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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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trying on a metaphor
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will byers stan first human second
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@pr3ttyinfall
fic recs!
(all fics are x reader; specific characters below the cut)
╰┈➤ all time favourites! <3
╰┈➤ smut recs! 18+ ONLY
please respect the writers and do not interact with any content marked 18+ if you are a minor, thank you!
H’s fic rec list - Rick Grimes
A collection of my favourite fic recs - the ⭐️ are my highly rated ones. Favourite of favourites!
that was far too long - @etclouie fluff
you like that? - @imyourbratzdoll smut⭐️
a little tenderness- @sc3ptre fluff
sweet dreams - @16ferrari smut
the fall - @midnight0bubbles angst⭐️
sweetheart - @virginsexgod69 smut
gossip- @lilgoblinbitch fluff
kiss his tears - @jamesdeanbby angst
sleep aid by @bambisworlds smut ⭐️
everyone knows I’m a good girl officer - @hornyboygirl smut
Bartender! - @sadslay fluff
safe with me - @aureateink angst
sheriff by @b1eedthefreak smut
bed and breakfast series - @tinytownn mixed ⭐️
three days too long - @inthe-dark-tonight smut
the other woman - @biscuitbox23 fluff
over a tree stump - @dadchasr smut!⭐️
good o’ love - @wintrynighr fluff
damned- @rickydoodahgrimez smut⭐️
mocked - @imyourbratzdoll angst ⭐️
free use - @dilflover66669 smut ⭐️
wanting you series @stuckinthesun mixed
if you’re gonna sin - @beaangel smut
simple things - @itsmeatballworld fluff
no back talk - @dollfacefantasy smut⭐️
hypnotic - @youleftmenochoicebut fluff
mean!rick - @heavenly-reaper smut!⭐️
begin again - @1800-fight-me angst
yummy!rick - @blushhbambi smut !⭐️
time - @myanmy fluff
just a little - @kittyminion smut!⭐️
sticky note - @ficnation fluff
just watch - @catt-leya smut
cookies and kisses - @sarawrrrrispunk fluff
a nice surprise - @officergrimesloml smut⭐️
Hush - @twd-bee3 smut ⭐️
the lakes series - @kyrasworldd mixed ⭐️
You Are My Sunshine
Rick Grimes x Fem!Reader
Rick thought he had lost his daughter — and the woman he loved — until he saw them standing in the middle of the road.
The Walking Dead Masterlist
The first night it was just you and the baby, you didn’t cry.
You wanted to.
God, you wanted to.
But Judith was already crying enough for the both of you.
The smoke from the prison still felt like it was in your lungs. The fences had fallen. The gunshots. The screaming. The chaos of running and losing sight of people in the trees.
Rick had been ahead of you.
Then he wasn’t.
Then no one was.
And suddenly it was just you— and Judith.
You held her tight against your chest as you ran. She was so small. So warm. Too quiet at first. Then too loud.
“Shh,” you whispered breathlessly as you ducked behind a fallen tree. “I know, baby. I know.”
The woods felt endless.
Walkers groaned somewhere in the distance.
You pressed your forehead to hers, heart hammering. You didn’t know where Rick was. Didn’t know if he was alive. Didn’t know if anyone was.
All you knew was this:
Judith was.
And that meant you had to be.
You adjusted her in your arms and stood again.
“Okay,” you murmured, swallowing your fear. “It’s just us.”
—
The days blurred together.
You learned how to balance her weight while holding a knife in your other hand. Learned how to move quietly even when she whimpered. Learned which abandoned houses still had formula and which ones had already been stripped clean.
You barely slept.
When you did, it was sitting upright against a wall, Judith tucked against your chest, your arm wrapped around her like a shield.
You stopped talking much.
Stopped thinking too far ahead.
It was easier that way.
You didn’t let yourself imagine Rick dead.
But you didn’t let yourself imagine him alive either.
Hope was dangerous.
One afternoon, you found an old farmhouse with a working rocking chair on the porch.
You hadn’t meant to stay long.
But Judith was restless.
And you were so, so tired.
You sank into the chair, boots still on, knife within reach, and adjusted her against you. She squirmed, face scrunching as she started to cry again.
Your heart cracked a little.
“I know,” you whispered, brushing your fingers gently over her cheek. “I know, sweetheart.”
You didn’t even realize you were singing at first.
It just slipped out of you, quiet and soft.
“You are my sunshine… my only sunshine…”
The wind moved through the fields beyond the porch.
“You make me happy… when skies are gray…”
Judith’s cries began to fade.
“You’ll never know, dear… how much I love you…”
Your voice trembled slightly, but you kept going.
“Please don’t take my sunshine away…”
By the end, Judith was quiet.
Her tiny hand curled into the fabric of your shirt.
You closed your eyes for just a moment.
It was just you and her now.
And if that’s all the world had left for you, then you would protect it.
No matter what.
—
When you found Tyreese and Carol, you almost didn’t believe it was real.
Tyreese froze when he saw you step out from the trees, Judith bundled tightly in your arms.
For a split second, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Judith?” he breathed.
You nodded, throat tight. “She’s alive.”
The relief that crossed his face nearly knocked you over.
Carol moved forward slowly, her sharp eyes scanning you first— making sure you weren’t bitten, weren’t bleeding.
Then she looked at Judith.
“She’s been with you this whole time?” Carol asked quietly.
You nodded again.
“It’s just been us.”
Tyreese stepped closer carefully, like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast.
“She’s strong,” he said softly.
You looked down at her sleeping face.
“No,” you whispered. “She’s just stubborn.”
They shared a look.
The three of you stayed together after that.
But even then, even with them beside you, it still felt like it was just you and Judith.
You were the one who woke when she cried.
The one who fed her.
The one who sang to her.
You didn’t mean to drift from the others.
You just… didn’t know how to be anything else anymore.
—
Rick had stopped allowing himself to hope.
After Terminus. After the train car. After the blood and fire and escape.
He had held it together for Carl.
But when he thought about Judith—
When he thought about you—
His chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside.
He saw you both in his sleep.
Saw you running.
Saw walkers closing in.
Saw himself arriving too late.
He hadn’t told anyone that part.
Hadn’t told Carl that some nights he woke up convinced he had failed you both.
Again.
So when they reached that stretch of road and saw figures ahead—
Rick didn’t breathe.
He saw Tyreese first.
Then Carol.
Then—
You.
You were standing in the middle of the road, thinner than before. Dirt streaked across your face. Hair pulled back messily.
Judith was in your arms.
Alive.
Rick stopped walking.
His heart stuttered painfully in his chest.
You turned.
Your eyes met his.
For a second, neither of you moved.
You looked like you didn’t believe it either.
Then Judith made a small sound.
And that broke whatever invisible barrier was between you.
Rick ran.
He didn’t think. Didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care about pride or composure.
He reached you in seconds, hands coming up to cradle your face.
“You’re alive,” he breathed.
You let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh.
“You’re alive,” you whispered back.
Judith squirmed between you, tiny hands grabbing at his shirt.
Rick’s eyes flicked down to her.
And he lost it.
A broken sound left his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours.
“I thought—” He couldn’t even finish.
You shook your head quickly, tears spilling now. “She’s okay. She’s okay.”
Rick’s hands slid from your face to the back of your neck as he pulled you into him.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like he had almost lost you and couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again.
You clutched at his shirt with one hand, the other still steadying Judith between you.
When he pulled back, his hands were shaking.
He looked down at his daughter again.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Hey, little one.”
Judith stared up at him.
Alive.
Warm.
Real.
Rick pressed his lips to the top of her head.
Then he looked at you.
Really looked at you.
And something in his expression shifted.
You hadn’t just survived.
You had protected his daughter.
You had kept her alive.
And he would never forget that.
—
Alexandria felt unreal at first.
Walls.
Running water.
Beds.
For weeks, you kept Judith’s things packed.
You slept lightly.
Knife under the pillow.
But slowly, the quiet began to feel less threatening.
One afternoon, Rick stepped into the house and stopped at the sound of soft singing.
He followed it down the hall.
Judith was crying in the nursery.
And you were there.
Rocking her gently in your arms, swaying slightly near the window where golden sunlight filtered through the curtains.
“You are my sunshine… my only sunshine…”
Rick leaned against the doorway silently.
“You make me happy… when skies are gray…”
Judith’s cries softened.
“You’ll never know, dear… how much I love you…”
Your voice was steady.
Soft.
“Please don’t take my sunshine away…”
Rick felt something warm and aching bloom in his chest.
He watched the way Judith’s tiny fingers curled into your shirt.
The way your cheek brushed against her hair.
The way you looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
And he realized something that both terrified and steadied him at the same time.
He didn’t just see you as the woman who survived with his daughter.
He saw you as family.
As home.
As the future.
Judith’s eyes drifted closed.
You kept humming softly.
Rick stepped into the room quietly.
You looked up, surprised.
He didn’t say anything at first.
He just reached out and brushed his knuckles gently along Judith’s tiny arm.
“She likes that song,” he murmured.
You smiled faintly. “It calms her.”
He looked at you instead of her.
“It calms me too.”
Your breath caught slightly.
Rick hesitated.
Then he said, voice low and thoughtful,
“You ever think about… more?”
You tilted your head. “More?”
He swallowed.
“A family,” he clarified softly.
Your heart skipped.
You glanced down at Judith, then back up at him.
“We already are one,” you said gently.
Rick stepped closer.
His hand came up, resting carefully at your waist.
“I know,” he said. “I just… when I see you with her…”
He trailed off.
You searched his face.
“When you see me with her what?”
His thumb brushed slowly against your side.
“I see somethin’ I didn’t think I’d ever have again.”
Your throat tightened.
“And what’s that?”
Rick leaned his forehead against yours.
“Hope.”
Silence settled between you.
Judith slept peacefully in your arms.
Outside, Alexandria was quiet.
Safe.
Rick pressed a soft kiss to your lips this time— nothing desperate, nothing frantic.
Just certain.
“You’re my sunshine,” he murmured quietly.
Your chest warmed.
“You and her both.”
And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something to fear.
It felt like something to build.
Together.
Oh to be a girl in the 80s waiting for her boyfriend to climb through her window is my dream
He just looks so warm and welcoming
Girlhood is trying to figure out which fictional man you wanna read a fic abt before bed
★┊[ first impressions
aka… you, meeting a strange, familiar group of people
warnings ~ none, fluff ig? teenage awkwardness, probs some minor inconsistencies, I havent watched this scene in a fat minute
w/c ~ 1600+
── .✦ a/n ~ i cant believe its taken me THIS LONG to write for mockingbird!reader...
Birds sing their songs all around you, chirping light melodies that remind you of home.
Life in Alexandria is easy, to say the least. You’re fed every day, given activities to keep you occupied, and there are other kids your age here; there are walls surrounding you on all sides, keeping the bad stuff out — but also you in — what more could you want in an apocalypse?
Selfishly, you desire so much more than what you’ve been given.
As you wander about the streets, your mind drifts from thought to thought, until it inevitably lingers on one thing: outside.
You come upon the main gate, eyes now locked on it.
How you wish to be out there again.
You begin walking away, determined not to dwell on that for another moment. Any time you think of life before all this — free, wild, and uniquely your own — you get this feeling in your stomach. It's almost bittersweet, but not quite. More like a longing, despite the fact the object of your yearning isn’t too far from your reach.
That train of thought is interrupted by a loud bang.
You whip your head around, only to see a group of roughly ten people making their way into the area through the main gate. There’s even a baby, being held by a man with a gnarly beard.
You dash away, hiding behind a fence, peaking out just barely to watch.
It isn’t long before Deanna comes along, greeting the newcomers.
That’s when you recognize them.
They’re the prison group.
Just a handful of months ago — what was it, seven? — the Governor had tried to destroy them, leaving you to fend for yourself in the wild. It wasn’t necessarily the worst, being free from his captivity. You hate how you long for a lack of protection.
Most faces are familiar to you. You can’t actually name most of their real names, save for Michonne and Rick, but you can remember your nicknames for those whose names you didn’t know: Crossbow, Nana, Lovebird, Ginger, Cowboy, and Strawberry Shortcake. Not the most creative, if you saw who they belonged to.
There are seven faces you don’t know, and two missing since the last time you saw their group: Grandpa and Sweetheart. You can only assume what happened.
And now they’re all going to live by you. You’ll know their real names.
It makes you wonder what their life has been like in the past few months, since The Governor tried to kill them all and Woodbury fell. You spent your time on road, running from The Undead and starving most days, up until you found Alexandria. Were they safe, you ask yourself. Where were they living? Were they on the run, too?
These thoughts stick with you until you get into bed that night. You stare at the ceiling, pondering all sorts of things. Especially about the youngest boy of the new group; Cowboy, you’d creatively nicknamed him months ago. You don’t know his actual name, or anything about him, but he intrigued you.
Your sleep, as per usual, isn’t very well.
When you can’t hear the crickets chirping, and the gentle kiss of the breeze against trees, you’re stuck wide awake.
Morning comes, and you’re quick to dress for a day outside the walls.
The sun has barely risen by the time you’ve slung yourself over the wall. You know Enid — the only other teenage girl you’ve seen since the apocalypse began — comes out here sometimes.
What you don’t expect, however, is for another visitor to trail behind her.
You’d been walking as you normally do, taking in the fresh air and comforting sounds, when you hear a twig snap behind you.
You whip your head around, and catch the gaze of Cowboy. You still don’t know his real name.
“What are you doing out here?” You blurt. It sounds hypocritical, you know it the moment the words leave your lips. He scowls at you.
“What are you doing out here?” He has you with that.
“Walking.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Now it’s your turn to scowl.
“What’s so wrong with walking?” You ask.
“It’s dangerous! Do you not know that? There are Walkers out here. starving and ready to eat your face off.” His tone is an odd mix of calm and angry, which shouldn’t even be possible. You wonder if he’s always like this, if he’s been like this, even before everything.
“I know damn well how dangerous it is, but I also know how to defend myself.” Your voice is hardly raised; not mad, but confused. He rolls his eyes. “Plus, you’re out here!” You continue.
“Yeah, keeping idiots like you from dying.” The boy scoffs, gesturing to you. Clearly, he doesn’t see you as being equipped to take care of yourself.
It’s annoying.
“Who even are you, anyways?” You add.
Once again, he rolls his eyes and scoffs. He’s got a lot of attitude.
“Carl Grimes.”
“So you’re that Rick Grimes’ kid.”
“How do you know my dad?”
You fall silent. You only know his father from what went down with The Governor, but you don’t know if it would be a good idea to tell him. After all the man did try to kill all of them.
“I asked you a question.” Jesus, this kid has got to get his attitude in check.
“You knew The Governor, right?” You watch the dots begin to connect behind his eyes, how you know that bad man, and the whole ordeal with Woodbury.
“You were with him? You were on his side when he did all that?!”
“I never said I was on his side, just that I knew him!” You retort.
“He completely upended us! He killed Hershel, pulled a whole damn tank on us, he—” Carl stops, fuming, panting slightly. “He nearly got us all killed. Because of him, we lost Hershel, we lost Beth, we lost…” He trails off.
“I— I didn’t know he did all that. Just that he locked me inside all day and wanted you guys dead. When Woodbury fell, I was alone again.”
You stare at each other, him reading you and you reading him. He sees confusion and pain. You see anger.
It isn’t unexpected, him being angry. You’ve just admitted to technically being complicit in his home being destroyed. You’d be angry, too. He’s now somewhere unfamiliar, with people he can’t trust.
Kinda like you.
“How’d you meet The Governor?” Carl suddenly blurts. “Why were you ‘stuck inside’ like you said?”
You glance away. The breeze brushes your face, a tender caress that contrasts what you’re now thinking about: The Governor, once more.
You look back on your life with him. The way he found you, alone, and promised to keep you safe. He said he’s give you warmth, hospitality, and everything you could ever want. Surprisingly, he gave only the opposite.
“I first met him three months in. I’d been alone by then, for a while. He found me on the side of the road. He told me I didn’t deserve to be left like this, that what I did deserve was a home. So, he took me back to Woodbury.”
You take a breath, now noticing how you and Carl fell into step together, waltzing along a dense pathway.
“Back then, it was smaller. The walls were still up, but they weren’t as fortified. We also didn’t have as many people. It was awful nice, honestly. Looking back, I can see how naive I was. I kinda miss it.
“Anyways, it wasn’t long before he grew to be a tyrant. The power really got to him. He told me I was safer inside, that even stepping one foot out of his house would be too dangerous. Suddenly, I could hardly remember what the sun looked like, the songs the birds sang every morning. I forgot the smell of fresh air — and I was convinced I couldn’t physically do that.”
You laugh at that. You’d spent so much time outside, in your own little world, you’d had the scent engraved into your nose. You didn’t know a person could forget something they’d spent their whole life knowing.
“When he tried taking over your prison, and Woodbury fell, I was left on my own again. I didn’t hate it. After only a couple months on the road, I found Alexandria.”
Your footsteps come to a stop then. You finally glance up, meeting Carl’s gaze, and for a split second, you see interest in his eyes. Maybe even admiration. But it’s only a split second before it’s gone, quickly smoothed over by feigned coolness.
“I didn’t know that’s what happened.” He confesses.
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Carl stops, readjusting his cowboy hat on his head. “We better get back. It isn’t safe out here.”
“You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
He stares at you, frustration pooling in his eyes and furrowing his brow. But, for once, instead of arguing, he simply scoffs and turns away.
You listen intently to the sound of his boots crunching against the forest floor, as it slowly fades away the further he walks. Your mind quickly goes back to the beginning of your interaction, how unusually mad he’d been that you were out here. He didn’t have a reason to care, so why did he?
You didn’t dwell on it too long, for a growl that could only come from a familiar, Undead being reaches your ears.
You can’t whip your head around fast enough, and are met with two lifeless eyes.
This is it.
Somehow, this is the end, you think—
— until a knife sinks into its skull with a sick sound.
When it collapses, there Carl is, huffing, anger evident on his face.
“You’re coming back with me,” He spits, and you don’t argue.
[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @only-lonely-star @itonlyhastobetruetoday @alyssat-t @ofallihaveconsumed @reminisce-me @innernightmarementality — send a dm or ask to be added or removed! ]
fun fact
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: You came in to work every day with a fun fact, determined to catch the BAU's genius with one that he wouldn't know (friends to lovers, co-workers to lovers, mutual feelings, fluff, confession)
Note: my spencer reid debut fic <3 sorry if there are any inaccuracy, just started rewatching after 3 years
Word count: 10.9k (sorry)
Realest shit I’ve seen
Phantom Life
synopsis ٠࣪⭑ you were captured by a Djinn and now you’re mourning a life that wasn’t real
contents ٠࣪⭑ Dean Winchester x reader (f), non-explicit, age gap implied cause why not?? innocent/shy!reader implied, mentions having curly hair (can totally be ignored, it was entirely self-indulgent), soft angst, unrequited love (but it’s actually not), yearning!dean, 3.8k word count
notes ٠࣪⭑ This is my first ever fic, please be kind (constructive feedback welcome). I actually had a lot of fun writing this, it was just for myself but I liked it so much that I decided to share it! Also sorry if the lores not right, I haven’t watched the Djinn eps in a min and I was too lazy to confirm every detail
It was days after the Djinn case. The one that had Dean scouring some nowhere town like a madman looking for you, his chest twisting with guilt, the fact you were taken right under his nose settles like an incurable chill in his bones. But it was possibly worse seeing you there, hanging by tied up wrists, body limp and frail, the tube of the blood bag sticking out of your arm like you’re some monster's prepped and ready buffet.
Sure, you were alive and he didn’t have to wonder anymore, but the sight didn’t serve as much of a relief.
Dean cradled your bruised frame so gently in his arms, despite the rage and worry clinging to his insides, as he and Sam took you down. Murmured apologies leaving his lips as he carried you back to the impala, not caring if his little brother or your half out-of-it self can hear him, all he cares about right now is you.
The days following were quiet, you’d tried to bounce back, really tried— but the illusive life promised to you by the Djinn, plagued every thought and every moment of every day.
You could still feel the comfortable weight of the ring on your finger, the feeling of Dean’s rough hands gently caressing your soft skin, you could still hear the sounds of peace and cicadas becoming the soundtrack to your life, only being interrupted by the sweet giggles and babbling of your baby. A baby girl, named Layla Mary Winchester, Dean didn’t even have to convince you to name your first child after an old rock song, you loved it the second he suggested it.
She was all Dean, from the green hue of her eyes, to the freckles on her nose, the plump and pink little lips that could make any grown woman jealous, and the devious little smirk they wore, but the hair, that was all you— her ringlets almost so perfect it’s as if God hand curled them around His own finger. You could see how Dean's face went all soft whenever he touched her hair, so reverently, his mind no doubt going back to the first time he ran his hand through your curls.
You could still remember bath times and teaching Dean how to do pig tails after he failed horribly the first time. You can still smell the home cooked meals mixed with the strong scent of motor oil and that sweet sweat that clung to Dean's skin after working on the car all afternoon, under the warm sun. You’d gotten used to telling him to wash his hands before picking up Layla or trying to steal a bite of whatever was on the stove.
Layla clung to him anyway, that was probably what you missed most. The way Dean had looked at this little version of the both of you with so much love, the way he was always so gentle with her but also teaching her to be tough without dismissing that softness that came from her mother, he’d held her when she cried and contorted his features into the stupidest faces just to hear her laugh.
Stop it, you had to remind yourself, because none of it was real.
Dean wasn’t yours, you didn’t have a cozy little house in a rural area, there was no dancing to oldies on Sunday mornings, no bedtime stories or nap time cuddles, there were no rings or kisses or home cooked meals. It was just another cruel form of torture in your horror-filled lives, one a monster cooked up just for you.
You hate to even think it, but you almost wished Sam and Dean had never found you… just so you could stay in that perfect little dream world, just a little longer.
The boys didn’t know what to do because you wouldn’t tell them, you’d barely said anything other than “sorry”s and “I’m fine” since they found you.
There was no way you could look Dean in his face and tell him that the Djinn looked in your head and found that your dream world consisted of being his wife and the mother of his non-existent daughter, with no monsters and no blood and no hunting.
Not when he didn’t see you that way, not when you were exactly what he didn’t want— a non-confrontational, soft, criminally un-sexy, doesn’t drink or smoke or sleep around, wants something real, girl— to admit that would be a suicide mission.
Sam might understand if you told him. He sees the way you look at his brother, the way you laugh at Deans jokes even if they’re not funny, he catches the way your face heats when Dean calls you “sweetheart” and every excuse you make just to stand or sit a little closer to him. He also sees the wrecked look on your face when Dean leaves with random women, no matter how hard you try to mask it, Sam sees the way you go quiet when a pretty girl slides a hand down Dean's leather-clad bicep, the way you laugh it off when he calls you “kid” as if the word doesn’t feel like a punch straight to your chest. But just because Sam is an observant know-it-all doesn’t mean you are going to tell him about this little dream life you’re mourning.
“Go talk to her” Dean whisper yelled at his brother, the two watching you from across the diner, you still haven’t opened up about anything involving the djinn case.
You’ve been stepping back during hunts, never talking his ear off with your excited rants anymore, and he swears he’s seen more fake smiles on your face in the past week than he’s seen your real smiles the entire time he’s known you.
He’s sick of it— he’s sick of not seeing you light up over little coffee shops or stray alley cats, he’s sick of not hearing your voice quietly singing along to the radio then acting like you weren’t when he caught you, he’s sick of you avoiding his gaze, of ignoring him almost completely. It’s even worse that you’re not cold about it, you’re just… pulling back. He hates how much it affects him.
“Why do I have to talk to her?” Sam whispered back, tearing his eyes away from where you were sitting at the booth across the diner, looking at the raindrops fall down the windows, your untouched coffee going cold in front of you.
“Because—“ Dean started, fighting the urge to pull the older brother card and just say cause I said so.
“Aren’t you like best friends or something?” He decided on instead, crossing his arms over his chest like a child.
“Just because we’re friends doesn’t make it okay for me to say ‘hey you’ve been acting weird since you were kidnapped and slowly dying the other week, everything alright?’” Dean's face fell a little, just a microscopic change in his expression at the reminder of what happened, but he brushed it off.
“that’s not what I meant and you know it” He added, less humor laced in his voice now. Sam sighed, knowing Deans also just worried, it’s just so unlike you to not talk about something. To not even tell Sam anything that’d happened.
You had just gotten out of the shower, pajamas laying on your damp, freshly lotioned skin, your body going through the motions of your somewhat of a night routine, as if you hadn’t just cried under the warm spray at the thought of you never kissing your daughter goodnight again and never falling asleep in Dean’s arms like you had every night in your dream world.
You almost made it to your bed before Dean cornered you, making you look up at him because of his sudden change in proximity.
“What’s going on sweetheart?” he murmured in that undeniably soft voice of his, your chest now clenching at the petname, rather than blushing like before.
“What do you mean?” You replied, voice quiet and thick, probably from the stifled sobs you let out just moments ago.
“Don’t— don’t do that, just talk to me” he said before you could even say anything else, his voice almost pleading, desperate even, but you shook the ridiculous thought away.
“Don’t do what, Dean? What do you want me to say?” You’re playing dumb, doing a good job at it too in your book, because you knew Dean didn’t really care enough to push much further.
“Anything— just say anything at this point, because it’s not like you to be like this… you’re not yourself” his voice came out just a tad firmer, and as if to prove his point you replied with “not myself?” You scoffed lightly.
“Well sorry it’s a little harder for me to go back to normal after what happened, not everyone gets the pleasure of being so resilient as you and Sam.” Your tone was defensive, the tone he only really heard during stupid arguments or research debates, but you never fought, especially not with him.
He was a little taken aback, mouth opening to argue a rebuttal but he bit his tongue— this definitely wasn’t like you, meaning something was up, and it’s not just him being overly protective again. So instead he brushed it off, didn’t take it personally.
“What happened?” He said your name so gently it made your chest twist with guilt already, you just shook your head.
“It’s nothing, I’m f—“ you started again, only to be cut off, “stop it— stop saying you’re fine, you’re not” your resolve started breaking. You turned your head away, throat burning and eyes stinging, all of the emotions you’ve been pushing down for days suddenly starting to bubble up with extra force.
“What do you want me to tell you, Dean?” You cracked, voice louder than before, words tumbling out before you could carefully curate them, “you want me to say I miss it? That I miss the made-up reality that was slowly killing me— you want to hear how I can’t stop thinking about it? You want me to tell you how I almost wish you guys never rescued me?” Your voice broke into a whisper at that, but you still refused to break down in front of him.
The look on his face was almost devastating, the way his confusion turned into shock, and the shock almost turned into sadness, or anger, or both? “You don’t mean that” his voice came out soft again, disbelieving.
“Yeah, well I do—“ you looked away from him, heart hammering under your chest, the burning your throat feeling now as if it was replaced with shards of broken glass. You don’t know how much longer you can hold everything back.
Dean went from disbelief to outrage in a matter of seconds, “what the hell did you have to say something like that—“
“You!” Your voice roared out before you could think about it, eyes burning with the tears you refused to let fall pooling in them, his face dropped but you continued before he even had a chance to blink “I had you, Dean! You were mine, and I was yours— and w-we had this little house in a little town, and the most perfect little girl—“ you’re voice fully gave out at that point, but you were too far gone to stop now. “No monsters, no motels, just us and our stupid little family—“ you choked on your own sobs, your hands going up to cover your mouth as if you were trying to save the shred of dignity you had left.
Dean hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved, hell— you don’t even know if he’s breathed yet. Here you are, spilling your guts in front of him, the ones you tried so desperately to keep securely in place forever, and he’s just standing there.
“I’m s-sorry—“ you choked in another sob, unable to stop despite the embarrassment clawing at your skin, “I’m sorry— just g-go… please” you pleaded pitifully. That made him move, you closed your eyes, preparing for the sound of the slamming door, but it never came.
Instead, you were surrounded by a firm pressure, with the warmth that can only come from another body, Dean’s unique scent— the musky sweet bergamot and leather smell that you’ve become addicted to— engulfed you, the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you finally registered in your scrambled brain.
He was hugging you, no not just hugging, he was holding you… in a way he never has before, in a way that you always secretly wished he would. You didn’t know what to do but your body reacted anyway, melting into his touch like this was normal, the moment only pulling more soft sobs out of you.
“Breathe, sweetheart” he murmured into your hair, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable but still held that gentle authoritative tone of his. Eventually your breaths slowed, listening to him despite everything, your lungs burning and your brain screaming at you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to care. Especially when you’d registered his rough hand moving up and down your arm, the other tangled in your hair holding your head to his chest.
Another moment of silence passed before you tried to speak, “m’sorry—“ you murmured but he just shushed you, “what did I tell you about apologizing too damn much?” He murmurs, but his tone lacks the humor that statement usually holds, instead it’s still so gentle for him, like pouring honey over rough gravel.
You fought the urge to reply with an apology, instead opting for silence, but only for a moment longer.
Your head throbbed and your throat ached yet you continued, “why are you doing this?…” your voice so small and quiet, Dean's chest ached.
He hated that this was so foreign to you, hated that you felt like you had to apologize when you’d done nothing wrong, and he hated that you’ve been hurting and keeping it all in.
“Cause I want to, sweetheart” is all he could come up with, his own voice wavering just a little with emotion.
“Y-you’re not mad?…” you continue, even quieter than before.
His heart couldn’t take it, “why would I be mad?” He said, trying to still sound gentle despite the guilt crawling up his throat. Guilt for every moment he was ever a part of that made you think he’d be mad at you for something like this.
“Because I just blew everything up…” you breathed out, trying not to well up with tears all over again, you wanted to move away but you selfishly didn’t want this to end, either. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, you didn’t want to escape his warmth, you didn’t want the moment to end, because you were already preparing how you were going to have to walk away from this, from them, from this little friendship that provided the only solace in your life.
You knew it was the beginning of the end; Dean didn’t see you that way, it would be endlessly awkward if things stayed the same, he wouldn’t be able to help you, and you’d rather walk away that make him feel obligated or guilty to try and fix things when you’re the one that fell for him, even if it feels like ripping a vital organ from your own body.
Dean didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t good at this, never has been. He feels things deeply but he’s never been allowed to express them, or share them, or talk about them, or let others share too. So he just keeps holding you, because he wants to get it right. He wants to comfort you, he wants to hear you say what you feel about him, he wants to try and tell you what he feels for you.
He’s been holding it in for months, maybe even longer, and it’s been fine. Sure, he always took a good look at you when you weren’t paying attention, and he’d make stupid jokes just to hear your laugh, or how he’d put on songs he knew you liked just to hear you quietly sing along. Sure, maybe he felt guilty for letting his eyes fall to your sparkling glossy lips and wonder what it’d be like to just kiss you. Even if he just got to do it once, it’d be enough (it probably wouldn’t be but he’d risk it anyway). But you were a little younger, less experienced, such a sweet ray of sunshine, and oh so shy, but secretly a total badass— none of that made him want you less, but it did make him want to be careful. He didn’t just want you the way he’s had other girls, he knew you didn’t deserve that, you deserved so much more than he could give you, and he’d never forgive himself if he was the one to muck you up. So, he still picked up random girls, still flirted, still kept the no-strings-attached bad boy hunter façade alive and well. You were a risk too important to take, even for the thrill-seeker he is.
But now? He knew he couldn’t keep it all in, not when you were saying things like this, not when you had tears covering your cheeks and apologies on your tongue, he couldn’t let you keep thinking this was one-sided, he couldn’t let you think you had to walk away all because you’d admitted things he’d been too chicken to say himself.
“You didn’t ruin anything” he murmured after a moment, snapping himself out of his own thoughts. Your head was still cradled to his chest, he adjusted his grip to hold you just a little closer.
You could feel the tears prickling in your eyes just at his touch, instinctively melting more into him, even if your brain calls you idiotic for doing so. Before you could retort with how he’s wrong and how your relationship has changed forever and apologize for having feelings, he’d pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Tell me about it…”
You were taken aback, your eyes puffy and your heart thumping so loud you’re sure the people in the next room could hear it. You stayed quiet for a moment, processing if you’d heard him right, but the look on his face was so earnest he didn’t need to confirm with words.
So you told him— all about it. The rings, the giggles, the house, the gorgeous kitchen, the little girl that permanently etched herself into your heart even though she doesn’t exist. You talked about the way you’d danced to music in the kitchen after bedtime and how you’d bring him sweet tea while he worked on the car, you talked about how much Layla was like him and how you adored her for it. You could’ve sworn you saw a glimmer in his eye at that.
You were soft and emotional but passionate, he’d had to tell you to keep going a couple times when you got flustered, and he’d wipe his thumb under your eye when a tear would escape. He never called you stupid or reminded you that it wasn’t real or shamed you. He just listened.
“Do you know how wrecked I was when we found you?” Dean had whispered a while later, after you ran out of things to tell him, after you’d moved to sit together, after you finally accepted he wasn’t upset with you.
You swear you could see him get a little flustered, but you were more interested by his words.
Before you could ask him what he meant, he continued, “you uh…” he looked down before meeting your eyes again, “it didn’t look good… I thought-“ he didn’t say it, instead scrubbing a hand over his stubble, but you knew what he meant.
“What I’m trying to say is—“ he paused again, just trying to find the right words even though he’s terrified. He looked in your eyes, “I don’t want you to think that this is all just one sided…” he looked so shy you almost didn’t recognize him in the moment. But his words still stopped you in your tracks.
“What do you mean?…” you asked carefully, voice barely audible, pulse accelerating within seconds. He tentatively reached over and took your hands in his, they were tough and warm and yours fit perfectly in them. You swear you almost choked on your own breath.
“I’ve uh… I’ve been trying to push it down for a while now…” his eyes flicked to yours again, and you could’ve sworn they landed on your lips for a split second, “I didn’t want to be the one to uh, mess you up I guess.”
Your brows furrowed a little at his words, unable to take your eyes off his face, giving his hand a mindless little squeeze to urge him on, or to comfort him, you don’t really know. “You’re scarin’ me” you murmured with a little nervous laugh that fell flat.
He couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered even at that, he was more far gone than he admitted to himself. One of his hands left yours, tucking a loose curl behind your ear, his thumb gently grazing your tear-stained cheek. Your breath hitching, heart beating impossibly faster.
“You don’t need to be in a dream world for me to want you” he finally admitted, voice so stupidly soft but so sincere.
Before you could pass out he continued, “now I can’t promise you a kid” that pulled an amused and shocked little chuckle out of you, “but I do know that these feelings scare the crap outta me, and I can’t let you sit here and continue to beat yourself up for this, like I don’t feel the same.”
Dead. You’re pretty sure you are— is this another djinn? Is this real, you genuinely don’t know at this point. You’re pretty sure Dean knows you’re freaking out by the look on your face, so in an attempt to confirm everything he just said, his hand by your cheek moves to your jaw. Tilting your head up with his finger, just a little, giving you enough time to stop him, and then he just kisses you.
You’re still shocked for a moment, so still that he almost pulls away, but then you just melt, eyes shut, hands reaching up to clutch themselves into his shirt. It’s better than anything he’s dreamed up, and the same goes for you. Who knew just an innocent little kiss could be so blissful.
His thumb gently caressed where it rested on your chin, smiling into the kiss as his other hand made its way into your hair. It wasn’t rough, or quick— it was soft and full of feelings they’ve both buried for far too long, his lips are soft and he can taste the minty toothpaste on your breath. You both pulled away just enough to breathe, chests rising and falling in tandem.
“You believe me now?” He murmured with that little smirk of his. Your smile widened and before he could make another sarcastic remark you pulled him in for another kiss as an answer.
Qualitative Over Quantitative
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: spencer reid x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: early seasons spencer, a lot of data that might or might not be true, spencer rambling, talk about sex but honestly just pure fluff 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In which Derek Morgan's teasing backfires spectacularly, and Spencer Reid accidentally reveals he's been keeping a very important secret.
: ̗̀➛ [𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧] [𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭] [𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱]
𝐚/𝐧: I've been rewatching criminal minds and i can't stop thinking about him
The bullpen is winding down for the evening. The usual frantic hum of phones and keyboards has faded into a low, comfortable murmur—the sound of exhaustion finally winning the long war against urgency. Desk lamps cast small pools of amber light across scattered case files, illuminating coffee rings and margin scrawls in warm, fleeting gold. Somewhere across the floor, the ancient breakroom coffee maker hisses its last, bitter brew of the night, a sound almost like a sigh.
Derek Morgan leans back in his chair, the old springs groaning in protest. He tosses a pen idly between his fingers, a familiar, teasing smirk curving his mouth. “You know, Reid,” he says, loud enough for half the unit to hear, “for a genius, you really don’t know how to prioritize. All those encyclopaedic facts rattling around in your head, and you still haven’t figured out that Saturday nights are for living. Not for whatever obscure Russian novel you’re dissecting this week.”
Across the bullpen, Emily Prentiss looks up with the patient expression of someone who has witnessed this exact argument forty-seven times before. She doesn’t intervene. She’s learned.
Reid doesn’t look up from his case file, though his pen pauses for just a fraction of a second—a tell so small only someone watching closely would catch it. “Dostoevsky is hardly obscure,” he says, tone perfectly even. “And for the record, my Saturday nights are perfectly fulfilling, thank you.”
girls don’t want flowers, they want s2 spencer reid wearing glasses
the hottest thing a man can do is be a weird little nerd
