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skzdarlings · 7 months

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the demonstration ; skz ; jeongin x reader

requested by anonymous: you keep your hands where they are or i'll tie them up. ❜ w Jeongin? 😩 please 🥰. requested by anonymous: I.N AND ❛ do whatever you want with me, i'm yours. ❜ ❛ you taste like heaven. ❜ PLEASE IF YOU CAN BEGGING YOU

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: friends to lovers. reader asks jeongin if he has ever made someone squirt and if so please show her hehe. reader mentions a bad date with a rude guy who called her high-strung. squirting, pussy-eating, riding, just a good time lol. explicit sexual content. word count: 4000 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy <3

Jeongin is finally awake when you return to his apartment. You visited this morning but he must have had a late night because the flat was dark and silent when you let yourself in. You went for a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind, but what you really needed was him. A conversation with Jeongin always improves your mood. Just thinking about those deep dimples brings out your own smile.

“Hi there,” you say sweetly. You close the door and replace your shoes with the slippers he keeps for you. You bound up to the kitchen counter. “Can I ask you something?”

Jeongin clearly just rolled out of bed. Far from glamourous, your nonetheless very handsome friend is wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and his black thick-rimmed glasses. He has the hood pulled over his head, his dishevelled black hair peeking out. A bowl of ramen sits in front of him, though his sleepy gaze is on his phone, long ringed fingers curled around the device.

You look at those fingers thoughtfully, your mouth a little drier than before. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all…

It’s too late. Jeongin emerges from the slumped cavern of his hoodie, lifting his bespectacled face. He dutifully puts his phone facedown on the counter. Pushing his sleeves to his elbows, he says, “Of course. Hi. How are—” He yawns before he can finish. The yawn breaks into a wheezy little laugh.

You take the seat across from him at the kitchen island and watch him twirl his chopsticks. Nimble fingers flip them around before he digs into his noodles, slurping a little ungracefully. He swallows almost half the bowl in a scoop. Your eyes are still on his hands.

“Jeongin,” you say. “Have you ever—oh, no, thank you.”

He is holding out a clump of noodles on his chopsticks. When you decline, he shoves it in his own mouth.

“Jeongin,” you say again. “Have you ever made a girl squirt?”

He chokes on the noodles. It gets ugly quick. You emit a little squeak of your own when he thumps on his chest so hard that his hood falls back and his glasses fall off. He hacks up the noodles and spits some across the island.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m fine,” he says in a rough voice, squinting hard like a beleaguered puppy. He fumbles with his glasses, blinking quickly once they are back on his face. Then he reaches for his water bottle and unscrews it with a flick of his fingers. He rubs his chest while drinking.

You purse your lips, watching him. His profile is so defined, his jaw so sharp and cheekbones high. He really is ridiculously handsome. And those hands. You look at the prominence of the veins running down his forearm, the subtle strength in his slender form, the long easy grace of his fingers. If any man is turning women into waterfalls, it must be him.

“So,” you say, “have you ever done it?”

He chokes on his water, but not as dramatically as the noodles. It’s a messy hiccup and he dribbles water down his chin, barely catching it in the cup of his hand. He puts the bottle aside and wipes his hand on his thigh.

“I don’t think I understand the question,” he finally says.

“What? ‘Have you ever made a girl squirt?��” you ask, tipping your head. “Sorry, what’s confusing?”

“Um.” He looks at you in bewilderment. “The part where you are asking me it?”

“Oh.” A little – okay, a lot of embarrassed heat explodes in your chest. It radiates out with rapid-fire speed, scalding your neck and your face.

You lower your gaze. His dark eyes and expressive brows are now too intense for you. You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, thumbs pushing at each other.

“Well,” you say, slowly. You look anywhere but him. “Something sort of happened.”

When you chance an upward glance, he is looking at you very studiously.

“Sort of…” he says, looking more confused by the second. “Did you… sort of… squirt?”

You cover your face, suddenly embarrassed beyond words. Why did this seem like a good idea again? You were so convinced a few minutes ago that this was a totally fine conversation to have with your friend. Now you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

You make a miserable little sound into your palms and Jeongin finally laughs. His whole face crinkles with delight and he laughs so hard that it sounds like he can barely breathe.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you wail.

“I’m not, I’m not,” he lies, because he is laughing his ass off while he says it. “Come on, it’s fine. Stop hiding.”

He reaches across the counter for you. You jerk away, mewling pathetically, which just makes him laugh again. He eventually uses both hands to peel apart your death grip. You still avoid his gaze, staring down at the counter, but he dips his head to chase your eyes.

“There you are,” he says when your gazes meet. “Crazy girl! Ask me again.”

“I forgot the question,” you say, petulant.

He snorts. “I didn’t,” he says. “You wanted to know if I ever made a woman—”

“Yes, I know what I asked!” you say, shaking your head. You see him smile, a giant grin of immense amusement as you tug at your cheeks in distress. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s just that…”

“Something sort of happened?” he supplies when you trail off.

“Technically,” you say, “something sort of didn’t happen.”

“Ohhh.” He returns to looking bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. “Were you… with… someone?”

“Mhm.” You both look at the kitchen counter while you speak. “I had a date. I planned the whole thing out. You know me, I like a plan.” You try to laugh but a flood of humiliation washes over you, the recollection of last night and how everything went so, so wrong. You close your eyes and sigh. “Ugh. It was going well so I brought him back to my place. Things got heated. He said he was really good at… doing that… I said I had never done it before and he got excited and said I would like it. I think I just… thought about it too much. You know me! I like a plan! That wasn’t the plan! Anyway, we put a towel on the bed which is why it was even more embarrassing when I couldn’t… when he couldn’t make me… ugh.” You flop forward, pressing your forehead to the cold marble countertop. “He called me high-strung and left.”

You lift your head slowly, looking at Jeongin for his reaction. His expression is all scrunched up like he smells something bad. Then he gestures as if he is vomiting, making the noisy hurling sounds to match.

You laugh in spite of yourself, nodding.

“I know, I know, you’re right,” you say. “He sucked.”

“High-strung?” Jeongin says, the word tumbling out like a curse. “He said that? Pffft—”

You are glad you came to him. Your other friends would have been protective and encouraging, which is nice, but Jeongin’s helpless laughter is more reassuring than anything. That other guy was so pathetic that all Jeongin can do is laugh.

Even so, you do feel a little sensitive about the whole thing. You are smiling now but your gaze stays low. You trace circles on the counter.

“I know he… he was just embarrassed too. He was rude to me, but… he wasn’t totally wrong.”

“No,” Jeongin says, shaking his head. “No, no, no—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you insist. You let him take your hands and squeeze, but you talk before he can interrupt. “Look he didn’t exactly handle it well but I… I am a little… um, overly thoughtful at times. I’m not good at doing things in the spur of the moment. It scares me and I think too much and once I start thinking I can’t stop.” You let go of his hands, giving them one last friendly pat before you neatly fold your hands on the counter. “Anyway, I asked you what I did because I was hoping you could instruct me so I can practice. That way next time it happens, I won’t get scared and think so much.”

You smile at him.

He slowly takes his glasses off, his mouth open.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Um.”

“Soooo… have you?”

The tips of his ears turn a vibrant red and he puts his reading glasses aside. He takes a second to rub his eyes with an incredible amount of vigour. You wait patiently and politely, watching him tug down the sleeves of his hoodie then push them back up. Those long fingers swipe through his hair once, twice. Finally, he crosses his arms and nods sharply.

“Yes,” he says. “I have.”

Oh.

The subject of your abstract thought suddenly becomes a tangible reality. You cannot get the unbidden mental image out of your head: Jeongin, knuckle-deep in the very wet, very soft heat of someone lucky, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of them. It is unexpectedly easy to imagine yourself in their place, his dark head between your thighs and his steady arm at work.

You cross your legs. He notices.

“Would you mind showing me?” you ask.

“Showing you?” he repeats, his thick eyebrows high on his face. “Showing you?”

“Yes,” you say. You are so preoccupied with your mental image that it takes a moment to realize your phrasing might be misconstrued. “Not like that!”

He jumps in surprise.

“Oh my god.” You put your hands over your face again. “I meant… abstractly. Draw it. Or tell me. I didn’t mean—oh my goodness.”

His ears are still red but Jeongin dissolves into giggles again. Your mortification works wonders on his dimples.

“I’m not very good at drawing,” he teases, patting you on the head.

“Oh my goodness,” is all you manage.

His laughter is infectious, overpowering your embarrassment until you are giggling with him.

“I’m sorry,” you say when the laughter finally slows. You smile, chagrined and apologetic. “It was a stupid question in the first place. I’m really embarrassed.”

“No, don’t be,” he says, waving his hand. “You can tell me anything. I was just… surprised.”

“Yeah, so was he,” you say, making both of you laugh again.

When the laughter subsides a second time, Jeongin sighs. He puts his discarded glasses back on, blinking his vision into his focus and smiling at you. After the last few minutes of conversation, that smiles gives you butterflies. You touch a hand to your stomach as if to still them, but they flutter away.

“I have an idea,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Oh no,” you say but take that hand without hesitation. “Am I about to regret so many things?”

“What? No. When have I ever had a bad idea?” he asks while laughing, no doubt in recollection of every combined bad idea your friendship has conjured.

You can hardly judge him for any bad ideas, though, seeing as you waltzed in here today asking your friend if he had ever made someone squirt. It sounds very ridiculous in hindsight, but you truly do trust Jeongin so much that the idea seemed reasonable at the time.

Now you are in his bedroom, hovering by the bedside while he plops down on his bed with a sigh. He adjusts his glasses and the neck of his hoodie, like this is all protocol and not remotely unusual. He takes a pillow and lays it gingerly across his lap, then looks up and beckons you forward with the come-hither crook of two fingers. His smirk is suggestive but playful, just teasing you, but it awakens those butterflies again.

“Come on,” he says. “Sit. I’ll, um, show you.”

“Show me?” you say, eying the pillow in his lap. “Yang Jeongin, are you… about to defile that pillow?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding solemnly. “We’re gonna make it squirt.”

“You know when I asked if you had ever done it before, I meant on a human…”

“Wow! I’m helping you with a visual demonstration and you insult me—!”

“Aha, I’m sorry!” You burst into laughter at the incredulity on his face. When he pushes the pillow off his lap with a show of dramatics, you wave your hands just as theatrically. “I mean it, I mean it,” you say, though your laughter contradicts the sincerity of your words. “Please help me. I’m sorry, hahaha, I was just teasing, I need your help, please!”

He tries to stand up but you block him, shuffling every time he leans. He finally grabs your hips to move you but you grab his shoulders. Your wrestling is a light-hearted tussle, but then he starts tickling you and you stand no chance of survival. You turn into a flailing, yelping mess, laughing as you spill across the bed with your arms around each other. He tortures you another second, forcing another apology out of your mouth.

When it is over, you lay there, panting. He is leaning over you, his hands on your waist, yours on his shoulders. Your friend likes to laugh but a very serious look crosses his face. He looks at you like he is studying you, discovering some detail for the first time even though he has known you for years. It is like you can feel his stare, a caress across your cheek, across your lips. You take your bottom lip into your mouth, wetting it.

He takes a slow, deep breath.

“That man was crazy,” he says. His voice is lower than before, scratching above a whisper. “You’re perfect. He just didn’t care about getting to know you. And that sucks for him because you—” His voice breaks, the little squeak making him laugh, a small embarrassed sound. The tips of his ears are red and he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’re beautiful,” he says, “inside and out. Any man would be lucky to be with you.”

“Jeongin,” you say softly, because what else can you say?

He meets your gaze. His mouth is open like he wants to say more but he can only stare at you. Eventually, he laughs. He rubs the back of his neck as he sits up straight. You sit up as well, staring at him while he adjusts his glasses.

“Right,” he says. “The, uh, the pillow. I, um…”

It might have been amusing, watching him poke a pillow suggestively. But you no longer care about that. The energy in this room has changed, the whole world melting under the power of his words, changing the very shape of this space. When you take a breath, all you smell is his cologne, masculine and smoky, all you see is your friend, in his hoodie and glasses with his blushing cheeks, and all you want is him. Like this. Right now.

He reaches for the pillow and you reach for him. You take his hand and he looks at you, blinking with surprise.

You turn his hand over. He really does have nice hands, long fingers, deft and strong. You measure it against your own. Then you guide his hand to your lips and kiss the tips of his fingers. You look at him, making your eyes big, your lashes fluttering.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

You laugh. He cups your face and draws you close and you are both smiling when your lips come together. Despite his blush, the kiss is ravishing. You find yourself gasping for a breath, whimpering when he sucks your bottom lip.

“Lay down please,” he says, speaking against your mouth.

You nod. Those butterflies are wild inside you. You are certain you already look like an unravelled mess, laying on your back and breathing hard.

He leans over you, catching your hand when you reach for him. He kisses your palm, your fingers bumping his glasses, making you giggle. He smiles too, the kiss lingering. Your whole arm tingles even when he stops. He guides your hand above your head, curling your fingers around the bars of his headboard.

“You keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up,” he says, but laughs at your surprised expression before the words can settle. “You said yourself, you think too much,” he explains. “Just lay there. Don’t move. Don’t think. Let me take care of you.” He puts a leg between yours, pushing forward with his hips to guide yours apart. He fits there perfectly, pressing his body against yours. Your breath catches. “You can trust me,” he says, and somehow that gets you going more than any sexy come-on.

You trust him more than anyone. You did not hesitate coming to him with an embarrassing story. You ran to him before anyone else. You always seek him out first.

You know you are safe in his hands.

“Do whatever you want with me,” you say. You never make that sort of offer, but it feels so natural here and now. With him. “I’m yours.”

“Whatever I want?” he says, his smile big and dimples deep. He leans down, kissing your cheek then under your jaw. When he kisses your throat, it is hot, open-mouthed kiss, all teeth and tongue. It sends sparks shooting down your whole body, your hips bucking. He is strong, the weight of him between your legs pinning you to the mattress. You feel him, firm, hard, his whole body riding the rhythm of yours.

He has not even undone a single button.

“Whatever I want,” he repeats. “That’s a big offer.”

His hands, those gorgeous hands that had you captivated, slide up your thighs and under your skirt. He stares down into your face while lifting the material, leaving a trail of goosebumps all the way up your thighs. You feel yourself clench, a sharp pulse of need in your core. Your body is thoughtless in its hunger and it feels so good to give into it.

“Sometimes,” he says, “all I think about this… nothing extreme… just you like this… just us together…”

Every breath of a phrase is punctuated with a kiss, down your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You are not expecting him to kiss you through your underwear, your hips bucking when he opens his mouth and ravishes you regardless of the barrier. When you have soaked through the flimsy material, he finally hooks his pinkies into the fabric and tugs it down.

You do not have time to be shy, just desperate to get them off. He pushes your thighs back, folding you in half, then goes back to eating your pussy like he has all the time in the world, like there is no where he would rather be. Your legs shake, your toes curling, body held firmly in his capable hands as he licks you hungrily.

“Jeongin,” you gasp.

“You taste like heaven,” is his reply.

It is so cheesy but it makes you laugh, a happy sound that rumbles in your chest, that couples with pleasure and leaves your whole body singing. You feel like you could float away.

You are pliant, soft and malleable in his hands. He really can do anything with you. It does not scare you one bit. You trust him, following his direction when he rolls you onto your side. You gasp at his hand sliding under your shirt, squeezing your breasts, finding every sensitive nerve as he feels you up.

“Don’t think,” he says, one arm around your chest and the other sliding down between your legs. “Just feel, okay?”

“Mmm,” is your only reply.

You are so ready for him, wound up from his dirty kisses, taut with tension. By the time those long fingers are inside you, it feels like completion rather than intrusion. He fits like he belongs there, curling his fingers against places you never knew were sensitive. It is like your body gives way, revealing all your secrets to his searching touch.

“That’s it,” he says when your breathing gets erratic.

You did not even realize he had found somewhere extra sensitive, not until he is already fucking it slowly. By the time you realize just how soft you are there, it is too late to brace yourself. He adds another finger and your body tightens around him. Your eyes close and you see stars, gasping and rocking and almost crying at the dizzying swirl of sensation.

“Oh, Jeongin,” you say. His name is all you say for another minute. It is the sound on your lips when he moves you, when he turns his hand just slightly, when the new angle sets off a chain reaction of feeling. You cry out, clenching sporadically around his rapidly moving fingers. You yank a corner of the bedspread right off the mattress.

Your orgasm seems to go on forever, pulsing and aching and clenching. Your whole body feels boneless by the time it settles and he slips his fingers free.

“Oops,” he says, adjusting his skewed glasses with his clean hand. “Should’ve put a towel down after all.”

You look down and whimper at the obvious wetness on his bedsheets. You would apologize but he does not look sorry at all. In fact, he grins, looking very satisfied with himself.

You are in a state of utter disarray and he is still fully clothed, having shattered your world with just one hand. It makes you laugh, giddy.

Your arms finally drop. Though it takes a minute, you find a little strength and push yourself up. He is smiling when you climb into his lap. He even winks at you when he puts his wet fingers in his mouth.

You open your mouth too. You hold his gaze while he puts his fingers in your mouth, his breath catching when you suck them eagerly.

“I want something more,” you say.

“Do whatever you want with me,” he echoes your words back to you. “I’m yours.”

He is right about the simplest fantasy making for a wonderous reality. There are no expectations of any over-the-top actions; it is enough it is you and him, together. Clothing ends up scattered around his room, then you are in his lap and he is holding your waist, and you are holding the bars behind his head as you ride him where he sits against the headboard.

His glasses get askew but you fix them, laughing against his smile before kissing him again. It is for nothing because they fall off a second later, when he grabs you and moves, putting you on your back to fuck you at another angle. He slides a hand between you, rubbing at you, working you up. Your head falls back, your whole body tingling with the approach of another orgasm.

“Yes, yes,” he says, no doubt feeling you get tight around him. It is his moaning that sets you off, your legs around his hips, pulling him in close as you come together.

He kisses all over your face, both of you laughing when he slightly misses your lips. You find his glasses and put them back on him, meeting his re-focussed gaze and smiling.

“Was that an okay demonstration?” he teases. “Like I said, I’m not very good at drawing.”

“Maybe so,” you tease back, running your fingers through his hair. “I might need another one. Just to be sure.”

“Just to be sure,” he says, nodding very sagely. “Good idea. Maybe after that, I’ll take you out to dinner. Then we better come back here and try again.”

“Just to be sure,” you say.

“Just to be sure,” he agrees.

You are already smiling when he kisses you.

You have never been more sure about anything in your life.

#yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #yang jeongin x you #skz x you #stray kids x you #valentinesdaystories

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weird-is-life · 6 months

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pregnant reader and Spencer fic where he makes her cry on accident 😭😭

Hii lovely, ty for the request🥰! Hope this is okay, warnings: fluff, kisses, like one swear word, reader cries (not because of something bad tho, it's cute), use of pet names (0.6k)

Spencer is running late at least later than he'd told you he would be and he can't stress it more. You've been home alone almost the whole day, and Spencer knows you are probably more than lonely.

But even if he's already late Spencer makes one more stop to get some groceries before heading home to you.

When he finally arrives home, he can't stop apologising as you greet him by the door, the baby bump very visible underneath one of his sweaters.

"Hi sweetheart, I'm so sorry I'm late there was a problem we needed to deal with," Spencer apologises and kisses your cheek.

"It's okay, Spence," you say into his shirt, already hugging him tightly, "I missed you a lot though."

Spencer looks at you like he always does with a too loving smile, "I missed you two, too."

Spencer ushers you towards the couch, he doesn't want you to be standing for too long 'cause he knows your feet would hurt, and also because he intends to cuddle you as much as possible there.

He quickly unpacks the groceries, and remembers the snacks he's bought for you. What he doesn't know is that you've been craving exactly the same snack he's bought the entire day.

"Here I got you these sweetheart," Spencer gives the snacks to you and rushes to the bedroom to change into something much more comfortable than the suit.

You stay still, your eyes filling up with tears as you hold the snacks in your hands.

When he comes back to you, he finds you eating the snacks while the tears run down by your cheeks.

"Woah, woah, woah, what's wrong?" Spencer immediately sits next to you, and starts to wipe the tears away.

"I just....-" you start with small hiccup, "I just love you so much."

A warm chuckle escapes Spencer's mouth, before he's back to comforting you. He's read every single book there's on pregnancy, so he knows how tough it is with the changes of hormones.

"Oh, baby, I love you too is that why you're crying, huh? Or is it something else? Maybe me being late?" He really hope it isn't the latter.

"N-no, I just-... I just really wanted these snacks all day, Spence," you tell him as another set of tears escapes from your eyes, "a-and they are too good."

"Oh sweetheart, if I knew you wanted them so badly i would have bought more," Spencer tells you with a sympathetic smile.

He understands it can be a lot for you from time to time, even if it's something as simple as craving some snack, so he let's you eat your snacks while he wipes away the tears. He does that until the snacks are gone along with the tears.

You look just unhappy about finishing the snacks as you did minutes ago eating them. You give him a puppy eyes, and Spencer is up on his legs before you can even say his name.

"Spencer...?"

"Don't worry, lovely. I got it, I'll buy you more than enough," Spencer quickly gives you a kiss, and goes to put on his shoes, car keys already in his hand.

"Spence?"

"Yes?" he looks back at you so fucking lovingly completely unbothered about the fact that he has to go to the shop again that you think you might start crying again (Spencer loves you so much that it happens a lot, you crying about how much you love him).

"Of course, but only if you really want to. I don't mind going alone."

"I want to," you say enthusiasticly. That is all Spencer needs to take your shoes, and go back to you. He puts the shoes on for you, kisses your bump, and helps you get up.

"C'mon, sweetheart. I'll get you anything you want if you tell me about your day, " Spencer happily listens to you chatter about everything that crossed your mind through the day.

You and Spencer leave the shop with way too many snacks, but it's okay because you're happy as one can be and that's all Spencer needs, okay maybe the cuddles too.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid

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vibingandsimping · 1 year

Text

Randomly assorted headcanons (sfw+nsfw) for randomly assorted characters… pt. 2

I have yet to make a pinned post with some sort of navigation/rules guide but I will state in all my posts. Asks and Submissions are always open and if you have trouble with it comment!

Not proofread cause that’s for the weak 🥰

Characters involved: Gale, Halsin, Karlach

Tags/Forewarnings: AFAB + AMAB genitalia mentions, use of magic to enhance sex, size differences, breeding, general worshipping, oral (receiving + giving), temperature play, fingering, penetration.

Gale

Y’all love pathetic men… I support. Anyways… Tell me i’m wrong but he’d love to spoil you. We already know he practically worships the ground you walk on. You entered his life full of strife and paved a way for him to have a more hopeful future. His eyes are practically hearts when he gazes upon you. As such, he’d love to buy you and craft you things when he can. He’d buy you a gorgeous dress/vest/suit and enchant it to your liking. It feels, quite literally, like magic when you wear it. He presses kisses to your ear as he sings about how downright breathtaking you are. You hate the fact that the words make a giggle bubble in your chest.

He holds you at any opportunity he gets. In truth, he cannot fathom that you two are lovers. He’s been with a goddess before but even she did not compare to you. His pinky grazes yours as you two stand near eachother. When someone’s back turns, he presses kisses onto your cheek until you forcibly push him away. Which he always uses his puppy eyes as a retaliation to show his hate. Curse those big brown eyes. If you’d let him, he’d be more intimate without being inherently sexual. His hands glide along your skin as he helps you bathe in a nearby river or lake. Occasionally he whispers about how perfect you are to him, inside and out.

Personally, this man is the male version of a wine aunt. Once he feels that he can unwind in the camp without facing repercussions, he likes to get delightfully tipsy. Enough that his skin warms and his tongue loosens. He laughs along with the companions and makes chatter in the quiet camp. If you happen to grace him with your presence, he sings out your name and beckons you forth. To his surprise, you settle next to him on the bedroll and he wraps an arm around your waist. Squeezing you tight as he presses his nose against the pulse in your neck. He murmurs almost incoherently but you can tell from the tone of his voice it was sweet nothings.

When the camp is silent and everyone is asleep, he enjoys the thrill of seeking you out. He finds you in your bedroll and gently shakes you awake, claiming he desires you and cannot sleep. If you are so kind to spare your sleep and indulge him, he promises he’ll make it worth your time. You two trail off to somewhere more secluded before he grasps you by the waist and presses his lips onto yours. His lips aren’t too rough against yours but pleasantly warm. His fingers dance along your skin, trailing the expanse of your stomach. Suddenly, he’s whispering against your lips. You can’t tell if he’s worked you up properly or if he’s genuinely speaking nonsense. Then, a sudden and intense shiver runs through your body. He smirks at you slightly and you cannot help the excitement in your veins.

You’d nearly forgotten about the strange shiver that encompassed your body until you were on your knees in front of him. His expression held a soft intimacy yet a deep desire. He was anything but pure… just so willing for your attention and love. His cock would throb before you in a silent plead for touch. You wrap your hand around the base before wrapping your lips around the tip. He gasps softly at the sensation whilst your eyes widened. As you touched him, there was a tingle in your own loins. It was shockingly intense and you mentally cursed this man for the effect he had on you. Steeling yourself, you began to work on his shaft. Suckling, licking, stroking… all while breathy gasps and whimpers escaped his chest. The tingle in your body didn’t dissipate- no, it only grew stronger. That’s when you gazed up at him in realization. His gaze was knowing and a little dark. The bastard charmed you… so that all the pleasure he experienced you’d experience and vice-versa. So that you two were properly intermingled for all the pleasure indulged that night.

He takes a certain pleasure in finding the spots on your body that make you shake and moan. Especially those that aren’t explicitly between your thighs. If he finds a spot on your neck, or thighs, or chest that makes you whimper and grasp his hair? He’s showering it with all his attention and love until it’s practically numb. His beard tickles your skin and causes you to occasionally squirm from the sensation. He wants you as turned on and into him as he is you. You can feel his erection against your thigh as he covers your neck in hickeys. His hips occasionally grinding for some sort of friction as he focused on you. If your hand trails down to his bulge, he grabs it swiftly and holds it beside your head. His lips are swollen and wet from his kisses and his pupils are blown wide. “Not yet, please, I’m not done. Not ready for this to be over yet…” He whines and gazes at you with a certain twinkle. Who are you to tell him no? Or, maybe that’s what you want to see?

Halsin

He adores the size difference you two have. He towers over nearly everybody he knows and gotten used to being large. Honestly, it was kind of a nuisance at times. He envied others who could bed anyone without the worry of repercussions. Yet, that is a topic for discussion later down this list. Point said, he loves the feeling you provide in his chest. A protective instinct overwhelms him. No matter how soft, rugged, muscular or chubby you are. He wants to hold you and ensure you’ll be safe. The look in his eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to even reach him bending over for a kiss shows the thrill he finds in it. It’s even better when you two are cuddling and you can rest your body so comfortably ontop of his. He’ll encapsulate his arms around your form and keep you close, enjoying the thrum of your heart as you sleep.

He’d teach you how to carve wood, if you’d like. It was one of his hobbies and for you to show interest in it only reminds him of how fine a specimen you are. He’s careful as he teaches you, watchful eyes constantly glancing and staring over your shoulder as your thumbs turn the wood and the knife makes shavings. His hands wrap around yours and guide you when you struggle or use improper technique. His chest slotted against your back as he hums softly, paying no mind to how flustered you’d get. When you finish your first lesson, you both show off the sculptures you made. He’s thoroughly impressed and praises whatever you decided to carve. Later, you find it on a table in his tent. The sight makes your chest tighten and heart soar. He loves you so utterly deeply.

He craves you so desperately it is almost amusing. Your touch, your voice, your presence. He doesn’t outwardly express it but there’s a certain air around him when you approach. His gaze softens as his chest puffs and he watches you expectantly. Despite all the lovers he’s taken in his years, you’d swear he looks like he’s fallen in love for the first time. He’s nearly whipped by you. No-one has seemed so enraptured by you before. Each word you speak he’s hung unto, he watches all your movements so closely. Halsin makes sure to wrap you tightly in his hugs. Both to show you that he loves all of you and to remind you of the fact he wishes to protect you. He knows his boundaries and doesn’t follow you like a lost puppy… but when you seek him of your own accord he’s utterly thrilled.

This man is a breeder. Don’t argue with me on it. He seeks all the thrills and pleasures of nature. Regardless of if you can or cannot get pregnant, he stuffs you so full that in your haze you are sure you’ll carry his kid. He tries so hard to be gentle with you and to some degree he is. His hands trail your skin softly like you were fine china. Though, he allows himself the pleasure of gripping your curves, dips and muscles. While he holds you so gently, you cannot say the same for where he’s pushing his length into. It’s vigorous- almost mind-numbing. He groans into your ear shamelessly and with the knowledge you find it attractive. If you’d let him, he’d give into his desires and fill you til he was sure he had nothing else left to give. He’d pick you up after and bathe you. Washing you of the forest dirt and sweat accumulated on your skin. All while whispering about how he adores you and you’ve done so well for him.

We all know he’s a munch/dick eater. It’s literally confirmed in his sex scene that he immediately goes down on you… and for that I will write for.

AFAB. He’ll hook a thigh over his shoulder and press his nose against the bump of your cunt. His tongue lavishes your clit in licks and suckles as his gaze remains heady on yours. If you can even look at him, that is. One hand trails on the leg you’re standing on before teasing your parted lips. He gathers your wetness and pushes a singular finger inside. He watches as your body tenses and relaxes from his ministrations. His tongue does not stop it’s assault. Then it’s two fingers, hooking and searching for the spot that he knows will make you abandon previous care. Once he finds it, you’re crying out to the woods. His large fingers practically abuse your walls as he sucks your clit like a madman. You began to whimper and shake in his hold. His strength became apparent when he pushes your hips against the tree to keep you still. To show that you cannot escape his pleasure and act of love. Pride swells in his chest and he keeps going until you’re shuddering in his hold. The coil in your belly snapping as hands fly down to grasp his hair, hips rocking against his face.

AMAB. There’s a smirk that engraves his face when he sees exactly how hard you’d gotten for him. His hands wrap around your thighs as he trails kisses along the skin of your stomach. Then, as soon as you open your mouth to protest, a kiss is placed on the tip. You tense and he begins to show your length some attention. One hand abandons your thigh to favor your sack, gently fondling as his kitten licks and kisses turn into something more intense. Lips wrapping around the head before taking you in one gulp. Your head throws back and your thighs quiver. Either he had tons of experience or you were simply smaller in comparison and he could do it with ease. Either way, the warmth of his throat is nearly overwhelming to your senses. He looks up between your legs when he could, bobbing his head as you began to melt into the pleasure. His nails gently scratched the skin of your thigh while his other continued it’s undivided attention to the sensitive skin of your balls. He continues like this, humming and suctioning around your cock until you either spill down his throat or pull him off of you. Either way, he has a cocky smile on his face as he wipes spit and precum from his lips.

Karlach

She is a very passionate woman. She burns bright, literally and metaphorically, and is a flame that will forever burn by your side. She is especially passionate about her companions and most importantly you. She supports you in nearly every decision you make and if she doesn’t agree, she tries to understand anyways. She’s loud and speaks so highly of you to those she meets. Almost like a mother showing off her kids accomplishments in life. She’d likely be such a good mother if she ever had that opportunity. Until you fix her mechanical heart she supports you with just words and actions. As much as she craves to pull you into her grasp or press her lips on yours, she’s a ticking bomb and is capable of hurting those. When you do fix it? She can barely keep her hands and lips off you. Ten years of forced abstinence nearly drove her MAD. While she doesn’t outright burn you, she’s so, so warm.

She loves jamming out. Dancing, playing an instrument, singing… it gives her an excuse to release her pent up energy. Bard or not, she gives you those puppy eyes and nearly begs you to join her. She’ll dance with you and wrap her arms around your waist or hold your hand as you two dip and twirl. Her laugh is an angelic sound and any reservations you held melted away in her intense heat and passion. She had a way of lighting the room up and bringing out the best in those around her. You admired her for it. She eventually slows the rhythm between you two and smiles against your skin (hunched over or not). She whispers against you, light and full of emotion. “You have no idea how thankful I am to have met you. I feel complete.” The breath you take is shaky as her words fill you with such fullness. This tiefling had wormed her way into your heart like the tadpole your mind. Except, this was a worm you wished to keep. You both would do anything for each other and you both knew it.

She absolutely seethes when anyone does you dirty. The girl is quite literally growling when someone hurts you emotionally or physically. Even a wrong look can have her hackles raising and her all pissed. You sometimes have to sit her down and remind her that you’re fine. She assures you’re safe and you appreciate it. After losing so much in her life, the control of her own body and mind, she cannot imagine losing you. Small threats alarm her and she feels guilty that she cannot contain her emotions. This time you assured her that you weren’t going anywhere because she was passionate and hot-headed. You two had your own issues… and she wants nothing more than to work through them together and be the biggest supporters for each other. She pulls you into a bear hug afterwards, nuzzling against your jaw as her horn tangles in your hair. She plants kisses along the skin til you’re laughing and the air is less tense between you two.

As much as she so UTTERLY wishes to touch you, she’s so touch deprived. You know that she needs the attention after she’s had her heart repaired. You lay her down on the ground and trail kisses from her lips down to her throat and to her chest. She watches you with an excitement. It appears as if she was ready to jump out of her skin from the pure joy of being able to enjoy the sensations of flesh once more. You pay extra attention to her breasts and nipples before continuing further down to her navel. At this point, she’s squirming and whimpering desperately. “Come on, babe. Don’t tease me. I need you- so badly..” Her tone was pathetic if anything. There was no true fight or bite in her words. She liked giving her submission to you for once, letting her mind shut down. You wished nothing more than to give her what she deserved after all this time.

Once you finally reach further south, your hands slot around her hips and hold them down as you plant a few kisses against the inner of her thigh. All the teasing between you two was so worth it when you hear the wanton moan escape her lips as your tongue finally met her most sensitive parts. The heat of her cunt was intense- just like the rest of her. It was nearly overwhelming… almost burning your tongue. Yet, you ached for that warmth. To finally enjoy her moans and provide her with such pleasure. She has claws in your hair, tugging and tickling your scalp. One hand on her chest as you begin a rhythm with your tongue against her clit. Once she was beginning to properly fall apart against your mouth, you released a hand from her hip and trailed betwixt her lower lips. Your fingers sought her warmth and was pleasantly surprised with how she burned even hotter inside. Truly a creature of the hottest hells. Yet, it didn’t quite burn you… certainly was a different sensation compared to the crisp air around you. You know that she’ll return this pleasure tenfold to you. It’s her nature… and you couldn’t wait til you two were properly intertwined later in the night.

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dunmeshi-darlings · 6 months

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Hdgigufufyfifudhcjf!!!! 😭🥰

Laios my Darling Himbo!!! That piece where he falls asleep on top of reader like a big lovable puppy dog?!?!? GLORIOUS!!!

If it’s okay, can I request a part two? Where this time Laios wakes up to find reader all cuddled up on his chest??

Laois is incredibly dog boy coded, this is known.

After the last incident you and laios have made a conscious effort to go to sleep at the same time so that way if he starts to lay on you then you can move him off of you and its worked out so far.

This time laios was the one to wake up early, you had a particularly rough day yesterday and so by the time the two of you laid down you were struggling to keep your eyes open and passed out in seconds.

Laios had perhaps the best sleep of his life that night, he hadnt slept so well in years. Last time he did was back when he was younger and the dogs would sleep with him on his bed. He had honestly been not sleeping the best ever since he and the rest of the group went to rescue falin.

Laios opened his eyes and went to get up, however he felt a weight on him as he looked down, seeing you laying on top of him fast asleep. Laios couldnt help but smile softly at this, the irony of it stood out since what had happened before.

Laios smiled as he simply pet your back, letting you sleep on him as he pet your back in your sleep. He knows yesterday was stressful for you. Plus he had to admit it felt comfortable with you laying on top of him.

Chilchuck noticed the situation, asking why laios if he needs help moving you. "nah let Y/N rest, they worked hard yesterday and earned some rest. Plus i dont mind it."

Chilchuck rolled his eyes and commented about inter group relationships and go back to his morning routine, but chilchuck was going to listen to laios on this one.

#laios #laios touden #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi x reader #laios x reader

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 6 months

Text

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breathe.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret meant to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you’ve never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he’s lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

| next

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ddejavvu · 26 days

Note

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader, they somehow get separated while finding shelter during a tornado, but end up finding each other when the tornado is over🩵

I seen Twisters a couple weeks ago and now I’m obsessed with Tyler Owens🌪️🥰

Storm's Over - Tyler Owens x Reader

please send me tyler owens requests!

You've never known true relief like this before; like feeling your rattled, weary bones soothed by the mere sight of Tyler's presence. The second your eyes lock onto his ragged form, his own panicked ones scanning the crowd of survivors, you're staggering forwards, wind-whipped but otherwise unscathed from the storm you'd just endured.

"Ty," You choke, and he whirls around the face you faster than the twister itself had spun, his hands instinctively reaching out to hold you before he even sees you."

"Christ, baby." He breathes, shaky and devoid of his typical charm, "I- I thought," He crushes you against his chest, and the pressure is comforting instead of constricting, "I thought you'd maybe gotten- y'know."

"No, but I thought you-!" You cry, sobs crawling up your throat despite the danger being gone as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace, "I couldn't find you and I saw you run back to help someone, and I just thought-"

"No, I'm okay." He soothes, and the way that his hand is nearly bruising your scalp with the way he's clutching your head against his chest tells you that perhaps he isn't, but that he will be as long as you are.

"That was scary," Your face crumples against his chest, and your tearstains join the water that's soiled his shirt. It's such a simple observation, one that you don't feel the need to point out, but it's the truth, and the only thing your brain can supply.

"I know, darlin'." Tyler sighs, and you feel his hand tremble slightly as he wraps it even tighter around your waist, gripping you for dear life, "It's- bein' in the truck doesn't do it justice. It's more intense than you can imagine."

"I don't want you chasing anymore," You plead, curling your fingers into desperate fists in the material of his t-shirt, "Please, I- that was so scary, Tyler, I can't let you go out in those anymore!"

"We're okay," He reminds you, gently shuffling your embrace a few steps to the left so that a truck can pass you in the almost-ruined street, "We're okay, it didn't get us. The truck is safe, let's- let's get in there, okay?"

You're glad that Tyler has strength in his limbs still, because the tornado seems to have whisked yours away with it. He leads your slumping form over to his truck, and you grip onto its metal armor, thankful for its protection even though the storm has passed.

"Get in there, darlin'." He hums, helping to hoist you into the passenger's seat, "Put that seatbelt on, m'kay?"

"Okay," You sniffle, your voice weak and trembling, "I got it."

Tyler shuts the door when he hears the click of your seatbelt, and he's occupying his own seat as soon as he can round the front of the truck.

"The truck is safe." He repeats his earlier phrase, hands braced on the wheel as he takes a deep breath. You glance up at him with wounded eyes, curled into your seat like a timid puppy.

"You're not gonna stop chasing, are you?" You ask, and Tyler's face remains forcibly calm.

"No." He murmurs, and new tears prick at your eyes.

"Promise me you'll stay in the truck?" You ask, willing to compromise if it means he'll never feel the whipping winds on his skin again, as long as the metal giant you're nestled comfortably into is his protction.

"I promise." It's an easy one for him to make, and you reach out a shaking arm to offer up a pinky for him to link his own with.

He does, and you relish the security of feeling his own finger twine with yours.

"You're okay." He reminds you, jostling your joined pinkies reassuringly, "And I'm okay. We're okay."

"We're okay," You nod, and despite knowing Tyler won't stop chasing storms, you're confident when you say, "And we always will be."

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens blurb #tyler owens drabble #glen powell x reader #twisters fanfiction

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astrophileous · 1 year

Text

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

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