#I love how these questions focus on small personal moments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 8 days ago

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Hi Ki! Could I get an Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader fic, where maybe she LOVES christmas and he's sorta grumpy about the whole thing and she really changes him!

A Season of Sunshine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Female!Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: 5+1, Christmas, Sunshine Reader, fluff, mentions of grief, mentions of holiday sadness, mentions of alcohol in social setting, legit tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, no use of Y/N.

Sypnosis: 5 times reader brought sunshine to Aaron Hotchner around the holidays, +1 time Hotch brought sunshine to her.

Aaron Hotchner observed you from across the bullpen, your laughter ringing out like a bright bell amidst the quiet hum of clicking keyboards and murmured conversations.

The first snow of December swirled gently outside the frosted windows, a backdrop to your seemingly boundless energy. You were leaning over a desk, cheerfully handing out small, festively wrapped candy canes to your teammates.

You looked so happy. That was the thought that lingered in Hotch’s mind as he watched you move from desk to desk, your smile contagious enough to soften even the usually stoic faces of Rossi and Morgan.

“You’re going to give me a cavity, Sunshine,” Morgan teased as you placed a candy cane on his keyboard.

“That’s what dentists are for,” you replied with a wink, earning a chuckle from him.

Hotch’s lips twitched, but the smile never fully formed. It was a rare thing for him these days, and while he appreciated your attempts to brighten the team’s spirits, he couldn’t help but question how someone who dealt with the kind of darkness their job revealed could remain so light—so...sunny.

The holidays were always difficult. For everyone. Suicide rates spiked, depression deepened, and grief—a familiar companion for Hotch—seemed sharper in the winter cold. He thought about Jack, about the guilt that came with knowing his son’s memories of Christmases past were punctuated by his absence, his work always pulling him away.

And then there was you. The newest member of the team. This was your first Christmas with the BAU, and you’d already brought in a small, sparkling tree to decorate the corner of the bullpen, strung colorful lights across your desk, and started an advent calendar that you insisted everyone participate in. You’d even convinced Penelope to wear a reindeer headband, complete with jingle bells that she delighted in shaking whenever someone passed her office.

“Hotch?”

Your voice startled him from his thoughts. He realized belatedly that you were standing in front of his desk, holding out a candy cane with a hopeful smile. Up close, you were radiant, your eyes sparkling with holiday cheer.

“For me?” he asked dryly, glancing at the candy cane as though it might be a trap.

“Of course. Everyone gets one,” you said, placing it neatly beside his coffee mug. “It’s peppermint. Good for focus.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. There’s research on it and everything,” you replied, as though your enthusiasm alone could make it true. You lingered a moment, tilting your head to study him. “You’re not much of a Christmas person, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied carefully.

“But you wouldn’t say you are one, either,” you countered, your smile never faltering. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix that.”

And with that, you were gone, leaving him with the candy cane and a faint scent of pine and vanilla trailing in your wake. Hotch’s gaze followed you as you returned to your desk, now chatting animatedly with JJ about the best Christmas movies.

He shook his head slightly, turning back to the stack of case files in front of him. Fix that, you’d said. As if he were some project in need of holiday spirit. He supposed he should’ve been annoyed, but there was something about your relentless optimism that he found...endearing.

Over the next few days, your efforts to “fix” him grew more deliberate. A holiday playlist softly played in the background of the bullpen, courtesy of you and Garcia. You organized a Secret Santa exchange, somehow roping even the most reluctant members of the team into participating. When the team went out for an after-hours dinner, you’d insisted on ordering hot cocoa for everyone, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.

It was infectious, your enthusiasm. Even Hotch, who prided himself on his unshakable focus, found himself humming along to a Christmas tune as he reviewed case notes late one evening. He stopped mid-hum, frowning. You’d gotten to him.

By the time the team’s annual holiday gathering rolled around, Hotch couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. The bullpen felt lighter, more alive, and the credit undeniably belonged to you. Yet, he still struggled to reconcile how you could be so bright amidst the shadows they encountered daily.

That evening, after most of the team had left, Hotch found himself standing by the small tree you’d brought in. The lights twinkled warmly, and a single wrapped present with Jack’s name sat underneath. You’d insisted on helping him pick out something special for his son, your genuine excitement rivaling that of any child on Christmas morning.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He turned to find you standing beside him, your coat draped over your arm.

“It is,” he admitted quietly.

“I know this time of year can be hard,” you said softly, your voice losing some of its usual buoyancy. “But it can also be really beautiful, in its own way.”

Hotch studied you for a long moment, taking in the sincerity in your expression. “How do you do it?” he asked finally. “Stay so…”

“Happy?” you finished for him, smiling faintly. “I’m not always happy, Hotch. But I try to focus on the good things, especially when the world feels dark. It helps.”

“Focus on the good things,” he repeated, almost to himself. His gaze shifted back to the tree, the warm glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“Exactly. Like candy canes and Christmas trees,” you teased gently, nudging his arm.

For the first time in a long while, Hotch allowed himself a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected gratitude. “For what?”

“For reminding me.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening as you replied, “Anytime, Boss.”

And for the first time, Aaron Hotchner found himself looking forward to Christmas.

II.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the corner of David Rossi's cozy living room, a glass of sparkling water in hand. The house was warm and bright, filled with the soft glow of Christmas lights and the hum of cheerful conversation. Children’s laughter rang out from the area near the tree, where Jack, Henry, and Michael were busy examining their gifts while Savannah held baby Hank on her lap, cooing softly to him.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to you, as it often did these days. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with Jack, helping him assemble a toy airplane with nimble fingers and endless patience. Jack’s face was lit with excitement as he explained the steps in his careful, deliberate way, and you listened with an encouraging smile. Occasionally, you glanced up to share a warm look or quick comment with the adults nearby, your laughter soft and genuine.

You looked so happy. And watching you, Hotch felt something he couldn’t quite name. Warmth, perhaps, or an ache just beneath it.

It had been over a year since you joined the team, and in that time, you’d become the one person who could cut through his carefully guarded exterior. You had a way of disarming him with your relentless optimism, your knack for seeing light in the darkest moments. He’d felt it most acutely during the holidays, when the weight of loss and responsibility pressed hardest against him. Somehow, you always managed to draw him out, to remind him that there was still beauty in the world.

“Dad!” Jack called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Look at this!”

Hotch stepped closer to the group, bending down as Jack held up the half-assembled airplane. “That’s impressive,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got a good helper.”

“Your dad’s just saying that because I haven’t broken anything yet,” you teased, glancing up at Hotch with a grin. There was a faint blush on your cheeks—likely from the eggnog you’d been enjoying—and your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

You gasped in mock offense, your laughter bubbling up. “I’ll have you know, I am an expert toy assembler. Just ask Henry.”

Henry, who was sitting nearby, nodded sagely. “She’s really good,” he said, earning a chuckle from the adults.

As the evening wore on, the children settled into a quieter rhythm, playing together under Savannah’s watchful eye. The adults moved to the kitchen, chatting over mulled wine and eggnog. You lingered by the doorway for a moment before making your way toward Hotch, who had retreated to the quieter edge of the room.

“You’re hiding,” you said, your tone light but teasing.

“Just taking a moment,” he replied, glancing down at you. You’d swapped your eggnog for water, but the slight sway in your stance betrayed your earlier indulgence.

“It’s Christmas,” you said softly. “No moments allowed. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” he said, and it surprised him how true it felt.

You studied him for a moment, your smile softening. “Good. You deserve it.”

The warmth in your voice unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t look away. You had a way of seeing him that no one else did, peeling back the layers he worked so hard to maintain. It was disarming, intoxicating, and he didn’t know whether to thank you or guard himself more fiercely.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Bringing people together. Making them feel…better.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful. “I try. It’s not always easy, though. Especially with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your eyes brightening again. “And you should also consider letting yourself enjoy things a little more. Just a thought.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he replied, and the soft, teasing edge in his tone made your smile widen.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You looked up at him with an openness that made his chest tighten, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—how someone like you had ended up here, in a world so often filled with darkness.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that lingered long after you’d turned to rejoin the group.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

III.

Aaron Hotchner stared out the window of the small motel room, the cheap curtains drawn back to reveal the dim glow of Christmas lights strung up on a nearby house. It was the only reminder of the holiday, a faint glimmer of cheer amidst the grim reality of their current case. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, tired and drawn, the weight of the day etched into the lines of his face.

The case was bad—one of the worst. Children were involved, and they were short-staffed, with JJ staying behind to be with Henry and Michael. Hotch had insisted on it, even though it meant carrying the guilt of being away from Jack. Jack, who was now old enough to understand that his father’s work sometimes came before everything else. Old enough to feel the sting of his absence.

The thought gnawed at him, a sharp pang that had been with him all day. This was a Christmas Jack might remember—one of the few left before he stopped believing in the magic of the holiday. And Hotch wasn’t there. He should’ve been there.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, half expecting Morgan or Rossi, but it was you. You stood there with a small smile, a wrapped package tucked under one arm. Your presence alone was a balm, a brief respite from the heaviness that seemed to cling to him.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your voice quiet but warm. You weren’t your usual bubbly self tonight—the weight of the case had tempered your sunshine—but there was still a light in your eyes that seemed undimmed.

He nodded, stepping back to let you in. You placed the package on the small table near the window, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned to face him.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. “But I thought maybe we could try to make it feel a little more like home.”

Hotch felt his throat tighten as you handed him the gift, your smile tinged with something tender. He unwrapped it carefully, his fingers brushing against the edges of the frame as he revealed the photo inside. It was a candid shot of him and Jack, taken during one of their rare moments of unguarded joy. Jack was laughing, his arms thrown around his father’s neck, and Hotch’s own smile was wide and genuine—a version of himself he hardly recognized anymore.

“Where did you…” His voice faltered as he looked up at you.

“I snuck a photo of you two over the summer at the get-together Penelope hosted,” you admitted, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “I thought you might want something to remind you of him. Especially tonight.”

He swallowed hard, the emotion catching him off guard. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “This means a lot.”

You smiled, that warm, gentle smile that always seemed to soften the edges of his world. “I’m glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint hum of the heater. Then Hotch cleared his throat, his gaze shifting back to you. “Would you…stay for a while?” he asked, surprising even himself. “I…I think I could use the company.”

Your smile widened, and you nodded. “I’d like that.”

The two of you settled on the edge of the bed, a small laptop propped between you as you queued up an old Christmas movie. The screen cast a soft glow over the room, the sound of holiday music mingling with the rustle of case files as you both worked quietly. Occasionally, you’d make a comment about the movie, drawing a rare chuckle from him, or he’d ask for your input on a theory for the case, your perspective always sharper than you gave yourself credit for.

As the hours passed, the weight on his chest seemed to lift, just a little. Your presence was steady, grounding, and he found himself watching you more than the screen. The way your eyes lit up during certain scenes, the way your laughter softened the edges of his grief, the way you leaned just slightly toward him, as though drawn by some invisible force.

Eventually, the movie ended, and the case files lay forgotten on the nightstand. You’d curled up on your side of the bed, your head resting on the pillow as sleep claimed you. Hotch sat beside you for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, the peaceful expression on your face.

Carefully, he slid down beside you, his own exhaustion finally catching up with him. As his eyes closed, the photo of Jack on the nightstand caught his gaze one last time. For the first time that day, he felt a flicker of peace.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured softly, the words barely audible in the quiet room. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

IV.

Aaron Hotchner adjusted his tie as he stepped into the bustling bullpen, the hum of holiday cheer filling the space. Twinkling lights wrapped around cubicle dividers, and Penelope Garcia had outdone herself again, transforming the office into a festive wonderland. The annual Christmas gathering was in full swing, and the team—his family, as much as he’d allow himself to admit it—were mingling, laughing, and enjoying the break from their usual grim reality.

He scanned the room automatically, his eyes landing on you. You were by the snack table, laughing with Morgan and JJ, your smile radiant under the soft glow of the holiday lights. You wore a deep green sweater that somehow managed to be both festive and professional, and your laughter, as always, was the kind of sound that warmed even the coldest corners of his heart. Jack adored you, the team adored you, and though he’d never said it aloud, Hotch knew you were the brightest part of his life. The thought lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

“Hotch, my man,” Morgan called, clapping him on the back. “Looking sharp as always. You’ve got to come try Garcia’s infamous eggnog. It’s got a kick that’ll put hair on your chest.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass.”

Morgan smirked but said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly toward you. Hotch didn’t miss the knowing glance, but he chose not to comment. The team had been teasing him for months now, their thinly veiled remarks about how well you two complemented each other becoming harder to ignore. And the truth was, they weren’t wrong. You were the sunshine to his shadow, and no matter how hard he tried to maintain his stoic demeanor, you always found a way to break through.

“Hotch, come here for a sec!” Penelope called, waving him toward the breakroom with an exaggerated flourish. Her excitement was suspicious, but he indulged her, weaving through the crowd of colleagues.

You were already there, standing by the counter with a cup of cocoa in hand, your head tilting in curiosity when you saw him approach. “What’s going on?” you asked, glancing between him and Penelope.

Penelope’s grin was practically devious. “Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, gesturing upward. “Except...look up.”

Hotch followed her gaze, his stomach sinking slightly as he spotted the small sprig of mistletoe dangling above the two of you. He heard the team’s collective laughter and chatter outside the door, and when he looked back at you, he saw the faint flush that crept up your cheeks.

“Penelope,” he said, his tone even but edged with warning. “This seems highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” Morgan’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Don’t be a Grinch. It’s tradition!”

The team’s voices joined in, a chorus of good-natured peer pressure that only made the situation more absurd. You laughed softly, glancing at him with a mixture of amusement and resignation. “Looks like we’re outnumbered,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile threatening to surface. “It seems that way.”

You stepped closer, your expression softening as you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your touch lingered, and when you pulled back, you gave the team an exaggerated shrug. “That’s all you’re getting. This seems like an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

The team erupted in laughter and groans, their teasing echoing through the room as they slowly dispersed, leaving the two of you alone. Hotch stood there, momentarily stunned. He was rarely caught off guard, but something about the way you’d handled the moment—with grace, humor, and that unshakable light of yours—had left him uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“You’re quiet,” you remarked, breaking the silence. There was a hint of teasing in your tone, but your eyes held something deeper.

Before he could respond, you stepped closer again, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious note. “For the record,” you said, your gaze locking with his, “I’ve thought about doing this for a very long time.”

And then you kissed him. Fully, softly, your lips brushing his with a warmth that stole his breath. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting, but gentle and deliberate, a kiss that spoke volumes without a single word. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a quiet confidence in your expression.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying that same warmth that always seemed to anchor him. And before he could find the words to respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there beneath the mistletoe, the faint taste of peppermint and cocoa lingering on his lips.

He stared after you, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite name. You’d left him stunned, questioning everything he’d been holding back for so long. And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—really wonder—what he was waiting for.

Aaron Hotchner stood frozen beneath the mistletoe, replaying the moment over in his mind. Your touch, the warmth of your lips, the quiet confidence in your voice as you walked away—it all lingered like a soft hum, reverberating through him. For a man who thrived on control, who prided himself on composure, he was suddenly untethered.

The sound of laughter and conversation from the bullpen drifted faintly into the breakroom, but Hotch barely registered it. His gaze had followed you as you disappeared through the doorway, the gentle sway of your steps a stark contrast to the rapid thrum of his pulse. He raised a hand to his cheek, where your earlier, teasing kiss still burned faintly, before letting it drop.

He should follow you. Say something. Do something. But what? His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slow and uncertain. You’d left him with no doubt about your feelings, and yet he still found himself grappling with the implications, the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

The door creaked slightly, and Morgan’s head poked through, a smirk firmly in place. “Hey, Hotch, you coming back out? Or are you still processing?”

Hotch shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, his tone even but quieter than usual.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “Take your time, man. But don’t let her get too far ahead of you. She’s got a lot of sunshine to give, and you’ve been standing in the shade too long.”

With that, Morgan disappeared, leaving Hotch alone once more. He exhaled deeply, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For all his teasing, Morgan wasn’t wrong. You were sunshine, the kind that warmed even the coldest, darkest parts of him. And maybe—just maybe—he was ready to step into that light.

With a resolute breath, he straightened his tie and stepped out of the breakroom, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You were by the tree now, talking with JJ and Garcia, your laughter carrying softly over the hum of the party. For the first time, Hotch felt a clarity he hadn’t allowed himself before.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the kitchen; his sleeves rolled up as he finished drying the last of the dishes. The faint sounds of Jack’s laughter drifted in from the living room, where you were sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sorting through the pieces of a puzzle you’d brought as a Christmas gift. Jack, now a teenager, had grown taller and lankier in the past year, but his laughter still carried the same unfiltered joy that made Hotch’s chest ache with pride and affection.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the two of you working together, your head bent close to Jack’s as you studied the image on the puzzle box. You wore a soft red sweater, simple but elegant, and jeans that hinted at your easygoing nature. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflected in your eyes as you laughed softly at something Jack said. Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at the way you fit so seamlessly into his life, the way you made everything—even something as ordinary as a puzzle—feel special.

The evening had been everything he could have hoped for. You’d arrived earlier with a bright smile, carrying a bag of gifts and a small dish of your signature dessert. Jack had met you at the door with a quick hug and an eager grin, his awkward teenage reserve slipping away in your presence. You’d brought him a few thoughtful gifts, including a hardcover art book filled with sketches and techniques, knowing he’d taken up drawing. Jack had practically beamed as he flipped through the pages, his gratitude clear in the way he couldn’t stop thanking you.

For you, Hotch had chosen something more personal. When he’d handed you the small wrapped box after dinner, you’d looked at him curiously, your fingers carefully peeling back the paper. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a tiny sun.

“It reminded me of you,” he’d said simply, his voice quiet but steady.

Your breath had caught, your eyes shining as you turned the bracelet over in your hands. “Aaron,” you’d murmured, your voice soft with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He’d watched as you fastened it around your wrist, the charm catching the light in a way that seemed fitting. You were his sunshine, after all—the bright spot in his darkest days.

You hadn’t come empty-handed either. You had given Hotch a new tie, one that followed a similar pattern to his others--it was very him. You’d slipped back to your bag and pulled out another box, this one wrapped in dark green paper with a neat silver bow. “This is for you,” you’d said, holding it out to him with a touch of nervousness in your smile.

Hotch had unwrapped it carefully, revealing an elegant, framed photo of himself and Jack. The picture was candid, taken during one of Jack’s soccer games earlier in the year. Jack was grinning, his arm slung casually around his father’s shoulders, and Hotch was mid-laugh, a rare moment of unguarded joy captured perfectly. These moments so far and few these days, Jack growing up before his eyes so fast. He couldn’t help but worry if he had missed too much, but this photo was a reminder he was present.

“I thought you could use an updated photo of the two of you,” you’d explained, watching him closely. “I thought it might be nice to have a reminder of how much Jack adores you.”

For a moment, Hotch hadn’t been able to speak. He’d traced the edge of the frame with his fingers, his throat tightening as he looked up at you. “It’s perfect,” he’d said simply, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you.”

Now, as he stepped into the living room, he saw Jack stretch and yawn dramatically, the puzzle only half-finished. “I’m heading to bed,” Jack announced, his voice carrying the exaggerated tone of a teenager.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” you said warmly, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Jack groaned in protest but didn’t pull away, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jack said, pausing by Hotch’s side before wishing you goodnight, “Thanks for the gifts; I loved them.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your smile softening as Jack disappeared upstairs.

Hotch settled beside you on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a gentle glow over the room. You tucked your legs beneath you, leaning slightly into his side as he rested an arm along the back of the couch. The quiet filled the space like a comforting blanket, and for a moment, Hotch simply let himself savor it.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” he said, his tone teasing but tinged with sincerity.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m just trying to win him over with gifts and puzzles. It’s all part of my master plan.”

Hotch chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against your arm. “It’s working.”

Your smile lingered, but your expression shifted slightly, growing more thoughtful. “Aaron,” you began, your voice softer now. “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned to face you fully. “Of course.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of the throw pillow beside you. Then you looked up, your eyes meeting his with an openness that made his chest tighten.

“This past year has been… incredible,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “Being with you, getting to know Jack, feeling like I’m part of something so special… I can’t even put it into words.”

He listened intently, his hand still resting on your arm, his thumb now tracing small, reassuring circles.

“What I’m trying to say is… I love you,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly on the last word. “And I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but tonight felt right.”

The room seemed to be still, the faint crackle of the fire the only sound as your words hung between you. Hotch felt his breath hitch, his chest swelling with an emotion so profound it left him momentarily speechless. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he leaned closer.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “More than I can ever say.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but your smile was radiant as you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. For a long moment, the two of you simply stayed like that; the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

Later, as the fire burned low and the room grew quieter still, Hotch held you close, his arm draped around your shoulders. He glanced at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny sun catching the last flickers of light.

“You know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “I’ve thought about telling you for so long, but I kept overthinking it. I was so nervous you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “You never had to worry about that,” he said. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into my life. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it.”

You looked up at him, your smile soft but full of emotion. “We’re quite the pair, huh? Overthinking everything when it’s so obvious.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Maybe. But I think we got it right in the end.”

Your hand brushed against his, your fingers intertwining. “The best kind of right,” you murmured.

Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the weight of your words and the warmth of your presence filling him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. As the fire flickered its last embers, he held you close, silently marveling at how you’d turned his world into something brighter than he’d ever thought possible.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the middle of the living room, adjusting the final string of twinkling lights around the small tree you and Jack had picked out together the week before. It was early Christmas morning, and the house was quiet save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint sound of Jack’s laughter from the video game he was playing upstairs. Hotch had been up for hours, carefully setting everything into place for what he hoped would be the perfect day.

Living with you had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the warmth you brought to his home but the way you’d taught him to savor moments, to lean into the joy of life rather than keeping it at arm’s length. This Christmas, he wanted to return the favor.

The first part of his plan unfolded at the BAU’s holiday party earlier that week. For the first time, Hotch had embraced the festivities rather than standing on the sidelines. He’d worked with Penelope to set up a hot cocoa bar, complete with toppings and festive mugs, and even organized a Secret Santa exchange. When you’d arrived in your cozy sweater and bright smile, you’d lit up even more upon seeing what he’d done.

“You did all this?” you’d asked, looking around at the decorated conference room.

“I had help,” he admitted, his lips curving into a rare smile. “But I thought it might be nice to bring a little sunshine to the team. You’ve inspired me.”

Your cheeks had flushed at his words, your smile widening as you leaned into his side. “I think it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Now, at home, he hoped to create something equally memorable. He’d waited until you were fast asleep the night before to finish wrapping the small but meaningful gifts he’d chosen for you. Among them was a leather-bound journal with your initials embossed in gold, a nod to the way you’d always jot down your thoughts or ideas. But the most significant gift was hidden beneath the tree, tucked inside a small box. It wasn’t extravagant—Hotch had never been one for grand gestures—but it was deeply personal.

When you came down the stairs later that morning, your hair still slightly mussed from sleep and a soft blanket draped around your shoulders, you froze at the sight of the living room. The tree glowed softly, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, and the mantle was adorned with garland and stockings. On the coffee table sat a tray with freshly brewed coffee and your favorite pastries.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “Did you do all this?”

“Merry Christmas,” he said simply, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “I wanted to make it special for you. For us.”

You looked at him, your eyes shining as you took it all in. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The morning passed in a blur of laughter and warmth as you and Jack opened gifts together. The journal earned a quiet, heartfelt thank you, but it was the last box Hotch handed you that brought tears to your eyes. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny sun-shaped charm, a perfect match to the bracelet he’d given you the year before.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over the charm. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you,” he said, his voice low. “And of everything you’ve brought into my life.”

Later, as Jack retreated upstairs to play with his new gifts--mainly video games this year, you and Hotch curled up on the couch together. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room as you rested your head against his chest.

“You really outdid yourself this year,” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “You’re like a whole new person.”

“Not new,” he corrected gently, his hand tracing slow, comforting circles on your back. “Just better. Because of you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your smile soft but radiant. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner. And you’ve given me the best Christmas I could ever ask for.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible. “I love you too,” he said softly. And as he held you close, the warmth of the season and the light of your presence surrounding him, he knew that this—this life with you—was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

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zablife · 6 months ago

Text

Being Benny's Girl Would Include

Benny Cross Masterlist

A/N: After creating a similar list for Johnny, I now have one for Benny. Ty to a lovely anon for requesting it!

Warnings: slightly nsfw, drinking, mention of injury, mention of a weapon

♡ There are many sleepless nights, worrying about him out on the open road. And you have good cause bc he's constantly returning to you bruised and bloodied.

♡ You learn how to dress wounds, even sew a few stitches, bc he's too stubborn to go to a hospital, preferring your gentle touch instead. "You're better than any damn doctor, sweetheart."

♡ If you pout when he returns, he'll try to make you forget how upset you've been with a bit of teasing that cleverly puts something else in the forefront of your mind. "Did you pray for me every night like a good girl? On your hands and knees? Let me see."

♡ When you're feeling clingy, he'll take you down to the bar with him, not giving a shit what the guys think when you leave lipstick on him or pluck the cigarette from his lips for a drag instead of lighting your own. In fact, he encourages your behavior, flipping his chair around in hopes your small hand will nestle into the back pocket of his Levi's.

♡ Benny's not much of a talker, but he opens up to you bc you're the first person who's ever really cared enough to ask the right questions. That makes him want to tell you things he's never said out loud. He confides the ring on his pinkie came from his granddaddy, the only real father figure he ever knew.

♡ He gifts the important possession to you as a sign of his devotion and his heart skips a beat when he thinks about how you wear it on a chain bc it would slip off your delicate finger too easily otherwise.

♡ You're his sweet girl, an angel so precious he has restless nights worrying about you amongst all the burly men in the rough bars and pool halls he frequents. His concerns over keeping you safe giving him full blown insomnia after Kathy is attacked at a house party.

♡ You'll prob find yourself in an empty field the next morning, caged in by Benny's muscular arms, holding his .38 in your trembling hands. Nodding toward the line of beer bottles in the distance as he softly instructs, "squeeze the trigger real slow as you exhale. You can do it, darlin'."

♡ You didn't see the need considering the protective way he drapes his arm over you, eyes cautiously scanning the room with a feral look in his eye. Everyone knows what it means. Touch her and you're a dead man.

♡ He's been known to take things too far, esp when he's drinking. Once a guy collided with you at the bar, spilling beer down your white dress and turning it sheer. The unlucky son of a bitch found himself on the street seconds later facing the broken end of the bottle inches from his throat.

♡ The novelty of having your honor defended loses its appeal with every trip to county. Benny senses it in your anguished sigh and furrowed brow when you come to bail him out, hanging his head shamefully the moment he catches sight of you.

♡ Since there's nothing he hates more than disappointing you, he tries to keep his impulses in check and focus on your needs. "You know I'd do anything for you, angel."

♡ Nothing made your heart race with excitement quite like the day he stole you away for a winding ride that ended under a magnificent orange sunset. When he removed his shirt to make love to you in the tall grass, you glimpsed your name freshly inked over his heart.

#the bikeriders fanfiction #Austin Butler #Benny Cross fanfiction #Benny Cross x reader #Benny Cross x you #Benny Cross x y/n #Benny Cross

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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

Note

I love to think that Aventurine would tie a strand of his hair (i mean its like gold already) around his beloved's ring finger as a silent engagement ring...Literally... Imagine coming to him crying that it ripped and him laughing telling that there are way more from where it came from as he detaches another strand and double ties this time just as a reassuring :') [feel free to use the idea if it inspires you im just so obsessed nowadays]

Ties that Bind Us

Summary: After a delicate strand of Aventurine's hair, which he had tied around your finger as a silent engagement ring, breaks, you approach him feeling emotional.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Light Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, Suggestive(nothing explicit), Intimate Moments, Playful Teasing, Emotional Reassurance, Soft Romantic Gestures, Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mild suggestive content, Emotional vulnerability, Brief crying, he calls you “Love” (because you are the love of his life 🫶).

A/N: THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA, INSTEAD OF GETTING AN ARTIFICIAL THING, YOU GIVE YOUR BELOVED SOMETHING GENIUNE AND OF YOUR OWN 😭 BUT MAN HE'S GONNA GO BALD IF HE KEEPS OFFERING HIS HAIR!!

(Keep those requests coming, I love writing about them! Perhaps send something slight spicy(don't ask me for full smut😭) or gorey too if you dare that is ;))

In the dim glow of your shared home, a soft breeze rustled through the open window as you watched Aventurine, or Kakavasha as you privately called him, sit at his desk, deeply engrossed in his work. His sandy golden-blond hair fell in perfect waves, shimmering under the gentle light. You smiled, fondly remembering how, just days ago, he had tied a single strand of that very hair around your ring finger.

A silent promise. A commitment so personal, it felt more intimate than any grand proposal.

But now, that golden thread had snapped, the ends frayed where the delicate piece had worn out over time. You felt a tug at your heart. It wasn’t just a strand of hair, it was the bond you two shared — fragile, tender, and impossibly beautiful.

Approaching him quietly, you stood at his side, fingers fiddling nervously with the broken piece in your hand. “Kakavasha…” you whispered softly, breaking his focus. His magenta and cyan eyes flicked up from his work, softening when he saw you.

“What’s troubling you, love?” His voice was rich with warmth and affection, though laced with his usual playful charm.

You showed him the broken strand, lips quivering slightly as you murmured, “It… it snapped. I’m sorry.” The weight of your emotions caught you off guard, and you blinked back tears, feeling silly for crying over something so small.

But Aventurine’s expression didn’t change. In fact, a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. His signature smile spread across his face as he reached out to cup your cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “Oh, my dear…” he murmured, his tone both amused and deeply affectionate. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Before you could protest, he reached for a new strand of his hair and, without hesitation, gently wound it around your ring finger again, this time doubling the loop to ensure it would hold longer. He kissed your hand once he finished, a light peck full of promise. “See? All fixed. Stronger now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly through your lingering emotions, touched by his gesture and the way he made light of what had seemed like a disaster to you. “Thank you.” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth as you looked into his eyes.

He tilted his head, studying you in that way only he could—reading every nuance of your expression. "Crying over a single strand, hmm?" he teased, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. "It’s like you're trying to tug at my heartstrings."

Your blush deepened as his thumb stroked along your jawline. "What happens when it breaks again?" you asked, though the question came out in a more breathless tone than you’d intended.

Aventurine’s smile widened, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more his personal self, Kakavasha. “I’ll keep tying new ones,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you close. “Over and over again. Until there’s no more hair left to give. And even then…” His lips found your temple. “I’ll find something else to bind us together.”

You shivered, not just from the cool breeze that swept through the room but from the way his words wrapped around your heart, anchoring you to him in a way that felt unbreakable.

As you rested your head against his chest, your heart pounded in sync with his, your body relaxing into his embrace. The warmth between you grew, soft and inviting. His fingers played with your hair now, lazily twirling a few strands, but there was something unspoken in the air.

"Kakavasha…" you whispered, your voice trembling with something more than just gratitude.

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through your body. "Cracking already, are we?" His fingers slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes shimmered with mischief, but there was something deeper—something more vulnerable, peeking through the cracks of his usual playful facade.

Aventurine cracked, and Kakavasha peeked out.

The depth in his gaze was unmistakable now, and your breath caught in your throat. You could feel the shift between you two—the teasing banter giving way to something far more intimate. His lips hovered near yours, barely a whisper away, his warm breath mingling with yours.

“And if you break again…” His voice was a low, sultry murmur, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. “I’ll be right here, fixing it every time, love.”

His lips brushed yours, gentle at first, as if savoring the moment. But soon, that gentleness gave way to something more passionate, a deeper need igniting between you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer still, until there was no space left between you.

And in that moment, as his kiss deepened, you knew — no matter how many strands might snap, or how many times you might fall apart, Aventurine, Kakavasha, would always be there, ready to tie them back together.

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kaiser1ns · 1 month ago

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The after-party was getting dull, and you were exhausted, longing for the comfort of home, the warmth of your bed, and the fluffiest blankets you owned. The soft mattress, the mountain of plushies—some gifted by Itoshi Sae, others by Michael Kaiser—called to you. Sae watched the scene from afar, swirling a champagne glass as he observed you and Kaiser sitting on the cold balcony stairs, sharing a piece of cake. The striker leaned closer, taking small bites as you offered, enjoying your company. The midfielder sighed and eventually joined, sitting beside you, which put you in the middle of them both.

A chilly breeze swept through, and you shivered slightly. Your dress, beautiful but strapless, wasn’t much protection against the cool air, though It was gorgeous, something you’d want to wear every day, but sadly, it was from a fashion house and would have to be returned. Suddenly, warmth settled around your shoulders. Kaiser had wrapped his jacket around you, flashing a soft smile before smirking at Sae. You didn’t notice Sae’s reaction, distracted by the night sky above. So many stars—a constellation not unlike the football stars in the team you worked for, Re Al. The best team in the world, a rare privilege you held, to be close to legendary players like Modric, Kroos, Ronaldo, and Zidane.

And now, the team’s rising stars—the Japanese and German prodigies, both members of the New Generation World XI, each easily affected by the other’s smallest provocation.

"Quick on the field, slow to treat a lady, aren’t you, Sae?” Kaiser teased, raising an eyebrow, and running a tattooed hand through his hair. The midfielder shot him a glare, moments from tossing his drink to wipe the smug grin off his teammate's face, but you interrupted, resting your head on Sae’s shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder… what life would have been like,” you murmured. The two paused their banter, curious. Snuggled in Kaiser’s jacket, you went on, “…if we’d never joined Re Al, or the world of football at all?”

Sae and Kaiser exchanged glances, taken aback. It wasn’t like you to ask questions like this, and you rarely drank that much. But when they looked back at you, your eyes were closed—not asleep, just calm, relaxing for once without making Sae jealous or flirting with Kaiser. For now, you stayed neutral. You knew you loved them both, but the question was—who?

A question for another time, you thought. Reopening your eyes to watch your breath form a small cloud in the cool night air. “Usually, both of you have something to say… so?”

Sae answered first, setting his glass down and absently twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. “I probably would have had a normal life. A happy one. Maybe my personality wouldn’t have turned out quite like this.” You hummed softly, glancing over at Kaiser, who looked uncharacteristically sad, and … upset. Had your question touched a nerve?

“Do you want to share, Misha?” you asked. He quickly regained his composure, losing his blue tie as he too looked up at the sky

“Probably a criminal, or something,” he shrugged it off quickly, yet the pain lingered behind his eyes. After Kaiser’s answer, a soft silence settled over the three of you. You could sense that this wasn’t the time to dig further; if he wanted to share more, he would. Instead, you shifted, resting your head on Kaiser’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“There’s no salvation in the past,” he murmured, his voice low. “So don’t think about it. Focus on what’s happening now.” But his words drifted past you as sleep tugged at your eyelids. Kaiser noticed, chuckling softly at how peaceful you looked as you began to doze off.

Carefully, he nudged you up, steadying you on your feet. Sae, still sitting, glanced up at the way you seemed exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep right here on the spot as he too thought the same, that you were so cute.

“Might be the last time we have such a peaceful moment like this,” Kaiser said quietly. “Let’s bring her home.”

The two of them helped you down the stairs, keeping you steady. They’d make sure you got home safe and sound and hoped for no paparazzi photos first thing in the morning. Both of them here, looking out for you, felt like a gift from the universe itself—having them not only in your life but in your heart.

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romanteacism · 3 months ago

Text

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Questions

Synopsis: What is love? You try to answer the age old mystery. And it would seem all clues lead to one person alone— the person who was always by your side. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Growing Closer, Realizations, Fluff, Jealousy, A Myriad of Emotions PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: It's been a long time coming but...

“What does love mean?” You pondered upon the question. “Is it the way your heart quickens when you look upon a face so comely your mind can no longer comprehend anything?” You frowned and tried to focus on the sound of your heart beating your chest; you could barely feel its existence. “Or is it the constantness of thoughts about someone? Always protruding in your mind, they always seem to haunt each moment.” You tried to search your mind, what thoughts were haunting it besides the sweets you were to consume later that afternoon.

“Perhaps it is the twisting in your stomach when the one you want is far from your touch or their attention is caught by another.” You lowered your gaze, turning upon your abdomen with the question, ‘Do I want anyone?’ in your mind. “Does love constitute excitement? A rush of blood when eyes meet? A shortness of breath when shoulders brush?” You blinked upon the question, recalling the moments, if there were any, that you had felt such sensations. “Or is it a calmness? A serenity that lulls and lures you in its warm embrace?” Was there anything that brought you calm and security when, all your life, there was nothing to fret over? You started to wonder. “Does love mean you are given all you want? That you are showered with the extravagance our worldly selves could offer? Or does it mean sacrifice? To live plainly and without the need for frills.” Your mind could barely comprehend the words posed.

What is love? Surely, you shouldn’t struggle as much as this to understand what love is. You have loved before. You loved your family, your pet, your subjects. And you have felt love before, haven’t you? Have you? “Love means a multitude of things, I suppose. It could be one or the other. But what I know is that it does not restrain itself in one expression— love differs from one person to the other. To some, love is loud— something so obvious and could not pose any question. To others, it is subtle— some may even question if it is truly there, but best believe, it is.” Your fingers traced the embroidery of your dress as your mind raced and thought over the words said. You were bothered, vexed with the questions that your mind could not fully comprehend. What is love?

Aemond rushed through the halls to reach the south gate, your wheelhouse coming into view just as he arrived at his post. He led out his arm to assist you, “How was the sermon?” Your knight asked, as you had just come from the Sept for the week’s service. At any other time, he would join you, especially as it was in the city where dangers were tenfold, but alas, he had business he needed to tend to. The whole morning, he was anxious for your return as he feared that the knights tasked to watch over you were not as competent as he. “I did not understand it,” You muttered, the words of the High Septon still haunting you, but at the same time, they flew over your head. Aemond could only nod, observing as a small frown consumed your face.

He walked with you into the keep, but you were overly quiet, and it concerned him. He was threading the path to the garden where your tea and treats were served, and he was certain that that would erase any trouble in your mind, but you walked onwards to your chambers. “Are you not to have tea, princess?” He questioned. “No,” You answered curtly and disappeared into your chambers, further confusing your knight. What had happened in the few hours he was away from you?

You sat upon your desk, your hand furiously scribbling the words uttered by the High Septon to make out the meaning of love. The cluelessness of something that is supposed to be rudimentary was consuming you. What is love?! You asked yourself over and over again. You looked upon what you had written, reading the words and trying to make sense of the meaning. Surely, in your seven and ten years of living, there is something that can amount to love. You’ve read about it over and over again— you have seen it, you suppose. You had given it, of course— but have you yourself felt love?

Your head snapped upwards as you heard your chamber doors open; you were still sitting upon your desk with your ink-stained hands and crumpled scrolls littered by your feet. “Princess, it is the of your supper,” Ser Aemond announced as he assessed your frame, hunched over the table, and face flushed. You suddenly felt the existence of your heart as your eyes met with lilac ones that would glance between you and the scroll in your hand. “I… I do not wish to eat,” you say as you slyly try to fold the paper. You were embarrassed that your knight may have caught you being consumed by such a simple question.

Aemond watched as your hands moved slowly to fold a parchment, hiding its contents from his view. He turned his eye toward your ink-stained hands and the discarded parchments on the floor. Who were you writing to? He questioned, a twisting in his stomach as he realized this was what had consumed your whole afternoon. That you certainly placed your best effort to write and re-write a letter to someone he has yet to learn. “I’ll ask your maid to bring your meal here,” Aemond said, a bit too cold as pain was consuming his insides. “No— I do not wish to eat.” You repeated, observing how the light of the hearth had illuminated the face of Ser Aemond to something almost ethereal. Why had you not noticed it before? “You must eat, princess. You did not have luncheon or your afternoon tea. You must eat supper.” Aemond stated, ready to leave and give no room for you to argue. “But—“ The following words were not heard as your knight had closed your door, his mind consumed with the question of who you were writing to so secretively.

What comes to mind when you think of love? You questioned yourself the following morning. You were drawing a blank. You decided that the question you ask yourself means to leave out the love you feel for your family and pet. So, again, what comes to mind when you think of love? You sighed heavily as you sat in the gardens, looking upon the serve with no intentions of eating it. “Are you well, princess?” Aemond questioned as you slumped in your chair and made no movements other than the rise and fall of your shoulders each time you sighed. “Yes,” you replied automatically, as it was a second habit. “You are not.” Aemond countered. You frowned and turned to meet his gaze. “Do I not look well?” You asked, raising a spoon to look upon your reflection.

“Outwardly, you do. But I know something is troubling you.” Your frown severed. How did he know? You thought. “It’s nothing,” you said quietly, looking upon the piercing gaze of Ser Aemond that manages to form a lump in your throat and a throb in your ears. “Then eat. If nothing is truly bothering you, then you must eat.” He stated. You gave a small nod and did as he said, even though you had no appetite. Aemond was itching to know what you were thinking— he had never met with such mystery as this. You usually uttered every thought you had in mind to your knight; why now did you decide to break such habits? Aemond pursed his lips as he once again saw a glimpse of the parchment you were writing upon the day before. Why did you not send it? What did it contain? Who is it meant for? Questions were starting to consume him.

You sat in your solarium, staring upon the vast land that overlooks it with the intention of painting the scene, but you could not do so. The same question was still consuming your thoughts. You groaned loudly, your distressed sound reaching the ears of your knight who stood outside. “Princess?” He called, quickly going by your side to see if you were harmed even though nothing could cause it. “It’s nothing— I just… I can’t paint,” You muttered in frustration. “Why? Is your injury still not fully healed?” Aemond took hold of your once-injured arm to assess it. You froze. Your cheeks heated as his hand held yours—the rush of blood, your mind remembered, but you disregarded the thought quickly.

“No! It’s fine,” You say, trying to steal away your arm, but Ser Aemond’s hold only tightened, not painfully; it was almost calming the way he held it closer to him. “You must stop saying everything is fine when it is clearly not,” Aemond said seriously, growing tired of hearing the words you offered so he would not fret over you, but it only had the opposite effect. “Had something happened in the Sept?” He questioned, and you shook your head, your eyes glancing towards your still clasped hands, and realized there was a sensation in it that was wholly absent from the other appendage. “No.” You answered as you did not want to disclose what was truly bothering you. “You’re lying,” You frowned as you were accused of the truth.

You licked your lips, “I am not!” You squeaked, and Ser Aemond laughed humorlessly. “You know, when you lie, you lick your lips, and your voice grows an octave higher,” He informed. “It does not,” You say lowly, and Aemond gives an amused breath. “What is it? You are aware that you must tell me what bothers you so I can perform my duty, yes?” He asked rhetorically, knowing full well you knew the answer. You sighed and met his gaze once more, your heartbeat ringing in your ears. “What is love?” You asked, giving up on trying to hide from Ser Aemond what troubled you, for he would eventually find out anyway.

“What?” Aemond asked, not expecting for such a question to leave your lips. “The other day, the High Septon’s service was about love… and I could not comprehend his meaning,” You started to explain. “I even wrote it down so I could make sense of it, but I still cannot,” You say, taking the parchment out of the small pocket of your dress to show Aemond the words uttered and you had written. “Do you understand it?” You questioned as you made Ser Aemond read what you wrote. Aemond bit his tongue as he read the words, relief washing over him. He turned to your expecting gaze, feeling his usually calm heart grow erratic. Of course, he understood it— he had felt it firsthand. But he was curious as to why you had not even once felt it. Perhaps he should be thankful for that. “No, princess.” He lied. “Oh…” You trailed, dissapointed as you throught your knight could enlighten you for he was always so worldly and he often explained to you matters you had a hard time grasping.

“Have you never been in love?” You dared ask, not thinking twice as the words left your lips. It was perhaps inappropriate to ask Ser Aemond such a question, but you had already uttered it, and you could not take it back. Aemond cleared his throat as he once again did not expect such questions. His gaze flew to the floor, “Knights are not allowed to fall in love— our oaths forbid it.” You nodded slowly. “We are only allowed to fall in love with our duty,” he added quietly, unable to hinder the words that, in a sense, were a lie, but if he thought about it more, it was the most real truth he could offer.

“Have you?” he then asked. You blinked. “No… I do not believe I have,” you answered, but there was an odd sensation as you said it. Uncertainty was heavy, and though you truly believed you had not once felt that type of love, it was offputting to admit it, as if a voice was urging you to believe otherwise. Aemond gave a nod, a mixture of grief and relief swirling within.

When afternoon came, you walked with your knight to the gardens, as always. “I think he’s quite handsome,” You hear the whispers of some ladies of the court. “Even with the scar?” Another questioned. “Especially with the scar,” You hear her laugh. You looked over your shoulder to glance at them and stood by the side, giggling as they shamelessly eyed your knight. You turned to Ser Aemond for the first time; he seemed oblivious to the whispers, and that calmed the twist in your stomach as the attention of the ladies was turned to Ser Aemond. Aemond once again realized that you were in your head. He sighed and linked his arms with yours, securing you to prevent you from tripping or harming yourself. You felt warm once again, a nice sensation to combat the autumn breeze. You looked upon your clasped arms, and a question came to mind. Is love security? The sense of safety; is that what love was?

You were stunned. You turned to Ser Aemond, his gaze already placed upon yours. There it was again, the announcing of your heart’s existence, the warmness in your chest, the weakness in your knees. And at the same time, though your heart wanted to break free from your chest, you felt no anxiousness; calmness consumed you. “Are you well?” Ser Aemond asked once more as you stared upon him, your eyes shining from the late afternoon sun. “Yes,” You squeaked after a moment. Aemond sighed as another lie left your lips, “Come now, let’s get you to your chambers,” Your knight said and led you through the halls, not letting you fret over the path, protecting you in even the smallest way. Is this what love was?

You were restless when night came, tossing and turning in your bed as you tried to make peace with your realization. “What does love mean? Is it the way your heart quickens when you look upon a face so comely your mind can no longer comprehend anything?… Does love constitute excitement? A rush of blood when eyes meet? A shortness of breath when shoulders brush?” Ser Aemod was certainly comely, not even you can deny that. With his unique lilac eye and silver locks— his tall, lithe frame; even you had to agree with the ladies with the court, he was more handsome with the scar. And each time you would meet his eye or look upon the outline of his face, it made your mind grow hazy. You sighed; finding Aemond comely did not mean you were in love with him! If that were the case, it would meant you had loved him the moment you two met! You froze at the thought.

“Is it the constantness of thoughts about someone? Always protruding in your mind, they always seem to haunt each moment.” The morning before you went to the Sept, Ser Aemond had to excuse himself to run an errand, and all you did was think about what he was doing. Unaccustomed to him being away from your side. Even the week you had granted him leave— all you thought about was him and quietly wished he would be stubborn and return by your side.

“Perhaps it is the twisting in your stomach when the one you want is far from your touch or their attention is caught by another.” You never understood what jealousy truly felt— what is there to envy when all you had wanted was given to you? But you did hear people describe it to be a bothersome feeling, a pit in your stomach, a twitch in your chest, an irritation that you could not be rid of. That was what you felt earlier that day when the ladies were eyeing Ser Aemond and when Celia, the seaside palace’s chambermaid, began to grow familiar with your sworn protector.

Does love mean you are given all you want? That you are showered with the extravagance our worldly selves could offer? Or does it mean sacrifice? To live plainly and without the need for frills.” Ser Aemond often did the same; the way he would sacrifice his self-interest to protect you and be by your side. How he had gone the extra mile, doing more than what a regular knight’s duties were. Smuggling you treats and sweets, being by your beck and call, comforting you when you needed a shoulder to cry on, caring for you even though he need not. He did not offer you gifts or any material possessions— all he gave was his undying service, and that was worth more than any castle or title or riches ever known. That realization made you sit up, your mind in complete focus as you were finally coming to terms with your answer.

“Love means a multitude of things, I suppose. It could be one or the other. But what I know is that it does restrain itself in one expression— love differs from one person to the other. To some, love is loud— something so obvious and could not pose any question. To others, it is subtle— some may even question if it is truly there, but best believe, it is.” You always knew what love is, and you had felt it. How could you not? The love you were trying to comprehend was only disguised and hidden from your mind, but now you know and can admit it to yourself with conviction.

Ser Aemond was love, and you love Ser Aemond.

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irndad · 2 years ago

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in every other life- s.r.

a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan. summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy. wc: 3.3k (holy shit)

While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair.

Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind.

But he wanted her.

His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.

It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her.

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life.

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure.

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question.

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness.

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility.

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists.

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his.

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up.

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way.

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time.

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.”

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete.

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers?

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him.

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy.

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded.

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please.

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god.

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again.

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality.

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does.

Ben, is not in fact, going away.

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore.

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.

But her cup says Ben.

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have.

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes.

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison.

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is.

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.”

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition.

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess.

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile.

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp.

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.”

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his.

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company.

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it.

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem.

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben.

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face.

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights.

Ironic, really.

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself.

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering.

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for.

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this.

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to.

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from.

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass.

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time.

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation.

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot.

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together.

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting.

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance?

Wasn’t it romance, though?

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror.

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks.

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry.

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment.

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire.

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her.

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion.

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him.

“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness. “There was never anyone else to pick.”

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

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matty-bear · 10 months ago

Text

The Elevator Game Gone Wrong PT.2 [M.S]

type: fic!

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: VERY long, sfw, fluffy, alternate universe, paranormal activity, getting an attachment, seeing spirits, elevators

summary: As you and the triplets join Sam and Colby in investigating the most haunted hotel in Texas, the two ghost hunters suggest that Matt participates in a ritual called The Elevator Game. Little did everyone know that the ritual would actually work and your boyfriend would get stuck in another part of existence.

notes: part two is finally here ! hope you guys enjoy it ^^ I really did NOT expect the first part to get so much attention but tysm for all the love ! I appreciate all of you very much <33 also, yes thats how this fic is gonna end there will NOT be a part three ;3 anywho, happy reading !

WC: 8969

PT1

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Matt?” You call out, your voice echoing rather loudly inside the empty elevator. You feel tears prick your eyes as you crouch down and take the discarded camera and horse necklace up off the floor. You practically cradle them both to your chest and shut your eyes tightly, your mind starting to spin as you begin to spiral.

This can’t be happening.

The stupid ritual actually worked and Matt is gone.

He’s stuck, by himself, in another plane of existence and you have no idea how to help him escape it.

You should’ve persuaded him to not go. You should’ve been a good girlfriend and held him back. (As mean and selfish as that sounds)

I mean if you didn’t let him go in the elevator the second time, this wouldn’t have happened right? Hell, if you didn’t let him go in the elevator period none of this would’ve happened.

Sam and Colby probably would’ve gone in the elevator together. They could handle it, right? Of course, they could! They fucking professional ghost hunters for crying out loud!

Forget about them… Matt is gone. Your boyfriend is gone and the chance of seeing him again is slim to none. What the fuck are you gonna do?

You feel your chest tighten as you feel a lump form in your throat. As tears begin to cascade down your cheeks at a slow pace, you find it more difficult to breathe. Maybe it was because of the small space you were in or how your clothes were starting to become rather unbearable.

Who are you kidding, Matt is fucking gone.

You feel your chest tighten as you struggle to take air inside your lungs. The feeling made you panic more than you already were and you found yourself crawling back on your hands until your back hit the wall of the elevator. You hurriedly set the camera down next to you and begin to claw at your chest as you bring your knees up to your chest.

As more choked sobs escape your lips, the muffled sound of footsteps approaches you. You see a tall figure in your peripheral vision but can’t distinguish who it is. Everything was so blurry and you couldn’t hear a thing except for your heartbeat that began beating loudly in your eardrums.

You flinch rather harshly when you feel someone wrap their arms around you. You keep your head down as you allow the person to bring you against their chest.

“y/n.” The person calls. They tap your shoulder a few times to get you to look up at them. At the sight of an all too familiar mop of red hair, you find yourself relaxing a little. “There you are! Look, I need you to listen to my voice okay? Can you hear me?” Nick asks, his voice nothing but soft as he looks down at your trembling frame. It takes a moment for you to register the male’s question but when it finally clicks, you slowly nod your head.

“Okay, I need you to try your best and follow my breathing okay? Chris went to the car to grab some headphones and he’ll be back but as of right now, we need to try to ground ourselves okay? I’m right here. Just try to follow me.”

You manage to focus your still slightly blurry vision on Nick’s mouth and wait for him to start going through a few simple deep breathing exercises before you attempt to follow. The moment you try to inhale, you immediately begin to cough your heart out. You shake your head with a small whimper and lean your head against the redhead’s bicep as you feel your heart tighten.

“No, no, no. y/n, we need to try again. Come on, lift your head please.” Nick leans back a little to get you off him before he gently cups the side of your face, the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and pained expression as you begin hyperventilating breaking his heart. “Where the fuck is Chris? Does that mother fucker not know how to unlock a car and find a single pair of fucking headphones?” Nick looks behind him and locks eyes with Colby who’s looking down at the two of you worriedly.

“He’s coming!” Sam exclaims, heavy exhales escaping his lips as he runs back to the three of you.

“Fucking finally. God, my grandmother would be faster than his ass and she’s half fucking blind.” Colby smacks both of his hands over his face to muffle his laughter as Sam giggles and covers his mouth with his hand. Nick smiles softly and focuses his attention back on you as Chris runs up to the four of you.

“Here. I could only find yours.” The younger pants out as he holds the redhead’s Apple headphones out in front of him.

“That’s fine. What took you so fucking long?” Nick grumbles as he takes the headphones with his left hand and hurriedly digs in his pocket with the other.

“I couldn’t find the car.” Nick quickly looks up and sends a glare to Chris who’s rubbing his nape and looking down at his shoes.

“Of course you couldn’t.” After taking his phone out, the redhead quickly connects his headphones and opens up Spotify. “y/n look at me for a second. I need to put these on you.” You hesitantly comply and lift your head to allow the male to gently set his headphones on your head. After ensuring they’re comfortably over your ears, he quickly searches for a playlist that you and he often listen to and pushes play. The moment the soft beats of Halley’s Comet by Billie Eilish fill your ears, you find yourself claiming down nearly instantly.

You shut your eyes and allow yourself to get absorbed in the music as you lean against Nick again. You feel the latter wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, one of his hands softly hitting your back in a steady rhythm. Your heartbeat begins to follow the beat made and you soon find yourself calming down. When you’re finally able to breathe properly, you let out a soft exhale and slowly open your eyes.

“Thank you, Nick.” You mumble softly, a faint sniffle coming shortly after your comment.

“Of course,” Nick replies with a small smile. The boys allow you to take a few minutes to get yourself together before you pull away from Nick’s embrace and pull the headphones off your head and set them around your neck. The redhead intently watches as you stand up to your feet, his eyes watching your every move as you heavily exhale and look down at Matt’s horse necklace in your hand.

“We need to get him back. I don’t care what we have to do, I need him back.” You state as you lift your head and look at Sam and Colby who are a few steps away from you.

“I don’t really know how to hit the rewind button on this ritual per se. I didn’t think it’d work so I didn’t bother looking up how to bring something back.” Sam says as he looks down and rubs his nape, his lips forming into a straight line as he stares at the floor.

“Well if you guys don’t figure out a way to get Matt back, I will not hesitate to do this stupid ritual over and over again until it takes me to the same universe he’s in. I'm sorry if I sound like a total jackass but I literally can’t live without Matt. And neither can Chris and Nick. We all need him back”

“Sam and I will scavenge the internet to try to find a way to fix this, promise. But as for right now, we need all of you guys to get out of the elevator.” Colby says, his voice soft as he mentions for you and Nick to step out. You exhale heavily and gently nod your head before you walk out of the elevator, Nick following close behind you.

You immediately make your way over to Chris who’s sitting on a bench across from the elevator. You look over at the male after sitting next to him and gently tap his knee to snap him out of the faint daze he’s in. After a moment, the male finally looks over at you and a frown immediately takes over your features at the sight of the male’s tear-filled eyes.

“Oh Chris…” You mumble. You quickly wrap an arm around the latter’s shoulder to pull him against your side. When you do, the male doesn’t hesitate to bury his face in your neck.

“I want Matt back.” Chris mumbles, his voice breaking slightly as he bites back the tears threatening to spill from his glossy eyes.

“I know. We all do.” As you begin to rub comforting circles on Chris’ back, Nick takes a seat on the other side of the male and joins your attempts of calming him down.

“Hey, guys?” Colby calls, his voice echoing in the elevator and seeping out into the hall.

“What’s up? You find something else?” Sam asks as he quickly makes his way over to the male.

“Yes, actually. I found a note under the camera but I can’t decipher it for the life of me.”

“What?” You quickly pick your head up and look over at Colby who’s stepping out of the elevator and looking intently at the camera in his hand. “Lemme see.”

The ghost hunter makes his way over to you and takes a small sheet of yellow paper off the bottom of the camera. You watch as his eyes skim over it a few more times before he hands it to you. Colby was right. On the small yellow sheet was horrible handwriting that was in…

Crayon?

“It looks like a kid wrote it.” You say, your eyes squinting as you try your best to decipher the words written.

“A kid?” Nick asks as he and Chris quickly turn around to look at you. Both boys lean closer to get a better look at the note in your hand, the same bewildered expressions appearing on their faces as they stare at the writing.

“Yall don’t think that Samantha wrote it, right?” Chris asks as he rips his gaze away from the note to look up at Sam and Colby who are already looking down at the three of you.

“I’m not sure... How could she send a note to us?” Sam asks as he crosses his arms over his chest, his face deep in thought as he also stares down at the note in your hand.

“Wait, is the onvoy still out?” You ask as you hand the note to Nick who has his hand out in front of him, gesturing you to give him the small piece of paper.

“Yeah, it’s right here,” Colby replies as he walks over to the said device that has been discarded in the middle of the floor. “You wanna ask something?”

“Yes please.” Colby gently nods his head and sets the onvoy next to you on the bench. You force your lips together in a straight line, a sudden surge of fear filling your veins as you stare down at the device. After inhaling and exhaling deeply, you ask your question.

“Samantha, are you the one that wrote the note that’s under the camera?”

Silence fills the lobby the moment the question escapes your lips. You take a glance up at Colby before you turn your attention back to the onvoy, nervousness filling your body as you begin to hear your heartbeat loudly in your ears.

Why isn’t it-

Your thought gets cut off when you feel a quick jab on the side of your thigh. Your breath quickly hitches as you flinch and quickly turn around, fear glossing over your eyes as you move closer to Chris. The moment you go to open your mouth to say something, the sound of the onvoy dinging alters the five of you. You quickly turn your head around at the sound and lean in closer to the onvoy to read the glowing response.

“It says yes.” You read, quickly leaning away from the device after you feel a cold shiver run down your spine.

“Wait, how the hell did she get the note to us?” Colby asks as he picks up the device and switches it off.

“I have no clue. And I kinda don’t wanna know so.” You reply, your voice trailing off as you hug your torso.

“I know what this says,” Nick states as he holds the yellow note in between his fingers. At the male’s statement, you and the rest of the boys quickly look over at him.

“What does it say?” Chris asks as he leans against the redhead’s shoulder, smiling slightly as he manages to make him fall back a little.

“It says mirror room but it’s just horribly misspelled. I mean it makes sense since Samantha is a literal child but.” Nick replies, a faint grunt escaping his lips as he pushes Chris off him and sits upright.

“Mirror room?” Sam repeats, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he takes a glance over at Colby.

“Is she talking about the Maximilian room inside The Mezzanine?” Chris asks, his head slightly tilting to the side as he looks up at the two ghost hunters in front of him. The moment the question escapes Chris’ lips, a small giggle escapes you at the feeling of two pokes coming in contact with your side again.

“Samantha, I am not built for this, please do this to Chris. He’s right here.” You beg as you quickly slam your arm firmly against your side. When you use your free hand to gently pat the younger triplet’s shoulder, the male’s face grows pale as his eyes widen in pure fear.

“Why would you say that?” Chris asks through gritted teeth. “Samantha, she doesn’t mean it. Please keep messing with her, not me.”

“Wait, maybe Samantha is trying to communicate with us through y/n. You know, considering how she touched her immediately after Chris asked the question.” Colby says as he points a single finger towards you and he looks over at the blonde next to him.

“Samantha, if you would like to communicate with us through y/n instead of the onvoy, could you poke her two times for us?” Sam asks, his question causing your jaw to drop to the floor.

“Guys, this is fucked uP-!” You say, your speech getting cut off by you giggling at the feeling of two pokes being delivered on your side. Your giggles soon turn into a small whine as you cover your face with both your hands and lean against Chris’ arm.

“Did she poke you once or twice?” Sam asks.

“Twice.” You grumble in response. “This is so fucked up why me out of all of us?”

Sam shrugs in response. “Not sure. But at least we know how to communicate with her better.” Colby nods his head at the blonde’s comment as he lands a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Now, Samantha, would you like us to go to the Maximilian room inside The Mezzanine? Remember, one poke no, two pokes yes.”

The moment the question is asked, you feel Chris jerk away from you, a stream of panicked giggles spewing from his lips as he reaches for Nick.

“Thank you, Samantha.” You say aloud, a small smile visible on your lips as you look over at the two boys next to you.

“Did she poke you, Chris?” Colby asks, a small laugh escaping him as he watches the latter hurriedly rub his left side.

“Yeah. Twice.” Chris replies, a frown forming on his lips as sends a quick glare in your direction. At the male’s intense look, you give him an innocent smile and quickly jab your hand into his side. A chuckle escapes you when Chris lets out a choked laugh and stumbles off the bench. “Bro, this isn’t funny!” The male exclaims as he lays on the floor and covers his face with his hands.

“It’s a little funny,” Nick says with a smile as he bends down to reach the younger male on the floor. He lands a quick poke near Chris’ underarm and giggles when the male squeals and rolls away from him. “Dude, you squeal like a little girl.”

“Nick, I will fucking rock your shit. Don’t play with me right now.” Chris says through gritted teeth as he sits up and leans against his arms. Nick raises his hands in defense and takes a seat closer to you as Sam walks up to the male on the floor.

“Come on, I think we should head over to The Mezzanine,” Sam says as he holds his hand out in front of him. Chris looks up at the blonde for a moment, a small smile sneaking onto his lips as he grabs his hand and allows the male to help him to his feet. “y/n you wanna lead the way?”

You slide your tongue over your teeth as you look over at Sam, your stomach churning out of anxiousness before you quickly avert your gaze from him to Nick. When you turn to the male, the redhead gives you an encouraging smile and gets up. The moment he holds his hand out for you, you smile widely and grab it as you follow suit in getting up.

“Yeah. Let's head over there.”

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

“Okay, someone go in first I don’t fuck with the dark.” You say. After a few minutes of searching the hotel, you and the boys managed to find the Maximilian room inside The Mezzanine. The moment you walked up to the doors and saw that the room was pitch black inside, you quickly backed away and walked behind Nick and grabbed both of his arms, basically making him your shield.

“Hell no, I'm not going in first either!” Nick exclaims as he turns around and puts you back in front of him.

“God, y'all are a bunch of pussys,” Chris mumbles as he walks past you and Nick to get to the door. After swiftly opening it, the male enters the large room and begins his short search for the light switch. Upon finding it, the boy turns all the lights on with a single flick of the finger. “Yall coming in or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming.” You mumble, sending a look to Nick before you join Chris inside the room. As the rest of the boys trail behind you, you begin to wander deeper inside the room, your eyes staying glued onto the mirrors as you quickly observe them.

“Okay, now why would Samantha bring us here? It’s just a room full of mirrors.” Nick asks, his eyes following your frame as you continue to walk around the room.

“Maybe she left another note?” Colby suggests as he sets his backpack and camera down on the floor against the wall.

“Let’s start looking around the-“

“Matt?” At your sudden exclamation, all the boys quickly whip their heads around in your direction. They silently watch as you run up to the mirror at the end of the room with wide eyes before they all run up after you.

“What happened?” Nick asks as he stops behind you and sets both his hands on your shoulders.

“I saw Matt in the mirror.” You say, stumbling over your words slightly as you point to the mirror in front of you. “I managed to catch a glimpse of his hair before he walked to the left.”

“Are you sure you saw him?” Colby asks, his voice holding a sense of uncertainty as he raises an eyebrow and looks up at the mirror in front of all of you.

“I swear on my life it was Matt! I could recognize his ass from a mile away!” You slip away from the group to walk to the mirror to your left. The mirror that Matt walked towards. You stand in front of the said mirror and your hold on his horse necklace tightens as you desperately look around the glass.

You needed to prove to the guys that you weren’t seeing things. They probably think you're going insane right now and you can’t have that.

The moment you go to walk to the next mirror, you feel a small tug on your sleeve. You quickly jump away with wide eyes and cover the area where you got touched.

“Samantha is that you?” You call out, your statement drawing the attention to the group of boys still standing in front of the other mirror. At the feeling of two small pokes on your knee, you heavily exhale and nod your head softly. “Can I see Matt in the mirrors?” Another two pokes. “See! She said yes!”

“But how is that possible? You can’t see another person in a mirror unless they’re in front of it.” Sam says as he walks up to you, the rest of the boys following close behind him.

“I have no idea how it’s possible but Samantha confirmed that I’m not going crazy.” You don't wait for the blonde to stop in front of you before you walk off to the next mirror. Sam stops in his tracks and looks back at Colby, a look of uncertainty clear on his face as he locks eyes with the male. The latter simply shrugs in response and pats the blonde’s shoulder before he, Nick, and Chris follow you.

“Matt?” You call you again, your eyes desperately searching the mirrors in hopes of seeing your boyfriend again. You let out a frustrated huff when you reach the end of the wall. No Matt here. You quickly turn on your heels to begin your search on the other wall. The moment you walk up to the first mirror, your breath gets caught in your throat when your eyes land on an all too familiar mop of chocolate brown hair. “MATT!”

You run up to the mirror showcasing your boyfriend curled up in a tight ball against a wall with both of his arms covering his head. The closer you got to the mirror, the more you could faintly make out his rapid and labored breaths.

“Matt?” You shout as you delicately set your fingertips on the glass. You watch with wide eyes as Matt quickly looks up and whips his head around, trying to find who called him.

“Hello?” The male calls out, his voice sounding rather muffled as he hurriedly stands up.

“Matt it’s me, y/n! Can you hear me?”

“y/n?..”

At the sound of quickening footsteps approaching you, you quickly turn around to see all the boys coming up to you. The same shocked expression can be seen on all of their faces as they look up at the mirror.

“It’s fucking Matt.” Chris breathes, tears welling up in his eyes as he grabs onto Nick’s bicep.

“How the hell…” Colby mumbles.

“Matt!” Nick shouts as he drags Chris up to where you are standing directly in front of the mirror.

“Nick?” Matt calls, his voice wavering slightly as he clutches his clothed chest.

“Matt, we’re all here. Me, Nick, Chris, Sam, and Colby. Can you see us?” You ask. You all watch as Matt rubs his eyes with his palms and looks around aimlessly.

“No...” Matt replies sadly as a frown overtakes his lips.

“Matt, do you see a mirror anywhere by any chance?” Sam asks as he and Colby walk closer to the mirror.

“Umm…” Matt’s voice trails off as he begins to walk around. The moment he goes to walk outside of the mirror, you all yell at him.

“NO, MATT!” You all exclaim in unison. The male jumps at y’all’s exclamation and quickly walks back to where he was.

“Look in front of you,” Chris instructs, a small giggle escaping him as he watches his brother cross his arms over his chest with a frustrated exhale. Matt complies and looks straight ahead, his eyes widening slightly when his gaze lands on a small mirror with a black frame.

“I see one!” Matt exclaims as he quickly runs up to it. As he does so, he nearly takes up the entire space of the mirror the five of you are looking in, his tall frame looking over you guys as he scans the mirror on his side. You and the boys immediately begin to back up to get a better view of the male, small chuckles escaping a few of you at the sight of Matt mimicking a mine as he sets his hands on the glass.

“Can you see us in-“ You cut yourself off when Matt suddenly yelps and jumps to the side.

“What the fuc-“ The male starts, cutting himself off when he looks to his side and sees something.

“What happened?” You ask, worry washing over you as you see Matt take a few steps back, his eyes wide in fear.

“Samantha’s next to me.”

“WHAT?” Chris exclaims, his jaw-dropping as he quickly whips his head around to face Sam and Colby, the two sharing the same expression as him.

“Wait, we can’t see her,” Nick says, his eyebrows furrowing together as he over at the space that Matt is looking down at. You watch intently as Matt reaches his hand next to him, your eyes widening when you see a yellow sheet of paper appear in his hand moments later.

“That’s the same sheet that was under the camera,” Colby states, earning a small head nod from you and the other boys.

“Thanks,” Matt says slowly. You see the male smile slightly before he looks down at the paper in his hand. “Awh, this is wonderful Samantha thank you.”

“What’d she give you?” The moment the question slips out of Sam’s lips, Matt flips the paper over and holds it against the mirror, allowing the five of you to see it. You can’t help the large smile appearing on your lips when your eyes land on the shark drawn with a blue crayon on the yellow sheet of paper.

“Awh, that’s so cute!” Chris gushes as he jumps a few times.

“Do they like it?” You hear a small voice ask. Collective gasps emit from you and the boys the second you guys hear the voice.

“Yes, they love it,” Matt confirms with a smile. A small, high-pitched giggle rings through your ears before Matt faces the mirror again. “Guys I'm fucking petrified here please bring me back.”

“We’re not finding anything on how to get you back, Matt,” Colby says, a frown appearing on his lips. Matt covers his face with both his hands as a shaky exhale escapes him. You find yourself shaking your head slightly as you force your lips together and dig your hand in your pocket to take your phone out. The moment you unlock the device, you feel a sudden weight on your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Nick says softly, his minty breath fanning over the right side of your face as he peers down at your phone.

“Trying to find a way on how to bring Matt back.” You reply, your thumbs quickly tapping the screen as you google the ritual Matt did in the elevator. Silence fills the room as you type away on your phone, your eyebrows knitting together as a determined and focused expression spreads across your face.

“Home?” You quickly pick your head up the second Samantha’s voice fills your ears. You watch Matt remove his hands from his face, your expression falling into one of worry at the sight of your boyfriend’s glossy eyes, before he looks down at the space he was looking at previously.

“What was that?” Matt asks softly, a small sniffle escaping him as he quickly wipes away the tear that escapes his eye.

“You wanna go home?” You hear Samantha ask.

“Yes, I really wanna go home,” Matt replies as he furiously nods his head.

“You don’t belong here?”

“No, I don’t. I belong somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Just somewhere else.”

“With y/n?” You feel your heart skip a beat the moment your name escapes the little girl’s lips.

Matt’s eyes widen and his words get caught in his throat for a moment before he hurriedly replies. “Yes with y/n. With my two brothers and friends too.”

“How did you get here if you don’t belong here?”

“I decided to play a little game that I shouldn’t have played by myself.”

“What game?”

“Just a little game in the elevator.”

“Oh! I know that one!”

Matt’s face falls into one of worry the moment Samantha answers. “You do?..” Matt asks, his voice trailing off as he takes a glance over at the mirror next to him.

“Yes! I like to play it with my friends! We get to go somewhere else if it works! It’s a lot of fun.”

“Wait, do you know how to take me back to where I belong then?”

“You belong in the place where me and my friends go?”

“Yes! Yes, I do.” As you hear the small girl hum softly, you quickly turn around to look back at the boys behind you.

“She knows about the elevator game.” You say, your voice soft and low as you try to not get Samantha to hear you.

“Let’s hope she knows how to send Matt back,” Chris adds as he begins to nibble on his bottom lip.

“I think so.” You hear Samantha say. You could tell she was rather unsure with her reply due to her voice going up a few octaves at the end of her sentence.

“Could you try to send me back, please?” Matt asks as he looks down at the girl, a pleading expression clear on his face.

“Yeah! Come with me!” Without allowing the male to get another word out, Samantha grabs Matt’s hand and pulls him away and out of the mirror. The second the male vanishes, your face drops and you quickly turn around to face the boys behind you.

“We have to go back to the lobby. Now.” You state, giving all the males a stern look before you exit the Maximilian.

“y/n, wait up!” Nick exclaims as he begins to run after you, the other three boys soon running after the both of you.

Matt’s POV

The constant colors of blue and yellow have been blinding my vision the entire time I’ve gotten to this universe. This world is a replica of the regular world apart from the fact that the majority of this world is in those two colors. While wandering around this universe’s hotel, I did encounter a hallway that was a different color. However, I didn't think about walking down it considering how it was a deep red color. And if my representations of colors were correct, I know that you should always stray away from red since it’s often tied to danger.

Honestly speaking, I didn’t expect this elevator ritual to work so when it did, I had a full-blown freakout. I mean, why would I not? I’m in a different universe and couldn’t contact anyone. Not to mention how the camera I was using to record myself and my horse necklace completely vanished into thin air the second I got ‘transferred’ over here.

Adding to my list of things I didn’t expect, I didn’t expect to be able to see hundreds of spirits walking around. No one seemed to care about how I was there and kept going on their merry way, floating around the hotel grounds as I wandered around like a lost child in a grocery store. I almost gave up on my search trying to figure out where the hell I was and how to get out but when I heard y/n’s voice, I gained a little bit of hope. But the fact that I couldn’t see her and the rest of the guys frustrated me heavily. And they could somehow see me? I have no idea how that makes sense but I didn’t even bother asking because I was sure they wouldn’t have an answer.

My first encounter with Samantha while I was talking with y/n was absolutely terrifying. The little girl that I saw in a painting was standing next to me and communicating with me. She had a bright yellow aura surrounding her, which was a great contrast to the other spirits who held a dull gray one. I’m assuming that she was the only one who had this aura because she’s a kid and still has that child-like innocence to her. But the moment she mentioned that she and her friends played the elevator game for fun, I could not believe my ears.

I mean, she doesn’t know better and probably thinks it’s all fun and games but to me, it’s the complete opposite. That little game of hers got me here in the first place. Now, I'm not blaming her because she's a literal child and has no control over this but the elevator game being fun??? That’s just mind-boggling.

“Wait, where are we going?” I ask, my eyes squinting as Samantha’s aura begins to blind me.

“The elevator, silly!” The little girl replies, a small giggle emitting from her smiley lips as she continues to drag me down the blue and yellow hallways. A small sigh escapes my lips as I continue to let Samantha lead me to the first floor, thankfully with the use of the stairs, and to the lobby where the elevators were. “Get in!” With a small push of a button, the elevator doors open to reveal a purple-filled space with blotches of yellow coating the brims of the elevator walls.

“Good to know there’s no red in here,” I mumble under my breath.

“What did you say?” Samantha quickly turns around on her heels, her dress momentarily twirling around her as she looks up at me with large doe eyes.

“Nothing.” I give the girl a small smile before I enter the elevator. I immediately excuse myself to go to the corner as Samantha enters right after me. As she walked up to the panel of buttons, I could faintly hear her humming a soft tune, her body subconsciously swaying along to the tune. After pushing the button for the first floor, she turns back around and walks up to me.

“Will you come back to visit me?” Samantha asks with a large toothy grin. I feel my heart ache as the small girl looks up at me. As I force my lips into a straight line, I begin to have a small mental battle about whether or not I should be honest with her.

“I’m not sure, Sammy. I really wanna go back home.” I reply softly.

“Can I come with you?” The moment Samantha asks me that question, I feel my heart drop. Panic immediately fills my body as I blink down at the girl in front of me.

“No, I'm sorry. You need to stay here with your friends. They’ll miss you if you don’t come back.”

As Samantha’s smile forms into a pout, the elevator dings faintly before the doors open. I watch as the small girl turns around and goes to push the next floor, her pout not faltering.

“y/n seems nice,” Samantha says softly as she makes her way back to me.

“She is a wonderful girl. I’m very lucky to have her in my life.” I comment as my lips form into another large smile.

“I think she’s scared of me.” My smile falls into a slight frown as I look down at Samantha.

“What makes you think that?”

“Every time I try to get her attention, she always looks so scared. She hasn’t looked as scared the last few times I poked her but I know she’s scared of me.” As Samantha picks her head up to look at me, I feel my heart shatter as I take in her large and glossy doe eyes. “Am I scary?”

“Oh no, not at all Sammy.” The moment I open my arms, Samantha runs closer to me and crashes into me. As I wrap my arms around her and gently pat her head, the small girl nuzzles her face into my stomach.

“Are you sure?” Samantha asks, her voice cracking as tears begin to run down her small face.

“I’m sure, sweetheart. You are not scary at all. In fact, you are quite adorable and so sweet.” I reassure the girl as I begin to run her back comfortingly. As Samantha sniffles softly, the faint ding of the elevator doors opening causes me to lift my head. I let out a small sigh before I bend down and lift the girl into my arms. As I make my way over to the panel of buttons, Samantha wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder.

Carrying this small kid has to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. She practically weighs nothing and my skin is tingling.

Why am I tingling?..

“Hey, Sam?” I call, my index finger gently poking the said girl’s side. I smile softly when she squirms away with a high-pitched giggle.

“Yes?” Samantha replies as she lifts her head off my shoulder to look over at me.

“What floor do we go to next?”

“Six!”

“Alright, thank you.” Samantha hums softly in response and returns to her spot on my shoulder. After I push the bottom to the sixth floor, I walk back to the corner I was previously at. Comfortable silence fills the elevator as I continue to hold Samantha close against me, her soft breath tickling my neck as she begins to faintly hum the same tune from earlier.

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

Your POV

You find yourself pacing back and forth in front of the elevator as Salt In The Wound by boygenius fills your ears. You can see Sam and Colby talking to one another in your peripheral vision, however you can’t make out their voices due to the headphones on your head.

You had no idea how to wrap your head around what happened 15 minutes ago. You thought you lost Matt for good yet you were able to talk with him through a mirror. The whole thing sorta of reminded you of Bloody Mary but minus all the scary aspects. The fact that Matt was able to physically see and communicate with Samantha while he was in the other universe was pretty shocking to you. You hope that the girl will stay true to her word and help your boyfriend back in this world.

God knows you desperately need him back.

You get snapped out of your pacing and your daze by a small tap on your shoulder. You flinch rather harshly and rip the headphones off your head, your eyes mimicking those of a deer caught in headlights as you stare wide-eyed at the person who tapped you.

“Fucking hell, Chris. You scared the shit out of me.” You say as you clutch your chest.

“My bad.” Chris apologizes with a small smile. “Nick wants you to eat something.” At the male’s statement, you turn your head and immediately make eye contact with Nick who’s holding his hand out, an open pack of fruit snacks on the palm of his hand. At the sight of the snack, your mouth shapes into a small oval before you scurry over to the redhead and take a seat next to him. The moment the male hands you the pack, you shoot him a large toothy grin before you indulge in the snack.

“I can’t be the only one who can’t believe what just happened,” Colby says as he rubs the side of his face with his hand.

“No, I can’t either. That was fucking insane.” Nick agrees as he quickly points over to the male before he fishes another pack of fruit snacks from his pocket.

“It reminded me of Bloody Mary a little bit. You know since they both deal with mirrors.” Sam chimes in as he nibbles on a single club cracker.

“Me too!” You exclaim, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you continue chewing on your gummies.

“Do you guys really think that Samantha will help Matt? I mean, she is a little kid after all.” Nick asks as he stuffs a few fruit snacks in his mouth.

“I don’t know but I hope she’s able to bring him back.” You reply as you sigh gently and continue chewing.

“Hey guys?” Chris calls. You and the rest of the boys quickly look over at the male who’s looking at the elevator with slightly wide eyes.

“What’s up?” Sam asks as he lifts himself off the wall he’s leaning against to walk over to the youngest triplet.

“Was the elevator always on the fifth floor?” Your head quickly turns to look over at the number atop the elevator. And low and behold was the number five shining brightly above the golden doors.

“Wait, why is it blue?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing as you stare at the bluish glow emitting around the number. “Wasn’t it always white?”

“Yeah, it was…” Colby replies, his voice trailing off as he takes a stand next to you. “That’s weird.”

The moment you go to fix your gaze back to the half-empty pack of gummy snacks in your hand, the sound of Chris gasping rather loudly causes you to pick your head up again.

“What’d I miss?” You ask quickly as you look over at the male.

“The number is going down,” Chris replies as he points up to the number shining brightly atop of elevator doors. Your eyes widen the moment that statement escapes Chris’ lips and you quickly look over at the elevator again.

“What the actual fuck…” You hear Nick mumble next to you. You feel your heart beat loudly in your ears as you watch the number above the elevator slowly go down. The moment the number one appears, your eyes quickly shift over to the elevator doors. You had no idea what was happening but you knew that the elevator arrived at the floor all of you were currently on. It could be that another person is taking the elevator and they’re coming to the lobby but why was it stuck on the fifth floor?

You get pulled out of your thoughts when you hear a small ding coming from the elevator. Subconsciously, you reach over to Nick and grab his hand for mental support as you hear your heartbeat quicken in your ears. After a few moments, the elevator doors slowly begin to open. After it finally opens halfway and you don’t see anyone, your gaze falls back to the pack of fruit gummies in your hand.

Stupid fucking haunted ele-

“MATT!” You hear Nick exclaim, his hold on your hand vanishing as he quickly gets up and runs to the elevator. You quickly pick your head up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name and see all the boys rushing inside the elevator. Your mind seems to lag for a minute as you sit there, frozen, until you finally get back to reality and join everyone in the elevator. You nudge your way through the small crowd of boys to get to the middle and the moment you see an all too familiar set of blue eyes look down at you, tears immediately begin to well in your eyes.

“Matt.” You sob. You immediately crash into your boyfriend’s arms when he walks closer to you and opens his arms out. You bury your face into Matt’s chest and curl your fingers against his clothed back as a steady flow of tears runs down your cheeks. “You’re back.”

“I'm back, I'm right here,” Matt whispers softly as he begins to land soft kisses on the top of your head. The male shuts his eyes tightly and takes in your comforting scent as he begins to tear up himself.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” You remove yourself from Matt’s chest to look up at him. “Never do that shit again. I won’t let you.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Matt brings a hand up to the left side of your cheek to cup your face, this thumb beginning to wipe away your tears as he locks eyes with you. A few beats of silence pass by before the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts y’all’s small moment.

“I apologize for interrupting but I’m feeling quite claustrophobic here,” Nick says as he gestures to the small space around him.

“Yeah, and I think I’d like to leave this trauma-inducing elevator,” Matt adds with a smile, his statement earning faint laughs from all the boys. You watch as all the guys file out of the elevator and walk back into the lobby. Before you grab Matt’s hand to pull him out with you, you turn back to face the male with a small smile. The brunette shifts his gaze down towards you and smiles softly before you decide to grab his face and pull him down to capture his lips for a quick kiss.

“Never thought I’d be able to kiss you again.” You say after you pull back, the same smile visible on your lips.

“Hey! No sucking face in the elevator!” You both hear Chris exclaim. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the boy’s statement before you take Matt’s hand in yours and pull him out of the elevator.

“I think it’s safe to call it a night,” Colby says, a heavy exhale escaping his lips as he picks his backpack up off the floor.

“I thought we still had the Estes Method to do,” Chris says, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches the two ghost hunters collect their equipment.

“Well…” Sam starts as he detaches the light from one of the cameras. “We do but a lot has gone down and I think we should wrap things up here. Right, Matt?”

“Most definitely. I saw and interacted with enough spirits today.” Matt confirms as he rapidly nods his head in agreement.

“We can pick up another day if you guys want. I think we have plenty of footage for the video but we’ll release something at the end explaining what happened with Matt without giving away too much information.” Colby suggests as he swings his bag over his shoulder, one of his hands resting against the strap to hold it in place.

“We can pick back up in two days,” Nick says, taking a glance over at Matt and Chris and waiting to gain small head nods of approval from them before he looks back at Sam and Colby. “We do have another week here.”

“Well, let us know. You guys do not have to continue the investigation if y'all don’t want to. As Colby said, we should have enough footage for the video.” Sam reassures, a small smile appearing on his lips as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“We will,” Matt says with a smile of his own.

“Well, we’ll see you guys later. We still have that dinner reservation in three days so don’t forget!” Colby exclaims as he points a finger at all of you.

“We won’t.” Chris chuckles. “Thanks for inviting us guys!”

“Dude, of course.” You and the triplets begin to share quick hugs with Sam and Colby before the six of you begin to head towards the exit of the hotel. Upon arriving at the front doors, Matt holds the door open for you to allow you to be the first person to step outside. When you do, you take in your first breath of fresh air with a content smile.

“God, how much I missed seeing the outside world.” You sigh as you turn around to face the rest of the boys.

“Oh me too.” Colby agrees with a rapid head nod.

“We’ll see y'all later! You guys make it back to your hotel safely.” Matt says as he walks up to you, his left hand instinctively going to reach out to grab yours

“Yall too! Goodnight guys!” Sam shouts with a large smile as he and Colby wave goodbye to the four of you. You and the triplets bid farewell to the ghost hunters before walking through the parking lot in search of the van.

“I never thought I’d be so happy to see a car in my entire life,” Matt mumbles as he takes his car keys out. As the male unlocks the car, you giggle softly and watch as Nick and Chris hop in the back. Matt looks over at you and lands a quick kiss on your forehead before he brings you to the passenger door. You slip inside the car with a small smile when the male opens it and gently shuts it when you get yourself situated in your seat.

“God I'm fucking exhausted.” Nick breathes as leans against the car window, his eyes shutting in the process.

“Ima knock out. I kid you not.” Chris adds as he pulls his seatbelt over his body.

“Y'all better wake the hell up when we get to the hotel. I’m not carrying y'all up to the room.” Matt says as he slips in the driver's seat, a soft thud coming from the door after he shuts it.

You manage to catch Nick making a talking gesture with his hand in your peripheral vision as you look over at Matt. You watch silently as the male puts his seatbelt on and pulls the gearshift down to drive. Before he begins to drive off, he looks over at you and sends you a large smile before capturing your lips for a quick kiss.

“I’m never leaving your side again.” You say as you shift in your seat to lean your head against the cold window.

“Same here. I’m never letting you out of my sight.” Matt smiles as he takes a glance at all his mirrors. After backing out of his parking spot, your boyfriend reaches over to grab your hand as he finally drives off. As the male gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb, you find yourself drifting off into a deep slumber.

༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

A week later…

“Okay Matt, this is starting to scare me. Do I need to make you an appointment right now?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Matt you’ve been on the floor for the past five minutes and you look like you’re fucking giving birth. You are clearly not fine.”

“What’s happening?” You ask as you walk inside the warehouse, the door shutting close behind your heels as you forcefully pull it shut.

“Look at your boyfriend,” Nick says as he points down at the said male. You follow the redhead’s finger and worry washes over you when you see Matt curled up on the floor, his eyes screwed shut as a pained expression paints his face. You quickly set the McDonald's bags in your hands down on the nearby sofa before hurrying over to Matt.

“Baby, this is the third time I’ve found you like this this week.” You say as you sit down near the brunette’s head. After Matt doesn’t say anything and simply rests his head in your lap, you let out a small sigh and begin to card your hand through the male’s hair. “Is it still your lower back?”

Matt gently nods his head. “It really fucking hurts. It’s like a bunch of tiny needles pricking my skin. It feels so weird and tingly.” Matt mumbles, a sharp hiss escaping him shortly after he finishes his sentence.

“Matt, again?” You hear Chris ask, his footsteps becoming louder as he walks into the room. You hear the male sigh before you take a glance up at him.

“You guys are acting like I'm in control of this fucking happening. Cut me some slack, holy shit.” Matt grumbles as he digs his face into your thigh.

“Have you texted Sam or Colby?” Chris asks, averting his question to you as he raises a single brow.

“No… why would I?” You question back, your eyebrows knitting in confusion as you send the male a look.

“I have a gut feeling that they have an idea about what’s happening. Just saying.” Chris shrugs as he makes his way to the McDonald's bags on the sofa. You shake your head with a small chuckle when the male digs in one of the bags and takes out his food before he walks off.

“Should I text one of them?” You ask as you look over at Nick who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“You can if you want. It’ll shut Chris up.” The redhead replies with a shrug. You gently nod your head and pull your phone out of your pocket. “Maybe text Colby. He responds a lot quicker than Sam.” You give Nick a thumbs-up before opening your chat with Colby. You twirl your thumbs around the keyboard for a moment trying to figure out what to say before you finally start typing.

You: hey colby ? I have a question to ask you

Colby: Ask away!

You: so matt has been having these pains in his back and i was wondering if you had an idea as to why he’s been having them

I know it’s random but chris had a hunch that you guys might know soo …

Colby: His back…?

You: yea

Colby: Like his lower? Upper?

You: lower

Colby: Oh shit

You: what … what’s wrong

Colby: I think Matt got an attachment

You: a WHAT ?!?

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notlongtolove · 7 days ago

Text

away from home

you tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this. this work is part of the little red cap series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: flangst?

content: mentions of crime scenes and blood. lit student reader meets the team as she helps them understand poems leading to a startling discovery.

word count: 3.5k

note: thank you for all the love on part 1! i hope you enjoy part 2! please exercise a willing suspension of disbelief... #imjstagirl

a line: “Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear.

The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods Away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place Lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake My stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer Snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes - carol ann duffy

The glass facade of the FBI headquarters gleamed intimidatingly in the cold of the morning light—too polished, too perfect. You tugged awkwardly at your sleeves as you stepped through the doors following closely behind Spencer.

Inside was cooler than you thought it would be, though that made sense. Spencer had warned you without warning you, really—his rows of sweater vests and cardigans, each more sensible than the last, each dripping with practicality, had spoken for him.

Your turtleneck—cream, plain, nothing remarkable—had seemed like the right choice this morning, though now you felt absurd for caring. It was a little something you’d like to call the ‘Yes, I study literature, and yes, this is my life’s work, but if I get a detail wrong and someone else dies, please don’t throw me in jail’ look. Somehow it felt like the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The elevator ride was a tense, quiet affair. For a moment, neither of you spoke, till his fingers brushed yours—timid, tentative. A flicker of the timid Spencer you’d met many months ago—a nervous presence in the corner of a book club, flipping through pages with a reverence you still found endearing. The same Spencer who’d spent weeks tiptoeing around conversations about book spines and hardcovers, so cautious and shy, that you’d eventually asked him out yourself.

Today though, you’re the one on edge.

“You’re nervous,” he observed softly. "Don't be."

“Wow, Sherlock, how’d you crack that one?"

His quiet laugh melted some of the tension, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You tried for a small smile, but you were certain it came out as more of a grimace. Sensing your apprehension, he pressed on.

“They’re only going to ask a few questions after you’re done,” he said, his thumb brushing light, soothing circles against the back of your hand. “I’ll be there the whole time.” Before you could reply, the elevator stopped, doors sliding open with a quiet hiss.

One last squeeze, then his hand slipped from yours.

The bullpen—Spencer called it that once, you remembered—wasn’t what you’d imagined either. It was smaller, somehow, though not cramped. Papers stacked high on desks, smell of coffee lingering in the air. Maybe even a little quaint, albeit no less intimidating. A blonde woman by one of the desks looked up at the sound of your footsteps. She smiled, quick and warm.

“Hey, Spence.”

Oh. You didn’t know they called him that too.

Before her gaze could settle on you, Spencer stepped forward, the two of them exchanging in hushed conversation. You hung back, trying not to look as lost as you felt, your eyes roaming over the room as fragments of their conversation drifted your way.

“They’re all in there,” the woman said, jerking her head toward a nearby door.

“And the photos? I don’t want her seeing—”

“Took them down this morning. They’re only in the briefs.”

“Right, okay. Thanks, JJ.”

Spencer glanced over his shoulder at you then, a hint of something soft in his eyes before his expression shut down again, unreadable. “Let’s go.”

You managed a shaky exhale, pressing your lips into a tight line. Now or never, you thought.

The meeting room was dim, suffocating in its stillness. Blinds drawn, a table littered with files and mugs of what you assumed to be coffee—some half-empty, their rims stained. Names were exchanged, though too quick to catch. You tried to focus, really you did, as introductions were made but the the air, heavy with expectation, proved to be too distracting. Instead, you stood quietly as the introductions were tossed around, nodding politely, offering a smile where you could, silently trying to piece together who was who and how you fit into all of this.

It wasn’t until the blonde lady, who you now knew as JJ, spoke up again that your focus snapped back into place.

“...and she’ll be joining us for this case,” she said, gesturing toward you.

A man—Derek, you thought—grinned, leaning back in his chair. “As Pretty Boy’s plus one, or...?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Pretty boy? That’s a new one.

“Morgan,” the man at the head of the table cut in—sharp, commanding. That would be Hotch, you assumed.

Spencer’s answer came swiftly, without hesitation, “As a consultant.”

“And how exactly did you come across this... consultant, Reid?” A dark-haired woman purred. Her tone was light but edged with teasing curiosity. It was evident in the way her smile glinted, playful, though the man—Hotch, you were certain now—shot her a look that suggested restraint.

“At a bookclub,” you smiled, the words coming out steadier than you’d expected. It was a feeble attempt to navigate the tension or rather, to just get through it. Say something, say anything. It reminded you of school, moments when you’d latch onto the simplest question with the most straightforward answer just to feel like you were part of the conversation.

“Book club,” the woman echoed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Of course.”

“Reid,” Hotch said, drawing all attention back to the task at hand. “If you’d both like to start.”

“Yes, please,” Spencer said, the words slipping out a little quicker than he probably intended. “Garcia is the—”

“Pulling it up right now!” the redhead interrupted brightly. “All three Duffy poems annotated and transcribed as you requested—coming on the big screen in…”

You watched as she typed furiously for a moment before pushing a button. “Now!”, she finished.

Just like that, the familiar words flashed across the screen, casting the room in a soft, muted glow. “Printed yours on classic paper just for you, boy genius,” Garcia chirped, nodding toward the neatly arranged file in front of Spencer. He shot her a small, grateful smile. And while you made a mental note to ask him about the nicknames later, you couldn’t help but think how easy she—Garcia, you heard Spencer say—was to like.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The entire team seemed to sit straighter, their attention sharpening as the poems appeared on the screen. You forced yourself to meet their collective gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement.

“Well—” you began, standing slowly, but the word caught in your throat.

Taking a step forward, you willed yourself to focus, but the moment quickly faltered when your foot caught on a loose wire. The stumble was embarrassing as it was fast—awkward and ungraceful. Before you could even think about catching yourself, Spencer’s hands were there, steadying you with a firm grip around your waist. If you hadn’t been blushing already, you definitely were now.

It was—compromising, to say the least.

it was also impossible to ignore the subtle ripple of awareness that swept through the room. When you finally settled back into your chair—deciding that yes, sitting was definitely the better option—the awkward tangle of fingers and gestures only made it worse.

“Maybe I need to join a book club,” an older man teased, mock seriousness hiding his amusement. The flush on both your cheeks and Spencer’s was hard to miss.

Your cough broke the tension. “Right, um, well,” you said again, this time striving for steadiness. “I guess—Uh, I’ll start with the overall themes of the poems.” You winced internally as the words came out more like a question than a statement. Spencer met your eyes with a small, encouraging smile. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

Turning toward the screen, you were more than thankful for the familiar cadence the poems provided, a welcome anchor amidst your nerves. “Each of these poems,” you managed, your voice gradually finding its strength, “They explore different facets of longing, connection, and disconnection. They’re unified by Duffy’s ability to convey intimacy in a way that feels both personal and universal.” You shifted slightly, gesturing toward a specific line. “Her use of metaphors—like here in the second stanza of Warming Her Pearls—is subtle but evocative.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t leave you. You clung to his silent reassurance as you pressed on. “Note here, the words: ‘Slack on my neck, her rope.’ All three poems carry this underlying theme of violence—sometimes concealed, sometimes blatant.”

“Except in the last note.” Spencer added. You nodded fervently in agreement.

“All alone. Little Red Cap. There’s nothing subtle about it anymore. The violence in there is raw and deliberate,” You continued, glancing back at the screen. “As he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw. The glistening, virgin white of my grandmother’s bones.” You quoted the lines onscreen. “She’s angry. Vengeful, even.”

“It’s a significant escalation.” The older gentleman noted. Rossi, you ventured to guess.

“Right. The shift from subtle tension to overt aggression isn’t just thematic anymore.” Spencer added. “It mirrors the unsub’s own behavior in the crimescenes.”

Derek’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his arms folding thoughtfully across his chest. “And we’re thinking these poems are, what, a roadmap? A way to track how she’s falling apart?”

You hesitated, considering the question. “I wouldn’t necessarily say they’re a map, they’re not a reflection of her so much as an extension of her unraveling,” you said slowly. “We use this term often—It’s almost like a manifestation of how the violence is spilling out, consuming her.”

You glanced up at them, searching their faces for understanding. Hotch gave a subtle nod of approval, eyes fixed on the screen.

“And what’s most compelling,” you continued with growing confidence, easing the conversation back into analysis, “is how Duffy’s structure mirrors this emotional push-and-pull. For example, the enjambment here mirrors a lack of closure, a yearning that doesn’t quite resolve.” You point to another stanza, drawing attention to the jagged rhythm of the lines. “The abrupt stops and starts in her verse mirror a loss of control—”

“Sorry, enjamb—what?” Derek tilted his head, the unfamiliar term halting his question halfway.

“Enjambment,” Spencer interjected smoothly. “It’s when a line of poetry flows into the next without a pause or punctuation.”

The woman with dark hair—Emily, you learned—leaned forward, her brow furrowed as she studied the stanza on the screen, absentmindedly toying with a pencil in her hands. “So you’re saying the way the lines break—how they don’t resolve—it’s deliberate. It’s supposed to feel... incomplete?”

Spencer nodded again, eager to explain. “Yes, exactly. It’s a structural choice to keep the reader moving forward without any pauses.”

“Actually…” You paused, then glanced at him with a sheepish smile. “Yes and no. It’s not just about the movement. It’s also about the unresolved feeling it creates. The lines break without closure on purpose. It sheds light on the emotional chaos the speaker is experiencing.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone turning toward Spencer, who seemed momentarily taken aback.

“Well,” Rossi broke the pause with a dry laugh, “This is a first.”

Spencer blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. “I guess I stand corrected.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t worry, Spence. We all have our moments.”

“Correcting Reid and cracking jokes?” Derek said, his tone teasing, “Oh, I like her already.” At that, even Hotch let out the faintest hints of a smile.

Once you found your footing, it was surprisingly easy to keep the momentum going, almost as if you were back in one of the classes you’d TA-ed for—a familiar, comfortable flow. It came with a blur of of questions, some serious, others lighter. That line, she meant it literally? No, Derek, we don’t know if Carol Ann Duffy actually gave her lover a real onion for Valentine’s Day. And yes, Garcia, I wouldn’t be too pleased either if that was my gift. Spencer’s gaze met yours time and time again. His smile was a little fuller, more open, and—dare you think it—proud.

As the meeting wound down, Spencer’s focus remained on you. You were speaking with Hotch by his office, nodding intently at whatever he it was he was saying. Spencer leaned slightly back against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, eyes following your movements. Even when Hotch’s phone buzzed, cutting the discussion short and pulling him away, Spencer’s gaze lingered on you.

“She really knows her stuff, huh?” JJ said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Garcia leaned forward, eyes sparkling with approval. “Oh, I adore her,” she declared with trademark enthusiasm. “Smart, funny—Spencer Reid, how on earth have you been keeping her under wraps?”

Emily quirked a brow, her smirk teasing. “Hey Reid, remind me again which book club this was? Might have to drop by myself.”

Spencer barely shifted, barely acknowledged their teasing. They’d caught him mid-thought, and his response was subtle but telling—a smile he didn’t bother to suppress.

“Pretty too,” JJ mouthed quietly, eyebrows raised, giving Spencer a playful thumbs-up as Hotch called her over with a sharp nod. She offered you a small smile as she passed you.

When you finally crossed the room to where they were standing, Spencer straightened, taking a step closer to meet you halfway. The fondness in his eyes was a quiet but telling softness that gave him away entirely. He couldn’t hide it even if he tried to—The way his expression softened as he watched you was answer enough.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice softer now, his hands sliding into his pockets as you stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” you replied, your smile mirroring his.

“You did great in there,” he said, his eyes holding yours.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile playful. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Spencer’s lips twitched into a small, lopsided grin, his tone carrying just the faintest touch of humor. Before you could roll your eyes at his cheesiness, he added, “No, seriously. Hotch had that smile—you don’t want to know what happened to the last consultant who didn’t impress him.”

You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice. “He called me by my last name and all. That’s good, right?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “That’s basically your official BAU initiation,” he said, earning a laugh from you in response.

Nearby, Garcia and Emily exchanged knowing glances, their collective amusement barely concealed. There was an ease between the two of you everyone could see—comfortable in all the right ways.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked, leaning a little closer, your voice dropping into something almost private. “We can order in.” Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but Hotch’s sharp tone cut through the air.

“Reid. Meeting room. Now.”

Spencer’s head snapped toward Hotch instinctively, but not before he casted a glance toward you, worry etched faintly in the crease of his brow. Hotch’s gaze was intense, brows furrowed in a way that signaled urgency. JJ was close behind him, her own face taut with concern. Before Spencer could speak, Hotch’s eyes flicked toward you.

“Both of you.”

Spencer’s expression shifted instantly, his lips parting as though to say something else in protest, but the force in Hotch’s tone left no room for delay. Without a word, you followed them into the meeting room, Spencer falling into step beside you. He brushed his shoulder lightly against yours, just for a second—a brief moment of reassurance—before stepping ahead to hold the door open.

JJ wasted no time. She set the tone with her first words.

“The last note we received wasn’t the last crime,” she began, her tone marked by an undercurrent of urgency, “It was the first.”

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment, then erupted into a flurry of questions.

“How the hell did that happen?” Emily asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was sharp, impatient.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he replied grimly. “Pathology assumed the timeline was linear because the crime scenes were discovered only a day apart. But the toxicology report just came back—trace amounts of formaldehyde were found in the last one. Enough that it went unnoticed at first.”

“Preservation,” Spencer murmured, his brow furrowing. “The unsub kept the body.”

“So everything we’ve been assuming about the escalation—it’s off?” Derek asked frustratingly as he ran a hand down his face. “If the last note was actually the first crime, then we’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

You watched as Spencer leaned forward slightly, nodding in agreement. “The progression isn’t linear.”

“That changes everything,” Rossi said, “If this is just the beginning, then the escalation’s going to happen a hell of a lot faster.”

“That puts Warner first, doesn’t it?” Emily asked, “She was found along the trail off Route 74. So, that would mean her note is ‘All alone.’ Which poem was that from again?” she added, turning to you for clarification.

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer answered, finishing the thought for you.

“Who’s Warner?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong move. The room went unnervingly still, every pair of eyes shifting toward you.

For a moment, no one spoke. Hotch stopped mid-motion, his hand hovering over his face as if he had been expecting this but still couldn’t quite believe it. He let out a long, measured sigh, the tension in the room discernable.

“Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, calm but with an unmistakable sharpness, “You brought her in without briefing her?” The disbelief in his tone was clear.

Spencer froze, his posture stiffening, a mix of surprise and guilt flashing across his face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then tried again. “I—uh,” he stammered, clearly flustered. “I thought— I thought it wasn’t necessary because—”

Hotch raised a hand, effectively silencing him with just a glance. “JJ,” Hotch added, his tone expectant. Without another word, she slid a case file across the table toward you. It was a clear, unspoken message. There was no turning back now. You were in this—whether Spencer liked it or not.

Hotch’s gaze softened ever so slightly when he turned to you, the reprimand fading from his tone. “Take your time. I understand it’s a lot to process.” You swallowed nervously and managed a small nod.

Hotch’s eyes flicked back to Spencer, narrowing slightly. “You know better,” he said, the reproach lingering in his gaze. Your heart tightened as Spencer winced visibly, his lips pressing together in an almost imperceptible sign of distress. His usually composed demeanor seemed completely undone, now clearly as rattled as you by the situation.

The team continued their discussion, voices overlapping in a controlled urgency as you turned your focus to the case file. The photos stared back at you, streaked with deep crimson, each image more brutal than the last. You flipped through the pages with bated breath as you fought to process the sheer violence of it.

Three crime scenes. Three murders. Three bodies.

Joni Munroe.

Nicole Jayson.

Eleanor Warner.

All women in their twenties. Young. Living alone. All stabbed.

A waitress. A dog walker. A student.

"Was there a connection between the—the victims?" you asked, the words awkwardly halting as they left your lips. It was a struggle to piece together the overwhelming flood of information let alone find the effort to form a coherent question. God, how does Spencer do this everyday?

JJ answered you, as if she’d been expecting the question. “They all attended Virginia West University,” she said, her tone steady. “But none of them had any ties to each other. Warner was the only current student. The rest had graduated, different years, different classes.”

You nodded slowly, trying to offer her a small, understanding smile. The room buzzed continued to buzz around you as Derek broke through the haze, his voice charged. “Babygirl, check reports for any bodies found in the past 48 hours.”

Babygirl? Okay, you definitely had to ask Spencer about the nicknames later. For now, it was a welcome distraction though, momentarily diverting your attention away from the unsettling splotches of maroon staining the photos in front of you.

“Bodies? No, the unsub wouldn’t have acted that fast,” Spencer corrected, his tone almost automatic. “Check for missing persons instead.”

Rossi didn’t miss a beat, nodding sharply. “Garcia, cross-reference recent missing persons reports. Check for females.”

“On it,” Garcia said, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. The clacking of keys filled the momentary silence. “Okay,” she said after a pause, her voice tight with focus. “I’ve got two reports from the last 48 hours. Marsha Williams, 63, homemaker, retired professor. And Jeanine Wayland, 26, worked at a gas station.”

“Wayland—She fits the profile,” Emily said, leaning in toward the glowing screen. “Young, low-income job. Garcia, do we know if she was from Virgina West too?”

“Give me a second.” Garcia’s voice was tight with focus as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

A shift stirred within you. If the last note was really the first, the team was right. It redefined everything. Little red cap. Your mind raced back to your conversation with Spencer last night. The wolf symbolized someone older, predatory. They were students, weren’t they? Yes—all three of them.

You swallowed. “Um, Garcia?” you asked hesitantly, your voice wavering slightly as the weight of the room’s focus pressed in on you. “Marsha Williams—what university did she teach at?”

There was a brief pause, the rapid tap of Garcia’s fingers on the keyboard filling the silence. “Hold on, let me check… okay, it says here she received the Action Teaching Award, Long service awards, 10 years, 20 years—Wanna bet she makes it to 30?"

"Garcia," Hotch said warningly.

"Sorry, sorry, and 25 years—all at—” Garcia's voice faltered, a sharp intake of breath following.

“Words, babygirl,” Derek prodded gently.

When she finally replied, her voice was taut with unease.

“All at Virginia West University.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader comfort

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tsukuhoe · 29 days ago

Text

03: walked in and dream-came-trued

special grade management’s headquarters was… big. thankfully, you had utahime tag along to your meeting as she happened to have a meeting with the actors of her new film. “y/n, i’ll be in the room down the hall. feel free to call me when your meeting ends.” she directed you to your meeting room, then left for hers.

you knocked on the door twice before it swung open. there stood a man in a suit with black hair. “i take that you must be y/n l/n— have a seat. i’m shiu, a scout for special grade management.” he pulls a chair out for you, then offers you a cup of coffee. “it’s a double shot of espresso with a splash of steamed milk.”

“thank you, shiu. before we proceed, i’d like to inform you that i am not interested in signing a label as of now—”

“then how ‘bout we make a deal?”

“a deal…?”

“yes, a deal. due to your popularity and current status on the charts, we’d like to have you affiliated with our management. however, since you’re uninterested in signing any record label, we’d like you featured in a production by us.”

“... what will i get in return? i’ve never been driven by the pursuit of wealth or recognition. money and fame are fleeting; my focus is on something much deeper and more lasting." you say, voice steady but firm. he let out a small chuckle, taken back by the question. he didn’t take you to be such a businesswoman.

“let’s see… how about gaining free access to film studios and the equipment without being signed to any labels? open to you whenever you want, whenever you need.”

shiu studies you for a moment, your expression unreadable. you set your coffee cup down and tap your fingers lightly on the table, weighing your options. finally, you speak again, your tone softer but no less firm.

"i’m willing to consider the deal,” you started. the deal sounds great but then you thought of your producer, choso. choso would love to work with new equipment and in a more professional workspace than his small walk-in closet. “...however, the terms need to be adjusted. i’d like access not only to the film room but also the music production rooms and their equipment— the ones with the big sound booths.”

shiu nods, not surprised. this is the kind of fine-tuning these deals require. he leans forward, his hands steepled, and offers a slight smile. "we can work that out." shaking your hand. “now let’s head and meet the others for this film— i’m sure you’ll enjoy being on set as your friend, utahime’s directing it.”

“y/n, what are you doing here?!” utahime gawks, her script slipping from her fingers. “suprise! so i’m now a part of your film…!” you giggled at her reaction. “what’s it about?”

“we’re rebooting the first scream movie with new actors— tatum’s actor wasn’t listed in the given script so i’m assuming you’ll be playing her?”

“ding ding ding! y/n will be playing tatum riley in this movie! due to tatum’s personality that was enjoyable to the audience, many fans will be satisfied with a pop sensation like her playing the role.” shiu smiled, putting his hand on your shoulder. “not to mention, our star actors toji and gojo— playing the two ghost faces will have the fans squealing!”

“so you did all the casting calls without my knowledge?” utahime hissed, clearly annoyed at the man in suit. a white-haired man approached you three before shiu could say anything. “utahimeee! what’s taking so loongg— wait! you’re y/n l/n, right? the y/n l/n who made the recent hit, espresso?” he grinned, looking at you. his face was flushed. a mixture of nerves and excitement shining in his wide eyes. you blinked, momentarily stunned— satoru gojo knows you?

“hi! yes, that’s me.”

“and you’re working with us, sweets? neat!”

while you, utahime, and gojo chatted, shiu made his way to the corner of the room. there sat a man sitting relaxed with his arm draped over the chair’s armrest.

“toji. how’s it going?”

“man why’d you have to bring a rando on set,” he scoffed, clearly displeased to see a new face on set happily chirping with his co-workers.

“you’ll enjoy her company. just wait.”

album bonus tracks: — i love scream sm! — some of the charas (kei, ayame, minako) r js made up names btw — story's going to be a bit slow until it gets good (esp on toji's part)

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focusonkayjay · 8 days ago

Text

between the ride and the roses (13)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 4.8k+

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: the calm before the storm.

A/N: hello hello hellooooooooo, how are you guys? I just came up with a new series idea, but i think i'm gonna wait until i finish my ongoing series before i start working on it. let me know your thoughts on this part !!

part 13: skidding in choked roots

As Jungkook locks the door to his shop, Yoongi's words from earlier linger in his mind, echoing like the low rumble of an engine idling in the silence. "You love her, don't you?" The question had struck a chord and now, walking alone in the cool evening air, the very obvious answer feels almost impossible to deny.

With steady steps, Jungkook moves away from his shop and heads towards yours. The faint glow spilling out of your windows catches his eye, and his lips curl into a soft smile at the sight of you.

You're standing by your workbench, head slightly tilted as you focus on carefully arranging a bouquet. Your fingers move with practiced precision, the small furrow in your brow betraying your concentration.

Without hesitation, Jungkook pushes the door open, the soft chime of the bell going unnoticed as you're too engrossed in your work. He takes slow steps towards you, his boots faintly scuffing against the floor. As he gets closer, a playful warmth bubbles up inside him, and with gentle movements, he wraps his arms around your waist from the back.

The sudden warmth of his embrace makes you jump slightly, your body tensing at the unexpected contact. "God! You scared me!" you exclaim, your voice startled but light, and you whip your head around.

The tension melts away instantly when you realize it’s him. His familiar scent, the weight of his arms around you, and the soft sigh he lets out as his chin rests on your shoulder bring a quick smile to your lips. “Jungkook...” you murmur, shaking your head fondly as your fingers return to wrapping the bouquet.

“Sorry.” he whispers, though his tone carries no real remorse. His eyes close as he leans further into you, the stress of the day dissolving as your warmth grounds him. “I just…missed you.”

You chuckle softly, the sound light and comforting as you keep working. “Long day?” you ask, though your voice carries the knowing affection of someone who already has the answer.

“Better now.” he replies, his words muffled against your shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you say anything more. The quiet intimacy of the moment wraps around you both like a warm blanket, the sound of your soft breaths filling the room.

Jungkook opens his eyes briefly, watching your hands carefully tie the ribbon on the bouquet. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, biker boy.” you tease, though your words carry none of the edge you intend. The soft curve of your lips betrays you, and the warmth in your eyes gives away just how much his words have affected you.

Jungkook chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest as it presses against your back. “Doesn’t matter.” he murmurs, his voice smooth. “I’m already where I want to be.” His words linger in the air between you with a quiet intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You bite the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to suppress the blush threatening to creep up your face. But the way his breath tickles your ear and his arms feel so secure around your waist makes it impossible. You purse your lips, pretending to focus on the bouquet you’re wrapping, though the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth refuses to be subdued.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the rustling of paper as you meticulously finish arranging the flowers. Jungkook doesn’t move... he stays close, his presence like a steady warmth at your back.

Finally, you set the bouquet down with a satisfied exhale. “Done.” you announce softly, straightening your posture. Jungkook’s arms slip away from your waist as he steps back to give you space. “Looks perfect.” he comments, his voice sincere.

You glance at him over your shoulder, his gaze warm and fixed on you, and you find yourself smiling again. “I should clean up and call it a day.” you say, turning back to your workbench.

“I’ll wait.” he replies simply, leaning against the counter. As you move around to clean the area up, his eyes stay on you, not in a way that feels overbearing but in a way that makes your heart feel seen, like he could watch you do the most mundane things and still find them fascinating.

Once everything is in its place and the shop looks neat again, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. Jungkook moves towards you then, his hand extending without a word. His palm is open, waiting, an invitation that somehow feels both bold and natural.

With a small huff, you place your hand in his, and the warmth of his touch sends a ripple of comfort through you. His fingers curl around yours securely, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand.

The two of you step outside, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The street is quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic blending into the stillness. You lock the shop door behind you, ensuring everything is secure, before turning to Jungkook.

“I’m hungry.” you mumble softly, your free hand brushing over your stomach. There’s a faint pout on your lips, and Jungkook can’t help but find it endearing. “If you wanted to go on a dinner date with me, you could’ve just said so, baby.” he quips, his grin playful but his tone brimming with affection.

You roll your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your lips lift despite yourself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” you shoot back, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Alright, alright...” he laughs, shaking his head in mock surrender. “Let’s get you some food.”

With that, he leads you towards his bike, wears his helmet and he swings a leg over the seat effortlessly. You mirror his actions, climbing on behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. The engine roars to life, the vibration steady beneath you, and you press your cheek lightly against his shoulder as he pulls out onto the road.

As you and Jungkook wait for your food to arrive in the bustling restaurant, the warm buzz of conversation around you fades into the background.

You sit side by side, his arm draped around your waist in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. His thumb absentmindedly strokes your side as he listens intently to you talk about the flower orders you need to prepare for an upcoming wedding in the next few days.

He’s quiet, but not in a distracted way. His focus is solely on you, his gaze fixed on your face. The way your lips move, the way your eyebrows knit together every time you explain a particular detail... it’s all so endearing that he can’t help but smile. It’s ridiculous, really, how much he adores you.

For a moment, he gets lost in the sound of your voice, his thoughts clouding with affection. And before he even realizes it, his body acts on instinct. He leans in, pressing a firm, warm kiss to your cheek, cutting off your words mid-sentence.

You freeze, your breath catching at the unexpected gesture as you turn to look at him with wide eyes. There’s a hint of shock on your face, but it doesn’t last long. A smile creeps onto your lips, soft and teasing. “Jungkook…” you breathe out, tilting your head slightly in amused disbelief. “What?” he says, feigning innocence, his doe eyes wide and unassuming. “I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” he questions.

You narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head in playful reprimand. “That was so sudden!” you protest, though your tone lacks any real annoyance. His grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, you’d better start expecting more of these.” he says smoothly, tightening his arm around your waist. “Especially if you’re always gonna look this cute.”

Your lips twitch, fighting to hold back the sheepish grin threatening to give away just how much his words fluster you. Before you can come up with a witty retort, he leans back slightly, his tone shifting as he continues. “Besides…” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Are you really just gonna call me ‘Jungkook’ forever?”

A faint pout tugs at his lips, and you can’t help but laugh at his expression. “Well, isn’t that your name?” you tease, arching a brow at him. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I mean, it is.” he admits, his tone dragging out the words like he’s laying out a case for you to consider. “But wouldn’t it be… I don’t know, cute if you gave me a nickname? Or at least called me… baby?”

You blink at him, caught between genuine amusement and disbelief. “Big, burly, tattooed biker boy here wants to be called… baby?” you repeat, your tone dripping with teasing. His ears redden slightly, and he looks away with a sheepish huff. “I just think it’s cute.” he mumbles, sounding almost defeated.

Your laughter bubbles out, light and full of affection, and you reach out to cup his cheek. “Oh my god, you’re just so adorable sometimes.” you say, your voice soft as your thumb brushes over his skin. He groans dramatically, but the corners of his lips twitch upward despite his feigned embarrassment.

“Well…” you start, shifting closer to him on the seat. Your hand reaches out for his free one, and your fingers intertwine naturally. “You are a baby sometimes.”

Jungkook glances at you, his eyes softening. “My baby.” you whisper, giggling softly as you squeeze his hand. You watch as his expression transforms instantly, the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks. He looks away, inhaling sharply, but the shy smile pulling at his lips doesn’t escape your notice.

“My baby Koo.” you add quietly, the words rolling off your tongue so sweetly that Jungkook feels his heart stutter in his chest. He exhales deeply, glancing back at you with a mixture of awe and fondness. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.” he mutters under his breath, his shy grin growing wider.

Just as you're about to reply, a loud, booming voice cuts through the warm, intimate bubble you and Jungkook are cocooned in. “Holy fuck, Y/N?!”

The sound startles you, and both you and Jungkook snap your heads towards the source of the interruption. Standing near your table, Seokjin stares at you with wide eyes, his face full of disbelief.

Right beside him, Juwon, Taehyung, and Namjoon stand equally frozen, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. In perfect synchrony, their gazes shift from you to Jungkook, who still has his arm loosely draped around your waist.

For a fleeting moment, your brain decides to focus on the most absurd detail. How does Seokjin always manage to show up at the worst possible time? His knack for making grand entrances and interrupting pivotal moments is truly unmatched. But as the seconds tick by, the weight of the situation sinks in, and your stomach churns with nervous energy. Oh no.

Your friends just saw you with Jungkook. They saw you cuddling up to him, laughing with him... being all cutesy and coupley. And the worst part? You hadn’t told them anything about this. Not a single word.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You just… hadn’t found the right moment. How exactly were you supposed to explain that the guy they relentlessly teased you about... the one you constantly vented about... the one you swore up and down you hated... was now your boyfriend? To be fair, even you were still wrapping your head around how quickly everything had developed between you and Jungkook.

And now here they were, your best friends, staring at you like you’d just been caught at the scene of a crime.

Jungkook seems calm, though. Of course, he does. He’s Jungkook after all. While you feel your heart racing, he simply shifts in his seat, his expression unreadable but his grip on your waist subtly tightening in silent reassurance.

And just as you’re processing the shock of your friends’ sudden appearance, the waiter arrives, balancing plates of steaming food. He hesitates for a beat, clearly picking up on the palpable awkwardness in the air, but professionalism wins out as he carefully maneuvers around Seokjin and the others, setting the dishes on your table.

The moment he leaves, Juwon is the first to break the silence, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. “So this is why we couldn’t reach you today...” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“We tried calling you so we could all have dinner together, but you didn’t answer. We thought you’d gone home or something. Turns out…” A smirk creeps up her lips as she gestures vaguely towards Jungkook. “You were on... a date.”

Her emphasis on the last word sends heat crawling up your neck, and you suddenly wish you could disappear under the table. Before you can come up with a witty or at least coherent response, Taehyung steps forward, casually pulling out a chair and plopping himself down right across from you and Jungkook.

“Tae!” Namjoon hisses, his brows furrowed as he shoots him a pointed look. Always the considerate one, Namjoon’s trying to silently tell him to back off and give you and Jungkook some space.

“What?” Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. “You guys should come sit down too.” he says, glancing over his shoulder at the others with a casual wave of his hand.

Taehyung leans forward now, resting his elbows on the table as his sharp eyes focus on you. “Someone here has a lot of explaining to do.” he drawls, his grin downright mischievous.

You groan internally as Seokjin wastes no time, eagerly grabbing a chair and pulling it up beside Taehyung. Namjoon follows reluctantly, muttering something under his breath about boundaries, while Juwon slides into the seat next to Seokjin, a gleeful grin plastered on her face.

You glance nervously at Jungkook, whose lips curl into an amused smile as he leans back in his seat, completely unfazed. His calmness should be reassuring, but instead, it just highlights how not calm you feel.

“Spill it, Y/N.” Taehyung prompts, motioning for you to speak. “How long has this been going on?” Seokjin suddenly asks. “And don’t even think about trying to dodge the question. We’re not leaving until we get answers.” he adds.

Juwon chuckles, leaning her chin on her hand “You might as well tell us everything now because someone won’t let this go.” she says, jerking her thumb towards Seokjin, who gasps in mock offense.

You exhale deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose as you prepare for the inevitable onslaught of reactions. "Well…" you start, your voice steadying as you straighten your posture. “It’s just been a few days.” you admit, glancing between your friends. “The night of the town fair… to be precise.”

As the words leave your lips, they all gasp in unison, their eyes widening as they exchange looks. “I knew it.” Namjoon says first, shrugging nonchalantly but with an unmistakable glint of triumph in his eyes.

“Me too !!” Taehyung chimes in quickly, his huge smile lighting up his face. He leans forward, practically buzzing with excitement. “The way she went on and on about him?” He points at Jungkook. “I knew it was only a matter of time before they ended up together.” he says.

He claps his hands together, looking absurdly pleased with himself as if he’s just won some long-standing bet. “You went on and on about me?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head towards you with an amused smirk. You groan, glaring at Taehyung as your cheeks grow hot. “I did not go on and on about him.” you huff, crossing your arms defensively. “Oh, really?” Taehyung counters, his sly grin widening. “Because I distinctly remember you ranting about him every time we hung out.”

“Yeah.” Juwon pipes in. “She’d complain constantly, but honestly? I just think she was in denial.” she shrugs as the others quickly nod, agreeing with her. You shoot her a withering glare. “Et tu, Juwon?” (shakespeare reference)

Jungkook chuckles beside you, his deep laugh sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Well, to be fair....” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, “I gave her plenty of reasons to complain. I was… kind of a jerk.” His voice softens towards the end, as if he’s genuinely apologetic.

Seokjin waves him off. “Please, dude. I’m sure Y/N got over it. We’ve all been rooting for this enemies-to-lovers trope anyway.” he giggles.

Taehyung laughs, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you guys are literally the textbook definition of it.” he says. Despite your embarrassment, their laughter and teasing ease some of the tension. Soon, the conversation flows naturally. Your friends place their orders too, and effortlessly bring Jungkook into the fold.

What was supposed to be a quiet dinner date unexpectedly morphs into an impromptu group dinner. To your surprise, though, it’s not as bad as you’d feared. Your friends are kind to Jungkook, and though the occasional teasing makes you want to crawl under the table and hide, you can tell it’s all in good fun.

Jungkook seems perfectly at ease, chatting with them like he’s known them for years. And as you watch him laugh at one of Seokjin’s over-the-top jokes or engage in a friendly debate with Namjoon, the knot of anxiety in your chest slowly unwinds.

Maybe this wasn’t how you’d imagined introducing Jungkook to your friends... the unexpected dinner, the teasing banter, the chaos of unspoken emotions swirling in the air, but as you watch them interact with him, something warms inside you. It’s not just the easy way they welcome him, the lighthearted teasing that feels more like an initiation than an interrogation, or the laughter that fills the space between you all.

No, it’s something deeper, something more unspoken, like a quiet understanding. They’re not just accepting him because of you... they’re seeing the layers of who he is, understanding the way he fits into your world. And in that moment, you realize that it’s more than just the approval of friends. It’s the weight of new beginnings, the unfolding of something beautiful.

A shared connection that isn’t just about you and him anymore, but about the people who matter most in your life embracing this new chapter together.

Your feet hit the ground as you slide off Jungkook’s bike, your heart still buzzing from the ride. You glance at him as he swings his leg off the bike with practiced ease, pulling off his helmet with a casual grin.

“Well, that was nice." you breathe out, the lingering thrill of the ride still making your chest rise and fall faster than usual. You remove your helmet, handing it over to him.

He takes it, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Yeah.” he agrees, his smile widening. “I’m so glad I finally got to meet your friends and talk to them… even if it wasn’t how I imagined it happening.” he says. You laugh, nodding. “True, that was… not planned at all.”

For a moment, a comfortable silence settles between you as you both stand there, looking at each other. The faint sound of the town hums in the background, but all you can focus on is the way his soft smile mirrors your own.

“So…” you finally break the silence, your voice trailing off as you look up at him. Jungkook hesitates, torn between wanting to stay and the realization that the night is getting late. He doesn’t want to leave yet... not when the warmth of your hand still lingers in his and the memory of your laughter echoes in his mind.

“Wanna come upstairs?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft but steady, cutting through the train of thoughts in his head. His eyes widen slightly, and then his lips tug into that familiar mischievous grin. “Drop kick me in the face if I ever say no to a question like that.” he replies quickly, his words laced with playful exaggeration.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics as he moves to park his bike, clearly wasting no time. Within seconds, he’s back at your side, grabbing your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your fingers intertwine, and his grip is firm but gentle, sending a rush of warmth through you. His eagerness is contagious as he practically jogs towards your building, pulling you along with him.

Giggling, you match his pace, your heart light and full as you both burst through the building’s entrance. The sound of your laughter echoes in the stairwell as you climb the steps together, your hands still tightly clasped, the night far from over.

The minute you unlock the door to your apartment, your bag drops to the ground with a soft thud, forgotten entirely as you step inside and turn to face Jungkook. Without a second thought, you throw your arms around his neck.

He reacts instantly, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist. With an effortless motion, he lifts you off the ground, and a surprised giggle escapes your lips as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

Your arms rest comfortably on his broad shoulders as you look down at him, laughter still bubbling in your chest. He smirks up at you, his warm, steady gaze making your heart race.

Effortlessly, Jungkook carries you to the couch, his movements fluid and sure. He lowers himself onto the cushions with you still in his arms, pulling you even closer until there’s hardly any space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, a comforting, intoxicating sensation that makes your head spin.

Your eyes lock with his, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, breaths mingling, the emotions between you growing louder with each passing second.

Before you can think, you lean down, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s both desperate and full of longing, full of yearning. His grip on you tightens, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he kisses you back with equal fervor, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting every nerve in your body on fire.

He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp softly, and he takes full advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue in to deepen the kiss. You’re too lost in the moment to even register when you start grinding your hips against his, matching his fervent rhythm. Every sensation, his warmth, the way his body shifts beneath you, the way he breathes between kisses... consumes you completely.

It feels perfect. So utterly, undeniably perfect, and you wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

“Fuck… I missed you today.” Jungkook suddenly breathes out the moment your lips part, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. You stare down at his slightly swollen lips, shiny from your shared kiss, and can’t help the small smile that curves your own.

Your thumb gently brushes over his wet lower lip. “Me too…” you say, your voice is soft, intimate, and full of warmth. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” you whisper.

The admission seems to catch him slightly off guard. His breath hitches as his eyes lock onto yours, wide and filled with something deep and raw. The way you look at him... with so much honesty, so much emotion... it’s almost too much.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his chest, threatening to break free. He wants to say it. He wants to tell you everything he’s been feeling, every thought that’s been swirling in his mind. He wants to promise you the world, to tell you how much you mean to him, how much he wants to be yours in every sense of the word.

But he gulps, forcing himself to hold back. It’s too soon, he tells himself. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, doesn’t want to scare you away by rushing into emotions that feel so huge, so overwhelming.

Instead, he pulls you closer, his hands firm on your waist, and tilts his head to press his lips against yours again. It’s gentler this time, slower but no less passionate. He hopes the kiss tells you everything he can’t put into words just yet. You melt into him, and in that moment, it feels like nothing else matters.

2 weeks later; The cool morning breeze of Wednesday brushes against Jungkook’s skin as he rides towards his motorcycle shop, the hum of the bike beneath him a familiar comfort. A faint smile tugs at his lips as his thoughts drift to you.

It’s been about two weeks since you and Jungkook made it official, and each day since then has been nothing short of perfect. You occupy his every waking thought... when he opens his eyes in the morning, you’re the first thing on his mind and when he closes them at night, you’re the last.

As he approaches the street leading to his shop, the anticipation of seeing you again makes his heart quicken. He hasn’t seen you properly since yesterday afternoon, and it somehow feels like a lifetime. But as Jungkook turns the corner, his smile falters, replaced by a deep frown.

A crowd has gathered right outside your flower shop, and there’s an unusual buzz in the air. His eyebrows knit together as he instinctively accelerates, pulling up in front of his shop. He parks his bike hastily and rips off his helmet, his heart hammering in his chest. Pushing through the gathering of onlookers, his eyes dart around, searching for the source of the commotion.

And then he sees it.

The massive front window of your shop is shattered, leaving shards of glass scattered across the pavement. Through the jagged edges of the broken window, Jungkook’s gaze falls on the interior of your shop, and his stomach churns at the devastation.

The once vibrant haven of your flower shop is in absolute ruins. Flower petals are strewn haphazardly across the floor, trampled and torn. Broken glass glitters under the light, covering every surface. Pots are smashed, their contents spilling out onto the tiles in heaps of soil and greenery. Shelves are overturned, their wooden frames splintered and cracked.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his chest as his mind races to process the destruction. A lump forms in his throat as he imagines the effort and care you put into building your shop, now reduced to this chaotic mess.

“Kook!” A voice cuts through the murmurs of the crowd, sharp and urgent. Jungkook turns to see Yoongi running towards him on the pavement, with Jimin and Hoseok close behind. The sight of their panicked expressions sends a cold chill down his spine. “Fuck, Kook!” Yoongi breathes out as he reaches him, slightly out of breath. “Y/N... she’s... she's in the hospital.”

Jungkook feels the world tilt beneath him, his heart dropping to his stomach. “What?” he demands, his voice barely steady. His eyes dart between Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok, searching for answers.

“Kook, we tried calling you—” Hoseok begins, but Jungkook cuts him off, his tone sharp and desperate. “What the fuck happened here? What happened to Y/N? Why is she in the hospital?” His voice trembles slightly, and his breathing quickens.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, looking visibly distressed. “We don’t know all the details yet.” he admits. “There was a break-in early in the morning. Someone... someone trashed the shop, and Y/N... she must’ve been there early... and she... she tried to stop them…”

Jungkook’s fists clench tighter, his nails biting into his palms, and his jaw locks so hard it sends a dull ache radiating through his skull. Yoongi’s words replay in his head like a broken record, each repetition twisting the knife deeper.

You, alone and vulnerable, facing down some faceless monster... or worse, monsters... in the quiet, predawn hours. The thought is unbearable, and yet, it takes root in his mind, fueling the fire of his rage.

A wave of fury courses through him, burning just beneath the surface, but it’s barely enough to mask the terror that churns in his chest. He swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat, his breathing uneven as he struggles to keep his emotions from spilling over.

But anger and fear can wait. Right now, he needs to see you. He needs to see you, to make sure you’re okay. He knows he won’t be able to draw a steady breath, let alone think clearly, until he’s by your side.

“Which hospital is she in?”

<- part 12 // part 14 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

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floralcyanide · 1 year ago

Text

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day eight ⛧ edging

Ethan Landry x Reader

Ethan decides to ask you a personal question, which leads to an interesting study session.

warnings: smut, edging, mutual masturbation, friends to lovers, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, masturbation, fingering, nipple play

word count: 1694

author's note: once again so sorry this is late I'm trying to catch up as we speak lol I hope yall enjoy!! I love writing for Ethan. he's so my type fr. anyway I enjoy feedback so let me know what you think!! (:

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

You were not expecting your best friend to ask the question he just asked. Yet, a part of you was excited because maybe, just maybe, this could go somewhere.

“Have you ever masturbated in front of someone?” Ethan had asked abruptly, looking up from his homework with a thoughtful look on his face.

“What?” you nearly choked on your spit at the sudden and personal question.

“Have you ever touched yourself in front of, like, a partner? Or anyone else?”

“No, why?”

Ethan shrugged, “Just wondering.”

You’re now sitting in a weird silence, both of you studying without a word. Sometimes, you’ll glance at Ethan and catch him already staring at you. Clearing your throat, you try your best to focus on your task, pushing away the image of Ethan touching himself with you in the room that’s clouding your mind.

“Would you like to?” Ethan boldly asks, and you keep your head down in your book without looking at him.

“Like to what?” you ask innocently, wondering where he’s going with this.

“Look at me,” Ethan says, “Please.”

You hesitantly look up at your best friend of many years, your face warming from how he stares at you.

“Would you ever like to fuck yourself with someone watching?”

“Why are you asking me this, Eth?” you sigh, hoping this isn’t some sick joke of his.

“Because I’d watch,” Ethan says quietly, his eyes darkening.

“And just what made you think of this? Are you watching too much porn again?” you quirk an eyebrow at him, a teasing smirk on your face.

“No,” Ethan rolls his eyes, closing his book and setting it aside, “I want you.”

“You want me?” you close your laptop and book, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ethan says, crawling from his sitting position in front of you to hover over your frame, “I fucking need you.”

You grab Ethan’s face and capture him in a passionate kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth to explore it. Ethan moans softly, his hands finding your hair as he lays down on your dorm bed you two were sitting on, pulling you on top of him. You rest your clothed core on his, pressing yourself into him as you deepen the kiss. Your hands are pressed into Ethan’s cheeks, afraid that if you let go, he’ll disappear and that this is some wonderful dream of yours. Ethan pulls away from the kiss and presses his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving small bites along his path. He finds the sweet spot between your ear and neck, suckling on it as he bears his teeth into the skin. You moan, moving your hips against Ethan’s as you feel yourself getting turned on.

“Lay down,” Ethan demands, guiding you off him.

You do as told, lying beside him in your confined twin-size bed.

“Now take off your clothes,” Ethan says, stripping himself of his shirt.

Say less, you think to yourself. You aren’t sure what’s gotten into your best friend, but you aren’t complaining. You’ve been waiting, imagining, and wishing for this moment for so long. You aren’t about to throw it away because you’re a tad curious. So, you keep your mouth shut, pull off your pants and underwear, and shimmy out of your shirt and bra. Ethan discards his clothes, too, and he can’t keep his eyes off your body.

“God, you’re more perfect than I imagined,” he sighs, wishing he could touch you.

But he wants to see you pleasure yourself with his help first.

“How do you normally masturbate?” Ethan asks, his cheeks warming from the invasive question.

“Uh,” you stutter, “I start with teasing myself just to get started. But I don’t have to do that now.”

“Why not?”

You grab Ethan’s hand and press it to your slick cunt, letting him feel how wet you are already.

“Fuck,” he mutters, yanking his hand away, “Still, I wanna see you tease yourself. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, desperate for any form of touch, even if it wasn’t Ethan’s. Starting with your breasts, you begin kneading them with your hands, brushing your fingers along your nipples. Ethan watches closely as your nipples harden, and you start rolling them between your fingers. You moan quietly, almost soft enough to not be heard. Getting a little bold, you tug at the sensitive buds, twisting them as your hips buck slightly upward from the action. You let out a louder moan this time. Ethan’s hand wanders to his hardening cock, and he slowly drags his hand along his shaft. He picks up his speed when you slide your hands up and down your body, goosebumps rising on your skin and hardening your nipples more. Feeling hot everywhere, especially your pulsing cunt, you start circling your clit with your middle finger, a gasp leaving your mouth at the sensation.

“Fuck,” Ethan exhales, eyes flickering up to yours as you meet his gaze.

And you keep your focus on him as you slide your index finger inside your dripping entrance. You start swiping your clit with your thumb now, slowly moving your finger in and out of yourself as Ethan watches your pupils dilate. He swipes his thumb over his head, spreading the precum around to add some lubrication. Ethan’s hand is now steadily pumping his cock, and you’re astonished at how big it is. You imagined him to be a decent size, but after actually seeing his cock, you’re pretty sure he’d break you in half. You add your middle finger as you pick up speed, fucking yourself with your fingers at the same pace as Ethan was fucking himself. You both moan at the same time and then laugh at the fact. Hitting that familiar spongy spot inside you, you bite your lip as your hips jerk up. Your thumb presses harder into your clit, and you’re getting close.

“Don’t cum,” Ethan says quickly, and you look at him confused, “Don’t cum until I say.”

“Don’t cum until I say, then either,” you say sassily, “Gotta make it fair.”

Ethan huffs, “Fine.”

Now your ultimate goal is to make Ethan cum. So you add a third finger, tossing one of your legs over his to open yourself further. The sound of your arousal pushing in and out of you makes Ethan twitch in his fist, but he takes a deep breath to compose himself. You tweak your nipples with your free hand, causing yourself to clench around your fingers. You whimper at the feeling of an impending orgasm that isn’t allowed to come yet. So you stop teasing your breasts as much, much to Ethan’s dismay. You watch as Ethan reaches down to his balls, rolling them in his hand as he fucks into his hand, mouth agape in pleasure.

“Is pretty boy gonna cum too early?” you tease.

“Nope,” Ethan shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you say, “I can last a while.”

“Not with my cock, you won’t.”

A wave of arousal washes over you at Ethan’s words, and you move your hand from your nipple to your clit, rubbing it with two fingers. You’re so close it’s almost painful.

“I wanna cum,” you pout.

“Not yet,” Ethan says, hiding his own frustration the best he can.

You groan, adding a third finger to swipe at your clit you keep your speed slow. Ethan is getting close too, and his cock turns an angry red at the lack of release. For the third time, you feel the familiar rush of arousal begging to wash over you. Your clit was throbbing, and your walls clenched desperately around your fingers. You slide a fourth one inside you, staring into Ethan’s eyes as you do so.

“See what you’re doing to me?” you whine, “I can never take this many usually.”

“Mmm,” Ethan closes his eyes for a moment, “All stretched out for my big cock now, huh?”

“I’ll let you fuck me if you let us both cum.”

Ethan’s eyes fly open, “Fine. But you can only cum if I’m inside you. So work yourself up until you can't take anymore.”

You bite your lip to keep from retorting and start rubbing your clit with your whole hand as you fuck yourself with four fingers, curling them into your g spot. Ethan jerks his hips forward, letting himself get lost in the tightness of his hand, imagining it’s you.

“Ethan,” you warn, breathless.

You don’t have to say anything else before Ethan climbs over you, snatching your hand from your pussy and putting it in his mouth. He sucks your juices from your fingers as he pushes himself inside your gaping entrance. Your cunt happily clenches around him, sucking in his length and girth without a hitch. Your hand on your clit is switched for Ethan’s as he vigorously rubs it and starts moving in and out of you quickly, your highs building back up. He pushes your legs as far apart as they’ll go, spreading your lips open so your little bundle of nerves is more accessible, and he goes deeper inside you. Ethan is fucking you hard and fast and hitting your cervix at the perfect angle enough that you feel your orgasm coming on quickly.

“I’m,” you say, and then your words fail you as your body shakes and you gush around Ethan, your cunt clenching hard around him as your orgasm rips through you.

“F-fuck,” Ethan drawls, pounding into you as you ride out your intense release, almost an hour of edging making it a long one.

Ethan stills inside you and cums hard, his release painting your velvet walls white. He shudders, and then panic washes over him.

“Are you on something? I forgot to ask-”

“I’m on the pill,” you say breathlessly, your chest heaving, “You’re all good.”

“Thank God,” Ethan raises his brows before pulling out of you slowly, watching as the mixture of cum and arousal seeps from you.

“That was so hot,” you giggle, “What got into you?”

“You were right,” Ethan lays down next to you, “Too much porn.”

“Well, now you don’t need porn,” you joke, “You have me.”

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