, tugging on Jack’s slacks. Jack himself looks a little the worse for wear, but happy. That kind of tired-happy that they see in each other’s faces every night once the kids are in bed.

“Come on, Rob,” Bitty says, holding out his hands. “Want to see Daddy’s favorite store?”

Robby holds out his hands to be picked up. Bitty obliges, despite the warning creak of his back. He turns to take Robby further into the store and sees Davey standing there, staring them down.

He points. “I know you, too.”

“Ah, here we go,” Bitty says with a laugh.

“Were you in school with us? I don’t think that’s right, but—”

Jack holds out his hand for a shake. “Jack Zimmermann,” he says. “And you are?”

“My old friend Davey,” Bitty fills in. He can’t help but put a pointed emphasis on the friend part.

Davey clasps Jack’s hand but doesn’t seem to want to let go. “You’re Jack Zimmermann? The hockey player?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Davey pumps Jack’s hand about four more times before finally letting go. “It’s – it’s good to meet you.” He looks at Suze, still curled up in Jack’s other arm. “And these are your kids? Or—” He turns to Bitty, face contorted in confusion. “Are they your kids?”

“Both,” Bitty answers cheerily. “Davey, meet my husband.”

Davey Thompson very nearly has a coronary right there.

~~~

“Hah, you’re just small all over, aren’t you?” Davey says with a pointed glance at Bitty’s crotch.

“You can’t help how you’re born,” Bitty retorts, but he pulls up his boxers right quick.

“Yeah, some people are just born stupid,” Davey agrees. Bitty instantly regrets replying at all.

Kyle whispers something in Davey’s ear. They both laugh.

“You’re right,” Davey says. He turns back to Bitty. “He’s right. They do say things about you.”

Bitty’s heart drops to his stomach. “W-what things?”

“You know! That you’re—” Davey flaps his wrist.

He doesn’t seem to have the nerve to say the word, but he doesn’t have to say it. The others in the locker room laugh.

For not the first time, Bitty is tempted to just ask, “So what if I am?” But he can’t. Not to these people. This isn’t how he wants his coming out to happen. So he just turns away and pulls on his sweatpants, ignoring the rills of laughter that echo against the lockers, and feels small. Small all over.

~~~

Davey recovers from his shock and nods his head rapidly. “Oh, I get it. Uh, congratulations. Uh, Bittle, could I talk to you a sec?”

He has that sheepish look again. Bitty watches as he retreats into one of the side aisles. “Gimme a sec,” he tells Jack, setting Robby down, and follows Davey.

When they're isolated, Davey turns to him sorrowfully. “I, uh—” Davey looks at the floor. “I was pretty mean to you in school.”

It isn’t what Bitty expected, not at all. To be honest, demons in the back of his head aside, this sort of thing doesn’t bother him so much anymore. Why should it? He’s married with two kids and a brand new home. He doesn’t spare a lot of time thinking about the distant past. “Um,” he starts, suddenly terribly embarrassed.

“No, let me—” Davey raises a hand. “Just let me. I said a lot of nasty things to you back then. I’m really sorry about it. I think about it a lot, and I’m just – I’m really sorry.”

There is a piece of Bitty that’s happy, even smug, at hearing this apology. But mostly he just pities Davey at this point. What a thing to carry around your whole life. “We were kids,” Bitty says. “Kids say dumb things. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Still.” Davey says.

“I can’t say it didn’t hurt me,” Bitty goes on. “But I turned out okay, don’t you think?”

Davey laughs grimly “Yeah, look at you … and look at me.” He shrugs.

“You seem to be doing all right,” Bitty says charitably.

“I’m not an astronaut,” Davey says.

Bitty laughs. “Neither am I. We’re all good.” He pats Davey on the shoulder. A moment passes between them, silent, as they both listen to the sound of the past giving way to a new, kinder present.

After the moment passes, Bitty grins “Come on, I’m going to introduce you to my kids. Do you have kids?”

Davey flushes. “Yeah, I got a teenager. A real smartass. I wonder where he learned it.”

“Pictures!” Bitty declares. “Get that phone out, I demand pictures.”

Davey struggles to pull his phone out of his jeans pocket. This time, he flushes with pride. He narrates the story of each photo as they walk back toward the front.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter Seven

Chapter 7 already? I must really love you guys. I hope you enjoy. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask. My work is not to be reposted under any name or anywhere else. Reblogs and comments, however, are always welcome.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: trauma, probably language, descriptions of violence, torture, blood.

Word Count: 2k

Series Master List

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

The sunlight is bright and you twist your face into Poe’s chest, trying to hide from it. You feel him chuckle under you and it’s only then that you realize he’s awake already.

“Morning.” He says softly.

“What time is it?” You mumble.

“Early, about six.”

“How can you sleep with the sun shining in your eyes like that?”

“I like getting up early.” His fingers trail lightly over your arm and he pulls you tight against his side.

You’re quiet for a long time, but it’s not because he’s lulled you back to sleep. You feel bad for waking him up so late last night. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” You say finally.

“It’s okay. I’d rather you wake me up if you need me than suffer by yourself.” He brushes your hair back behind your ear. “I don’t sleep much anyway.” He admits.

“Because of dreams?” You ask, twisting your head back to look up at him.

“Among other things, yeah.”

You squint and he smiles softly. If you had to pick which is brighter, the sun or Poe’s smile? Poe’s smile wins by a landslide.

“Here, roll over.” He urges, guiding you onto your other side. He turns behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“This isn’t any better.” You huff. His chest shakes behind you as he laughs. You lift his arm and roll back over so you’re facing him. His soft brown eyes are watching you, amusement sparkling in them as you shift.

“Now you’re facing the window again.” He points out. So, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and take a big, satisfying breath. “G-good now?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.” You whisper, eyes already drooping shut again.

***

“I can talk to Leia, you don’t have to do the report.” Poe says.

“I told her I would. She said I could take time but I was petty and angry at the time and said I would have it for her by today.” You tell him, pushing yourself up from the bed.

“So that means you can still take your time.” He says, catching your wrist gently. “Stay.” He whispers and you turn back to him. “Please?”

“Come with me. You can get some food. I know you need caf. I kept you from doing your usual stuff all morning.” You say, kneeling on the bed. This feels dangerous. It feels like flirting, like crossing a line. But you meant it when you said that Poe is the easiest person to be around.

“You should get food, too.” He says, pushing himself up closer to you. One little inch and you’d be almost touching. You could kiss him. You could feel his lips on yours, tell him how much you…

Your eyes close and he pulls back. You should have expected it. But that doesn’t stop you from feeling like the floor is falling out from under you. Suddenly, you don’t want him to go with you. You straighten up, feeling dizzy and unbalanced. You feel numb, you can’t feel your pulse, can’t hear the way you’re breathing too quickly.

“I just remembered. It’s been a while since I’ve showered. I should do that first.” You mutter, already turning for the door.

“Y/N,” he calls, but the door is already shutting behind you and you squeeze your eyes shut. You deserved that. Why would you think he would want to kiss you again?

Poe can only be your friend. Nothing more. He doesn’t want anything more from you. And honestly, count yourself lucky that he even wants that much.

You hurry off to your room, locking the door behind you. You just want to be alone. That’s what’s best for everyone. Painfully, you peel off your clothes, wincing as every move causes you pain.

You shower quickly, blindly, taking no more time than is absolutely necessary. It would be so easy to just let yourself cry, pretend it’s the water dripping down your face instead of salty tears, but you can’t go there. You can’t let yourself feel sorry anymore. You made this mess, ruined a perfectly good friendship, cheated on your boyfriend and now you have to deal with the consequences of that. You’re in your comfiest clothes, settled at your desk to start your report. You wish you had thought to ask how much detail Poe had put in his. He clearly exaggerated about your part in what happened.

Your hands hover over the keyboard, waiting for your brain to tell them what to type. The longer you wait, the more they start to shake. You yank them back against your chest, squeezing them painfully to get them to stop. You welcome the pain, it somehow serves as your penance for what you’ve done.

Your door tries to open and there’s a muffled curse outside, startling you. You quickly unlock it and outside is Bryce. He holds out a caf silently and your eyes widen and you realize you promised him you’d be in the med bay after his shift.

“How was it?” You ask, taking the cup and backing up to let him in.

“Boring as always. I hate post work. Nothing ever happens.” He grumbles, following you and flopping on your bed. “What happened?” He asks, balling up your pillow and stuffing it under his chest to rest on.

“Um,” you clear your throat, scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t start a fight. I went to sleep with the guy you hate would definitely start a fight. “I couldn’t sleep. Kept waking up. Then I just said screw it. Been trying to work on this stupid report of what happened.” You gesture and he nods, understanding. At least, understanding your words. You know he doesn’t understand what you’re feeling. Nothing bad has ever happened to Bryce.

“What did happen?” He asks, tilting his head to look at you.

The blood drains out of your face and your hands start to shake. Your stomach falls to your feet and your knees get weak. “I-I don’t… I don’t really wanna talk about it.” You mutter, sitting back down before you fall down. You take a sip of the caf and try not to blanch. He never makes it how you like it and every time you forget.

“Well, you’re gonna have to talk about it. People are gonna wanna know.” He says, his voice gentle like he’s trying to be kind. But it feels like a punch to the gut. Why would people need to know what happened to you? Before you can protest, there’s a knock on your door. Bryce glares at it before looking at you. “Expecting someone?” He asks pointedly.

“No. I wasn’t even expecting you.” You stand up and press the release, even more surprised to see Snap on the other side.

He looks nervous as shit, holding out a bag of food from the commissary, and a caf. He has never ever brought you food before. “P…” he cuts off and glances down the hall. “Pando in the lab wanted me to remind you that he needs your help analyzing those plants you brought back.” He says, rolling his eyes at the name.

You frown in confusion, taking the bag. “Pando?” You repeat.

He narrows his eyes and slides them to the right, back down the hallway where he looked the first time. “Yeah. Pando. That’s what he told me. He needs your help.”

The name is entirely unfamiliar. As far as you know, it’s not even a name at all. “Alright… well, if you see… Pando, then let him know I’ll be there in a while. I have something to finish.” You say and he nods. Abruptly he turns and walks down the hall to your right and you blink. Maybe Snap is losing it? Too many missions? Flying too close to the sun? Maybe his ox-mask isn’t operating at full capacity. You poke your head out to watch him, wondering if he’s okay, and a figure darts from view before you can catch a good glimpse.

“That guy.” Bryce shakes his head.

“He’s a good dude. Just under a lot of pressure.”

“Who’s Pando?” He asks, taking the bag of food from you and rolling over onto his back.

You have a feeling you know who Snap was talking about, but why would he lie? Do you keep up the lie? Something in your gut tells you that telling the truth would be a bad idea. “Just one of the guys from the science division.” You shrug.

Bryce digs into your food and you frown. “I thought I knew all the freaks you work with.” He tilts his head, biting into a yacba fruit.

“They’re not freaks.” You snatch your food back. “And you don’t know everything about me. I have work to do.” You say and he rolls his eyes.

“So? Do it. I’m not stopping you.” He sighs, stretching out and laying back.

You want to hit him with something, that rage burning through your veins again. To save your holopad, you grab it, the bag of food, and the caf from Snap and march out of your room. You’ll find somewhere to eat in peace and then go to the lab and find this Pando.

There’s an observation tower on the outskirts of the compound that isn’t used anymore. You climb to the top, leaning against the stone post overlooking the woods. Finally, peace and quiet.

While you eat, you try to get as much of the report done as you can. You decide to be vague on the method of interrogation, instead focusing on what they wanted to know.

The lack of horrific details in your report doesn’t stop you from remembering them.

Hours. He has been asking you questions for hours. For every one unanswered, he slices at your best friend, nicking his skin all over. His face, his hands, his arms, his chest, his legs. There isn’t a body part left unscathed.

For his credit, he never wavers, never gives any sign of weakness, never cries out. He just clenches his jaw, and squeezes his eyes shut.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop crying. You’ll keep your promise, but seeing your best friend in so much pain hurts more than anything you’ve ever experienced.

In the back of your mind, you wonder how he knows about being tortured. As far as you know, he’s never been captured. He’s an excellent soldier, always on guard, always alert. He knows his shit, he’s good at this.

Until he goes on a solo mission with you.

And then you kiss him. And he drops his guard. Now he’s being hurt.

The trooper grunts in dissatisfaction and sets his blade down. “Seems like you rebel scum like pain.” He says, starting to take off his gauntlets and gloves.

Your stomach tightens, nerves spiking as you watch his movements warily. Is he going to give Poe a break, and turn on you?

“Nothing’s as painful as living in the world of the First Order.” Poe replies calmly.

Before you can see it coming, the trooper throws his fist, slamming it into Poe’s solar plexus. Poe doubles over as much as he can, coughing hard and gasping for air. You press your lips together to keep from crying out as your tears spill over. The trooper rains down blow after blow all over his body. His lip splits against his teeth, blood dripping down his chin. Around his eye, his cheekbone, along his jaw; you can hear his ribs shifting, maybe cracking.

Your heart breaks for him. You want to do something to help him, but you’re useless against your restraints.

“Ready to give up your precious General?” The trooper sneers, grabbing Poe’s thick hair and pulling up on it to see his face.

“Who?”

The trooper drops his head unceremoniously and turns to you for the first time. “You can stop his pain.” He taunts. “Just give us the location of your base.”

You straighten yourself as much as you can in defiance. “What base?” You ask coldly.

He grumbles and grabs his gloves, stalking from the room. Poe lets his head sag, breathing hard. You don’t dare speak. Blood drips from his mouth slowly, pooling on the floor.

You twist your face away so you don’t have to see your handiwork, crying silently. You can only hope that for the next session, they turn their attention to you instead of Poe.

He deserves so much better.

Chapter 8

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[dameronology]

rescuer {din djarin}

summary: din djarin rescued you - and then you rescued him {for @drinksomecoco !! i hope u enjoy}

warnings: brief mentions of torture, swearing

this is like....4k words?? it got a little out of hand, i won't lie to u.

- jazz xx

It wasn’t often that The Mandalorian found himself becoming attached to bounties.

Twice. He’d done it twice.

The first time, he swore to himself that it would be the last. Adopting his little green surrogate...frog? Son?

Okay, adopting his little green surrogate Grogu had brought enough tension into his life. It had gotten him back onto the radars of both the Empire and the New Republic; thrown him into some weird form of fatherhood that he wasn’t quite ready for and tipped his entire way of life upside down. Despite all that, he never stopped to question if all the exhaustion was more trouble than it was worth, because he loved his kid. Completely and entirely in ways that no parenting book or fairytale could ever quite describe. It was an intense form of love and attachment - and Din knew it was going to hurt when he would eventually have to return the Child to his own people. That was a little far off though, because he couldn’t investigate any further til he had the means to do so. Money and resources weren’t limitless and even The Mandalorian had to find means to an end.

Going back to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild wasn’t ideal, especially not with the kid in tow - but did he have any other way? Din didn’t know any other way of life, let alone another way of earning money. Besides, he figured it would only be a quick few months. A couple jobs here and there until he had enough in savings to travel far enough to find where Grogu really came from.

But it was two bounties; two bounties that he would find himself becoming attached to. Grogu was the only one.

It was through that decision to return to the Guild that Din Djarin would find himself stumbling across the next one. He was offered five pucks - the first four were easy. Standard jobs, really. Runaway criminals and Imps who had crossed people so many times that trying to work out their loyalty was head-ache inducing. He found them all in a matter of days, really. They were good at hiding but it didn’t count for much when The Mandalorian was good at finding.

Then there was you; the fifth puck. The one he thought was going to be the easiest.

Finding you wasn’t a problem. Tucked away in a corner of rural Tatooine - maybe twenty, twenty five minutes shy of Mos Eisley - you were hiding in plain sight. It would have been enough to protect you from anyone else but Din was an unrelenting expert in finding those who didn’t want to be found.

He never quite knew what to expect when he closed in on a bounty. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they hid. A few of them had tried to appeal to his humanity; to try and connect with the man they hoped was behind the mask. Because aside from the husky voice that occasionally escaped the helmet, there was no proof that The Mandalorian was anything other than a very convincing droid. That was, until, someone would lay a hand on his son or ship and suddenly, a wave of pure human rage would burst out from beneath the beskar.

You couldn’t have hidden from him or run away, even if you wanted to. Not because you were scared, but because you were chained up; wrists and ankles in shackles, keeping you tied to the walls of a filthy docking bay. From the sand piled around your feet, it was clear that you had tried to kick up a fuss at some point.

But based on the way that you looked at him - with tired eyes and a hopeless expression - that made Din realise: you’d lost the will to fight. He knew that you weren’t going to wriggle away or try to engage in combat.

“Are you…” The Mandalorian trailed off. “Are you alone?”

“Probably,” your eyes flicked up from the ground, unknowingly capturing his gaze. “I think I’ve been left for dead.”

He sighed. “I’m looking for a...Kan Durant. Is he here?”

“No,” you shot back. “He left me here for dead about a week ago. Probably knew that a bounty hunter was going to come after him at some point.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“I’m chained up,” you said. “Isn’t the answer to your question a little axiomatic?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But if you know anything, it might be helpful.”

“Try Corellia,” you muttered.

Corellia. That was...doable. Not too far and not too hard to search. That would be his fifth and final puck and then Din could set off for the sunset in search of his kid’s home planet. That’s what this whole thing had been about.

But...you. You’d been left for dead - and based on the bruises around your eyes and on your limbs, that was the least of what you’d gone through recently. What kind of man would it make him if he left you? A fucking awful one, obviously, but what was he supposed to do?

Din slowly leant down, pulling a thin tool from his belt. He fiddled around with your cuffs for a moment, until there was a low hiss. They fell from your hands and onto the sandy ground - he expected you to get up, or to run, or do anything but sit there and stare at him with gaunt eyes. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that merely freeing you of your restraints was doing his part for the greater good.

“Is there anywhere around here where you can go?” he asked. “An inn? A cantina?”

You snorted. “No. I’ll die.”

“You can get food and medicine out there.”

“Mos Eisley is swarming with Durant’s men,” you explained. “The minute I step foot in any town or port here, they’ll know.”

Maybe being with Grogu had softened him, or maybe The Mandalorian genuinely couldn’t find it himself to leave you. But, he found himself doing the unthinkable: sticking his hand out to you, lifting you up, and leading you out of the docking bay and back towards his ship. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it but really, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. His main focus had been on keeping you alive until you were within the safety of the Crest.

You stumbled slightly when he put you down, tripping and falling towards the control panel to shut the loading bay doors. At least you were intuitive.

With that, you fell back to the ground. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were in a bit of a state - how long did you say it had been? A week since Durant had left - so that was at least seven days without proper food or water. It was a miracle you were alive. Din had got there just in time.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked. “What do you want?”

He glanced over in your direction. “I don’t want anything.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you shot back.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there,” Din replied. He paused for a moment, before turning to face you. “I’ve heard Durant’s name before. I know what he does to people.”

“Aren’t you more worried about finding him and getting the bounty?” you pushed.

Truth be told, Din wasn’t that bothered. He had enough money from the last four pucks to get him where he needed to be. The fifth had just been a little extra, so he had an easier time letting go of it. He certainly wasn’t the only hunter going after Durant’s ass and worst case scenario, Karga would give him a little bit of shit for not completing the job. All of that was a lot more manageable than living with the guilt of leaving you in the dark to die.

“Someone else will get him. I’m sure.” Din muttered. He reached for a ration pack stored away on a shelf and tossed it in your direction. “You should eat this. I’ll get us in the air and find some bacta-”

“- you really don’t need to,” you cut him off.

“Eat,” he pushed again. “You’re weak. You’ll need it.”

--

Over the next few days, you would come to find that forceful-but-caring demands were The Mandalorian’s main language.

He didn’t talk much - or at all really. He didn’t need to, not when you kept to yourself on the lower deck of the ship whilst he dealt with everything else. He didn’t seem to mind that you weren’t helping; after all, you’d been in a weak state when Din had found you and standing up had been hard, let alone maneuvering around the flying hunk of metal. You were beginning to feel a little more spry, thanks to the food, water and bactaspray. The combination was hardly an elixir of life but you’d found yourself feeling a little more human.

Sleep was the hard one. A combination of confusion - at the situation, at Din, at where you were going - and nightmares made it hard. Every time you closed your eyes, you found yourself hurtling back in time to when Durant had first captured you. You’d been a test dummy for all his weapons and experiments and really, you were just lucky to be alive and in one piece. It didn’t count for much though, not when you couldn’t get a single fucking second of shut eye.

You would have been a fool to think that Din hadn’t picked up on it.

He was observational by nature and even more so by craft. A man who was constantly looking over his shoulder and straight ahead; a warrior who had been raised to keep a weapon by his side at all times. Of course he was going to notice your insomnia, and the way your eyes seemed even more sunken and dull than when he’d first found you.

You were sitting in the hull when he approached you. Not a lot had been said, other than the occasional eat this or put this on your bruises. Again - all a little forceful, but with a sense of genuinity behind the words. You still had a hard time believing that he was legitimately just a man who wanted to help you.

“I find that noise helps.”

You glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat. “When I can’t sleep, and when I have nightmares, I find that being in a room with white noise helps distract my brain.”

“Oh, right,” you gave him a small nod. “I s’pose it is pretty quiet down here.”

“It’s noisier up there in the cockpit,” he replied. “We’re going to be in hyperspace for a while so if you want to get some sleep, I’ll stay down here.”

“Thank you.”

For the first time in days, you finally showed a glimmer of emotion. It was just a smile - and one he figured was a forced one - but still, it was a good sign.

Din’s eyes followed you as you stood up, heading for the ladder up to the cockpit. You stopped in front of it for a moment, palms wrapping around one of the rungs. At first, he thought you were just pondering, or taking a moment to rethink your actions, but then a light bulb went off in his head. You were too weak.

Moving slowly, The Mandalorian positioned himself behind you.

“Is it okay if I put them here?” he quietly asked, large, gloved hands hovering over the side of your hips.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied. “Thank you.”

With Din’s support, you were able to grab onto the hatch above and pull yourself up, boots hitting the ground of the cockpit. He followed you up, guiding you over to one of the pilot’s chairs. The lights of hyperspace were flashing by, illuminating the entire room in a white-gold glow. It felt odd to be up here after so many days of confining yourself just to the hull - forbidden, even with the invite from The Mandalorian himself.

“How did you know that I get nightmares?” you asked, turning around to face him.

The helmet tilted slightly. “I get them too.”

“I’m sorry,” you softly sighed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“It’s okay,” Din brushed it off as though it were nothing. “We have about four hours til our next stop. I’ll wake you up before we get there.”

“Is that where I get off?” you asked.

“No,” he firmly replied. “It’s not safe there either.”

You had more questions that you wanted to ask - now more than ever that he was finally talking - but you were far too exhausted to even try. Once you’d fallen back against the chair and been handed a blanket out of nowhere, the noise of the surrounding machines practically dragged you out of consciousness.

---

One question you had wanted to ask Din had been about the duration of your stay.

How long were you supposed to stay on board? How long did he want you there?

You were almost scared to ask, for fear of the answer. After all, you barely knew him. He could get up at any moment and demand that you left, and you wouldn’t have been able to argue. All of this - this looking after you, this roof over your head, this care - felt too good to be true. Like it was all part of some elaborate ruse.

But it was funny, because you were even more scared that it wasn’t. If Din - or The Mandalorian, as you knew him - was truly just a nice person with pure intentions, then that was about to be dangerous territory for you. The minute that you started trusting him, and the minute you started to see him as someone who could protect you, would spell trouble. You had never intended to become attached, but it was only natural. You hadn’t had a single person look out for you - not once in your life.

Every time he made you food, or helped you up into the cockpit, you felt yourself slipping that way. A six-foot pile of beskar should not have been a sign of comfort, but the helmet came to symbolise...something. You didn’t know what. Attachment, maybe? A little inkling of affection for whoever the hell was below those inches of steel?

A few weeks passed and the tension slowly began to falter. It was probably the proximity more than anything, but the time proved to you more than anything that Din was genuine. He was helping you because he wanted to - there was no personal gain for him, nor monetary. He actually, honestly just wanted to do good.

And doing good, he was. Whilst he still kept his distance, he looked after you. He made sure that you ate enough to recover from your periods of deprivation and once a day, he would clear out of the cockpit for you to get some rest. He still helped you up the ladder every time -and even when you told him you were strong enough, he still stood back and watched just to make sure.

Because, truthfully, The Mandalorian was beginning to see something in you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what, but he was intrigued by the way you were slowly beginning to show him parts of yourself. Where your eyes had once been gaunt and lifeless, they now had a spark in them. You were quiet when you’d met, but now you spoke to the kid and you hummed to yourself. It was like the life that was sucked out of you was slowly being breathed back in, day by day and bit by bit.

“Do you wanna get some sleep?” Din asked you one day.

“Yeah, sure,” you glanced up at the Child, giving him a small smile. “When did you last sleep, Mando?”

Another helmet tilt. “I get enough sleep.”

“I don’t believe you,” you thinned your eyes at him.

The Mandalorian sighed slightly - normally, that would have been a sign to literally anyone else to drop it. But with you? Nope. You saw that as a sign of progress; that the little, tiny display of emotion meant you were beginning to chip past those godforsaken layers of beskar.

“I get nightmares about Durant,” you continued. “Every time I panic and wake up in a cold sweat, I remind myself that I’m safe, because I know that you and the kid are here.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You can tell me anything and I promise I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me.”

He pondered for a moment, before releasing another deep breath. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Really?”

“Last time I did, I woke up and my parents were gone,” Din explained. “So I wait til the kid wants to go to sleep and I just go with him, so that I’m not alone.”

Your heart dropped a little at that - partially because he’d opened up to you, but also because the Child rarely ever slept. If Din only ever waited around for their exhaustion to coincide, it must have been months since he’d last got a decent night’s rest. It was the least he deserved.

Nodding, you stuck your hand out towards him. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna sleep and so are you,” you replied. “You need it and if I’ve done everything that you’ve instructed so far, I think I should have the same in return.”

--

Din didn’t want to admit it to himself at first.

It being multiple things: the fact you were helping him, the fact your presence on his ship had made the place seem better, the fact that his heart skipped a beat every time you brushed past him.

Bar his surrogate son, Din had never been close with anyone before. He’d never even slept in the same goddamn room as anyone else, even. That was a fucking mammoth step for him, but when you took his hand? It felt like a baby step. Just a tiny hop from A to B. Not a massive milestone, or a moment of personal progress. You had made it seem so simple.

Maybe that was it.

You never over-complicated anything. Your intentions were always clear and simple - there was no moral ambiguity, no moments where Din had to question whether or not he could well and truly trust you. He just knew. It was funny, because it was the exact same situation you’d had with him - questioning why he was helping you, trying to work out what he wanted. This whole time, Din had been helping you solely because he thought it was the right thing and it’s what you were doing for him too.

Din liked when you sat close to him. There was a little wave of warmth he felt every time you shuffled a bit nearer to him when you both crashed on the floor of the cockpit, and a tiny swarm of butterflies that flew through him when you stuck by his side in busy towns and cities. It was clear that you found comfort in him after so many years of going without it.

In turn, he found comfort in you. Not just in the way you unintentionally looked after him, but just...everything. Your presence had been a little odd on the Crest at first, but now it felt weird to be without it. Hearing you single quietly in the shower and have one-sided conversations with the Child filled a hole in his life that he hadn’t even realised had been there.

It was as though he’d had a missing puzzle piece his entire life; a gap between all the interconnected parts that hadn’t been integral, but certainly inconvenient. And now that it was filled, he could take a step back and finally look at the bigger picture that had been forming. All the pieces were finally there - you and the kid and whatever odd family unit that made you - and the galaxy didn’t seem so nonsensical anymore.

A little over two months after he first found you, word got around that Durant had finally been captured. Not by Din, but that hadn’t mattered - because killing the man who had hurt you, even after everything, would never amount to everything he’d done for you.

The relief didn’t last long for you, though - because as soon as you realised you no longer had a reason to hide, it dawned on you that you no longer had a reason to stay with Din. Or, at least not one you were willing to share with Din. Begging to let you stay just for the sake of being near him didn’t seem like a very convincing argument - at least not from where you were standing.

But from where Din was standing, it was a little different. You were part of his life now, even if you had no idea. That wasn’t your fault, though. He wasn’t exactly the best at vocalising it. Admitting it to himself had been hard enough, let alone to you.

“So,” you spoke softly, clearing your throat. “I suppose you’ll drop me off at the next planet?”

You were both sitting in the cock-pit; the Child was asleep downstairs and the Crest was soaring through the last stretch of hyperspace before Nevarro.

Din didn’t want to drop you off. He didn’t want his ship to be silent all over again or to sleep without you by his side. The thought alone of not having you around anymore was enough to make him a little watery-eyed beneath his beskar barrier. You’d grown on him, and in return, he’d kind of, accidentally fallen in love with you.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

You peered over at him. “If you can think of a reason for me to stay aboard, please do let me know.”

“I want you to stay,” Din replied. He gently reached out a hand and took it in his - it was the first time that he’d given you such a vast gesture. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “It is.”

--

Staying aboard the Razor Crest was one of the best decisions you’d ever made.

Not only because it meant you were well and truly safe, but because Din’s direct request was a sign to you that you weren’t imagining things. Whatever attachment you felt to him, he felt it too - but it ran deeper than that. There was a mutual concern and respect for one another. Something born of two lifetimes spent on their own, finally coming together in one.

Things had been a little slow before then; the way that you danced around each other, like two magnets that were meant to come together - just with a little hesitancy. There had been a lot of late nights and long trains of thought about the signals that the other was giving off; about whether you’d misinterpreted the way his hands lingered over yours, or the way you’d practically passed out on his shoulder.

But, after that - after Din had openly asked you to stay, and you’d happily agreed, things began to move a little faster. Where you’d once been slowly walking down that hill and towards each other, you were now slipping, tripping and falling.

With each passing night, you inched closer towards each other. God forbid you ever found out, but Din even found himself pushing the pilot’s chairs closer to each other when you weren’t in the room, just so he could properly feel you next to him when you dozed off. He enjoyed your presence at the best of times but it was those dark, quiet moments when he genuinely and fully needed you.

It came to a head one night when you’d laid down with the Child beside you - not upstairs in the cockpit, but in the tiny cot in the hull of the ship.

There wasn’t room for one person, let alone one person and a tiny creature. Even worse, for two people - one in a beskar suit - and the creature. It just didn’t work. It shouldn’t have worked.

But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and the moment that Din saw you dead to the world with the Child in your arms, he was certain that he was going to make it work. Maybe with a bit of reshuffling there, and if he just moved the kid here - and that was when Grogu bit him pretty hard on the finger.

Disregarding his reshuffling plan, he knew there was only one option left.

It was something he’d never dreamt of doing before, simply for how terrifying and exposing it was - but he took one glance at you, and once glance at his kid, and he knew it was going to be worth it in the long run. It was merely a necessary step to getting closer to you - physically, mentally emotionally.

You stirred slightly at the sound of metal clattering to the floor - not enough to wake up, but enough to be a little more aware of the room around you. A moment later, there was a quiet hiss, and then everything went black.

In your sleepy state, your brain reacted a little slowly - but then the mattress beneath you dipped, and you felt someone’s skin against yours. Not just skin, but stubble against the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to it, and warm fingers tangling with yours.

“The armour,” you murmured. “You took it off.”

“It was the only way,” he softly replied. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” you let out a sleepy hum. “Good night…”

“Din,” he quietly said.

“Good night, Din.”

[forever-rogue]

Hey there! I hope your week goes a little better for you. I have a request! 🥺 Take your time of course! Could you write one for Mando where the reader asks to eat with him for the first time and the reader puts down some pillows on the floor and they sit back to back so he doesn’t break his creed? If you write it, thank you!!!! I hope you have a wonderful day ❤️

Enjoy some softness!

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader ; warnings: none

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Hey," you glanced over at the quiet, stoic Mandalorian. He seemed to snap back into attention as he tore his eyes from the blaster in his lap and looked back at you. You laughed lightly, a beautiful sound that he adored, before reaching over and squeezing his shoulder, "where'd you go, Mando?"

"I'm right here," he promised softly as you reached down and picked up the small green menace from the floor of the hull. You kissed his forehead as he cooed at you before you held him out to the Mandalorian. 

"Can you be trusted with babysitting duties for a little while? I need to go make dinner and can't focus on that and him," you booped his little nose, causing him to giggle before the Mandalorian gently pulled him into his arms, "he's particularly wild today."

"No rest for the wicked, little womp rat?" he asked softly as his adopted son gave him a look of pure innocence. He sighed in amusement before turning back to you, "do you want some help with anything?"

"I've got it handled easily if you two stay out of my way," you chuckled as you headed back to the small kitchen, "besides its my turn to make dinner. Keep out of trouble for an hour or so - both of you!"

"Positive?" you could practically hear the smile in his voice as you turned around and playfully raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't trust you in the kitchen," you reminded him, "last time you started a small fire and burnt half the meal. I love you - but I don't trust you...in the kitchen anyways."

And it was so effortless. So effortless to say those words as though you'd always lived in domestic bliss with him. So effortless to say those three words that you meant but wouldn't dare to confess. But in the moment it was so easy and you didn't even think twice.

But it was not lost on Din who froze in place as he registered what you said. His mouth was open as his heart skipped a few beats as you walked away without a care in the world. 

Had you meant it? Was it true? Did you love him?

He wouldn't dare think about it, sure he wasn't ever worthy of such a thing. You were the light and goodness that was left in the galaxy, along with his son, but he'd  ever fancy himself blessed enough to be worthy of your light.

And yet…those words had come out of your mouth. You'd never said them to anyone else, at least not to his knowledge and he'd seen you around many people. Probably just a slip of the tongue...he couldn't think too much about it.

But oh...how those three little words made him feel. So light, so warm, and soft. Like he could see clearly and breath easily, a little bit of weight off his shoulders. No one had spoken those words to him since he was a child and his parents had worked to keep him safe and traded their lives for his. 

How those three little words, so easy and delicate, had made him light up. Maker, he hoped he'd be lucky enough to hear them again.

Din felt a light tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, causing him to look down at the little one. His big, inky eyes were wide with wonder as he almost seemed to know what Din was thinking - maybe he could.

"I know," Din said softly, so only the little one could hear, "I'll tell her eventually. One day. Maybe."

The little one cooed excitedly as his father sighed lightly, "you really think I should, huh? Do you think-"

"Mando?" you poked your head back in and found your boys staring at each other, "how hungry are we? Starving or…?"

"Starving," he agreed, swallowing the nervous look in his throat, as the child nodded, "apparently both of us."

"Great," you beamed at them, "I'll let you both know when its done."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Are you just tired or did you eat too much too fast?" you laughed at the sight of your small adopted son, clutching onto his spoon tightly as his eyes kept closing with the lull of sleep.

Reaching over, you took the spoon and set it down before pulling him into your arms. He tried his best to wrap his arms around your neck failing to do so, but nonetheless snuggling into your chest as sleep easily overcame him.

"I'm going to go and put him down," you whispered quietly to the Mandalorian as you walked out of the small kitchen, "stay here, Shiny. I have a surprise for you."

"Okay," Din's voice practically caught in its throat at your playful nickname. It all came with such ease as you walked away and he felt his cheeks burning up.

Instinctively, Din got up and started to clean up, gathering all the dishes up and putting leftovers away. He liked this - the pure and simple domesticity of it all, and sometimes wished it would never end. Maybe one day, if he fancied himself brave enough and ever made a move, this could be his everyday - your every day.

"I told you to stay," you teased when you walked back in and found him at work. He turned and faced you, offering you a smile you couldn't seem but definitely felt, "and that didn't mean work!"

"I was just…" you quickly pulled the bowls out of his hands and then gently nudged him towards the hull. Huffing in amusement, he easily complied and did as you asked, "now go and sit and I'll be right there."

Your Mandalorian went out and stared in amusement at the floor. Two large cushions were in the center of the room and a few candles had been light, casting a soft glow around the space. He looked around, confused as if this was some sort of joke before you rejoined him, a full tray of food in your arms.

"I-I had an idea and if I'm totally off the mark or whatever, tell me," you stammered, almost nervous now as you set it down the floor and plopped onto one of the cushions, "we always eat together - well the little one and I do and I thought maybe this way you could eat with us too. At least me right now. We'll sit back to back and you can take your helmet off and I swear on all the stars in all the galaxies I won't try and sneak a peek. What do you think, Mando?"

And then he stilled completely. Your words washed over him like a wave, causing a flurry of emotions he hadn’t experienced in...possibly ever. It was such a simple act, but so kind, so thoughtful. And it seemed like it was the easiest thing again. Unable to probably form words, as they kept getting caught in his throat, he nodded slightly before sinking down and sitting on the soft cushion, his back against yours. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, soaking in the moment before Din finally moved again. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he reached his hand to the side, right next to where yours was resting. Inching yours closer, you hesitated for a moment before delicately placing your hand on top of his, noting the soft feel of his skin without the gloves before squeezing lightly. His thumb stroked the back of your hand before he almost whispered, “Din. My name is Din.”

“Din,” you repeated, instantly deciding you liked the name and that it suited him perfectly, “I love it. Do you have a last name Din? You already know mine, so I suppose it’s only fair! But I understand too, if you don’t want to tell me…”

“You’re right, sweet girl,” he chuckled lightly, trying not to completely lose his mind at how beautiful his name sounded coming off your lips. No one had spoken it since he was just a child; this was a big moment and the two of you both knew that, “Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din Djarin,” you repeated softly, letting it linger on your tongue and savoring the sweetness, “it’s nice to meet you Din Djarin.”

“Sweet girl,” he gave your hand a tight squeeze, curling his fingers around yours before linking them together, “I...thank you. It’s been...it’s been so long. I thought I might end up taking that to the grave without ever telling another soul.”

“You never have to hide anything from me,” you promised gently, “whatever you want to share with me - I’ll be here.”

“I know,” he whispered gently, a smile tugging on his features, “you...thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” you insisted, meaning every word, “now go on and eat. I bet you’re starving.”

“Will you eat with me?” you nodded in response, knowing he could feel the gentle movement of your head against his. Swallowing the lump of emotion that had welled up in his throat, he let go of your hand and slowly reached up to remove his helmet. Pausing for a moment, he appreciated the gravitas of what he was doing, before slowly lifting the Beskar off of his head and setting it down next to the two of you with a dull clink. 

You grabbed a bowl of soup for yourself, followed by a spoon before nudging the tray over to him. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him reaching for it, and despite wanting to steal a glance, you kept your gaze trained straight ahead. You wouldn’t dare break his trust; especially not after he just shared such an intimate part of himself with you. If it was meant to happen, it would happen all in its own time. But for now, this was good, this was everything. 

Din held his bowl tightly, his body practically vibrating with warm, excited energy as he ate the soup you had made for your little clan of three. You rested against him, the warmth of his body spilling onto you as you laughed lightly.  

“Hmm?” he asked, unable to contain his own chuckle as he felt more relaxed and at peace than he had in a long time, “alright?”

“Yes,” you sighed contentedly, “everything's perfect. I like this - the quiet moments. The ones where we can let our guards down and not worry about anything. I hope...I hope we can have more of them.”

“Me too,” he agreed, putting down his own bowl as he rested his hand on yours again, “can I...do you promise not to look?”

“I would never dare to, without your permission.”

“Close your eyes sweet girl,” he whispered softly as you readily agreed and squeezed your eyes shut. He turned his head slightly, pulling away from you before leaning and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized what he had done, and it caused a shiver of delight to run up your whole body. He had kissed you!

“Din-”

“I hope that wasn’t out of turn...I-I’m sorry if it was,” he suddenly felt nervous as though he had done the completely wrong thing, but your gentle touch on his arm was enough to tell him it was okay. 

“No,” you insisted quickly, “I...I liked it. I’ve thought about that probably more than I should have. Do you trust me, Din?”

“Yes,” his voice was quiet as you made sure your eyes were tightly shut before turning around to face him, motioning for him to do the same. He was nervous for a moment, but he knew you better than to think you would betray his trust. He grinned from ear to ear as he looked at you, studying your face intently with his own eyes for the first time. Was it possible for you to be even more gorgeous? Because he was sure you were. 

Reaching up blindly, your hands easily found his face, and you let your fingers trace over his features, getting to know him, like it was the first time. In some ways, it really was. He keened into your delicate touch, and you just knew he was handsome; everything about him was. 

“Curls,” you ran a hand through his locks as you felt him nod, “let me guess - dark brown? Brown eyes?”

“Yes….how did you know?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged lightly, “I just know. May I..may I kiss you, Din Djarin?”

“Yes.”

And so you did. You kissed him like it was the first and last time, but you hoped it was the first of many. So did he. 

When you slowly pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours and sneaked one last kiss. 

“Come on,” you grinned against his lips, “eat now - before you starve to death!”

And it happened just like that. So easy. So effortless. 

So perfect. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[mercy-burning]

To Be Near

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Spencer and Reader’s first night together since he got out of prison.

Category: FLUFF/SMUT (18+), and a ‘lil bit of angst in there too (it’s mostly just kinda sad tbh)

Warnings: Mild language, Smut (oral sex- female receiving, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk)

Word Count: 4.9k

Full Requests:

+ “...ahhh okay what about like a fluff&smut about seeing spencer after he got out of prison? like he’s all soft and “i wanna make love to you” ???” — @shatteredlovesick 

+ “...First, congratulations on 1k! absolutely loved you “I’ve Got You” fic and was wondering if you could make something similar that has fluffy smut.” — @onesstop 

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

***

Usually you loved the cold. Feeling the cool breeze on your face and cuddling up with blankets and cardigans and sweaters was just about the most comforting feeling in the world.

But no amount of blankets and cardigans and sweaters could have shaken the devastating chill that settled in your bones when Spencer was gone. And wearing his clothes only strengthened the loneliness that plagued you. It was a blaring reminder that he was spending his days actually behind bars and not with you, cuddled on the couch like you'd done a million times over. Like he should have been.

Sure enough, about a week went by and you barely saw him. The first time you'd seen him since he was released from prison was brief, right before he had to go back to work to get his mom back and safe to him. You held him close, breathing in as much of him as you could before he would be ripped away from you again, making sure he knew just how much you loved him and cared for him.

And what added salt to injury was the fact that even after he was released, he was incredibly busy. It seemed like bad thing after bad thing just kept happening, like a domino effect of evil that left you feeling colder. Because now you were plain scared. And alone.

Penelope was kind enough to text you with updates, and even though Spencer might have been physically okay, you knew that all of this stress and constant danger was probably eating away at him from the inside.

Eventually he'd called to let you know that everything was okay again, he and his mom on their way to a motel to recuperate in for a little while. Hearing his weary voice, broken and completely drenched in exhaustion was the only thing that kept you from begging him to come home to you— As much as you desperately needed him, wanted to comfort him, you knew that he needed time alone with his mom. So yet again, you'd told him how much you loved him and held on to the way he said it back, his soft voice humming low in your heart long after he hung up.

He texted you occasionally, little updates to let you know he was okay. And he rarely ever texted at all. Whenever he did it made your heart sing, seeing his naively adorable attempts at using emoticons coupled together with declarations of love or sometimes even stupid little jokes designed to put a smile on your face. You liked to imagine he sent them so he could picture your laugh in his mind, ringing out softly and sweetly as he read back your usual Lol, I love you, silly goose, or something along those lines.

When you finally did see him face-to-face again, it was days later. He briefly mentioned over text that his team was in trouble, but that it would be taken care of and that his mom was safe somewhere. Again your stomach twisted with nerves, hoping and praying that he would come back to you safely. It was always a possibility with his job that something bad would happen, as you've unfortunately witnessed a few times over, but the so-called comfort in knowing that truth didn't help ease your anxieties at all. Maybe they had once upon a time, but after the last few months, and even the last few days, you weren't sure you'd ever know true comfort until Spencer was safely in your arms for eternity.

He'd texted to say he was on his way over in the early morning, and your heart skipped several beats. And in attempt to make yourself look less disheveled and sleep-deprived, you put on a clean pair of clothes—sweats and a tank top with one of Spencer's cardigans—and brushed your hair. To make it all feel a little more real, you splashed cool water on your face and rubbed at your eyes to wake yourself up a bit.

You were patiently sitting on the couch, two warm cups of tea laid out in front of you on the low table when there was a knock on your door, followed by a soft, "It's me," ad you were to the door in an instant.

As always, the sight of him drove you half wild. He looked exhausted, his hair particularly messy and his clothing hung loosely around him. His eyes softened when he saw you, like he was finally in the one place he truly wanted to be, like he was home, and the sight of his bottom lip wobbling every so slightly was enough to have you pull him inside by the shirt and into your arms.

The bag slung over his shoulder dropped with a heavy thud to the ground, and both of his arms snuck to the back of your waist as you leaned up on your tip-toes and squeezed yourself into his body. Your arms clung to his neck, and the big sigh of relief that you felt leave his body utterly wrecked you.

The door to your apartment remained wide open as you stood there in the doorway and hugged each other, silently reuniting in a way that conveyed exhaustion and relief and comfort. There was a tinge of sadness there, too, and you knew it most likely stemmed from the self-deprecation you'd come to know Spencer was prone to. After all he'd been through in the past few months, you knew in your gut that feeling would most likely be very strong in his heart.

So you did your best to quell it, shoving your face further into his neck and running your hands through his hair as he squeezed you tight. Your heart pulled apart at the seams at the way he shook against you, low, shaky breaths that you knew to be cries expelling from his system at last. Deep down it was obvious that he hadn't taken the time to let it all out... Now that he was there with you, safe and out of harm's way, he had the freedom to let go in any way he chose, any way that would be easiest without any judgement or shame.

With you, Spencer was well and truly safe.

"I've got you," you breathed into his neck, your fingers gently massaging the back of his head. "I love you.

He tried to say it back, but when his throat willed to finally make a sound, all that came out was a choked sob.

You held him tighter and let him cry against you, his body going half-limp in your arms.

***

By the time Spencer had finished crying enough for you to move inside, drink your tea in silence, take a well-needed and soothing shower together, and get into bed, it was only noon. He was snuggled into your side, his head resting on your chest as you combed through his damp curls with your fingers. His own fingers drew mindless patterns over the expanse of your stomach, his whole hand shoved up under your shirt and basking in the warmth you provided.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting kinda hungry," you mumbled loud enough for him to hear. You'd been in silence for so long now, it almost felt too loud, even though you barely used your voice at all.

"I'd ask you to make your mac and cheese, but I don't want to leave the bed... I don't want to leave you."

You laughed a little, his head slightly bobbing at the motion. "I can order some Thai if you want. It won't be here for another half hour maybe, and we can stay in bed a little while longer."

"Okay."

You reached over to your bedside table, grabbing your phone and placing an order for delivery from your favorite Thai place. Just the thought of the food, saying the words out loud and feeling Spencer mutter soft Mmms into your skin at the thought of food made your stomach growl. You honestly weren't sure how long it'd been since you ate anything substantial, and Spencer was probably in the same boat.

Just as you promised, the both of you laid in bed for around thirty-five minutes before the food got there. He grumbled as you got up to answer the door, but you promised him you wouldn't be long and that after eating, you could stay in bed as long as you wanted to.

And that's what you did. You tried your hardest not to scarf everything down, not truly realizing just how hungry you were until the food was right in front of you, smelling as delicious as ever and ready to be consumed.

Spencer sat across from you at the table, though it was obvious in the way he kept looking up at you that all he wanted was to be touching you, to be enveloped in your warmth again. Your heart ached for him as you set your fork down and scooped more of the food onto it. Hoping to somewhat satiate his need to be near you, you reached your leg out under the table, dragging your bare foot over his calf. He smiled softly at you, his entire body seeming to relax again at your touch.

For the next ten minutes you ate in comfortable silence, your foot gently sliding up ad down his lower leg.

And when you were both finally done, he clung to you as you navigated the kitchen, throwing out garbage, putting dishes in the sink, and boxing up leftovers. His arms wrapped around your stomach as he stood behind you, his head resting on your shoulder and his hair tickling your cheek.

At one point you brought one of your hands up to brush his cheek, and your head careened to the side to give him a small kiss on the corner of the mouth. His hands slipped under your shirt then, fingers spreading and engulfing the surface area of your lower stomach. Their gentleness and warmth made you sigh as you slumped back against him, using your hand to cup his cheek as best as you could.

"I missed you so much, baby," you whispered, your thumb lightly stroking his bottom lip. Your wrist was cramping a little from the angle, but you didn't care.

Spencer leaned into your palm and kissed it gently, mumbling, "I missed you, too, sweetheart."

The relief and comfort that seeped out of his words made your heart swell, so much so that you couldn't stand it any longer. You turned around and hugged him again, your arms wrapping around his neck as his pressed firmly to your lower back. You squeezed him tight, peppering tiny kisses along his neck and shoulder blade. Eventually your kisses shifted along his jaw, then his cheek, and then you pressed the gentlest of kisses to his lips before moving to the other side and continuing your adventure along the other side of his neck.

He always loved when you kissed him like that, softly praising every inch of his skin through gentle lips and whispered I love yous in between.

You pulled back for a moment, smiling softly at him as your fingers interlocked behind his head, just at the nape of his neck.

"I... I don't know what I did to deserve you," he said with a slight crack in his voice. "I constantly put you through danger and worry, a—and somehow you still... still manage to make me feel like I deserve your love."

Your throat tightened, threatening to spill choked sobs. But you swallowed and pushed through, one of your hands sliding down over his neck and up to his cheek again. "Spencer, ever since I met you, all you've done is shower me with unconditional love and understanding. You... You teach me new things and you have this natural habit of making me feel like the only woman in the world. Every day, you show me how much you care about other people, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. It's... The bad days are hard, sure, but when I see your face for the first time in days, sometimes weeks? God... Spencer, there's nothing that compares to that feeling."

You were teary-eyed now, and Spencer was full-on silently crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, and you wiped them all away as you spoke to him.

"So yes, of course you deserve my love... You deserve every ounce of love the world has to offer."

You leaned up and kissed him then, tasting the faint saltiness of tears combined with the food you'd just eaten. If it meant seeing him smile, making him feel comfort and love, you would have kissed away all his tears.

And you were going to, moving to pepper more kisses along his cheeks where the water had fallen, but he brought his hands to your face and kissed you deeper, his body sinking into yours and daring you to never leave him.

You wouldn't, as long as you lived.

You stood higher on your tip-toes and clung to his neck as he kissed you, lips sliding over yours perfectly. And though everything about the way he kissed you was a declaration of love and gratitude for your affections and undying support, you'd have be lying if you said your belly didn't pool with a low-burning heat, reminiscent of a pot of boiling water. His hands on your face, the way his thumbs brushed over your cheek and his tongue barely probed your lips open, all of it was more than enough to make you dizzy.

Eventually he moved to kiss your jaw, goosebumps forming over your skin as he whispered against you. "I love you so much, Y/N..." His lips pressed to your neck. "So..." Your jawline. "...damn..." Under your ear. "...much..."

You couldn't help the choked whimper that fell from your lips as he gently nibbled on your earlobe, right before he spoke again. His hands slid down over your arms and interlocked themselves with yours, his breath hot next to your ear. "Let me show you... Please..." He started kissing your neck again, just as one of his hands migrated to the hem of your shirt, slipping under the fabric and tracing featherlight lines into your side. You whined again as he mumbled against your neck.

"Let me make love to you..."

Those six simple words were more than enough to push you off the edge, unable to take any more of this low-boiling heat in your stomach. You hummed low in your throat as your hands grabbed his wrists and placed them at your hips, daring them to firmly grip you— And they did. Spencer's lips dragged up your neck before finding your lips once more, and the whine that escaped you was nothing if not desperate.

He continued kissing you all the way back to your bedroom. Once your legs it the end of the bed, you buckled and sat down, too weak in the knees to stay upright any longer. He wasn't rough with you in the slightest, his lips still passionate but oh so slow and intoxicating, like sweet, thick honey. That alone made your limbs weak and your heartbeat as quick and loud as a drum roll. His hands roamed carefully over your body, up and under your shirt, over your arms, every so lightly between your thighs as he slipped between them to lay you down.

And once you were leaned all the way back, he brought his hands to your face, caressing your cheek the same way you'd caressed his.

He pulled back, looking into your eyes with his, their golden color almost completely swallowed by his pupils. His breath fanned gently over your mouth, and you smiled, resting one of your hands atop his on your cheek. You leaned into his touch and wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him near and hoping you could stay with him forever.

"I love you," you whispered.

He leaned down and kissed you again, mumbling, "I love you," into your mouth as he did so. His lips migrated down your skin again, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses all over. "I missed you... Missed your warmth..."

He shifted down your body then, his kisses starting up again at your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. When his tongue licked a thin stripe across your lower stomach, you whimpered and trembled underneath him, feeling wetness already dampening your panties. He laughed against your skin, pressing another kiss to your stomach. "Missed all your little whimpers..." He slid downwards, trailing his fingers along the waistband of your pants before slowly tugging them down, his lips following the trail through each new centimeter of exposed skin. "...and how squirmy you get when I touch you like this..."

Your pants were off quicker than you thought, but he left your underwear on as he kissed up your legs, starting at your ankle and slowly making his way up to your thighs. Your hands fisted the sheets when his breath blew out over the crease of your thigh, eliciting another desperate whine from your throat. And though it was hard to hear over the blood rushing in your ears, thrumming nearly as loudly as your heart, you were still able to hear Spencer's low laugh at your reaction, a sound that made you even wetter.

"I missed teasing you like this," he continued, running his middle finger over your opening through the thin panties you had on. You squirmed again, hips jolting at his touch— a touch you hadn't felt in months. You were utterly wrecked, and he barely even did anything to you, a fact he picked up on pretty quickly.

"You missed it, too, haven't you, sweetheart? Hmm?" His finger pressed harder into you, no doubt feeling how wet, how warm and ready for him you were. "My poor, pretty girl, haven't been touched in months. It must have been so lonely..." Though his words were teasing, a means to get you hot and bothered, there was also an underlying tone of truth to them— of this aching pity and sadness and regret... His words were apologetic as much as they were teasing, and everything all at once was making you ache for him more.

"Y—Yes, baby," you choked out as best as you could, opening your eyes to see how thoroughly wrecked he was. "Fuck, I missed you so much... No... No one touches me li—ike you do."

"I'm so sorry for leaving you all alone, baby," he whispers, kissing your thighs once more before moving to where you were already craving his full attention. "Let me make it up to you..."

He replaced his finger with his tongue, warm and wet as it firmly pressed over your clothed cunt. A loud sigh escaped you as he kept it pressed there, ever so slightly curling the tip of it to reach further inside you. He pulled back after a few moments, pressing kiss after kiss all around the seams of your underwear until he reached your center again. He tugged the fabric down until it was off, kissing up your leg again.

"I can't wait to get reacquainted..." His lips moved softly against the skin on your inner thighs, moving closer to where you ached for him with every passing second. And then his face was right there, millimeters away from it when he spoke, his lips ever so lightly dancing over the slick flesh. "...with this pretty little pussy."

When his tongue darted out, you shattered beneath him immediately. It was only the tiniest of touches, the very tip of his tongue coming in contact just below your clit, and still it was enough to ruin you. Among the many lonely nights you'd had over the course of the last few months, you were met with dreams of this exact moment, Spencer's head between your legs as he unraveled you, and it always left you feeling even more lonely when you woke up.

But this was no dream. He was really there, in front of you, making up for lost time. And that's what made you lose control.

He kitten-licked your clit through your first orgasm of the night, and as you came down, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at how quickly it took for you to fall apart.

"Oh, sweetheart... That was so damn beautiful." He brought his tongue out to lick through your folds again, humming lowly in he back of his throat. You watched him intently, trying not to shake, and noticed his eyes roll into the back of his head with a flutter as he delved further into you. The sight, accompanied by his tongue now plunging itself into you, made you cry out, your head hitting the bed and your hands clenching the sheets even harder.

He reacquainted himself with your pussy just fine, spending almost an hour alone exploring every way to make you come as if he'd never done it before. Each time you came down, he'd pull away and start off slow again, gently probing his fingers inside of you while his tongue massaged your clit every which way. It was like pure velvet, each stroke of his tongue and each curl of his fingers inside of you causing you to crash and burn over and over again. In between your high-pitched moans and cries, Spencer would occasionally mumble words of praise against your skin, a particular favorite of yours being the, "Perfect fucking cunt, princess..." right before gently sucking at your clit.

By the time he was finished, your three slow-building orgasms and the one quick one under his belt, his hair was absolutely wild as he looked up at you. He moved up your body, the wetness on his face glistening in the sunlight that poured through the bedroom window, and the hungry look in his eyes dissolved into absolute adoration and wonder as he took in your appearance.

Your mouth was partway open, your middle finger tucked between your teeth as you recovered from your highs. Sweat glittered over your brow and your chest heaved deeply, a smile forming on your lips when he bit his bottom lip and studied you.

"You sure you're okay to keep going?" he asked you gently, using a thumb to brush over your cheek.

The deep rasp in his voice after having been... occupied for the past hour sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. So you nodded, removing your finger from your mouth and bringing his face down to meet yours in a deep, loving kiss that had you both weak in the knees.

You slid up to the head of the bed, your legs resting wide open as Spencer removed himself of his clothes. You rid your shirt as well, the two of you never losing eye contact as you bared yourselves to each other for the first time in months. The air between you two was utterly electric, all this time apart coming to an end at last. Your bodies practically buzzed with the nearness, your veins going numb each time he brushed up against you as he settled out of his clothes and in between your legs.

When he leaned forward, the head of his cock gliding up through your folds to ready himself, you sighed out, reaching up to grab his face with both of your hands. Your fingers gently brushed away stray strands of hair from his eyes, and you smiled, hoping to convey to him just how much you truly loved him. Sure enough, his eyes softened once again under your gaze, and mostly, almost entirely gone was the insecurity and sorrow that had plagued them.

"I love you, Spencer," you told him, bringing his face down so your noses were touching. You brushed your nose against his and then pressed a gentle kiss to it, right as he started to push into you. You captured each others' shaky, relieved sighs as he bottomed out, holding himself deep inside you and pulling your legs up to wrap around his arms. Your tongue licked up into his mouth as you whined, already so relieved to have him in your arms (and quite frankly your pussy) once again.

He started to move ever so slowly, never fully retreating all the way before pressing his hips back into yours, and the groan that left his throat as he felt you clamping around him wrecked you all all over again. "So tight and warm," he mused softly against your lips, accepting and returning every kiss you gave him as he continued a slow, searing pace inside of you. "I've missed you so much, pretty girl... Dreamt... about you almost every night..."

"Me, too," you admitted, softly moaning out at the burning between your legs. "Missed... feeling you inside me. You always... Ohhh... always f—fill me up so g—good." Pressure was already building between your hips again, threatening to pop like a balloon at any given moment. But you wanted to hold on, to revel in this moment as long as you could.

Your hands grazed over his shoulders, lightly digging your nails into the skin as he drove into you a little harder. His pace was still tantalizingly slow, though the force with which he showed you how much he loved you, accented with a sharp, loud slap of skin each time, more than made up for it.

It didn't help that you could hear how wet you were with each movement, how aroused he made you and how loved he made you feel. It was something he obviously knew, but being able to hear it, every wet and delicious sound that came from your body as he made love to you like that, praised him better than any words could possibly dream.

Still, he asked you anyway, a means of dirty talk if nothing else. "You hear that, princess? You hear how good I make you feel?"

You buried your face into his neck, incoherently moaning and grumbling out curses as he shifted his hips and angled himself deeper inside you. Your legs were burning from being bent and wrapped around his arms, but somehow that burn only added to the pressure building in your belly. You couldn't help clenching around him, an action which made him groan into your neck.

"Go ahead and come for me, pretty girl," he stuttered out. "I... I know you have to. Let go for me... Give me all you got..."

His words, strained and raspy, coupled with hot kisses to your neck certainly helped you get there, but you wanted more. "But I want you to come with me," you whimpered out, clutching onto his shoulders. "I wanna... be... together again."

To help him out, you clenched around him over and over, giving him a tighter space to work with, and a guttural groan escaped him as his hips started to stutter. "Together..." is all he could coherently get out.

As soon as the word left his lips, you both shattered, trembling and sparking to life with pleasure. He spilled over inside of you, white hot and thick. It was a feeling you missed dearly, the dreams of it never able to fully satiate your need for him. In turn your walls fluttered around him and you whined into his shoulder, bringing your hands up to grip his hair as his cock twitched inside of you and gave you everything he had to offer. You clung to the feeling as long as you could, rolling your hips up to keep it all in and ride out your high to the fullest extent.

In fact, you were pretty sure that even by the end, when he'd slumped over on top of you and loosened your legs, you were still orgasming, a low burn settling in your stomach as you kept clenching around him, almost like you were trying to drink him up into you like a milkshake through straw.

"B—Baby, I'm gonna... come again if you keep that up," Spencer stuttered, his hands combing through your hair now as his lips pressed into your neck.

You only hummed in response, wrapping your legs around his waist and hooking your ankles over his ass. You kept contracting slowly around him, rolling your hips upwards, even as his warm cum started to spill out of you. Soon enough, he was doing it again, filling you up with warmth and love, his mouth open and hot on the skin of your neck as he did so, muttering your name over and over.

Eventually you loosened your hold on him, every muscle in your body relaxing and falling to the bed with a low tingle of numbness. With Spencer kissing softly over your neck and up to your mouth, you were the most content you'd been in months.

You must have stayed in bed for hours, even though he tried to tell you that you should probably clean up. You only grumbled in response, holding him tighter to you and burying your face into his neck. Still, he laid there, rubbing your head and clinging to you anyways, finally glad to be home.

And even though you were technically home, it never really felt that way when he was gone— To be home was to be near him. And you never wanted to leave his side again, even though realistically you knew you'd need to be separated eventually.

But for now, you could be near him like he was never going to leave, reveling in the warmth and comfort that his arms provided.

And with you he could do the same.

***

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[thessalian]

Thess vs Self-Worth Spirals

Bananas are in the dehydrator, refrigerator pickles are chillilng in the fridge, and I’m taking a break (sort of; there’s some uploading shit to do because I’m determined to get this all done this week) between that and boiling up my beets. I didn’t sleep well because apparently either the floors are way thinner than they need to be or my upstairs neighbours are unspeakably loud during sex. So I got treated to about a half-hour of that. Which, I mean, cheers to the stamina, I guess, but please, for my sanity, get a carpet. And I can’t go take a nap now because a) the expected pain flare from last night’s Great Vanilla Fudge Experiment has caught up with me, and b) one of my neighbours on this floor (next door or across the hall; I can’t tell) are doing some quite loud home maintenance. Yay.

My brain is weird. Not bad, not even particularly inefficient, but weird nonetheless. I was slicing bananas and going kind of Zen about it, thinking about the comments I get from mutuals who are enjoying reading about my forays into kitchen and garden experimentation, combined with the people at my office being like, “Oh, but that sounds like so much effort, though”. Somehow, those thoughts collided to actually answer the question of why I spend so much time and effort on stuff like this, and why I started in the first place.

Answer: “I’m having to make an insane effort to feed myself anyway; might as well have some fun with it”.

Because, seriously, all of this started after the fibromyalgia diagnosis. I mean, even before that, food was more of a chore than it is for a lot of people. Not all people, but a lot of people. Because dietary requirements. Dairy I can just about do with proper preparation and the right supplements - that or very small amounts. (Butter on a potato won’t upset me too badly; a bowl of ice cream will.) Gluten? Thaaaaaaat’s a problem. It doesn’t take much at all to set me off, and so much convenience food has wheat flour in it somewhere, either as a base ingredient or as a thickener. While you can get ready meals and the like that are gluten-free, the range is very narrow and it’s expensive for what you get. Hell, even getting things like gluten-free pasta is tricky, since every brand has a different recipe and some aren’t bad while others are awful, so it’s a crap-shoot at best. (So far Sainsbury’s wins for gluten-free pasta. I will no longer touch Tesco gluten-free pasta, because it is really gross.) So effectively I was living on a fairly limited menu.

And then the fibromyalgia came along and made things worse. Couldn’t work full time anymore, so reduced wage. A lot of money was going on painkillers, and the price of prescriptions went up. Brexit plus Covid meant a lot of shortages and higher prices. (That’s not even going into the mess we have now.) Most of all, everything hurt. Every activity just hurt, and was going to, forever.

This, you can imagine, got depressing. Still is, sometimes. But somewhere along the line I guess I thought, “Well, if I’m going to cause myself pain, it’s going to be for something inventive, something fun, instead of just whatever seemed easiest”. So I started my garden - yeah, watering the plants every day is a struggle sometimes, but strawberries and herbs and tomatoes! I knew that fruit was a good idea but it always went bad on me before I could finish it all, and buying bags of dehydrated fruit was expensive, so I got the dehydrator and it’s still one of the best investments I’ve ever made. I got my baking dish and learned to make lasagne and pasta bakes and cottage pie, because that meant one evening’s effort in the kitchen would feed me for almost a week instead of just a day or two, which meant less effort and pain in the long run. Kind of like buying in bulk, but for physical pain instead of sticker shock.

Not only is all this fun, but it also gives me a sense of ... accomplishment and self-worth, which are two distinct things in this instance. The accomplishment is easy - “I made that! Go, me!”, but the self-worth doesn’t have anything to do with having to make these nice things to be worthy of the space I occupy in the world. See, I’ll make this kind of effort for others without a thought, but the fact that I’m willing to make this effort for myself? For my own comfort and enjoyment and happiness? It’s basically me saying, “I am worth this effort. My long-term happiness is worth a little pain, effort, and inconvenience”. I guess if I can think that about myself, I can accept it better when others think it about me. And I have examples of it almost every day. I can sit down to a lasagne full of fresh herbs from my own garden, or go to the fridge and snack on some refrigerator pickles that I made just because I don’t like how most pickles in this country taste, or pack a work lunch that includes a dried fruit mix tailored exactly to my tastes. Yes, it’s nice when others enjoy these things, and I will always try to share when I can. But at the end of the day, I made these things for me. I thought I was worth it. For me, that’s new, and it matters.

Honestly, it’s nice when the self-worth spiral is going upwards, instead of the usual downward trajectory.