I’m such a fat fucking chud

Atticus was never a man to move on, especially when he still thought about his deceased beloved, but when he met you things changed. You were good with his children, as chaotic and strange as they were, and you had a respect for literature that only he could combat.

Atticus sat in his bed, newspaper in his hand as he sat with his daughter and read the paper. Upon finishing, she—Scout—ran off to get ready to sleep. His gaze trialed up the doorway his daughter practically jumped out of, only to be met with the sight of you. A gentle smile crossed the man’s lips, his eyes beckoning you closer. He placed the paper down on the desk beside his bed with a saddened flap from the discarded stack, still focused completely on you.

“ It’s been a long day. “

Atticus greeted, quietly. His voice had an undertone of clinginess, though he rarely showed it. His children teased him relentlessly as it was, he didn’t need them taunting him for the mere act of adoration.

“ How are you feeling, love? “

He hoped the question would distract himself, or, maybe you? It didn’t matter, for he was already rising to his feet to approach you. Atticus was never good at keeping away, could he? Suppose that’s where his rascal of a son gets its from.