Chapter Text
Go ahead and cry, little girl
Nobody does it like you do
I know how much it matters to you
I know that you got daddy issues
And if you were my little girl
I'd do whatever I could do
I'd run away and hide with you
I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too
The Neighborhood, “Daddy Issues”
Sunday, October 10, 2004
The insistent tapping of an owl tore Remus from his standard Sunday morning Belgian waffle and fantasy novel. Marking the page, he wandered from the small teak dining table to the kitchen window, snagging the letter as the creature entered and fishing out a treat from a canister on the counter.
He took in the masthead as he unrolled the scrap of paper - the Quibbler, personals section. Red ink starred one ad, with a note scrawled next to it that read ‘Get a life already!’
‘Shy single witch, 25, seeks experienced daddy dominant between ages 30-45 with strict and caring manner.’ The ad was signed only ‘joy.’
And on the back: ‘You’re denying Britain’s eligible witches a terrific service. - D
P.S. Gin says hi. Dinner Friday?’
Barking a laugh and shaking his head, Remus sent the owl on its way and plucked a strawberry from the top of the waffle as he sat back down.
It had taken him some time to even think about getting back into the scene after his divorce with Dora. Their tastes ran differently - hers towards switching for play and his towards power exchange - and a couple of years into their marriage she insisted that though she knew he cared for her, they both deserved to find what they really wanted. They remained close friends, though, and ever since she’d married Ginny a year ago, she’d been on a matchmaking kick.
Finding a submissive was easy enough; he’d had a few short relationships since the divorce. But finding someone he truly clicked with wasn’t, and finding someone also into caregiver dynamics was rarer yet.
The Quibbler’s personals section might be racier than the Prophet’s, but this was edgy even for them. He could always lie to Dora and claim he answered and it didn’t work out - or try telling her to butt out of his love life, again. (That never worked.) Despite the curt tone of the ad, though, he couldn’t help his curiosity.
Before he cleared the table, he found himself scratching out an answer and signing it with his middle name, which he used on his occasional visits to London's wizarding kink club.
Dear joy,
I hope this letter finds you well and doesn’t get lost in the avalanche of responses I’m sure you’ve received. I admire your bravery in seeking out your desires. Though I’m experienced with Dominant/submissive relationships, it’s rare to find a witch who also shares my fondness for Daddy/girl.
A bit about me - I’m 44, 6’2”, blond hair (not untouched by time), green eyes, in shape. I have a number of scars. Single and childless - divorced years ago, quite amicably. I work at the Ministry. When I’m not doing that, I enjoy a good duel or a good book equally.
If that sounds agreeable, let me know more about you and what you are looking for. Have you been in a relationship like this before? What excites you about it?
Intrigued,
Sir John
...
Sir John,
I apologize for the late evening owl; my own work schedule is somewhat chaotic and I did, indeed, have to discard the majority of an avalanche once I made it home. Filtering for grammatical mistakes and genital references in the introduction served to reduce it to a manageable pile of three. Yours caught my eye the most - more than agreeable, really.
Let’s see. I’m short, with dark hair and eyes. I’m mixed-race - not interested in being anyone’s exotic fantasy, and for some people that’s a sticking point, so I’d like to get it out of the way. I have a few scars of my own as well as a tattoo, and share your fondness for books and dueling. When I can find the time, I like to cook.
I’ve been in two power exchange relationships, neither in this particular vein. Single for over a year now, but I recently returned from the continent and my best friend has informed me that I’m a right bitch when I’m sexually frustrated, so here we are.
I like authority and discipline, but I don’t like being bad. I need to give up control. And I don’t know that I’m drawn to age regression, but the thought of being cared for is both a comfort and a thrill.
Admitting that, even just on parchment, makes me want to crawl under a rock.
Currently blushing,
joy
...
Dear joy,
I hope you’ve crawled into your bed by now instead, little one. The timing doesn’t bother me at all, but I wonder what sort of work keeps you out until ten on a Sunday.
I’ve no hangups on skin color (what utter prats have you dated?), but I must admit to curiosity about what fetching shade you’ve achieved with that blush. And about your tattoo. I’ve never thought of anything I’d want to get myself, but I find them beautiful. Are your scars, like most of mine, from the war? You must’ve been in school when it started. Or were you away then?
Plenty of people like the role without the age play. Is this just about the sex and the power exchange for you, or are you seeking romance as well? I’m open to all possibilities, though I would understand if that’s not agreeable given the age difference between us.
What sort of books do you enjoy? I love literary fiction and poetry, but my guilty pleasure is Muggle fantasy novels - I’ve just finished A Storm of Swords, the latest from George R. R. Martin. I need something to distract me from the fact that the next book’s not out yet. Any suggestions?
Sir John
...
Sir John,
I was glad to get your quick reply. I’m not comfortable talking about work for privacy reasons - I will if we meet - but I’m in a helping profession and I work odd hours at times. Hope that won’t be an issue.
I’ll hold off on revealing anything about the ink - a girl’s got to have a little bit of mystery.
I didn’t read novels during my school years, so I’m making up for lost time and devouring them at a prodigious rate. I mainly stick to literary but I branch out sometimes. I’m afraid to pick up A Game of Thrones because of the predicament you’re in now, but I recommend His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman for your rebound series - it’s got a young adult feel, but with some fascinating philosophical underpinnings. I assure you it’s complete.
I placed the ad for the power exchange and sex. I'd like it if the dynamic extended outside the bedroom, and if that leads to romance, I wouldn’t object. But I should warn you up front that I’m not good at the feelings and relationship bit. Hope that’s not a deal-breaker. Has nothing to do with your age - that doesn’t bother me in the least.
joy
P.S. I spent the last few years abroad. I don’t talk about the war.
...
Dear joy,
Neither your work schedule nor what you are seeking present any issues. I’ll never push you into anything you don’t want. I must admit that I don’t like to share, though, regardless of the nature of our connection.
I’m sorry - it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable by asking about your past.
If you’ve time in the next couple of days, send me a list of fifteen things about you - doesn’t have to be sexual. I just want to know you better. And thank you for the thoughtful recommendation - sounds like just the thing I need for my recovery.
It’s lovely that you’re so eager to talk, but I’d like you to be a good girl for me and get some rest now, little one.
Sweet dreams,
Sir John
...
Sir John,
1. ‘Good girl’ and terms of endearment seem to be the magic words, based on how hard I came last night. (I fell asleep right after, I promise.)
2. I don’t have any professor/student fantasies - some kinds of roleplay feel too forced and weird - but I do have two masteries and a learning kink.
3. I speak three languages.
4. I’m an atheist, but when I’m pissed off or having an orgasm, I curse like an Anglican sailor. Sometimes just for fun, too.
5. My parents have an interfaith marriage, both devout, and the fact that my dad was a lay minister makes #4 a little shameful. They took the atheist bit with grace, though.
6. I’m a cat person.
7. I can’t bring myself to get one since my first familiar passed, so I just have the owl you’ve met. Her name is Persephone and she’s a bit of a brat, I know. (Sorry!)
8. I also don’t like to share and have zero intention of being with anyone else if things do work out.
9. In terms of other kinks, I’ve got a fondness for bondage and impact. I’m not very experienced, but I like trying new things.
10. Also giving oral sex. I might have a fixation.
12. And orgasm control, but I’m awful at it, I’m far too sensitive.
13. Fifteen is a large number. Let’s see…I live in a flat above a cafe in Camden Town.
14. My favorite subject in school was Arithmancy, at the risk of sounding like a terrible swot. (I am.)
15. I’m not a morning person, and I require a copious amount of coffee to be coaxed out of bed.
I hope your Monday’s going better than mine.
joy
...
Dear joy,
Thank you for the tip about the coffee - I hope I have a chance to coax you out of bed sometime soon. I am a morning person, but that just means I’ll be awake to make it for you.
I’m sure that you hear often how bright you are. But it sounds like you also push yourself very hard and take on more stress than you should. It’s easy to understand why you need to give up control and responsibility - and though I know you’re shy about all of this, it’s okay to want that (and to get off on it). There’s no shame in it.
I own a cottage up north, I’m terrible with languages, and Arithmancy gives me a headache (really, I’m impressed). Top of my class in Defense and Charms, though. I believe in some sort of higher power, but I wouldn’t call myself religious. My mum was a Muggle - and a Catholic - but I tend to do the wizarding thing and swear by historical figures. I share your kinks, and a few more besides.
I bet you’re adorable when you curse, especially when you’re coming. I’d like to see how awful you are at orgasm control sometime - that’s far from a flaw. Are you able to come multiple times? What did you think about when you were touching yourself, baby girl?
You’ve certainly brought some joy to a boring Monday at the Ministry. How did you choose, or come by, your nickname?
Curiously yours,
Sir John
...
Sir John,
I’m sorry it's taken me a couple of days to write back, it’s been a rough week. Thinking of you did help in the midst of it, though.
My nickname before I came to Hogwarts was a name from my mum’s culture that means joy. Putting that felt more natural than tagging something silly like kinky bookworm (though that description also applies).
You’ve got me pegged. When we were kids, I used to give my best friend grief about his sense of guilt and responsibility, but I think I inherited it. I’m still working on accepting that it’s okay to need this, and on the shame thing. You really don’t find it sick or twisted?
Yes to multiple orgasms. I’ve been thinking of you - kneeling at your feet, you having me over your knee for a spanking, you holding me on your lap and touching me. I need that, please, sir. Have you been thinking of it, too?
Still blushing,
joy
...
Dear joy,
You’re not sick. It’s okay to have fantasies. It doesn’t mean you condone abuse or that you’re doing anything wrong. It doesn’t even mean you have ‘daddy issues,’ though there’s nothing wrong with needing help with mental health. We all probably do after the last eight years.
What limits do you have that I should know about?
And I have been thinking of you, little one. Wondering how soft you’ll be in my arms, if you’ll like feeling how hard you make me when you sit on my lap. I bet you fit perfectly. It’s alright if you’re not ready yet, but would you like to find out? We can meet this weekend, whenever you have time. You deserve a reward for making it through such a hard week.
Be a good girl for Daddy and fuck yourself tonight. Try to edge twice before you come. I want you to think about how good it’s going to feel to have my fingers inside of you - and my cock.
Sir John
...
Daddy,
I just came really hard. I managed to edge without any accidents, though. Thank you.
Limits are no permanent marking, watersports, blood, anal sex, canes, restraining spells. Physical restraints are fine. Some humiliation is fun, but I don’t like to feel degraded. I don’t like choking, but there’s something nice about having a hand against my neck. And please don’t call me ‘pet’ or ‘darling.’ Those are the things I can think of from the territory I’ve covered before. I use ‘yellow’ and ‘red’ as my safe words.
I do have family issues, but not in that way. My therapist is kink-friendly, thank goodness, and agrees with you that I could stand to let go of some responsibility.
I’m scared, but I don’t think delaying will make that any better, and I do want to meet you. I’ve never just…met someone for sex before. Could we spend time together first? I’m free Friday evening through Sunday morning. Let me know when would be good for you?
Nervous/excited/still floaty,
joy
...
Dear joy,
I’m proud of you for following instructions and for being such a brave girl.
Meet me in Flourish and Blotts at 7 on Friday and let me take you to dinner. That was my intention anyway, and there are some things I’d prefer to discuss in person. If you decide you want to spend time together after, we can go wherever you’re comfortable, and we’ll take it slow. I hope I don’t need to remind you to set up a safety check-in with a friend, but I’m going to anyhow.
I want you not to come on Thursday or Friday before you see me. You may touch yourself, but only if you think you can obey. I’ll take good care of you.
Sir John
...
Daddy,
Dinner sounds lovely. I’m starting to feel more excited than nervous (though still very nervous). I may not get a chance to write much between now and then, but I promise I’ll be good and not touch myself.
I’ll be in the far corner at Flourish and Blotts, in the poetry section. I usually wear Muggle clothes when I’m not at work, I hope that’s okay. And it’ll make me easier to spot. Looking forward to meeting you.
Yours,
joy
...
Dear joy,
I have no doubt you’ll be a good girl.
No pressure to write if you’re busy, and wear whatever you’d like. No need for anything formal. I stick to Muggle clothes most of the time outside of the Ministry myself.
Can’t wait to see you.
Sir John
Dora and Ginny took Remus’s cancellation of Friday’s dinner with no small amount of ribbing, but offered genuine well wishes. He wrapped up his last training class early and stopped by St. Mungo’s to pick up a fresh supply of Wolfsbane. As he stepped off the elevator, he was surprised to see a familiar head of dark curls dart around the corner into the entryway.
“Hermione?”
She stopped several steps short of the receptionist’s desk, where a bored witch flipped through a magazine, and shot him a broad smile. “Remus! It’s been a long time.”
“Since Christmas, right? I didn’t realize you were back.” Though they’d had a number of early morning conversations at Grimmauld Place and the Burrow during the war and lunch pretty regularly the year after, he'd lost track of her when she went to France to study. Other than running into one another on occasional holidays at the Burrow, they hadn't talked in years.
“I returned a few months ago. Ginny finally wore me down, she’s been trying to drag me back since I left. You must be here for - “
“The Wolfsbane, yeah. It’s okay, don’t let me take you from what you’re doing, I’m sure the receptionist can get it.”
“No, no, I’ve been working on a new formulation - it’s not out to the public for another month, but it’s passed safety trials and we’re using it on the ward. It should help more with the side effects. Let me grab you some from that batch, and don’t you dare try to pay for it.” She straightened her regulation dark green Healer's robes and led him down a narrow hallway to an office - hers, by the placard.
They’d never talked much about her studies in France, and he had no idea she’d done any work with Potions. She returned a couple of minutes later with a bottle bearing a handwritten label instead of one of the hospital’s standard ones.
“Thanks, Min, this is really sweet of you. When did you start working on the Wolfsbane?”
“That nickname’s never going to die, is it?” she asked with a laugh. George had tagged the rhyme with Gin a long time ago, and now almost everyone called her that except Ron. When he chuckled and shook his head, she ran a frazzled hand through her wild black curls. “Um, the ‘Bane was the research portion of my Potions Mastery. I’m hoping I’ll be able to improve it more, this is just a start. I’ve been meaning to ask if you have time to chat about it.”
“That’s amazing, really. I’m shit at Potions, though,” he said with a wry smile.
“Oh, no, not the brewing part. I don’t really have time to go into detail now.”
“I’d love to hear about it, or just to have lunch sometime. I’ll owl you, yeah?” At her nod, he said, “Can I steal a hug before I go, for old times' sake?”
She smiled, then it fell from her face as she tensed and glanced at the wall. “Rain check on the hug, sorry.” She broke into a jog towards the locked doors of the Dai Llewellyn ward. “Patient tripped my wards.”
“See you soon!” he called with a little wave at her back. He’d have to pester Gin for details about what she was doing at Mungo’s; she’d always been one for social issues and healing research, but she never discussed an interest in werewolf care with him.
For now, though, he had a date to prepare for.
Remus made it to Flourish and Blotts just on time, with a flutter of first-date nerves. He ran a quick hand through his short blond-gray hair and over his neatly-trimmed beard before wandering through the store to the poetry section. A petite woman in a long-sleeved, floor-length dress the color of a good cabernet bent to tug a book from a shelf close to the bottom.
He cleared his throat, pausing a few feet away. “Joy?”
When she stood and turned around, he spotted black curls barely tamed into a thick braid that curved over her shoulder, and found himself gazing into a pair of striking, kohl-rimmed hazel eyes.
Familiar black curls. Familiar hazel eyes.
“I - um - Remus?” Hermione stepped back and bumped into the bookcase, pressing a hand to her heart. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I should go.”
“Hermione, wait. Please.” As she pushed past him, he collected his wits and loosely snagged her wrist. She turned back but didn’t meet his eyes, and she was trembling. “I think it’s time to call in that rain check. Come here.”
She didn’t move, but she let him wrap her in a fierce hug. She’d always been a slip of a woman - she fit neatly against his chest, and after a second's hesitation, she buried her face in his cotton button-down.
“It’s alright if you still want to go in a minute, but right now you need to breathe. Can you do that for me?” When she nodded and rested her cheek against his chest so she could suck in a few breaths, he murmured, “Good girl.” He cast a wandless Muffliato charm, grateful the store had begun to empty out for the evening, and rubbed her back gently. “You’re safe with me. I’m not judging you.”
The hug and the soothing murmur of his voice seemed to calm her, and eventually she stopped trembling, her arms coming around him to cling to him like a limpet. It took her breathing longer to even out, though.
“Feel up to talking now?” Another slight nod. She smelled heavenly, like hibiscus and coconut and herbs. “Good. Do you want to sit down or stay like this?”
“Um.” She swallowed hard. Her plaintive tone made his heart ache and brought to mind her warning that she wasn’t good at feelings when she said, “C - can we stay like this?”
“Of course.” He rested his chin on her head, still stroking her back. “You should know I don’t feel any less thrilled about you, or about this meeting, than I did a few hours ago. It’s okay if you’re not attracted to me, or if you’re uncomfortable because I was your professor. But it’s not okay with me to run out just because you’re ashamed or scared.”
“But I am ashamed, Remus. And I am scared.” It came out in a small voice that made him tighten his arms around her. “I’m attracted to you, it’s not that, it’s just - “ Her voice broke and she sighed.
He had the feeling her reticence had little to do with him - other than with the fact that they knew each other - but he was relieved to hear her confirm it. “What are you so afraid of?”
“It was easier to think about doing this with someone who doesn’t know me. Someone I wouldn’t have to see again if it went badly. I still feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“Min, there’s nothing you could ever do to lose my friendship.” He ran his fingertips up and down her spine through the silky fabric of her dress. “In fact, if we do sleep together and it goes poorly, I’m going to be a better friend and insist you write and have lunch with me more often. Somehow, I don’t think it will, though.”
“’Kay. I’m terrible about that, I know. Sorry.”
“You kind of are.” He chuckled and she gasped a little laugh. “It’s okay, though, I don’t hold it against you.”
“You know, the name John doesn’t suit you at all.”
“Joy suits you, though. And it’s my middle name, I use it for privacy.” As she relaxed further in his embrace, he asked, “Want to know what I’m thinking right now?”
“Yes, please.” It came out a quiet, earnest murmur that made him wonder what she’d sound like begging for him.
“I was thinking that you’re the loveliest vision I’ve seen lately, and you fit perfectly in my arms. That’s one mystery solved.”
She breathed another giggle. “You’re sweet. I do feel safer here.”
“Good. That’s the idea.” He stayed silent for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of her in his arms. “Feel up to going to dinner?”
“I - I think so. Thank you for holding me.”
“There’s my brave girl.” He took her face in his hands and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “And you don’t have to thank me for that. I’m happy to hold you anytime you want.”
A pretty blush still colored her golden skin when he released her and she stepped back to look up at him, but it relieved him to find it wasn’t the deep red of the shame she’d worn earlier.
“Now, I want you to choose a book of poetry for me to read, and then we’ll head out.”
She smiled shyly and engaged him in a discussion on the Romantics while she browsed the shelves, but the book she picked out had just been published that year by a Muggle author. She marked a specific page for him. Soon enough, they paid, and he led her to the new restaurant that had recently opened up in Diagon, where he’d reserved a secluded table. Her fingers tangled with his the entire walk, and she searched out his hand again on the table when they were seated.
“I don’t think I know much about your parents. Where’s your mum from?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. He found her tactile nature adorable.
A shadow passed over her face, but left so quickly he might have missed it. “Pakistan. They had a Church wedding, but my dad supported that she was still an observant Muslim. Most of her family disowned her when they were married, so we didn’t visit much, but she taught me Urdu growing up. I learned French when I was working on my masteries.”
“Potions and Healing? I remember we discussed your Healing courses the year before you left.” At her nod, he said, “I’ve gotten to know a different side of you through your letters, and I don’t just mean that in the obvious way. You used to talk a lot about your research interests, but you’ve never talked much about yourself.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I got enough attention for being a hand-waving swot and Harry Potter’s best friend, you know?”
“You’re a lot more than either of those things.” He squeezed her hand and went to pour her a glass of wine when the waiter brought the bottle, but she shook her head.
“I don’t drink anymore - thank you, though. When did you start working at the Ministry?”
It relieved him to know that she'd given that up - the way she drank to cope in the aftermath of the war used to worry him. “Shortly after you left. I work in the training division of Magical Law Enforcement, it’s a good gig. Kingsley got me the position.”
“I’m glad you’re doing well, but that’s garbage.” She frowned, vehemence lacing her voice. “You were the best Defense teacher I ever had, and more skilled than most of the Order. They should have been beating your door down.”
“Yes, well, I intend to live a long life, and getting my blood pressure up over every injustice done to my kind puts a wrench in that,” he replied dryly. “Speaking of which, how'd you come to study Wolfsbane?”
“It’s a fascinating potion, and not much research has been done on it - because of the stigma but also because it’s so difficult. But the study is more of a means to an end for me.” At his questioning glance, she continued with the same vehemence, “I know they repealed Umbridge’s additions, but the original laws are still a crime. I intend to rewrite the legislation. Improving Wolfsbane compliance - with both financial access and dosing - will go a long way to getting it passed, I hope. The provisions are what I wanted to ask your input on.”
Stunned, he sat back in his chair, running a hand over his beard. “That’s - I mean, thank you, and I have a ton of faith in you, so don’t take this the wrong way. But when you aim, you really go for the impossible.”
“That’s what my boss said. With an extra helping of ‘you’re cracked, Granger, do you need a stint in Janus Thickey?’.” She snorted and took a sip of water. “Thankfully, I don’t need their support for the legislation, and the financial access piece is almost sorted. I do most of the Wolfsbane research in my off time, anyway.”
“What off time?” That had bugged him all week - not because of her slow responses, but because he couldn’t imagine it was healthy. “Your work schedule is ridiculous.”
“I get most Saturdays,” she said with a shrug.
“I know Mungo’s doesn’t require six day weeks, Min. And you can’t be doing it for the money. You must’ve gotten a number of offers with more regular hours, qualifications like yours.”
“It’s not about the money or the hours. It’s - “ She sighed and shook her head, her troubled gaze meeting his own. “Have you ever been in the Dai Llewellyn ward?”
“No, my few stints in hospital have been when I was on the potion and the registry, and never that time of month. Some of the people I ran across in the werewolf clans during the war were, though. We never discussed it.”
“I’m glad you haven’t. It’s fucking awful, Remus.” She sat back in her chair with a furrow in her brow. “Anyone who works the locked wards has to split their shifts, both to keep up their skills and because most of the staff would quit if they were assigned full time. I fulfill my other hours on Sundays in the emergency wing. I like that, too, but I spend as much time as I can in Dai Llewellyn because I can’t stomach - “ Her jaw clenched. “I love my job, and I love my patients, but it’s a good thing wizards don’t have a need for letter openers, because if I had one on my desk I’d have left a few holes in my coworkers by now.”
The fact that she’d chosen to make something so personal to him her life’s work touched his heart, but that level of emotional involvement stoked his concern. She probably wouldn’t react well to being pushed on it at the moment, though. “I’ve noticed the stigma from staff once or twice when I was there."
“It’s worse when you’re on the locked ward. We get others, acute injuries, but most werewolf patients are there for months or years,” she replied darkly. “Unfortunately, some of my coworkers don’t think the Healer’s oath applies to everyone. The patients who end up on the ward - they don’t have anyone to speak up for them except their families. And they usually end up there because their families don’t care.”
“I’m glad they have you, but that sounds stressful.” He took her hand again, tracing the lines on her palm.
“I’m fine, really. I worked at St. Anthony’s in Paris after I finished my apprenticeships - things are better down there, but not by much. I’ve gotten used to it by now.” She gave him a small smile. He believed she’d gotten used to it, but not that it was fine. “Getting to spend time with the kids more than makes up for it, they’re adorable.”
“I’m lucky my parents were supportive.” He tried to avoid dwelling on the stigma in general, and the sad thought of what it must be like for other children hadn’t crossed his mind in some time. “And though I'm curious to learn more about your work, at the moment I'm more curious as to whether you’ve made a decision.”
“A decision?” She cocked her head for a moment, then her blush returned. “Oh. Yes. I - um - I’d like to spend the evening together. If you still want to.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Where would you like to go? Yours or mine works, or we can grab a room at the Cauldron - “
“I would have asked for that if it were anyone else, but with you, my flat’s fine.” She swallowed, adding shyly, “If you’d like.”
“Of course.” He stroked the inside of her wrist before releasing her hand to settle the check, shooting her a stern glance that stilled her when she went to reach for her purse. “You’ll have to side-along me, I don’t think I’ve ever been to that part of London.”
When she took his arm to walk out, she leaned into him, and he reveled in the weight of her as he placed his hand on her back, finding himself grateful for their accidental connection.