#fic: dads | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowboycatd · 1 year

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cowboycatd perchance would you write a totally impromptu idea that I just came up with on my own with absolutely no input from you about dads!bealil and kid libby learning to climb

Wow, how spontaneous! How original!

Marcel’s hands tremble as he tightens the chest straps of the harness. His ears burn under the penetrating gaze of the tall, severe woman standing behind him. She’d walked in just ten minutes ago with another woman, haughtily demanding service. She didn’t even bother to introduce herself or her party; Marcel had to gather that information himself from the waivers. The four-year-old thankfully standing relatively still is called Elizabeth followed by an unnecessary number of names he can’t recall, and her parents who are not still are apparently Lilith and Beatrice.

The instant he finishes with the harness, Lilith swoops in and nearly bats his hands away as she checks for herself the snugness of the fit.

“Are you comfortable, Libby? Is it too tight?” She tugs on each strap, moving from the chest to the waist to the legs.

Libby shakes her head and gives a thumbs up.

Marcel suppresses an annoyed eye roll. Sure, he picked up working at a climbing gym as a summer gig, but he knows how to set up a child’s harness better than this woman who’s clearly here for the first time.

She stands out like a swan among mere mundane ducks. Both she and her wife do. Lilith is dressed to the nines in a turtleneck, slim cropped slacks, and high heeled boots. She looks ready to sit down at a three-star Michelin restaurant or whatever rich people do. Marcel really wouldn’t know. Why she thought wearing an all-black ensemble to a climbing gym of all places is beyond comprehension. Marcel smiles to himself imagining her covered in chalk on her way out. Her wife is barely more casual, donning a soft sweater layered over a button-up.

Lilith finally steps back after fretting over the harness. She pulls at the collar of her turtleneck and directs her piercing glare back at Marcel. Beatrice hands him the small purple helmet he’d gotten out with a smile.

“Okay Libby,” he kneels down and puts on his best cheerful tone. He buckles the helmet under her chin and gives her a pat on the head. “What I’m gonna do next is tie you into this rope and then you can get started climbing!”

“Can I go all the way to the top?” Libby asks with awe while craning her neck up, eyes wide.

“Let’s try one-third first-“ Lilith is interrupted by her wife.

“Yes, Libby, if you want.”

Marcel tries to ignore the parents’ hushed debate about safety and heights as he ties Libby in. He loads his ATC and performs his safety checks.

“All right, whenever you’re ready!”

“Wait!” Lilith nearly shrieks, losing some of her poised demeanor.

Marcel avoids reveling in vindication at this and takes a deep breath. He turns around and plasters on his best customer service smile.

“That knot will hold her if she falls?” Marcel has an image of Lilith stabbing him through the chest with a sword flash in his mind. She looks like the type who fences.

Beatrice loops an arm around Lilith’s and gently pulls her back. “Marcel knows what he’s doing, darling.” She gives Marcel a stare of her own. He shifts his eyes. Lilith clenches her jaw and tilts her chin up at him. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Dad! Look at me!” Libby shouts as she slowly begins climbing. Dad? She’s clumsy, her tiny hands grasping at the large holds. Even the crimps must be jugs to her.

Lilith gasps when Libby’s foot slips for the first time and she hangs only by her arms. Marcel makes sure to pull out all the slack to nearly the point that he could drag Libby up the wall if he so desired. He swears he can feel Lilith analyzing the tautness of the rope from behind him.

Meanwhile, Libby kicks at the wall once, twice, before her foot miraculously lands on a hold. She giggles as she continues her slow ascent. Her hands reach for a hold here, a hold there, stretching out until she can grab onto something, whether it’s an actual handhold or a foothold. She appears to prefer a three-finger drag and Marcel finds himself envious of her grip strength-to-weight ratio.

Marcel imperceptibly shakes his head and concentrates on giving her the best possible belay, maybe the safest belay anyone has ever given in history, under Lilith’s glare he can still feel boring into his back. He wouldn’t be surprised if Beatrice is doing the same.

“Dad! Dad! Look! Look how high I am!” Libby turns her head and looks down at them.

“Be careful, Libby!” Lilith shouts up, twisting her wedding band around her finger.

“Baba! Look!” Libby shouts again and accidentally knocks her helmet against the wall in her excitement.

“Keep going!” Beatrice says. Dad? Baba? Interesting names. Maybe it’s a British thing.

The quiet argument reignites once Libby is halfway up the wall.

“That’s quite high enough for her. It’s her first time!”

“She can stop when she wants.”

“Bea-“

“Baba! Dad!” Something spikes in Marcel’s chest at her tone. “I’m scared!”

Libby’s two-thirds up the wall now. She looks down and squeals, then whimpers. Her body tightens up and she freezes.

“It’s okay, Libby, let go if you want! I’ve got you!” Marcel walks closer to the wall and pulls in slack.

“No, I’m scared!” Her legs shake and she grips the holds for dear life. “Baba! Baba! Dad!”

“Do something!” Lilith comes up behind him and hovers like a swamp monster from the movies he watched when he was a kid. Her voice is shrill.

“I told you!” She then directs at Beatrice.

Beatrice pulls Lilith back once more. “Listen to Marcel,” she calls up. “He’ll help you!” Marcel just catches a quiet, “she’ll be all right, breathe, love.”

“Okay Libby, here’s what we’re going to do.” Marcel’s knuckles are white with how tightly he’s clutching the rope under both parents’ scrutiny. “I’ve got you tight, just let go one hand at a time, okay? I’ve got you.”

Libby’s bottom lip trembles. Uh oh. Marcel’s not ready for a toddler’s unmanageable meltdown, not today.

“Be brave, Libby! Listen to Marcel!” Lilith is calmer now, encouraging.

Libby slams her eyes shut and faces the wall once more. One hand releases. A high pitched whine.

“Come on, Libby!”

“Just hold the rope! I’ve got you!”

The other pops off. Libby wraps both hands at chest level around the rope, eyes still squeezed shut.

Marcel takes care to lower her slowly so she doesn’t swing side to side. Both parents rush to her the moment her feet touch the ground. Lilith kneels down and lays a hand on Libby’s shoulder while Beatrice sinks into a low squat and wraps one arm around her wife’s shoulders and another around Libby’s.

“You did so good, Libs.”

Marcel gives them space and takes a few deep breaths. He doesn’t bother to untie Libby’s knot, not until the parents are done. With luck, this will be the only route she climbs today.

“Did you see?” Libby says as a grin stretches. “I went so high!”

Lilith lays a hand over her heart. “We saw, Libby. Done?”

“No!” Marcel groans inwardly at hearing this. “Again! Again!”

The following week Marcel is thankfully off belay shift and is instead responsible for check-outs. No need to deal with children and their ridiculous parents today. Yet, his stomach drops at the sight of Libby’s family walking in the door again. It’s okay, I don’t have to belay her today.

Something tickles at the back of his head when he takes in their appearance, though. Lilith…is in a power suit with a tie and all…but Beatrice looks determined today. Unnervingly so. She’s dressed in athletic wear and carries a bulging bag on her shoulder.

“I’d like to complete a belay check-out, please,” she says.

On one hand, this means he doesn’t have to endure the sweat-inducing, shirt-drenching, body-shaking ordeal from last week. He remembers being completely wiped out after belaying Libby for a mere forty-five minutes. On the other hand…did they have problems with his belaying?

What he says is, “Sure!”

He walks the family out to the top rope wall and writes “Beatrice Williams” on the form pinned to his clipboard. Libby sits on Lilith’s lap as they observe the check-out process.

Marcel is stupefied as he watches Beatrice pull out a harness from her bag. It’s not even hers; it’s a child harness. The harness is neatly moved to the side along with a child’s helmet, tiny climbing shoes, two adult helmets, and two adult harnesses. One of the adult harnesses is loaded with an ATC, a GriGri, a PAS, and even extra locking carabiners. He has to keep his jaw from dropping, lest Lilith burn him with some sort of quip.

“Have you taken a class?” Marcel asks politely.

“I’ve watched some videos and practiced at home,” Beatrice replies casually as she pulls on her harness.

“Baba watched eight videos!” Libby announces proudly, holding up her hands with six fingers up.

Lilith mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “and bought a rope, and gear, and practiced with two belay devices without a climber for hours at home.”

Beatrice pointedly ignores this and uses one hand to deftly remove the ATC from a gear loop, loads it, and clips it to her belay loop.

“Ready,” she says.

#davey writes #fic: dads #love you to pieces em #warrior nun #kinda #climbing AU #also kinda #to be trusted with dads...no higher honor #marcel...is an idiot please know this...but a good belayer

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the-penguinspy · 1 year

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28. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” ava x lilith

ty for the prompt, em!! hope i do these two justice :)

Ava makes her way up the driveway while juggling the groceries in both arms, swearing as the bulky combo of winter coat, gloves, and heavy grocery bags lead to keys slipping from her grasp and colliding with a dull clink against the welcome mat. She does eventually manage to get in without further incident (zero grocery casualties this time!) and does a big internal fist-pump to celebrate.

It’s dark inside, and she toes her shoes off and lines them up by the shoe rack as neatly as she can before heading into the kitchen. “Hello? Anyone home?” The bags are deposited on the countertop, Ava letting out a groan of relief as she shakes out her arms.

“Lil?” She flicks the lights on and the living room is washed in a warm glow, illuminating the empty couch and neatly stacked pile of reports left on the coffee table. Beatrice must have already left to drop off Libby for hockey practice.

The door to the den is shut almost all the way but not firmly closed, and she sees how the light from inside makes its way out. Ah – still working then. The devil works hard, but Lilith on a mission works harder and is way scarier. Way hotter, too.

Ava knocks on the door softly. A clearing of the throat and a raspy “come in” and she makes her way into the room at the invitation. Lilith’s focused on her laptop screen, papers askew on the desk and occupying every available space, and Ava spies the empty #1 Dad mug precariously close to the edge. Ava’s socks muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floor and she collects the mug before it gets swept off.

“Hey, babe.” She bends and kisses Lilith on her cheek, Lilith turning her head for a brief peck before focusing once more on the screen in front of her.

Ava squints at the page count on the screen. “How’s work going?” Lilith lets out a groan immediately, her immaculate posture collapsing as she slouches down in the seat and brings a hand up to rub at her eyes.

“I think I’m done. Goddamned clients keep changing the scope of the project on the fly, leaving me to pick up the pieces on an already-tight deadline.” Lilith’s free hand automatically reaches for her coffee – eyes still trained on the document in front of her – hand grasping at the air a few times before finally looking over and noticing that it’s gone. Her head jerks as she scans the desk for the mug and does a double-take once she notices its relocation to Ava’s hand.

It’s not often that Lilith is caught so off-kilter, and Ava is worried. Sure, Lilith’s used to a hectic work schedule, constant travel, and delicate meetings with clients and colleagues both, and yes she can handle herself well, has been handling it well for years, and Ava knows that Lilith knows her own limits. But Ava also knows that Lilith caught a red-eye the night before and came in early this morning, just barely greeting Ava and Beatrice with a kiss hello and a kiss on Libby’s cheek, one hand already loosening the knot of the tie at her neck before shutting herself into the den for work.

“–final check before sending it off.” Ava blinks, coming back to the present and seeing Lilith straighten her back to start typing up a new email. Ava’s alarm bells ring all the louder when she witnesses the amount of words underlined in red, the computer’s auto-correct working overtime to bring the page back into grayscale.

She rests a hand on Lilith’s shoulder and squeezes gently, grimacing as her thumb presses into an obvious knot at the junction where neck meets shoulder, and she mentally notes to give Lilith a back massage later. “Hey, Lil? When’s the last time you slept?”

“Thirty-five hours ago,” Lilith replies without missing a beat, fingers flying over the keyboard as fast as the mistakes are popping up. Ava feels her eyes widen at that and – what the fuck. Yeah, this isn’t going to fly. She opens her mouth to say something but is beaten to the punch. “Don’t worry,” Lilith reassures, badly, “I took a one-hour nap on the flight home.”

Ava places the mug down on the floor near the wall and brings both hands to Lilith’s shoulders, kneading gently at the tight muscle there. Lilith continues working but eventually her typing slows, shoulders sagging and head hanging low as she sighs and mumbles, “Ava.”

“Yes?” Ava continues with the pressure, and a hiss escapes Lilith as Ava’s thumb presses into a particularly stubborn knot. “I have to get this out by tonight, Ava,” Lilith insists, but her voice sounds strained. The exhaustion finally seeps through her words, carried on the gentle wind of an exhale.

Ava hums. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Lilith takes a moment to think, head still bowed. “Not much. Final once-over of my notes for my Monday meetings–” a quiet groan – “and then quality time with the family. But this has to go out by tonight so that the clients can look it over and give me the feedback in case they want to fucking change anything again–”

“Woah, hey, Lil! Let’s slow down for a sec.” Ava drops to a kneel, spins the chair around so that Lilith’s gaze is focused on her and away from the computer. “Your clients probably got off work–” Ava glances at the clock on the desk, winces– “two hours ago. It’s Friday night! They’re probably spending time with their family, or chillin’ by the TV, or going out getting wasted.” She smiles, reaches a hand for Lilith’s and swipes her thumb over Lilith’s knuckles. Lilith’s brows furrow, lips downturned, frown making its presence known.

“Point is, it’s the weekend. Your colleagues and clients are most likely taking the weekend off to de-stress and focus on themselves. Their work is important and they’ll go back to work on Monday, check their emails and attend their meetings like the good little worker bees that they are–” Lilith chuckles weakly at this– “but until then, you’ve got time to relax.” The bags under Lilith’s eyes are prominent and Ava swallows hard past the lump in her throat. “Please, Lil,” she whispers. Maintains eye contact, brings Lilith’s hands to her lips, kisses the back of each. “For me?”

A slow exhale from Lilith, but the corner of her lips turn up the slightest bit. Ava smiles in response. Score. “You make a compelling argument, Silva,” Lilith says, an unscheduled yawn butting its way in between their conversation. Her hand comes up half a second too late to cover her mouth, exhaustion overriding even muscle memory. Cute, Ava thinks, as she stands and retrieves the mug for washing, placing a lingering kiss on the crown of Lilith’s head. “Go wash up, I’ll have dinner ready in a bit,” she says.

Ava makes to leave but feels Lilith’s arms wrap loosely around her thighs, feels Lilith’s forehead rest against her stomach, and she brings a hand up to the back of Lilith’s head as they hold each other. The pause only lasts a few seconds, but in that amount of time volcanoes could have erupted, tectonic plates could have shifted, galaxies could have collided, but all Ava would have noticed was the feel of Lilith’s soft breaths on her thin cotton t-shirt, the way the fabric fluttered against every shaky draw of breath, against every stuttered exhale. Fingers interlock behind Ava’s thighs to complete the circuit and send across the silent request for company. Difficult for Lilith to voice out loud, to let the words scrape their way out of her throat, but – this type of honesty is alright, too.

Ava strokes her hand over Lilith's hair and kisses the top of her head once more for good measure. She’s just going to the kitchen, but a parting kiss for her departure nonetheless. For luck, for love, for everything in between.

They’ll part eventually; two earphones finally untangled through patient fingers. Ava will leave to make the shepherd’s pie that Lilith so loves, and Lilith will come out of the shower, towel wrapped around herself with hair still dripping wet over the floor to kiss Ava in the kitchen, and Ava will laugh and pretend to be annoyed, these potatoes won’t mash themselves, Lil, but she’ll wrap her arms around Lilith’s neck and they’ll kiss for a fair bit before Lilith’s stomach grumbles as a reminder.

But for now, they stay in the moment, leaning against each other. A question and a reassurance in one.

#penguin writes #fic: dads #birgittesilverbae #ava x lilith #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ty to davey and smo for lookin this over!! :')#love u guys #love u em!!#ty once again for the prompt...u brought me outta my writing funk. this was such a fun piece to write

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daisychainsandbowties · 7 months

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I love a avatrice with all my heart but sometimes we need bealil and God bless you and your dads fic!!

oh anon, darling, i think you meant this for my very talented friend @birgittesilverbae but while we’re here i’m 🤝 with you about dads it’s everything to me i think it’s so so brilliant, astonishingly beautiful in how it takes bea and lilith and understands them. there’s nothing i like more than a fic that (picture me crying) makes me go “oh god, oh fuck. she would fucking say that wouldn’t she?”

dads bealil is everything to me. these girls are divorced, they’re dating they share one whole braincell. their vibes are immaculate they’re the two biggest losers you’ve ever seen.

it’s the growing up so entangled with each other that they hardly know how to breathe alone. (it’s the learning to do that. alone so they can be together) it’s the please leave your scarf behind in my life but it’s a #1 dad mug and it’s oh, i left myself behind in your life but we can never go back

(you can’t take loved away)

fic: dads just gets bealil, i think. more importantly it understands both characters and it loves loves loves loves both characters. it’s lilith who cares so much, the “if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more.” how she just wants so loudly and both of them tripped up by their tongues.

the ache of loving so much and so long it sets you on fire and touching fans the flames and not touching makes the dead heat of longing sit under your skin. the inescapable gravity of them, two lives locked in orbit around what they both love (their daughter, each other) and the endless refrain of bealil that is the love didn’t change anything, it didn’t save anyone, but it still matters that the love was there.

it’s beatrice sifting through the ashes of their life it’s how impossible i find it to tell which of them is more in love. the quiet loud impossible affection bea has and holds, scalding her. (as long as we both shall live) holding a mug in the kitchen and broken by the brokenness of this love that’s as vital to her as a heartbeat.

dads just understands them both so much. they’re stupid, they’re married they’re divorced i hate them they love each other. they’re gentle and scalding and they can communicate in touches, without words when they speak the words run roughshod over each other they’re meant to be together they’re doomed (it doesn’t matter) they’re a two-body problem to which the solution is a three-body problem.

so, yeah, fic: dads is a masterpiece it’s a beautiful piece of storytelling and i’m glad you adore it because i do too

#but you’re right anon fic: dads deserves so much love and so does its very talented author 💖💖🥰#anon #fic: dads #you found the number one dads enjoyer blog lmao

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noelledeltarune · 7 months

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EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

#talk tag #IT KILLS ME. REIGEN IS NOT MOB'S DAD. HE HAS A DAD. INGO IS NOT AKARI'S DAD. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN ANYONE HEAR ME #(not even necessarily to say that ingo is in his late 20s but still)#(even if he was a 30-40-50 year old no matter how old he is no fucking teenager is gonna call some guy they met as a 15 year old ''dad'')#GAI IS NOT A FATHER FIGURE TO ROCK LEE HE WAS LIKE 13 WHEN HE WAS BORN! PLEASE!!!!!!!!#one time i saw that a person wrote a fic where mario was like a father figure to luigi.#they are TWIN BROTHERS.#not what this about but idk where else i can say anything about this.#just horrible #also sometimes someone is just An Older Friend like no familial relationship just a friend or acquaintance who is a lot older than you

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dclovesdanny · 2 months

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DcxDp prompt

Teen dad Danny Fenton moving into Crime Alley and getting a reputation for helping. Street kids willing to babysit Ellie and Dan while he’s job hunting can spend the night, have a meal, get cash, whichever they choose. Sec workers who do Ellie’s hair/nails/babysit some nights also get the same benefits. He will treat anyone with injuries for the low price of showing Ellie and Dan their guns/taking them to the observatory/getting him job opportunities.

All of the people in Crime Alley know the single meta dad with two kids, who has helped half the alley at least. Everyone is also aware of how Ellie calls her other parent ‘The Bastard’, and how bad their nightmares are, the ones they have to call Danny for(A few of his repeat guests have seen the scars and burns on his arms. Some of the older street kids recognize that hunted look he gets when people touch him when he doesn’t know they are there. Some of the sec workers notice how protective he is of his kids, and the younger workers. No matter who they are, they all notice how Dan gets quiet and angry when asked about his ‘other dad’. They all have sworn never to let those kids go back to the other dad, Danny included. They are a part of Crime Alley now, and they protect their own)

Danny doesn’t realize how far his reputation goes/how much everyone trusts him until two of his regulars bring in an injured Red Hood, promising him whatever he wants in exchange for him helping their boss.

#loosely based on a fic on ao3 #funny #misunderstanding #dc x dp #they think danny is a teen parent #dad danny #de aged dan #de aged ellie #crime alley has claimed him #he is their meta teen dad now #if Batman tries anything #they will fist fight him #Danny has been adopted by the community #but has no idea

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queer-here-and-in-fear · 11 months

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hobie meeting rio: oh im so happy to meet you mrs.morales. mm, is that pasta? it smells bloody amazing.

hobie meeting jeff: hi jeff. stares directly into his eyes, slightly squinting

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #rio morales #jefferson davis #spiderman itsv #spiderman atsv #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #miles gets his hopes up SO high with rio and hes SO happy showing hobie to his dad thinking he'll be nice and then that.#he almost fucking dies #putting this into a fic btw

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jamminvroomvroom · 5 months

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second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math…

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

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princington · 2 months

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🐸

#fic: dads #ok listen so i missed libby So much #my art #fanart #wn

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birgittesilverbae · 1 year

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"Hey! I remember you from orientation! Beatrice, right? Who's this? Your girlfriend?"

Beatrice is taken aback by the onslaught of questions, but beside her Lilith bristles, her hand landing on Beatrice's back as she shifts forward, puffing herself up.

"What? Don't be absurd," she says stoutly.

"So this isn't Beatrice?"

"So we're not girlfriends!"

The older girl raises her hands in surrender. "Whoa, okay, just asking."

"This is Lilith," Beatrice says, tugging at the back of Lilith's sweater vest. "She's my roommate."

The girl singsongs under her breath, something that sounds like 'oh my god they were roommates', and Lilith's shoulders climb even further, her fists curled tightly at her sides. "Nice to meet you, Lilith," she says, grinning widely as she sticks a hand out towards them. "I'm Shannon Masters. Student Council vice-pres. Welcome to St. Mary's."

"Hey, Lilith!"

"What?"

"Whoa, whoa, what's with the hostility?" Shannon asks, peering down at the little spitfire glaring up at her. "Careful, I might start to get the feeling you don't like me very much."

Lilith crosses her arms even more firmly. "I don't see why Beatrice does," she corrects, her voice cutting.

Shannon swallows back a laugh, arching her eyebrow instead. "Ah, there it is," she replies, trying valiantly to keep a straight face. Always a problem for her, that one. "I'm not gonna poach your girl, Lilybear."

"She's not my– Don't call me–" Lilith squawks indignantly, seemingly uncertain about which comment she should be more offended by. "My name is Lilith," she says finally. "Lilith Villaumbrosia. I'd thank you for not shortening it."

Fighting off a smirk, Shannon nods stoutly. "Alright, Lilith Villaumbrosia. What I had meant to tell you was that you were going to be late to class if you didn't hurry, but–" The bell rings out around them, right on schedule. "It's a bit late for the warning."

#fic: dads #beatrice x lilith #fucking around with stuff for prince #the girls are messyyyyyy #myfic #mywn #sister shannon

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hemmingsleclerc · 5 months

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A Livestream to remember

☆Pairing:Dad!charles leclerc x Mom!fem!reader

☆warnings: fluff

☆summary: Where your daughter interrupts Charles' livestream without realizing it

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon in Monaco, and Formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc was at home with his girlfriend, Y/N. The sound of raindrops hitting the windows provided a relaxing background as Charles decided to relax with a live stream of his favorite video game.

As he settled into his gaming chair, the soft glow of the computer screen illuminated his focused expression. The virtual race was intense, and fans from around the world joined the live stream to witness Charles in action.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Y/N was busy with her own activities when she heard the familiar sounds of Charles's excited commentary coming from the gaming room. Curiosity sparked, she decided to join in on the fun.

Y/N opened the door quietly and peered into the room, where she found Charles deeply engrossed in the game. A smile played on her lips as she watched him, but before she could announce her presence, a tiny figure entered the room.

Their daughter, a bundle of energy and joy, toddled into the room with a mischievous grin on her face. Charles, still engrossed in the virtual race, didn't notice her at first. The little girl approached the gaming setup with wide-eyed wonder, her curiosity piqued by the colorful lights and sounds.

When the little girl reached the gaming chair, she happily climbed onto Charles's lap, capturing the attention of both the livestream audience and Charles himself. Fans erupted in cheers and comments, her excitement palpable as she witnessed an unexpected guest interrupting.

@charlesfanpage OMG LOOK IT'S EMMA!!!!😍😍

@thelordperceval NO WAY STOP IM GONNA CRY OF CUTENESS

@y/nandcharles EMMAAAAA!!!😭💕

Charles, momentarily stunned, looked down to find his daughter giggling and clapping her hands. A radiant smile spread across his face as he realized the delightful interruption. He took off his gaming headset and lifted his daughter into his arms, holding her close.

"Looks like we have a surprise guest, guys!" Charles announced with pure joy in his voice and giggling. The live chat exploded with heart emojis and messages expressing delight at the adorable intrusion.

Y/N, now standing in the doorway, shared a knowing look with Charles. Their daughter, oblivious to the online audience, continued to babble happily, stealing the spotlight from the virtual race.

The live stream transformed into a heartwarming family moment as Charles interacted with his daughter, answering fan questions about fatherhood and sharing anecdotes of their playful adventures. The unexpected interruption turned the gaming session into a memorable and endearing experience, leaving fans with a new appreciation for the charismatic Formula 1 driver's off-track personality.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month

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easter day

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, dad!rafe, mom!reader, fluffy and cute, talk of pregnancy, p in v sex

“when are they getting here?” rafe questions, hands on your hips, leaning over your shoulder to look at the counter where you're finishing frosting the sugar cookies with various pastel colors.

“uhh…” you glance at the clock. “any minute now.” you set down the piping bag as you finish the last detail and turn to look at rafe, changing your voice to a whisper. “are all the eggs hidden?”

“yup.” he nods. “and i already told harper that the small blue ones are for her brother so to let him get the easy ones. the easter bunny told me specifically.”

“smart.” you chuckle, letting rafe pull you in and press your lips together.

“i do just have one complaint.” rafe says, hands moving from your hips to grip your bum.

“and what would that be?” you look at your husband, one eyebrow raised.

“this dress.” rafe shakes his head. “you look too good in it, you're practically begging me to put a third kid in you.”

“not until elijah is two, remember?” you remind rafe.

“he's 18 months, that's practically two!” rafe lies through his teeth, his grin turning mischievous, knowing just how big of a difference six months can make in a baby's development.

“ill tell you what…” you run your hands up rafes chest. “why don't we sneak away when my parents get here? you know they act like we don't exist anyways.”

you can't blame them, harper just turned 5 and is a handful, which is only added to by elijah. while he's an angel, he's still a toddler and will get into anything and everything if you turn your back for even a minute.

“sounds perfect.” rafe gives you another kiss as harper runs into the kitchen, elijah still distracted in the corner in his bouncer.

“mommy!” she squeals, launching herself at you. you pick her up and easily turn her so she's on your hip. “mommy, mommy.” she continues. “the easter bunny came! i saw eggs in the backyard!”

“oh, yay!” you bounce her slightly as elijah giggles, reacting to harper's excitement. rafe heads to the bouncer and lifts him out.

“and look, mama made cookies.” you show her the frosted sugar cookie eggs and baby chicks. “and i left a couple unfrosted for you to do with grandma and grandpa!”

harper lets out another squeal and wiggles excitedly. “elijah, gammy and gamps are coming over!”

rafe chuckles at her mispronunciation. it started when she was first learning to talk and their names haven't changed since, even elijah calling them their nicknames.

there's a knock at the door and harper wiggles out of your arms to run towards the front, quickly followed by you and rafe, who unabashedly checks you out as harper opens the door to your parents.

“harper!” your mom steps in, wrapping her in a big hug, completing it with pressing kisses all over her face.

“and there's my little man.” your dad takes elijah from rafes arms, whose happy to give him up, itching to get that alone time with you.

you quickly usher your parents in, showing them the unfrosted cookies and other activities to keep your kids attention.

“rafe and i are gonna go finish their easter baskets.” in truth you've had their baskets finished for a week now, but there's no reason for them to know that.

“okay, that's fine dear.” your mom says, barely glancing to you as harper grabs a butter knife covered in pink frosting.

you grab your husband's hand, and he practically sprints up the stairs, pulling you right along with him into your bedroom.

“god, you knew this would happen didn't you?” rafe questions, hands gripping at your dress, pulling it up as he backs you up towards your bed, keeping the door slightly cracked so you can hear if anyone comes up the stairs. “you know i can't resist this dress.”

you keep your sundresses at the front of your closet, wearing them whenever you find a reason to, purely because of how rafe reacts to them.

“stop talking and hurry up.” you chastise rafe, fingers swiftly undoing the buttons of his crisp shirt until your hands can delve in and feel his muscles.

“yes, ma’am.” rafe smirks, lowering you onto the bed as his lips find yours again, fingers coming to your underwear to feel the wet spot that has started to form. his fingers swipe over the material until you’re moaning quietly, eyes shut.

“god, need to get inside you.” rafe groans, standing to undo his shorts and grab a condom from the nightstand as you take your underwear off, tossing them in the general direction of your hamper.

you use the moment of silence to listen, seeing if you can hear anything coming from downstairs, but all seems to be calm as rafe pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, lining up his cock with your entrance.

rafe sinks in slowly with a low groan as you gasp, gripping the bed sheets. its been far too long since you’ve been able to have a moment alone like this.

“so good, mama.” rafe wraps your legs around his hips as he begins to move, thrusting in and out of you, thumb already rubbing over your clit, knowing you both need to cum and get downstairs as soon as possible.

“yeah, feels good.” you whine, covering your mouth with your palm as you let out noises, rafe always able to get the sounds out of you even when you should be quiet.

rafe moves faster, cock pushing at your walls, stretching you open for his length.

“shit.” rafe groans. “we need to convince your parents or aunt wheezie to take them for a weekend.”

“mmm, that’s exactly what we need.” you nod. you know that you’d probably end up pregnant again if you had an uninterrupted weekend with rafe, you already feel the urge to reach down and pull the condom off of him, but the thought of dealing with elijah at his current age while pregnant has your mind clearing quickly.

“or we can start sending elijah to daycare once a week.” rafe says, glad that the conversation is helping quell his orgasm somewhat, not wanting to burst inside of you too early.

“fuck, whatever it takes to get more of this.” you push at rafes stomach. he takes a step back as you flip over on the bed, toes touching the floor as you turn onto your stomach.

“god, i wanna marry you all over again.” rafe pushes quickly back insides, thrusts now speeding up as his hands grip your ass, squeezing it and watching the way it jiggles with every thrust.

you push your hand below your body to touch your clit, rubbing it in pace with rafes cock pushing inside of you, pressing your face into the mattress to drown out your noises.

“gonna cum, baby.” rafe warns, cock swelling inside of you before hes releasing with one more deep thrust, triggering your own orgasm as your body shakes.

rafe pulls out, flipping your dress back down over your ass just in case someone sneaks upstairs as he discards of the condom and redresses before heading back to you, helping you turn over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“i love you.” rafe coos, pressing kisses to the top of your head as you lean against him.

“i love you too.” you take his hand in his. “and we should get back downstairs before they get suspicious.”

“absolutely.” rafe nods, following you out the bedroom and down the stairs, leaning in to whisper in your ear when he sees everyone is still occupied with frosting cookies, a smear of orange frosting across harpers nose. “and don’t think i forgot that you aren’t wearing panties anymore.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

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daisychainsandbowties · 1 year

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guys help i’m being bullied

#fuck u em #i brought this on myself but still blaming you #now im going to have to explain to ppl why this is the wallpaper on my phone #i hope ur happy #fic: dads #<- pray you never find out why

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ghost-bxrd · 6 months

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Prompt:

Jason hacks into Bruce’s comm when it becomes apparent that he cannot be trusted to keep his birds safe.

Whenever either Tim or Dick are in danger and Batman is nowhere in sight, Jason switches on his side of the audio line to provide mildly ominous commentary.

Bruce is sure his dead kid is haunting him.

#make them have a certain catch phrase too #so Bruce immediately knows it’s Jason but OBVIOUSLY that’s not possible #or a song #Jason used to hum that one song nonstop #and whenever he taps into Bruce’s comm he just starts humming it #jason todd #batfamily #batfam #batdad #batbros #dick grayson #bruce wayne #robin #fic #prompts #bruce wayne is a good dad #Jason is having too much fun with this #tim drake #enemy to caretaker

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sundrop-writes · 2 months

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Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers.

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers.

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?”

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers.

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad.

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects.

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete.

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree.

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.”

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued.

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.”

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized.

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.”

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.”

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on:

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.”

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.”

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration.

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him.

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.”

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.”

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it.

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on.

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.”

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.”

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.”

Prentiss visibly cringed at this.

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together.

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought.

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.”

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain.

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?”

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory.

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.”

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit.

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again.

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room.

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her.

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.”

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued.

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain.

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?”

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile.

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.”

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced.

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from.

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.”

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk.

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.”

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-”

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.”

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned.

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,”

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed.

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.”

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.”

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.”

…

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office.

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through.

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did.

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers.

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.”

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.”

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned.

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed.

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.”

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it.

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever.

It was you.

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools?

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully.

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day -

You had a son.

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now.

And his birth date was… fuck.

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again.

One thousand, seven hundred and two days.

Four years, eight months, and two days.

It wasn’t difficult math.

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child?

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life?

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally?

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with.

What the fuck was going on?

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions.

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe-

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention.

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically.

“Did you find something?”

…

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them.

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before.

It could definitely work.

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone.

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house.

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,”

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts.

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air.

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?”

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend.

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated.

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation.

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up.

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago.

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again.

It had been four years.

JJ was someone he could lean on right now.

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest.

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked.

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it.

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?”

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look.

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned.

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer.

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.”

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.”

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply.

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him.

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.”

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time).

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world.

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby?

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud.

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together.

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment.

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face.

“One thing at a time, alright?”

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning.

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother.

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more.

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly.

And now the two of you likely had a child together.

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang.

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.”

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you.

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing.

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’.

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open.

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return.

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone.

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you.

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock.

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever.

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-”

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot.

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him.

You were breath-taking.

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already.

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock.

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date.

The first night that he knew he was in love with you.

…

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra.

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on.

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night.

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness.

It was a perfect night.

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat.

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves.

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled.

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind.

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place.

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?”

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic.

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.”

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this.

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued.

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.”

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.”

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer.

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.”

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more.

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this.

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.”

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more.

“Interesting.” You replied.

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.”

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail.

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.”

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this.

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.”

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile.

“And see-”

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his.

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was.

But Spencer was nothing like that.

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips.

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours.

“That was… wow.” He sighed.

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle.

“Well, I - you - wow.”

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter.

Back then - everything had been perfect.

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

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