⟢ 18+ mdni missionary, breeding kink, p in v, singlemom!reader
Your son had been taking a real interest in baseball lately. It was already the third practice this week, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it once, about how Coach Steve taught him how to throw better, how he adjusted his form, how he proudly complimented his swing. Your son talks about practice the whole way home afterward, filled with enthusiasm thanks to his supportive coach.
You’ve taken a bit of a liking to your son’s coach too. Steve, Coach Steve, as the kids formally called him, was an attractive man, very good with the kids, and charming in a way that he had the skills to back up. The kids easily would listen to him, how natural he took on the role of a mentor while he instructed them.
You weren’t the only woman who fawned over the handsome coach. Plenty of other mothers, whose sons were coached by Steve, were a mess around him.
You told yourself that it was only attraction. You were no different from the others. That it was nothing more than noticing someone who happened to look charming and good at what he did.
Now, he had you beneath him. His hands gripping around your waist tight, pulling you closer so he could slam his hips against yours. The force made your back arch, a sharp gasp caught in your throat from the pull, yet, he kept moving against you, dragging another moan out of you with every roll of his hips, each thrust slapping loudly between you
His fingers digged into your skin, keeping you still as he dragged his cock in and out of your soaking cunt, each inch stretching your walls, pressing deep against that spot that made your legs clench around his hips.He rolled his hips deeper, thrusts getting messier, pulling out just enough to make you whine, then shoving back in harder, pulling another moan out of you.
“I should give you another– mmph- baby,” Steve managed between hash breaths. “You’re already a mommy. what’s one more in you?”
You were unable to respond, your breath shaky as the rush of pleasure became overwhelmingly too much, washing over your entire body. Your stomach tightened, your walls squeezing around him tightly enough to tear a groan out from his throat. You came hard around his length as he kept moving, your juices coating him with every quick thrust.
“let me finish inside,” Steve breathed, feeling his cock pulsate around you. His grip tightened around you, snapping his hips forward harder, desperately chasing for his own release as he groaned out, “Fu-fuck, please, let me make you mine. i’ll give you whatever you want.”
“do it, Steve. i’m yours,” you breathed out.
He slammed his hips forward one last time, his cock twitching deep inside you, and you felt his heavy warmth spilling out as he came hard, letting out a long groan as buried himself in you. His grip on you loosened, but his body kept fucking his release into you, grinding to make sure every last drop stayed inside.
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Soap’s eyebrows lifted with a curious glint in his eye as he looked from you to Adira, a playful grin edging onto his face. He leaned in, never one to miss a chance at a bit of friendly prodding.
“So… you’re married?” he asked, his tone as light as his smirk.
You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Haha! No, I’m not.” You gave Adira’s tiny hand a gentle squeeze, glancing down at her with a smile that softened every edge on your face.
Soap tilted his head, pretending to be shocked. “A bonnie lass like yerself? Unmarried?” he teased, hand on his chest as though it were a crime.
“Guess I’m a rare breed,” you replied with a grin, chuckling as you shifted Adira’s hand in yours.
Soap’s face lit up at your response, as if he’d just been given the most interesting bit of news he’d heard all week. He shot Ghost a quick look, but Ghost was still watching Adira, his gaze softened with something unreadable.
Meanwhile, Gaz wasn't fascinated by Soap's ability to make anyone at ease, the man was a cassanova. Roach watched Adira with curiosity, as though piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed until now. Price stood off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing the whole scene.
“If you aren’t married, how’d you get this little one?” Soap pushed, grinning as he wiggled a playful finger in Adira’s direction.
Adira’s gaze snapped up from Ghost to the man with the funny hair, her little brow furrowing as she studied Soap with a mix of curiosity and caution. She leaned into your leg, clearly wary, but her attention stayed on the finger waving in front of her.
You chuckled, brushing a hand over Adira’s head to reassure her. “Long story,” you replied, smiling. “Let’s just say she was an unexpected blessing.”
Soap laughed softly, glancing at Ghost with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, aye, life’s full of surprises, eh?”
Ghost, who had been studying Adira in silence, clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably as Soap’s words hit a little too close to home.
“I used to be really wild back in the day,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, a hint of nostalgia coloring your tone as you thought back to those not-so-distant years.
Soap wasn’t quite done yet, though. “Does the father know?” he threw a quick glance at Ghost, who had just risen from his crouched position. A new tension ran through Ghost’s frame, his stance rigid, as if the question had struck something he’d rather not confront.
You hesitated, a shadow crossing your expression before you shook your head. “No, he doesn’t… He, uh, probably has no idea.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering from you to Adira, who was absorbed in her drink, unaware of the intensity surrounding her. His shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, he looked as though he wanted to speak—but whatever words he had caught in his throat, locked behind his silence.
"I see, well. I'm sorry if I took up your time, ma’am, you've been a nice chat," Soap said, his voice softening with a touch of politeness, his grin still present but more reserved now.
You nodded, giving Adira’s hand a gentle tug as you continued on your way, the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound accompanying your steps. The blue sky stretched above, peaceful, serene. As you walked, Adira turned her head, glancing back at Ghost one final time. She refused to let go of her cup, her small fingers gripping it tightly, but she lifted her other hand in a small, hesitant wave. "Bye-bye," she whispered, her voice soft but sweet.
Ghost’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t move. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of things churning behind those eyes.
Price let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and facing Ghost. “So... what’s the plan?” he asked, his tone both blunt and expectant, clearly waiting for some kind of direction. The rest of the team stood in silence, watching the exchange unfold.
Ghost didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained on you and Adira, watching you both disappear further down the street, the distance growing with each step. The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound in the quiet winter air. He didn’t even notice Price's voice until the man spoke again, closer now, with a slight edge to his tone.
"Ghost, talk to me. What’s the plan here?”
Finally, Ghost shifted, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched as he turned to face Price. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something caught between anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing regret.
"I don't know," he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I wasn't expecting this. Hell, I didn't even know she existed." His voice was low, strained, but there was a quiet honesty to it, as if he was trying to process something that didn’t make sense.
Soap stepped closer, his expression serious for once. "What now, Ghost? We can help. But you need to tell us what's going on."
Ghost finally looked away, his attention drawn to the ground, his fingers twitching like he was trying to find something to hold onto. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted. "All I know is... I saw her. And it hit me like a fucking truck."
Roach, always one to stay in the background, spoke up. “Maybe it’s time to talk to her, yeah? Figure out where to go from here?”
Price’s eyes narrowed, his stern gaze shifting to Ghost, assessing him. “And what exactly do you want from us? You’re in this, whether you like it or not.”
Ghost let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “But I can’t just let her slip away.”
A silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, as the weight of the situation settled in. Then, slowly, Ghost nodded. “I’ll figure it out. Just… not now. Not here.” His eyes flicked toward the street where you had disappeared, and something in his gaze softened, just for a moment, before the mask fell back into place.
Price gave a single nod. "Alright. But we stick together on this. You’re not doing it alone, Ghost."
The team stood together for a moment longer, the wind howling through the alley, before they slowly began to move, their steps trailing off into the winter evening. The silence that hung between them was thick with uncertainty. No one knew what came next, but they knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, they were in this together.
A month passed, the team giving Ghost the space he needed to process the whirlwind that had hit him. They all knew this was something he had to handle on his own terms, but that didn't mean the questions didn't linger. What did it mean for the future? What did he want? The answers were still unclear, even to Ghost himself.
But Soap, ever the persistent one, wasn’t content to let things sit in limbo. He knew Ghost, knew how his mind worked, and that sometimes the best way to breakthrough was to take small steps. And if that meant subtly nudging you into the picture, then so be it. He’d always been good at this—at slipping in the background, making things happen without anyone noticing.
So, Soap started to "accidentally" run nto you. At the park, when you were out with Adira, he'd make sure to be in the same place at the same time, offering a casual greeting. It always started simple, harmless, with a nod or a small comment about the weather. Then, of course, there was that coffee shop where you'd gone to get hot chocolate for Adira.
The first time he "bumped" into you there, it was nothing more than a quick exchange. A question about the drink, a comment on the cold weather, just the usual small talk. But Johnny's natural charm and ease made you relax, and made the conversation flow without much effort. Over time, those small moments grew. You'd smile when you'd see him, and he'd greet you with the same friendly energy, always leaving you feeling at ease. No pressure, just casual.
And slowly, ever so slowly, Johnny began to warm you up to the idea of him. It wasn't much at first—a smile here, a shared laugh there—but he knew what he was doing. He wasn't pushing, just letting the connection build at its own pace. The more you saw him, the more comfortable you felt. The more you talked, the more you found yourself enjoying the interactions, even if they were brief.
One evening, Johnny sat beside you on the park bench, casually leaning back as Adira bounced around in the snow, her laughter filling the crisp air. The sound was contagious, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, watching her with a soft smile.
"So, me and a couple friends are meeting up at Leslie's this weekend," Johnny said, his tone light but with a hint of something more. "Would you be interested?"
You snorted, expecting the usual joke or teasing, but when you glanced over at him, his expression was far more serious than you anticipated. For a moment, you considered dismissing it. After all, Leslie's? A pub? That was a far cry from the cozy routine you’d built for yourself with Adira.
“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I fit the scene."
Johnny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that playful grin of his. “Please. It'll just be like old times.”
Your mind immediately wandered, trying to understand what he meant by that. What was it about old times that Johnny thought might appeal to you? You didn’t exactly have a wild past to cling to. Sure, you’d had your moments, but those felt long behind you now.
Still, something about the invitation lingered. A night out... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You hadn’t done anything for you in a while. And maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to let someone else take care of the night for once. No worrying about Adira, no responsibilities for a few hours. Just some fun, whatever that meant now.
You hesitated, looking down at Adira as she made another snow angel, oblivious to the conversation happening nearby. She’d be fine, right? And you could leave if things felt uncomfortable.
“Alright,” you finally said, meeting Johnny’s gaze with a reluctant but genuine smile. "I'll join you. But only if it’s not as crazy as you’re making it sound."
Johnny’s grin widened, and you could tell he was already mentally planning the evening, no doubt with some plan to ease you in without overwhelming you. He stood up, dusting off the snow on his pants as he glanced back at you.
“Deal. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”
You just hoped he wasn’t overselling it.
The weekend seemed to arrive so fast, and here you were, standing outside your apartment, nervously adjusting your blue blouse and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the type of outfit you thought would fit a night out, but it was the best you could do. Most of your wardrobe these days consisted of comfortable clothes, ones that could be easily changed or wiped clean in case Adira had another of her toddler mishaps. Sexy or flirty clothes were a distant memory, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, gathering dust.
Adira stood in the doorway, clutching her little stuffed bear to her chest, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. The sight hit you harder than you expected. You knelt down in front of her, your heart sinking at the sight of her teary eyes. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, I promise,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, reaching out to her with a reassuring smile.
Adira sniffled, her tiny hand coming up to rub her eyes, but she didn’t break her stare. You held out your pinky, the gesture as familiar as breathing. Slowly, she reached out, her small finger wrapping around yours with the same trust she always had. The connection was brief, but it felt like a promise, one that you hoped would calm her.
"I won't be out long," you said softly to the friend you’d left with her. "And you, be good for Auntie too." The last part was directed at Adira, though the words felt bittersweet on your tongue.
Adira nodded, but her face still held that sadness, that uncertainty of what the night would bring without you.
Standing up, you ruffled her hair and offered a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just a little fun for Mama, okay?”
Her small nod didn’t do much to ease the tightness in your chest, but you turned and gave her one last look before stepping outside. The cool evening air wrapped around you, a contrast to the warmth of the apartment behind you, but you pushed the feeling away. Tonight was for you, however strange that sounded.
Locking the door behind you, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t just any night out. It was a night with Johnny, with his friends, with the possibility of reconnecting to parts of yourself you’d set aside for so long.
Arriving outside the establishment, the familiar hum of chatter and music filled the night air, but what caught your attention first was Johnny standing outside, leaning against the brick wall, checking his watch. The moment his eyes met yours, they lit up, his expression shifting from casual to something almost... eager.
“Well, well, look at you,” he said with that trademark wink of his, his gaze raking over you with a genuine appreciation that made you feel suddenly self-conscious. “You clean up well.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was hard to resist the easy charm of Johnny.
“Let’s just hope I survive this night,” you muttered, though the words were more for yourself than him. You weren’t sure what to expect tonight, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things might not go as smoothly as Johnny seemed to think.
Johnny chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “I’m sure you will. Now, let’s get going before I change my mind.”
With that, you fell into step beside him, the weight of your hand at your side suddenly feeling strange in the cool night air. He led you toward the door, and as you entered the dimly lit space of the bar, your eyes scanned the room.
It was bustling, a mix of regulars and newcomers, all seeking solace or company for the night. It smelled of beer, whiskey, and the faintest hint of fried food, a familiar and welcoming kind of atmosphere. But as soon as you stepped inside, your nerves shot back up again. You tried not to let the nerves show, but they were there, itching under your skin.
What you didn’t notice, as you made your way to the bar, was the group inside. Ghost, Price, Gaz, Roach—quietly observing, waiting for their chance to either speak to you or simply let you slip through their fingers once more. Ghost’s eyes tracked you the moment you stepped inside, and there was a hesitation in his gaze, something raw and almost pained that flickered in and out.
For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched you, aware that the moment he’d been dreading—he had finally stumbled into. Your gaze met his across the room, the flicker of recognition passing between you both. But that was it. You didn’t remember. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know what he was to you.
Approaching the bar, you saw that Johnny was already leaning in, chatting with the bartender, exchanging friendly banter. You barely heard the words, only caught up in the feeling that something was different. Something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced back at the table where those men sat. They weren’t talking, but their eyes were all trained on you, as if waiting for something to happen.
Your heart raced without explanation. Ghost’s eyes—those eyes—stayed locked on you. He didn’t know how to approach, how to change what had already seemingly been set in stone. What was he supposed to say? What was the plan now that you were here, so close? God, why the fuck did johnny do this.
Johnny leaned toward you again, a soft smile curling his lips. “You good, love?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.
“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the uneasy tension brewing in your chest. “Just... getting used to being out.”
Johnny winked again, oblivious to the chaos of emotions swirling within you. “It’s all good. Let’s have some fun tonight, yeah?”
Ghost’s fist clenched involuntarily under the table. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this distance, this silent acknowledgment of his role, or how long he could ignore what it meant to see you here now.
“You’ll fit right in,” Johnny said, though there was a hint of something deeper behind his words. “Just a bunch of mates enjoying a drink, nothing crazy.” Johnny leads you over to the table, you expected to be met with… well you didn't quite know what.
Price leaned back in his seat, cigar in hand, a soft smile on his weathered face as he regarded you with a raised brow. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”
"Neither did I," you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile and doing your best to ignore the gnawing feeling that lingered when you looked at him. You hadn’t quite expected this part of the evening.
“I’m just here for a drink, nothing more,” you said, looking over at Johnny was getting comfortable in his chair.
“Well, pull up a seat, love,” Price said, motioning to the empty spot next to him. “We’re all friends here.”
You hesitated but made your way over, perching yourself on the seat next to him. The sound of the glass being slid toward you, the clink of ice against glass, broke through the chatter around you. Your nerves buzzed as you focused on the drink in front of you, trying to ignore the sudden realization of just how different this was from the quiet, routine life you had at home with Adira.
“Enjoy yourself,” Price said with an air of casual amusement, leaning back in his chair. “This is all new for you, isn’t it?”
You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to admit just how out of place you felt in the moment. Instead, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of whiskey warming you from the inside out.
You laugh lightly, a bit awkwardly, trying to shake off the nerves that gnawed at you. "Yeah, this all a bit... newish. I haven't been out like this in years honestly," you admit, taking a deep breath and glancing around the bar. The warmth of the space was a welcome contrast to the chill outside, but the sight of the men made you feel more like a fish out of water than ever.
Johnny claps you on the back with an easy grin, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “These are my mates. Price, Kyle, Gary, and Simon," he introduces with a flourish, motioning to each man in turn.
You give them all a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of them just yet. There was something about the way they carried themselves, all standing a little apart from the crowd, that made it clear they were more than just regulars at the pub. But you didn’t have time to focus too much on that right now. You were trying to just survive the night.
Price, who looked a bit older than the rest, nods at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost cautious. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a tone that is polite but distant, as though he’s waiting for something, some sign.
Kyle, as Johnny had called him—gives you a friendly nod, a playful glint in his eyes, but there's a strange sharpness to his look that you can’t quite place. “Pleasure," he says, offering you a tight smile.
Gary simply gives you a quick but sincere nod. His eyes linger on you just long enough for you to catch a flicker of interest before he looks away.
And then there’s Simon. His presence, as always, is quieter, more intense. He’s sitting in the middle, arms crossed, his gaze fixed directly on you. You can feel the weight of it, though. It’s impossible not to. There was something you couldn't place with him though you couldn’t see too well under the dim light.
You try to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. “Nice to meet you all," you reply, your voice warmer than you feel.
Johnny, oblivious to the awkwardness in the air, slaps the bar and gives a nod. “Alright, drinks all around, yeah? Let’s get this party started!” he declares, pulling the group into the rhythm of the night.
As the revelry began your stomach churns slightly, a sense of unease still lingering despite the distraction. You knew something was off, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t just the men—it was the way Simon’s gaze lingered on you, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for something. It unsettled you, but you couldn’t figure out why.
Johnny, seemingly oblivious to your tension, slides a drink toward you. “First round’s on me," he grins, the clink of glass against the table snapping you back to the present. "Here’s to a good night.”.
You took a deep breath, swallowing down the nerves that still clung to you. This was supposed to be a night out, after all. A chance to shake off the past, to let loose just a little. You couldn’t let the weight of everything pull you under before you even tried. What would be the point if you didn’t at least try and enjoy yourself?
Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of alcohol easing the knot in your stomach just slightly. The guys were chatting among themselves, Johnny’s laughter cutting through the low hum of the bar as he joked with Kyle. Price was listening intently, nodding along while Gary seemed content to let the others talk, his eyes occasionally flicking to you, though his gaze didn’t linger long.
And then there was Simon.
His presence loomed even when he wasn’t speaking, his broad frame leaning against the bar just slightly, face half hidden by the shadows. You caught his eyes for a split second, the intensity of his stare making your pulse hitch. You quickly looked away, focusing on your drink, your nerves creeping back up despite the effort to push them aside.
You could feel his gaze on you, though, like a weight pressing against your back. You tried not to let it show, tried not to acknowledge how his proximity seemed to pull at something inside you, but it was impossible to ignore. There was a pull, something in the air, but you couldn’t quite grasp it.
Sighing inwardly, you turned your attention back to the others. Just enjoy yourself, you remind yourself again. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of it.
Johnny clinked his glass against yours, a grin on his face. “Here’s to not letting the night pass us by,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile back, lifting your glass.
“Cheers,” you said, the warmth of the alcohol giving you just the nudge you needed to ease into the evening. For now, you’d ignore the tight feeling in your chest. You’d enjoy yourself.
But the eyes that lingered on you would remain, whether you were ready for them or not.
You pushed your chair back with more force than necessary, the scrape of it against the floor loud in the otherwise quiet bar. The conversation still echoed in your ears, but your focus had been on the man, Simon, for the past half hour. His silence had become suffocating, every glance he cast in your direction feeling like it held some hidden meaning. You couldn't quite place it, but something was off about him. His eyes, cold and intense, had followed you too much, made you second guess every word you’d said.
"Im... gonna go powder my nose," you muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else. You didn’t wait for a response, the words barely out of your mouth before you were already making your way across the room, past the low hum of idle chatter and the clink of glasses.
While you were in the bathroom, the entire team turned their attention towards Ghost, each of them sizing him up, starting with Soap.
"What is wrong with you?" Soap asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.
"What?" Simon blinked, genuinely confused.
"Mate, you've been gawking at her all night," Gaz added, raising an eyebrow, his voice teasing but laced with concern.
"Shit. Are you serious?" Simon muttered, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze didn't stray far from where you had just disappeared.
Roach, leaning back casually with his drink in hand, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's like you’ve been stuck in a staring contest with her since she walked in."
Price, who had been watching quietly, shook his head with a resigned sigh. He snuffed out his cigar in the nearby ashtray, eyes narrowing as he met Simon's gaze. "If you scared her off, I doubt you’ll get another chance, lad."
Simon’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t realized how obvious it had been, but now that the team was calling him out on it, he felt the heat rise in his chest. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but the pull to look at you, to remember what had sparked your connection all those years ago had been almost magnetic.
“Alright, alright,” Soap teased, leaning in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just don't burn a hole in her head.”
“Shut up,” Simon muttered, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix this without making things worse.
Price shared a look with the rest of the team, a silent understanding passing between them. While Soap might have been the one to set this whole thing in motion, it didn't mean the others didn't have contingencies in place.
Soap got up first, stretching a bit. “Gonna make sure no one's tried to get in my car,” he said with a casual tone.
“I’ll come with you,” Gaz chimed in, already pushing himself up from his seat and following Soap toward the door.
A minute later, Roach also stood, excusing himself without a word, and then Price followed suit, his movements deliberate. “I’m gonna make sure they’re not up to anything,” he said with a knowing glance.
With everyone out of the immediate area, the bar suddenly felt quieter, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken. It took Ghost only a second for it all to click—he had been set up. Without thinking, he bolted from his seat, rushing outside just in time to catch the taillights of Soap's car disappearing down the street.
He cursed under his breath, but before he could make another move, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. There, in simple words from Price:
“Good luck.”
Ghost stood still for a moment, phone in hand, as the weight of the situation hit him. His heart thudded in his chest. This was it. There was no turning back now.
By the time you returned to the table, you felt a bit more at ease. The night out wasn’t all that bad… it was just that Johnny had some weird taste in friends. Well, mostly the tall one. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to have left, a pit forming in your stomach at the thought of being ditched.
You let out a quiet sigh, about to gather your things and head out when your phone lit up in your purse. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Johnny.
"Emergency, looks like one of the beers wasn't that good, poor Kyle threw up."
You paused, reading the message again, a small smile tugging at your lips. Aww… nevermind. At least they hadn’t forgotten about you after all.
"Hope he's okay." You replied quickly, grabbing the straps of your bag when suddenly a hand landed on top of yours.
You looked up, meeting the intense gaze of Simon. Seriously? You couldn’t help but think. They took everyone but this guy?
You forced a smile, trying to pull your hand away, but Simon’s grip was firm, not unkind. “Look, I had a decent time, but I have to go—”
“Just a minute,” he interrupted, his voice low, steady, almost pleading. There was something about the way he said it that made you pause, something different than the usual small talk.
"Fine." The word slipped out before you could process it, and you cursed yourself inwardly. Really? You just agreed to stay with the guy who hadn’t stopped staring since you met him. You sat back down, and he mirrored you, settling across the table.
Silence stretched between you, his intense gaze unwavering. He didn’t so much as blink, and you couldn’t help but feel more unsettled by the second.
What the hell is his deal?
“Look, if you're just going to be a creep, I don't think I want to mee—"
“Do you remember Armed Forces Day?” His voice cut through your words, quiet but resolute.
Okay, this took all day, I wanted to give you all something long to read incase I disappear for finals (which I might)
WOWWW LOOK AT ALL THESE NAMES. Thank you all so much for the support!! Im sorry if i missed any, I will update if I noticed any missing or comment on those who's tags didnt go through!
Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader
Summary: The power goes out. You and your daughter leave your apartment to find some light. Luckily, a stranger floods your being with it.
WC: 2.1k
Warnings: reader is scared of the dark; light mentions to stranger danger; it's a meet cute (guilty). Let me know if I missed anything.
A/N: HI!!! I couldn't sleep so I decided to finish and post this one. I hope you guys enjoy it. Totally planning on a sequel for these three.
Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3
neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist
Spencer Reid was the most unnoticed and absent tenant of his building. His apartment was almost eerily quiet during most of the time, because of two main reasons. One, he was out of town often because of his job, of course, and, two, he didn't do much when he was there. He was a man who kept to himself whose idea of fun consisted of reading classic Literature. And don't take it the wrong way; not being around much didn't mean that he disliked his place, it was quite the opposite. He thoroughly enjoyed having a space to call his own, to organize, to cramp up the areas just the way he liked it. It gave him a sense of comfort, even though it felt lonely more often than not.
One of his neighbors had a child, he could tell that much because of the noises he would hear when he was around — while playing or the whining when she wanted something, after all, that's how kids usually behave. Spencer didn't mind them, of course, he was away for most of the time, so it wouldn't be rational to be bothered by a child acting like one. It was like being annoyed by an adult acting out, which did happen, but adults were supposed to be more self-aware than kids.
Although fairly acquainted with the routine of the family by putting pieces together from time to time (something his brain couldn't help but do, almost automatically), he had never seen their faces. He knew their voices and could even tell their footsteps apart. Sometimes, he would think about them. How did their day go, if everything was alright, if they ever addressed uncomfortable topics, if they ever had problems like his own frequently faced after they discovered about his mother's condition. He was acutely aware of the fact that those thoughts were the results of some sort of projection, almost like those neighbors were his personal novel to read and he longed to relate to its characters, because so much of his childhood had been ripped from him in ways he worried he could never recover from and terribly soon — he didn't remember ever knowing the sense of a loving, ordinary family like they apparently did and lived.
Today was a day off. He sat on his balcony, the summer breeze kissing his skin and messing up his hair, writing a letter to his mother. He tried his best to remain true to the commitment of making her a part of his life as a way to ease the guilt and sadness that gnawed at him for not being capable of caring for her properly by himself. He dearly missed Diana, he was his mother, after all. The only one who stood by him, even if not at her best, the only family he had left.
Satisfied with his writing, he finished the letter with a promise that he'd visit her soon. As he was folding the paper to put it inside the envelope, everything went black. The light left completely and, for a moment, he thought he had fainted because of the suddenness of it. That's when he heard the shrieking coming from the apartment next door and with a small chuckle, he deduced it was a power outage.
"Oookay, we don't need to panic, Oli, right? The light will be back in a few moments," he heard from the balcony next to his. It was the mother's voice, surely.
"Mommy, 'm scared," the little girl, Olivia, cried.
"I know, baby, but mommy is right here," was the answer provided, followed by the sound of a loud and exaggerated kiss. He heard the little girl giggle. "That's better, sweetie. Come on, let's talk. How are you feeling?"
"'m scared, but happy that you're here, mommy," she said.
"I'm happy to be with you, too, my girl," the woman cooed.
Spencer all but listened to the sweet interaction close to him. Unbeknownst to the woman, he held it even closer to his heart. It was one of the purest forms of love he had ever witnessed and he was grateful for them both during that time.
You, on the other hand, felt panic rising in your chest as the minutes passed and the dark still engulfed you, your little girl's voice the only comfort soothing you from time to time. Olivia was really scared of the dark, so as time went by, you tried to assure her that there was nothing to be scared of, and even if she was, she shouldn't feel embarrassed, that it was okay to express those feelings and that you were there for her. You were glad that she trusted you enough to believe those empty words, because you were terrified of the dark.
It all started as a kid. Not knowing what could be lurking in the shadows absolutely freaked you out and admiting it out loud was mortifying, so you did your best to hide it. If your daughter's reaction was anything to go by, you were doing a good job, so you relished on that.
Right now, it was becoming more and more difficult to play the part of the brave, fearless mother. So you started singing, soon enough followed by your daughter.
Super trouper lights are gonna blind me
But I won't feel blue like I always do
'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you
Olivia giggled. It was one of her favorite songs, you had introduced it to her when she was too shy before one of her recitals. She had only memorized the chorus, of course. You were forever thankful for having that song engraved in your memory, because now the footage you had from said recital had Olivia showing all her moves looking right at you, basically all of the time.
"Oli, what do you think of going to the lobby? Maybe we could find some friends there." You suggested, which made Spencer's interest rise. Could it be a chance for him to finally address faces to the family he almost felt a part of?
For someone so bright, he truly didn't know if he was overstepping or being obsessive, it just made sense to him. Like aforementioned, he felt like it was a novel.
He heard little hands clapping excitedly and heard the next door opening and then closing right after. He used the time to think if he was behaving like the creeps he profiled for a living, but decided to give himself some credit by realizing he didn't mean to do no harm, he was just curious.
As time went by, the lobby soon became crowded with people and basically everyone had a flashlight on. It made Spencer laugh internally. He searched the area for a woman and a little kid, but no success. The room was so packed it almost felt suffocating and for a moment he felt ridiculous for considering searching a room for someone whose face he wasn't familiar with. What was he thinking? His mother always said that his job should stay out of his personal life and he had yet to learn that. So, he decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air.
What he didn't expect was to find a woman and a little girl sitting on the benches just outside the apartment complex. Their voices sounded exactly like the ones he had been noticing for some time now. He froze, unable to look away from them.
The girl had her mother's features. They were so scarily alike that it felt like he was watching the same person during different periods of her life, but simultaneously, as if he was on some sort of time travel.
He was ripped out of his daydreams when the little girl came running towards him, "Look, mommy! He has a letter! You send them to grandpa!"
Although very embarrassed by your daughter's sudden run, you jumped on your feet to catch up with her. You didn't know that man, so it only made sense to be very alert and to keep your child away from him. As you neared the two of them, you placed your hands on Oli's shoulders, who was standing in front of him, you took in his appearance. He was tall, a little lanky and had long-ish hair, cut just around his shoulders. He had dress pants and a shirt loosely buttoned up as well. His eyes were searching your face, as if he was scanning you as well. The poor lighting didn’t help either of you, but you two were almost touching with your eyes, if such a thing were possible, from how much you were looking, almost admiring each other.
Amid his thoughts from earlier, he didn't even realize he was still holding the letter he had written that afternoon.
"Hi," you greeted, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry. She’s still learning about stranger danger. Or bothering people." You chuckled, nervously.
What the hell have you just said?
"Actually, stranger danger did the most harm to this country in terms of crimes like that. I remember them coming to my classroom. It was Officer Friendly with stranger danger coloring books. Taught a whole generation about a scary man in a trench coat, hiding behind a tree. Then we learned that strangers are only a fraction of the offenders out there." He rambled.
What the hell has he just said?
You knitted your eyebrows together, perceiving his comment as peculiar, to say the least. "Well, yeah."
"Sorry about that. I tend to ramble about some topics. I'm not a creep, I swear. I work with the FBI, I know it can be odd to start a conversation like that. Well, your daughter did," he chuckled, albeit tensely, "My name's Spencer. Spencer Reid. I live in this building. Third floor."
You laughed a little over his rambling, relief flooding your body once you realized that he was just a regular guy. A regular guy that worked for the FBI. You told him your name and Olivia's as he offered you a friendly handshake, "Me and Olivia live there, too."
"MOMMY!" Olivia shouted, sounding exasperated and thrilled at the same time. "He is the ghost neighbor!"
"Ghost neighbor?" He asked, shocked and a little humored.
You laughed at your daughter and the confusion adorning his beautiful features. "Oli, don't scream. We already talked about it," you addressed your daughter, firmly but gently. Spencer was in awe. "It's just an inside joke between the kids. You're almost never home and every once in a while they hear some sounds coming from your apartment. They say a ghost lives there. They even put up some decorations on your front door on Halloween, but I decided to remove it in case it bothered you."
Olivia laughed like someone had spilled a funny secret and Spencer quickly joined her. You chuckled, even though you were more puzzled than anything by the fact that your daughter had approached, so confidently, a stranger. It made you both terrified and happy. Terrified because he could be a weirdo. Happy because she was able to come out of her shell. Even happier to see her coming out of her shell with a nice stranger.
"It’s alright. I wouldn’t have minded. I love Halloween.” He said, addressing you. You could tell then that, at least, he wasn’t someone bitter. “Sorry to disappoint, Miss Olivia. It's just me moving some chairs every now and then. But I won't tell if you won't."
"I won't!" She squealed, and Spencer smiled. You couldn't draw your eyes away from their exchange. Olivia balled her small fists on your skirt, pulling you out of your reverie, so you crouched down at her height. She whispered something in your ear. Spencer watched, curiously, as you nodded at her.
"She said you need a pinky promise." You told him once you were standing again. Spencer gladly crouched and stuck out his pinky towards Olivia, who intertwined her own with his.
"Now we can't tell anybody." He said, with a genuine smile on her face.
"Mommy, you hafta promise it too." Olivia said, grabbing your hand and pulling your pinky toward Spencer's hand, linking them together. You felt the heat rising to your face.
The power came back. Suddenly, your pinky was linked to a very handsome man who you had just met because of your one-of-a-kind daughter. It made you nervous, because the light highlighting his beautiful features in all the right places made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. By looking at him alone, you thought of words related to the light four times. As he looked back at you with a gorgeous smile on his face, you finally understood why people associate light with feelings.
How about single dad Rafe meets single mom reader and their kids are very obviously trying to set them up
singledad!rafe x singlemom!reader
Playdate Plotting
✦﹒✧﹒✦﹒✧﹒✦﹒✧﹒✦﹒✧﹒✦
Rafe wasn’t blind. He knew something was up the second Ellie started insisting she had to bring two snacks to school—“one for me, one for Theo”—or when she asked if he could make “a little extra” lunch so she could share.
Theo, meanwhile, had started referring to Rafe as “Mr. Cameron” at home like he was some beloved teacher or celebrity. At first, Y/N thought it was cute. Then she saw the way Theo kept inviting himself over to Ellie’s house with zero shame and even less permission.
“Our kids are plotting,” Rafe muttered one afternoon at pickup, watching Ellie and Theo exchange a high five like they’d just closed a business deal.
Y/N sighed. “Hard.”
It didn’t stop there. Suddenly, everything was a group activity. Pumpkin patches, school projects, even grocery runs. Theo would drag Y/N toward Ellie’s car. Ellie would wave her dad over to wherever Y/N happened to be standing. They’d “accidentally” leave toys at each other’s houses. Start group texts between all four of them. Drop bold little suggestions like, “We should just all go out for pancakes next Saturday.”
Rafe didn’t mind. It had been years since he’d felt anything close to routine with another adult, but something about Y/N was grounding. She laughed at his sarcasm. Remembered how he took his coffee. Never treated him like he was broken just because he did everything on his own.
And Y/N—she hadn’t smiled this much in a long time. Rafe was calm where she was scattered, steady where she was stretching herself thin. He didn’t flinch at the chaos of Theo, didn’t hesitate to help with the dishes, didn’t make her feel like a burden.
So when Ellie invited Theo over for a sleepover and then—very suspiciously—asked Rafe if he “wanted to stay for dinner too… maybe forever,” the look Y/N gave him across the table was more amused than surprised.
They’d known for a while what the kids were doing.
And by now, it wasn’t a scheme. It was just working.
Dinner became habit. Saturday mornings, shared. Grocery runs, joint missions. And one night, when Rafe picked Theo up and Y/N opened the door with her hair up and a smile that made his chest ache, he just stepped forward and kissed her without thinking.
Not rushed. Not messy. Just something quiet and sure.
Ellie and Theo screamed when they saw through the window—giddy little traitors.
“You guys are finally dating?” Ellie shouted. “We’ve been trying forever!”
Theo crossed his arms. “Took way too long.”
Rafe rolled his eyes and pulled Y/N into his side. “Happy now?”
Theo nodded. “Extremely.”
And just like that, what the kids had been planning for months became real—simple, steady, and theirs.
plot: when a fire tears through your apartment in the middle of the night, you’re forced to trust the firefighter who carries you and your daughter to safety. with nowhere else to go, you accept his offer of shelter—and slowly, in the stillness of his home, you begin to breathe again
CONTENT: house fire, smoke inhalation, trauma responses, implied homelessness, emotional distress, fluff at the end
@darlingshecried <3 have fun!
you don’t remember the smell of smoke at first. just the sharp scent of burnt plastic and something sour in the air, thick enough to make your nose wrinkle as you stirred awake. your baby was still asleep beside you, her tiny fists curled near her face, her lips parted with each soft breath. it was the sudden flicker of orange light bleeding under the bedroom door that made your chest seize.
at first, you thought it was just a weird dream. then came the alarms—shrill, high-pitched, piercing through your skull like a knife. you sat up fast, lungs catching on panic. your daughter stirred, confused, whining softly as the noise startled her.
“it’s okay, baby,” you whispered, already scooping her into your arms. “we’re okay, i got you, i got you…”
but the second you opened the bedroom door, heat hit you like a wall.
your breath caught. the hallway was thick with smoke, dark and rising fast, and you could see the flames at the end of it—red and violent, eating through the cheap wallpaper like it was nothing.
your instincts kicked in. stay low. cover her face. move fast.
you dropped to your knees, clutching her to your chest, the baby blanket wrapped around her little head as she started crying, her voice high and terrified.
“help!” you shouted, throat burning. “somebody help us!”
you tried the front door. wouldn’t budge. heat warped the frame. your hands shook as you fumbled with the lock, but it wouldn’t give. tears blurred your vision as the smoke thickened, your lungs screaming for air, your baby’s cries getting smaller and smaller.
and then—you heard it.
heavy footsteps. muffled shouting. the sound of a door being bashed open, wood splintering under pressure.
and then him.
he stepped into the room like something out of a movie—helmeted, suited in thick black gear, face covered except for his eyes. calm, blue, and alert.
“two in here!” he shouted over his shoulder, then looked at you. crouched low, one gloved hand outstretched. “ma’am, i need you to come with me. now.”
you couldn’t speak. couldn’t breathe. just nodded, clutching your daughter tighter as he reached for you both.
“i’ve got you,” he said, voice steady through the mask. “i promise. you’re okay.”
he picked you up like you weighed nothing. one arm under your legs, the other cradling your daughter’s back as he moved fast through the smoke, barking out directions to the other firefighters as he carried you outside, into air that felt cold and sharp against your skin.
you coughed hard, lungs scraping against your ribs. someone handed you water. someone else draped a blanket around your shoulders. your daughter was still crying, but she was breathing, reaching up to touch your face with soot-covered fingers.
he crouched next to you a few minutes later, helmet off now, revealing damp blond hair and soot-streaked skin. his eyes were softer up close. tired but kind.
“i’m rafe,” he said gently. “i was the one who carried you out.”
you looked at him, not sure what to say. everything felt far away, like your brain was still stuck inside the fire.
“thank you,” you managed to whisper.
he nodded once. “you did good. keeping low, covering her face. you probably saved her life.”
your breath caught. you didn’t feel like a hero. you felt like a wreck.
he glanced over his shoulder as someone called his name, then looked back at you. “you got anyone nearby? family? friends?”
you shook your head. “just me and her.”
his jaw tightened slightly. he stood up, ran a hand through his hair, then crouched back down.
“listen,” he said after a pause. “i live ten minutes from here. i’ve got a spare room. clean bed. if you need a place for the night, it’s yours.”
you stared at him. “you don’t even know me.”
“i didn’t know you,” he corrected, “but i carried you both outta a burning building, so i figure we’ve already skipped a few steps.”
you almost laughed, but your throat still burned too much. you looked down at your daughter, who was finally starting to calm, then back at him.
“you don’t have to,” he added quickly. “i get it if you’re not comfortable. there’s a motel near the station—we could call ahead, see if they’ve got a room.”
you hesitated. every nerve in your body screamed not to trust a stranger, not with your daughter, not after everything you’d survived.
but you had nowhere else to go.
and he’d already saved your life once.
“…okay,” you whispered. “just for tonight.”
his truck was quiet. warm. you sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in the blanket, your daughter asleep against your chest, still sniffling softly every few minutes.
he didn’t talk much on the drive. just asked if you were warm enough, if your seatbelt was okay, if she needed anything. you shook your head each time, throat still too raw to speak.
his apartment was on the second floor of a building that looked newer than yours had been. it smelled like clean laundry and faint cologne. he held the door open for you, flicked on a soft light, and nodded toward the hallway.
“guest room’s down there. bathroom too. towels are clean. water heater’s strong.”
you blinked. “you sure about this?”
he shrugged, pulling off his boots. “wasn’t gonna leave you two on the curb.”
you carried your daughter to the guest room and laid her down gently on the bed. she curled onto her side instantly, thumb in her mouth, lashes still damp from crying.
you watched her for a moment, chest aching. she’d been so scared. you both had.
you didn’t realize rafe was standing in the doorway until you turned.
“you want something to wear?” he asked. “your clothes are… yeah.”
you looked down. soot and ash, fabric torn and damp with sweat. you nodded.
he returned a minute later with a faded t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants that looked soft and worn. you thanked him and shut the door.
the hot water stung at first. your skin was raw in places, smoke still clinging to your hair, your eyes. you scrubbed until you were pink, until your fingers ached, until you felt almost human again.
you didn’t cry. not in the shower. not yet.
he was in the kitchen when you came out. the shirt hung to your thighs. your daughter’s blanket was freshly washed, draped over the back of the couch.
“tea?” he asked, holding up a mug.
you nodded and sat across from him at the small kitchen table. the tea was hot and strong, and it burned your throat going down. it was the best thing you’d tasted in days.
“i don’t usually trust people,” you said quietly after a while.
rafe didn’t look surprised. just sipped his tea.
“especially not men,” you added. “especially not strangers.”
“understandable.”
“but i didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
he looked at you then. really looked at you. not in a weird way. just… like he got it. like he’d seen too many people crawl out of flames with nowhere to land after.
“you can stay here as long as you need,” he said. “i mean it.”
your fingers tightened around the mug. “i can’t pay you.”
“wasn’t asking you to.”
you didn’t know what to say to that. so you just nodded.
you didn’t sleep much that night. kept getting up to check on her, to make sure she was still breathing, still there. rafe had left a baby monitor on the nightstand—said it was from his niece. hadn’t used it in a while, but it still worked.
you listened to the sound of her soft breathing through it. in. out. safe.
your eyes didn’t close until nearly dawn.
he was already gone when you woke up. a note on the counter said he had a shift but would be back around six. there was cereal in the pantry, cartoons on the tv, and extra diapers under the sink—he’d picked some up before leaving, just in case.
you sat on the couch with your daughter in your lap, heart aching at how easily she smiled at the animated characters on screen. like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been in your arms, screaming for her life twelve hours ago.
you buried your face in her hair and let yourself cry, finally.
not loud. not messy. just silent tears that soaked into her curls while she giggled at the screen.
he came home tired, smelling faintly of smoke and soap. his eyes scanned the room until they found you.
“everything okay?”
you nodded. “thank you for the diapers.”
he smiled. “no problem. she likes elmo, huh?”
“she’s obsessed.”
he nodded like he’d take note of that. maybe he did.
three days turned into a week.
he never pried. never asked questions you weren’t ready to answer. he just let you be. gave you space. cooked sometimes. let you use the laundry. let your daughter nap on his chest after she got comfortable enough to reach for him.
“you’re good with her,” you said one evening, watching them on the couch.
rafe shrugged. “my sister’s got twins. i babysit sometimes.”
you nodded. watched as your daughter tugged gently on his nose and made him laugh.
you hadn’t heard her laugh like that since before the fire.
you found a temporary shelter that would take you in after two weeks. filled out forms. stood in long lines. tried to ignore how heavy your feet felt as you packed the baby’s things into the bag rafe lent you.
he didn’t say much when you told him. just helped you load the car.
when you turned to say goodbye, he just looked at you with that same quiet steadiness.
“you ever need anything,” he said, “you know where i’m at.”
you nodded. “thank you, rafe. for everything.”
he looked at your daughter. gave her a little wave.
“stay safe, sweetheart.”
she smiled at him. reached for him one last time.
you let her.
you didn’t know if you’d see him again.
but a week later, when the shelter lost power in a storm, you didn’t even hesitate before calling.
he picked up on the second ring.
“you two need a place to stay?” he asked.
you swallowed. “if it’s still okay.”
“always.”
and just like before—he opened his door.
no questions asked.
just steady arms and warm light.
and a place to land.
author’s note
i really enjoyed writing this! hope uguys enjoyed <3
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SUMMARY: endless mixed feelings, no matter how bad it is, it doesn't seem possible to get him out of your head.
NOTE: you always return to where you were happy, and I was happy reading Rafe's fics.xoxo
DIFFERENT
The music store wasn’t glamorous, but it had a heartbeat.
The soft buzz of vintage amplifiers, faint hum of a guitar track looping through the speakers, and the smell of old records and pine cleaner gave the small space its own kind of rhythm. You leaned against the counter, tapping a pen idly on the register while watching the minute hand crawl toward closing time. Twenty more minutes. Just twenty, and then freedom—then surfing, laughter, sunlight, and the only real family you'd ever known.
The bell above the door chimed, and your tired gaze lifted lazily. But then you smiled, immediately brighter.
Kiara and Sarah swept into the store like a gust of salt-tinged wind, both wearing messy ponytails, sandy shoes, and the smug grins of girls carrying a secret.
"And those happy faces?" you teased, pretending to squint suspiciously. "Did John B finally ask you to marry him?"
Sarah laughed, her head tilting back. "Almost."
Kiara bumped her hip against yours and leaned on the counter. “Tonight’s the party of the summer. So before we even touch our boards, we’re going shopping.”
You grimaced playfully. “Shopping. Right. With which money? Because my wallet is currently crying in a fetal position under my bed.”
Kiara rolled her eyes. “You’re dramatic.”
You lowered your voice. “Guys, I seriously can’t spend anything right now. Rent’s due and—” You paused, embarrassed. You hated how easily your reality bled through when you least wanted it to.
Sarah immediately cut in. “Then we’ll go to my place. Problem solved.”
You raised a brow. “Are you serious?”
She gave you that look—confident, kind, impossibly golden. “That’s what friends are for. You think I don’t hoard half the store every time I go into town? You’ll leave my closet looking like a goddess.”
You hesitated, heart full but pride bruised.
“Come on,” Kiara nudged. “Let us spoil you for one night.”
You finally smiled, cheeks warm. “Fine. But only if I don’t have to wear heels.”
—
It was strange how quickly you forgot where you were until you were standing in front of the Cameron estate.
It rose like a monument out of the trees, all white walls and clean-cut hedges, expensive silence hanging over it like fog. You always felt slightly out of place there, like your presence upset some invisible balance. But Sarah made you feel safe—Kiara too. So you followed them up the stairs with a surfboard bag slung over one shoulder and your old Vans squeaking against the polished floors.
Laughter echoed through the upstairs hall as Sarah opened her bedroom door, beckoning you in. You stepped into her light-drenched room, already eyeing the walk-in closet like it was Narnia.
“Just grab whatever speaks to you,” Sarah said, tossing you a pair of jeans. “We’ll mix and match.”
But before you could even make it to the pile of tank tops, you felt something.
That presence.
The energy in the air changed like a cold draft slipping through a cracked window.
You turned—and there he was.
Rafe Cameron.
Leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, that same unreadable expression on his face like he was always thinking something he’d never say out loud. He didn’t flinch when you looked at him. If anything, he smiled.
Slow. Crooked. Like he’d been waiting.
His eyes flicked down and then up again, pausing just long enough to make your skin feel hot.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said casually, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name.
You didn’t say anything. Just blinked.
Kiara saw him next. Her shoulders tensed immediately, lips pressing into a hard line.
“Keep walking,” she muttered under her breath, hand brushing your lower back as she guided you forward.
You followed her lead. Not because you were afraid of him. But because you weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t.
—
Half an hour later, Sarah’s bed was covered in clothes. Your arms were full of borrowed outfits. Kiara was arguing with Sarah about the superiority of combat boots over wedges when you excused yourself.
“Be right back. Bathroom.”
You slipped into the hallway quietly, head down, trying to remember which door was which.
And then—
“Hey.”
His voice froze you.
You looked up, halfway between fight or flight. Rafe was standing just a few feet away, like he’d materialized out of thin air. Maybe he had.
He looked different in this light. Softer somehow. Like the sun spilling through the window had rounded out the sharp edges of his face. But his eyes—his eyes were still the same shade of blue that made you feel like the tide was about to pull you under.
“What do you want?” you asked, arms folding instinctively.
He didn’t move toward you. Not yet.
“You look really pretty today,” he said simply.
There was no smirk. No arrogance. Just honesty. Raw and unexpected.
Your breath hitched slightly. You weren’t used to kindness from him. At least not the kind that wasn’t wrapped in tension or sarcasm.
“Thanks,” you said, quieter than you intended.
“I mean it,” he added.
You nodded once. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He stepped back, barely.
“I’ll be downstairs… if you wanna hang out,” he said. “Watch a movie or something.”
You stopped.
The ask wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t pushy. But it felt dangerous anyway. Not in the way he looked, or the things he’d done—but in how you wanted to say yes.
And you hated that.
“No, thanks.”
He tilted his head, almost disappointed. “Why not?”
You exhaled through your nose. “Because it doesn’t make sense. Because we shouldn’t. Because I don’t want to.”
That part—I don’t want to—wasn’t even fully true. But it had to be said.
He looked down. Then back up.
“Why not?” he repeated, softer this time.
Your stomach twisted. “You know why. I’m not the one to stop you. I’m not judging you. Believe me, I’m the last person who would. But I can’t act like nothing’s happening when you go through life hurting and humiliating the people I love.”
You let the words settle. He didn’t move.
“You might be kind to me,” you added. “But you’re cruel to them. That’s not nothing. That’s not invisible.”
He blinked once, slowly.
“I’m not the villain you think I am.”
You shook your head. “You’re not the villain I want you to be. That’s the worst part.”
He took a small step forward, almost pleading now. “I don’t know how to be different with them. With you... it’s not the same.”
“But we are the same,” you whispered, voice cracking. “We both come from chaos. But you keep choosing to burn everything that loves you.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared at you like you were the first real thing he’d seen all day.
You turned toward the bathroom, hand on the door.
“I’m not the one who needs saving, Rafe. Not this time.”
And you stepped inside, closing the door gently—but firmly—behind you.
Leaving him alone in the hallway with nothing but your words echoing in his chest.
BURNING STARES
The Chateau buzzed with energy, still carrying the scent of sunscreen and sea salt in its beams. The walls had soaked up the heat of the long day, and now, as the sun dipped low and gold streaked across the horizon, the entire place vibrated with anticipation. Everyone was getting ready for the beach party — but when you stepped out of the room Sarah and Kiara had transformed into a mini salon, everything stopped for a beat.
Your boots clicked softly on the wooden floor as you walked down the narrow hallway, smoothing your palms over your thighs. The makeup was subtle but transformative. The black halter crop top showed just enough skin to make your nerves hum, and the fitted skirt — borrowed from Sarah — hugged your hips like it was made for you. You’d never worn anything quite like it before. Never felt quite like this before.
As you walked into the room, John B’s eyes widened like he just saw a UFO. “Holy shit.”
You raised a brow, arms crossed. “What?”
He grinned. “I didn’t know you were a woman.”
With a dramatic gasp, you hurled a pillow at his head but laughing your ass off.
Pope looked up from the couch, a kind smile lighting up his face. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Pope.” You softened, touched in a way you didn’t expect.
And then — of course — came him.
JJ was leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand, his button-down open, windblown blond hair still messy from the beach. He was grinning before you even looked at him.
“Damn,” he whistled, scanning you head to toe with a slow, exaggerated motion. “I think I just got a boner.”
You laughed under your breath, but didn’t look directly at him. That only egged him on.
“Like, for real. That outfit should come with a warning label.”
You finally turned to him, lips curving. “And what would the warning say?”
“‘Caution: May cause cardiac arrest in blond degenerates named JJ,’” he said proudly.
Kiara rolled her eyes. “You’re a menace.”
JJ winked. “Tell that to her.” He leaned toward you just enough to drop his voice. “So, if I play my cards right, any chance I’m your date tonight?”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You gonna buy me dinner first?”
“Pfft. I’d steal you dinner and build you a raft to sail away with me. I’m romantic like that.”
You snorted, shaking your head as Sarah grabbed your hand and dragged you toward the door. “Come on, seductress. If you make him flirt any harder, he’s gonna trip over his own ego.”
JJ called after you, “I like tripping over you!”
You didn’t answer. But you smiled all the way to the beach.
The party was everything a summer night should be.
Bonfires crackled up and down the shore, casting flickers of orange across bronzed skin and wind-tousled hair. People danced barefoot in the sand, their laughter swallowed up by music that pulsed from cheap speakers tied to pickup truck beds. Someone was handing out rum in coconuts, and there was more weed in the air than oxygen.
You let the rhythm guide you, moving easily between groups, sipping something sweet from a red Solo cup. JJ found you every few minutes with another dumb compliment or joke, throwing an arm around your shoulders and whispering things that made you laugh louder than you meant to.
“You sure you don’t wanna dance with me?” he asked at one point, his hands already extended like he was about to twirl you.
“I’m not drunk enough for that.”
“Challenge accepted,” he said, walking off with determination toward the coolers.
For a while, it was perfect.
But as the night wore on, the crowd felt heavier. Louder. Hotter. You found yourself needing air, needing quiet. You slipped away, climbing up the dunes just far enough that the music dimmed to a heartbeat and the ocean waves became clear again, curling and collapsing against the shore.
The stars above you were sharp and infinite. You hugged your arms, breathed in deep, let the night wrap around you.
And then—
“You always sneak off when you look that good?”
Your heart jumped.
You turned fast.
Rafe Cameron stood at your side, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on you like he already knew every thought in your head.
You hadn’t even known he was at the party. You definitely hadn’t seen him arrive. But now he was here. Too close. Too real.
You tried to control your voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching you,” he said simply, his eyes drinking you in. “Clearly.”
You narrowed your eyes. “This is a Pogue party. Thought you’d rather die.”
“Maybe,” he smirked, stepping forward slightly, “but you make dying look like a good time.”
You turned your head, pulse racing. “I didn’t come here for drama.”
He tilted his head, voice dropping. “No? Then why are you dressed like that?”
Your stomach twisted.
“I don’t owe you an answer,” you said flatly.
Rafe didn’t back off.
“JJ seems to think he’s got a shot with you,” he murmured, eyes dark and hot. “He’s been all over you tonight. Laughing, touching. All that boyish charm shit.”
“He’s my friend.”
Rafe’s lip curled. “He wants more than that.”
You crossed your arms. “And what—you’re jealous now?”
“I’m not jealous,” he said. “I’m pissed.”
You blinked. “That’s worse.”
He stepped even closer.
“I’m not gonna pretend to like your friends,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t give a shit about them. And I’m not sorry for anything I’ve done. But I see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.”
He was right in front of you now. His scent — that stupid mix of salt and sweat and expensive cologne — wrapped around you like a noose.
“You could hate me,” he whispered. “I’d still want you.”
You swallowed hard.
“This is stupid.”
“Maybe,” he said, his hand brushing your arm. “But tell me to leave.”
You didn’t.
He leaned down, voice a little breathier now.
“You shouldn't look that good,” he whispered near your ear. “Not if you’re gonna act like I’m not allowed to want you.”
Your breath hitched.
And then his mouth was on yours.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was all teeth and heat and fingers gripping your waist like he wanted to brand himself into your skin. You hated how good it felt. How your body leaned into him before your brain even caught up. How easy it was to fall into him, to let yourself forget.
But it didn’t last.
The sound of someone calling your name in the distance broke the spell.
You gasped, pulling back. Your lips were swollen. Your mind scrambled.
“I—I have to go,” you stammered, stepping back fast, avoiding his eyes.
Rafe didn’t follow. Just watched you with that same unreadable expression. Hungry. Possessive. Like he’d just gotten a taste and would never stop now.
You didn’t look back.
But all night long, no matter how close JJ stood beside you, you felt him.
Watching you.
Like he already knew this wouldn’t be the last time.
I WOULD NEVER
The music store wasn’t busy that morning.
A few people came in, aimlessly browsing old records or asking if you had aux cables. The place always smelled like vinyl and dust, and the hum of the ceiling fan above kept the air from getting too heavy. You’d been restocking the cassettes in the back when the little bell on the front door rang.
“Hey, welcome in,” you called out over your shoulder without really looking. Your fingers continued shifting through a disorganized pile of tapes.
Silence.
You turned.
And froze.
There, standing in the middle of the store like he belonged in another world entirely, was Rafe Cameron.
And he was holding a bouquet.
It wasn’t a small, gas station arrangement either. It was large and beautiful — too many deep red roses, eucalyptus, something else that looked expensive and probably wasn’t even local. Wrapped in dark brown paper and tied with a black ribbon. The kind of flowers no one in your life had ever given you.
He wore a dark t-shirt and loose jeans, one hand tucked in his pocket, his jaw sharp and his expression unreadable.
You blinked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“At my job?” Your voice edged toward a whisper. You glanced toward the front door like someone might walk in and see this happening. “Rafe—”
“I wanted to bring you something.”
He took a few steps closer and held out the flowers.
You didn’t move.
“Is it some kind of joke?”
“No,” he said, voice steady. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
You couldn’t answer. Because no — he didn’t. He looked serious. Too serious. His face was calm, but his eyes burned, locked onto you like a laser. You took the flowers from him slowly, still watching him like he might do something impulsive.
“They’re… pretty,” you said, uncertain. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
You placed them gently on the counter. “Why?”
He smiled, slow and strange. “Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
You swallowed. Hard.
“Last night—” he started, and stopped. “You looked so good. I couldn’t stop watching you. And when you kissed me—”
“I didn’t kiss you, Rafe,” you interrupted, voice trembling slightly. “You kissed me.”
“And you didn’t stop me,” he said, that grin widening for just a second before fading. “You could’ve shoved me away. Slapped me. Screamed. You didn’t.”
You hesitated. Your heart was beating faster now.
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” you said slowly, stepping back behind the counter like it might offer protection. “But this can’t happen. You showing up here? With flowers? That’s not… you.”
“I’d do anything for you,” he said suddenly. His voice wasn’t raised — if anything, it dropped lower. “You think that’s not me? You don’t know what I’d do to keep you. I’d give up everything else. I’d cut people out. I don’t need anyone.”
You stared at him. “You’re scaring me.”
His brows drew together. “Why? I’m being honest.”
“No, you’re being intense.”
He took another step forward, voice tightening. “You don’t get it. Whatever wrong I do — whatever fucked up shit I get into — I’d never hurt you. Ever.”
The way he said it made the air feel thinner.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was talking to himself now. “Your friends? They hate me. I know. That’s fine. I’d still burn everything down just to be close to you.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. The words were too big. The silence between you grew louder.
Then—softly, like a switch flipping—his voice shifted.
“You looked so sweet behind that counter,” he murmured, gaze dragging over you, slower this time. “Like you didn’t even know how hot you are. All innocent with your little name tag and messy hair.”
You took a shaky breath.
“I could fuck you right here,” he whispered. “I could make you forget why you hate me.”
Your hands clenched into fists against the counter.
“But I won’t,” he added, stepping back a little. “Because you’re not ready.”
That was almost worse.
You didn’t know what to say.
He looked down for a moment, then up again, softer — but not safer.
“I know I’m not easy,” he said. “I’m not trying to be.”
He paused. His eyes searched yours with something real, something twisted and honest.
“But I’d never lay a hand on you. I’d never scare you on purpose. I’d never be rough unless you asked me to be.”
You exhaled sharply, your chest too tight.
“I’d give you everything,” he said, almost under his breath. “Everything I’ve got. And I wouldn’t care who I had to hurt for it — as long as it wasn’t you.”
A few beats passed in silence. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears.
Then, as if it was perfectly normal, he nodded to the flowers.
“Put them in water, okay? They’re fresh.”
And just like that, he turned and walked out — the bell chiming softly behind him.
You stood frozen for a long time, hands trembling, heart caught somewhere between thrill and fear.
You weren’t sure what just happened.
But you knew it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
WRONG DIRECTION
The sun was soft on your skin — not harsh like midday, just warm enough to make your arms glow, stretched out on the faded towel beneath you. You’d come out here for yourself today. Just a quiet hour before going back to everything: work, the Chateau, the Pogues. You hadn’t even brought your phone, which was probably a mistake — but you were too tired to care.
You tugged your sunglasses down and exhaled, letting the sound of gentle waves and distant kids laughing lull you into a near nap. Your limbs were loose, your skin buzzed with sun. You’d almost forgotten what it was like to be this still.
Until you heard the crunch of footsteps in the sand behind you.
You turned your head lazily at first, expecting some tourist or someone asking to borrow sunscreen.
But then you heard his voice.
“Didn’t expect to find you here.”
You sat up quickly, heartbeat ticking faster before your brain even caught up.
Rafe.
He looked casual — in board shorts and a white tee that clung to his chest just slightly from the heat. His hair was damp like he’d just been in the water, but the moment he locked eyes with you, there was nothing relaxed about the way he watched you. He didn’t smile like a jerk or try to be cocky. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at you like you were the only person on the whole beach.
You cleared your throat and pulled your sunglasses off.
“Jesus. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to. I just… saw you from the other end.”
You didn’t say anything at first. Your towel was too small to look dignified sitting up, so you adjusted your posture, covering your legs and brushing sand off your chest. His eyes flicked down for half a second, but when they returned to yours, they were steady.
“You always come here to tan alone?” he asked, a quiet little teasing note in his voice.
“Sometimes,” you shrugged. “Didn’t know I needed permission.”
His smile twitched. “You don’t.”
He looked out at the ocean for a beat before glancing back. “I was gonna head home soon. Thought maybe you’d want to come over.”
You raised a brow.
“To your house?” you asked slowly.
“Yeah. Just to watch something. Hang out.”
You laughed once under your breath, not unkindly. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going over to Tannyhill with you.”
His smile didn’t fade. He stepped a little closer, voice softer. “You don’t have to stay long. If it gets weird, I’ll take you straight home. No pressure. I just thought—” his fingers flexed slightly in his pocket, like he was holding back— “maybe you’d want to just sit next to someone for a while. Without all the noise.”
You looked at him, lips parted, not answering yet.
He added, a little quieter, “We don’t have to talk about anything heavy. Just… a movie. Something stupid. Or funny. Or scary if you want to cling to me a little, I wouldn’t mind.”
You rolled your eyes at that, but your smile betrayed you.
“Fine,” you muttered after a pause. “But if Sarah sees me in that house—”
“She won’t,” he said quickly. “She’s out with Wheezie, I think. You’ll be in and out before they even show up.”
You gave him one last skeptical look, but when you stood and shook the sand off your towel, Rafe grabbed it before you could fold it and slung it over his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but the small gesture made something flutter in your chest you tried to ignore.
The room was darker than you expected — cozy, even. Rafe’s room wasn’t what you imagined: clean, neat, a little cold, but there were worn corners, personal touches, signs of a boy who didn’t know what to do with comfort. He handed you a bottle of water and settled beside you on the bed, remote in hand.
The movie was something mindless. You forgot the title halfway through. You were too aware of how close he was sitting — not touching, but near enough that you could feel the warmth of his arm. Every now and then, he’d glance at you sideways. You’d pretend not to notice.
Half an hour in, he turned to you, elbow propped behind his head.
“I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “Even when you’re annoyed with me. Especially then.”
You tried to look away, but he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping.
“I think about kissing you every damn day. Do you know what that feels like?”
You swallowed.
“Rafe—”
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said quickly. “I just… I want you to know I mean it. I meant everything I said at the store. I don’t care what I’ve done, who hates me, how fucked up everything is — you are the only thing that makes me feel like I have something to lose.”
Your breath hitched.
“Rafe…” you whispered again, but this time, there was no sharpness in it. Just hesitation. Vulnerability.
And he saw it.
His hand came up gently, fingers brushing your jaw, then your cheek. He didn’t rush the moment — just held you there like he’d been dreaming about it for years.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said softly. “Not even if you walked away right now. But I swear, if you stay... I’ll spend every second proving you don’t have to be afraid with me.”
You didn’t answer — not with words.
Instead, you leaned forward, slow and unsure, your forehead barely touching his. He didn’t move. He let you come to him. When your lips finally met, it wasn’t urgent or messy — just real. His kiss was warm and deliberate, like he’d been craving the taste of you, but he was afraid if he pushed too far, you’d vanish.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your skin.
You kissed him again. This time deeper. And he exhaled like it was the first full breath he’d taken in days.
It was just a kiss. But it felt like a turning point.
And for once, you didn’t pull away.
“Tell me you want this,” he muttered, mouth hovering over the spot just below your bellybutton. “Tell me you want me.”
You moaned, threading your fingers into his hair. “I want you.”
“Louder.” He kissed lower. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I want you, Rafe.”
You gasped when his mouth hit the inside of your thigh. “I want you so fucking bad.”
That was enough.
His tongue was on you a second later — slow, skillful, filthy. He moaned into you like you were his last fucking meal. His grip was bruising on your thighs, dragging you closer, grinding you into his face with a kind of frantic reverence.
And when you came, shaking and breathless, his eyes stayed locked on yours — watching, claiming.
“Look at me when you fall apart. That’s it, baby. Let me see what I do to you.”
You barely had time to recover before he was kissing up your body again, lips slick, voice thick.
“You still want to stop?” he whispered.
You shook your head. “No. Please.”
He kissed you like he’d never stop.
You helped him out of his sweats — then he was over you, between your legs, eyes wild and full of everything he couldn’t say.
“You know what I am,” he muttered. “You know I’d ruin this whole fucking island if they touched you.”
You kissed him hard.
“I don’t care.”
He pushed into you slow — thick and deep — and both of you groaned like it physically hurt to be that close. His body shook with the restraint it took not to slam into you all at once.
“Fuck. You feel like heaven,” he hissed, forehead against yours.
You grabbed his hips. “Then take it. Take all of it.”
And he did.
Rafe fucked you like he needed to carve himself into your skin — hips snapping against yours, filthy promises spilling from his lips.
“I’ll kill for you.”
“You were made for me.”
“No one’s ever gonna touch you again. No one gets to see you like this but me.”
"Oh God" you scream. Feeling absolutely every inch of him growing harder and thiker inside you.
"You love how a fuck you, huh?" he kisses you harder "me cock deep inside you, giving it to you harder every time"
Every single dirty little word that came out of his tongue only made you wetter, and. that made him even harder.
"Maybe I should cum in you, what do you think?" he whispered "spill all my cum deep inside you so you're dripping every time for me, so every time JJ or any fuckying loser even smells you, they'll smeel me, that this pussy is mine"
While he was saying all this, he kept thrusting so hard, as if sticking it in you hard would make you stay with him forever. His thick cock was hitting every spot inside you.
WONDER
It started with the beach.
A week after that night in his bed, the two of you crossed paths again — like gravity pulling two doomed stars into the same orbit. You didn’t plan it. You were just walking along the dunes with your friends, the sunlight painting your skin, your sunglasses low on your nose.
Then you saw him. Standing under the pier, hands in his pockets, staring at you like a man starved.
You knew you shouldn’t have gone to him. Not with Sarah sitting ten feet away, not with JJ sprawled on a towel cracking jokes, not with Pope and John B shouting about a wave they were going to ride.
But you did.
You slipped away like you always did. Quiet. Breathless.
And Rafe was waiting behind one of the support beams, grabbing your wrist the second you were close enough, yanking you into the shadowed space between the pillars.
“Missed you,” he murmured, lips already dragging along your throat, his hand slipping under your bikini bottoms without preamble, his breath hot. “You know what I want.”
And god help you, you wanted it too.
You always did.
Then it was the bathroom at The Wreck.
Then it was his truck behind the dunes after dark.
Then it was the back of the music store during your shift — the door locked, his palm over your mouth to muffle the sounds you made.
You didn’t know how it became routine. Just that it did.
That every time you locked eyes, something in you clicked open. And something in him cracked.
You knew it was dangerous. You knew someone would catch on.
But every time Rafe whispered, “Mine,” against your skin — every time his hands gripped your hips like they were the only things keeping him sane — you forgot how to say no.
You forgot how to care.
Until one afternoon, back at the store, after a particularly breathless encounter where he'd bent you over the counter between stacks of vinyl, you slumped back into your chair, trying to catch your breath as you adjusted your clothes.
Rafe leaned down and kissed the side of your face. Tender, like it was all innocent.
But your heart was racing. Not just from what he did. But from what you felt.
You glanced at him, unsure. “Rafe…”
His thumb was already on your lips, quieting you. “Don’t.”
You pulled away just enough to speak. “What is this?”
He blinked at you slowly, head tilted like the question didn’t make sense.
“I mean,” you continued, “we keep doing this. Over and over. Like we can’t stop. But it’s just... it’s sex, right? I mean, it can’t be more than that.”
He was quiet for a second, watching you.
Then he stepped between your knees again, his large hands wrapping around your thighs, grounding you in place.
“You really think I’d let you give yourself to me like that,” he said softly, eyes dark, “and then just walk around letting some other guy touch you?”
Your breath caught.
He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing your jaw.
“You think I’d let someone else have you? Touch you? Look at you?”
You swallowed.
“You’re mine,” he growled, voice suddenly sharp. “And I’m yours. That’s all there is to it. Call it what you want, but this? this is everything to me”
“It feels like something else,” you said, voice quiet. “It feels like something real.”
He went still.
And then — with no warning — he kissed you hard. Not just hungry, not just rough.
Devoted.
The kind of kiss that made your skin feel electric and your spine melt. His hands curled tighter around your thighs, like he was scared you’d disappear.
“You don’t need to worry about what we are,” he said after he pulled away, breath still hot against your lips. “You feel it. I feel it. That’s all that matters.”
“But—"
“No.” He kissed your temple. “No doubts. Not about me. Not about this.”
You looked down, your chest aching. “This can’t last forever.”
He smiled then, slow and almost cruelly confident. “It will. You just don’t know it yet.”
Then he stood upright, adjusting himself like it was nothing, grabbing his hoodie off the hook as he headed toward the door. Before he left, he glanced back.
“You’re coming over tonight,” he said. “You don’t have to pack anything. You’re staying.”
Then he was gone.
And all you could do was sit there — sweaty, flushed, and spinning — heart hammering while you wondered whether he was right.
cw: fluff, military inaccuracies, meet cute, toddlers being toddlers
~~~
Lilly June was born unexpectedly in the middle of the night in late October. She didn’t even wait until you were at the hospital to come screaming into the world. One moment your water was breaking in the kitchen while doing some laps around the apartment to ease your discomfort, by the next hour Lilly was there in the backseat of your roommate's car, screaming as if being evicted so quickly had been an inconvenience to her.
You loved her immediately.
As did everyone who ended up meeting her. She was a good baby who slept well and ate even better, all smiles and giggles to whoever was in front of her. By four years old, Lilly was a riot of dark curls and helpful innocence only a toddler could accomplish. It amused you to no end seeing these toughened military men falter and melt under Lilly’s babbling questions of “what can I help you with today, sir?” in her slightly lisped speech as she perched on her knees at your desk at base, complete with small unicorn shaped notepad and a matching pink, glittery pen.
The men of the 141 stood no chance the first time one of them approached her newly appointed office and were confronted with Lilly behind the desk wielding her brand new notepad and pen - a pumpkin shaped notepad and blue glittery pen this time.
Captain Price had to do a double take the first time he wandered by the new Quartermasters office, not at all expecting to see the small girl there waiting for him instead of Quartermaster Thomas.
“Hi Captain! Did you need something, sir?” Price has to forcibly shake himself out of his stupor to answer the small girl. How the hell did she understand ranks already?
“No ma’m, just…Checking in with the new Quartermaster?” an amused huff to the right brings his attention to a woman who can only be the girl's mother - matching dark hair and eyes that are bright with amusement and fondness towards the child. You sets down the stack of papers you had been printing and introduces yourself.
“- And this is Lilly, my daughter.”
“‘Ello Miss Lilly.” Price greets the girl, who beams at him in response.
“She starts school next week, Laswell said it was fine to bring her in the meantime.”
“Not worried about that,” Price shakes his head with a smile, “just wondering which email I missed informing me about your assistant.”
Lilly is giggling now, her little legs dangling from her mothers chair as she swings them back and forth. Price now notices a small paper label stuck to her little jean jacket that does indeed read Assistant Quartermaster L. Thomas.
It’s bleedin’ adorable.
Captain Price is quick to take his leave soon after - but not before Lilly hops down from her chair to present a carefully selected puppy sticker to him. He thanks her with as much seriousness he can muster, while fighting what he knows is a stupid grin off his face.
