h0useslut

[h0useslut]

okay so this flopped 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass ⏾

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 1,7k

warnings : emotional distress, anxiety, brief mentions of alcohol, comfort after trauma

summary : the BAU’s latest case hits reader hard. during a night out with the girls, she can’t help but spiral, and there’s only person she can think to call. spencer.

a/n : this isn’t my best work…however, i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for WEEKS

It’s past 12am when you check your watch. Damn it, you were going to miss the bus home.

The girls dragged you out - Emily and Penelope insisting on having a drink or two.

It’s not that you don’t like their company. You do. They’re your closest friends, and you knew they were doing it just to cheer you up. But somewhere between Penelope’s reenactment of a text conversation between her and Derek, Emily’s teasing laughter and JJ’s urge to fix you up with some guy at the bar- you realise you’re not really there.

Not fully.

You swirled the drink in your hand, watching condensation bead down the glass, the chatter of the bar dull and distant. Every so often, Penelope tries to pull you in - a gentle nudge to your shoulder or a “you okay” tossed casually over the music. You brush it off, smiling and offering something noncommittal. But the weight in your chest doesn’t lift.

The case is still there - still on your mind. Like a splinter you couldn’t quite dig out. It shouldn’t have hit you so hard, that’s what you reminded yourself. Cases which involved children sat heavy on your body.

Every laugh feels a little too sharp, every light a little too bright. You feel… untethered.

Excusing yourself under the pretense of freshening up, you gather your things - weaving through the crowd to find a quiet space. You don’t even bother to search for the bathroom. The exit door is looking way too pretty.

Once you’re out and the door clicks shut behind you, your shoulders sag for the first time throughout this horrible day.

You breathe in the cool night air, letting it sting your lungs, grounding you in a way the bar never could. Out here, the laughter, the music, and the clinking glasses faded into a dull hum, leaving you and just the ache pressing against your ribs.

Your fingers tremble as you dig your phone out of your bag. You stare at the screen, debating. You could call a cab, walk 30 minutes in the cold to the subway station or whatever motion of getting home alone.

Though you really don’t want to be alone. Especially tonight.

You scroll down your contacts, finding his name. Spencer. The one contact that feels like a lifeline.

It only rings once before you hear his voice, soft and warm despite the late hour.

“Hey” Spencer says, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You press the phone closer to your ear, throat burning as you tried to speak. “Hey- Spence, I’m sorry- Is this bad time? Did I wake you up?”

There’s a brief pause on Spencer’s end, and then his voice came back steady, calm. “No, you didn’t wake me. I was just about to head to bed”

You swallow hard, the tightness in your throat refusing to loosen up. “Listen, I’m not… I’m not really okay. I’m- I’m outside this bar on 9th”

“I’m on my way, sweetheart” He said without hesitation. “Send me your exact location”

You blink against the sudden sting of tears, heart hammering. “Spence…”

“Shh, I’ll be there in ten. Just hang tight, okay?”

You nod even though he can’t see you. “Okay”

You’re still leaning against the cool brick wall, phone tucked away, when footsteps approach you.

“Hey, you okay? We’ve been looking for you” JJ’s voice breaks through the night air.

“Yeah, just a little tired. I’m waiting for a cab” you said, forcing a smile.

JJ’s eyes search yours, as if she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. Whatever it is, she won’t say anything tonight. “You sure? We can all leave together”

“It’s fine, really it’s fine. I’m fine, JJ” you stammer. “Thank you. I’ll call if anything happens”

She nods, giving you a small reassuring smile. “Okay, just don’t stay out too long”

As she walks back toward the bar, you exhale - a broken sound echoing through the air. The only thing that mattered was that Spencer would come.

And a few minutes later, headlights sweep across the pavement- Spencer’s familiar car pulling up.

You’re walking before you know it, slow steps fighting the urge to just run into his arms.

The drivers door opens, and Spencer steps out, cardigan hanging loose over his shirt, hair a little tousled as if he’d just woken up. The second your eyes meet, his entire expression softens. As if he was holding back his breath too.

“Y/N” he says, closing the distance in a few strides - one hand hovering as if to give you the chance to pull away. When you don’t, his arms wrap around you, and you melt against him, forehead finding the familiar space between his chin.

You don’t trust your voice. So you don’t speak. He doesn’t push you any longer, because he knows what it’s like. And he knows you better than anyone. Better than himself. He knows you need reassurance now.

You don’t speak, but you let out a tiny sigh - barely audible. For the first time all night, your lungs expand without stinging.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” Spencer murmurs, voice vibrating against your temple. He guides you towards the car, opening the passenger door for you before circling back to the driver’s seat.

The moment you’re settled in the passenger seat, Spencer reaches over - buckling your seatbelt with practiced care before starting the car.

For a while, there’s only the steady hum of the engine and the soft rush of tires on the wet asphalt. You keep your gaze fixed on the window, city lights smearing into gold and white streaks.

You don’t realise your hands are clenched in your lap until Spencer’s bigger and warmer fingers cover them, gently prying them open. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, and the other over yours, thumb tracing slow circles.

Tears are blurring your vision once again, and you try - god you try to force them down. But they make their way down your cheeks. They don’t go unnoticed by Spencer.

His thumb moved to your face, brushing away fresh tears before they can fall any further.

He wished these damned red lights turned green soon. Spencer wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and hold you until you’ve let everything out.

“Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re alright” He murmurs, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the road.

Something about his words undoes you. Maybe it’s his tone. Or the fact that he doesn’t tell you to stop - doesn’t offer platitudes to make you stop. A shaky breath escapes your lips, your chest tightening as another cry breaks free.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-” you hiccuped, trying to frantically wipe your tears.

Spencer squeezes your hand, the motion strong enough to stop your frantic movements.

“None of that, sweetheart. You don’t have to apologise for this, not with me” He reassured you.

It only makes your tears fall faster, shoulders shaking as you try and fail to swallow another sob.

“Breathe for me, angel” Spencer soothes, his thumb continuing its lazy circles on your hand. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you”

You focus on the cadence of his voice, on the weight of his hand around yours, until the worst of it ebbs into quiet, trembling sniffles.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, your body feels wrung out, heavy with exhaustion. Spencer kills the engine and unbuckles your seatbelt, leaning over just enough to murmur, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

You follow him out of the car, hand still in his, not quite trusting your legs to keep moving on their own. The world feels muffled, and neither of you speak in the elevator. Spencer only shifted his hand so you could slot your fingers more securely through his, while pressing a kiss on your temple.

Inside, the warmth of his apartment greets you. Spencer unbuttons your coat, wanting to peel off the damp chill of the night. His hands linger just for a second at your arms, rubbing slightly to coax some warmth into your skin.

You let him guide you to the couch, body moving on autopilot as he crouches down to untie your shoes, slipping them off and placing them near your coat.

“Sit, I’ll be back in a second” He said, before disappearing into the kitchen. You could hear him shuffling around with the kettle.

Spencer returns a moment later, a steaming mug in hand. He sets it gently on the coffee table before settling beside you, knees brushing yours. He studies your face for a beat, taking in the redness around your eyes, the tremor in your fingers. His chest tightens. Not with pity, of course not. It tightens with the ache of wanting to shoulder just a fraction of what’s weighing you down.

Without a word, he slips an arm around you, pulling you to his chest. You let yourself sink in his embrace, his scent filling up your nostrils.

The tears come again, unbidden. Spencer tightens his hold, pressing his cheek into your hair.

“I’ve got you” he murmurs, voice steady but quiet enough that it’s just for you.

He rubs soothing circles along your arm, holding you until the sobs turn into sniffles and you’re not shaking any longer.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

You blink, swallowing hard. You knew he’d ask you eventually - there wasn’t any reason for you to be surprised.

“I don’t know- I don’t know where to begin, Spence”

“It’s okay” he replies, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Start anywhere. I’m listening”

So, you tell him. Little by little, you let the words tumble out - the case, the girl, the helplessness that wouldn’t let you breathe. How you couldn’t get the image of the little kids in the morgue. Spencer listens without interruption, his steady presence making you feel warmer.

When the last words leave you, he gathers the blanket from the couch and drapes it over you both. You feel yourself sink deeper into his arms, exhaustion seeping through your bones.

Spencer presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m right here”

Your breathing slows against him, and you close your eyes for the first time all night.

Later, when Spencer realises you’ve fallen asleep - he’ll carry you to bed. Cover you with his duvet, and kiss your cheek lovingly before he slips beside you.

He thinks you can’t hear him when he says,

“I love you. Sleep well”

But even in your semi comatose state, you think you feel it. And you smile.

[h0useslut]

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass ⏾

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 1,7k

warnings : emotional distress, anxiety, brief mentions of alcohol, comfort after trauma

summary : the BAU’s latest case hits reader hard. during a night out with the girls, she can’t help but spiral, and there’s only person she can think to call. spencer.

a/n : this isn’t my best work…however, i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for WEEKS

It’s past 12am when you check your watch. Damn it, you were going to miss the bus home.

The girls dragged you out - Emily and Penelope insisting on having a drink or two.

It’s not that you don’t like their company. You do. They’re your closest friends, and you knew they were doing it just to cheer you up. But somewhere between Penelope’s reenactment of a text conversation between her and Derek, Emily’s teasing laughter and JJ’s urge to fix you up with some guy at the bar- you realise you’re not really there.

Not fully.

You swirled the drink in your hand, watching condensation bead down the glass, the chatter of the bar dull and distant. Every so often, Penelope tries to pull you in - a gentle nudge to your shoulder or a “you okay” tossed casually over the music. You brush it off, smiling and offering something noncommittal. But the weight in your chest doesn’t lift.

The case is still there - still on your mind. Like a splinter you couldn’t quite dig out. It shouldn’t have hit you so hard, that’s what you reminded yourself. Cases which involved children sat heavy on your body.

Every laugh feels a little too sharp, every light a little too bright. You feel… untethered.

Excusing yourself under the pretense of freshening up, you gather your things - weaving through the crowd to find a quiet space. You don’t even bother to search for the bathroom. The exit door is looking way too pretty.

Once you’re out and the door clicks shut behind you, your shoulders sag for the first time throughout this horrible day.

You breathe in the cool night air, letting it sting your lungs, grounding you in a way the bar never could. Out here, the laughter, the music, and the clinking glasses faded into a dull hum, leaving you and just the ache pressing against your ribs.

Your fingers tremble as you dig your phone out of your bag. You stare at the screen, debating. You could call a cab, walk 30 minutes in the cold to the subway station or whatever motion of getting home alone.

Though you really don’t want to be alone. Especially tonight.

You scroll down your contacts, finding his name. Spencer. The one contact that feels like a lifeline.

It only rings once before you hear his voice, soft and warm despite the late hour.

“Hey” Spencer says, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You press the phone closer to your ear, throat burning as you tried to speak. “Hey- Spence, I’m sorry- Is this bad time? Did I wake you up?”

There’s a brief pause on Spencer’s end, and then his voice came back steady, calm. “No, you didn’t wake me. I was just about to head to bed”

You swallow hard, the tightness in your throat refusing to loosen up. “Listen, I’m not… I’m not really okay. I’m- I’m outside this bar on 9th”

“I’m on my way, sweetheart” He said without hesitation. “Send me your exact location”

You blink against the sudden sting of tears, heart hammering. “Spence…”

“Shh, I’ll be there in ten. Just hang tight, okay?”

You nod even though he can’t see you. “Okay”

You’re still leaning against the cool brick wall, phone tucked away, when footsteps approach you.

“Hey, you okay? We’ve been looking for you” JJ’s voice breaks through the night air.

“Yeah, just a little tired. I’m waiting for a cab” you said, forcing a smile.

JJ’s eyes search yours, as if she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. Whatever it is, she won’t say anything tonight. “You sure? We can all leave together”

“It’s fine, really it’s fine. I’m fine, JJ” you stammer. “Thank you. I’ll call if anything happens”

She nods, giving you a small reassuring smile. “Okay, just don’t stay out too long”

As she walks back toward the bar, you exhale - a broken sound echoing through the air. The only thing that mattered was that Spencer would come.

And a few minutes later, headlights sweep across the pavement- Spencer’s familiar car pulling up.

You’re walking before you know it, slow steps fighting the urge to just run into his arms.

The drivers door opens, and Spencer steps out, cardigan hanging loose over his shirt, hair a little tousled as if he’d just woken up. The second your eyes meet, his entire expression softens. As if he was holding back his breath too.

“Y/N” he says, closing the distance in a few strides - one hand hovering as if to give you the chance to pull away. When you don’t, his arms wrap around you, and you melt against him, forehead finding the familiar space between his chin.

You don’t trust your voice. So you don’t speak. He doesn’t push you any longer, because he knows what it’s like. And he knows you better than anyone. Better than himself. He knows you need reassurance now.

You don’t speak, but you let out a tiny sigh - barely audible. For the first time all night, your lungs expand without stinging.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” Spencer murmurs, voice vibrating against your temple. He guides you towards the car, opening the passenger door for you before circling back to the driver’s seat.

The moment you’re settled in the passenger seat, Spencer reaches over - buckling your seatbelt with practiced care before starting the car.

For a while, there’s only the steady hum of the engine and the soft rush of tires on the wet asphalt. You keep your gaze fixed on the window, city lights smearing into gold and white streaks.

You don’t realise your hands are clenched in your lap until Spencer’s bigger and warmer fingers cover them, gently prying them open. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, and the other over yours, thumb tracing slow circles.

Tears are blurring your vision once again, and you try - god you try to force them down. But they make their way down your cheeks. They don’t go unnoticed by Spencer.

His thumb moved to your face, brushing away fresh tears before they can fall any further.

He wished these damned red lights turned green soon. Spencer wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and hold you until you’ve let everything out.

“Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re alright” He murmurs, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the road.

Something about his words undoes you. Maybe it’s his tone. Or the fact that he doesn’t tell you to stop - doesn’t offer platitudes to make you stop. A shaky breath escapes your lips, your chest tightening as another cry breaks free.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-” you hiccuped, trying to frantically wipe your tears.

Spencer squeezes your hand, the motion strong enough to stop your frantic movements.

“None of that, sweetheart. You don’t have to apologise for this, not with me” He reassured you.

It only makes your tears fall faster, shoulders shaking as you try and fail to swallow another sob.

“Breathe for me, angel” Spencer soothes, his thumb continuing its lazy circles on your hand. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you”

You focus on the cadence of his voice, on the weight of his hand around yours, until the worst of it ebbs into quiet, trembling sniffles.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, your body feels wrung out, heavy with exhaustion. Spencer kills the engine and unbuckles your seatbelt, leaning over just enough to murmur, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

You follow him out of the car, hand still in his, not quite trusting your legs to keep moving on their own. The world feels muffled, and neither of you speak in the elevator. Spencer only shifted his hand so you could slot your fingers more securely through his, while pressing a kiss on your temple.

Inside, the warmth of his apartment greets you. Spencer unbuttons your coat, wanting to peel off the damp chill of the night. His hands linger just for a second at your arms, rubbing slightly to coax some warmth into your skin.

You let him guide you to the couch, body moving on autopilot as he crouches down to untie your shoes, slipping them off and placing them near your coat.

“Sit, I’ll be back in a second” He said, before disappearing into the kitchen. You could hear him shuffling around with the kettle.

Spencer returns a moment later, a steaming mug in hand. He sets it gently on the coffee table before settling beside you, knees brushing yours. He studies your face for a beat, taking in the redness around your eyes, the tremor in your fingers. His chest tightens. Not with pity, of course not. It tightens with the ache of wanting to shoulder just a fraction of what’s weighing you down.

Without a word, he slips an arm around you, pulling you to his chest. You let yourself sink in his embrace, his scent filling up your nostrils.

The tears come again, unbidden. Spencer tightens his hold, pressing his cheek into your hair.

“I’ve got you” he murmurs, voice steady but quiet enough that it’s just for you.

He rubs soothing circles along your arm, holding you until the sobs turn into sniffles and you’re not shaking any longer.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

You blink, swallowing hard. You knew he’d ask you eventually - there wasn’t any reason for you to be surprised.

“I don’t know- I don’t know where to begin, Spence”

“It’s okay” he replies, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Start anywhere. I’m listening”

So, you tell him. Little by little, you let the words tumble out - the case, the girl, the helplessness that wouldn’t let you breathe. How you couldn’t get the image of the little kids in the morgue. Spencer listens without interruption, his steady presence making you feel warmer.

When the last words leave you, he gathers the blanket from the couch and drapes it over you both. You feel yourself sink deeper into his arms, exhaustion seeping through your bones.

Spencer presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m right here”

Your breathing slows against him, and you close your eyes for the first time all night.

Later, when Spencer realises you’ve fallen asleep - he’ll carry you to bed. Cover you with his duvet, and kiss your cheek lovingly before he slips beside you.

He thinks you can’t hear him when he says,

“I love you. Sleep well”

But even in your semi comatose state, you think you feel it. And you smile.

[h0useslut]

HEYYᢉ𐭩 i know i’ve been semi active the past few weeks - mostly because of finals and vacation :)

i’m also having immense writers block, and haven’t sat down to write anything besides a draft for the lover girl series and an idea for a spencer reid fic (it just popped into my head)

FOR THOSE who’ve been sending me gregory house requests, don’t worry i see you!!! i am considering all of these requests and they’re all nice ideas. i haven’t watched house md in over a month, im still on s7 haha. THAT BEING SAID i can’t seem to gather my thoughts and write a decent story.

i’m still on vacation and desperately trying to find a decent job that fits with my uni schedule

i’ll be back soon, i promise .ᐟ.ᐟ

[h0useslut]

i need him so bad its concerning at this point

[h0useslut]

long night with your hands up in my hair ⋆.˚

part two | series masterlist | masterlist

pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!bookstore owner!reader

w/c : 1,9k

warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, fingering, reader has big boobs, kissing, praising, mentions of past bad sexual experience, aftercare, hotch with his big hands yum

summary : aaron and reader get a little handsy in the bookstore after the party.

a/n : in my head reader wears THE atonement green dress. argue with the wall.

You smiled like a fool once you turned to him.

The door was locked, the lights were low… It was straight out of a romance novel. Only in romance novels, Aaron fucking Hotchner wasn’t there.

Thank goodness he’s in real life.

Sitting down at his level again, your breaths mixing - his suit jacked tossed aside, you couldn’t help but put your hands on his face, dying for another kiss.

His lips were on yours before you could do anything else, tongue dancing along with yours - tasting and teasing, as if memorising every curve and sigh.

Your hands slid from his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw, down to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair there- pulling him impossibly closer. Aaron’s hands didn’t waste a second. One came to rest on your cheeks, while the other roamed down your waist, holding you tight as if you’d vanish.

Your lungs nearly forgot how to work when he deepened the kiss, heat pooling low in your belly. “Aaron” you whispered against his mouth, voice trembling.

Barely holding yourself back- your legs came to wrap around his waist as you straddled him, dress riding up with the movement. His hands found your thighs, squeezing them gently.

He almost couldn’t believe he had you like this in his arms. Trembling, breathless and oh… so needy.

A kiss on the column of your throat made you whimper. “You have no idea what you do to me” he murmured, voice hoarse.

“You could- You could show me” you whispered, a daring softness in your throat.

His answering groan was low, ragged. Aaron’s fingers slid beneath your dress, finding the soft plush of your thighs as his mouth found your jaw, then lower- kissing down your neck, till he slid the straps of your dress leaving your chest almost bare and exposed for him.

“You’re so beautiful” He breathed against your skin, placing featherlight kisses on your shoulders, as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. They fumbled only for a moment, and then the fabric slipped away. Aaron tossed it aside, eyes darkening as he finally took you in.

His breath caught.

His thumbs traced over the soft curve of them- their fullness spilling into his hands. His mouth followed soon after, trailing slow kisses down your collarbone until he found your nipple.

It made you shiver.

He looked up at you like you were something divine. “Tell me if it’s too much, sweetheart” he said, voice wrecked with restraint.

“No- It’s not- It’s not too much”

He leaned in to kiss you again, whispering words of praise as you shuddered above him.

Aaron’s hands were warm as they slid down your waist, grounding you in his touch. His mouth trailed back up to yours, slow and dizzying- one hand coming to tangle in your hair while the other dipped between your thighs, brushing against the damp heat of your underwear.

You gasped into his mouth.

“Okay?” he asked softly, patience written all over his face.

He would never rush you.

You nodded, already breathless. “Yeah- Just go- Go slow?”

His lips brushed your cheek. “Of course, sweetheart”

He guided you to lie back, back pressing into the soft rug as he hovered over you. His jacket was long forgotten, his shirt undone halfway down, exposing the strong line of his chest.

With gentle fingers, Aaron pushed your underwear aside and slid one finger through your folds, teasing but careful. Your hips bucked, not in rejection but from the sheer sensitivity. His gaze flicked up to you immediately.

“So sensitive” He murmured, “So soft”

He circled your clit with maddening gentleness, making your breath hitch.

Then slowly, he peeled your panties off- sliding one finger inside you as he watched your face.

Your walls clenched around him instinctively, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips as your body tensed around him. It wasn’t that you hadn’t done this before. But you hadn’t expected that it would feel so good- so full, even if he had only one of his thick fingers inside you.

“Hey, hey” Aaron soothed, his thumb continuing to circle your clit. “You’re doing perfect. You’re so good for me”

You tried to nod, voice shaking as you willed yourself to speak. “Sorry-Sorry. I’m just-“

He leaned in, kissing your jaw with the utmost care, making you tremble. “Don’t apologise, honey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Breathe for me. Let me take care of you”

His thumb kept moving in slow, delicious circles, while the finger inside you stayed still, letting you adjust. Letting you feel everything. When your hips finally rocked down against his hand, he smiled against your cheek.

“There you go” He cooed at you, “That’s it, sweetheart”

You let out a breathy moan, your body starting to move with his rhythm. He slid his finger out and back in, curling inside you deeper. Whimpering, you clutched at his biceps.

“Aaron”

“God you’re so tight” he groaned, jaw flexing. “So sweet for me”

When he added a second finger, you gasped again, feeling overwhelmed and dizzy with pleasure, but not afraid. Because he was right there. Watching you. Worshipping you.

You came with a shudder, thighs shaking. Aaron’s free hand found home on your abdomen, keeping you still and wanting to reassure you.

Aaron withdrew his fingers carefully, not wanting to startle you after everything he’d just given. You whimpered softly at the loss, thighs quivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm. He noticed immediately. You felt him leaning in, placing soft kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your temple.

Tears had fallen on your face before you could stop them. You hadn’t even noticed. Not until his thumb brushed them away.

“You’re okay, I got you” he whispered, voice so sweet you could burst into more tears.

“Look at me, sweetheart. Did I hurt you?” he murmured and god no. How could he ever hurt you?

You shook your head, lips trembling. “God no- Aaron no-“ You choked out. “You didn’t hurt me- It’s just- You didn’t hurt me”

His expression melted. To think that someone would mistreat you in such way made his anger boil. But he kept his thumb on your cheek, brushing at it while more tears fell down.

“They always did” you confessed. “Before- I mean- It never felt like this” you paused, taking a shaky breath. “So good”

Aaron’s face didn’t harden the way you feared it might. There was no anger, no pity. Just quiet heartbreak. Quiet understanding. And love.

“They were boys,” he said, low and steady. “They didn’t know how to take care of you. They didn’t deserve the chance.”

Your eyes filled again, and you leaned into him fully- letting him place you in his lap. Arms wrapped around your waist, hand firmly on your back. Holding you through it.

“I’m sorry” You whispered against his neck.

“Don’t be,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Not for this. You feel what you need to feel. I’m right here.”

You stayed like that for a while — quiet, clinging, safe. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your spine, his heart a steady drum beneath your ear.

When your breathing slowed and the last tear slid down your cheek, Aaron pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched yours. “Do you want to get cleaned up, honey?”

You nodded, a little embarrassed, but he kissed your forehead before you could retreat into yourself.

Aaron placed you on one of the bean bags, fixing the straps of your dress before shuffling away- padding behind your counter and into your small bathroom. He wet a small cloth, and turned back to you.

He found you still curled up, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy as you blinked up at him. You looked soft. Vulnerable. So heartbreakingly lovely, it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Wordlessly, Aaron knelt in front of you.

His movements were slow, tender in a way that made your chest ache. He knelt between your legs, parting your thighs just enough so he could clean you up, checking your face every few seconds for any signs of discomfort.

The cloth was warm, and you felt anything but discomfort.

“You’re okay” He murmured again, as he ran the cloth gently over the inside of your thighs. “Such a good girl”

You wished you could’ve stopped the welling in your eyes as he praised you. There was such care in his voice. Not lust, not pride. Something sacred and patient.

Once he finished, he helped you back into your underwear, kissing your knee as he slid it up your body. Still crouched down in front of you, he looked up - brushing a a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

“Come here” he coaxed, effortlessly pulling you into his lap and cradling you.

“Let me hold you”

And so you did.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. In his arms. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, your cheek pressed to his chest. Every now and then, he murmured something soft. Kissed your hair. Tucked you closer.

Eventually, your voice broke the quiet.

“Oh- Oh it’s 2am” you said sleepily. “I have to clean up, and lock everything”

Aaron didn’t let you move right away. Just squeezed you a little tighter.

“I’ll help” He said, “And I’ll walk you home” he added.

You tilted your head to look at him, ready to protest. “You don’t have to-“

“I want to” He said firmly, a small smile on his lips. “You’re not walking alone at this hour. Let me take you”

You didn’t argue after that.

The two of you moved around the bookstore quietly, putting empty wine glasses back behind the counter, straightening a few chairs, turning off the music. He double checked the door after you locked it, hand brushing the small of your back.

The walk home was quiet, but not tense. He held your hand in his, squeezing it whenever you stumbled a little with your heels.

When you reached your front door, you turned to him. You could feel your heart fluttering all over again, blushing like a school girl.

“Thank you, Aaron. For tonight, for everything”

Aaron’s hand came to your face again, thumb stroking your cheek once. Like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill of touching you.

Then he leaned in and kissed you. Sweet, like the gentleman he was. Of course Aaron Hotchner kissed you goodnight.

“Goodnight, sweetheart” he murmured against your lips.

You tried not burst into giggles as you stepped inside your apartment. Here you were, celebrating your little shop and almost having sex with the man of your dreams.

And just when you’d calmed down, your phone buzzed.

Aaron.

You had saved each other’s numbers a few weeks back, when you had to update him on a book Jack had ordered. He insisted you text him in case he was away on a case.

At first, you didn’t expect to use it after that. Not for anything personal at least. Not for this.

The message read:

My place. Friday. 9pm.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long before actually typing back.

Smiling, you texted back;

only if you’re cooking :)

Then another buzz, almost immediately:

I’m making pasta. Hope that’s enough to earn another kiss.

You chuckled, flopping back onto your bed, cheeks warm.

you’ve already earned a few, but pasta wouldn’t hurt.

[h0useslut]

YOU HOE thank you so much 🥰🥰🥰 you didn’t forget me you little shit you didn’t even know 💗💓💞💕💖

I can't believe I forgort...😔💔

HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY POOKUMS @h0useslut WE LOVE YOU ☝☝💕💕😍

[h0useslut]

oh my god

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ unlawful

⤷ aaron hotchner x reader

The room is cold. Dim. Designed to be uncomfortable.

You don’t mind.

You’re sitting there in the metal chair, legs crossed, wrists handcuffed loosely in front of you. There’s a slight smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, not arrogance, but something more. It’s close to amusement.

When Aaron Hotchner walks into the room, you don’t blink. You only tilt your head, studying him like a puzzle you already know how to solve.

He doesn’t offer a name.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks, placing a file on the metal table with a soft thud.

You lean forward slowly, chain clinking. “I imagine it has something to do with the bodies,” you murmur, voice sultry, low, almost like a purr.

Hotch doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay cold. Professional.

But you see the flicker. You always see the flicker.

“I didn’t kill anyone, Agent,” you say, smiling now. “But I know things. And that makes me interesting, doesn’t it?”

He opens the file. Photographs. Surveillance. Timelines.

You don’t even look.

Instead, you fix your gaze on him. “Tell me something,” you say. “Do you always do the interrogations yourself? Or am I special?”

“You’re a suspect in a federal investigation.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “That’s not a no.”

Hotch sighs quietly. Leans forward. “We have you on video near two of the crime scenes. Your financial records are tied to a shell company used to purchase materials. You lied about your whereabouts to local police.”

You shrug, slow and unapologetic. “Maybe I was running from something else.”

“Like what?”

You don’t say anything, you simply just stare towards him. 

He doesn’t react, but that flicker comes back again.

You decide to push.

“Buttoned-up, clean-cut, in control… but something’s always simmering underneath, isn’t it?”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asks, flat.

You let your eyes drag over him. “Would it work?”

Silence.

His jaw tightens. His fingers twitch once against the table.

You know then, yes it would. 

The next time Hotch comes in, he’s angrier, or at least trying to be.

He’s brought back up, Morgan stands in the hallway, arms crossed, but Hotch waves him away. “I’ll handle this.”

You smile when the door shuts.

“You came back,” you whisper. “Did you miss me?”

“You’re playing games,” he says, teeth gritted. “And it won’t end well for you.”

“You think you’re the first man to say that to me?” you laugh, low and wicked. “And yet… here I am.”

You uncross your legs, slowly, and shift forward. The orange jumpsuit doesn’t flatter most, but you know how to move. You know how to take up space.

“I don’t want a lawyer,” you say softly. “I want you.”

Hotch is silent. Rigid. But his eyes roam. Briefly.

You lean in closer, just far enough to let your breath ghost over his jaw. “You could press me harder,” you murmur. “Maybe I’ll give you everything you want.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” you whisper. “I think you’re lonely.”

That one hits.

You watch the wall go up in his expression, but there’s a crack now. He doesn’t ask you more about the murders. He just stares at you like he’s trying to stop wanting you.

You make sure he fails.

The cuffs are tighter than usual.

You notice it immediately. Not painful, Hotch wouldn’t do that, but snug. Deliberate. No slack, no give.

He’s standing beside you in the transport bay, face blank and eyes unreadable. The black SUV idles behind him. The engine hums low, the lights off. No one else is around.

No guards. No backup. No other agents.

“Where’s Morgan?” you ask, feigning boredom as the chill of the night air cuts through your jumpsuit. “He likes watching me get shoved into back seats.”

Hotch doesn’t respond. Just steps closer and places a steady hand on your lower back.

You raise a brow. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we?”

“Move,” he says simply.

You walk.

The SUV door creaks open and you climb inside, twisting your cuffed wrists to get comfortable. Hotch slams the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side.

The moment he slides in, you know.

This isn’t official.

No partition. No prisoner transport divider. No GPS blinking. No chatter on the radio. It’s just you, him, and the quiet roads ahead.

“Where are we going?” you ask softly, eyes on his profile as the SUV pulls away from the loading dock. “Not a Bureau facility, I’m guessing.”

Silence.

“Not Quantico. Not federal holding. So where, Agent Hotchner?” you press.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Somewhere secure.”

You smile to yourself.

The drive is long. A blur of blacktop and trees. You watch the reflection of passing headlights move over his face like ghosts. His jaw clenches every time you shift in your seat. He hasn’t looked at you once.

“Are you afraid of me?” you ask finally.

That gets his attention. His eyes flick toward you, just for a second. Sharp. Heated.

“No.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Silence again.

You uncross your legs slowly, letting your knee brush against the center console. “Is this where you kill me?” you tease, voice a whisper.

Hotch slams the brakes.

The SUV jerks to a stop on the side of a dark road lined with trees. You’re thrown forward slightly, heart hammering from the jolt.

Then, without a word, he gets out and circles around the car.

Your door opens, and he leans in close. Too close.

“Don’t test me,” he says, low and deadly. “Not tonight.”

You smile. “Why?”

His hand closes around your upper arm as he hauls you from the car. He walks you toward a gate you hadn’t seen through the dark. A cabin, more bunker than home, rises from the shadows ahead.

A Bureau safehouse.

Isolated. Quiet. Private.

The door opens with a fingerprint scan.

He ushers you inside, slams it shut, and locks it from the inside with a bolt that clicks hard. His keys jingle softly as he tosses them onto a table.

Then he turns to face you.

You stand in the center of the room, cuffed hands in front of you, chest rising and falling slowly.

No one knows you’re here.

No one will interrupt.

The room is quiet, dimly lit by a single lamp. Sparsely furnished, just a bed, a chair, and a locked door behind you.

You stand there, arms loose at your sides, watching Hotch toss his coat aside like it’s burning him.

“So what is this?” you ask, voice breathy. “An off-record interrogation? Or do I get to be your dirty little secret?”

He storms toward you, grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel. His voice is rough. “You don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

Your pulse spikes.

He’s not playing good cop anymore.

His mouth crashes onto yours, hungry, hard, relentless. You moan into him, parting your lips to let him in, tasting his control crack for the first time. His hands trail down your body, tugging your clothes with sharp, impatient motions.

“Take it off,” he demands against your mouth.

You do, slowly, teasingly, eyes locked on him. Your bra hits the floor next.

He doesn’t give you time to finish undressing. His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, fingers gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. You can feel the line of him, hard and throbbing, pressed between you.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispers against your throat, voice dangerously low. “Thought about shutting that mouth of yours with my cock.”

You whimper.

He drags you to the bed and pushes you down, chest heaving, tie loosened. “On your knees.”

You crawl up onto the mattress, presenting yourself for him without shame, back arched, looking over your shoulder with a smug little smirk.

But he wipes it clean.

He strips down methodically, like he's preparing a weapon. And when he kneels behind you, you brace yourself for roughness.

But the first touch is slow.

His hands glide up the backs of your thighs, parting you gently. His breath is hot on your skin.

Then he buries his face between your legs.

Your gasp is sharp.

He licks you with practiced cruelty, long, deep strokes that make your thighs shake. His tongue is relentless, sliding over your clit again and again until your fingers claw at the sheets.

But every time you’re close, he pulls back.

You cry out in frustration. “Hotch—”

“I said,” he growls, “don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

You bite your lip hard enough to bleed.

He grips your hips tighter, lips slick with you, and this time he sucks, pulling your clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue.

Your orgasm hits hard, screaming into the pillow, hips trembling, and he groans against you like he’s starving for it.

When he finally pulls away, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands.

“I’m not done with you.”

He flips you onto your back and pins your wrists above your head with one hand. With the other, he unbuckles his belt.

“Eyes on me,” he commands.

You obey.

You always obey.

His cock is thick, flushed, dripping, he strokes it slowly while looking down at you like he’s choosing how to ruin you.

“I’m not going to be gentle.”

You whimper, legs parting, completely undone. “Then don’t.”

He slides in with one deep, brutal thrust, and you nearly sob.

He starts fucking you without pause, hard, deep strokes that make the bed creak and your back arch. His hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, squeezing your breasts, wrapping around your throat as he pounds into you like he needs to break you open.

You chant his name between moans, between sobs, between desperate gasps for air.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He leans over you, face inches from yours, sweat beading at his temple. “You wanted this,” he growls.

You nod. “Yes—fuck, yes, I wanted you.”

His rhythm falters. For a second, there’s a flicker of something human behind his eyes.

Then he kisses you again, filthy and deep, and drives into you even harder.

You come again, this time with his name breaking on your lips, and he follows with a groan that sounds almost like surrender.

He spills into you, clutching your body like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

For a long, breathless minute, neither of you speak.

You lie beneath him, wrists pinned, bodies sticky and shaking, and the air between you is thick with something more dangerous than lust.

Obsession or regret, maybe need. 

When he finally lets go of your wrists, you trace the red marks he left on your skin with a dreamy little smile.

“Agent Hotchner,” you murmur, eyes glinting in the dark, “you’re going to have to do a lot of paperwork for this.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling.

He doesn’t deny it.

[h0useslut]

Hi!! Im wondering if you could right a greg house x fem reader? and it's readers first time so she's like a teeny but insecure and he's uncharacteristically gentle lmao. Lots of praise and sprinkle some mean words cause well it is house after all haha

hey!! actually had an unfinished fic with this trope but i got bad writers block. idk if ill finish it or start something new! but this is def a scenario i’ve been thinking of

[h0useslut]

OMG UR LAST FIC MADE AN AFTERGLOW BY TAYLOR SWIFT REFERENCE??????

oh yes 😼

[h0useslut]

chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us ✦︎

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

w/c : 3,5k

warnings : nsfw! sexual explicit content, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, canon-level ANGST, profiling, crying after sex, daddy issues, spencer is a bit of an asshole

summary : spencer profiles reader to impress the new recruits, but takes it too far. after messy apologies and sharp words, he finally knows how to make it up to the one person he shouldn’t have let go.

a/n : ignoring my responsibilities to focus on spencer reid!

It was supposed to be a simple demonstration. A harmless example of profiling, to impress the new recruits and remind everyone why Quantico produced the best of the best.

More specifically, why boy genius Spencer Reid was always the smartest in the room.

You and Spencer joined the BAU almost at the same time - just a few months apart - and immediately clicked together.

He was awkward, spilling facts about anything and everything. Never in a way that made you feel small. If anything, he went out of his way to include you in conversations, like he remembered what it felt like to be on the outside looking.

In those early months, you were inseparable. Late night cases turned into quiet conversations in hotel hallways. You read next to each other on the jet. He brought you hot chocolate after a case particularly hit too close to home. You laughed. You listened.

But then he was arrested. He was in prison, gone from you in the blink of an eye.

You wrote to him, left voicemails. Checked in with Garcia more than you should. You remember asking more than once if you could see him. You missed him, so much.

You never got an answer from him.

But someone did.

It was Emily, or JJ. Someone close enough to him to get through the walls he built. Someone you trusted, until they came back from a visit and quietly pulled you aside.

It was Luke who’d told you. News travel fast don’t they? You’d said back.

“He said he doesn’t want you to come”

You remembered freezing. Blinking hard as if it was a joke. Luke had tried to soften it, saying that it’s better if you don’t see him like that - reassuring you that it was out of protection or shame. All you heard was that he didn’t want you.

So you stopped asking.

And when he came back? You didn’t run into his arms. You didn’t wait by his desk with coffee and a shaky smile. You gave space.

He called you once or twice throughout the day, till he stopped. Mostly because you ignored him.

It killed you to do it, but the space between you was so wide, so hollow - you could fall into it.

You told yourself you were over it. You could survive working with him 24/7 in the same space? Right? Losing your best friend shouldn’t be that bad. Or pretending that the memory of his voice in your voicemail inbox didn’t still echo sometimes.

But then came the morning when Emily paired you two up for a consult. Something low-stakes. Easy. Just the two of you and a briefing room that felt too quiet.

You could barely look at him. That’s what made him crack.

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” he asked, trying to sound gentle.

You glanced up from your folder, brows raised as if he didn’t have the right to talk to you like that. “You said you didn’t want me, remember? I’m better off here”

Spencer looked like you’d slapped him. “That’s not-“

“Thats exactly what it was, Spencer” You cut in. “You didn’t want me to see you like that, so you shut me out. You didn’t even give me a chance”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“I begged to see you. I begged, and I hoped and couldn’t sleep at night because I wanted- God, I needed to prove that you were innocent” You snapped. “And you told them that I wasn’t- I wasn’t welcome to see you”

The room went quiet. The only sound was the humming of the fluorescent lights above, sharp and cold - buzzing between you.

You were still clutching the case file like it would crawl out of your hands. If you let go, the floodgates would open.

Spencer stepped closer - approaching you like a wounded child.

“I thought I was protecting you” he whispered.

“Well” You said, breath hitching. “You didn’t”

Whatever words you exchanged that day were minimum. You avoided him like the plague.

But he searched for your eyes like a desperate man, trying to make everything alright. He wished he could change your mind - stop you from resenting him so much. This wasn’t his best friend he left before prison. You were slowly becoming a rival at work.

Fast forward to today - when the tension came to a head. You hadn’t expected him to choose you.

It was supposed to be something light, just to make the newbies get used to what was going on with the BAU.

You watched Spencer step forward, that familiar flicker of nerves in his hands. But he hid it well, launching into facts, psychology and how profiling is a science of empathy, not judgement.

His profiling methods on you were purely ill-mannered.

You blinked at him, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. He didn’t smile back though.

His eyes flickered over you, scanning. You felt your shoulders tense, your body instinctively retreating.

“She dresses in soft tones. Usually blue or lavender. Non-threatening, comforting. Her jewellery looks inherited, not bought. Subtle, sentimental. She doesn’t like attention, but wants to be noticed”

The recruits chuckled, someone muttering a small “accurate”. You didn’t move.

“She bites her nails. Twitches the single scrunchie in her arm. Not out of nervousness, but out of guilt. Regret, maybe. Or shame”

Your heart almost gave out. The air grew tighter.

“She overcompensates with warmth. With kindness. Because if she keeps giving and not taking, no one will notice how afraid she is to ask for anything back”

You tried to look nonchalant. The faint sound of a few pens scribbling brought you back. Someone whispered “damn”. You felt as if he was stripping you bare - and not the good kind.

Emily motioned for him to stop, muttering a small “Too far.”

But he ignored it. He kept going.

“She has abandonment issues. Abandonment trauma, actually. Parental - maybe paternal. Textbook daddy issues. She’s used to being left behind, so she build bridges she knows people will burn”

Silence. Even the recruits were silent now.

Your breath hitched.

And then he said softer,

“She’s also grieving. Grieving a version of someone she lost a long time ago. Someone who let her down. Someone she let in and tore those walls down.”

It wasn’t a profile anymore. It was a confession.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood abruptly. “Excuse me”

You walked before anyone could stop you, before anyone put a half pitying half comforting hand on your shoulder and reassured you that it was okay. Because it wasn’t.

And outside, down the hall- behind the safety of the women’s restroom, you cried. Not because he was wrong.

Because he was right.

He used it anyway. Knowing what this meant to you.

He used your bruises to prove a point. That wasn’t the Spencer you remembered.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to get rid of any evidence that his words touched you. As if that would erase what happened. As if that would help you forget the way he looked at you while he did it. Not entirely with cruelty - but with understanding.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Y/N…?” Tara’s voice.

You hesitated, torn between hiding in silence or letting someone in. The door creaked open.

“I’m not here to make you talk” she continued gently. “Just wanted to let you know that what Spencer did out there, it wasn’t okay. You don’t have to pretend it was”

The tears came again, quieter this time - smaller, but somehow heavier. Because even though you were humiliated, you weren’t alone.

“He’s- He’s an asshole” You whimpered out, hand flying to your mouth. “I trusted him w-with these- these things, Tara” You sobbed, gesturing helplessly like it could make her understand the depth of what he’d used against you.

Tara let you cry it out, a warm hand on your shoulder to keep you grounded. She didn’t offer platitudes. She didn’t tell you to breathe or calm down. She just stayed.

Sometimes, that was enough.

When your sobs had died down and softened into quiet sniffles, Tara pulled you in for a hug.

“I thought he knew me” You murmured in her shoulder, voice shaking. “I thought- I thought if anyone did it, it would be him”

She sighed softly, rubbing your back. “He does. He does know you, Y/N. That’s why it hurts”

Eventually, you managed to pull yourself together. You dabbed your eyes with tissue, forced a weak smile when Tara squeezed your shoulder again, and promised her you were okay. Or at least, that you would be.

Back at your apartment, the air felt cold. Maybe it was just you. Or maybe it was the silence, pressing down on your chest the way Spencer’s words had hours ago. You tossed your bag down, hung your coat on a nearby chair, kicked off your shoes and stood in the middle of the room like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You didn’t bother with dinner. The tears had stopped, but the ache hadn’t. You curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over your lap, replaying everything. The sound of Spencer’s voice. The look in his eyes. The way he’d said things only he was supposed to know.

You hated that you still wanted to hear him apologise. Make up for everything that’s been said and done since the minute he was incarcerated.

And then you did. There was a knock on the door. A hesitant knock, as if the person on the other side shouldn’t be here.

It was Spencer. You knew it was him.

The knock came again. Firmer this time.

You hesitated. Maybe if you didn’t move- maybe if you stayed frozen he’d go away. Maybe he already knew you weren’t ready to face this.

But your feet had other plans. They carried you to the door before your brain caught up.

You opened it.

Spencer stood there, soaked from the rain that had just started minutes ago. His hair was a little messy, eyes desperate and uncertain.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped aside and let him in.

He walked in slowly, taking in the space as if it were unfamiliar - like he didn’t know you always kept the small lights instead of the big ones, or that your favourite mug was on the cabinet above the sink, or that you always read cartoon illustrated romance books when you were feeling down. Like he hadn’t once known you like the back of his hand.

He took a tentative step forward, “Y/N…”

“You held me” you said, words slipping out like they’d been waiting all day. “You held me, when I was shaking. When- When I opened up to you about my “paternal issues’” You mimicked him, only this time your voice broke. “You held me and you told me I was safe.”

Spencer froze.

“You remember that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “After Gideon left. After everything with my dad. I told you what it felt like. And you- you said I wasn’t broken.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “And now, you’re standing in front of a classroom, dissecting me like I’m just some example. ‘Textbook daddy issues’ right?”

Tears spilled again. Your chest heaved.

“I would’ve let you say anything.” You paused, noticing how his eyebrows quirked up. “If you were saying it to me. If we were alone”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You started crying in earnest now, breath hitching, and shoulders trembling. Spencer finally moved, not to explain it. Not to fix it.

To hold you just like he did - hoping he could fix this.

Only this time, you weren’t sure this would be fixed.

You didn’t mean to let it happen, not again at least. Maybe it was the way he stepped forward, touching your elbow to gather you in his arms. Nevertheless, your body betrayed you.

“Shh, sweetheart” He whispered, like he’d said it a thousand times before. Like the word never left his mouth during all those times apart.

You shook your head, trying to get away from his grip. “You don’t- You don’t get to call me that”

Before you could push him away, he had already pulled you in his arms.

Not tight, not desperate - just steady.

You let him. You let him put his hand on your head and rub your back soothingly. When your knees buckled, and you almost fell - Spencer caught you. He carried you to the couch, pulling you into his lap.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It wasn’t seductive. But it felt safe.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry” He whispered, pressing kisses to your temple every now and then.

Your hands clutched at his shirt. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t ask you to. He just held you like he did before. Like he still remembered how.

After some time, your tears had slowed down. His hands stayed on your back, tracing soft patterns as you gradually relaxed.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that he was really sorry. That you two could get back from this.

His forehead dropped to yours, barely touching. His breath fanned against your lips, shaky and warm.

What if I just kissed him? you thought to yourself. Against your better judgement, you still felt this- this shift between you.

“Y/N” he whispered, like your name was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You didn’t think. Didn’t move away this time.

Your lips crashed into his, messy, desperate and needy whines coming from you. Your kisses were full of pain, apology and everything else you both hadn’t said.

His hand cupped your face, pulling you closer like a starved man. He tried to make up for all the times he hadn’t held you this close.

And you clung to him like a lifeline. You pulled at his shirt, carded your fingers through his curls- mouth parting against his with a whimper that shattered whatever was left of his resolve.

He had pulled back, just a little- his lips were red, breath heavy and he was looking at you like he could hung up your face in a gallery.

His eyes searched for your own, thumb wiping a few leftover tears on your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me tonight” He whispered. “but I need you to know- how much I’ve missed you”

You kissed him again. Slower this time, more sure. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of him, in the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms.

“Let me show you, sweetheart” he murmured. “Please”

You nodded, breath catching in your throat.

He guided you to lie back down gently, your legs parting as you lay on the couch. He placed open mouthed kisses on your jaw, neck - slipping the straps of your dress just a little so he could bite your breasts. He pushed your dress up, hands careful and warm as if you were made of porcelain.

“Spence-“ You whispered, the nickname rolling off your lips like the old times.

Spencer could drown hearing that sound.

“Tell me to stop, honey and I will”

But you didn’t want him to stop. God no.

“Please- Spence”

That was all it took. He kissed you again, slower now - drinking you in, needing to taste your forgiveness on your tongue.

“Lie back for me, baby” He whispered, placing one last kiss on your lips before helping you back down.

Your dress was already bunched around your waist, thighs open and parted for him. His fingers trailed down your legs, touch featherlight as he dipped his hand inside your underwear, finding your clit.

“That’s it” he murmured, his voice nothing but more than a breath against your skin. “Just like that”

You gasped, hips twitching. He looked up - eyes dark but tender. “So sensitive, sweetheart” he said, like he couldn’t believe he was finally doing this. “Been thinking about this for so long”

You choked back a whimper, heart hammering in your chest.

Within seconds, your panties were off and Spencer was now kneeling between your legs, spreading them wide enough so he could press a kiss on your mound.

His mouth met you like he’d done this a hundred times, a soft lick first, then deeper. Harder.

Your back arched off the couch, a moan slipping from your lips as his tongue circled your clit. He groaned softly at the sound, holding your hips down with both hands, mouth relentless and warm.

“You’re so beautiful” He murmured, pressing another kiss to your clit. “I missed you so much, sweetheart. So, so much”

“God- Spence…” You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the cushion.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with precision, like he knew your body. Like he remembered what made you shake. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right - you nearly came undone.

You were a mess beneath him, trembling, whispering his name between curses and half sobs. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was grief, guilt, years of ache melting into want.

When you came, it hit you hard. Your hips bucked, head thrown back, whispering his name like a broken mantra. He didn’t stop until you were pulling at his hair, whimpering from the overstimulation.

He kissed his way back up your body, hand still cupping you gently, like he was afraid you might break.

“Okay?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Yes- God- Yes, I need you”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then he fumbled with his belt, urgency returning to his hands. You helped him, both of you clumsy and breathless as he finally shed the last layer between you.

He lined himself up, looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“Tell me you still want me” He commanded, lining himself up - looking at you like he wasn’t sure this was real.

“You never- You never gave me the chance to stop”

His breath stuttered. One hand cradled your cheek, the other steadying himself at your hip.

When he slid inside, slow and deep - you both gasped at the feeling. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth still agape.

He stilled inside you, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re doing so good for me, so good”

He moved then - slow thrusts, deep and aching. Each roll of his hips was apology, every moan from your lips was forgiveness. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t filthy. It was desperate. Raw. Like coming home after too long away.

You clung to him—legs around his waist, arms around his shoulders, lips at his ear. “I missed you so much,” you breathed.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I missed you too. I never stopped.”

He came with a quiet groan into your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair. He held you afterward, still inside you, hands smoothing over your skin like you were something sacred.

You stayed there for a long time. Silent. Holding onto each other like it meant something.

Because it did.

Afterwards, you were curled up into his chest, legs still trembling. He reached for a blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. Spencer’s lips found your forehead again, and that’s when it happened.

A single tear had rolled down your cheek. Then another.

“Sweetheart…”

You didn’t mean to cry. But after it was over, after all the tension snapped and the two of you were tangled up in each others arms, it came without warning. The tears were silent at first, sliding down your cheeks while you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, hey sweetheart” he whispered, already cupping your jaw gently. “You’re okay. I got you”

You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was hold him tighter, chest shaking as the weight of everything : the weeks of distance, the pain, the softness of his touch collapsed over you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked, but he was already shaking his head.

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t apologise,” he murmured, kissing the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re so good. You’re perfect. You hear me?”

His hands ran down your back slowly, grounding you. One on your spine, the other cradling your head.

“You did so well for me,” he whispered. “You were incredible.”

You sniffled, curling closer.

“I didn’t think this would… us” you whispered, voice barely there, gesturing to the small space between you.

“I’m the one who burned us down” He said, pressing a wet kiss on your lips.

“It’s not what I meant, angel. I don’t want- I don’t want to lose this with you” He croaked out, his own voice breaking.

You swallowed, fingers curling into his chest like an anchor.

“I don’t wanna do this without you, Spence”

He held you tighter. No promises. Just breath and skin and the quiet hum of two hearts finally beating in time.

[h0useslut]

omg hello we’ve got so much in common

OH MY GOD HIIIII i’ve read your work before!!!

[h0useslut]

the silver lining’s i’ll be there with you ˙⋆✮

part one | series masterlist | masterlist

pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!bookstore owner!reader

w/c : 2,2k

warnings : age gap, anxiety attack, emotional distress, physical touch for comfort, soft!aaron, mutual pining, light drinking (wine), kissing

summary : a thunderstorm, a breakdown, and aaron hotchner’s arms around her. later, at readers bookshop anniversary, he’ll show up late - holding a first edition of her favourite book and a kiss she didn’t dare hope for

The lights had gone out.

You were in your bookstore with Aaron. Alone. And the lights had gone out amidst a thunderstorm.

It felt foolish now, being afraid of thunderstorms. But you couldn’t help it.

“Hey, Y/N…It’s okay. Everything is fine” He said softly, sensing your distress.

But little did he know, your lips were trembling. Your eyes were clouded with tears, and each lightning strike made you involuntarily flinch.

“It’s going to be okay. Can you take a step towards me?” He coaxed, wanting to help you out.

You mustered up a small nod, and then cursed quietly, realising he couldn’t see you. Stupid, stupid.

You took a cautious step, but in the process, a few books fell behind you. The cry that you’d tried so hard not to let out, came out raw and barely audible.

But he’d caught it.

“Sweetheart, shh. It’s okay. Okay, okay I’m coming to you, alright?”

You heard him move, shoes against the wooden floor making your breath hitch.

“I’m right here” He reminded you. “Don’t be afraid, I’ve got you” he said softly, just a few feet away from you now.

His arms wrapped around you, hesitantly. Only when you leaned into his embrace did he pull you closer.

Your tears fell faster than you could sniffle them in. And you couldn’t stop them. It was like you were little again, curled up on under the covers to shield yourself.

Holding you felt natural to him, as if you were a puzzle piece missing from his life. You fit so perfectly. His hand came to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

Aaron’s chest was warm, steady. An anchor holding you down when everything else was falling apart.

“I’m so- so sorry” You whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t know why- Don't know why I am like this”

“No, no shh,” He murmured. “You don’t have to explain. You’re allowed to be scared”

That was what unraveled you. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t ask why. He just held you, let you break. Even though he didn’t know you well - at least not yet - he made you feel safe enough to fall apart.

More tears fell down your eyes, body trembling in his hold. You hadn’t meant to cry like that in front of him. Like you were some petulant child scared of thunder.

Aaron never pulled away. He held you closer, not shushing you. Not telling you it’ll pass. He simply held you, reminding you every now and then that he was there and that he had you.

At some point, the lights flickered on. The thunderstorm had faded into distant rumbles, but you hadn’t even noticed.

Still tucked into his arms - Aaron whispered to you,

“It’s okay, look. The lights are back on”

You pulled away, blinking back tears as you took in the soft lights illuminating throughout the room.

His hands came to rest on your arms, noticing you were still shaking.

“Come on, let’s sit down. You’re shaking” Aaron said, like it physically pained him.

You barely registered the fact that he had helped you sit down on one of the bean bags, pulling you under his chin. His scent filled your nostrils, grounding you.

You curled up at his side instinctively, legs over his lap, one arm draped across his chest like you were afraid he’d vanish.

Then quietly, almost like he didn’t want to break the spell - he picked up your worn-out copy of Pride and Prejudice that you’d dropped earlier.

“Pride and Prejudice” He said out loud. Aaron had seen you one too many times reading that book, and if you weren’t reading it, it was behind the counter.

“Oh, the pages are falling out,” He said softly, the small rumble of his chest making you feel calmer.

“Yeah, it’s… I’ve had it since I was 16” You admitted.

“That’s not too long” He teased.

You chuckled, a wet and breathy sound coming out. And then you felt it.

A soft kiss to your forehead, followed by the soft turning of pages.

Aaron’s voice came next, his voice a low and soothing murmur in your ear.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged…” he began, “that a single man in possession of good fortune must be in want of a wife”

And just like that, with your heartbeat slowing and his voice filling the space around you, both the storm outside and inside you finally began to settle.

When you woke up, you were surprised to find him still holding you, his big hand stroking your hair gently. He hadn’t let go.

“You fell asleep, sweetheart” Oh, there he goes with the petname again. Making you melt.

“I didn’t want to wake you”

You smiled, eyes still puffy from all the crying you’d done earlier. “Thank you for staying… for being here”

“I’ll always be here”

True to his word, he was there. In every sense of his words. He came frequently, most times alone. Bringing coffee, pastries, and even lunch.

He never stayed too long or asked too much. But he always noticed. When you were overwhelmed, needed warmth, or when your hands trembled a little more than usual.

He remembered things. Your coffee order, the way you lit up a few candles and put on soft music before closing. How you giggled whenever he pulled you in his arms and swayed to the faint sound of Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra.

He never made a show of it. But his presence wove into your days, until you weren’t sure how you ever did them without him.

And now, a few months later, you stood in front of the shop mirror - adjusting the little ribbon on the back of your dress (or at least trying to) for the millionth time, heart hammering in your chest with something you didn’t quite know how to name.

Five years. Your cozy, lovely, and warm bookstore had made it five years. And tonight, everyone you loved was coming to celebrate it.

Well, almost everyone.

You didn’t expect him to show up - mostly because you knew how hectic his job was. You might’ve nervously rambled about the party and how you didn’t want him to feel pressured to come.

Not really good at playing it cool.

Because when you had said,

“It’s okay- It’s okay if you’re busy Aaron”

You didn’t know if you meant it. A part of you would be crushed if he didn’t come.

So you kept busy.

Rearranging the snack table, dimming the lights again and again, until you found yourself surrounded by friends, a few indie authors, and some frequent customers.

Everyone but him.

The shop looked beautiful. Warm and inviting. Fairy lights glowed along the shelves, people were laughing in the poetry section, and the smell of cinnamon pastries lingered in the air.

You smiled. You were proud. Hell, you should be proud.

But as more time passed and as people clinked glasses, making toasts to you, hugging you and congratulating you on your business - you kept thinking about him.

Aaron.

Tall, and charming Aaron Hotchner. Who once held you through a storm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pouring yourself another glass of wine, you barely heard the doorbell chime. Late. Subtle. Like it didn’t want to interrupt.

Why did you miss the door every single time he showed up?

But you turned - and there he was.

Wearing a dark suit, no tie, two top buttons loose from his white shirt. He carried something in his hand, small and carefully wrapped in a burgundy tape. You didn’t know whether to cry, run to him, or pretend that your heart wasn’t breaking open like a chapter you’d dog-eared one too many times.

The urge to run to him and kiss him was too strong, you might admit. And on top of that, white wine hits you like chemicals.

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Hi,” He said quietly, like this wasn’t a room full of people. Like it was still just the two of you in the bookstore, with no one to bother you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

So he took a step closer, holding out the small package. “I know I’m late” he murmured, tone apologetic. “I hadn’t forgotten about it. And I brought you something”

Looking down at the burgundy wrapped gift, - a book clearly. Your fingers unwrapped it carefully.

Pride and Prejudice.

He’d bought you a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy.

A first edition.

Your breath caught. Your eyes flew to his.

Aaron only shrugged, a gesture that seemed so boyish coming from a man like him. “It’s not… not in the perfect condition, but I remembered you had yours since you were sixteen”

Tears pooled in your eyes.

Not because of the book. (well because of that too)

Because of him.

This.

“Aaron- This is-“ You sniffled, lips already trembling.

He saw the way your hands shook, and before you could speak again, Aaron reached out and pulled you into his chest.

You melted into him instantly.

His arms wrapped around you with practiced ease, like he’d done this a thousand times in dreams he’d never dare to mention. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, the thunder of his heartbeat making you feel dizzy.

And then, like a secret only the two of you would ever know, he pressed a kiss just above your ear, soft as a feather.

“You look beautiful”

Your eyes fluttered shut, chest aching in the best kind of way.

Throughout the entire night, you kept staring at each other from across the room. Whether it was him admiring you as you chatted with friends, or you catching him thumbing through shelves as if he didn’t already own a hundred books. The glances lingered. You were in your element, glowing in the soft light of your bookstore, and he couldn’t look away.

And when the last guest filtered out and the front door clicked shut, the room felt still again. You were left standing across from him, just the two of you. Once more.

“So…” You trailed off shyly.

His eyebrows raised, and he looked at you with genuine curiosity.

You paced around the room, dimming the lights, picking up a bottle of wine and the forgotten box of pizza.

Placing everything on the floor, you took your heels off and gestured for him to come and sit with you.

“I think you would’ve left early. Or not show up at all” You admitted, glasses clinking as you poured.

Aaron gave a small shake of his head. “No, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss this”

The answer, simple as it was - it made your cheeks heat again. You slid down further next to him, knees pulled to your chest.

“I still can’t believe you bought me that first edition,” you said, voice hushed now. “No one has ever… Done that”

“Y/N…” He whispered.

“No, I’m serious. No one has ever done something like that for me”

The room was silent for a moment. Not awkward. Just soft. Heavy with something unspoken.

“You deserved to be thought of”

You sipped on your wine, licking your lips afterwards. “You always say things like that when I’m least prepared”

Aaron smiled, that small and rare expression he wore when he was truly at ease. “Should I stop then?”

You looked at him, gaze steady now. “No. No, don’t stop”

And then silence again. This time, charged.

He was closer now - physically, emotionally, undeniably. And when your eyes met again, you weren’t so shy anymore.

“I was hoping you’d come,” you murmured. “Even though I told you that it would be fine if you didn’t”

Aaron’s voice was quieter this time. “I didn’t want to miss it. I didn’t want to miss you.”

You looked down at your lap, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Aaron, you’re making it really hard not to fall in love with you, you know”

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned in - noses brushing, his forehead resting against yours.

“Then don’t fight it, sweetheart”

That was all it took.

Your breath hitched, and before you knew it his lips were on yours. Warm, soft. Maybe a little reserved at first. Just like him, you thought.

You could get lost in his touch. In the way his hand found your waist, tugging you impossibly closer to him. Like he’d been waiting to do that for a long, long time.

“Aaron…” You whimpered between wet kisses, his name a prayer on your lips.

His hands gripped your waist, your hips - tugging and pulling you flush against him, mouth warm and insistent on yours like he couldn’t get enough.

To his horror, you pulled back all at once.

You were breathless, flushed. Pupils blown wide and the straps of your dress almost slipping from your shoulders.

Without a word, you stood.

He blinked up at you, confused. Until he saw you crossing the room, turning the lock with a soft click.

Then you turned back around, the dim light catching your face as you sat down at his level again.

Nothing else was said.

Not yet.

taglist : @novausstuff @iyskgd

[h0useslut]

⤷ LOVER GIRL series masterlist ⋆.˚ ♡

main masterlist!

pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!shy!bookstore owner!reader

summary : a soft, slow burning story about a shy, hopeless romantic bookstore owner (reader) and the serious, brooding FBI agent who keeps showing up, bringing comfort, storms and unexpected love.

warnings : angst, emotional vulnerability, panic/anxiety attack, fear of thunderstorms, mentions of trauma, slow burn romance, smut (for future parts), use of pet names (sweetheart), drinking alcohol (wine)

⌗ CHAPTER ONE ⋆ quite the job you’ve done on me sir!

⌗ CHAPTER TWO ⋆ the silver linings i’ll be there with you

⌗ CHAPTER THREE ⋆ long night with your hands up in my hair

⌗ CHAPTER FOUR ⋆ coming soon!

[h0useslut]

quite the job you’ve done on me sir! ౨ৎ

series masterlist | part two

pairing : aaron hotchner x bookstore owner! shy! reader

w/c : 2k

warnings : age gap, (reader is late 20s/early 30s, hotch is early 40s) hurt/comfort, thunderstorm anxiety, soft!dad hotch, emotional intimacy

summary : reader is a quiet bookstore owner with a too big heart and too many paperbacks. hotch is just a federal agent who didn’t believe in softness.

a/n : laufey meets you’ve got mail! i suggest you listen to lover girl while reading this :)

You’re in a reckless fever, almost love struck.

You didn’t think you’d be in this position ever again. You could count only so many heartbreaks, but still - you found yourself absolutely and irrevocably charmed by Aaron Hotchner.

Aaron was so sure he shouldn’t be the one doing this - going into a very cozy-looking bookstore in his neighbourhood even though he constantly tried to persuade Jack into going with Jessica, but he just wouldn’t listen. He wanted his dad. Of course he did.

And that’s how tall, brooding, and serious FBI agent Aaron Hotchner found himself inside your cute little store.

Despite feeling a little (that was an understatement) uneasy, a hint of a smile splayed on his lips when he walked inside the bookstore. There were fairy lights here and there throughout the shop, colourful books and overall it was adorable.

Just like its owner, he thought.

You were behind a massive pile of books: children’s books, new releases, romance novels literally swallowing you whole as you tried to sort them out.

You hadn’t even heard the small bell of the door opening, that’s how distracted you were.

“Excuse me,” A low voice said, sounding measured and far too serious for a place full of plush reading chairs and illustrated book covers.

You jumped, letting out a tiny yelp as a few books slipped from your hands and fell.

“Oh my- Oh, I’m sorry” You stammered, cheeks already burning from embarrassment. You scrambled to get the books back into place (aka the large stacks you’ve made) before properly greeting the man. “I’m so sorry, really. I didn’t even hear the door- uh, hi”

The man - tall, in a dark suit and looking comically out of place in your soft fairy-lit space, gave the smallest smile. It was big enough to make your heart flutter.

“It’s alright. My son just wanted to stop by”

Oh shit. You could barely remember to tear your gaze away from his face to greet the little boy next to him.

“Hi, sweetheart!” You said softly, crouching down to his level. Unlike his father, who looked like he hadn’t smiled in a decade, Jack had the cutest little grin ever.

“Hi,” He chirped, rocking on his heels. “Do you have any books about pirates and outer space?”

You smiled at the oddly specific request, and glanced up at his dad - who happened to have an almost apologetic expression.

“Well, I’m sure I’ve got something,” You said, standing up on your feet. “Come on, let’s see what we can find”

Jack practically jumped on his feet as he followed you to the children’s section, little sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor. It made you smile to yourself.

You see, spending time with kids - helping them pick out whatever was on their minds was never a problem. You weren’t shy- closed off, or anything remotely like the way you were with adults.

Hiding behind counters and books was something you’d always enjoyed.

You cast another glance back, half expecting Mr. Dark and Brooding to stay back or even leave. But he followed. Slowly. Hands in his pockets, eyes on you.

No, not on you.

Studying you.

Like you were something… curious. He studied the way your sweater hung on your body, jeans loosely covering your converse. You were unfamiliar. Like a story he hadn’t profiled yet.

You felt your pulse fluttering again.

“So,” You said over your shoulder, “Pirates… Outer space… Hmm, maybe space pirates?” you mumbled, more to yourself.

Aaron saw how your delicate fingers traced over the spines of different books, like you knew them better than anything in the world.

Maybe he was right about that. He didn’t want to profile another attractive woman. Yet he still found it interesting.

Jack gasped, a tiny sound that made your hands stop. “There are really books about these things?”

“Definitely! There are books about everything” You replied with a small wink. “That’s the secret”

You knew Aaron was still watching you. You could feel him. Standing behind one of the softly lit shelves, arms crossed and a very, very thoughtful look carved into the sharp lines of his face.

You were good with kids. That was obvious. But it was more than that.

You talked to them like they mattered - which was a rare sight. You saw them.

He wasn’t so sure that he was used to that.

You hadn’t expected him to speak. He didn’t look like the kind of man who filled up silence just for the sake of it. But then again, you didn’t expect him to keep staring at you like that.

“Do you read all of these?” He asked.

You glanced back at him, almost taken aback by his question. There wasn’t any judgment in it. Just curiosity. Honest, quiet curiosity.

You nodded slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I try. I’m always falling behind though. They keep writing more”

That earned a real smile for him. It reached his eyes, his dimples showed- and oh god, why were you even thinking about it?

Get it together, you thought to yourself. This wasn’t a romance novel.

Jack was busy flipping through the book you gave him, his small hands lost inside the pages. It allowed you to linger a second longer on Aaron.

“You look like someone who remembers everything they’ve read,” You said before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head, just slightly. “You look like someone who rereads the same story ten times just because it feels safe”

“Was that… why are you profiling me?” You asked, a blush already on your cheeks. Aaron found it cute, he must admit.

You hadn’t known he was an FBI agent. And he tried to downplay the evidence of surprise on his face when you used that word.

Smart girl, he thought.

He gave you an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. Old habits”

You shook your head, shrugging. “It’s okay, really. You’re not wrong”

You weren’t used to being seen like that. Not quietly, not gently. Not by someone like him.

“Daddy, I want that one!” Came Jack’s voice, getting you out of the stupid, foolish, and high school girlish trance you were when you spoke to Aaron.

“Reader’s choice” You fretted, taking the book from his hands and gesturing for them to come along with you.

“That’s a really good pick, buddy” You smiled, heading to the counter. Jack just smiled, and you bent down again- meeting his gaze. “One of my favourites actually” you whispered, a small giggle escaping your lips.

You ring up the book, placing it gently into a paper bag - one you’d drawn little stars and hearts one slow evening.

“There you go,” you said, handing the bag to Jack with both hands like it was treasure. “Make sure you read it with someone really cool, alright?”

“I will!” Jack exclaimed, already hugging his bag to his chest. You glanced up, only to see Aaron watching the entire scene unfolding - something unreadable in his gaze.

You were suddenly very aware of how red your cheeks were. You hoped - prayed he wouldn’t notice. (he in fact had noticed, and thought it was the purest thing he’d ever witnessed)

“Thank you,” Aaron said, eyes filled with gratitude. Your stomach fluttered, and you could feel your smile reaching your ears.

“Oh- of course. It was um- It was really nice meeting you both” You said, trying not to fidget with the small ribbon you had for wrapping up gifts.

He paused for a moment. Then, without breaking eye contact, he spoke again.

“We’ll be back”

You weren’t sure which of them he meant. God, you hoped it was him. That handsome- gentle stranger and his sweet son.

Before they left, you left the counter hurriedly - wanting to say something.

“Bye, um…”

“Aaron” he offered, “Aaron Hotchner”

Since then, they became regulars.

Smiley, bouncy Jack came back wanting the second book of the series and who were you to say no? You showed him everything - chatted with him and wrapped the book in a lovely baby blue paper.

Aaron stood nearby, quiet as always. You exchanged a few words, not many. But each one still left your stomach filled with butterflies and your brain turning into mush.

He still hadn’t asked for your name.

You supposed you could introduce yourself to him, but you couldn’t find the right time. Maybe it was the way you always felt a little too choked up every time he looked at you.

But today, he didn’t bring Jack. Today, he didn’t hover over the kids’ section or pretend to browse books.

Today, he stepped inside the bookstore, finding you on a bean bag, hiding behind a copy of Pride and Prejudice.

It was your favourite book. He noticed that you had a worn out, old copy of it behind the counter and it always intrigued him.

Once again, you didn’t hear the door chime. Or maybe you just pretended not to. You sensed his presence though, like it was a shift in the atmosphere. He was watching you, expression softening as he saw you curled up.

Eventually, he cleared his throat - making you scramble to sit properly and almost drop the book in the process. “Oh- Oh, hi,” you said flustered. “No Jack today?”

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “No, uh- He’s with his aunt Jessica today”

“Thought I’d come on my own”

Your brows furrowed for a second. “Sure- Um- You’re here for a book?”

Aaron’s mouth curved into the faintest smile. “No sweetheart, I’m here for a name”

Your heart stopped for a second.

Sweetheart. He had called you sweetheart. In the most gentle and soothing voice.

Remember the Snoopy dance Nikki did in Dork Diaries? Yeah, that’s one way to describe your current feelings.

He sat on the edge of one of the plush chairs, hands on his knees - gaze gentle but unwavering. “I’ve been coming here for weeks. I think it’s time I stopped calling you ‘her”

You blinked at him, pulse fluttering like a startled bird. “Oh right. You’re right” You chuckled softly. “I’m Y/N. Just Y/N”

“Y/N…” He repeats, as if he were committing it to memory. “Suits you”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. You weren’t the best at taking compliments. It always made you feel… A little uneasy. Maybe a tad unworthy of praise.

And more specifically, you weren’t used to being complimented by men like him. Men who looked like they belonged in black and white films, all clean lines and quiet intensity.

You were about to say something, an awkward comment about bookstore loyalty cards or names - when something completely shifted.

Thunder rumbled outside. Loud.

Your whole body tensed.

Aaron noticed it, and his expression turned from cheeky to concerned. He noticed your fear of storms instantly. His brows furrowed, and he wanted to say something.

But before he could speak, before you could hide the trembling of your fingers and the small whimper that was lodged inside your throat - the lights flickered once…twice.

Then the rain started. Hard, unmoving, and terribly fast.

You backed up towards the counter, trying to seem casual. The fact that your pulse was racing didn’t help.

This wasn’t the time to be absolutely terrified by thunderstorms. In front of the man you liked.

“Are you alright?” Aaron asked, eyes narrowed.

Forcing yourself to nod, you whispered

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine”

A louder crack of thunder cut through the shop, and this time you weren’t able to choke down a whimper. Or the way you flinched.

He took a step forward, slow and careful. Not wanting to startle you. “Y/N…”

But whatever he was about to say?

You didn’t hear it.

Because the lights went out.

[h0useslut]

i’ve been cooking up something in my drafts since this afternoon… it will be posted tomorrow night hehe…

[h0useslut]

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me .ᐟ

requests | masterlist

pairing : gregory house x fem!reader

w/c : 1,7k

warnings : hurt/comfort, references to gun violence (handled subtly), post-shooting trauma, angst with a bittersweet edge, arguments, gregory house being emotionally constipated

summary : house can't understand why reader stays after everything he does. after he gets shot, it all comes crashing down on him. one fight and almost tearful confession later, he finally understands why she stays.

a/n : this is something my dear @ariluvzzz prompted, and who am i to say no to her?

It starts with House doing his little schemes on you. Mixing up your coffee order. Accidentally dropping your lunch on the floor while you ate together. Paging an emergency when in reality, he just wanted to mess with you.

At first, you thought it was funny. Hearing him say “What’s got your panties in a twist?” after writing post-it notes with incorrect patient updates was a little infuriating, but you also enjoyed seeing that devilish smirk on his face.

But then the schemes kept coming. More specific. He started knowing exactly how to get under your skin. How you hated reports being mixed up, how the smell of tuna made you gag, how your mug had to face the same direction every morning. You don’t remember telling him those things. He noticed, as he always did.

It didn’t take you long to notice what was actually happening. This wasn’t just boredom or cruelty. It was his version of attention.

And in some backward, ridiculous way, it made you feel seen. Wanted, even. You didn’t say anything, just went along with it. You were pretty sure by now the entire team had noticed the fact that you were in love with him. It was too obvious. Even though you doubted he would ever admit that he did those things out of affection, his eyes lingered on your face way too often, and his voice lowered when he said your name.

It was real.

That playfulness lasted so long, had it not been for the shooting. You weren’t there when it happened. But you remember the look on Wilson’s face when he told you. House had been shot in the neck by a former patient.

You don’t remember much after that. Just how cold your hands felt. How empty the hallway was without his usual complaints and clatter.

You couldn’t bear to see him in the hospital bed. And when you did, it was usually when he was asleep. It hurt too much.

When he came back, something was different. First, came the shouting about the carpet. Then, the jokes stopped. No more coffee-swapped orders, no scribbled notes on your patient's charts.

And the worst of all? He became cold towards you. Silent. Shrugging you off as if you weren’t important. As if you weren’t working in the same team with him.

You knew he was holding back so much. All the things he couldn’t say were now locked up even tighter. And it broke something in you too. Seeing the man you were in love with becoming distant and just not really there.

You weren’t supposed to be there after 8. Technically. But practically? You stalled for a minute too long. You just wanted to see what was wrong. Get him to talk. Anything that would mean that he’d talk to you for more than a few seconds.

Slouched in his office chair, glasses perched low on his nose - he barely heard you come in.

You hovered in the doorway. He glanced up, barely. Just a flick of his eyes.

“Breaking and entering? Bold move” He muttered, voice flat. “Looking to steal my pain meds or my will to live?”

You gave a small laugh, but it didn’t rise to the bait.

“I was just um- I was just passing by”

He didn’t bother to look up from whatever he was doing. Or actually what he wasn’t doing.

You stepped in slowly, coming to stand in front of him. “House” you spoke, softer now.

“What? What do you want?” He snapped, making you take a step back as he stood up.

You blinked at his outburst, trying not to let it sting. It did though. It always did when it came from him.

“I just- Well” you tried, voice smaller now. “I just wanted to talk. You’ve been shutting me out”

He scoffed. “You’re not that special. I shut everyone out”

“Yeah well, not me” You snapped too. “Not like this. Come on now”

That seemed to hit somewhere. His shoulders stiffened, jaw clenched like he was biting back words that might betray him.

“You almost died, House” you continued, stepping closer to him. “And since then, you’ve been acting like you want us to disappear. Like you want me to disappear.”

He finally looked at you again, expression unreadable. “You don’t get it. This isn’t about you”

“Then make me get it” you pushed, heart hammering in your chest. “Make me get it, please. Explain to me why you keep pushing me away”

Silence. He looked down, avoiding your gaze again.

“I can’t keep doing this. Not if you don’t even try to meet me halfway” you say, voice breaking a little.

And so you storm off.

House just stands there, his eyes ridden with something… maybe guilt. But he doesn’t run after you, he doesn’t chase you. You slam the door behind you, and he winces at the sound.

Running a hand through his hair, he sat down - pretending that his charts were the only important thing on his mind. Though he found himself muttering,

“Why does she always wait for me?”

And then it was quiet again.

He knew he should move, so he did. Anything. He kept staring at the door you’d just slammed, torn between looking for you or just ignoring the entire situation.

If he didn’t ignore the situation, it would mean something. And maybe that's what feared him most. That it would open up something inside him - space for someone.

You waited because you loved him. He knew it. That’s what made it worse. That’s what’s made it unbearable. You kept showing up, soft-spoken and with steady hands, even when he offered nothing but sarcasm and lewd comments.

He rubbed at his temples, then lingered on the faint scar near his jawline, the reminder of how close it all came to an end.

You could've left him after the shooting. Most people would have. Hell, maybe you should have left. But you didn't. You stayed.

That terrified him more than death ever did.

He exhales slowly. Maybe it's not about what you see in him - maybe it's about what he's too afraid to see in himself.

By the time he's on his feet, he has already made up his mind about it. It's already decided, though he doesn't really know what to say. But for the first time in weeks, his footsteps don't feel aimless.

Gregory House was coming to you.

You hadn't expected him to come. Not after the way you left. Not after the way he stood there, still as stone and dismissive while you opened your heart to him.

Curled up on the couch, lights dimmed low while a record was spinning in the background - not loud, but still there - you were caught off guard when a knock came on your door.

Your breath hitched. It couldn't be him, could it?

Oh, but you knew it was him. No one else knocked like that.

When you opened the door, he didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, like the words were stuck in his throat.

''I shouldn't have said that'' he muttered. ''I shouldn't have said a lot of things''

“Come in” You whispered, stepping aside.

He stepped inside, noticing how your shoulders slightly trembled.

House stood awkwardly in your living room, gaze flicking over the smallest details - the soft blanket you always curled into, books on the coffee table, on shelves, literally everywhere.

''You always listen to sad music when you're mad at me?'' he asked, attempting to joke. No sarcasm in his voice though. Just searching.

You didn’t answer right away. You crossed your arms, more to hold yourself together than anything else. “I’m not mad” you murmured.

“Just tired of feeling like I’m trying to pull you out of a place you don’t want to leave”

That made him wince. But he didn’t back down. Instead, he moved closer to you.

“Look at me” He whispered, voice soft. “I don’t want to hurt you”

You blinked hard. “Then why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep letting me in?”

“Why do you let me keep caring if you’re going to shut me out. If you have zero intention of actually letting me stay”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away just for a second. Like facing you - facing this entire moment was harder than any other case he’d taken up.

“I didn’t think you’d stay”

You felt something twist in your chest. He couldn’t be saying this, right? After everything you’d been through.

“I have stayed, Greg” you protested. “I stayed after the shooting. After you stopped talking to me. I stayed after you acted like I wasn’t even in the room.”

Silence fell between you again. This time it just helped the ache in your chest grow.

Then he said it, in a slow- agonising way.

“You were in the room. And you definitely mattered to me. You mattered to me more than anything”

Another step towards you. “You could’ve left,” he said, voice raw. His hands twitched awkwardly at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Stop saying it, please. You know I wouldn’t. You know me” You said hoarsely, eyes teary.

“Why do you keep waiting for me?” he asked. This time his question wasn’t bitter. It was quiet. Almost scared.

You swallowed. “Because I love you. I’m in love with you- and- I know at least for some time you liked me. I know if I wanted to love you right I needed to give you space. I had to let you figure it out”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you did little to keep them locked inside you. It was all coming undone. You didn’t expect him to say anything. You were used to him handling these types of situations with silence.

“You missed a little something” he finally said, voice cracking.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

House stepped closer again, his hand hesitating on your waist before coming to rest there. His eyes were locked on yours like he needed you to see the truth behind what he was about to say.

“I’ve always loved you, sweetheart”

[h0useslut]

will be posting tonight‼️‼️ but i’m gonna be a little inactive for the time being ☹️

just need to take a fucking breather after this exam season which is still not over