I've been thinking about Wednesday a lot. But like aged up. In a college setting. With like dorms. That'd be cute, I think.
Like. Being interested in her fascination for the dark. Well, more than fascination it's like, routine. You know? The macabre is in her DNA, and she wears it with pride.
Just sitting on her lap when she's busy with assignments or writing her novel. Not doing much, staying still and pretty while the typer clicks and clacks. Maybe smoking if the time is right. And she'd be comfortable, if you were to stay still for once.
I imagine her being like a teacher's assistant. Or maybe just the one friend in the group that people go to for tutoring. And even if she despises it, she's ready at her dorm serving tea.
I feel like she'd be a gentle lover. Whereas Gomez is more open in his infatuation with Morticia, Wednesday would be quiet, but still just as affectionate.
Sneaking a hand to the small of your back, kissing up you arm and up your neck. Under your jaw, where she'll lure out all the giggles. If you speak another language, she won't hesitate to murmur praises in your ear in the same tongue.
Sometimes Wednesday needs her time alone. Don't get her wrong, if she's settled, she's settled. Nothing can change that. Her love of you slowly becomes never ending. She's passionate like that. But sometimes her emotions get the better of her, or at least innecesary emotions swarm her brain like the plague.
During these times, if she felt like it, she would write letters to you. Letters telling you how she felt. Letters in which she confessed her love for you again and again. Not as if it were the first time, no. The first time was messy and raw. Nowadays she claimed her love for you with pride. Like your love became rooted in her very dark essence. Her heart was full of you, and that might as well be her doom.
There wasn't anything that could possibly come between you. Nothing at all. What bliss !!!
Someone who he'd never mention to his co-workers. Mordecai holds the reputation of being a strict, formal and professional man, after all.
He is unresponsive to romantic advances, the attempts flying over his head. It's like he can't understand why people decide to kiss or, God forbid, hold hands. In his opinion, it's a waste of time and space.
That was util a run in with a newspaper-stand keeper.
Mordecai was in no rush that day, although his routine had been foiled. On the average day, a boy would have thrown the morning's newspaper onto his yard. But that day, there was no sign of the boy. Or the newspaper.
Mordecai wondered what could have happened as he walked towards the centre. Maybe the boy was sick. Maybe he had gotten into a shadier business. With this economy, who wouldn't? Mordecai wouldn't blame the poor kid. He had done the very same thing at his age.
The newspaper stand had reached his view and that's when he began to reach into his pocket. Wallet. Then his eyes darted up. The stand. And the man handling it.
It was like the clouds parted to laugh at him. The man was golden, that much he could say. Handing papers and getting money like a madman. Some star-wannabe or some money-bait for women to gawk and charm. It was unbearable to see hands waving dollars at someone so easily.
Simple shoes. Simple hair. An average citizen who tried to live the dream life in St Louis. Simple. And yet so...
Whatever it was, it angered him. How dare this stranger!
"Sir, that's ten dollars unnecessary."
Mordecai freezed.
When had the crowd dispersed?
His fur began to stick up. Formal, professional Mordecai, waving money at a standkeeper.
He practically punched a one dollar bill onto the other cat's palm and snatched the newspaper. Sheiks.
It got warmer after that.
It had been five months of endless conversation and casual name dropping before Mordecai realized that, just perhaps, he appreciated the newspaper-man's presence. Which was a lot, considering the kind of person Mordecai was.
You'd talk. Try to help Mordecai with crosswords. Play chess. And fill holes in his mind that he thought didn't exist. Out of nowhere, he had the leisure time to conjure images of you. By the café's window, or under November rain trying to save your headlines. Mundane ideas that no sane person would imagine.
And suddenly, the songs Miss May would sing at the speakeasy called out to him. Distant rings of enlightenment and razzle-dazzle or something lyrical like that. And it somehow made sense. How you lit up your small corner in this forsaken city. It was nauseating, to say the least.
Even Viktor was catching on, ever the sharp mind. Of course he wouldn't say anything. Mordecai doubted it at first, having considered somehow forcing his friend to keep quiet. But no. Viktor stayed quiet.
Touch was a hit and miss with Mordecai. On the average day, touch made him cringe. It was like his body wouldn't allow it. To feel someone else's fur on his, their paws on his body. It made his skin crawl.
Sometimes, late at night, Mordecai would come home bruised up. One time he arrived drenched in mud! It was as funny as it was messy.
You sat him down on the bathtub and rubbed soap all over his back.
"Should I even ask what happened?"
Mordecai's ears twitched before they pointed down.
"I'd rather you didn't."
He jolted at the sound of your laughter. You patted his back in a quiet apology.
"Was it distressing?"
"Please, take a guess."
When Mordecai had slipped into his comfortable pajamas, you'd drag him to bed and tuck him in nice and tight. Sometimes, your mind would still be wide awake. Patching up Mordecai was not easy on the eyes. That's when you'd make yourself tea. Matching tea cups for both of you.
Kisses were faint and soft. Barely even there. Just the graze of his lips on your cheek, or yours on his forehead. Experimenting felt good. Good and dangerous. Safe. Oddly enough.
Sometimes he'd lean his head on your shoulder and sigh. Affection didn't always go far. The boldest thing you've ever done together was spoon. But it was comfortable. Mordecai was comfortable.
I've been thinking about someone who's warm all up in your space.
Like they run warm. Maybe not like. All body warm. But when they cuddle up behind you, they sure do. They just project their warmth to you.
And of course you feel giddy. When was the last time you felt so safe? So held? So unconditionally cared for?
Their hand on your tummy as you spoon. The position is a little stiff. Shoulders into the mattress, spine weary, and tired from the day. But the weight of them behind you makes the ache different. Makes it a good kind of ache. A dreamy sigh, tea with honey in the morning. An Autumn kind of moment.
And they'd whisper nothings into your neck. Like literally nothing. Just straight-up murmurs. Just to feel the vibration of your skin under their lips. Because you're real. You're actually real, and they're not taking it for granted. You're real, and you exist, and you're wonderful.
Their thighs under yours, glued with love and sugar and everything nice, helping you relax your body completely. Worshipping your skin like you're sacred. Because you are sacred.
Mornings would be so heavy. Because neither of you would want to wake up. You'd just want to be lazy and enjoy the warmth. It's cold outside! The world is perfect right here. And you grumble. They laugh. And you decide that you'd like to spend every night and morning like this. Loved and cared for.
a/n: weeks been hectic recently😞 hopeless romantic stuff right here. honestly mayeb some more characters are supposed to go here but these were the first that came to mind
She was not on your target list. Not even close. But she had caught your eye in freshman year and you said, 'why not?' It wouldn't hurt you to torment the nerdy photographer geek from fourth period.
Your partner in crime (literally) would always roll her eyes and tell you to be safe. Something about being responsible or some shit. But what the fuck were you supposed to do? Not want to experience the panic in her voice when you call her? Not want to chase her down as she's desperate for an exit? You could only just imagine how that would be like. The thrill of making her heart beat out of her chest.
You were going to achieve that. One way or another.
The night of your first murder.
Before actually messing with your desired targets, you and your partner reached an agreement. That you would call Williams and give her a little scare. To warm up. The thought made you giggle.
As your eyes skimmed through yet another Playboy magazine, you murmured into the phone.
"Who's this?"
The person on the other side hummed hesitantly at first. You looked at her. Her auburn hair is even more shiny by the TV lights. You wondered how she would look like in a film. You could make a film with her. If things went your way.
"I think you have the wrong number."
"I'm sure it's the right one. The girl said this was her house line."
Ellie went quiet on the other side. A random girl who she didn't recognize, talking about meeting with some other girl. How many lesbians could there possibly be in this shit town?
She leaned into the telephone, brows knitted.
"What's that girl's name again?"
You sighed pitifully, lip jutted as you tapped on a model's stomach.
"Doesn't matter now. Can't believe she just bailed on me."
"Sorry about that. I guess. Girls around here are bitchy, huh?"
"You got that right."
This eye candy you were eyeing looked just like Ellie. How the hell did she even get accepted into the agency you didn't know. Maybe to appease the nastier preferences of men. Who knows.
One day, you'll have the real Ellie. Ellie who wouldn't even dare think of wearing lingerie like this. The Ellie that–
"What's that sound?" You murmured through a grin.
The girl was busy around the kitchen, "Making popcorn."
"Really? I only eat popcorn at the movies. Have you ever tried them with M&M's? They're sweeter like that."
"I bet. But that's a sugar rush my body is not prepared for."
You giggled to yourself, closing the magazine on your lap.
"You're so funny... uhm."
Ellie raised a brow. You could see it through the telescope.
"I don't think I caught your name."
The girl in the kitchen laughed and shook her head.
"Why would I tell you my name?"
You whined softly, your hand tugging at your gown.
"I thought we were hitting it off. Don't you wanna be friends?"
"Friends with a stranger who called at 10PM. Why should I trust you?" The tone in her voice was just so playful that you wanted to bite it back.
"You sound safe. Nice. Much better than the girl I was supposed to talk to, that's for sure."
Ellie hummed, hands busy pouring the popcorn over the bowl. Her cheek tucked the telephone into her shoulder.
"Mm... alright. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."
You bit back a giggle as you put away your magazine. Your heels were quiet as you gently knocked on the wood of the tree. Unfortunately, you had to appear taller. You hated it, but if you wanted the plan to work, platforms had to do.
"See? We can get along. Say... let's play 20 questions."
Ellie had to scoff a laugh at that.
"And let me guess, you start?"
"That was your first question. And no. Now's my turn."
You leaned on the branch, heart eyes on your target as she moved around her home.
"Do you like scary movies?"
"I do. And you?"
"Mhm. What's your favorite scary movie?"
"They're too many to choose from... Eh, guess The Evil Dead isn't so bad. You?"
"Guess."
Your eyes trailed to the roof. Your friend brought a hand over the lips of her mask and acted a laugh. You only grinned and looked down at Ellie.
"Now you're making me guess... uhm..."
You tilted your head to the side, your legs in the air behind you.
"Nightmare on Elm Street?"
You hummed, "Is that the one with the guy with weird fingers?"
"Knives, yeah. Freddy Krueger."
You giggled, "That's a good movie. It's real scary."
"If you think so."
You loved this part.
"So, you got a boyfriend?"
"If you saw me, you'd realize that I'm not even a little bit interested in boyfriends."
"Girlfriend then?"
That made her quiet down. She furrowed her brows at the kitchen counter before she continued.
"What? You interested or something?"
"You never told me your name."
"Why are you so desperate to know my name?"
"Because I want to know who I'm looking at."
A heavy step by the hallway made Ellie pause. Her eyes flashed to the gun Joel kept under lock and key in his drawer. The gardening equipment that was in the backyard. And that's when she realized,
Thinking about Spencer Reid with a partner who can handle alcohol.
But it's not like you can't get drunk. Obviously, you can. Everyone has limits! But you just like drinking alcohol sometimes. You're not clinically addicted. No, no. You're a responsible drinker. But you can't deny that you'd take more than three glasses when you should only take two.
Spencer doesn't usually drink. In fact, he rarely even drinks at all. But tonight, your special night, he felt like being a little bad. Morgan had told him to stop thinking so much. And since Spencer wanted to take that piece of advice, he decided to throw caution out the window.
But halfway through his espresso martini, he realized that alcohol was not his thing. Confirmed it, actually.
He watched you lift the end of your glass high up in the air. Your display made him reconsider, and he decided to at least finish his drink, even if it'd cost him his liver (it wouldn't.)
By your third drink he placed a hand on your shoulder.
"That looks excessive. Color?"
You grinned and laughed to yourself, "Green. I'm good!"
You smiled at the bartender as he handed you another glass. You turned to Spencer, lazy smirk on your face.
"We're celebrating my five year anniversary at this job. But..."
You tilted your head, searching for his eyes.
"I know this isn't your kind of scene. We can go home if you'd like."
He shook his head, "Not yet. It's too cold outside. We can leave in half an hour, preferably."
You nodded, "You got it."
It always surprised him. How you didn’t look an ounce drunk when you drank. It wasn't amazing or anything. You just could handle your liquor. Surprising. Not amazing. But still. It made the gears in his brain churn.
One thing he could point out was how honest you became. Or, at least, your filter loosened.
Sometimes, you'd lean into his shoulder and murmur in his ear, "I like that tie you're wearing. Dinosaurs? New chic."
And he'd have to sigh and rub your back lovingly.
Of course you took care of yourself. Spencer never doubted your independence. But when you drink, he likes that he can take care of you. Or at least, have an excuse to proyect his affection more.
He'd hum loudly and press his lips to your hair.
"Let's go?"
"Hold on, I'm almost finished."
"Love..."
"I'm paying! Hold on, lemme finish," you'd pout.
Reid ended up with an arm hooked with yours, guiding you to your shared apartment. You stumbled a little, but it was because of your shoes. You always tripped with these shoes!
He made you walk on the side of the houses, the side of the street reserved for him. He gently steered you away from oncoming pedestrians. Squeezed your arm when you shivered.
"Are you cold?"
"Mm."
Without another word, he'd take off his coat and drape it over his shoulders. You leaned into his side, wide awake despite the haze.
Despite your complaints, he tucked you in just like he does every night. He gave you medicine for tomorrow's headache, then kissed your forehead.
Even if you were scorching hot water, he'd always hold you with delicate hands. He wants nothing but.
Who's strangely fixated on cowboys and has leather hats around her room. Seeing as your pretty head needed a shield from the sun, she gifted you one of her hats. It looked so sweet on you. She couldn't resist but ask for a few pictures.
Having a bit of a tic in which she tilts her head to the side without knowing. She's looking at everything, analyzing! It's perfect for when she needs to see the golden or red dust on your cheeks. Did you go out without her? :( she wanted to party too.
Loves helping you get ready for a party. Be it a sleepover or a night on the town, she wants to be of service to you. You are an ethereal being who deserves the world and more. The least she could do was let herself be your clothes hanger as you looked for an outfit.
Gets matching carabiners for the two of you. She always uses hers because she only wears jeans, but if your style is a bit more complex than that, she will try to find creative spots to put it. The most creative one yet was on the strap of your purse. It looked like it belonged there.
Is anything but nonchalant. She's like a dog, actually. A dog waiting on her knees for the palm of your hand, hoping to get love and attention. When you do give it to her, she whines and buries her head on your chest, thanking the 'almighty Gods of seduction for letting her feast for once. She was hungry'.
Who steals your body oil all the time. She likes how you smell, why would she not want to smell the same? It's like you're matching. And what's hers is yours, and what's yours is hers, right? That's why she could smooth talk your mom. She loved you. And because she had this power over your parents, she'd abuse it by using your body oil. Then she's chill as she recommends another one to you. 'It'll smell better on both of us.'
Ellie, who has trouble sleeping. Who draws constellations on your skin as she murmurs the meaning and etymology behind the names of the stars that flashed on her ceiling at night. You gifted her that projector, and she never stopped using it. She loved it so much. Loved you so much.
Her breathing close to your ear, counting the seconds it took for the aftershocks to ease. She'd kiss your cheek lovingly, eyes closed as she tried to return her heartbeat to its normal pace again.
You'd make a weak sound, your hand pausing Sevika's doting for a moment. You could feel the blood coursing through her veins under your fingertips.
"Are you okay?" Her voice practically purred into your ear.
You murmured a weak 'yes'. That was all she needed before she wrapped her arm around you.
You smoothed a hand over her side, rubbing the skin that surrounded her prosthetic. It was off for now. You tried to ensure she'd go to sleep without it. Having thought of what might be the aftermath of your passion, you decided that it would be better for her to plan ahead and take it off. You closed your eyes again, trying to ease any possible itch that may arise.
Sevika forced you into her chest, and you gladly curled into her. You had half a mind to praise her. And that's what you did. Even if your words were merely a string of jumbled nothings.
She couldn't help but chuckle as she pulled your head away with a hand on your nape.
"What are you saying, lovely?"
You tried to echo what you said. There was barely a cohesive sentence in there. Sevika shook her head and smiled. She guided you back towards her chest.
chapter content warnings: dissociation/depersonalization, early days single parent slight angst. Reader is Argentinian. This is important!!! Silliest people ever
a/n: if you saw the draft to this, no you didn't.
Every single time before bed, when he was trying his hardest to drift into slumber, disarmed against the day's chaos, Spencer remembered the first time you met.
It was through the "reliable" website of au pairs. He remembered a night worth of horrible decisions, followed by the relief of Emmy being done screaming her little lungs out. He ran his hand down his wet face. Father like daughter, an accurate phrase.
His eyes were heavy as he browsed through the list of people who filled the description of what he was looking for. Emmy nursed from her bottle as Spencer bounced her softly on his arm. His eyes darted left and right, up and down, swallowing every bit of information that came up on the screen.
He had to be wary. Not just anyone could take care of his daughter. Not because they were physically incapable of, but because before even thinking about feeding her, they had to earn his trust.
The two Reids were already exhausted. It had been a long day. But Spencer refused to accept help. He could admit that he made his life more difficult on purpose. He was stubborn. Stubborn and too prideful to accept help.
But this service seemed to be perfect for his life. Emmy's life. An au pair would teach her a new language. That's what he was looking for, enhancing Emmy's executive functions and fostering greater cognitive flexibility. It would help her in the future, surely. Knowing more than one language never hurt anybody. He would do anything to give his daughter a good life. The best life possible.
The first nanny he matched with was… not what he was looking for. He remembers the first video call that happened three days after finding him. The man was clearly lying about his hobbies and interests. And if he could lie about something small like this, Spencer could only imagine what else he might be hiding, too.
So Matt was a no, then.
Spencer had to remind himself that this was trial and error. It was normal to face issues of this degree.
His mind would conjure up images of the dangers of the internet. Countless cases that involved technology in some way. The chat rooms, the messages, and the meeting up. The crime scenes.
Spencer found himself breathless every time he thought about it. His heart pounded against his ribs, wanting out, and a loud ring would go out in his ears.
He didn't try finding an au pair for the next five months.
The man had finished changing Emmy as he waited for the clock to turn to half past thirty.
"You can do this," he murmured at Emmy, who only chortled as she reached for Spencer's nose.
His face softened at that. He picked up his daughter and tucked her against his chest. He stepped towards the computer again.
Emmy behaved politely on his thigh as he set up the website. He could feel his heart drumming in his ear, but the weight of his baby filled him with courage.
Spencer's voice was broken the first time he talked to you. You introduced yourself with that bright smile that still burns in the back of his mind, and Spencer felt his anxiety waver.
"I'm Doctor Spencer Reid. Spencer is just fine. Sorry. I… it's…"
"It's okay! I didn't know you were a doctor. What's your area of expertise?"
Spencer felt a knot tying in his brain as he tried to tread through social interaction.
"No, no. I uh– I studied. I have four PhDs. Mathematics, Science, Engineering, and Sociology."
He didn't know how to react as he watched your jaw practically fall to the floor. Your eyes were wide as you addressed him.
"Four PhDs!? Wow! You're a bona fied genius!"
Spencer shook his head, hand holding Emmy's back, "No, no. I promise. I just... read fast?"
He looked down at Emmy, a trace of warmth rushing through his cheeks.
"You're too humble. I swear, I could only dream of even getting one PhD!"
How kept his gaze down, and your grin softened.
"I bet your line of work must be as high-level as you," you said in a hush tone.
Spencer looked at the screen again. His smile fell slightly.
"I'm… I'm a profiler for the FBI."
"Huh!"
You folded your arms on your table and tilted your head.
You tried to put it into your own words, "Like... Yeah. Like the police. Just more important. And… more psychological?"
He nodded at that, Emmy giggling as he anxiously bounced his leg.
"Exactly. We help investigators understand and locate perpetrators of violent crimes like… arson or kidnapping. We mostly analyze their background, actions, and their brain as a whole."
You listened intently to his words. The topic seemed to interest you.
"I like the idea of that. Straight out of a detective series. Y'know, I think I'll study criminology at some point in my life. Would you recommend it?"
Spencer hummed, brows furrowed. Emmy began to whine when her father stopped moving his leg. Spencer lifted her up to his shoulder.
"It depends on your interests. Criminology is comparable to my line of work, but it is compounded of multiple different fields. For example, you would study bits of psychology, criminal law, sociology and forensic science, to name a few."
You smiled, happy to know you had drifted his mind from his anxious thoughts. You had a feeling deep inside that this wouldn't be the last time you spoke to Doctor Spencer Reid.
And it wasn't. After six months of texting, video calling, and sending cards, you flew straight to the USA.
You smiled as you dragged your suitcase behind you, carry-on by your side. You looked around at the sea of people and cards with large names. And that's when you found him. Spencer Reid, with a two year old Emmy on his arm. He was waving a little sign with your name, hoping you would see him in the crowd.
You approached the family immediately, your sunny smile an indelible mark on Spencer's head.
"It's so good to finally meet you, sir," you reached your hand out.
Spencer looked at it, his excitement coming to a halt. The words he rehearsed vanished.
"Uhm… uh–"
But Emmy was there to save the day. She reached out towards your hand, demanding attention. Emmy had always been a sunny baby.
You grinned as you grabbed her and immediately held her against your shoulder.
"Well, hello to you too, Emmy!"
You swiped one of her curls behind her ear. She was so cute! Your eyes darted to Spencer, and that's when he knew.
You were perfect for this role.
He remembered the morning marking eight months since you entered the Reids' lives.
You were making breakfast, despite his disdain for finding you doing so. He was about to lightly scold you, 'Kreutzer Sonata' on his hand, when he heard your voice and music coming from the kitchen.
"Build me up... build me up... Buttercup, don't break my he-art," you sang, off-beat, and barely above a whisper, as if you didn't want the morning to hear you.
Spencer peered into the room. He lingered by the doorframe for a few moments more.
You swayed, half-singing, half-humming— the song a secret between you and the stove. You were cupping your cheeks by the time the song ended, which wasn't too long since Spencer joined the kitchen.
Another song came up, and you practically squealed.
"Cansado de buscar... herido en mil fracasos... había decido caminar en soledad."
The moment the right time passed, Spencer could already tell a couple of things. The song was composed of 92 beats per minute. It clearly wasn't anything remotely American. He could tell from the first chord. It was something distinct from your country.
Your country, he thought. You must miss your country. From the few times you were able to mention your home to him, you talked about the clear difference between Americans and your people. Although Americans were friendly, they definitely weren't as friendly as the citizens from your country. You were prideful of the fact, but then again, you were prideful of any other fact.
He liked that. Liked the patriotism in some way. It was a fresh change of pace.
It wasn't until 'Build Me Up Buttercup' started again that Spencer made a sound.
He sighed, "Buttercup," he mumbled groggily, "again?"
You turned to look at him with wide eyes. It was a quick reaction.
"Sorry, Doctor Reid. But we need a balanced breakfast to start off the day."
The man rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stepped towards you.
"Just Spencer is fine…"
He rubbed his forehead, his eyes drifting to yours. His eyes then turned to the vase planted by the windowsill above the sink.
"Are those…"
"Buttercups. Yeah."
You crossed your arms defensively as you turned away from him.
"I like flowers. I'm studying the language of flowers in my free time… boring botany stuff."
Spencer's eyes were shocked for a moment. But he learned to regain his balance.
"Buttercup," he murmured, looking straight at the petals.
Your gaze found him in the corner of your eyes.
"Yeah… Buttercup," you echoed, your voice softening by the end.
Spencer looked down at the flowers. Then back at you. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. He needed coffee.
But you were three steps ahead. You offered him his favorite mug the second he looked up at the cupboard.
"Three teaspoons of sugar," you murmured, offering him a shy beam.
The sight of you, holding his mug in your hands, made something in his brain buzz. He grabbed it with a sleepy smile.
His fingers brushed yours, "You're..."
He paused before a smile betrayed him.
"You're a blessing."
"Buttercup!" The little girl squealed as she barreled into your legs.
Emmy bounced on the balls of her feet as she tried to get your attention.
"Buttercup, buttercup! Look, look!"
You had to pause your reading in order to pick the little girl up to your chest.
"Hi there, trouble. What's up?"
Emmy sat her papers down on top of your textbook. You chuckled at her attitude. You wondered where she got it from.
"I'm learning colors!"
You made a little 'ooo' at that. You peered over her curly head as she showed you what she knew.
"School doesn't teach us to write now, but daddy said I gotta start."
She pointed at the different dried circles of paint on the paper.
"This is blue. You write it like this… and like this in cursive."
Cursive? Cursive seemed excessive. Your eyes darted up, now wondering where the father of this child was. He was just here a moment ago.
"You're such a smart cookie. And what's this one?"
You tapped on another circle, a small smile on your face as you looked at her.
"This is porple! Daddy said his favorite colors was porple and green."
Huh. "Good to know."
Emmy turned her head to look up at you. And goodness, she was Spencer incarnate. You couldn't help but smile wider.
"And whas your favorite color?"
You hummed, "I don't think I have a favorite color. I like all of them!"
Emmy gasped, "Like the rainbow!"
You chuckled, "Mhm. I like the rainbow."
A thought entered your head, but would it be okay? You thought about mentioning it. Your flag, yourself. But something held you back. Your eyes glanced at the fridge, where a little tricolor pin was magnetized to the door. It's not something he picked for himself, but that he was gifted.
Maybe another time.
You looked down at Emmy.
"What's your favorite color, hm?
Emmy hummed as she thought deeply. What was her favorite color? She liked them all!
"I like the rainbow too," she confessed, looking up at you with a wide beam.
You twirled one of her curls and laughed.
"Of course you do."
Spencer appeared from the frame of the living room.
His shirt was wrinkled. Eyes half-lidded. He moved like his bones were heavier than usual.
You've known him for four years then, and you knew for a fact that he never took a break. His sharp mind was always working overtime.
You rubbed Emmy's back soothingly as you both looked at Spencer.
"Hi, daddy!"
"Hello, my love."
The man dragged his feet towards you, and he folded his arms around you both as if touch could disintegrate the hardships of the day. He kissed Emmy's head gently, making her giggle.
"I'm going to take a nap. How does that sound?"
Emmy squealed and wrapped her arms around her father's neck.
"Nap! Nap! Nap!"
Spencer picked her up before setting her on his waist. He took a moment to look at you.
"Do you need anything? Water? Mid-study snack?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "I'm good. I know where the kitchen is."
Spencer remained in place. His eyes bored into your neck. He avoided making eye contact. Another quirk you found as you got used to him.
He felt the urge to do something, anything to help you through this exam.
"I… can explain what you don't know. If you're stuck. I–if you want."
You raised a brow, "You wanna be my teacher now?"
He paused, unresponsive, as he repeated what you said in his head. Emmy patted his chest, "Daddy, nap?"
Spencer nodded, "Yes, nap."
He gave you one last glance before beginning to walk away.
"If you need anything, just tell me, okay?"
You smiled as you watched him go.
"Aye, aye, captain."
Spencer didn't smile. But his shoulders relaxed. That was enough.
Spencer Reid walked out of his supervisor's office.
He felt a hollow ache in his chest. Like something was missing. And maybe it was. He looked down at his hand.
Twenty years' worth of FBI work. Twenty years of being a profiler for the BAU. Over with a single meeting.
It was normal to feel this way, he rationalized. It was a stage in his life that ended.
It ended on a neutral tone, sure. It's not like he expected anything but. There was never joy in this job. Only necessity. The joy came from the people whom he worked alongside. The people who became his family.
Helping people was important. It would always be for him. But he decided that he could put his intellect to good use elsewhere. Far away from the job that could take his loved ones. The job that had already taken so many.
Spencer brought his hand to the nape of his neck. His feet dragged him before he could comprehend what he was doing.
This change would be the most significant in his life. He finally escaped the clutches of this damn forsaken office. Spencer breathed heavily the closer he got to his destination.
His knuckles knocked on the door. It had changed throughout the years, but her name was still bright and clear. The stickers were faded, but the warmth hadn't dimmed. It was all her.
The knob rattled before Penelope Garcia opened the door. Upon seeing who her new visitor was, she flung the door open and threw her arms in the air.
"Reid!"
Spencer couldn't help but smile as he wrapped his limbs tightly around his friend. He pressed his face to her shoulder and laughed.
"It's been a long time, huh?"
The woman nodded and pulled back to look at him.
"Too long! C'mon, get in."
She pulled him into her office and shut the door behind him.
"You have to tell me everything! Start from the beginning! Well, not the beginning. Let me think–"
Garcia sat down on her chair and tapped her chin, deep in thought. Spencer took a seat in front of her and reached for the lollipop bowl between them.
"Wait, how's Emmy? You better send me an invitation to her birthday. I'm not kidding, Reid. I'll personally TP your house."
Spencer raised a brow, "TP?"
"Toilet paper, duh."
Garcia waved her hands in front of her before leaning on the edge of her seat.
"Show me pictures!"
He sighed softly before reaching for his phone. He used it sparingly, only for messages and pictures. But he soon found that it held his whole world.
He scrolled through his gallery before handing the phone to Garcia.
"She's all grown up! Those curls are really coming out!"
Spencer smiled, watching as the godmother of his daughter squealed in delight at the sight of her. Garcia didn't visit in the last six months, but she acted like she missed a decade.
"Oh, and them!"
Spencer's breath caught. Garcia cooed as she zoomed in.
"They look so gorgeous in that color! I resent you for keeping them away from me, Reid. I could've met them long ago, but you decided to be all secretive and gatekeep everything from your best friend."
Spencer let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. He folded his arms over the table, lollipop between his fingers.
"That's on me. I'm… sorry."
Garcia tilted her head, scanning his tone and face like the good friend she was. Maybe she wasn't suitable to be a profiler, but she had intuition.
He looked at her, "I'll make sure you meet them during Emmy's birthday. That way, everyone can properly introduce themselves to them."
Garcia grinned and nodded vigorously. "They're nice. At least from what you tell me."
"Very nice. No, actually. Not nice. They're very kind."
Spencer put the lollipop back in his mouth. He watched Garcia try to guess something unguessable. But eventually, she seemed to drop it. Her eyes flickered to Spencer's chest, then down to the lollipop.
She propped her elbows on the table the further she leaned in.
Her eyes softened as the atmosphere shifted. The laughter from seconds before melted into a comfortable yet bitter-sweet solitude.
"You sent in your letter of resignation, right?"
Spencer nodded carefully. He reached a hand towards Garcia. She squeezed it tightly in a heartbeat.
He lowered the lollipop, a reminder of old times. He felt a bittersweet smile grow on his lips.
"Yes."
He looked down at their linked hands.
"I quit."
Garcia didn't make a sound, only gave him a reassuring smile.
She couldn't tear her gaze away from him, the once nervous boy who stammered through introductions. Now a man who carried too much baggage.
Full of scars, now faded, proof that he survived. He had more than a hundred stories to tell.
She felt her eyes threaten to water.
"You deserve it."
He looked at her through distant eyes. A sudden feeling of being outside looking in rushed over him. His brain processed the words, but he didn't process a response in time.
It was quiet until he gained the strength to answer.
"Thank you."
He squeezed her hand soothingly before rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.
"I can't wait to see everyone again."
Garcia laughed wetly, "Can't miss a gang worth of godmothers and godfathers."
Spencer felt his smile widen, "Emmy will always be protected by you."
That made her choke on a sob. He caressed her forearm, bracelets included, trying to help her calm down.
"I love that little girl."
"I love her too."
The kitchen buzzed with the music playing for your phone, now long forgotten. You laughed as you stretched your hand over Spencer's arm in order to reach the Himalayan salt. You nudged his hip with yours.
"Move!"
"Hey!"
He grinned as he stepped aside. He held his messy hands in the air as he stepped around you. Then he got back to work, marinating the fillets he bought just for this lunch alone.
It was day four of being free of the BAU. And Spencer was slowly learning how to live again.
The plates clinked as you set them down on the counter.
"We should pick up Emmy together today. She'd love that!"
Spencer paused. Just one drive. And he could already feel the floor tilting beneath him.
You washed your hands under the sink. The buttercups in the window had bloomed wildly, joined now by cactus and Begonias. Until the Begonias grew in size, they would stay inside by the window.
Spencer wrapped the bowl in foil. Emmy's school was five minutes away by car. You used his car for travel. He didn't like driving. Spencer didn't like driving. He preferred not to drive. What if something were to happen, and it was his fault? He couldn't live with that. Not again. Not if he could help it. He would never do something like that again. He couldn't drive. He couldn't–
"Hey."
Your hand on his forearm ran after each and every anxious thought that clouded his head. You caught on to his distance.
"What's wrong?"
He squinted at the bowl as he tried to stay logical.
"My symptoms are… heavy breathing. Emotional numbness. Mind fog. I don't feel real. It's often addressed as depersonalization. It is a type of dissociation in which someone feels an out of body experience."
He found himself struggling to breathe.
"I-it's the brain's way of protecting itself from high stress or trauma. Like the fight, flight, freeze and fawn responses. My brain is sending links–"
"Spence."
He looked at you.
"Look at me."
He was already looking at you. Your brows knitted together as your other hand drifted to his shoulder.
"Breathe with me."
You guided his hand over your heart. The rhythm that his own had to follow. He stared at the spot. Then looked into your eyes.
"Imagine drawing a square, okay? Imagine the line going up as you breathe in…"
You exaggerated your inhale, encouraging Spencer to do the same. And he did.
"Then the line going right…"
You exhaled. He copied what you did. He waited for your orders.
"Line going down," you murmured before inhaling deeply.
"And left…"
You followed the same method thrice. Spencer looked much more grounded than before. His eyes shone in a different way, his pupils dilated as he focused. He was slowly stepping back into the present moment.
He breathed with you, his hand not moving an inch from your beating heart. His eyes didn't tear from yours.
"Spence… tell me five things you can see."
The man exhaled when he was forced to look away.
"… The sink."
"Right."
"Uhm…"
Your other hand met his waist. You caressed him like porcelain, treating him like a fragile collectible. He was not fragile. But in your presence, he might as well be. It only made sense to feel a sense of inferiority in front of the hand that fed his daughter when he couldn't.
"The flowers. The bowl. The… The fridge."
His eyes then locked with yours.
"You."
You nodded, your hands squeezing him gently.
"Okay, now four things you can touch."
Spencer sucked in a shaky breath as he began to look down.
"Uhm. You. My… my clothes? My… glasses. Uhm."
"One more," you mumbled sweetly.
Spencer had to remind himself of what he was doing.
"Your clothes," he murmured, curling his fingers on your waist.
"Good job."
What would people normally say when they felt like a fluffy cloud? Spencer was a fluffy cloud right now.
"Now three things you can hear."
Spencer let out a small breath. He closed his eyes, thumbs going up and down as he tried to connect to his senses.
"Music… Your music. Uhm…"
You tilted his chin up. You gave him the most compassionate eyes. It made him want to think of impossible things. Like that your eyes could stop violence. Like that your eyes could stop criminals from doing wrong.
You shook your head lightly, "If you can't think of something else, that's okay."
You stayed there, one hand on his neck and the other on his arm.
"One thing you can taste?" You smiled.
It took a second for him to catch on. A shy grin grew on his lips before he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip.
"The sauce we're making."
"I know that's right!"
You grinned and patted his shoulder. Now Spencer was grounded again. Huh. It might be the first time you see him so… down to Earth. He's always in his head, even when he treats Emmy.
Emmy! You looked at the clock on the wall.
"She leaves in thirty!"
Spencer jumped and got right to work. He grabbed the tray and began to put the fillets on top of it. They'd have to fry them once they got back home.
You ran to the entrance to get your shoes. Spencer had ordered a short shoe rack after a few months of you being here. He said he felt wrong, coming home and seeing your shoes on the cold floor. After his purchase, he also adopted the small custom. Now the rack was a mix of your shoes, Spencer's, and some of Emmy's rain boots.
Your phone switched songs, and the mere intro made you whoop. Hands in the air, you made a silly entrance to the kitchen. Spencer looked at you intently. Smiling.
Spencer handled the cooking as you danced behind him.
"Hola, ¿qué tal?, ¿Cómo te va? Que frase más vulgar... con la que me voy a presentar."
You stopped your singing and creeped up behind him. You couldn't look over his shoulder, so you settled with tilting your head to the side.
"First class of my culture. Music. Pick good music!"
You reached for your phone on the other end of the counter. You touched the screens, wrote something, before setting it back down.
"Reggetón viejo nunca– never– j-just put old reggetón always!"
Spencer couldn't decide whether to be amused or slightly baffled. You were running short on time to pick up Emmy, and here you were. Talking about reggetón.
He wasn't the least bothered, he concluded.
You folded your arms as you moved to the rhythm of Don Omar. You mumbled the lyrics under your breath, the rhythm of your childhood.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Spencer confessed as he flipped a fillet.
"I can teach you. Not reggetón though. That would be… A little inappropriate."
You stepped beside him again.
"I'll have to think. Most of our music is fast-paced. I think I'll step on your feet."
"You? You mean that I will step on your feet."
"Men that look like sticks usually got a lil' something in them! I have faith, I have faith."
You smiled when he finally finished his task. He covered the tray with a humble amount of foil before washing his hands.
"Do you know how to dance tango?" He asked, pretending to busy himself with the water and soap.
"Actually, I don't. But it can't be that difficult."
He raised a brow at that, shooting you a smirk.
"Don't let your dancing prowess get to your head."
"It already has," you grinned.
When Spencer began to walk away, you followed suitly. He grabbed the keys of his car from the bowl beside the entrance door, eyes glued to you. You slipped the key into the hole and opened the door.
"Y'know, I could make you practice salsa."
He furrowed his brows as he handed you his car keys. "Huh."
"It's not a whole country thing, just a few. I mean, it's there if you really look for it. Of course we didn't invent salsa, though."
You opened the doors and opened the door to the driver's seat. The two of you climbed inside the car and strapped yourselves in. You sat comfortably as you began to drive in reverse.
"Has to be slow, though. Baby steps."
Spencer watched you from the corner of his eyes. "Sure."
The drive to Emmy's school was comfortably silent. Though the word 'comfortable' felt banal right now. He had been repeating it a lot in his head. It felt too small for what it was becoming. He primarily used it to describe his household situation.
It was strange. To think that he spent the last four years strapped to a chair, reviewing culprit patterns, while he could be here, strapped in his car, and going straight to pick up his daughter on a slow Friday. It was a good change of pace.
"Do you ever miss it? Your home," the words slipped out of him before he could control them.
You gave him a quick glance before you forced yourself to look at the road.
"Don't say it like that. You're like a second home to me."
Spencer remained silent. It forced you to continue.
"But I do miss it. There's only so much I can get from my country here."
His eyes trailed over to you, feeling more confident than before.
"I call my parents a lot. They're happy I'm studying here while earning some money."
You laughed at the memory. "But God… Sometimes I think, right? And… it's hard to imagine that I'm missing so much time there, you know?"
An image was conjured in his mind. Your parents. They surely weren't getting any younger. You need to spend more time with your parents, he decided. He'd book you a flight, call it a vacation or–
Your fingertips met his stomach, "But I'm better off here than there. I can only earn so much by being a teacher. And this is an experience worth living!"
Temporary.
You wanted this to be temporary.
It made sense. Your contract only held you back for at least six months before you had to renew it. Spencer looked down at your hand. Was that your attempt at comfort? He let it happen.
You looked at him, slowing down once you reached your destination.
"I'm happy where I am, Spencer. And if you'll have me, I'll stay for as long as possible."
His hand hesitated by his side. His fingers slowly inched towards yours. He exhaled audibly. He didn't know what to think, but he knew that he was present. Being grounded felt almost electric.
Your fingers were five centimeters away before you pulled yours back to manage the steering wheel. You looked at every mirror as you reversed the car into a parking spot.
"We're here!"
You clicked your belt to come off and turned to Spencer. Bright. Your smile was always so bright.
"I usually go in when I gotta pick her up. Wanna come?"
"Of course I want to come."
You two climbed outside and began to walk to the school. It was probably the third time he visited. Only that this time, he wasn't attending a kindergarten meeting.
Other parents filed in and out as they came for their children. Spencer let you lead as he looked around the colorful hallways.
His eyes darted around the drawings and bulletin boards. He hadn't stepped inside a school like this in years now. He preferred not to think about it.
The sight of you pulled him away from his mind. He watched as you stopped in front of a classroom.
"Hello, Mrs. MacQuoid!"
"Like the British theatrical designer and furniture connoisseur, Percy MacQuoid?" You almost jumped when you felt his breath in your ear.
You felt your legs squeeze together, a grimace tugging on your lips. You laughed nervously and stepped aside to point at the man.
"This is Spencer–"
"Emilia's father!"
The woman stretched her hand out for him to shake. Spencer flinched, and you immediately waved a hand between them.
"He's not comfortable with handshakes nowadays. Emmy practically climbs all over him like a jungle gym and drains all his energy!"
Ms. MacQuoid laughed and retrieved her hand.
"Oh, I bet! But Emilia is such an angel in class. She's brilliant for her age and so well behaved."
She turned to Spencer, a pleased smile in her wrinkled face.
"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Doctor Reid. I've heard a lot about you from your spouse."
"Actually–" you immediately interjected.
Spencer shook his head, "They're not my spouse," he said gently. Not dismissively.
You chuckled, uneasy, as you looked at the woman. She laughed to herself, years of wisdom behind her eyes.
"That's perfect, too. Slow and steady wins the race, doesn't it, Doctor Reid?"
"Mrs. MacQuoid–"
"Daddy!"
The sound of your little girl's chirping pulled you out of your embarrassment. She ran right into your legs, hugging you however she could. Emmy squealed and raised her hands in the air. You gladly picked her up and set her against your chest.
Mrs. MacQuoid nodded to herself, "I'm warning parents that there has been a change in schedule. Our math's teacher retired a few days ago, and we are in the process of adjusting our timetables until we find a replacement. You will be able to pick up Emmy an hour earlier."
You nodded, hand rubbing Emmy's back as she looked at her teacher.
"I see. Thanks for the heads up, Mrs. MacQuoid."
Spencer reached for Emmy, and you passed her over. He felt comfortable with his baby in his arms. She comforted him well enough.
The cogs in his brain churned.
"What are the requirements to fill in the empty teacher spot?"
Emmy tilted her head up to him, mouth agape.
Mrs. MacQuoid gasped and clasped her hands together.
"Why, Doctor Reid! If it were up to us, we'd crown you our new teacher in a heartbeat!"
She tilted her body as she looked at both Emmy and her father. Now she knew who she got those curls from.
"But as it is protocol, you must hand in your CV to the principal. A copy of your titles must be attached as well. We will have interviews in three days."
You looked at him.
Spencer, in a colorful classroom. Not chasing monsters. Just teaching math. It felt... right.
You grinned, "You sure you won't get eaten alive by a pack of five-year olds? I thought you liked being a uni professor."
"Actually, I taught at a public middle school for four years before the Bureau. It was chaotic, but it was a fond experience."
You hummed. You knew very well how the years one taught for middle school or high school could qualify you to become a university professor. You were a teacher yourself. But he still made it sound so… new.
Mrs. MacQuoid smiled, more than impressed. Spencer went above her expectations.
"Well, I'll be waiting for you on Monday!"
Spencer nodded, "I'll be there. At what time?"
The woman raised her index finger, "Ten in the morning."
summary : Spencer had had a long day, and you decide to try and cheer him up
word count : 4.3k approx!
content warning : gender of reader is not specified, only that they come from Argentina, no translation needed I think!!! these two don't know they love each other. post criminal minds Spencer??? my writing of him might not be the most accurate, I tried to look up tbe stuff I hadn't reached in the series yet, I hope you like it:3
a/n : also JJ and Hotch mention along with their kids. Single parent club and its these three lovable sillies. This chapter isn't a prequel, since some things might have changed in the actual series, but the premise is still the same
You hummed under your breath as you passed the rag over the kitchen island.
The child you were taking care of was sat on a puffy seat near you. She was reading a book you bought her recently. A simple story in Spanish from your childhood. Your duty as a babysitter, an au pair, was to teach the child your native language. It was a sort of exchange, cultural appreciation, and everything of the sort.
Emmy looked up from the pages, her glasses hanging by the tip of her nose. "What time is it?"
You hummed with a smile, turning to the clock.
"It's… five to four."
The little girl's brows furrowed, "five to four?"
You grinned, "five minutes until it's four."
Her mouth fell into an O shape and she nodded. That sounded about right in her head.
The kitchen was finally cleaned up to your standards. You put your hands on your hips and turned to the oven.
"You said we had to wait for half an hour?"
Emmy piped up again, book in her lap.
"Yeah! It's so the insides get cooked too."
"Sounds about right," you smiled.
You let out a sigh of relief as you brought your arms over your head. There were a few pops as you stretched really hard.
"That's not normal," Emmy frowned.
You grinned and shot her playful a wink, "Unless you wanna be a massager, I don't think my back can be fixed."
Emmy took it into consideration. Then she beamed.
"My daddy knows about that stuff! He massages me sometimes."
The mention of her father made you pause. Hm. Hmmm.
Spencer Reid. Sat behind you. Digging his long fingers into your muscles. His breathing against the nape of your neck. His voice close to your ear.
Your lungs freezed for a moment. Your entire body did.
You covered your mouth with your hand, rubbing your chin. You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head. Focus.
You then turned to the little girl, your usual smile on your lips.
"Really? I didn't take your dad for that kind of person."
Emmy nodded, bright as the sun, "You know he knows a lot of stuff! He's very smart."
You chuckled lightly, strolling up to her to caress her head.
"That he is."
You sat down on the floor beside her so you could peer over her shoulder.
"In what part are you?"
"Uhm… Rodolfo…"
You looked at her, the smile in your eyes clear as day as you encouraged her.
"Rodolfo is… in the new part of the forest. And he's looking for friends… and… what are… mahndareenas?"
"Mandarinas are… they're not oranges, wait."
You turned to the floor as you thought. Then you snapped your fingers with a smile.
"Tangerines," you grinned as you looked back at Emmy.
Emmy made a sound of awe and nodded her head. She pointed at the page.
"I like the drawings."
"They're real cute, huh?"
"Yeah!"
You remembered with immense clarity how you came to live in the Reids household.
You were an English teacher in your country, having finished two university courses already. Thank goodness for public education. But you wanted to really challenge yourself. So, you decided to become an au pair.
Spencer Reid was your first ever boss. You were nervous on your first day. He tried his best to be accommodating, and he was! Really! It's just that not accepting a handshake made a bit of an impression on you. But you didn't hold that against him. Later on, you began to realize his nature. His usual breakfast meals. How he'd prefer to mumble the fruit of his knowledge. His preferred foods. The way his voice softened when it was just you three. His favorite air freshener. It was only part of the job as an au pair to know all these things down to a T!
And his lovely daughter stole your heart too. Spencer had done an incredible job in raising her. She was a creative little girl, whose mind was full of curiosity and wonder. Emmy had inherited her father's habit of reading. She read almost everything. So little, and she could already master (the second one was still a work in progress, but neither you or Spencer pushed her to the limit) two languages. English and Russian. And now that you were here, she was heavily interested in Spanish. She'd always say how happy you looked when you talked about your country, and one day she promises to visit and see everything you relate to her so passionately.
You had been so absorbed in talking to Emmy that you didn't notice the sound of the doorknob rattling. Nor the footsteps that approached the living room.
"I used to read this stuff when I was–"
A familiar click pulled you out of your trance.
Your eyes darted to the doorframe, and there he was. Hidden behind a little camera. Spencer's hands shook as he lowered the device.
"I'm sorry," he apologized through tight lips, "The angle just seemed right. And the lighting was favorable."
You blinked at him, and Emmy jolted up from her seat.
"Daddy, daddy!"
The doctor chuckled as the little girl practically ran into his legs. He bent his knees and picked her up.
"Hello, my little genius," he grinned as he rubbed his forehead against her hair. Emmy giggled and wrapped her arms around his shoulder.
He continued, "What are you reading?"
Emmy looked back at you, "El lobo Rodolfo!"
You nodded, "That she said correctly."
Spencer rubbed Emmy's back as she approached you slowly, but her eyes were glued to his daughter.
"At this rate, you'll know more languages than me."
The girl grinned and nodded excitedly.
You stood up from your spot and brought your hands behind your back. You couldn't look him in the eye. He couldn't either.
It had been a long morning for Spencer. Although his work is less stressful nowadays, it is impossible to find enough time for both himself and his daughter. But even then, he would sacrifice every second of personal time just to raise his daughter right. It's what he's always wanted. His daughter was above everything else. It will always be that way. But the creeping shift of something else threatening the rankings below her made him feel uneasy.
Spencer ran his fingers through Emmy's curls. His eyes then turned to yours.
"Thank you for today."
You shook your head and your hand.
"You always say that. It's my job, Doctor Reid."
He hummed, a faint tug on his lips.
"You know my name. Use it."
The man kept his lips pressed against his daughter's forehead as he began to walk into the kitchen. He always did that, and Emmy knew exactly why. She was happy to give her daddy the love and affection he needed.
You followed behind, fingers tracing the lines in your palm.
"Emmy found a cookie recipe online, and we decided to try it."
"Cookies," Spencer murmured before looking down at Emmy.
"Chocolate chip!" She chirped happily.
Spencer nodded and tucked her against his chest again.
"Sounds good."
It took you less than ten minutes to set everything on the counter. A medium-sized plate with a whimsical pattern to put the cookies on, a purple container for Emmy to take to school, and another container for her to share tonight.
Spencer had arranged a little sleepover between Emmy and her cousin Michael. She was around the same age as him, him being a year and a half younger, but they got along just fine. Henry, Mike's older brother, always piped in to hang out. And Jack, her other cousin who was as old as Henry, also seemed to be joining them tonight. Although they were already grown little boys in their second year of high school, they still had a few years left to enjoy their youth. Free of responsibilities!
The man set his daughter down on the counter, a strained smile on his lips. You put on your mittens and bent over to take out the food.
"And what will you do with me gone all night, daddy?" Emmy asked through a pout.
"Well, I was thinking of reading a book. But I could also watch a movie."
You set the hot tray beside the plate. Ears catching onto every single word.
Spencer looked at you from the corner of his eyes.
"I… I probably should have told you about this sooner. You could have planned a night out with your friends."
You didn't have many friends here. But the sentiment was clear. You gave him a knowing smirk, raising a brow as you plated the cookies.
"And miss the fun of cooking you dinner? I don't think so."
Spencer offered a light laugh before looking back at Emmy.
"I guess I'm forcing them to stay."
Emmy giggled and wiggled her feet, "You can play card games… And chess! And board games too!"
Spencer nodded, swiping some of her curls from her forehead.
"Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Chess and card games it is," he smiled before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
He wrapped his arms around her softly and sighed. It was difficult to be him sometimes. Days like this one reminded him of his own inferiority. But to remember who he was fighting for gave him back the air to breathe.
Emmy wrapped her arms around his torso. You eyed the two as you put some of the cookies in the purple container. Something felt wrong.
Once Emmy's clothes were packed, and two containers worth of cookies were stuffed into her school bag, Spencer got ready to drive her to JJ's house. You've heard a lot about her from him. Well. As much as he'd tell you. Which was unusually more nowadays than what you usually got out of him.
When Emmy came to say goodbye, you kneeled down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"¡Chau, mi amorcito!"
She giggled and waved at you. Spencer's eyes met yours as Emmy walked outside. Cold, honey chocolate. Cold enough to give you the illusion of melting. Then he was gone.
For a second, you remained there on the floor.
It looked like Spencer was having a bad day.
Your eyes trailed to the bottom of the door.
Yeah, a bad day.
You slowly got up from the floor.
The following hour went smoothly for you. Productivity wise, at least. Your mind couldn't stop reeling with images of Spencer pausing before exiting the house. He wasn't having a good day, that much was certain, but how could you fix it?
If you would have asked yourself that same question three years ago, your approach would have been a little different. You were new to the Reid household. You were hesitant to reach out to Spencer in any way more friendly than what your relationship was already supposed to be.
But then you stayed. You stuck around for six months, then a year, then two. Until little Emilia was five years old. And you were proud to say that you had grown a bit on Spencer. He wasn't just your boss. He was a friend now. Chosen family. And you wanted to make him feel better.
It took you more than you would have liked to come up with a plan. A plan that would surely make him smile.
An hour passed since Spencer dropped Emmy off at JJ's house. The blond could see something was bothering him, and she sat him down for a coffee. He watched the kids play outside as JJ talked to him.
"Spencer. We have known each other for how long now?"
"Nineteen years, eight months, two weeks and–"
"Exactly. I know you. You know me. We have been there for each other through everything."
The sole golden band on her finger glistened under the sun.
"Which is exactly why I don't understand why you won't let us help."
Hotch, who was fixing himself a cup of coffee, walked back towards his friends.
"Tell us what's wrong," he said, not at all oblivious to the tension behind the man's eyes.
Spencer grimaced as he ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting long. He knew.
"Look, we can only meet twice a month. I don't want to spend the few hours we have together talking about my problems."
Both of them gave him the same look. The don't-fucking-kid-me look. As if Spencer hadn't been there for JJ after Will. As if he wasn't present in Hotch's decisions after leaving the BAU for good.
Spencer looked at them. Then a sharp, annoyed sigh escaped his lips.
"You're stressed," JJ guessed.
"Yes."
"Your babysitter decided to fly back to their country."
That made his brows furrow. He looked at Hotch as if he had grown a second head.
"What?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"No."
The two, hidden from Spencer's view due to him taking a sip of his cup, gave each other a look.
"The cases are worse compared to Quantico?"
"No. No, no. I feel lighter. I don't personally address the unsubs. I stay in the office and analyze pieces of information. It's like a sabbatical."
Hotch raised a brow, "You've been on a sabbatical for years now."
Spencer's face scrunched up. He looked defiantly at the table. He knew better than to fight them on this.
"I'm close to resigning."
That made the room silence.
Spencer, finally leaving the BAU?
JJ gave her old colleague a look. Hotch didn't know what to say.
JJ began with a soft murmur, "What…"
'What brings this on' was not a good question. They knew very well why he'd want to retire.
"… do you envision in your future?"
Good save.
Spencer's eyes softened as he looked at his friend. Then Hotch decided to sit down besides JJ, making it easier and worse to look them in the eye.
His own hands met each other under the table, and he smoothed his thumbs over his skin.
That was a good question. A very, very good question. Spencer looked through the window again, catching sight of Emmy running around with Mike and Jack.
He tried speaking, "I want to get my daughter into a good university."
Hotch continued, "We are asking about you, Reid."
Spencer gave him a pointed look. "Emmy is a part of me. How can I possibly think of a life without her in it?
"Spence."
JJ tried to offer her hand over the table. He took a deep breath in. Then out. He slowly reached for her hand back, the action grounding him.
He had to think. What did he really want?
"I want… A flexible schedule. That way I can pick up Emmy from school."
A fond smile grew equally on their lips.
"And what else?"
Spencer squeezed his knee as it bounced.
"Uhm… I'd like to travel. I want Emmy to explore the world."
He looked down at the table again.
"I– I want to cook. And read more."
How could something so mundane bring tears to his eyes?
"And the babysitter?"
Freeze.
Spencer freezed immediately. He could hear the beating drums of his heart. The air that he breathed into his lungs and then exhaled was almost tangible.
His brows furrowed as he looked down at his cup of coffee.
He stayed silent. For longer than necessary.
"… I'm not sure."
JJ planted her elbow on the table, her cheek leaning into her free hand. Hotch hummed, clearly unimpressed. But he decided not to push.
JJ was patient, "Would you like to move out?"
Spencer shook his head, "No. There is scientific evidence that proves that children moving houses at such a young age show a great decline in social skills, a regression in developmental milestones and heightened disturbances such as fussiness or clinginess."
He didn't smile as he said this. They were listening to him. That made him lower his gaze.
"I don't want Emmy to go through that stress."
JJ smiled, leaning further into her hand. She squeezed his hand as they continued.
"But at some point, would you like to?" She mumbled.
Spencer hummed. He rubbed JJ's knuckles anxiously as he looked at Hotch.
"In this moment, I… I like my house. I feel comfortable. And I can't say how I will react if I were to change it."
He looked down at the table again.
"You're doing great," Hotch said.
Spencer did a double take on him. His brows were furrowed as his mouth fell slightly agape.
"You're a great father, Reid," he continued.
JJ looked at Hotch, then back at Spencer, who looked dumbfounded for once in his life.
"You're doing a wonderful job."
The praise made him stutter. He looked around instinctively. Maybe they were talking to someone else and he wasn't aware. Or perhaps he wasn't in the room at all and this was just a sunny dream between the nightmares.
He pointed at himself.
"Me?"
JJ grinned and nodded, "Yes, you!"
Spencer looked back through the window. Emmy was laughing and enjoying life. As he promised himself she would be.
It took him a couple of empty seconds to come with the conclusion. He looked up at his friends and nodded.
"I'm resigning from the FBI."
You were in the middle of preparing the couch when you heard the door open and close. You were face to face with Doctor Spencer Reid. Your new target.
You stepped aside, finger pointing at the couch.
"Sit, please."
Spencer paused by the door. He set his messenger bag by the door, under the coats, before slowly inching towards you.
"Are… are you okay?"
"Of course I'm okay. Just sit!"
You didn’t look like you were lying, so there seemed nothing to worry about. He approached you like an animal ready to pounce on him and eat his flesh.
He sat down on the cushion closest to him, eyes glued to yours for the evening.
"You're stressed," you said decidedly.
"Yes," he replied, clearly struck.
"I'll try to fix it for you."
You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched on the movie you chose for tonight. It wasn't something Spencer watched at all. Howl's Moving Castle. The adaptation by Studio Ghibli. You mentioned the book once or twice to Spencer, saying that you might reread it once you were out of your school responsibilities. He remembered that. It would be difficult to remember that.
His eyes stayed with you as you took a seat beside him.
You looked at him firmly.
"Do you… do you wanna talk about it?"
Spencer couldn't tear his eyes off of you. He was having an out of body experience. He shook his head.
"No. No, it's…"
A hand slipped to the nape of his neck.
"I… I'm thinking about quitting the FBI."
That made your eyes widen. You nodded, positive of anything he wanted.
"Quitting…"
Your eyes drifted down to your rings. Memories of your life spent in this state. In this country. With this family.
"I think… it would make Emmy's day to know that… you'd be around more."
Spencer had a very strict schedule. He never knew when he'd work during the night, or early during the day, or whole days on end. It would definitely make his mental health a lot better if he quit.
The man smiled at your answer, nodding to himself too.
"That's what I was thinking."
The movie was still on pause as you two talked.
"I'm doing this for her. And… and for me too."
He squeezed his hands together.
"And… Well…"
You tilted your head to the side. You slowly began to catch on to the implication. If Spencer found more time in his hands to take care of Emmy, then your work wasn't…
Your brows knitted together sadly.
Spencer caught that. His hand reached for yours.
"No, I'm not firing you. And besides, your contract demands you to stay for another four months."
He shook his head. Firm on his decision.
"You are a vital part of Emmy's life. You are a vital part of… my life."
His hand let go of yours, as if the sudden realization of his actions burnt his skin.
"We wouldn't want to see you go. If… It's…"
Doctor Spencer Reid felt like he was twenty again. Words in a jumble. Trying so, so desperately to get his point across to other people. Shy. So shy.
"I-it's up to you. What you choose to do. I…"
He gulped quietly. You looked at him through wide eyes. You stayed in that awkward position for two seconds before you answered.
"Of course I'll stay."
A warm smile grew on your lips. The Reids were so charming.
"You are my favorite family."
Despite his inhibition for athletics, he could feel his heart doing a somersault. It felt good to be recognized like this. Much better than being recognized over his intellect, surprisingly.
You fell into a comfortable silence as you got cozy on the couch. Spencer tried to keep his restlessness at bay. But luckily, you decided to talk to him.
"I'll make dinner tonight. I never tried making Indian cuisine before, but…"
Something changed inside of Spencer. A breath escaped the small space between his lips. Indian cuisine. He loved Indian cuisine. He couldn't help but laugh nervously.
"Ha. Uh… yes. Yes, I… it's… I can…"
You smiled at him so gently. How you would look at Emmy whenever she's stuck on a line from one of your books.
"I can help you. If you want."
You nodded at that, "Having an expert in the kitchen would help me."
The two of you barely focused on the movie. You had a lot of comments to pass around. You enjoyed it yourself. Spencer seemed to relax more as he talked.
"I've made my own research on this movie. And then I had to know more about the book. The cover of your adaptation seemed like something Emmy would love. I would like to introduce it to her when she's a little older."
You listened to him intently, a soft shape of we-are-not-talking-about-that-right-now in your eyes.
"I'm interested in introducing ideas such as kindness, courage and the importance of looking beyond appearances to her. It would be a good idea to start with this movie. I enjoy the aesthetic, and the songs so far are out of this world."
You nodded, happy to talk about your interests.
"It certainly helped me a lot when I was younger. I think media that involves anti-war sentiments really shape a curious, soft-hearted person. And Sophie is a great example of a strong female lead. I love her!"
Spencer had to manually exhale and inhale. He nodded.
"I want Emmy to be surrounded by strong female protagonists. I want her to see herself in them."
You smiled as you looked at him. Everything was alright in the world.
"I'll make a list of books and movies she can read and watch, then."
Spencer nodded, "I'll hold you to it."
You grinned and lifted your hand, "Pinky promise."
He seemed surprised by this. Something so… childish coming from you. But not childish. More… hm. Soft? Soft and… gentle. Pure.
He hooked his pinky with yours.
"Pinky promise."
Preparing dinner went by smoothly. Well, as smoothly as one could go with a pair of hands guiding your each and every move. You've never seen Spencer this unconditionally happy.
"And then you dip the chicken in the bowl."
"I had no idea we had all these ingredients at home."
Spencer grinned as she watched you cover the chicken in the marinade you made.
"We actually don't have the spice that I like, but that's okay. We have other salts and also red chili powder, so we should be okay."
You smirked at the mention of chili.
"You have an appetite for spiciness."
"Clearly."
You put your heart and soul into marinating this damn chicken. Sure, the marinate was tasty. But still! You couldn't work with someone looking over your shoulder like a hawk.
Spencer smiled, "That's good. Now we let it sit for approximately twenty to… half an hour."
You grabbed the clear foil and began to wrap the bowl securely. Just for the chicken not to get messed up.
You sighed as you put your hands under the sink.
"You'll have to cook for me one day, Spencer. And you'll cook me my favorite meal."
The man laughed as he stood beside you, hands on the counter as he looked at your hands.
"And what's your favorite meal?"
Your eyes softened at the question.
"No, no. We can't make it here."
And suddenly you really missed your home. Your face fell as you thought about it.
Spencer caught on quite quickly. He tried to find your eyes, even if they were full of held-back sorrow.
"You know… you could always teach me more about your culture."
Your head whipped to him immediately. He smiled.
"Yeah," he murmured faintly, "The cultural exchange also applies to me, right? I'd like to learn more about your country."
Even if he had a clear idea of how your country was like. The length and width, the strategic energy sources, its stance on production and import of raw materials. But he wanted to hear it from you.
You chuckled softly, drying your hands with a cloth you kept intact for moments like these.
"We can start with the basics later."
You looked up at him, and suddenly the light in the room made two white diamonds appear in your eyes. Right.
He nodded. Yes. He could do that.
"I want to be beside you through this work stuff. I'll try to guide you if I can. If there's anything I know, is how to make a good CV."
Spencer laughed, his gaze trailing to the sink again.
"That'll be helpful. Thank you, really."
He cracked his knuckles absent-mindedly.
"What would I do without you, huh?"
You let out a small hum. Utterly helpless against his wit. Surrendered to the effect he had on you. The Reid effect.
"Mm, yeah. What would you do without me?"
a/n : I might make this into a series. I like the slow burm
Ellie had a few steps on how to calm you down. Specifically when you were stressed. That state of yours between the moods that came and went like the seasons was the only thing she felt confident in taking care of.
First, she'd check for migraines. Your lack of speaking and clear grimace on your face usually spoke for itself. She'd brush kisses against your forehead, pulling you right into her embrace. You'd spend at least a minute or two like that. It was her way of grounding you. Giving you a moment to stop and breathe.
Next, she'd slowly guide you to the bathroom. You didn't even have to lift a finger. She sat you down on the lid of the toilet seat before disappearing behind the door. After an adventurous search for some underwear and soft pajamas, she emerged right into the room. She was hesitant to touch you for now, and that's why she focused on running a bath for you. She pulled out the bubble bombs. Scented ones were a big no-no. Your migraines only worsened with the strong scent.
And she didn't rest during the bath, no. She personally made it her mission to massage shampoo into your scalp like it was the only thing making her breathe.
"You're doing so good, babe."
She smoothed the loofah into your skin, making sure you were sparkling clean. Only once she was satisfied did she finish, and once that was out of the way, she asked you if you wanted some time alone. If you said yes, she'd give your hand a gentle squeeze before trailing towards the door and outside. If you wanted her to stay, she'd fold her arm over the bath with her free hand under the water. Holding you. Making sure you knew that she was always going to be with you. Through better and through worse. Especially worse.
Once she helped you into your clothes, she picked you up and carried you to your bedroom. Her poor girl couldn't be going out into the world all torned up. She had half a mind to wrap you into a burrito and kiss your head to make it better. And that's exactly what she did.
Ellie hummed gently against your head as she rubbed your back. It was all the confession that you needed. Ellie loved you. And there was no doubt about it.
summary : you've had had a heavy week, and Eddie invites you to one of his concerts. All goes well until someone makes Eddie uncomfortable
content warning : reader is addressed with she/her pronouns and is overall described as a girl. light bar fight (?) reader is also latina, specifically Argentinian, sorry. 😣 characters that are not really ocs or inserts, they're just there to add to the story.
You weren’t prone to anger.
In fact, you were a gentle creature, pulled right off of a fantasy book, wand in your hand, ready to generously sprinkle glitter-shaped hope everywhere you went. You were a soft creature. A fairy, he’d say. Or an angel, sometimes. But you didn’t feel like an angel right now. Not here. Not today.
Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the interaction from far away.
First of all, you’re a girls girl! Of course you’d give any girl who approached your boyfriend the benefit of the doubt! And you trusted Eddie. Because he’s a grown man. He should know better than simply throw himself at any eye candy he sees. And he does know better. Other men also try their shot with him. Eddie always lets them down easy. Same with the girls. But today was different for you.
You had had a long week. Long, long week. Maybe long is an understatement. Enormous week. Wait, no that’s– no. Fuck. Fuck! You had a long week! And yeah, you were still on edge. Of course you were still on edge. You had no time to relax at all. No moment in your week to sit down and do some self-care. Even that felt like a chore nowadays. And maybe your anger was related to that. You were uncomfortable in your body. You needed to take care of yourself differently. Do something that you like. Well, that was the point of tonight. Do something that you like.
It was perfectly fine during the first hour. Watching Eddie and his friends play was always sweet. The little glances he’d throw your way made your heart melt. Always so attentive. Always so puppy-like. That was your Eddie. Full of boyish charm and theatrical chivalry that always pulled you in. It was impossible not to be at least a little bit bewitched by his… well, his everything.
You loved even the silliest sides of him. When he made silly faces at babies in the grocery store, how he’d always beg for a break during your study dates as if it meant life or death, and even when he talked about gross things like farts or eating dirt. Unfortunately, it made you snort. Eddie loved hearing the sound. You loved him.
You sighed. He was the embodiment of boy. And you couldn’t deny that he treated you well. Because he did. He was a gentleman at heart. And with his soft and fluffy exterior, he sneaked his way right into your barricaded heart.
And now.
Now.
You had to watch your favorite person being clinged all over by a groupie wannabe. You were the groupie around here. The original groupie.
You knew it was wrong to be angry. Very wrong. Well, but maybe she deserved the heat... No. No. It was definitely wrong to be angry. You had to be calm and collected. Sweet and nurturing. Wait.
You thought about the state of the world. The state of society. How there was no hope for the future generation at all. And then you concluded that maybe, yeah, you’re gonna be a little petty about this.
The bartender slid the glass of cherry vodka toward you, successfully snapping you out of your trance. You smiled back, as bright as the sun, and gladly wrapped your fingers around the glass. You gulped down the drink, and your brows furrowed. The see-through cup met the counter with a gentle thud.
You looked up at the bartender, “Is there a limit to the drinks?”
The woman grinned and shook her head, “As long as you can pay.”
Time flew by as you waited for Corroded Coffin to take the stage again. You decided that, for now, you would let the current interaction between your boyfriend and the fan go. You could not be bothered. You had lovely company right here! Right here, in the bar. With the bartender and… two drunks with their heads on the table.
Honestly, perhaps this bar doesn’t deserve you.
Eddie, always oblivious but so, so charming, happily approached you from behind. You felt his hand straight away, and it wasn’t difficult to hear his loud voice from where you were. He ran his calloused fingers up your spine, appreciating your shirt. His merch.
“You were great out there,” he smiled against your hair.
You chuckled and turned in your seat. Your hands rested neatly on his chest. Sweaty. The moment you step inside his trailer you’ll immediately push him under the shower head.
“I didn’t do any of the rocking, now, did I?”
The boy hummed as he pressed his cheek against yours. His hand smoothly fell to your hip.
“What are you drinking?”
You murmured your drink of choice. Eddie immediately stuck his tongue out and made a choking sound.
“Ugh! How can you live with all of that sugar in your system?”
“Better than drinking beers every night out."
“Hey, lagers are the good kind of beer. And you agree with that!”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
The following few minutes were what you would expect of your high school sweetheart. A few laughs here and there. Gossiping about the few drunkards near the front, who apparently decided it was a good idea to have a bachelor party right in this faded bar. Your initial anger slipped away. You were right where you wanted to be. Beside him. Laughing about the dumbest things possible. The touch from each other acting as reassurance that you did, in fact, love him dearly. And uf, did you love him dearly.
“Is it too loud in here? Do you… do you wanna go back home?”
And if it weren't for the little sparkle in his eyes, you would have said yes and yes.
“It's alright. I needed some fresh air anyway.”
He gave you a knowing look, bordering on scolding and playful.
“If you're lying to me, I'll have to tell my folks down at the diner to quit feeding you milkshakes.”
“You're the worst.”
Eddie couldn't help but grin and bury his nose in your hair. His arms held you tightly against him.
“I'm the best. Who else knows your coffee orders like the back of their hand? No one. Just me.”
If he were any more charming, you would combust right then and there. You chuckled under your breath, looping your arms around his neck.
“You're a real people pleaser, did you know that?”
Your boy hummed through a puppy smile as he leaned forward. Your breaths mingled into one as the space between you diminished.
“I only ever want to please you.”
But the moment was taken away from you in an instant. An employee who was clearly not happy to be working right now murmured into the mic for Corroded Coffin to reenter the stage. You grinned, nudging Eddie’s arm with your fist as he straightened up.
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
You watched him with hearts in your eyes as he sauntered off towards the makeshift backstage. He soon would be on the stage again. And you smiled. Maybe life wasn’t so bad. Y’know? Maybe society could flourish. Maybe peace and love could actually thrive in this world. There was nothing to worry about. Everything would turn out perfectly fine. Always.
Then Miss Groupie Wannabe stopped Eddie by the door.
Society is fucked. Utterly destroyed. Fuck the president. Fuck capitalism. And fuck hook up culture! Who does she think she is?
It happened in a flash. You stood up and practically darted your way over to the girl. Your hand gripped Eddie’s wrist tightly, and you were face to face with the one and only.
“He’s part of the band. He has to work.”
The girl batted her eyelashes and looked up at him. Then at you.
“I was just asking for a band shirt.”
Suddenly, a small pit of who knows what grew in your stomach. Guilt, most likely. Your front faltered as you let go of Eddie’s wrist.
“We can get you one after the show, yeah? I’ll personally go bring you one your size.”
She shook her head, “No, no. I want one from him.”
That sultry grin was going to… what the fuck is the word? Incentivar a romperle la jeta. Which could translate to… no. No. No time for that.
You blinked. Once. Twice. You breathed deeply. Then exhaled.
Eddie, aware of what was going on, shook his hand in dismissal. He flashed his boyish grin as if it would calm either of you down.
“I’m sure she can get you what you’re loo–”
“Is she your manager?”
Your eyes widened, lips tense in a thin line. You didn’t know what to think, really. You could either kick her to the ground right now or back up. Because starting a fight in a bar was not in your list of goals for this year.
Eddie had to go, though. So you quickly tried to wrap this up. You clasped your hands together and looked at her.
“After the set, yeah? And you can get an autograph if you want,” No one ever seriously wanted an autograph from the band before.
Now, with Eddie out of the scene, the girl grinned mischievously. She brought her palm to shield the edge of her lips.
“I want a little more than an autograph. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do all that!”
You had to rethink your life choices for a moment. Your face fell for a moment, but there was a shocked smile on your face. People. People were crazy. Well, you were crazy too but respectfully.
“He has a girlfriend.”
“What?”
“He has a girlfriend.”
The girl brought a hand to her mouth and gasped, though the sound was deafened by the sound of Gareth starting the drums. She tilted her head to the side, a smile still present on her lips.
“Is she here?”
“Excuse me?”
She looked around, “Is the girlfriend here tonight?”
What the fuck. Ah, no. No, no, no, no, no. Estás a un segundo de agarrarla de los pelos y revolearla por todo el bar. You took a deep breath in. Out. Breathe. Breathe. Everything is okay. Okay. Everything’s okay. Okay.
You raised your fingers before pointing at the bar, “I’m gonna get a drink.”
And without another word, you walked back to your rightful spot by your new girl friend. The bartender offered you a sympathetic look as she took in your tired face. Her hands dutifully cleaned the glass she was holding. You asked for another drink, and she gladly made it for you.
“Long night?”
You laughed sourly, “Long week.”
“Feel you there.”
The woman passed the glass to you and you began to swirl the liquid with your straw. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here. You were tired, after all. You could be at home right now. Curled up in your warm bed with a book in hand. Waiting like a poor wife for her husband to come back from war. Podrías fingir demencia y volver a casa.
It wasn’t the first time someone tried to hit on Eddie in front of your face. You remembered the first time it happened; it didn’t happen at a bar. Or at any club of the sort. It happened in a small shop near the mall. They sold alternative clothes, mostly. Some worn jeans there, chains here. They even had battle vests that Eddie loved to ramble to the shop keeper about. Something about offering some of his patches or vice versa. You were particularly fond of the band shirts and jewelry.
It was a normal day. An average, all-day date. You and Eddie were always attached to the hip. It was only natural that you’d even go shopping together. And your boyfriend really wanted to show you the cool new punk kid running his new favorite store.
It was interesting. You liked that. You liked meeting people like that. The new punk kid liked you. And you hit it off right away. Hell, he was so invested in your relationship with Eddie that he invented a couple’s discount just for you. Perks of being so in love. But then someone fluttered into the room, the whimsical curtains attached to the door leading to the backroom swaying as she stepped in. And surely, she looked straight out of a Tim Burton’s movie. You couldn’t deny that.
“This is my sister,” the cool new punk kid gestured at her.
That bitch didn’t even glance at you. That’s when it immediately rubbed you the wrong way. Her hand directly stretched towards Eddie.
“I’m Nicole. It’s nice to meet you."
Eddie was fighting his inner demons because why was this girl using the same tone you use when you’re together? Is she flirting? He has no idea how people flirt. It’s just a guess. It’s like intuition. And his intuition tells him that something is terribly wrong. Your eyes tell him something is wrong.
He laughed nervously as he lightly shook her hand, “Eddie. Resident freak?” He murmured. Lost.
Nicole grinned, “You have such a strong hand.”
It took you a second to drag Eddie out of the door. Fuming out of your ears. And you swore (the threat didn’t last, though) that neither of you would step in that shop ever again. Eddie whined and clinged onto you the whole week. Making you laugh. Swoon. Fall in love with him over and over again. The thought made you smile. Your Eddie.
“You’re smiley again,” the woman behind the counter noted.
You couldn’t help but grin at her. But you had nothing to say. There wasn’t anything to say.
Your eyes caught sight of Jeff and the bassist making their way down the stairs. The thought of finally dragging Eddie back home to sleep made your insides all flutter. The wild curls of hair swayed as he rushed down, cackling with his friends. That was the life he deserved.
But then. Flash! Miss Groupie strikes again.
She was the first face Eddie saw the moment he put a foot down on the weathered wood. You couldn’t hear what she was saying. But you didn’t need ears to see that she was practically climbing all over him. Manicured fingers around his bicep. Batting her pretty eyelashes at him. At some point, she pressed her tits to his ribs. Eddie tried to step away, forcing her to give him some minimum amount of space. His brows furrowed as he tried really hard to smile through it. But the girl continued and continued and continued. Pedazo de pesada.
“Yo la mato,” you murmured, bewildered by the determination of mankind.
The bartender folded her arms on the counter and watched everything unfold. This was the telenovela of a lifetime for her.
You immediately jumped from your seat. The heavy clicks of your shoes are practically giant thuds over the idle music in the bar.
You stepped in between the two of them. If your face didn’t say enough–
“Go away.”
The girl raised a brow and tilted her shoulders back. A challenge. Oh. So she wanted a challenge?
“What do you want? Can’t you see he’s busy? You’re not his mom, y’know.”
Your eyes darted to Eddie. He shook his head, looking at you as if you were the devil incarnate. You looked back at the girl. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
“His girlfriend doesn’t need to know. Who are you to say what he wants?”
You blinked, and your fingers were suddenly wrapped around the girl’s throat. Your thumb and index finger practically digged into the sides below her jaw. Your free hand slid to the nape of her neck, pulling her head down until you had her head in a lock. You looked shocked yourself. The girl screamed and tried to squirm away, already trying to reach for your knees. You simply kicked her shin until she dropped to her knees.
Eddie forced himself out of his shock before rushing to your side.
“That was enough, baby– let her go.”
You looked at him. He didn’t seem scared of you. If anything, he was conspiring with you. He was on your side. He would always be. You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Please. Please. It’s not worth it.”
Yeah, it wasn’t worth it. Your eyes lingered on the girl. So cocky to get into someone’s pants. You felt pity. Pity and pride. Because fuck this girl. Eventually you let her go.
But Miss Groupie wouldn’t let herself be embarrassed any further. Her nails immediately reached for your face. And before you could fully lean back, Gareth grabbed the girl’s wrists and pushed them down. Eddie had his arms around you in a second, taking a step back. The drummer, who had always been at your service (even if begrudgingly) since you became a constant in both Hellfire and Corroded, pulled the girl away. He called security, and the rest was for tomorrow’s gossip during dinner.
Eddie guided you outside, a hand on your back. It was freezing! It took him a shiver before draping his vest on your shoulders.
Silence. Silence as he opened the passenger door for you. Silence for those two seconds you were alone in his van. Then he climbed inside.
The two of you sat in silence as you thought about everything that had happened tonight. The excitement of being on stage, despite the small audience, being with his friends, then…
“... you’ve never done that before.”
You huffed.
“¿Y qué querés que haga cuando tenes a una boluda colgandote del brazo?"
Eddie turned to you, reaching a hand to yours. “Sweetheart... English, please...”
The breathy sound of his plea made you soften immediately. You turned to face him too. You tried again.
“I didn’t like that. Her.”
He nodded, subtly trying to get closer. The console always got in the way.
“I didn’t like her either.”
Memories of the stranger throwing herself at him, his discomfort clear as day, made your blood boil.
“She didn’t… didn’t read the room.”
His hand rose to your cheek. His fingertips caressed the side of your face. His eyes were gentle as he looked at you.
“Mm,” was all he could let out.
You sighed, surrendering. You immediately leaned into his hand.
“Are you okay?”
That made him snort.
“You got into a fight tonight. I should be asking you that.”
Your face made him shut up.
“I’m serious, Eddie. Are you okay?”
It took him a few seconds to recover from that. You were just so beautiful. Even in your flurry of anger and protectiveness, you were the sweetest creature to have ever lived. Your eyes were full of regret, and he could see that. He could hear it in your voice. How much guilt you held. You never acted like this. You really must have been at your limit. Eddie grimaced at the thought. He should’ve told you to stay home. To brew some tea. Your favorite. To cuddle up under the covers with your favorite stuffie and a book. Promise you that he’d be back before 1 AM.
He was killing himself with these thoughts. You would be the end of him one day.
His hand drifted to the back of your neck. He couldn’t wait to put a ring on your finger. Have him paint the picket fences white as you sipped on lemonade and read your stories. Make those mates he knows and you love. Laugh because he can't make a montañita right.
“I love you.”
You almost jumped back.
“Eddie–”
“I love you.”
A lovesick grin grew on his lips, and he leaned in to press it against your forehead. You tried to stay strong. He kissed your cheek. A small smile.
“There she is… There she goes…”
Your knight in shining armor wrapped his arms loosely around your body as he leaned over the consoler. Not giving a damn about anything but you. He kissed you silly, until your whole face was smothered with his kisses.
“My little firecracker. My personal body guard!”
There was a roll in your eyes that hedidn’t quite catch. He was too enamored by you to think at all.
“You know, if me and the guys make it far, we’re gonna need security.”
You lightly jabbed his ribs, a smirk on your lips.
“Callate, nene.”
“Oof! Spicy!”
You huffed and pushed him back to his seat.
The drive back home was inevitably soft. His hand massaging your thigh as he fought hard to keep his eyes on the road. You couldn't wait to jump into bed with him.
And it was better than you imagined. You practically forced Eddie to lay his head on the silk-sheeted pillow you got just for him.
“Why must we be so far apart?” He pouted playfully, a hand over his chest.
“Shut up and sleep.”
“No.”
“Eddie…”
You sighed as you crawled over him. Like a weighted blanket, you lay all over him. Your cheek rested on his chest. His hands skimmed your back until he rested them between your shoulder blades.
A comfortable silence enveloped you. A silence that you didn't mind letting be. With this little nerd right under you. Where he liked to be, he'd say.
He wanted forever with you. And tonight just made it even more clear.
"She deserved it, though."
"Yeah, she did."
a/n: tysm for reading!! also not against hook up culture as a concept, you do what you wanna do. just wrap it b4 you tap it!! and dont go pass basic boundaries!!! but anyways,, tell me what you think!! :D
Thinking of Mizu with a fairycore!reader who changes Mizu's life without meaning to.
You always did your best to dress the way you wanted. It was difficult to actively choose to be yourself, having to quiet down your anxieties and second thoughts. But even when your flame diminished, you always found a way to inspire yourself back to full strength.
You got into niche hobbies. Little things that interested you. Like making earrings, for one. You loved finding cute trinkets to add to your ears. Sometimes, they were sparkling gems. Other times, they were bright and colorful. You also enjoyed painting mini-figures. A friend of yours ran a D&D campaign, and you specifically built your character to resemble who you represent. A fairy. And yeah, it might seem a little whimsical, and you truly didn't believe that you'd ever be a real fairy, but surrounding yourself with these activities and fashion truly made you happy.
Your first interaction with Mizu was in a bookstore. There was barely any activity at that moment, and you decided to risk it all for that gem on the upper shelves. You stepped onto the bottom shelf for leverage and began to climb up. Let's just say that Mizu was right in time before the whole book rack came tumbling down and squishing you against the floor.
You wanted to make up for troubling her and invited her to tea. Because you were running late to tea, and for you, it was sacred. Mizu reluctantly agreed. Not every day she sees a stranger that came out of a fantasy book.
You two sit by the window as you sip on your order. Mizu, on the other hand, preferred tea. Earl grey tea, was it? That was pretty good… and you began to talk.
"You know, I went to England once. Bath, do you know about that place? It's where Jane Austen used to live when she wrote 'Pride and Prejudice'. The book is said to be inspired by that exact town. That's also where the Roman baths are! And right around the corner, there's a tea shop—"
Mizu didn't know whether she was enchanted by you, or plain up wanted you to shut up. Maybe both. Maybe she didn't mind how you talked. You had a certain… voice. Yes. Quite poetic. A voice. But really. You were something else entirely. And Mizu wanted to know more.
She only gave faint nods when the time was right. Murmured affirmations as you looked at her, expecting her to follow through. And at some point, she felt your light weaken.
"I'm probably boring you, huh?
Mizu shook her head. Her blue eyes began to analyze you from below your bust, where she could see and up to your hair.
"Keep going."
And you did. You did for several years. Until she found the courage to properly invite you to a date. A date appropriate for your refined taste.
First, she took you to a bookstore. One you had been going on about for ages now. She was a statue as she waited for you to return from your gawking. And even then, she'd murmur a small "Keep looking. I'm paying," as you'd show her your findings.
Next, she walked you through one of the city's parks. By this point in your relationship, you had a little book club arranged with her. Every two weeks, she picked a book to read. Mostly historical or other classics. Sharp and dangerous, just like she strived to be. In your eyes, she was a cuddly little teddy bear. It made you smile. The different sides of her. When you brought up your own stories, Mizu listened intently. You always tried to buy her into reading them, but Mizu was already sold to your interests since the first time she saw you.
She'd find a comfortable spot under a tree and lay a blanket on the grass. Far away from people. It's not like there was any commotion, but she preferred only being able to listen to you. And you talked. Talked about your new books she bought you, talked about the book you had to read for that week's club session. Your smile was the only thing she worked hard for. It meant she was doing a good job.
When the sun began to set, Mizu walked you back home. And perhaps she took a detour on purpose to run into a market she knew you'd like. They sold whimsical belts, handmade paper, and even little beads for your future projects. You couldn't thank her enough. When you clinged to her neck, she wrapped her arms smoothly around your waist. And just like that, Mizu, as you knew her, had softened around the edges.
You made her appreciate life more. Mizu didn't know how to ever repay you.
a/n : blue eye samurai in the big 2025. I LOVE MIZU SM
content warnings : none aside hints of what happens in the Hunger Games. spoilers for the ballads of songbirds and snakes (?)
The moment Lucy Gray stepped off of that train, you scooped her right into your arms.
You couldn't even process her own hugs, let alone the kisses she pressed to your forehead. The only thing you knew was that she was back. Back and alive.
You watched her for all of those days. You had to pay a neighbor healing plants in order to get a screen to keep tabs on Lucy Gray. Every single step. Every single breath. You were not on the edge of your seat. You were sitting right under the television. Waiting. Hoping. Singing under your breath. That maybe she'd be back. Maybe she'd come back. Maybe she would hold on to life for just a little longer.
Lucy Gray cupped your jaw and pushed your head backward. Your eyes landed on her deep, oak-colored eyes. Her sunburnt skin. The curls that framed her face. You never doubted once in your life that she was anything but your forever person. Your whole wisdom, hers, patched onto your heart. She was the string that held your everything together by the seams. Your chest softened as she smiled at you.
"I thought you were a goner," your voice cracked.
Her thumbs ran below your eyes, "I didn't know you thought so lowly of me."
Underneath the smiles, you both knew that there was much worse to think about. To talk about even. Because you were glad she was alive. Of course you did. But it didn't take away the cost of her victory. Neither did it negate the cost of the games itself.
You were tender. She was spitfire.
Her eyes told stories of characters whose lives you couldn't even begin to comprehend. What you once learned throughout your years with the Covey were in vain under the weight of her eyes. And for once, you felt breathless.
"I… I paid Mrs. Vulpes to let me gawk at the the new screen. Sometimes I had to– had to listen to the radio–"
"My love."
She silenced your worries in record time. Tears wet her skin, and you wanted to squeeze her so tightly. Lucy Gray let out a choked chuckle, coming deep from her heart. And the rest was history.
The Covey had arranged a small picnic by the fence to the woods. Your hand was firm around hers as you guided her back to her home. The slippers you bought just for her were barely visible under her torned dress.
The rest of the Covey were anxiously waiting for her arrival. When you watched Lucy Gray open the door, you didn't expect hundreds of arms wrapping around her tightly so soon. It brought light to your face. She was finally home.
It was a bittersweet feeling. More sweet than bitter, if you let yourself be greedy. Your eyes stayed glued to her frame as you walked behind the Covey, happily carrying their instruments. Not even your heavy breaths from the long walk could distract you. Lucy Gray was home. There were terrible things to worry about, sure. But you have killed yourself over and over these past few days. The least you could do was let yourself rest.
The sun was heavy as you settled by the lake. You neatly leaned the guitar and banjo against a rock, the rest set on a colorful blanket on the ground. You sat beside them as you watched everyone settle down.
A hand on your shoulder blade made you jump.
"I didn't see you there."
"Don't think you'll get rid of me that easily."
Lucy Gray came down beside you, part of her dress draping over your legs. She held onto your shoulders as she looked at you.
Nothing ever in her lifetime could have prepared her for the Hunger Games. She could try to think of a blue memory to compare it to, but no. She truly did not feel like thinking of anything anymore. The lack of color in her life once she was reaped nearly killed her. The lack of Covey made her hope dwindle. The lack of you felt like a lack of fresh air.
Her hand trailed to your cheek as your hand met her elbow.
Your spitfire's eyes began to tremble. You knew how difficult it was for her to let herself be vulnerable like this. And after everything that's happened, you know she had to learn to push herself past the limit.
You didn't say anything until the second tear ran down. Your hands looked around her body as you slowly guided her to your chest. She held you tightly, the sounds coming out of her suffocating. You murmured right into her hair.
"You're home. You're home. My strawflower…"
You decorated her forehead in your own kisses. Lucy Gray was the embodiment of living. You simply bestowed your breath at the altar of her artistry.
She sobbed into your shoulder. The sound made your chest ache. Your hand dragged up and down her spine. You kissed her ear softly.
"You're back home. You're safe."
You gently guided her to look at you. The streaks of tears sparkled under the sunlight flashing from the trees. You rubbed her cheek before bringing your forehead to hers.
You could spend a lifetime thanking whoever was beyond your control for giving you another chance with the girl of your dreams. But if that person truly exists, why didn't they save her from the pain? Why didn't they protect the Districts from bloodshed?
You decided to thank Lucy Gray. Thank her for being so strong. Thank her for everything she teaches you without knowing. And most of all, thank her for loving so freely.
If there's anything Lucy Gray taught you, it was how to love life. Thorns included.
She squeezed her arms around your neck, her broken breathing finally easing.
Lucy Gray swallowed the leftover helplessness in her mouth. She breathed deeply. The forest. They were in the forest. In the forest, by the lake. Surrounded by family. Back home. In your arms.
You stayed in place for a moment. Only listening to her breathing and the breeze that hit the trees every once in a while.
"I love you."
You couldn't help but chuckle, your free hand slipping into her dark, curly hair.
"I love you too."
a/n: very proud of this one tbh! whenever I write for the Hunger Games, I want to slip into this kind of writing. I feel it differently from my usual stuff. Paying it extra respect, y’know? Let me know what you think!!^^
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