#a sudden case of christmas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joemama-2 · 15 days ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: merry early christmas guys to those who celebrate 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Christmas is coming up soon. In about two-ish weeks, give or take. In this case, you’re giving. It’s December 14th, and the days are passing by too fast for your liking. You wish you had more time—to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily, with your rent being paid along with next month’s, that’s given you at least some sort of freedom.

You can thank your ex for that.

So, you’ve been saving for Koji, spending less on yourself. Not like you did much of that in the first place, but still. Again, guilt riddles your insides, insecurities plaguing your mind. Koji has never been a spoiled kid, having grown up quite frugally because of his equally frugal mother. Your tree, something you bargained for at the nearby spot in town that sells trees for the holiday season, is bottom of the barrel. Of course it is, you bargained for it. Sparse areas, branches way too thin and tiny, the height of the entire thing is just about as tall as you are. You keep your box of Christmas decorations so you never have to buy new ones each year. The lights you use are a warm yellow, with a few little bulbs dark because they burnt out. It wraps around your tree in a very messy way—Koji’s doing. A floppy white star placed at the very top of your tree, just barely holding on.

Little pieces of decorations hang from the frail branches: some snowflakes, red and blue balls (Koji said they looked like Spider-Man), and your most favorite one of them all that sits at the top: a picture of you and Koji from a photo booth two years ago. He was only three and you could still carry him then. Chubby cheekbones on display, a wide smile to match. You two are wearing Santa hats, head tilting into his with an equally ecstatic smile. You can’t look too long at it before you start getting emotional.

So mom of you.

Anywho, your point is that while the setup may look dull and even unattractive to most, you still find warmth in it. So does your little boy too. Although he doesn’t exactly know better, considering all you’ve ever had was skinny trees and years-old decorations, he doesn’t complain.

Of course, he does ask you sometimes about why the trees in the movies look different or why his friends have entirely decorated houses and you two don’t. You bottle it up to a simple, “Well, we’re not like other people, baby.”

He understands—most of the time.

Even so, he doesn’t show disrespect. As long as he spends time with you, getting even just three gifts, it’s all enough for him. So you feel guilty for not giving him the full Christmas experience a child should get, you feel insecure that other people are having the holiday season so much better than you are, and if you could, you’d do anything to ensure Koji has a real Christmas one time. At least once. It’s the least you can do as his mother, and it’s the least he deserves.

Because the holidays are meant for happiness, cheeriness, and family time. All things that feel very forced for you right now.

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

Your lips purse, hoping it resembles a smile. But Shoko always reads you easily, dissecting your emotions. “You too, how have you been?”

“As good as I can. Late nights, exhausted, seeing someone’s leg split in half. You know, the usual.”

A small chuckle falls from you, nodding in silence. “I’m glad you were able to do what you want. ER work, right?”

“Yep,” Shoko hums, leaning back against the bench, coffee in hand. “Though I did have a friend who helped me get through it all so quickly.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cheating.” She smirks behind the rim of her cup.

Your eyes roll, sighing as you mimic her posture. It feels odd seeing her again for the first time after so many years. You gathered the courage to text her number, feeling distraught and overwhelmed last night. Right after you sent the text asking her to meet up the next morning, you slightly regretted it. Does she think I’m weird? What if she says no? God, what is wrong with me?

Your doubts were proved wrong when she replied with a simple “See you”. Simplicity was always Shoko’s thing. Something that you almost envied from the woman. You wish you had composure like her. Of course, her life isn’t exactly simple considering she’s dealing with people with broken anything and blood all the time, but you can tell she thoroughly enjoys it. She finds pleasure in her job.

Again, this is something you’re also slightly envious of.

“So….” She finally says after a beat of silence, turning her head over at you. “I want to ask the obvious, but I think I’ll wait. I want to see how you’re doing first.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, peering down at your fiddling fingers. The words are a little hard to get out, and a little embarrassing too. You don’t really want to vent to her after years of no contact, but it’s hard not to. At this point, you’re like a broken dam. Spilling and spilling by the minute until you completely break down. “Things could be better. I just have a lot on my mind and what I’m dealing with.”

She nods in understanding. “Like the articles and stuff?”

You sigh heavily in exhaustion, raising two fingers to rub the space between your brows. “Yeah, that’s one of them. You seen ‘em?”

“Many people have.”

Of course. “I just don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal he has a son no one knew about? Are these kinds of ‘issues’ really that important to rich people like him? Like, c’mon. It’s not like he killed a man. He has a son but everyone’s treating and acting like this is horrendous and astounding news that we should be fearful of.”

Shoko tilts her head, her gaze steady but not intrusive. “Rich people thrive on spectacle, you know that. Every little thing becomes a headline, especially when someone like Gojo, Japan’s sexiest man alive of 2024, is involved. He’s a household name, Y/N.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You forgot the fact that he’s been given that title. The article popped up on your Google just yesterday, giving in and tapping on it. The first picture that greets you is a very intimate, black-and-white picture of Satoru shirtless, with unbelted pants. He wasn’t looking at the camera in that one, but the way his arms were raised, accentuating his biceps made you feel a tiny throb. The first of many from that photoshoot the article included. “But why does it have to be this? Why is it such a scandal that he has a kid? Like, what are they even expecting from us? An apology? A press conference where we swear to never let it happen again?”

Shoko’s smirk is faint but wry. “You think logic applies here? The higher the pedestal, the harsher the fall. Gojo’s not just rich—he’s Gojo. Untouchable, perfect, untamed. Add a secret kid to the mix, and it’s like handing tabloids their golden ticket.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “It’s so stupid. They’re acting like we’re some corrupt dynasty with skeletons bursting out of the closet. It’s not even a big deal!”

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, watching you with a calmness that somehow makes you feel seen. “It’s not a big deal to us, no. But to them? It’s betrayal, gossip, leverage—anything but what it really is. Just life.”

Her words settle in your chest, a grounding sort of clarity that you hadn’t realized you needed. You couldn’t—probably ever—understand the thought process of the elites of Japan. You’re a bit glad that you won’t. But in this situation, you just wish they would think like normal fucking people for one second. That’s hard to do when you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth and everything at your fingertips. You peer over at her, your lips pressing together as you process everything. “I just…I don’t want Koji dragged into this. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s one of the main reasons why I kept everything a secret in the first place. But now look at us, everything has just changed so…so fast. I’m not ready for it, neither is my son.”

She lets the quiet air linger for a moment, your venting finding placement. “No, he doesn’t deserve it,” Shoko agrees. Her tone is firm, an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And neither do you. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: let them dictate how this plays out, or take control of the narrative yourself.” Her words linger, the weight of them grounding and unsettling all at once. Taking control of the narrative sounds easy in theory, but the reality feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind threatening to knock you over.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

Shoko shrugs, but there’s an edge of reassurance in her expression. “True, but you’ve already been through worse. You’ve got more strength in you than you give yourself credit for. And if anyone can handle this mess, it’s you.”

Her confidence in you feels foreign but comforting. You nod slowly, gripping onto her words like a lifeline. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Anytime.” She raises her cup slightly in a mock toast, her smile small but sincere. A beat flows through, a comfortable silence. The two of you watch the snow cover the ground with its beauty, the sun barely peeking through the cloudy, muted sky. You can’t help but draw the parallel. The sun, peeking, but hidden behind the heavy clouds, yet still present—trying, despite the odds. That’s you, isn’t it? Not gone, not entirely defeated, but dulled. Struggling to shine through the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Shoko breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Quiet, too. Almost makes you forget the world’s still a mess.”

You nod, your gaze following the gentle swirl of snowflakes. “Yeah… It’s like everything’s paused for a moment. Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoes, leaning back in her seat. “Funny how something so fleeting can feel so permanent in the moment.” Her expression stirs something inside you—a quiet ache you’ve been trying to suppress. You glance at her, lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. She doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. Shoko’s always been good at giving space without making it feel like a void. Instead, she takes a long sip of her drink and says, “You know, snow’s a great equalizer. Covers up the mess, and makes everything look the same. Like the world gets a second chance. It’s the start of something new.”

Those words make you immediately remember Satoru’s. Snow’s the start of something new. That should be a good thing, right? You should be glad. However, how many more changes have to happen until something good comes your way? There’s only so much one can go through in such a short amount of time. But as Shoko said, you have more strength than you think. You’ve been through worse. And while that may be true, at this fleeting moment, that couldn’t be any further from the truth. It’s easy for her to say since she’s not actually living your life.

You haven’t exactly talked talked to Satoru yet about all this, about what he’ll say, what his parents will do. But they probably have good lawyers, right? Maybe they’ll put out a statement that any further harassment will be met with legal action. Or he’ll take pride in his son and show no regrets. You really don’t know. Your optimistic side wishes that Satoru will deal with this smoothly and how you want him to. But your pessimistic side says this will continue on until who knows how long. People randomly coming up to you, making remarks on social media, finding your job, finding your own social media accounts that you’ve had to take down.

Seriously, why the fuck do they care so much? Even after Shoko’s explanation, it’s still not enough for you. At the end of the day, we’re all human, we all do human things. Jesus Christ, you could never last a day in Satoru’s position. On constant public display and scrutiny, it’s exhausting and infuriating.

Satoru’s taken Koji off your hands for the while. It’s around four in the evening now. Although you were hesitant at first, he assured you he would do his absolute best to make sure nothing wrong happens and that he stays safe. And besides, it’s nice to have the place to yourself for a few hours. It’s confusing, because while at times you feel so defeatedly lonely, other times you welcome it with open arms.

But every parent probably feels like that, right? Praising the day they get even two hours to themselves, not worrying about making sure your child isn’t choking.

Anywho, you’ve taken the liberty to take a nice and warm refreshing bath. The heat does wonders to your skin, sighing wistfully and eyes closing in relaxation. The warmth envelops you like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension you didn’t realize had settled in your shoulders. It’s rare, these moments of solitude—where the only sound is the faint ripple of water as you shift slightly in the tub. You sink deeper, letting the heat seep into your muscles, as if the bath could wash away not just the stress of parenting but the heaviness of everything else weighing on you.

You tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, exhaling a deep sigh. It’s strange how quiet the apartment feels without Koji’s laughter or even Satoru’s voice filling the space. Strange, but not unwelcome. For once, there’s no background noise, no constant buzz of responsibility. Just you and the stillness. You almost wish you can share this stillness with someone else, but throw that thought out your mind fast.

Your fingers trail through the water absentmindedly, thoughts wandering. You wonder what Satoru and Koji are up to—probably indulging in some sugary snack you’d never approve of at this hour of the day because Koji’s sugar rushes just last so long. The image makes you smile faintly. Despite everything, Satoru’s been trying. And even if you don’t say it aloud, you notice. He’s been so good with him, the two are incredibly close and it’s like the past five years of absence never existed. You always knew Satoru was that type of man. He got along with kids well, children almost seemed to magically gravitate towards him. It’s…very attractive.

Once the bathwater starts to cool, you decide to reluctantly push yourself upright. Wrapping a towel around yourself. You pad into the bedroom, the cold air nipping at your damp skin. With Koji gone until probably around eight or nine, the silence settles over you once again. You glance at the clock on the nightstand—still hours to go before they return. You grab a soft blanket and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Nothing really holds your attention, but it feels nice just to sit, undisturbed. As you take a sip of tea, you can’t help but think: Maybe you should let yourself enjoy these moments more.

It’s hard, but you should probably make more of an effort to take care of yourself. If you’re out of it, you’ll be unfit to care for Koji. And that’s your biggest nightmare ever. You blankly watch whatever show is playing after turning the TV on, but your mind seems much more louder than the voices from the characters on screen. You wish you could just shut off the constant worry, stressing, and overthinking about pretty much everything in your life.

Before you know it, your feet are guiding you back up, leading you down the hallway and to your room. The closet is to your left, a single door with a small lightbulb overhead that weakly shines its light and illuminates the inside. Your clothes hung up, shoes on the floor. Some of Koji’s old toys lay next to your shoes, having meant to donate them but never getting around to it. You go down to your knees, moving further inside the small closet. Having to push a few jackets to the side for better visibility, moving your shoes out the way. Stuffed in the very corner of your closet lies a worn black box. When you pull it out from its hiding spot, the lightbulb makes visible faint letters that are threatening to peel away.

Cheap markers.

There’s little dribbles of flowers and smiley faces along the sides, a stick figure image of a boy and girl. The boy’s eyes are drawn with the brightest blue marker you both found out the time. It’s a little shitty representation, but the boy’s line for an arm is connected to the girl’s arm; holding hands.

OUR WORLD

Something you both agreed was cheesy, though you thought of it. He wrote it. You had the ideas, he made them come to life.

Your breath catches as you brush your fingers over the worn box. The faded decorations are a time capsule—a reflection of a simpler, yet complicated past. A mix of laughter, innocence, and heartbreak lingers on its surface, as if the box itself holds memories you’ve long since buried. You hesitate for a moment, thumb tracing over the stick figures. The blue-eyed boy. The girl with a faint red-lipped smile. The images were so carelessly drawn back then, yet they now carry an almost painful clarity. A reminder of what once was—and what could never quite be again. Sliding the top off the box, you’re immediately greeted by the faint scent of old paper and something else merely nostalgic. Photographs, letters, and random trinkets fill the space. A keychain, an old movie ticket stub, and at the very top, a small folded note with handwriting you recognize instantly.

"To my favorite person,

No matter where life takes us, remember this moment, okay? This one is ours."

His handwriting feels more impactful than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you unfold the note fully, memories flooding back with each word. Satoru had written this. Back when things were different—when the two of you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When promises felt unbreakable and the future seemed...possible.

You carefully place the note back into the box, your hands trembling slightly. There’s so much in this little box that you’ve avoided for years. So much of what you were, who you were, with him. And now, it feels like the box is staring back at you, asking the question you’ve avoided for so long.

What are you going to do with all of this?

Why have you kept this? After all the time? You remember telling yourself the day of your break up that you’d throw everything out—burn it all. But everytime you even touched it, you came to a brutal realization. You can’t. For some reason, you couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bring harm to this reminder of the lives you’ve lived and left behind.

You found comfort in the idea that one day in the future, you would be able to. But you also found comfort in the box itself. Oh how wrong you were. And that fact twists at your heart, your blood wringing out in the process. Leaving you with a dull and soulless shell. Staring down at the remnants, going through them—everytime. Maybe you haven’t ever had the strength to get rid of it, you wonder if you ever will.

Pictures of your younger self, of Satoru’s younger self smile up at you like they’re taunting you. As if the past can sense the future’s despair. They’re simple pictures, cute but simple. Just how you two wanted it. The quality isn’t that great, considering most of them were taken on shitty disposable cameras.

“Because it’s sustainable!” You argued when Satoru questioned the device when you first pulled it out. He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips upturning into a smile the second you readied the device for a photo.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Whoever came up with that phrase is a genius, but you also despise how much truth is held to that single sentence. Pain. Nostalgia. Longing. Happiness. Regret?

Flipping through the small pictures is like going through your very own time capsule. Each snapshot carries a story, a moment frozen in time that feels both distant and heartbreakingly close. The childish doodles lining the box seem to echo your younger self’s voice, innocent and untouched by the weight of reality. A photo catches your eye—a little blurry but unmistakably Satoru, grinning with his arms slung lazily over your shoulders. Your cheeks in the picture are flushed, and you can almost hear the laughter that must’ve been spilling from your lips when it was taken.

Then there’s another, of the two of you sitting under a sprawling tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His hand rests on yours, casual but intimate in a way that makes your chest ache now. You remember the warmth of that day, the way he’d joked about how your hair glowed in the light.

There’s a card, too, nestled beneath the pictures. The corners are slightly bent, but the words inside are still intact. His handwriting is unmistakable, bold and messy:

“To the girl who makes my world brighter every day. Don’t ever stop smiling—it’s my favorite thing about you. Love, Satoru.”

“Hah, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” You teased.

“Ugh, shut up.”

Your fingers trace over the ink, your breath halting. Time may have passed, and life may have twisted and turned, but this box feels like a portal to a version of you that still believed in endless possibilities. And yet, the ache in your chest doesn’t falter. Instead, it lingers, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you wish hadn’t.

The final picture is one that almost tears at you. A silly one that you would’ve never imagined would push at your heart like a heavy door stuck in the way of your own contentment. You’re kissing him, the side profile of your two faces as you indulge in each other's lips. Satoru’s free arm slightly out of frame since he’s the one holding the camera high. You both are holding your left hands up, showing off your Ring Pops on each of your ring fingers. His red, yours blue.

“Let’s pose like a couple who just got married!”

You sighed. “Satoru….”

Written on the white border frame of the photo are the words:

She said yes!!

A melancholic laugh escapes you, tears hitting the picture. It’s colors are already slightly altered from previous wetness. Your chest feels tight, eyes closing with a sinking stomach. Why do you always do this to yourself when you’re already feeling upset? Why are you still so affected by it? Will it get better with time? But how much more time?

You gasp and flinch when the front door is rung, eyes widening as you swiftly and messily put the contents back in, sliding the top back on and stuffing the box in its hiding spot once more. After closing the door, you walk down the hall and to the peephole. Your brows furrow. “Satoru?” You ask as you open the door. Confusion hits you, seeing your sleeping son in his father’s arms. Koji’s backpack slid on top of Satoru’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…dropping Koji off?” He replies back like it’s the obvious, his own pale eyebrows knitting as he regards you. “…Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Shit. “I’m not,” your hands raise to your cheeks, wiping any trace of your previous emotional breakdown, swiftly denying his words. “I thought you were coming back later.”

“It is later, Y/N.” He frowns and steps in, allowing you a better view of the dark night sky.

What the hell? Since when did it get dark? Slowly, you close and lock the door, blinking rapidly as you try to gather your bearings. Just how long were you on the couch for? How long were you reminiscing? Turning around, you see Satoru come out from Koji’s room.

“Put him down, showered and dressed him already. Little man played a lot today.”

“Oh,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say. You lean against the door for a moment, trying to regain your composure. Satoru’s words feel oddly domestic, almost like you’re living a life you’ve long since moved on from dreaming about—or tried to.

He sets Koji’s backpack down by the couch, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves as he glances your way. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softens now, genuine. Concerned.

You force a small smile, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. Just…lost track of time, I guess.”

Satoru studies you, his crystalline eyes searching your face like he doesn’t quite believe you. He shrugs lightly, though, not wanting to push. “Alright. Koji was great today. Took him to that park he keeps talking about. Got some ice cream. He wore me out.” His lips quirk into a small grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for doing that,” you say softly, glancing toward Koji’s room. “He loves spending time with you. He always talks to me about your guys’ missions.”

“Hah, yeah, well…” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, leaning his tall frame casually against the wall. “I love spending time with him, too. And you know, it’s not just for him.” His words are light, but there’s a weight behind them, one you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack tonight. You don’t know what he really means by that, but it’s probably best that you don’t. You’d look into it too much. And like he said, you’re already complicating things even more by almost kissing him the other day.

You nod, your throat tightening as you look anywhere but at him. “I should probably check on him. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

“Y/N.” His voice stops you in your tracks.

You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?” you ask, your voice smaller than you intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he sighs and steps closer. “If something’s bothering you…you can talk to me. You know that, right? You look like you’re crying and I—”

Your heart clenches, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “I know,” you manage to cut him off, your voice sharper than you had wanted it to be.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. Then, Satoru clears his throat and steps back. “Alright. Guess I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything.” You hum, watching as he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back at you one last time. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And you’re left alone again, the weight of the evening settling back over you like a familiar, unwelcome blanket. You want to scold yourself for losing track of time so easily, letting yourself get lost for such a long time. He probably thinks something’s wrong, and while you appreciate him being mature and overall cordial enough to offer his ear, you don’t want to give him that. It’s embarrassing and almost too vulnerable for you right now to vent to your ex.

You know that saying that the last thing or person you think about before you fall asleep is what you’ll dream of? He stares at the door, trying to will himself into stopping his train of thought, but the vision of you won’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe it’s the nagging scent of your clothes he can still smell, or maybe it’s the way you looked so raw, so unguarded. Maybe it’s the promise he made to himself years ago to never let you go, to never let you fall apart without him. Now look where he is.

Satoru’s mind is a whirlwind as he steps back into the cold, dark air of his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality he wasn’t quite ready for. He should’ve left things simple, right? Drop off Koji, make sure everything’s okay, and then go. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, had to reach for that sliver of connection that still seemed to remain between the two of you, even after all this time. Or maybe he’s not reaching, he’s just being a good person. Or maybe there is no sliver of connection at all.

He rubs his face with one hand as he walks down the hall, his thoughts staying on your expression, the tightness in your smile, the way you tried so hard to hide whatever was eating at you. Your red eyes that seemed glossy enough to tell him what you had been doing before he arrived. He should’ve pushed, should’ve stayed longer, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. Also, not to mention the fact that he’s not entitled to know anymore, and he shouldn’t want to. He wishes he could forget—wishes it wasn’t so easy for him to still care about you after everything you’ve put him through.

Still, his mind can’t stop replaying the way you looked tonight, like you were holding back—like you were on the edge of something he couldn’t reach. And now, that’s the last image he sees before closing his eyes: you, standing there, fragile but strong, trying to put on a brave face when he knew you were anything but okay.

He slides into his bed, sinking into the comforting mattress. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. Just go to sleep.

But it's useless. The thought of you doesn't leave him. It never does in times like this. But that's the thing, isn't it? He always cared. Always would. Any good man would

As the awaited sleep stretches on, his mind drifts back to those moments—the way you wiped your face quickly when he mentioned the tears. How you didn’t let him in. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this.

Before he knows it, he feels the weight of his own exhaustion, the pull of sleep starting to take over. He lets his eyes stay shut. Stretching out on the bed, his thoughts blurring into a fizzle. The room is quiet, too quiet. But just like that, he’s falling and falling into a realm where the weight of everything else disappears.

The first thing he sees startles him. It’s just you, standing in front of him again, your eyes locked with his.

You’re both staring at one another before it’s like someone slowly raising the light switches. Sun peeking through the blinds of the kitchen you two stand in as you place a hand down to your stomach. When his eyes follow it, he then notices the rounded swell that’s visible from beneath the dress you wear.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

You giggle, voice smooth and inviting, stepping closer to him until you can reach his hand, intertwining your fingers.

Yep, definitely a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

“I made you breakfast, your favorite.” You guide his hand to your bump, chuckling softly. “But baby here was getting hungry, so we may have gotten a little taste test before.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, his fingers instinctively brushing over your rounded stomach as you guide them there. The warmth of your skin under his touch feels real, too real, and his mind stumbles, trying to make sense of the situation. The room around you starts to feel like a glimpse into an alternative universe. Soft, golden light spilling in through the blinds, the smell of something warm and inviting persisting in the air. It’s almost too perfect, too serene to be real. And yet, he’s standing here, his breath caught in his throat as his fingers rest against the gentle curve of your belly. The weight of it, the life growing inside you, sends a quiet thrill through him.

You giggle, the sound of it so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s like nothing has changed. Like you’re the same as you’ve always been, only…this time, things are different. There’s a quiet tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. He swallows, trying to fight the growing confusion in his chest. “I—I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the small, soft swell of your stomach. He knows it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop his brain from wandering into beliefs of if it were. “How… how are we here?”

Your smile widens, that knowing glimmer in your eyes that makes his chest tighten with something he can’t name. “We’re here because this is where we belong,” you say simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You nudge his hand a little lower, guiding him to feel the tiny movement beneath his palm, the small shift of life inside you.

It’s then that the weight of the moment hits him all at once, his heart thumping in his chest. The quiet reality of what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, and everything that could’ve been. He’s overwhelmed, caught between longing and disbelief. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. “Is this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his chest, your fingers still entwined with his. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What we have always wanted. Stop acting weird.” Your words are a balm, soothing yet laced with something deeper, something that speaks to both of your hearts, even if this is fake.

In this moment, everything feels right. It feels like you’re back to where you both belong.

Satoru stays still for a moment, the warmth of your forehead pressed against him, your fingers gently intertwining with his. The softness of the moment seems to wrap around him, the image of you—here, with him—so perfect that it almost hurts. The softness of your touch, the way your body feels against his as you stand close, it’s like he’s been starved of this connection for so long. A quiet ache settles deep within him, but it’s not the hurt he’s used to. No, this is something else—something far more complicated.

He shifts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as you lift your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again,” he admits, his voice low and tentative. The vulnerability in his tone catches him off guard, but it feels natural, like you’ve always been the one person he could let his guard down with. “You and…us. Everything that’s happened.”

You hum softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. The smile on your lips is small but full of quiet understanding. “I know, Satoru,” you say, your voice steady, like you’ve been carrying this weight for far longer than he ever realized. “But this…” You glance down at your stomach before meeting his eyes again, “This is what we fought for. This is what we still have.”

He feels the truth of your words settle into him, but it’s a bittersweet sensation, one that pulls at something deep inside of him. It’s almost too good to be true, this version of reality, and he can’t help but wonder why his mind has conjured up this visualization—this perfect picture of you and him, together in a way he never thought possible.

“But what if we don’t get it right?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. “What if we’re too broken to fix it? We’ve made so many mistakes…”

You place a gentle finger against his lips, silencing him before he can spiral further. “We’ve always been broken, Satoru,” you say softly, “But we’ve always found our way back to each other. And that’s enough. Right?”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, sends a warmth through his chest. It’s a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again. His heart beats a little faster, a little steadier, as he finally lets go of the lingering doubts, the fear of what’s beyond this moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest. “I don’t know what’s next, but for now… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes soften, and for a moment, he sees it—the connection between you two, unbroken, unshakable. Even in the midst of everything that’s happened, the messy past and the uncertainty of the future, he realizes that some things are worth fighting for. “This is enough for me,” you whisper, closing the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but it carries everything—everything he’s been wanting to say, everything he’s been longing to hear.

And god, the way your pretty lips feel against his is heavenly. It’s strong and long-lasting. Hand to your cheek as his head tilts to deepen it, feeling your warm breath enter his mouth like a soft pull. He’s tempted to dance his tongue along your own.

As you pull away, he feels a quiet peace settle over him. The dream, though fleeting, has given him something he didn’t know he needed. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to each other for good.

But the atmosphere darkens, like putting a blanket over a lamp. Your own eyes dulling into something he saw before he left you tonight, something he’s been seeing everytime he visits you. Your smile dropping into a placid emotion. Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest, the warmth of the moment slipping away like sand between his fingers. The light around you seems to fade, the world losing its softness and vibrancy. A chill washes over him, creeping through his veins like ice water. Your smile, once so gentle and inviting, disappears into something far more distant, as if a part of you has shut down completely. The joy that had filled the air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that wraps itself around both of you. His eyes widen in confusion, and he takes a step back, searching your face for any hint of explanation. He feels the air shift into a freezing temperature.

"What—?" He stops himself, his words catching in his throat, trying to make sense of the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The way your hand falls to your side feels like a finality, as though the reality he had just witnessed—of you, of the hope in your eyes—was nothing more than a simple illusion.

The weight of the silence presses down on him, smothering. His gaze moves down, and that's when he realizes the baby bump has vanished. There’s nothing there. The roundness, the warmth, the promise of new life—gone. In its place, there's only the smooth curve of your stomach, flat and unchanged.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks on your name, disoriented and desperate for some kind of explanation. "What happened? What…what’s going on?"

But you don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him like you’ve seen a stranger, a shift in your eyes that only deepens the growing pit in his stomach. Your gaze is cold, distant, almost as if you've already resigned yourself to something. Satoru swallows hard, his hand instinctively reaching for you, but when his fingers brush against your arm, it feels like the connection is completely severed. "What’s wrong? Talk to me," he pleads, his voice raw and filled with confusion.

You take a slow, deliberate step back, the air between you two growing heavier. "Satoru," you say, but your voice sounds far too calm, far too final. "This is the reality, isn't it? This is what it always was—always will be. A dream. A fantasy."

His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, this isn’t a fantasy! We—we had a chance. You and me, and Koji…and the other…We were—" His throat tightens, unable to finish his sentence.

But you cut him off, the finality in your words sinking deep. "You left, Satoru. You just wanted us to end, didn’t you? It’s why you didn’t fight for me the day we broke up—fight for us. You made me make that promise. You left, and that’s what this is now. A memory. The past. Something we’ll never, ever get back.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, sharp and cutting. His chest tightens as he searches your face, willing for you to show him that this is just another moment in the dream—that the warmth would come back, that the hope would return. But your eyes are cold. The distance between you feels insurmountable.

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue, to fix whatever it is that's wrong—but nothing comes out. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix this. Not anymore. Not when everything between you feels so broken, like fragments of a life he no longer knows how to put together.

And just like that, the warmth of the dream fades completely, leaving him in the cold, dark reality of what’s been lost.

“I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father.”

Satoru startles awake, jolting upright in his bed. He feels like he’s just been splashed with ice cold water, in a way, he has. Raising his hands to his temples, face scrunching in discomfort. He’s breathing fast and hard, heart feeling like it’ll just pop right out. His hands trembling.

The sounds of birds tweeting a song is what he hears next. The morning light filters softly through the curtains, but it feels blinding to him, harsh against the remnants of the nightmare. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shallow and frantic, his heart still racing as he fights to steady himself. The words you spoke echo in his mind, sharp and cutting. I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father. The pain in those words, the hurt, is still so vivid in his memory.

Satoru places his hands on the sides of his face, trying to ground himself. His fingers dig into his skin, as if the physical pressure could somehow push away the remnants of the dream, make it vanish. But it lingers. It hangs heavy in the air, suffocating him. Why did you say that? Why did you feel that way? Do you actually feel that way in real life? Are you planning to take Koji and run away with him again? Did you seriously regret having a child with him?

He inhales deeply, his breath shaky, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The sound of birds chirping in the distance serves as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of his turmoil, but it only makes him feel more disconnected. He pushes the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. His mind races, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. That dream—it wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like a warning, a reminder of how fragile everything has been, how much he’s lost. How much he’s failed.

The promise.

The weight of what’s happened between you two settles heavily on his shoulders. And it makes him feel cautious—scared that you’ll do what you said you wouldn’t, all over again.

Satoru stands, his body still trembling slightly, and walks toward the window. He peers outside, letting the light touch his face, even if it’s almost too bright for him right now. It’s peaceful outside, the world as it always is in the morning: calm, serene, untouched. But his own mind is a storm, and no amount of sunlight seems to clear the clouds. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, the guilt gnawing at him. The idea of you saying that you wished you’d kept Koji from him—the thought cuts deeper than he’s willing to admit. What does that mean for the future?

What does it mean for him?

Satoru feels his heart aching with the need to fix things, to understand if you actually feel that way. But he's left in the quiet chaos of his own mind, unsure of where to begin. And that's the worst part: not knowing where to start.

Whatever, it was just a dream. Dreams aren’t real. Don’t think too much into it.

A text message pings, causing him to look over. The sight of your name forms a twisting feeling to reside in his core, frowning. It’s like when you dream about your significant other cheating on you, so the next morning you’re a little mad at them for no reason. But this time, he’s not sure if it’s for no reason.

Maybe you actually feel like this, feeling regret for not keeping Koji from him any longer. You’ve obviously shown to be good at keeping secrets, so who’s to say you’re not still doing that. He grabs his phone, clicking on your message and pushing down the resentment that continues to bloom once more.

Y/N:

Hey, have u had any luck with the leaker?

Satoru sighs heavily, eyes closing momentarily before opening them back up and typing you back. He can’t help the shortness in his response.

Satoru:

Y/N:

Pls let me know of any changes

He doesn’t bother replying, tossing his phone on his bed and getting up and ready for the day. Of course the thought of the identity of who leaked the photo has been running rampant in his mind day in and day out. But he just woke up from a particularly scary nightmare—or a message?—and he doesn’t need his mind overwhelmed anymore than it is right now.

As he goes through his morning routine, Satoru can’t shake the consistent unease. The nightmare, your text, and the weight of everything that’s been happening swirl in his mind like a storm he can’t escape. He brushes his teeth with more force than necessary, gripping the sink as the toothpaste foam spills over his lips. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pale blue eyes duller than usual, rimmed with exhaustion.

He can’t stop wondering—what if there’s truth to his nightmare? What if you do regret letting him into Koji’s life? The thought gnaws at him, a relentless ache in his chest.

The leak complicates things even further. Someone out there—someone close enough to know—exposed him and Koji to the world. The conversation with his mother plays again internally. Someone close or possibly a business partner. But what if she’s wrong? What if it’s someone who’s not close, but still smart enough? And while it’s caused a media frenzy, he knows the real damage is more personal. It’s the wedge it’s driving between him and you. The accusations, the whispers, the uncertainty—it’s all feeding into the growing gap he’s been struggling to bridge.

He pulls on a shirt, his movements jerky as his frustration builds. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for days either, his mind consumed by the mystery of the leak and the uneasy tension between you two. It’s not like you’re outright hostile, but there’s something there—something distant, guarded. And now, after the dream, he can’t stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in his head.

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense—calculating. Out of the four people situated inside, none speak. Just looking at one another in silent scrutiny. Yamato and Akane are sitting side by side, seated across from them are another married couple.

Kenji and Emi Nakamura.

Kenji and Emi Nakamura exude the quiet confidence of people used to wielding power. Kenji’s sharp suit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight and commanding, while Emi, poised in a sleek dress, sits with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Despite their calm appearances, their sharp gazes and the slight twitch of Kenji’s jaw betray their impatience.

Yamato leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes cold and unwavering as they meet Kenji’s. Akane, seated next to him, is the picture of composed elegance, but the slight tap of her heel against the floor reveals her tension. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Kenji speaks, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled irritation.

“So,” he begins, his piercing eyes flickering between Yamato and Akane. “Are we going to dance around the issue all day, or will one of you have the decency to explain how this... mess...got out and why the man who’s dating our daughter suddenly has a secret son?”

Yamato doesn’t flinch. He lets the accusation hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured. “We don’t deal in leaks, Kenji. And we certainly wouldn’t jeopardize our own family’s reputation for... what? A scandal? That’s more your style.”

Kenji’s expression hardens, and Emi places a delicate hand on his arm, a subtle but firm reminder to keep his temper in check. She smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a blame game. We’re all here because this leak affects all of us—your family, ours, Satoru’s and Himari’s.”

Akane’s lips twitch into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t patronize us, Emi. You and I both know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You’ve always wanted to see Satoru fall from grace.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her smile unfaltering. “I want what’s best for our families, Akane. A public scandal doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all Gojo or the Nakamura name. Besides, our daughter quite loves your son.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Let’s cut the theatrics. Who is responsible?”

Akane’s heel stops tapping, and she fixes Kenji with a sharp look. ��We’re working on it. Our investigators are thorough, and they’ll uncover the source soon enough.”

Kenji’s eyes narrow. “They’d better. Because the last thing the Nakamura name needs is a public scandal about a conniving young man and our innocent daughter. She’s already receiving enough scrutiny as it is.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, but Yamato remains unmoved. His voice, low and steady, cuts through the silence. “And if we discover the leak came from your side, Kenji? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?” The two men lock eyes, a silent battle of wills, while their wives sit in their respective corners, poised like chess queens ready to strike. The room may be quiet, but the unspoken threats linger in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“We’d never do something like this, especially if it affects our daughter.” Emi replies firmly. She tilts her chin up slightly, an air of indignation radiating from her as her perfectly manicured hand rests on her husband’s arm. “You should know better than to accuse us of such underhanded behavior, Yamato.”

Yamato’s wife leans forward slightly, her tone equally sharp. “And you should know better than to express such hostility towards us. Tenka Couture benefits more from Gojo Group than vice versa.”

Emi’s smile tightens, her composure threatening to crack. “Why, of course. We’re just saying, Himari has nothing to gain from this mess. If anything, she’s a victim of it. The constant media scrutiny, the endless whispers. How do you think that’s been affecting her?”

Kenji slams his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough. This isn’t about Himari. This is about finding the truth. If your investigators are as thorough as you claim, then we’d better find answers—and soon.”

Yamato meets Kenji’s glare with a calm intensity. “Rest assured, we will. But until then, I suggest you keep your own people in check. If we find out this was an attempt to sabotage Satoru—or worse, hurt him—there will be consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Kenji leans back, his jaw tight, as Emi places another calming hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want this to escalate any further,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “For everyone’s sake, let’s handle this with discretion.”

Akane glances at Yamato, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “We agree. But let’s make one thing clear—if the Nakamuras are involved in any way, there will be no forgiveness. Not from us, and not from Satoru.”

Kenji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, we understand. But again, we are in no way involved with this leak. With the revelation of this…boy, it messes up everything. Himari and Satoru are a couple. They’re supposed to represent unity between our families and companies, a partnership that benefits both sides. This child complicates that narrative. It puts everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, his sharp gaze cutting through Kenji’s words. “We understand, yes. But at the end of the day, Satoru is our son, this boy is…well he’s a part of our family now. Your concern seems to be more about appearances than the actual implications for Satoru’s life or the boy’s well-being, but I understand that. My wife and I too are concerned with the way this sudden news could somehow stain our reputation.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his expression taut. “Appearances are everything in this world, Yamato. You know that. If this story continues to spread, the consequences won’t just affect Satoru or Himari—they’ll ripple through both of our families. Investors, business partners, the media—they all thrive on scandal, and we can’t afford to give them fuel. They’ll begin to wonder what else we’re keeping a secret.”

“Himari and Satoru’s relationship isn’t as stable as you think it is,” Akane counters, her tone measured but resolute. “This revelation didn’t create the cracks; it only exposed them. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter accept that.”

Emi bristles at Akane’s insinuation, her voice cold but precise. “You underestimate my daughter’s strength. Himari has always handled challenges with grace. She and Satoru will navigate this together—if you and your family stop meddling.”

Yamato cuts in, his expression calm. “Let’s not pretend this is solely about Satoru and Himari. The Nakamuras have as much to lose as we do. But let me remind you, Kenji, that this child—Koji—isn’t just a complication. He’s Satoru’s son, and that makes him family. As the adults in this situation, we also hold a certain level of accountability as for keeping this child away from public eye.”

Kenji’s jaw tightens, his composure threatening to crack. “Family or not, this boy’s existence jeopardizes everything. Himari has been nothing but supportive of Satoru, and she doesn’t deserve to be overshadowed by a damned secret from his past.”

Akane’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Supportive, or opportunistic? Don’t confuse loyalty with convenience. If Himari truly cared for Satoru, she’d understand that his son isn’t just a ‘secret’—he’s part of who he is now.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Akane’s words lingering. Kenji finally stands, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how this plays out. But if you think we’ll let the Nakamura name be tarnished by this… situation, you’re mistaken.”

Yamato rises as well, his eyes locking with Kenji’s in an unspoken challenge. “And if you think we’ll allow anyone—anyone—to undermine Satoru or the Gojo legacy, you’re equally mistaken. The truth will come out, Kenji. Be prepared for it.”

With that, the couple turns and leave, their exit leaving the Gojos in a cloud of tension and unease. Akane finally speaks, her voice low but firm. “Remind me again why we are pushing through with this arrangement. The Gojo Group hardly needs Tenka Couture. We’re more than capable of standing on our own.”

Yamato exhales, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not about needing them, Akane. It’s about the influence. The Nakamuras have deep connections in sectors we’ve been trying to expand into—fashion, entertainment, international markets. Aligning with them strengthens our position globally. We settled this years ago, okay?”

Akane crosses her arms, her expression skeptical. “At what cost? Their arrogance alone is enough to make me question this. And let’s not even get started on Himari. She might be poised on the outside, but she lacks the fortitude to handle Satoru’s world. She clings to the spotlight, but she’s not ready for the shadows.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens. “You’re not wrong, but this arrangement was never meant to hinge on her ability to ‘handle’ Satoru. It’s a strategic move, not a personal one. I thought you understood that.”

“Strategic?” Akane’s voice rises slightly, her composed exterior slipping. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just a business deal anymore. There’s a child involved now—your grandson. And yet, we’re expected to sideline him for the sake of appearances?”

Yamato’s gaze hardens, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his typically stoic demeanor. “The boy is not being sidelined. But if this situation spirals out of control, it won’t just be Satoru’s name dragged through the mud—it’ll be Koji’s, too. I’m trying to protect all of them. As much as I dislike this situation and as much as I do not care for getting to know this boy, at the end of the day he’s connected to us.”

Akane steps closer, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “And how do you expect to protect Koji by tying Satoru to someone who doesn’t have the heart to care for him? Because that’s what you’re doing, Yamato. You’re forcing a partnership that benefits no one but the Nakamuras. I’ve told you this from the start that it won’t do us good. There are plenty of other people we can contact that won’t involve forcing our son into an arranged marriage.”

For a moment, Yamato doesn’t respond. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “This isn’t about what’s ideal, Akane. It’s about what’s necessary. And until we find another way to stabilize this situation, the arrangement stands.”

Akane shakes her head, turning away. “Necessary, huh? Tell me, Yamato—when did we start sacrificing our son for necessity?”

Her words hover in the air as she walks out of the room, leaving Yamato standing alone, the tension thick and suffocating. He glances out the window, the city lights reflecting in his cold blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he murmurs to himself, “family is the sacrifice.”

Kenji and Emi sit in the back of the blacked out Escalade. One visibly more angry than the other. The assistant up front hands Kenji an IPad. “Here, sir.”

Kenji takes it without a word, scrolling. On the screen, a plethora of all the personal information regarding the woman who caused all this.

You.

Kenji’s grip tightens on the iPad as his sharp eyes scan the screen, each line of information making his jaw clench harder. Birthdate, address, financial records, employment history—it’s all there. How pathetic. Every detail meticulously laid out like a blueprint of your life. Beside him, Emi glances over, her expression less angered and more calculating.

“So,” she finally says, her tone icy and deliberate. “This is her.”

Kenji doesn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the screen. An ID picture accompanied the words. The photo of you, Satoru, and Koji catches his attention, and his lips press into a thin line. The leaked photo. “The audacity,” he mutters. “She hides this little punk tyke for years, and now she’s a problem we’re forced to deal with. They both are.”

Emi tilts her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against her armrest. “She doesn’t look like much. Hardly someone who should be causing this much of a stir. But appearances can be deceiving.” Her lips curl into a faint sneer. “Especially for women like her.”

“She’s more than just a stir. She’s a maddening, infuriating liability with baggage from hell,” Kenji snaps, handing the iPad back to his assistant with a flick of his wrist. “The kind that could ruin everything if we’re not careful because they themselves have nothing to lose.”

The assistant clears his throat nervously from the front seat. “Sir, should I proceed with the next steps?”

Kenji leans back in his seat, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Not yet. I want to understand her first. How she operates. What she values. Everyone has a weakness. Once we find hers, we’ll decide the next course of action. Though, I assume it’s the ragged infant.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her tone almost teasing. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”

Kenji’s gaze flickers to his wife, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t we?”

The tension in the car is palpable, the low hum of the engine the only sound as they drive through the city. Emi’s lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain cold. “She won’t win, Kenji. Not against us. Not against our sweet baby girl.”

“She won’t even get the chance,” Kenji replies, his voice hard and certain. “We’ll make sure of it.”

a/n: this is my present to u all!!!! happy holidays! ❤️❤️

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

Text

Better for you

Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

(THIS CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE BUT IS TECHNICALLY A THIRD PART FOR LOSE CONTROL AND THE LAST LAUGH)

words: 4.6k Category: fluff (surprisingly this is not my usual NSFW work) warnings: kissing, suggestive content a/n: I’m killing two birds with one stone here. One, I caved in and did another part for this rival couple. And two, I wrote this as a participation in @imagining-in-the-margins office party writing challenge🥳 Here are the prompts: 1. The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B. 2. “I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

WAS A PARTY SUPPOSED TO BE THIS BORING? A subtle sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the backyard. When Rossi invited the team to gather around at his house in celebration of the new year, everybody was on board.

"Who would say no to a David Rossi party?" JJ had said, which led her to bring her family along the occasion. Even Simmons brought his wife and five little kids. And now Rossi’s place never looked so alive with this many people, it seemed that everyone was present at this joyful soirée.

Everyone but one person, that is.

She turned her attention back to the drink in her hand, leaning against the open bar Rossi had set up, her mind drifting towards a certain man. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs on him. Really, she wasn't. It just happened that his absence became surprisingly noticeable when he decided to take some time off work to visit his mom, even days before Christmas break.

How long had it been since the last time she saw him? Two weeks? Three? It seemed like a considerable amount of time had passed since she saw was forced to work with him, which happened during the case in a remote town. And despite successfully apprehending the Unsub days later, her resistance to temptation, unfortunately, wasn't as successful.

It was hard not to think of what happened during the travel when it kept playing in her mind like a broken record. It was as if the memories were engraved in her brain—his slick, sweaty body pressing against hers; his soft lips caressing her skin; his large hands roaming her curves, traveling to places that had her hot and wet—

What the hell was wrong with her?

She took a sip of her drink—or more like chugging it down—trying to test if the burning sensation could wash away her filthy mind.

"Whoa," a sudden voice broke through her haze and she looked up to find Luke standing close to her. "Easy there."

His easygoing grin met her gaze as he gestured toward her almost empty glass. She shrugged, aiming the glass toward him in a mock toast. "Just trying to enjoy the party."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, leaning against the bar.

She shot him a sideways glance. "What's it to you, Alvez?"

His grin widened. "Well, when someone's drinking like they're on a mission, it catches my attention. Everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone calm. "I'm just getting into the party spirit, you know?"

Luke raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor unwavering. "Is that so? Or are you trying to drown out some thoughts?"

She scoffed. "Thoughts? What thoughts?"

"The kind that makes you chug down your drink."

"You're imagining things. I'm simply enjoying this..." Her eyes scanned the party, trying to find a word describing the ongoing festive. "...ambiance."

"Alone by the table full of alcohol?"

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on these drinks from disappearing too quickly."

"Hmm," He responded. "It kind of seems like you're waiting for someone to join the party."

Her cheeks warmed slightly, and she scoffed again. "I know who you're referring to, and no, I am not waiting for anyone."

He leaned in, the mischief in his eyes unwavering. "So, you're telling me that if Reid walked in right now, you wouldn't do a happy dance?"

"Please, there would be no happy dance," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just a casual acknowledgment, maybe."

"Casual acknowledgment? You're going with that?" His grin widened, his teasing persistence unyielding. "There's nothing casual about you two."

"If you mean hating each other's gut, then sure, there is nothing casual about Reid and me."

"He doesn't hate you, you know." She gave him a deadpanned look, her skepticism evident in her arched brow. Luke laughed. "Fine, he disliked the idea of having another prodigy on the team. When he got out of prison, he felt like you were his replacement."

She frowned. "I kind of was. Emily wanted someone to fill in for his absence while he was away."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "True, but I think you're starting to grow on him." She shook her head, trying to brush off the comment. "I'm serious, I think you made an impression."

Her skepticism lingered as she fully turned towards him, pointing a finger at him. "So you’re telling me every time he tried to pick a fight he was actually impressed by my intelligence?"

"Well, Reid's got this... unique way of expressing himself, but trust me, he respects you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Now you're just pushing it."

"There's got to be something more than what you're letting on. He's not exactly subtle, you know."

She leaned back slightly, trying to maintain composure. "You're reading too much into it. Reid and I have..." a complicated dynamic between coworkers who hate each other but had sex twice—well, three, including that one time in the shower. "...a professional relationship," she decided to say.

His grin widened. "Professional? I've seen the way you two spar during cases."

She huffed. "It's just our way of solving problems. It doesn't mean anything more."

Luke's expression turned thoughtful. "I've worked with him for a while, and he usually doesn't go back and forth with people in smart talk. There must be something about you that intrigues him."

"Or irritates him," she added dryly. "You're giving him too much credit."

"Maybe," he admitted with a laugh. "But I don’t know, he might surprise you one of these days."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "I highly doubt that."

"Yeah?" He suddenly looked past her, a sly grin forming. "Then maybe should find out for yourself."

Confused, she turned around to see what had caught his attention…. And time seemed to slow as her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted Spencer entering the party, a casual smile on his face as he greeted everyone. For a moment, their eyes locked, and despite her attempts to remain nonchalant, a subtle flutter danced in her chest.

She quickly looked away, her attempt to maintain composure falling apart.

"See what I mean?" Luke's voice broke through her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes, trying to deflect. "It's just a party, people look at each other. There's nothing special."

He raised an eyebrow and responded with a hint of sarcasm. “Sure."

"I'm serious. Stop reading into it."

"Alright, I won't."

That only annoyed her even more. She took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the situation. "You're insufferable."

"What? I believe you," he replied. "I mean, nothing could've happened between two people who were locked together and then forced to share a room, right?"

She shot him a glare, but before she could say anything, she felt a presence coming up behind her. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she caught a whiff of scent she was accustomed to by now, something woody and fresh with a subtle hint of sweetness.

"Reid," Luke greeted as he gave her a side glance before moving towards Spencer, casually dropping an arm around his shoulders. "It's good to see you. How's your mom?"

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before responding to Luke, "She's doing well, thanks."

“Good to hear.” Luke nodded his head towards her. "Y/n here was just telling me how much she missed you during the holidays."

Suppressing a groan, she shot him a warning look. Spencer, however, responded with a small smile. "You did?"

Her cheeks warmed slightly, caught off guard by his direct question. She feigned nonchalance, offering a casual shrug. "Please, I was just mourning the lack of someone to challenge my wisdom."

Luke chuckled and gave her one last pointed look before excusing himself with a pretense of Rossi calling him somewhere from the crowd. Her eyes narrowed on his back as he walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. "That man coming close to being second place on my hate list."

"I take it I'm still on your number one spot then."

She turned towards him at the sound of his voice, and now that they were alone, she finally took her time to observe him.

Her eyes scanned his clothes, taking in the details. From the carefully styled hair that hinted at the time he took to prepare, to the open dress shirt that he seemed unbothered to button all the way, exposing his long neck and the slight expanse of his chest. He looked good. He looked clean, polished, and undeniably handsome.

She blinked and cleared her throat, attempting to regain composure. "Well, you certainly took your time getting ready."

He met her gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, seemingly aware of her scrutinizing observation. "I believe in making a good impression," he replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to acknowledge the effect his appearance had on her. "Trying to win over the crowd with something beyond your brain?"

"Partly," he admitted, "And partly because someone once told me that a well-dressed genius is a force to be reckoned with."

"Must have been Garcia."

He grinned. "You know her well."

She took another sip of her drink, a blend of sweet and bitter notes dancing on her tongue. Keeping her eyes on him over the rim of her glass, she observed the play of shadows on his face, accentuating the angles of his features. The ambient light from the party cast a subtle glow, and she couldn't help but notice how it highlighted the soft strands of hair that fell gracefully across his forehead.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here," she slowly remarked, her voice laced with curiosity.

"Surprised? Should I be offended?"

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I'm not," he agreed. "The only exception of social gathering I can endure is with everyone present here."

"Including me?"

“Especially you."

Her demeanor faltered for a split second, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his tone. It wasn't the usual witty remark she anticipated. A flicker of surprise crossed her features before she could conceal it, her throat clearing as she attempted to regain control over her beating heart.

"Especially… me?" she echoed, attempting to mask the surprise in her voice.

Spencer's gaze held a warmth that felt unfamiliar, and he nodded. "It seems social events are more bearable when you're around."

She tilted her head and studied him. "You're just saying that because you have someone to pick a fight with."

"A fight?" He wondered. "Is that what we've been doing?"

"It's what we've always been doing."

"Not for the past few weeks, we haven't."

She knew what he was referring to. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of indulging in a conversation about their sexual escapades, she instead responded with, "Well, you haven't, I'm still trying to play my part here."

He chuckled softly, the sound resonating in the quiet space between them. "And what part would that be?"

"The one where I constantly question the liability of your knowledge, of course."

Spencer's smile widened, the lines of his face softening. "Maybe," he began, his voice low, "We can explore different roles that don't involve any fighting."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting a truce, Dr. Reid?"

"More like a change of tactics, Dr. L/n," he replied, gently taking the glass from her hand and placing it by the bar.

Her frown deepened, uncertainty in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the center of the backyard where most of their team members filled the space of the party. "Dance with me."

She gazed towards the dance floor, then back at him, and her brows furrowed. That did not sound like the Spencer she knew, heck, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him dance before. Her eyes narrowed further when he gave her a grin.

"Come on, it's just a dance. It won't kill you," he urged, extending a hand towards her.

She eyed his outstretched hand with mock skepticism. "Are you implying that dancing with you is some kind of survival?"

Spencer grinned. "Considering the number of times you've survived my intellect, this should be a walk in the park."

She rolled her eyes. "Intellect, yes. Dancing? I'll take my chances."

"Are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he teased.

"More like I'm afraid you'll step on mine," she shot back.

Spencer chuckled. "Just one dance, and if you don't enjoy it, you can revert to questioning the liability of my knowledge."

Her eyes drifted between his outstretched hand and his gaze, a silent contemplation unfolding within her. She knew that if she agreed to this, there was no turning back. Was it a wise decision? Probably not. But a small, rebellious part of her was curious to see how the night would unfold.

Spencer watched her with a patient expression, his hand still extended. The music continued to play, a steady beat that seemed to echo the pulse of the night, and after a moment's hesitation, she sighed in mock exasperation.

"Fine," she said, finally placing her hand in his, "But I reserve the right to make sarcastic remarks about your dance moves later."

"Deal," he agreed, leading her onto the dance floor with a grin.

She could feel everyone's scrutiny on them as he pulled her onto the dance floor, her breath hitching when he grabbed her other hand and placed her arms around his neck before snaking his arms around her waist.

"Everyone's watching us, aren't they?" she asked as they started to move to the soft beat of the music.

Spencer's gaze held a mischievous glint as he twirled her around, navigating the dance floor with surprising grace. "Let them watch," he replied, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's just a dance, after all."

"You don't strike me as the 'just a dance' kind of person." She arched an eyebrow, unable to shake off the sense that there was more to this move than met the eye. "You don't even strike me as someone who even knows how to dance."

He shrugged. "Dancing is easy. All you have to do is move in circles and hold on to your partner."

He proved his point by pulling her further into his arms, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast in their heights. His broad chest pressed against her, the softness of his abdomen against her stomach, while his arms securely wrapped around her body.

Her breath caught for a moment, her gaze instinctively locking with his. The initial awkwardness transformed into a surprising ease, and she reciprocated the movements with a newfound confidence. The subtle sways and turns took on a rhythm of their own, syncing perfectly with the music that enveloped them.

"See?" he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Easy."

They continued to move to the rhythm, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze. The world around them seemed to blur, and for a moment, she actually enjoyed being held close to him.

But before she could fully relax in his arms, JJ appeared on the dance floor, hand in hand with her husband Will. The look of disbelief in their friend's eyes was unmistakable as the couple approached them while being tangled in their own dance.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," JJ teased, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Or are you two getting along quite well?"

She rolled her eyes, attempting to maintain a casual facade. "It's just a dance. Don't read too much into it."

JJ's grin widened as she exchanged a knowing look with Will. "I didn't think I'd see the day when you and Reid would willingly share the dance floor."

She shot a glance at Spencer, and there was a momentary flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise? amusement? She couldn't quite place it. Collecting herself, she responded with a mock grimace, "He forced me into it."

Spencer's expression turned playful. "I have a way of convincing people to do things they didn't know they wanted to do."

"You mean manipulate."

He chuckled. "Persuade, Y/n. It's all about perspective."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw JJ and Will exchanging another pointed look. "Either way, you both look like you're having a good time."

"And you both look good together," Will added.

"Thank you."

"We're not together."

They both looked at each other while JJ raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yet here you are. Spence, you might have just discovered a hidden talent—getting Y/n to dance."

She let out a sigh. "Don't encourage him."

Spencer leaned in, his tone low. "You're just mad because you're enjoying this."

She narrowed her eyes. "Let's not get carried away."

"Come on, just admit it," The corners of his lips lifted in a playful smirk. "You're having more fun than you expected."

"Fun?" She scoffed, attempting to deflect the growing warmth in her cheeks. "I wouldn't call this fun. It's just an unfortunate consequence of being at a party."

"Yet you can't deny that you're not entirely opposed to the idea."

She shot him a glare. "You're dangerously close to overestimating your influence."

"Or maybe you're underestimating your willingness to enjoy the moment."

She shook her head, turning towards JJ. "Can you believe him—"

She stopped when she realized they had been left alone for a while, noticing JJ and Will were already at the other side of the dance floor. However as her eyes scanned around them, the scrutiny of the others didn't go unnoticed by her. She fixed her gaze back on Spencer.

"We must be such a sight to see," she remarked. "I bet they're starting some rumors about us."

He raised his eyebrows. "You think they haven't already?"

She sighed, acknowledging his words. "Fair point."

"What do you think they're saying about us?"

She considered for a moment. "That we secretly don't hate each other," she responded after contemplating her answer. "I think they might be disappointed when they realize the truth."

His arms instinctively tightened around her waist. "And what's the truth?"

She studied him, her heart suddenly beating fast. Weeks ago, she would have answered the question with certainty, stating that they were nothing more than coworkers who were both very stubborn. But as she felt his eyes watching her intently, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"The truth?" she echoed, her voice a little softer than she intended. "I don't know, Reid. What is our truth?"

He held her gaze, and for a moment, she was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. "Well, the part where we secretly don't hate each other is true, for me at least."

Her breath caught as she absorbed his words.

“…you don't hate me?"

"Hate is a very strong word." Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Hate is often fueled by fear or misunderstanding. It's a complex emotion rooted in our perceptions and experiences. So, in a way, hate is a reflection of the mind rather than a true evaluation of a person."

She couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did you just use psychology to explain why you don't hate me?"

"Considering our line of work, it seemed appropriate."

She shook her head in amusement. "Only you would analyze hate in the middle of a dance."

Spencer continued, "Well, understanding emotions is crucial in our field. And I believe there's more to us than mere hostility."

She pursed her lips together, her mind suddenly going through the times they often bickered. "I still find it hard to believe you didn't hate me the first time we met."

"Dislike would be a better way to put it. But I was at my lowest point at that time. It wasn't just you, I was angry at everyone. At the circumstances. At myself." He slightly leaned back and sighed. "And I admit, it was wrong of me to take it out on you."

Then after a moment of silence, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against hers. The apology hung in the air and she found herself at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, the walls she had built seemed to crumble, leaving her standing on the precipice of something unfamiliar.

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper, "And how do you see me now?"

Spencer's gaze held a thoughtful intensity as he considered her question. "I think you're someone who challenges me. There's a depth to you beyond the harsh glare and cold shoulder." He eased, pressing a hand on her lower back. "And, if I may say, someone who looks surprisingly stunning on the dance floor."

A blush crept over her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he had another motive behind the compliment. "You're using flattery now? Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

He laughed. "Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. "Nice try, Reid. Flattery might get you far, but not that far."

His grin widened, and he guided her through the dance floor with ease. "Well, I'll have to come up with better tactics then."

His touch, gentle and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced an almost hypnotic pattern on the small of her back through the fabric of her dress. The soft caress felt both intimate and tender, catching her off guard. "I mean it though," he said, his voice a soft murmur that resonated with honesty. "You do look beautiful tonight."

There was something in his gaze that was unfamiliar, even hearing him easily compliment her was foreign in her ears. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he smiled at her. "What?"

She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. "Nothing. It's just... unexpected, coming from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her as they moved in sync with the music. "It's part of my New Year's resolution."

"What? To be nicer?" She guessed. "Be a better person?"

"To be a better person for you," he corrected.

Her heartbeat picked up, and she found herself drawing closer to him, the music weaving a subtle spell around them. The warmth radiating from him, the soft glow of the string lights, and the gentle melody created an intimate atmosphere that blurred the lines between the hostility she often wore.

The distance between them diminished, and she felt the subtle shift in the air. Without registering what she was doing, her fingers came up behind his neck, softly playing with the strands of his hair. They were so soft, just like the look reflected in his eyes. Then her gaze went down to his lips; they too looked incredibly soft.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes snapped to his. "Like what?"

"Like you want to close the distance between us," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. "Because I'm trying to restrain myself from doing just that."

His fingers found the small of her back, pressing gently, while hers continued their silent dance in his hair. Every touch, every movement, fueled the escalating heat between them. His proximity was intoxicating, and the magnetic pull between them was undeniable. The distance diminished further until she could feel his breath, warm and inviting, grazing against her lips.

But before she could indulge herself, Garcia's voice echoed somewhere in the crowd. "It's the final countdown, people!"

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, she released her arms from around his neck and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Her eyes landed on the projector screen, previously used by the kids for a movie marathon and now it displayed the vibrant scenes of people joyously ringing in the New Year celebration.

As the digital numbers on the screen ticked down, the energy in the backyard intensified. The countdown became a collective heartbeat, a shared anticipation that echoed through the crowd.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

In those final moments, she stole a glance at Spencer, their eyes locking silently.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

But his stare became so intense that she quickly looked away.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

The cheers erupted, and the backyard was bathed in the glow of fireworks, the sky above adorned with bursts of color. She watched the dazzling display in awe, the explosions of light reflecting in her eyes.

Amidst the celebratory chaos, she noticed her friends wrapped in the arms of their loved ones, celebrating happily. JJ and Will shared a sweet kiss, Simmons was embraced by his family, Penelope and Luke exchanged laughter, and even Rossi, with a subtle smile, clinked glasses with Emily and Tara.

And as the colorful explosions painted the night sky, she felt a lingering gaze on her. Turning, she found Spencer watching her intently. His eyes were searching hers as if he were asking for permission to close the short distance separating them.

She knew what he meant. It was beyond asking permission to kiss her. It was a gentle plea to understand the unspoken boundaries that lingered between them. Engaging in intimacy behind closed doors was one thing, but to take that step in front of their peers meant exposing a vulnerability she had carefully guarded. Did she want to cross that line?

A part of her wavered, finding herself drawn to him—his warm brown eyes, his smile, everything about him seemed to call out to a part of her that she had kept guarded. The barriers she had meticulously built started to feel like fragile walls as everything around them started to fade, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the distant echoes of laughter.

Oh, fuck it.

Feeling the pull of an undeniable force, she took a step closer with a small, bashful smile playing on her lips. It was all the answer he needed. Closing the distance between them, he framed her face with his large hands, his warm touch sending a shiver down her spine. Surrounded by the cheers of the crowd and the vibrant display of fireworks overhead, he finally leaned down, gently brushing his lips against hers.

Warmth spread through her body as he held her, his touch gentle yet possessive. He tipped her jaw, allowing his mouth to move along with hers. His tongue easily slipped into her as he continued to taste the subtle hint of liquor she had been drinking. Spencer was never one to drink, but he didn't mind tasting it on her. If anything, he couldn't get enough.

Her arms instinctively traveled underneath his suit jacket, seeking more of his warmth as she wrapped them around his waist. The fabric of his suit was smooth under her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated through the layers of clothing.

The kiss deepened as he continued to explore her mouth, growing more intense with each passing second, and it wasn't until they heard someone through their haze calling out, "There are kids here!" that he finally pulled away.

He laughed, a soft, genuine sound and she couldn't help but join in. He then rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The lingering taste of their kiss hung in the air, and for a moment, they simply stood there. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and they exchanged a glance filled with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I guess we got carried away," he mumbled.

"You think?" She chuckled, her fingers playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. "We should keep it PG-13 for now."

His fingers gently traced the curve of her cheek. "Does that mean we can go R-rated later?"

She let out a laugh, throwing her head back in mirth. "You're relentless."

He smiled, savoring the moment of ease between them, and he found himself captivated by the genuine joy she radiated. His gaze traveled around the backyard and noticed everyone watching them with amused grins. He leaned down and pulled her flush against him. "Everyone's watching us."

She groaned and hid her face in the crook of his neck. "I can already imagine their teasing."

There was a moment of silence before he responded, "I think it's worth it."

"What is?" she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled away and looked down at her. In a tender gesture, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I can handle the constant teasing if it means I get to hold you like this."

The corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. "You're willing to endure their teasing just to hold me?"

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "More than willing."

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. She couldn't believe how this night had turned out, yet, here they were—wrapped up in a dance of their own. It was a position she would've never imagined herself in. And despite her best efforts to resist, the walls she had meticulously built were crumbling.

"Can I kiss you again?" He whispered. "I promise I'll make it family-friendly."

The corners of her lips curled as she laughed. The unexpected turn of events had brought them to a place she never anticipated, but surprisingly, it felt oddly right.

"I suppose one more won't hurt."

His smile widened, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her lips.

She found herself smiling, realizing that perhaps, unexpected as it was, this change of year wasn't so bad. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and wondered where her life would take her this year. The path ahead seemed unclear, but one thing was certain—Spencer Reid had managed to find his way into her heart.

a/n: if you’ve followed the story since lose control, this is the ending for this short series. As much as I wanted to write smut again for the last part, the fluff was calling out to me :3

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marvelobsessed134 · 1 year ago

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Bunny’s first Christmas

This is part of my 12 days of fics

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Bunny hybrid!Reader

Warnings: rough sex, strap on (r receiving), talks of breeding, pet/owner dynamics, mommy kink, squirting.

Summary: In which you spend your first Christmas with your mommy

Being a bunny hybrid can be hard. But not when you’re owned by Wanda Maximoff. Or mommy as you call her. Mommy takes very good care of her bunny. She spoils you with gifts and love. And she fucks you hard anywhere around the house.

You always walk around in the prettiest little dresses, the light pink collar with tags of your name and her name underneath with a phone number in case you get lost. You love wearing the collar. Gives you contentment that you have an owner. Lots of bunnies don’t have one. And if they do, they’re usually neglected and only are used for sex. While that’s usually why someone would buy a hybrid, they still need to be treated with love and care.

Your ears, long and brown, always standing up and on high alert. Which is why you could hear Christmas Dreaming by Laufey playing in the kitchen.

Curiously, you walked towards the kitchen to find the witch making Christmas cookies. Your nose twitched at the smell and you ran over to her.

“Hi, bunny.” She chirped, scratching behind your ears the way you like it. You hummed.

“Hi mommy.” You responded, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, mommy’s just making some cookies for Christmas. You wanna try one?”

“Yes please.” Gosh, always so polite. Such a good girl. Wanda gave you a cookie and you nibbled on it for a bit. See, you’ve never experienced Christmas before. Being in that god awful hybrid shelter. Sometimes people would donate gifts for the homeless hybrids but that was about it.

“Mmm it’s s’good, mommy.” You moaned.

“Glad you like it, bunny.” Wanda couldn’t help but get turned on at the sounds you were making. And poor you, unaware of what you were doing to your mommy.

But the redhead knew she shouldn’t fuck you right now, since she needs to bake more cookies for Tony’s stupid Christmas party. She’s never resented the billionaire more in her life.

How dare he keep her away from fucking her precious bunny when he’s not even here! She groaned in frustration which caught your ears.

“Mommy…what’s wrong?” You asked timidly, placing the cookie back down on the tray.

“Sorry baby but I’m just so stressed right now. That’s all.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

Fuck it, Wanda thought, Starks cookies can wait.

“Yeah, actually.” She replied, “Bend over the counter.” You were taken back by her sudden demand, her voice deep and harsh. You quickly bent over the counter, you knew what was going to happen and it made you weak with arousal.

The witch roughly lifted your dress up and pulled your cotton panties down before unbuckling her belt pulling her strap out.

She tapped it against your wet folds, collecting your slick before pounding into you with no warning.

You squealed, holding onto the edge of the counter. Wanda grabbed your hips firmly as she fucked into you. “Holy fuck, you feel so good.” She was proud she was able to come up with a spell that allowed her to feel everything with the strap. She felt your sweet walls clenching around her cock.

“Mommy! Oh so good!” You moaned.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, pet. Gonna breed you so good one day.” Wanda smacked your ass.

“Ahh- oh fuck-“ you cried.

Wanda tugged on your little bushy cottontail which made you moan.

“Oh fuck honey, go ahead and cum for me.” She hissed.

You clenched around her cock, squirting out your release. She groaned, coming to her own orgasm.

Finally, the witch pulled out of you and put your panties back on. And as you stood up she fixed your dress for you.

You turned around and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Mmm merry Christmas bunny.”

“Merry Christmas, mommy.”

#marvel x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #bunny!reader #Wanda maximoff x bunny!reader #hybrid!reader #12 days of fics

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unearthly-doting · 6 months ago

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yandere farmer

a/n: smth smth i Really like people w southern accents smth smth so here's a farmer. im not 100% satisfied w this one but it's been in my drafts for so long so here it is.

warnings: mdni, not proofread, yandere content, gn reader, male yandere, idk how cars work so, overprotective behavior, obsessive behavior, reader has hair in this sorry if u dont, murder, brief mention of vomit, non-con kissing, mild depictions of gore, choking, i think that's it??

— maybe it's a bit cliché but life in the big city was exhausting, and all you wanted to do was get away from it all. it was a bit sudden, deciding you wanted to uproot your entire life and start somewhere new, but you knew that this is exactly what you needed.

— and it's not as if you weren't going into this blind. a friend of yours had a family vacation home in a small farm town that hadn't been used in years, and they were willing to let you stay there until you could find a place of your own.

— you had everything planned out. you had enough money on you for gas and food for the drive there, and you had already had some of your stuff shipped off to your new temporary home, so you didn't have to worry about leaving anything behind. you even kept a little extra money on you in case you needed to crash at a motel.

— the drive had started off fine. traffic wasn't too bad as you left the city, and there were no major setbacks until you were almost at your destination. when you were 20 miles out from the farmer town you'd be living in, your car just suddenly died on you. it still had gas in the tank, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the car itself, it just… died.

— what's worse is the fact that your phone had no service. you suppose that's not too shocking, considering how far out in the country you are, but it's a bit shocking, isn't it? you're not that educated on farming life or this small town, but surely they had modern technology, right?

— it's cliché, honestly. it felt like the start of some cheap slasher. or maybe a southern christmas romance movie. you're not quite sure which would be worse. the slasher, realistically. whatever, you're getting off track.

— the point is, your car is dead, your phone is useless, and it's starting to get dark. you could probably make it to that motel you saw a few miles back, but you didn't really feel comfortable leaving your car out here alone. not to mention you're not even sure if you have enough money on you to cover one night at a motel.

— the universe, in all her mercy, takes pity on you before you can get too upset over your plight, because not even 20 minutes after your car stops, a truck drives by. it's beat up, but it slows to a stop next to your car. the window rolls down, revealing the driver to be a man just a little older than you.

— he asked if you needed help, and offered to tow your car and drive you to town. you didn't have much choice but to agree, and the drive to town was… not as awkward as you thought it would be, actually.

— the man introduced himself as rigby shaw, a farmer that lives on the outskirts of town. you actually drove by his farm maybe 15 miles back, and he had been heading into town to pick up some medication for one of his dogs when he saw you pacing outside your car. in turn, you told him how you were moving into the small town because life in the city had been overwhelming.

— rigby didn't think you'd survive long outside of the city. city folk rarely ever strive in small, out of touch towns, away from modern technology. the small handful that made their way here always went back to the city not even three months into being here, so he didn't expect to see you last long either. you were nicer than most city folk, though.

— but you were determined to make a living out here, so when rigby dropped you off, you got to work immediately. you unpacked your stuff that had been there waiting for you, and in the morning, you got to work trying to fix your car. turns out, your fan belt had somehow come loose just enough that your car could no longer function. why? who knows, maybe the universe was in a silly mood.

— anyways, you settled into the small town life with relative ease, and rigby was very surprised when he returned to town a few weeks later, you were still there. the only thing you were struggling with was finding a job. maybe because he was fascinated by your determination, but rigby ended up offering you a job on his farm. he did need help taking care of the crops and feeding the animals there, but he mostly just wanted to learn more about you.

— you were a fast learner, and his dogs took to you fairly quickly. the cattle and horses were a little less trusting, though that was expected. he's sure they'll take to you soon enough, given how you respect their boundaries and go at their pace unlike his previous farmhands. you had no problem taking on any challenge rigby had set up for you, and maybe that's when he started finding himself thinking about you.

— if he's out in town while you're on the farm, he's worrying that you might get injured without him around. you can take care of yourself, but he can't help but worry. same for when you're in town while he's on the farm. you’re still an outsider there, and he knows that some of the townsfolk may try scaring you off. or maybe they'll try hurting you. or maybe you'll be completely fine and he's just overreacting.

— he starts hovering around you more often when you're on his farm, jumping in to help you whenever he thinks you might be struggling with something. you think he's just worried you might fuck his crops up or something, so you never really pay much mind to his behavior. it only struck you as odd when he insisted on helping you feed the dogs of all things. was he scared you would poison them? you wouldn't, obviously, so you don't know why he'd think that.

— his behavior only seems to escalate when you meet a guy in town one day and start going on casual dates with him. he was… shocked, when you asked to take the day off because of some guy. in the months that you've been living in town, you had never shown any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with… anyone, truly. you had always seemed so dedicated to working on the farm and making a living for yourself, rigby had never even considered you could want anything other than that.

— at first, he felt disappointed. why would you prioritize dates with some guy when you could be working on the farm with him instead? it took him a bit to realize that disappointment he was feeling was jealousy. he hated when you'd step away from him to accept calls from your new boyfriend. he hated how you stopped eating lunch with him in favor of eating it with your boyfriend.

— your boyfriend wasn't even that great of a guy. rigby did some research on him–it's not stalking, he's just making sure it's safe for you to date this guy!–and he was not pleased with what he found. you could do so much better! you didn't understand why rigby was so interested in your boyfriend, always asking questions about how he treats you, if he's really what you're looking for in a relationship, if you actually loved him…

— you couldn't help but notice how touchy rigby has become as well, his hands always lingering on you far too long when he helps you with your work. you swear that you've heard him smell your hair a few times when he's close as well. he's been acting weird ever since you officially started dating your boyfriend. he's even going as far as to pile more work on top of you, leaving little free time for you to spend with your lover.

— it's gotten unbearable to the point where you decided you ultimately needed to find a new place to work. you liked rigby, he was a great guy with a kind heart, but his behavior was bordering on obsession and you didn't want to enable this behavior by ignoring it. your boyfriend agreed, and with his help, you were able to find a job at the local market in town.

— rigby was not pleased when he heard you on the phone with your lover, talking about how you'd tell him you were quitting after you finished work.

You're not really sure what happened. One moment, you were on the phone with your boyfriend and then the next, you were being hit in the head and everything had gone dark. The sun had only just started setting when you had been knocked out, but it was completely dark outside when you had woken up.

Your head was pounding as you opened your eyes, looking around in an attempt to figure out what the hell had happened to you. You were still on the farm, that much you knew. The first thing that worried you was the fact that your hands were bound to a wooden post, leaving you unable to move without injuring yourself. Your phone was broken on the ground, so it was completely useless.

Did a trespasser knock you out? It's not the first person people have trespassed on the farm, trying to steal the horses or ‘save’ the animals Rigby had. You had assumed that to be the case, because… what else could have happened for you to be tied up like this?

“Rigby?!” You shout his name, wincing at the throbbing in your head as you did so. Was he okay? Was he hurt? What if something happened to him? What if–

Your panicked thoughts get put on pause when a light blinded you, and you shied away from it as best as you could as you tried to figure out its source. It seemed to be a flashlight, and you only realized who was holding it when they got closer.

For a moment, you relaxed at the sight of Rigby, relieved to see he was okay as he approached, though there was something off about him. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't seem injured, yet there was blood on his hands. Or maybe it was the… borderline crazed look in his eyes.

Something wasn't right.

“Rigby…?” You hesitantly called his name, your relief bleeding away into a reluctant unease, “Are you okay? What happened? Why am I tied up?”

His silence did little to help you as he set his flashlight down on the ground and started undoing your binds. Your wrists felt raw as you gently rubbed them once they were free, standing up while Rigby retrieved his flashlight.

“Rigby, what the hell is going on?” You ask, growing frustrated at being left in the dark. You had been knocked out and tied up, so you think you deserve some sort of explanation as to what had happened.

“I have a gift for you.” Rigby says, completely dodging your question as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you after him. His grip was tight, almost bruising as he dragged you along, ignoring you when you asked him to loosen his grip on you. He refused to answer any of your questions, and you were starting to get worried.

You've never been scared of Rigby. Sure, his behavior lately had been concerning, but you had no reason to be scared. But right now, you couldn't help but feel a bit afraid as he led you in the dark. Your concern only grew when you realized he was taking you to the barn the pigs were kept in.

“Will you just tell me what's going on?” Your words fall upon deaf ears as he passes the flashlight to you, motioning for you to take the lead as he opens the barn doors. You hesitate before shining the flashlight in the barn, slowly stepping forward.

Most of the pigs were sleeping in their own separate stalls, a few were watching you and Rigby with indifference as you both stepped deeper into the barn. But two things stood out to you. One, a handful of pigs were nowhere to be seen. Two, there was this weird… squelching sound coming from the back of the barn.

“It's just back there.” Rigby says, his breath hitting the back of your neck and causing you to jump. You hadn't even realized how close he had gotten. You scurry forward just to get some distance. Truthfully, you didn't want to see this ‘gift’ Rigby was talking about, but you knew that you couldn't turn back.

Deep down, you knew something horrible was about to happen. The squelching sound grew louder, and you could hear the sound of chewing along with it. When you looked back at Rigby for some sort of reassurance, he just had this strange smile on his face. It sent a chill down your spine.

And when you hesitantly looked in the last stall at the very back of the barn to see the source of the noise, your ‘gift’, you dropped the flashlight in horror and let out a scream as you stumbled back right into Rigby's arms.

On the ground was your boyfriend's corpse, his face nearly maimed beyond recognition as several pigs chewed at his body. You're lucky you're able to swallow the vomit in your throat as you try to get out of Rigby's hold, looking away from the horrific scene in front of you as you cried.

“Let go of me!” You claw at his arms, but he just holds you tightly against his chest, gently shushing you as he forces you to watch the pigs eat.

“Do you like it?” He asks, completely ignoring your horror, “It wasn't hard getting him to come here. I just told him you had an accident, and suddenly, he was on his way. Isn't that sweet? It's a shame he wasn't stronger… he never would've been able to protect you if someone tried hurting you. But I can, see? I can give you what you deserve.”

You weren't even listening to his deluded words, trying to squirm out of his hold, “You're a fucking monster.” You spit out, a sharp gasp being torn out of your mouth when he shoves you against the wall of the barn, his hand around your throat as he lightly squeezes. A subtle threat, one that had you shutting up.

“I expect some fucking gratitude, you ungrateful brat.” Rigby’s voice is cold, his anger had never been something you'd ever been on the receiving end of, “I did this for you. For us. You should be thanking me.” His hand on your throat tightens, squeezing the air out of your lungs, his gaze hard as he stares at you expectantly.

Desperate for air, you're barely able to wheeze out a small, “Thank you.”

As black spots start to fill your vision, Rigby removes his hand from your neck, and you're able to breathe again. His anger was gone, replaced with delighted satisfaction.

“Of course, darlin’.” He sweetly says, a bloodied hand coming up to gently wipe the tears off your face, “I'd do anything for you. I can provide for you, so just be good for me in return, okay?”

And as he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a heated desperation, you find yourself missing the city for the first time since you left it.

#oc: the farmer — rigby shaw.#yandere farmer x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere oc x you #male yandere x you #yandere farm x you #yandere #yandere oc #yandere farmer #yandere imagines

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awordsmith · 29 days ago

Text

fingertips 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer constantly have had accidental moments over the years that always meant more to one than the other thought.

katcember

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s7 category: fluff content warnings: proofed! reader kidnapping, mentions of torture, constant flashbacks, yes sarcastic sarcasm is intentional, hidden feelings, tension, no smut (I'm working my way up to that one), reid with warmth word count: 9k a/n: ahhhhh, i just created a community radio (it can be found on my masterlist or pinned page) so feel free to send in song requests to be added! enjoy!

Your breath coated the window of the coffee shop, fogging it. You wiped it with your sleeve, waiting for Spencer to get back from ordering your drinks. The dim yellow light lit up the shop with a soft, mild glow; it was late, most sane people would be at home by now.

The bustling in the background caught your attention and your gaze caught on Spencer, still standing in line. He'd asked you to meet him here a few days ago, when you were working on your last case before your small–unavoidable–break. It was Christmas Eve. It was Christmas Eve and he had asked you to meet him days prior. He had every second to cancel, to change the date... Sitting here now, you knew–without a doubt–you were about to have a conversation long over due.

It made you think about how it all had gotten started, all your firsts, and when you knew you'd always love him more than a friend should. From your fist meeting to the feeling that someday it would hurt, because you could never let him go.

The first time we met, you thought, a calm smile settling over your face.

"And this, is Dr. Spencer Reid." Jason Gideon, your new boss introduced.

You nodded, a tight smile on your face, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement. Almost robotically, you shoved your hand forward, "it's nice to meet you–Doctor" you added quickly to the end.

An awkward expression came over his face as he stared at your hand, "oh, uh, he has a problem with physical contact." Dereck Morgan, your new team member, snorted.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you glanced at Morgan, your eyes swiftly turned back on Dr. Reid with a question lying just beneath the surface. He raised a single eyebrow back–though if it were on purpose you didn't know.

"You know," he said after a moment, after Gideon had walked away, up into his secluded office that you've only been in a few times. "It's actually safer to kiss."

Your eyes widened and Morgan snorted another, louder laugh, clapping his hands in the process. Dr. Reid's face had taken on a bit of mortification.

"I–of course I was just–I mean–I was saying that as–a fact–not that–"

"Just stop while you ahead, pretty boy." Morgan's contented sigh came to rest and he stood up. Dr. Reid still looked rigid, though, and you felt a little bad. Where you were nervous, he seemed just as awkward.

Morgan patted the poor doctor on the back and walked away, toward the staff room, it seemed. You both watched as he walked, a pep in his step, for a lack of better words. When Spencer turned back to you, fear written in his creases of his features, you offered a pleasant smile, "don't worry about it," he seemed to relax at that, which is why you couldn't help adding, "pretty boy."

His head jerked back toward you and you bursted into laughter, already feeling the tension and stress in the back of your head decrease a sizable amount. Thank you, Dr. Reid. You thought as you stared back at him, kind and gentle eyes, once again making him relax. He didn't know why he all of a sudden felt easier, but he did, and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to question something.

Music pulled you from your thoughts, the old jukebox in the back corner of the shop had began playing. An old man was now making his way back to a woman, whom you assumed was his wife. They looked cute, happy, and whole.

Your heart swelled, would you be able to have that kind of love one day? Would someone be able to talk about you as fondly as old men spoke of their first loves? Spencer called your name from across the shop, "you just want the coffee? Nothing else?"

You smiled warmly, though, a bit nervous, "no, no I'm fine." He nodded and typed something into his phone, which you had forced him to upgrade a few years back, you haven't been able to get him to upgrade since, but maybe, just maybe if he received a gift from Santa...

The old couple caught your attention, they were standing, and you watched as they–ever so slowly–took to the emptied space in the middle of the shop. Butterflies shot through your chest, and you felt like you might be sick–it was so cute.

It reminded you of–you turned back to Spencer, your cheeks reddening not just form the frostbite that had accompanied you when you'd first arrived.

That night...

You've been with the team a year, and tonight is the first night you've ever stayed at the office. You were tired and you wanted to go home, but you had to get this paperwork done and you did not want to be working a few feet away from your bed, where the promise of warmth and sleep–deep, deep sleep–awaited.

Thankfully, though, you weren't alone. Both Hotch and Reid had work to do too. Which wasn't odd for Hotch, but Reid, well, he normally went home, like the rest of you. Gideon sure went home right after, which still made you pause, he seemed to love his office so you wondered what his house had that his office didn't.

"You're staying late right?" Reid's voice carried through the empty bullpen as he rounded your desk and sat in Elle's desk chair.

"Yep," you nodded, pushing your hair out of your face. "Hey," you tilted your head toward him, "you wouldn't happen to have a hair tie, would you?" He grimaced and you chuckled, "thought so."

Sighing, you stood and walked the few paces to Elle's desk, leaning over the side of it, rummaging around. Spencer tensed, watching you closely. The single light that still loomed over the room traced the angle of your face. He caught his breath hitch when you pulled back and tilted your head upward, tying your hair back.

You brushed any remaining strands out of your face and tucked them behind your ears. "What?" Your face lit up in happy confusion.

"No–" he cleared his throat, "nothing."

You nodded complacently, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth, "really?" You leaned in, pushing your face as close to his as he would allow. You held onto Elle's chair and desk with your hands to keep yourself balanced.

His eyes averted from yours to the floor multiple times and he cleared his throat again. You were only messing with him, his reactions were always worth it though, Penelope and Dereck had taught their new child well.

Reid contemplated what to do for a moment, he knew you were teasing him, you did this sometimes when you two were alone, it always started the same–where he'd get flustered over something dumb and you'd take the opportunity to make fun of him for it. He knew you were doing it out of endearment, so he normally didn't mind, but–he couldn't get that image of you, your exposed neck in the almost completely dark room, out of his head, so keenly unaware of the dangers that could be lurking.

Reid sighed, latching his right hand onto your right wrist and yanking it back. You stumbled slightly, Reid had never used his strength on you before–you'd always thought it was because...well, he had none (but that's beside the point!). He certainly seemed to have it now, did he grow these overnight? You thought, taken aback, though your attention was pulled to his–avidly aware of the closeness between your bodies.

His eyes traced yours, looking for...you didn't know what, but it was something alright. You swallowed and couldn't help laughing nervously, the grip he had on your wrist was strong but careful, you had no doubt if you tried pulling back, he'd let go immediately.

You didn't, for a while. His touch was a sensation you had never felt before. You'd brushed fingertips multiple times, but this–this felt like the Darcy hand scene in Pride and Prejudice–the place where his skin met your burned all around. Not just physically in your hand, it burned in your chest, in your throat, and your head was probably steaming too.

Were it not for Hotch coming out of his office at the exact moment he did–you shook your head, no, that was a completely unprofessional thought.

"You two are still here?" Hotch asked taking–and almost falling–down the stairs.

You and Reid turned away to contain your giggles, which was only harder once Hotch said, "That was a smart move on both your parts. I'm going home early–" The three of you paused, allowing the silent end of that sentence to simmer. Early for Hotch. "In any case," Hotch cleared his throat, "don't stay too late: long day tomorrow."

"Yep," Reid's voice was clipped, but you said nothing at all, opting for a silent nod instead. Hotch left the bullpen and when you heard the elevator ding, you spun around and headed back to your seat. Spencer stayed at Elle's, which strained your focus, anytime he leaned back or stretched, your eyes would wander over to him.

It irked you for an entire thirty minutes, which is when you had enough and yanked out your headphones. Light music helped you focus–it cleared the other surrounding noise from your ears and kept your thoughts from sidetracking too often. In this case, it should've been perfect, and it was, for a time–until you were just about done with your work and they died.

You huffed a loud sigh, pulling them off your head and throwing them across your desk. Spencer raised a brow and turned to you, he'd been watching you carefully from the corner of his eyes. Every time you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, he'd thought you were glancing at him, but then you'd pulled out your headphones and he was sure he had been daydreaming.

"What's wrong?" He heard himself ask, surprised to feel a tingle throughout his body–was he... excited he had something to talk to you about?

"My headphones–" you motioned toward your useless item now laid strewn on your desk, "just died."

"Oh," was the first thing to pop into his head, and apparently he didn't have enough control over his motor mouth because he said it out loud too. You glared at him slightly before deflating against your chair.

"And I just got to the last wha–hun!" You whined, smacking your hands to your face. Spencer wouldn't admit it at that moment, but your tiny tantrum brought an equally tiny smile to his face; he found you incredibly endearing.

"You know," he spoke up softly, getting you to pull your hands away slightly to watch him, "...you could always play your music on your computer."

Your eyes lit up, "really?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, waving his hand around, "there's no one here."

"You're here." You stated.

He gave you one of his "come on now" looks. A few guys tried giving you that face, thinking it was cute, but it always made you cringe–the fact was, though, it was cute on Spencer, and you fell for it every time.

"Okay, fine, but you better not be mean. My taste in music is superior, anyway." He chuckled, sliding out of Elle's chair, and taking two long strides to your desk.

"Alright, let's hear it then." To his surprise, the notes that rang through your computer's speaker were not ones that he was prepared for. "This is Tchaikovski."

You nodded, "I prefer the André Rieu's version, honestly, but the playlist is on shuffle.

He nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah, I can see that."

"Huh?" You raised a brow, standing and stretching, "what's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, but a cheeky grin attached itself to the corner of his lips, "You just...seem like you would."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the urge to ask more, "Are you done?"

He twisted his body to glance over at the desk that was not his–but was the one closest to you. "Yeah, just finished." Actually, he had finished ten minutes ago, but he didn't want to leave you alone. Well, I can't just leave her, he'd rationalized, it wouldn't be right. So he sat there, shifting his documents until you'd thrown your headphones off.

"Okay, I just have this page left, wait for me?"

He hid his smile by looking down, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Yeah, sure." You were done fifteen minutes later, Spencer caught you stacking your papers and shoving them in your drawer, "all done?"

"Yep," you stood and stretched, pulling your arm over your head. You yawned and turned to him as he approached you again, his steps hidden by the music that was now fading in. Your head turned and a smile tugged at your lips, "It's Rieu."

He focussed his attention on the morodo, listening, "Oh, yeah, it does have the nostalgic familiarity." You raised a brow, but he shook his head.

"Do you ever close your eyes and picture yourself dancing?" You asked, letting your eyes flutter shut as your body swayed a little.

Spencer was about to say no when a thought formed in his head, he didn't like the term "idea" or "plan" because that wasn't what it really was. It was more of an urge and it really did just...pop into his head, "Do you want to dance?"

Your eyes shot open, an enticingly daring expression flooding your face. "You dance?"

He shrugged, but a smile he couldn't control was again tugging at his mouth, "I'm a quick learner."

You nodded, though you thought it, you didn't say you weren't much of a dancer yourself–you didn't count the concerts on your bed or in the middle of your room because you mostly shook your head back and forth, no choreography detectable.

You took charge because although you didn't know much about popular dancing, you knew some ballroom...well, what you'd seen on TV and had tried copying in your living room.

"Put this on the back of my shoulder," you tapped one of his hands, mimicking the action with the arm. The crescendo was building, so you took his free hand in yours and moved back, "one," you said, "two," another step, "three."

A few seconds later it seemed he was now the one teaching you. He even attempted spinning you, which you had not attempted nor planned out before. You almost spun right into a wall, but thankfully, Reid yanked you back to him in time and you fell against his chest instead.

"Maybe," you whispered, out of breath, hearing the song fade out, "we should stick to catching criminals."

"Yeah," he dropped your arms and leaned a hand on the nearby stair railing while you bent to your knees, "maybe we should."

You huffed a laugh, "Oh you look horrid."

He snorted, "Not much more can be said for you."

"Okay, yeah, whatever, help me clean up."

"No," he whined, throwing his head back against his arm, still holding the railing of the stairs, but one warning glance sent him dashing after you.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer's eyebrows scrunched together as he took the seat across from you.

You shook your head, sighing softly, "No," your eyes flickered back to the old couple, then meeting Spencer's once more after a brief moment, "you order?"

"Yep," he nodded, his earlier Rudolph nose now down to a slight tint of pink.

"What do you think the other's are doing right now?" You turned toward the window next to you, desperate to draw this out. Your nerves were all too clear, it felt like you were dying–slowly–with the way your mind was floating through these memories so clearly.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "but to be perfectly honest, I'm not worried about them right now."

You nodded, gulping, how to distract him? How to steer him away from the inevitable conversation, you weren't even sure why he'd wanted to meet you tonight, it was nothing special, yeah, sure, it was Christmas Eve, but the date didn't signify anything for you two.

"Hey," you said, finding yourself coming up with another memory, "do you remember when we had that team dinner, but everyone bailed?"

"Everyone except us," he snorted.

"Yeah, what was that all about?"

His eyebrows scrunched together, "what do you mean?"

It was the first time you'd been out of the office with Spencer alone–that wasn't work-related...kind of. "Well, they never really told us why any of them bailed, don't you remember, aren't you curious?"

Her chuckled, "I mean no? It was what four–five years ago?"

"Yeah, but...

The night was almost as annoying as it was cold, the team had cancelled–everyone had something to do and not one person deemed you worthy enough to know what it was, but you had been looking forward to this dinner for the past month. You were not about to let it slip through your fingers.

You had never been to a fancy restaurant and the reservation was still made, it wasn't as if Rossi would have thought to cancel it and you planned to add everything to his tab anyway. (It wasn't stealing if he had offered to pay before.)

The hostess led you to a large round table with multiple seats you were expecting to be empty–but to your surprise, there was someone there, "Reid?" You called, confusion written across your face.

He turned, his face brighting, "oh, hey, where's everyone else?"

You tilted your head, sitting in the seat beside him, "didn't you get the text?"

"I don't have a phone," he shifted his body to face yours, "well, I do...but Penelope called it an abomination so I just don't use it."

You raised a brow, "what about email?"

He shook his head–you pressed your mouth together and patted him on the back, "It'll be okay."

"What?" His eyebrows shot up.

"I have to go to the bathroom, tell the waiter to bring out the menus, pretty please."

When you returned, you found Reid had followed your instructions and was now leaning over a small rectangular board. "Oh, you're ba–"

He paused, his eyes trailing over your body, "jeez, Reid, take a picture."

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, scooting out of the table a bit so as to follow you with his eyes as you rounded the table and sat back down, "I guess I just didn't notice before–you look beautiful tonight."

"Wow, thanks," you replied with sarcastic sarcasm, laughing when he began sputtering out an explanation.

He stopped and watched you with awe, it was as if he thought you'd never stop laughing like you were, but only if he was quiet enough. You stopped eventually–of course you did, it wasn't as if he really did think you wouldn't.

"What's that look for?" Your laughter ceases and a calm smile comes to rest on your face as you angle your head upward.

"Hmm?" His face scrunched up but he couldn't help smiling at being caught, "I don't know what you're talking about," his voice went high and he turned his head toward the lights above you, his smile ever present.

"Oh," you grinned, smacking his arm right when the waiter came and asked for your orders.

The rest of that night you spent with him, joking, laughing–ignoring the world around you. He walked you out to your car, which is when you found yourself not wanting to get in–to leave–just yet.

Instead of dragging out the conversation, however, you sighed and went silent for a moment–it was late, he must be tired–before thinking too much about it, you grabbed his wrist, and in the quiet, lamplit car park of the fancy restaurant, said, "thank you, Reid, for being you."

He chuckled and shrugged and right then and there–you had a wisp of a precarious thought that left you as soon as it appeared, "I don't know how to be anyone else."

"I know," you sighed, knowing it was probably time to get in your car and head home, but something–some unseen force–was holding you back, "that's what I like about you."

You both paused. You didn't say love. Normal friends would have said love, but you didn't, you said like; normal friends dislike each other, siblings dislike each other–lovers...lovers, don't hate each other, or do they? "Thank you." He tilted his head down to hide the shy smile that overpowered the rest of his facial features.

Okay, maybe you'd been thinking about it too hard–wait since when did you overthink things? And about Reid?

"You know," he murmured," pulling your eyes back onto his, he looked up at you through those long eyelashes Penelope always threatened to steal, head still turned down slightly, "you should call me Spencer."

"Huh?" Your cheeks burned, you could feel them heating up in real-time and you were hoping he didn't take notice of the way you shifted in your stance.

"Well, it's just–I mean I use your first name, and you're only a year younger, so–I mean it's normal for everyone else, but–I don't know–never mind."

He turned, embarrassment taking over, "Spencer." You called, eager to throw him off guard. But when he faced you again you stopped breathing, that would be the only explanation for the lack of oxygen in your body. The only logical explanation, anyway.

"I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah, uh–hu-h," you sputtered like an idiot, watching your coworker disappear between the cars.

"...but what?" He pushed his head toward yours, "You went somewhere just now, where did you go?" You couldn't very well tell him you were sifting through the memory archive of your relationship with him–not when you were trying to steer the conversation away from it–well, for as long as you could.

"I...don't," you shook your head, closed your eyes, and sighed with a smile, "sorry, I'm just a little out of it tonight."

He frowned, "anything you want to talk about?'

You pressed your lips together, "Nope."

He nodded, and slipped off his scarf, setting it on the table. He turned his head from side to side, massaging the tension between the muscles. Your brain shifted and then you weren't seeing Spencer massaging his neck, you were seeing yourself–that first night in his apartment, the very first time you'd slept over.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the events leading up to the mentioned massage.

"Thanks again for letting me crash at your place," you sighed contently.

"No problem," Spencer chirped, opening his door. "How did you lose your keys again?"

"Ugh," you ran a hand over your face, "I don't know, they must have fallen somewhere." You groaned, "I'll have to get the locks changed–jeez–my landlord is gonna have a cow."

His chuckle turned into a sigh, "well, you can stay here as long as you need."

"Oh," you turned, "by chance, do you mind if I borrow a few clothes as well? It'll just be for tonight, I can buy something in the morning."

He pressed his lips together, giving you a small nod, "whatever you need."

"Thanks, Spence," you gushed, yanking him into a tight hug, "ugh, what would I do without my pretty boy?"

"Okay, okay," he pushed you away, "you–do know I'm older, right?"

"By a year," you rolled your eyes.

"Just making sure," he concluded, flipping on the light and heading into the kitchen as you stopped to look around. It was clean and a lot of the furniture looked old, especially the bookshelves, but it was definitely Spencer's. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He called.

"Do you have any frozen fruit?" You asked, stepping in front of one of the shelves and running a hand along a row of spines.

"Frozen fruit?–" he sounded confused at first, and then his sentence completely fell off, so you turned around, he was in the entryway to the kitchen, "see anything you like?"

You faced the shelf once more, "they're all Econ and Mathematics," you said, almost indifferently, "got anything romantic?"

He smiled, "those treasures are hidden in my room."

"Why yes, Spencer, I would gladly take your room for the night, I'm so glad you asked." Your smile widened as you spoke, placing a hand to your heart, "What," a shake of your head, "a," shake, "gentleman."

His mouth hung agape, but it looked as if he was trying to hide a smile, "you're unbelievable."

"Don't hate the player, Spencer," you spun around and headed for the kitchen, "hate the game."

He scoffed, his frown hanging on for dear life so as not to disappear, but it was losing its grip–quickly.

Spencer let you get in the shower first, but when you got in, you had to stand there, contemplating just how exactly you would tease him for having only shampoo and a bar of soap. A. Bar. Of. Soap.

"There's not even conditioner," you threw your head back, groaning.

A knock came from the other side of the closed bathroom door, "you okay in there?"

"Yep," you shouted, "just..." another sigh, "...peachy..."

Ten minutes later you were stepping out, grabbing the towel Spencer had lent you, it was his spare. You should have grabbed the clothing you wanted to wear before, but a hot shower after a day of dead girls–yeah, you needed the shower.

You heard Spencer moving around in the kitchen, making alfredo with cilantro and broccoli–oh you could already taste the pasta on your tongue, its smell wafted toward your nose and your mouth watered. You hurried to his room, deciding to lotion your body after you were dressed.

You pulled on the bra you'd been wearing before and rummaged through Spencer's drawer's for a t-shirt. Of course, he only had two, the rest were socks.

Frowning, you headed for his closet to see if you could find something better, thankfully, you found rows of white collared shirts, and in pulling one over your head, you grinned at the thought of seeing his face crumble, so maybe you were a bit of a sadist when it came to him–it was only all fun, really. If it meant that much to him, you'd just buy him another tomorrow.

You were about to walk out when you realized you were pant-less. You thought about reusing your underwear, but that would just be gross, so, you would have to go commando.

But... you still needed pants. After a while you sat on his bed in silence, frowning at the disappointment of not finding anything comfortable, then–just like a lightbulb, it occurred to you he might have sweats hidden somewhere.

You began pulling open the rest of the drawers when another knock–this time on his door–came. "Are you decent?" His question muffled by the door.

"I'm about to be," you replied, standing with your prize. You shoved your legs into them, the length dragging past your feet, you had to manually knot them with the strings to keep them up, and even then it was still falling. You sighed, pulling the linen shirt over the pants. "Alright," you brushed your hair down, "come in."

His eyes caught the shirt you wore, then they dipped toward the grey sweats; he smiled, tilting his head as he let his eyes track back up toward your face, "new style?"

"Oh shut up," you glared, feeling a similar smile come over you, as you shoulder-checked him out of the room. "Is the pasta done?"

"Almost," he nodded, "hungry?"

"No, I'm perfectly full," you rolled your eyes.

His laugh sent a tingling sensation through your body and your stomach dipped, "I'm gonna get in the shower, okay? Feel free to finish cooking."

"Aye-aye captain," you saluted him, turned, and marched toward the kitchen.

Spencer stood there for a moment, he's known you for about three years now, and yet he still couldn't figure out what this was, what you were–to him... He was considered a genius by normal standards, but around you, he felt his whole world shrink until it was only big enough to hold a young woman, and then he wasn't such a genius.

He often grumbled idioms to himself whenever he found he was losing his shit–which is how he stepped into his shower tonight, uttering idioms under his breath, all while knowing they were pointless.

Rossi had taught Spencer how to cook–not just cook, but cook. He'd only been with the team a year, but he was quickly sliding into a nice rhythm with everyone and you thought he might even be helping Spencer in the way only Gideon used to...maybe.

You loved that zio.

Spencer was right, the pasta was almost done. Which meant you could start grabbing plates, "...left cabinet near the sink..." you mumbled to yourself, trying to remember where Spencer said he kept dishes.

"Hey, all done?" Spencer walked into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt.

Your smile dropped, "you were hiding that weren't you?"

"How could I?" He raised his brows, leaning his back against the counter in front of you. You had just turned off the iron holding the pot boiling the noodles, and now you turned around to mix the sauce, ordering, "poor the water out please."

He moved swiftly, careful to only hold the handles. You watched him from the corner of your eyes, though you couldn't see them with the sweatshirt he was wearing, the ease in which he tilted the large pot told you those muscles you'd noticed during your first overnight at the office with him, were still there, and possibly even growing.

You turned away and cleared your throat when he set the pot back down, "alright grab the plates."

He smiled, and it was almost like you were dancing with the way you spun to let him pass. He laughed and you couldn't help but smile, this was nice–this was fun.

After dinner, Spencer began cleaning the dishes and you began cleaning the table, when you finished before him, you hip-bumped him and said, "I got this, go find a movie we can watch–preferably horror."

He sighed, shaking his head, "yes Hotch."

You your jaw dropped, but he could see your smile through it, "you did not."

He laughed and it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard. It warmed your chest and for a second you felt lightheaded; dizzy.

Upon finishing the dishes, you found Spencer strewn across his couch, head leaning forward as he rubbed the back of his neck. The paused movie on the tv screen was parallel his long couch, waiting for you.

"It hurt?" You took slow steps toward him.

He jerked as if he hadn't known you were there until you'd said something. "Not really," he turned back toward the screen, "ready?"

You don't really know what it was that made you keep on your journey toward him, probably that unseen force from before. "Let me see."

He tensed when the buds of your fingertips prodded up and down his warm neck. Logically it was probably from the coldness, but you hesitated, almost pulling back for fear of making him uncomfortable.

"Sorry–"

"No, I–" he grabbed your wrist, holding it down on his neck, "it's fine...please?" It was so small, so quiet, so overwhelming in that space between you and him, and that question–that word–...it shrunk it even smaller.

"Yeah, okay," you spoke quietly, fearing if it were any louder the moment would turn to ruins.

You pulled away, breathing on your hands so they wouldn't feel so cold, then, you moved in, working the tenses muscles first, just like your dad had taught you. For a second you recalled the child labor he put you through during your childhood, nose scrunching at how he started giving you half a dollar every foot massage after you'd brought it up.

Spencer's groan yanked you to the present instantly, you smiled, "I'm no chiropractor, but I'm not completely clueless."

Spencer's snort earned him a smack on the shoulder, leading to you both laughing. A few passable seconds and you were now at the base of his neck, where his shoulders formed the arch. You were so focused on your work–a vein must've popped out–when Spencer turned his face and suddenly you had that loss of breath sensation again. Your mouth went dry and–unwillingly–your eyes ran over his lips, but when you blinked you forced them up again.

"Thank you," a boom in your chest, and you fell backward, onto your butt, your legs sprawled, but your knees somehow still tucked beneath you, Spencer of course was worried, jumping up immediately, and asking if you were alright.

The thing was, though, you weren't. Not in the mental sense, because your mind had spent years trying to figure out just what all the moments and feelings over the years meant. And yet, you couldn't put it into words until now.

You were absolutely, positively, irrevocably in love with him. Your coworker, possibly your best friend–and–and–how could you not know until now? You've had your fair share of crushes, you've had boyfriends, even, but have you ever been in love? No–this was a first. And–and you just couldn't grapple with what that meant. If it even meant anything at all.

You offered him a kind smile, "Yeah, sorry, I must have just...lost balance."

He looked at you for a moment, nodding, "If you say so, here, let me help you up."

You sighed, realizing you were still on your knees–get up girl, you're not freaking praying–

"Thank you," you murmured.

"You don't have to thank me," he replied cooly.

Your brows furrowed, "what?"

"I said you don't have to thank me," he led you to the couch, "I have free will, I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to, so, you don't have to thank me."

He held your eyes and for only a timid instant, you thought it may have been a confession, but no–there was no way. You nodded, "All right, then–the same goes for me."

After a tic, he nodded, "Right."

You blinked and suddenly you were in the coffee shop again, but Spencer wasn't in front of you. You nearly jumped up shouting his name before you noticed he was walking over to grab your drinks. That was odd, had they called it out? Why hadn't you noticed?

Your eyes tracked his movements when he reached out to grab your cups, his forearms hidden beneath the nerdy plaid sweater, one of many–you knew–were in his closet.

You smiled at your joke, recalling the first Christmas you'd spent with him–well, okay it was with the team and it wasn't on Christmas day, and yeah, it was for Secret Santa, but it was the first time you had pulled his name since joining the BAU and becoming part of their little but many traditions.

He spun around and started walking toward you, and you couldn't help thinking his eyes had that same glint that they did when he'd opened your gift.

You had tried to make it as uncommon and unexpected as possible, but still as about him in some way. His reaction...you felt sickly sweet thinking about it; like you might throw up. And the gift he'd given you–because he'd pulled your name from the bowl for the first time that year as well–you could feel your heart grow ten sizes...

The lights around the bullpen were dimmed so as to appreciate the blue weather outside. There was only one window, but Penelope brought a few candles so as to capture the very essence of the winter spectacle.

When you had retrieved Spencer's name from the bowl a week ago, you'd being thrumming with both excitement and nervousness, you'd gotten Gideon the first year, which scared you to absolute bits, but Hotch helped you...somewhat. Then Elle left and Emily joined the team, and you'd gotten her, last year it had been Penelope. This year, well–you just had to go all out.

You had felt it a few months ago, in his apartment, you'd even admitted it to yourself, but you couldn't tell him, nor could you let anyone else know. This was your secret, yours and yours alone.

You'd spent hours searching stores, but nothing seemed to fit, there were so many people out doing their annual gift shopping and it just all seemed too crowded to brave the storm of people again.

It was last Wednesday when you stumbled across the gem of a store, well, it wasn't much to the normal person, but as they say, 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'–and though he hadn't been there, you knew the shop would have driven him mad with happiness.

Upon entering, multiple little trinkets had caught your eye, but you'd wanted to filter around for a bit, and you did just that until you came across a teddy bear wearing a plaid vest. Now, you didn't know if it had been fate, but the teddy bear was holding a small chess piece, the queen. You recalled Gideon constantly beating Spencer at chess when you first joined the team, and how Spencer had been humbled with each loss.

You now watched with anticipation as Spencer shook the gift in his hand, it was light and cheap, and a little old, but you were sure he'd love it, after all, what was all that ancient woodwork in his apartment? He grinned, clearly just as excited to open the gift as you were. "What is it?" Emily asked, glancing at you.

"Tell him to open it," you motioned toward him with a hand.

"Open it Reid," she turned toward him, the other's murmuring similar comments.

And he did. His eyes widening when they pulled out the small, plaid-vested teddy bear. "Is–is that a stuffed animal?" Morgan questioned, jumping when Penelope smacked him on the arm.

"It's holding a chess piece," Spencer ran his fingers along the tiny queen. His eyes caught yours in a manner that had you planted to the floor, you tried swallowing, but your throat was dry, you felt as if he were trying to communicate with you through his eyes. Like he was saying, "thank you," only that was too small, it was deeper than that and yet as simple as a smile. Your heart thudded and you had to turn away because if he saw you. He'd know.

You had no doubt. Not a single sliver of it–he'd know in an instant, and well, you don't know how he'd react, and you loved how things were now, so you turned away, not from your feelings, but from the damage that might ensue, should he find out. "Mmhmm," you rocked back and forth on your feet.

"Alright, who's next?" Rossi called, "Reid, who'd you get?"

His eyes flashed to yours as he set the small bear down. "Actually," he pulled a finely wrapped square gift, it was the largest of the gifts this year and you hadn't a clue as to what it could be nor who had brought it in.

As he slid the firm gift into your hands, he said, "be gentle, it's fragile."

Now, you were undoubtedly curious. It was skinny but heavy enough, so you set it down and began clawing at the wrapping, gently, just like he had said. When it was unveiled, your words caught in your throat. You looked up to him, holding it in between you two.

His smile grew bashful and he rubbed the back of his neck, "I know you don't, but I have a record player, and you're welcome to come over and use it any time."

Your jaw hung open and it was only when Emily shared a look with the rest of the team that one of them finally said something–it was Rossi–"Are we missing something?"

Your smile hurt with the way it stretched across your face. "Thank you," you set the gift aside stepping forward to hug him, but then remembered the rest of the team around you, so you awkwardly tapped his chest, but he looked like he knew your intent and for that you were grateful.

He had gotten you an André Rieu's Swan Lake record. How could someone be so–so perfectly him? As the gift-giving went on, you leaned over and whispered, "Thank you," again.

He stepped closer toward you, leaning over subtly, "remember what we said?"

The low tone in his voice sent shivers running down your spine. "Right..." you gulped.

"But," he continued, walking around you, pulling your gaze back to the record, in prime condition, you had no idea how he did it because you were pretty sure Rieu's Swan Lake did not exist on records, and yet here it was, in the very palm of your hands.

"But?" You asked, brimming with butterflies.

You swear you felt yourself beginning to tremble with them before he said, "if you ever need a dance partner, I'm always available, and I might be open to a little 'please'."

You smacked him laughing, thinking he was about to say something serious. He covered his chuckles with a hand, placing his other on the desk to hold himself up.

You both paused when you realized the chattering around the room had stopped, and when you looked up, everyone was staring at you, even JJ had her brows raised, Hotch–he looked like a dad catching his daughter with a boy in her room for the first time.

Spencer cleared his throat and asked, "What did everyone bring for the potluck?" His voice, once again, squeaky and high.

You smiled at him, with a few years of practice you had stopped saying thank you to each other, it was in your eyes; it was like saying I love you: pointless if you both knew it already, so why waste breath on something that could be better used for anything else?

"It's hot, so be careful," he handed it to you and your fingertips burned at where you touched his hand.

"So," you said, "what did you want to talk about? Why did it have to be tonight?"

He smiled, and to your surprise, it didn't falter. Although, should you really be surprised? You knew you loved him. You have for years now. You've known he's loved you since he pulled you out of that damned basement, it was so clear, not in the way he had reached for you, not in the way he had yelled, sounding both terrified and relieved for the paramedics to "fucking do their job", not even in the way he cried out your name, face contorted in something so close to agony–no. Not in any of those ways–but in the way his eyes had pleaded with you.

The way they had been the only thing you'd remembered after waking up, the only thing you saw clearly when you'd fainted when the world had gone black for the first time, suddenly disappearing all at once–like you were dying, though you might have quite literally have been.

The light was dim, you didn't know how long you'd been here, or where here even was. It had to have been days–days without light, days without food, you'd barely sustained enough water to keep you from dehydrating.

You tried remembering how you got to this point. You were undercover–God how long ago was that? You wanted to cry but you refused to give in, to let him see you like this. It would turn him on, you remember that–at least. You couldn't–you just couldn't give him what he wanted, and for that, he kept you alive.

It was both a matter of survival and of stubbornness and until you gave it to him, he'd keep you ailing, he'd probably torture you in the days to come. Gosh–you were so incredibly weak, you didn't want to waste energy on trying to recall anything else.

But moments would come to you in bits and pieces. You had offered yourself to go undercover, you were his type–the unsub–you were the youngest on the team, but they trusted you and you trusted them to have your back. Most of all, you trusted Spencer, you knew he wouldn't let anything happen to you, and you knew he was probably looking for you right now, probably not sleeping, maybe even torturing himself for losing you.

How long had you known him? Four years? You had no doubt. None. He was looking for you, doing everything in his power to find you, to locate this son of a bastard who was keeping you prisoner for his sick, twisted needs.

"All you have to do," his voice would croak through the speaker he had set in the top corners of the room. You were pretty sure he had a monitor on you as well but tried to disregard that thought as you squinted through your hazy vision. "Is submit yourself to me."

"And then you'll let me go?" You would sometimes ask when you had enough energy, though it was always sarcastic and accompanied by a dry laugh.

The chains he'd linked you to had enough room for you to move around in your tiny prison cell, but you never did, you were normally too exhausted. He wanted to wear you down, this was his tactic, the one Hotch or someone–you couldn't really remember now–had concluded in the profile.

How long had it been? Time either moved too fast or too slow. "I've already told you I would." But it was a lie and you knew it. It was the game he played: get the unwilling participant to confess their secret, undying love for him, you had been messaging him for a few days under an alias before meeting up. That was supposed to have been it, you'd had him, but he wasn't guilty of anything until he tried something.

You were at a club, Emily was stationed on the floor, Spencer was sitting at the bar, Hotch and Morgan were acting as bodyguards at the entrances and exits, and Rossi had been somewhere on the second floor–that was all that had come back so far, everything else was still a mystery.

Regardless, you knew for a fact the unsub wouldn't let you go, he'd get you to confess and then he'd torture you depending on the way he felt that day, then eventually kill and dump you somewhere.

It was the confession, to him it was like a green light to do whatever he wanted, it was like the consent to kill you was hidden behind what he referred to as "the submission".

You stayed in the makeshift bed most days, only moving to keep bedsores from appearing. Despite the lack of physical torture–if you took out the starving and lack of vitamin D–the mental obstacles you went through just to keep yourself sane were another kind of torment.

It had only been a day later, but it felt like weeks of agonizing solitude before they found you. You were still in the clothes you wore to the club. You recalled the bright light, that was the first giveaway, you thought he might have had enough, but then you heard it, your name, your real name, falling from the lips of the only person who could say it like that.

"Spencer?" Your voice was raw, you'd eaten a slice of bread and an egg the day before, at least, you think it was that, you'd been given a single glass of water, which in your state couldn't drink without throwing up.

Spencer had been going insane–and fast. The team had never seen him so erratic before, not even his addiction had made him so lifeless, he wouldn't sleep, he was working nonstop and it got to a point where Morgan had to slip a sleeping pill into a cup of his coffee.

They hated forcing it on him, but it came from a place of love–they would never tell him and if he started showing signs again, they'd take responsibility and work with him, help him–but the kid needed rest, and he wasn't going to get it willingly.

When Garcia finally–finally–obtained an address, they wasted no time. Spencer–not giving a damn about a warrant–shouldered the door down, surprising Morgan and even Hotch, he needed to find you, he needed to. You weren't dead, he could feel it in his heart, you couldn't be. They hadn't found a body–and as long as they hadn't found a body you were safe. You had to be–you just–had to be.

Tears sprang in his eyes and fell down his cheek when he saw you. It'd been a week, they'd never–never–spent this long on a case before, you were a wreck, a pile of almost nothing. His heart broke at seeing you in such a way. He called your name, hoping you were still there, hoping you hadn't given in, that you hadn't gone through all the things he'd seen the other victims–God he couldn't even think of you in that way–you were so much more. So much more.

He'd been trying to fight the feelings, it wasn't appropriate and some part of him was sure you didn't even feel the same, but now–at a time like this–he didn't give a damn about what anybody else thought. Not of you or his feelings, if you hated him afterward then he could live with that. What he couldn't live with was seeing you fucking dead.

"Spencer?" You called and his expression broke free of the mask he'd been wearing up until now. He didn't want the other's to worry so he avoided crying in front of them, whenever he had that urge, he'd hide in the bathroom. But now–now?

He was ugly crying, a beak down if you will. His face came into your vision and his eyes, his bright, sad, glossy, warm brown eyes. It was like a hug, and then he was actually hugging you, your face buried in his chest, you could hear other voices but they were all drowned out by the silence that came over you and you could see nothing but Spencer's eyes. The way they looked as if you built the sky and added the stars just for him.

When you'd disappeared from the bar–he had been right next to you–right bloody next to you, and when he blinked you were just–gone.

You might forgive him, but he knew he would never forgive himself. You had given him everything, and he didn't know it until this very moment that he didn't care about being professional as much as he loved you, and he knew you knew, he didn't say it, but in the silence shared between you too you knew, and you didn't say thank you when he found you, because you knew he could see that in your eyes too.

It was unspoken, but in the silence–it was enough.

"Let's...walk," he stood suddenly.

"Wait, what?" Your eyebrows dipped in confusion, but you scrambled to follow him nonetheless. "Spencer, it's snowing!" You shivered right as you stepped outside.

"I know," he replied, walking down the sidewalk, stores were closed at this time of night, and the coffee shop was no doubt about to close as well, it was almost midnight, you were actually surprised they were still open, today of all days, but perhaps it was good for business.

"Then–why?"

He stopped and began heading toward the park around the corner. It didn't have a big playground, but it had a large field that normally filled with snow around this time of year. The kids were more drawn to it, naturally, though no kids were in sight upon reaching the destination he seemed to have planned.

You sat on the stairs of the small structure, snow blowing around you in the dark atmosphere, only alight by the stars and the park lamps.

The parking-lot had been desolate, not a single car in sight and you almost regretted not driving as you would now have to walk all the way back to the coffee shop, but Spencer, well, he could make anything worth the struggle.

"You know," he spun closing his eyes, coffee cup in hand as the mini blizzard coated him and his attire. He'd grabbed the scarf from his scarf from the table and wrapped it around his arm, now it was loose, the wind pulling at it slightly, "we should make a snowman."

"Now?" You questioned with a lift of your brow. "I mean, it's kind of late."

"So?" He set his cup down, raising a brow at you, "scared?"

You sighed, succumbing to his stupid challenge, "Fine, I give."

"You always do," he grinned, and something about that grin made you want to forgo everything and just kiss him, but you were the one to drag this out, so perhaps you should play along.

You'd been beating around the bush all night, the both of you; it was as if you were so comfortable with each other, so easy with your current relationship, that it was uncomfortable talking about a change.

So, you built the damn snowman. Spencer wrapped his scarf around it afterward, admiring his handy work, though it looked more like a bear with its oval mouth and no carrot nose. You rolled your eyes and snapped a photo of the snowman. "He looks just like his dad," you muttered.

A strange look came over Spencer's face just then, and you knew–you just knew: he was in love–but haven't you always known? He didn't say it because he didn't have to, it was all in his eyes. With the wind swirling around you–you heard your feet crunch in the snow as you stepped forward–and with the moon being your soul witness, you kissed him.

...

Or he kissed you, it was all a blur really: you kissed each other, adoring eyes meeting over and over again like a silent declaration, thank you and I love you.

All this time scared by a change, your fingertips had always burned with the knowing outcome.

a/n: any way to say ahhhhhhhh differently? i don't know, but thank you for reading, and be sure to check out the community radio (i'm actually so proud of it)

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #katcember #written by katherine #fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #fingertips

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littleslaywrites · 18 days ago

Text

santa baby | emily prentiss x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: emily loves spoiling you, especially during christmas

word count: 1.1k

cw: smut, afab reader, oral, fingering, nipple/breast play, edging, strap-on, dumbification, pillow princess reader

Wrapping paper surrounded you as you sat under the tree. Emily was next to you, hand on your thigh. You’d been unwrapping her gifts for at least an hour. She always spoiled you, coming back from cases with trinkets and souvenirs. She’d gone overboard for the holiday, gifts piling up all month. You got everything you wanted and more, unsure of where everything would fit in your shared apartment.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you say as she runs her fingers along your thigh. You kiss her, gently at first, but it quickly becomes wanting.

“I might have an idea,” she says, a cheeky smile creeping up on her face. She goes back to kissing you, grabbing the back of your neck. You feel her eyelashes brushing against yours.

She wraps her arms around you and pulls both of you down, the wrapping paper crunching underneath you. You giggle into her mouth, and she nips at your bottom lip as her hands move under your top.

Both of you are still in your pajamas, choosing not to get dressed to open gifts. You make work of the buttons on her flannel top, peeling it away as she slides your sweatpants off.

Once you’ve underdressed each other, Emily maneuvers herself to sit in between your thighs. She’s groping at your tits, thumbs brushing against your nipples. Your back is arching, pleasure causing you to rock your hips against nothing.

She moves backwards, laying on her stomach and pushing your knees back to bend your legs. She places a chaste kiss on your pussy, her nose brushing against your clit.

You cry out, thighs squeezing against the sides of her face. She grabs your thighs, opening your legs back up, tongue prodding at your hole. Her lips close around your clit, sucking at it, before moving back down. Your breath is caught in your throat as she begins to lap at your wetness, tongue curling every time it moves past your entrance.

Emily is basically making out with your pussy at this point, both of you having abandoned restraint. Her name flies past your lips like a breathless mantra. Her hands are still holding your thighs open, squeezing. Suddenly, sensing your release nearing, she pulls back to her knees.

She moves up to your chest, slowly dragging her tongue over your nipple. Her fingers find your clit, lightly circling it. The combination of her tongue on your tit and her fingers on your pussy are enough to keep you on the edge, but not enough to send you over. Her touches are too soft and sparse, intentionally keeping you on the brink of an orgasm.

You’re writhing underneath her when she slips a single finger inside you. The slight touch has you moaning so loud it’s nearly pornographic. It’d be shameful if you weren’t made stupid by Emily’s teasing. She curls the finger before pulling back completely. “Emily,” you whimper out, protesting against her sudden lack of touch.

Leaning forward to whisper in your ear, she says, “I’ve got one more gift, baby.” You’re still breathless, legs rubbing together to chase the feeling of your ruined orgasm.

She leaves you laying on your back as she pulls a bag from behind the tree. Emily pulls out a harness, and your legs mindlessly spread in anticipation. “I think my girl wants to get fucked,” she says, moving back down to her knees.

Her hands move back to your thighs, sliding them back up. Red handprints linger, and you’re still weak in the knees from her earlier ministrations. Emily slides a pillow under your hips, moving to rub the dildo against your clit.

You can hardly lay still at this point, Emily running the toy along your slit to gather your wetness. Whines come out of your parted mouth whenever you can catch your breath. You’re mesmerized by the way the roll of her hips makes her tits bounce.

“Please, Emily,” you cry, tired of her teasing.

“Please, what?” she says.

Tears are pooling in your eyes now, nearly too worked up to speak. “Inside,” you muster, bringing a smile to her face.

Apparently, that’s good enough for her, as she begins to slide into you. She pauses about halfway in, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. She slides in and out, then pushes fully into you, her brown eyes watching your pussy swallow the pink dildo.

“Taking me so well,” she says, mesmerized by the way the dildo disappears as she thrusts. Your back arches, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Does that feel good, baby?” she asks, knowing fully well that you couldn’t form words if your life depended on it.

You moan in response, the closest thing to speech you can find. “Are you already fucked dumb?” she teases, speeding her hips up more.

Her hands move to the backside of your thighs, pushing them up until your knees are nearly framing your face. The deeper angle has your pussy clenching.

Emily can’t take her eyes off of the way your walls pull the dildo in. At that point, she decides it’s about time that she stops teasing you. It may have something to do with the ripple of your tits as she drives into you.

“It’s okay,” she says, sliding a hand away from your thigh to grab your waist. She leans in to whisper in your ear, reaching a deeper spot inside of you. “You can come,” she says, nipping at your earlobe.

The permission and angle are all you need. You sob out her name, body going limp as you orgasm. Your walls flutter and your vision goes black, mind filled with nothing but pleasure. You feel her slide out of you, feeling like you’re on some other planet.

When you come back to reality, Emily is on her back next to you. Her hand is in yours, ready to bring you back to earth.

You turn your head to face her, seeing the slight smile she has on her lips. She leans in to steal a kiss, the taste of you lingering on her lips.

“You’re such a tease,” you sigh out, voice as shaky as your legs. She just chuckles in response.

“It’s a good thing I like spoiling you,” she says, reminding you that she’s done all the work so far.

You hum in response, trying but failing to sit up. “Don’t worry about it,” she says as she lays you back down, “I like seeing you ruined.”

Sliding in close, you cuddle up to her side. Kissing her forehead, you tell her you’ll make it up to her later. She just pulls you into her, letting your head fall to her chest.

#emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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tinydefector · 8 days ago

Text

Interface Rust Disease

I wanna thank @penny-anna for letting me use this idea, I didn't use it for all the characters and some are shorter than others but I had alot of fun working on this and might do some others if people want other characters.

On another note, I live!!, got sick been working horses and had Christmas, got a new year's party I'm heading to tomorrow so wanted to finally get this finished as it's been sitting in my drafts for a while now.

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Word count: 5k

Warnings: mention of sex/interfacing, medical check ups, robot STDs

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Shouting can be heard off in the distance, the few bots that were in the west wing gave each other side eyes and looked to Ratchet in concern. "Motherfucker!" A human voice yells. "Which one of you fuckers have been tampering with my car!, there's rust on it and I know for a fact that it's one of you!" They point at the mechs, not enjoying whatever prank they were playing on them.

Ratchet startles at the sudden shouting, nearly dropping the tool in his servo. He whirls around with a scowl as he hears the angry human accusing his comrades. "Now you listen here!" Ratchet growls, stomping towards the shouting human while waving a wrench menacingly. "I won't tolerate that kind of language or baseless accusations in my medbay! If you have a problem, you can bring it to me in a civil manner and we'll get to the bottom of it. But bursting in here, hurling insults, will get you nowhere!"

The old medic glares down at the human, grip tightening on his wrench. "So I suggest you calm yourself and explain what exactly is going on with your vehicle, without all the colorful language if you please."

They let out a collection of angry noises, but all the other mechs are dead silent and still as they watch Ratchet and the human in their standoff. First Aid watching the showdown in slight excitement. "My car has some sort of alien rust in the undercarriage and it's spreading rapidly! There was nothing there two days ago!" They spit out as they cross their arms.

Ratchet frowns, lowering his wrench as he listens to the human's explanation. Rust spreading rapidly on an Earth vehicle was definitely odd and concerning. He nods, "Alright, let's take a look at this rust and see what we're dealing with." Ratchet gestures for the human to show him the affected car. As they walk, he glances around suspiciously. This had the makings of some kind of prank pulled by one of the more immature mechs in the base. But he wouldn't make any accusations until he saw the damage himself.

"What kind of car is it?" Ratchet asks conversationally as they walk. He was still grumbling inwardly about his clinic being disturbed, but he pushed that aside to focus on the task at hand. Strange rust required his full attention. They state the make and model, its mileage. Until they reach the area where the rest of the humans who frequent the base had their vehicles parked. "Right there, any idea what's caused the rust or what shit head decided to tamper with my car? " they call out while pointing to their car.

Nothing on the outside gave any signs of rust but Ratchet knew better than that, and he was now having suspicion on what it might be. But why was it on their vehicle? The human lifts the hood of the car showing the advancing rust. Ratchet's optics widen as he gets a closer look at the vehicle and recognizes the telltale signs of IRD.

He shakes his helm, rubbing his temples where he can feel a processor ache coming on. "Primus give me strength," he mutters under his breath. Turning back to the human, Ratchet's tone drops into the stern doctor voice. "This appears to be a case of IRD - Interfacing Rust Disease. A...cybertronian STD, in layman's terms."

Inside, Ratchet cringes. This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have with one of the humans. But the rust had to be stopped before it spread further. "I found rust on my car, I thought the twins thought it might have been a good idea to prank me with something." They begin rambling before they stop, processing what he had said. "Wait, wait your telling me a Cybertronian fucked my car!" They nearly yell, catching the attention of men and mechs around the Ark.

Ratchet holds up his servos in a calming gesture as the human begins to yell again. "Easy now, no need to make a scene," he says evenly. "It appears one of the, ahem, friskier mechs around here took a liking to your vehicle's make and model. It's not unheard of." Ratchet shakes his helm and sighs. "I know you're angry, and you have every right to be. But right now, we need to contain this outbreak. IRD can spread quickly if left unchecked. I need to do a full scan on your vehicle and start tracking down the original carrier."

He gives the human a sympathetic look. "I promise I'll buff out any lasting damage once the rust is treated. And I'll be having strong words with whichever mech defiled your car.For now, let's get your vehicle into quarantine. The sooner I can analyze the strain, the sooner we can get it treated” They huff and grumble before sighing. "OK just please fix it, I'll see if Red alert has any info, I know he likes having hidden cameras around the place, but what happens if it didn't happen in the base?" They finally ask.

"I know it's not ideal, but it's the quickest way to track down the source. Once I analyze it, I have my suspects narrowed down considerably. Just try not to think too hard about the methods, yes?" He gives the human an apologetic shrug. "I've been a medic for a long time, not much phases me anymore. Rest assured I will handle this professionally. Now, let's get your vehicle into isolation before this rust spreads further."

__________

Optimus Prime

Ratchet looks over the list of Autobots scheduled for their medical checkups with a weary sigh: It was going to be a long day examining everyone for signs of the IRD outbreak. But it had to be done swiftly to contain it. Ratchet grabs his tools and sterilizes the med bay berths before coming his first patient. "Optimus Prime, please report to the medbay for your routine examination."

This was going to be uncomfortable, but Ratchet was a professional. He would handle the examinations with his usual detached bedside manner. Still, he cringes inwardly at the thought of inspecting his commanding officer and friend for interfacing rust. This IRD outbreak was turning out to be quite the embarrassing hassle.

Optimus Prime makes his way to the medbay, a slight sense of unease stirring within him. He has the utmost trust in Ratchet's expertise, but he still didn't enjoy trips to the medical clinic; the medic's solemn tone does not escape his notice. As he steps Into the medbay he meets Ratchet's gaze. "Ratchet, what seems to be the issue?" Optimus inquires, his deep voice rumbling with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He knows the medic would not summon him without good reason, and he braces himself for whatever news or examination Ratchet has in store.

"Optimus, thank you for coming promptly. Please, have a seat on the berth." He gestures to the examination table. Optimus complies, seating himself on the berth and looking at Ratchet expectantly. The medic takes a moment to steady himself before meeting his leader's gaze.

"I'm afraid we have a sensitive situation. There has been an outbreak of IRD . I need to examine everyone on base thoroughly so we can identify and contain the source." Ratchet watches Optimus closely for his reaction, knowing this would likely be as uncomfortable for the Prime as it was for him. But it had to be done.

"I know this is far from an ideal, old friend. But I promise to handle this professionally and with the utmost discretion. We need to stop this outbreak from spreading further, I apologize for the invasive nature of this. But I'm sure you understand the necessity, for the health and safety of all in the Ark."

Optimus listens to Ratchet's explanation, his expression shifting from concern to a tinge of embarrassment. The mention of an "Interfacing Rust Disease" immediately puts him on edge, knowing the intimate nature of the condition. He clears his vocalizer before responding, his deep baritone vocals betraying a rare hint of discomfort. "I see. This is indeed a delicate matter." Optimus pauses. As much as he wishes to avoid such an intrusive examination, he recognizes the imperative need to contain this outbreak.

With a solemn nod, he meets Ratchet's gaze, his optics conveying his trust in the medic's abilities. "You have my full cooperation, old friend. I understand the necessity of this procedure, and I will submit to your examination without reservation."

Optimus shifts slightly on the berth, steeling himself. The medic collects his scanners and tools, then turns back to Optimus. "I'll start with a full frame scan, then move on to a more thorough examination of your interface array and surrounding mechanisms." Ratchet starts slowly waving the scanner over Optimus from head to toe, watching the readings closely. So far just the expected baseline readings, but the detailed inspection had yet to begin.

"Try to stay relaxed, this next part will require closer contact but I'll maintain your modesty as much as possible." Ratchet keeps his tone clinical. With great care and precision, he manipulates Optimus' interface paneling, checking around seams and crevices for any early signs of corrosion or rust deposits. The examination is intimate but the medic remains focused on monitoring for any anomalies.

After long kliks of awkward but necessary handling, Ratchet steps back with a relieved vent of air. "All clear, the scans and physical examination show no signs of infection. Thank you, I know it wasn't pleasant." Optimus gives a slight nod before leaving in a hurry, most likely to go hide away in his office and try to bury himself in work.

_________

Ironhide

his next patient one that Ratchet wasn't looking forward to, Ironhide.

Steeling himself, Ratchet comms the gruff old warrior. "Ironhide, please report to the medbay for your routine examination."

It isn't long until heavy pedesteps signal the Weapons Specialist's reluctant arrival. "This better be quick, Doc, I've got a shooting range session with the Youngsters." Ironhide rumbles impatiently.

"Have a seat on the berth and we'll get started." Ratchet gestures brusquely, in no mood to argue. Ironhide huffs but compiles, seating himself on the exam table with a glower. "Alright, let's get this over with."

“There has been an outbreak of IRD . I need to examine you thoroughly so we can mark you off the list of potential carriers” Ratchet starts while moving about. Ironhide immediately bristles. "Rust in my interface array? No chance!" He slides off the berth, waving a dismissing hand. "I'm clean as a whistle, Doc, don't need any exam."

Ratchet rubs his temples. This was going to be even more difficult than he thought. "Now hold on, Ironhide. I know this is uncomfortable, but we have legitimate evidence of an IRD outbreak on base. Just this morning, we found rust deposits on a human's vehicle consistent with trans-species transmission."

Ironhide's optics widen slightly but he remains skeptical. Ratchet continues firmly. "Which means one of our mechs is infected and interfacing indiscriminately. We need to identify and contain the carrier immediately before this spreads further."

"I explained the sensitivity of the situation to Optimus and he complied with an examination without hesitation, for the good of the team. I ask that you do the same." Ironhide shifts on his pedes, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the mention of Optimus' exam. He grunts reluctantly. "Fine, Doc. If it's that serious, I'll do it. But this better not leave the medbay, you understand?"

Ratchet nods. "You have my word. Now please, have a seat so we can get started." After a moment's hesitation, Ironhide sits back down on the berth with a grumble. Ratchet thanks him and begins prepping his scanners, hoping the worst of the arguing is over. Ironhide was prickly but ultimately reasonable, once the gravity of the situation got through his thick helm.

Ratchet's spark sinks as the test results come back positive for IRD. Ironhide...is the carrier? He meets the gruff mech's optics with a grave expression.

" Ironhide. You are infected with an active IRD strain." Ironhide looks stunned, then reddens in embarrassment and anger. "That's impossible! I haven't-" He cuts himself off, glancing away shiftily.

Ratchet's optics narrow. "Ironhide, this is serious. IRD could devastate our already small numbers if left unchecked. I need you to be honest with me, how long have you had a Rust deposit?."

Ironhide won't meet his gaze, shuffling on the berth. Finally he mumbles "...about 4 human weeks now..." Ratchet vents harshly, displeased but unsurprised at the admission. "Alright. Well now we know the source. I'm putting you in quarantine until we flush your systems and you're no longer contagious."

Ironhide starts to protest but Ratchet cuts him off with a sharp wave of his wrench. "No arguments! This ends now before someone gets infected! Honestly Ironhide, I'm glad it wasn't one of our own you infected but use your processor Mech!"

Ratchet vents tiredly, glad to have identified the carrier but dismayed it was someone as respected as Ironhide. This would be an awkward truth to contain...

"So...lonely and bored, hm? No one around to 'interface' with you properly?" Ratchet asks with a raised optical ridge. Ironhide scowls, embarrassment rolling off him in waves. "Ah lay off Doc, you know how it gets."

Ratchet chuckles. "I certainly do. Still, you couldn't find a nice mech to 'transfluid transfer' with instead of that poor human's car?, i guess at least you haven't transferred it to an9ther mech which is a relief, "

Ironhide looks even more flustered, if possible. "It...seemed like a good idea at the time," he mumbles lamely. Ratchet just shakes his helm. "You have no idea how angry they were to find 'rust deposits' all over the undercarriage." Ironhide covers his faceplates with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Doc. I fragged up.”

"At least my interface drive still works properly for my age, unlike some rusted old medics I know..." Ironhide grumbles under his breath. Ratchet snorts, unmiffed. "Oh please, my spike is plenty calibrated, I just prefer not to wear it out like some mechs."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Ironhide retorts with a smirk.

"Better than what you tell yourself every lonely night in the berth, i have a conjunx" Ratchet fires back smoothly.

Ironhide barks out a laugh at that. "Alright alright, enough banter at my expense. Just fix me up."

________________________

Ratchet vents slowly, steadying himself for the next examination. "Jazz, please report to the medbay." After a few kliks, the saboteur strolls in as if he had been waiting near by, visor bright and a casual grin on his faceplates. "Wassup, Doc bot? Ya called for me?"

"Have a seat, Jazz." Ratchet gestures to the berth, then launches right into explaining about the IRD situation, knowing Jazz would not take gentle persuasion. Jazz's visor flashes in surprise. "Woah, rusty spikes? Ain't heard of that in vorns..." He trails off, then shrugs and hops up on the berth without further prompting. "Go ahead and scan away, Ratch. Gotta do what ya gotta do."

Ratchet nods, mildly surprised but grateful for Jazz's easy cooperation. He proceeds with the examination, starting with a full frame scan. Jazz stays still and quiet, visor following Ratchet's movements curiously but no wisecracks or questions. The scan is clear, so Ratchet moves on to the intimate inspection. Jazz doesn't even flinch as his paneling is manipulated, seemingly unaffected by the awkwardness of the situation.

In short order, Jazz is also cleared and hops off the table. "All good, Doc bot?" At Ratchet's confirmation, Jazz nods and shoots him a finger gun gesture. "Glad to help out. See ya around!" And he departs as smoothly as he arrived.

Ratchet shakes his head wryly. Leave it to Jazz to take even the most uncomfortable exam in stride. He logs the results, then wearily calls the next bot on his list...

As Jazz turns to leave after his examination, Ratchet calls out to him.

"Jazz, hold on a moment. I have something else I wanted to ask you, regarding...personal matters." Jazz pauses and looks back over his shoulder, visor glinting curiously. "Oh yeah, Doc? What's on your processor?" Ratchet shifts a bit, unsure how to broach the subject delicately. Finally he decides the direct approach is best.

"It's about you and Prowl. I know you two are...close." Ratchet raises an optic ridge meaningfully. "I want to be sure you are taking proper precautions, especially with this IRD outbreak happening." Jazz's visor brightens in understanding and he chuckles. "Me and Prowler? We're careful, Doc, don't you worry. Been together a long time now, we know how to mesh safely."

His voice takes on a more serious tone as he adds "But I appreciate you lookin' out for us. Wouldn't want my mech getting scrambled spike, you feel me?" Ratchet nods, satisfied with Jazz's answer. "I had to be sure. This outbreak could spread rapidly if we don't contain it. But I trust you two have things in hand."

Jazz gives him a casual salute. "You got it, Ratch. We'll be extra careful for now. Thanks for the check-in." With a parting wave, Jazz saunters out of the medbay. Ratchet watches him go, glad to have confirmation the two officers are being responsible. Now, time to call in the next bot.

______________

If Jazz has IRD

Ratchet's optics widen in dismay as Jazz's test results come back positive for IRD. The easygoing saboteur was the last bot he'd expect to be a carrier, but the evidence doesn't lie. "Jazz, I need you to return to the medbay immediately. Your test came back positive."

Jazz almost bolts into the medical bay, visor flashing in worry "Positive? But how, i'm positive i aven't got any rust build up or nothin!" Ratchet frowns. "Be that as it may, you are infected and contagious. We need to start you on aggressive anti-rust treatments right away."

"Try to remember any recent interfacing partners, no matter how casual. Tracking the source is key to stopping this." Ratchet says gravely as he starts spraying Jazz down. Jazz looks thoughtful as Ratchet questions him about recent partners. "Honestly doc, it's just been me and Prowler for vorns now. We're exclusive as they come."

Ratchet frowns. "But the rust had to come from somewhere. Are you sure you haven't interacted with anyone else, even casually?" Jazz shakes his helm. "Nah mech, I got all I need with my Prowler. I ain't cheated on him or fooled around."

Ratchet vents heavily. "Then I don't understand how you contracted this, unless..." His optics widened in realization. Jazz looks at him curiously. "Unless what, doc bot?"

"That human's vehicle...did you and Prowl get intimate anywhere near it?" Ratchet asks pointedly it wasn't uncommon to pick up a rust stain from a random object, even more common on earth had the car had rust beforehand and now it had progressed to IRD due to Jazz catching it.

Jazz's visor brightens as his mouth hangs open remembering. "Ohhh scrap!" Ratchet sighs, pinching his nasal ridge. "You two need to be more careful where you interface!"

_____________________________

Prowl

A short while later, Prowl enters the medbay, doorwings held high and posture straight as always. "You wished to see me, Ratchet?" Ratchet gestures to the exam berth. "Have a seat, Prowl. I'm sure Jazz informed you of the situation."

Prowl's doorwings twitch slightly as he perches on the edge of the berth. "Yes, he briefed me on the details. An uncomfortable circumstance, but a necessary precaution."

Ratchet nods, relieved Prowl is being reasonable so far. "I appreciate your understanding. I'll be as quick and professional as possible."

Prowl simply inclines his head in acceptance. "Do what needs to be done, Ratchet."

When the test comes back positive it has Ratchet rather stunned as he looks at Prowl. Thinking it had to be a glitch in his system. Was Prowl the culprit? Or had Jazz had it and given it to him. Had one of them interfaced with the car that was currently riddled with IRD.

Nonetheless, the results don't lie. Ratchet leans heavily on the console, processor racing over how to handle this sensitive situation. Rubbing his temples, Ratchet looks over to the SIC. "Prowl, your test came back positive. You have interfacing rust disease."

Prowl's optics flare in shock before he regains control of his expression. "That...cannot be. There must be some mistake." Ratchet shakes his helm before walking over with the results "I ran it twice. You are infected." He fixes Prowl with a stern look. "I need you to tell me exactly how this might have happened."

Prowl is silent for a long moment, gaze darting away in what Ratchet swears is guilt before he finally speaks. "There was...an incident off-base. With a civilian vehicle. I believed it to be unoccupied at the time. I wasn't aware it was one of the humans on base until cycles Ago"

Ratchet vents harshly. So his suspicions were correct. This is a serious breach of conduct from the normally uptight SIC. "Alright Prowl, listen closely. I will keep this discreet and between us, no one else is to know of this. Here's what we are going to do..." Ratchet outlines the treatment plan, quarantine procedures, and future disciplinary action for Prowl's conduct. It's an incredibly awkward conversation, but a necessary one to contain the spread of this outbreak.

___________________________

The twins Sunstreaker & Sideswipe

Ratchet vents heavily as he checks his list and sees the next two names: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The dreaded "terror twins", as the other Autobots called them. This was one exam Ratchet was not looking forward to in the slightest. Still, it had to be done. Best to get them both in and out as quickly as possible.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, report to the medbay immediately." Ratchet commend.

Eventually the twins stroll in, Sunstreaker looking irritated and Sideswipe with a cheeky grin. "What's up Doc Bot? You rang?"

Ratchet crosses his arms. "Have a seat, both of you." He states before they comply, Sunstreaker growling and hissing at Sideswipe to stop bouncing around. Ratchet launches into explaining about the IRD outbreak, and is met with predictable outrage.

"No way am I letting you poke around down there!" Sunstreaker shouts, while Sideswipe just cackles. Ratchet rubs his temples as a processor ache builds. It takes nearly a full lecture and argument before he finally convinces them to submit to the exam.

"One more thing. The contamination we detected was on a human's vehicle. I need to know if either of you have been...interfacing...with any of the indigenous population's machinery."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe freeze, optics wide. Then they immediately round on each other. "It was you, wasn't it!? Couldn't keep it in your spike plating around the fleshies!" Sunstreaker shouts accusingly at Sideswipe. He knew Sideswipe got along well with the humans even on occasions flirting with them.

"What!? I don't go near those cars!" Sideswipe retorts. "You're the one with all those weird kinks, I bet you fragged one of their cars!" He argues back pointing a digit at the golden yellow mech. The two descend into bickering and shoving as Ratchet looks on incredulously. Finally he steps between them with a roar.

"Enough! It doesn't matter which one of you glitches did it, the fact is it happened! If I find out you two have been violating the humans' vehicles again, I'll weld your spikes to your afts!"

Ratchet vents harshly, anger simmering through his lines. He makes a mental note to examine the security footage, determine which twin was the likely culprit, and recommend punishment to Prowl.

As he runs the test the two mechs bicker and make fun of each other. Pointing out paint marks and such as Ratchet takes samples and runs scans. "Hold still, you glitch!" Ratchet snaps as Sideswipe squirms away while he's trying to take a sample.

"Not my fault, Sunny's ugly face is putting me off!" Sideswipe cackles.

"You wanna see ugly? Look in the mirror, afthead!" Sunstreaker shoots back.

"What's this paint transfer on your thigh plating, Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker sneers. "Been grinding on the native's vehicles?"

"It's from that silver firebird we raced last week, spikesucker!" Sideswipe retorts. "At least I can get some action, unlike you!" Ratchet finally loses his patience. "Enough! One more word out of either of you and I'll dismantle your vocalizers! Now sit still and shut up so I can finish this!"

The twins fall sullenly silent under Ratchet's withering glare. Ratchet vents harshly and continues the invasive examination. Finally the console beeps with the analysis complete. Ratchet checks the results and vents harshly, spinning to face the twins with a thunderous look. "One of you glitches IS infected! These sample results just came back positive for IRD!"

________________________

Sideswipe with IRD

The twins go still, optics widening in shock. Sideswipe immediately points at Sunstreaker. "I knew it! It's gotta be him!" "What!? Don't try to pin this on me, I'm clean!" Sunstreaker shoves Sideswipe Hard.

Ratchet steps between them again. " We'll have to run targeted scans on your interface arrays to isolate whichever one of you is the carrier." Both twins squirm at that but grudgingly comply with the invasive scans. After tense kliks, the results finalize - and it's Sideswipe that tests positive.

Sunstreaker crows in triumph while Sideswipe whines "No way, that's impossible!"

Ratchet crosses his arms sternly. "The scans don't lie. Sideswipe, you have some explaining to do. And we need to start containment and treatment immediately before you spread this any further."

Sunstreaker hovers nearby, arms crossed and expression stony. He refused to leave his twin's side despite not being infected himself. Finally Sideswipe breaks the silence in a small voice. "Am I gonna be okay, Doc? This isn't gonna like, permanently damage me right?"

Ratchet vents softly. "You'll be fine, Sideswipe. The contamination is surface-level on your equipment. I can flush your lines and replace the infected components, the rust hasn't set in to seriously"

Sideswipe relaxes slightly. "Oh good. Cause I can't be my irresistible self if my spike doesn't work right, you know?" He laughs weakly. Sunstreaker just huffs. "This is what you get for not being more careful where you stick that thing." "Yeah yeah, lecture me later." Sideswipe waves a hand dismissively. "So how long am I gonna be quarantined, Ratch?"

"At least 2 orns." Ratchet replies. "To allow sufficient time for the decontamination and replacement procedures, and ensure you are no longer infectious." Sideswipe groans dramatically but doesn't argue further. Ratchet finishes sealing off the area then starts preparing for the intensive but necessary treatments. He shoots Sideswipe a wry look. "Let this be a lesson to you in safe interfacing from now on."

As Ratchet starts Sideswipe's treatment, he gives the frontliner a stern look. "What in Primus' name possessed you to interface with one of the humans' vehicles anyway? You know that's strictly prohibited."

Sideswipe squirms. "I dunno, I was overcharged one night after a party and that sleek little sports car was just sitting there, seemed like a good idea at the time." Sunstreaker smacks his brother up the back of the helm. "You idiot! I can't believe you were so stupid." He glares accusingly at Sideswipe. "This better not get us thrown in the brig, I am NOT sacrificing my time or getting benched for your depraved actions."

"Ow! Okay okay, I'm sorry!" Sideswipe rubs his helm sullenly. "It was a dumb thing to do. But come on, you can't say you've never been tempted to fool around with any of their hot rides." He yelps as Sunstreaker smacks him again. "Don't even try to drag me into this. Just accept you're a moron and be glad Ratchet can fix your mess."

___________________________

Sunstreaker with IRD

"Well well, looks like we found our culprit." Ratchet gives Sunstreaker a withering look. "You've got some explaining to do, mech." Sunstreaker scowls defensively. "It's not my fault! How was I supposed to know those 'Cons had rusty spikes?"

Ratchet vents harshly. "You were interfacing with Decepticons? Are you glitched in the helm!?" Sideswipe cackles gleefully. "Ooooh Sunny's in trouble! Who'd you 'face, the Constructicons?"

Sunstreaker's plating flushes with energon. "No! It was just the stunticons, alright!? Motormaster said they were clean!" Ratchet resists the urge to bang his helm on something. "Of all the idiotic, reckless....do you have any idea how dangerous this is!? For you, for everyone on this base?"

He jabs a finger at Sunstreaker. "You are confined to quarters until I sort this out. And if I find you've endangered anyone else with your stupidity, I'll have you in the brig faster than you can say ‘Mercy’!"

Sunstreaker looks properly chastised, mumbling apologies “I need to know exactly which Stunticon you were with." Ratchet huffs out optics staring Sunstreaker down. Sunstreaker stops, shoulder plating hunching as he looks back with a sullen expression. "Do I have to say? It's embarrassing."

Ratchet crosses his arms, entirely unmoved. "You brought this on yourself with reckless behavior. I need all the details to contain this outbreak. Now tell me, who was it?"

Sunstreaker mumbles something inaudible, scowling at the floor. Ratchet's optics narrow. "Speak up!"

Finally Sunstreaker spits out "Breakdown, alright! We've been meeting up sometimes after battles. But he said they were all clean! And i got frisky with one of the sports cars on Base is that what you want to know!" Ratchet vents harshly, shaking his helm. "First rule of dealing with Decepticons - never take them at their word. You're damn lucky to only have IRD and not something worse. And damn lucky i can fix that car you scuffed up"

He points sharply at the door. "Now get out. You're confined to your quarters until I clear you." Sunstreaker ducks out swiftly, plating still flushed in embarrassment. Ratchet logs the details with another heavy sigh. ___________________________________________________

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#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers lost light #valveplug

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igotanidea · 28 days ago

Text

Three times: Bruce Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo: Family dinner

(I guess this is what happens when I call myself out on not doing the event I planned XD. As always - sorry for typos, grammar etc. - not proofread this just kind of happened in less then an hour, so - )

***

“This is going to be a mess.”

“It’s not going to-“

“You don’t know them-“.

“I think I’ve stalked your boys enough to –“

“Y/N.”

“Bruce”

“This is-“

“Oh, come on, just relax and – Oh, for God’s sake gimme that”.

She stepped in front of him, successfully blocking him from seeing his reflection in the mirror. He was doing a terrible job at doing his own bowtie. The fearless, emotionless Batman, the dark shadow over every criminal in Gotham had shaking fingers because his girlfriend was to attend the family dinner with all his sons.

AKA – the mess with his sons.

“Remind me whose idea was it, again?”

“Mine. Duh.” She send him her most beautiful smile, deftly putting the finishing touches to his look.

“Yeah… right. No one else in their sound mind would have come out with that.” He muttered.

“Did I mention you look extremely handsome tonight?” Her sudden change of a subject made Bruce blush like a schoolboy in a way that couldn’t; be hidden from her watchful gaze.

“You know you’re supposed to say I look beautiful or something like that, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you really that worried, hon?”

“Worried? Who, me? I’m not worried.” Bruce scoffed. Externally to put up a front and internally – because she was so damn right. Poor Y/N had zero idea what she was getting herself into.

“I got contingencies – “

“mhm.” Right, she wouldn’t even imagine the scope of contingencies that would have to be of use when his four boys see each other in the dining room.

“I got tranquilizer for Jason, lollipops for Dick, sleeping pills for Tim and a puppy for Damian.”

“You- what?”

“I got-“

“I heard you the first time, Y/N.”

“Then why-?”

“Lollipops?”

“What? Low blood sugar is not good for any athlete.”

“Dick is not an athlete. And no- “ he cut her off – “hanging out from the chandelier is not an Olympic discipline, Y/N.”

“Well then, in the worst case scenario, we’ll give him a mirror.”

“What, you hope he’d turn into a stone from looking into his own eyes?”

She tilted head looking at him carefully.

“I knew you had a walking dead in the family, but you never mentioned the Medusa”

“If you survive this, you’ll be much better then Perseus, sweetheart.” Bruce kissed the top of her head, praying to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t run out of the manor screaming the first fifteen minutes into the dinner.

***

Five minutes.

It took Dick five minutes to ruin everything.

Out of all of his sons, Bruce was hoping that the first-adopted one would keep a better track record.

Instead, he whistled.

He freaking whistled upon seeing her.

And it took a hell lot of Bruce’s self-control to not strangle him.

And then there was Jason.

Sitting in the corner, arms crossed, stern look on his face, cutting his meat in a way that might as well crash the entire plate.

With a wild look in his eyes, not saying a single word, almost freezing the steaming dinner.

Causing Bruce to start sipping his drink a little faster than intended.

And Tim-

Propped on the elbow, head on the palm, dozing off, almost snoring and almost ending up with his nose in the mashed potatoes.

But Damian turned out to be the worst of them all.

Which probably should have been expected, considering the fact that he was the least aware of the societal norms.

“You’re not a good match for father.”

Bruce choked, Dick laughed and Jason snapped his eyes towards Y/N to see her reaction.

Y/N didn’t react, focusing on chewing.

The atmosphere was becoming a little tense yet no one made any attempt of filling the silence with words.

“I said-“

“I heard.”

Then came the silence again.

“And you’re just gonna-“

“Yeah, I’m just gonna ignore you.”

This was unexpected.

Damian was definitely not used to being treated like this.

And he was not going to tolerate being treated like this.

Who the hell did this girl think she was?!

“You are-!“

“Oh, by all means, do tell me who you think I am.” She snapped and with a mocking smirk looked right into Damian’s eyes, still having in mind that he was just a kid. Being too mean or too harsh was not an option but putting him down a peg or two could be.

“You are-“ Damian started

“Mean?”

“Um-“

“Harsh-“

“I want-“

“Quick – witted?”

“Will you-“

“Not-taking-bullshit kinda girl?”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!?”

“I gotta give to you Damian, you are very perceptive.”

“You are mocking me now.”

“Again. Perceptive.”

As she refused to back down, showing her innate stubbornness and strength, a tiny smirk formed on Jason’s lips and disappeared as soon as the second son noticed Dick staring at him.

“stop staring Dickhead!”

“I’m not staring.”

“you are impressed with her, aren’t you?”

“Like hell I am impressed!” this came out of jason’s mouth a little louder than aimed at and obviously everyone heard. “I’m not!” he objected, almost defensively.

“good. Good cause I would lose my sympathy towards you if you were impressed by me so easily, Jason.”

“I – wait, what?”

“Come on, a girl gotta work for it, doesn’t she? Clearly you all think I’m some sort of gold digger?”

“I don’t-!” Dick cried out in confusion

“Mhm. You don’t, Richard. And yet, you had me checked out the second you saw me, didn’t you?”

Dick blushed, being called out like this.

“What is going on…?” Tim muttered, slowly awakening from his slumber due to the screaming match at the table.

“Bet you also believe I got zero worth and less than zero skills to be dating Batman, huh?”

“SHE KNOWS!?” Tim suddenly became awfully awake, as four pair of eyes landed on Bruce, than on Y/N, than on Bruce again with Tim

“The hell, old man?!”

“I swear, you are a fucking hypocrite!”

“That’s outrageous father!”

“I bet she figured this out herself, cause he was careless again-“

Even in his wildest dreams Bruce didn’t imagine that the source of his embarrassment at the family dinner would be the woman he was in love with. And it made him feel a lot of things varying between fear (cause what else was that one capable of), anger (cause what else was that one capable of?!) and pride (cause – well, you know how it goes).

Showing nothing on his face, he gave Y/N a look she understood well enough.

“What? Oh. Bruce come on-“

“This is not-“

“I’m not going to pretend in front of-“

“They were not supposed to-“

“They are your freaking family. And it’s Christmas.”

“I do it for their own good!”

“What? Lying?’

The silence that came out later was deafening. No one, absolutely no one dared to breathe too loud. Even the flies suddenly dropped dead.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian was all crossing eyes, waiting for the situation to unravel further though each of them for different reasons. Secretly, each of them was making bets whether it was Y/N or Bruce who would win this argument.

And odds were not in her favor.

Bruce cleared his throat, pushed the chair away from the table and stood up.

REACHING HAND TO HER.

Talking her hand in his, and walking out of the diner room, to the study and closing the door behind them.”

“What the fudge-?” Dick muttered

“Do you think they are going to-?”

“JASON!”

“What? They freaking locked themselves!”

“There are kids in here!”

“I’m not a kid, Grayson!”

“You are a kid Damian!”

“I’m 12!”

“Shut up you little demon spawn!”

“Watch your tongue Todd!”

“I should have stayed by the computer-“

“We were supposed to be nice to her-“

“Well, look how that worked out for you all – “ Y/N’s teasing voice cut right into the boys’ fight before they could move to fisticuffs. She was casually leaning on the doorframe, observing them with unimpressed look on her face.”

“Um-“

“By all means, do not stop on my account. I got three older brothers and-“

“Wait, you got what now-?” Bruce appeared behind her back – “you never told me that.”

“Well I’m full of surprises, but glad you didn’t go full PI on me as you do with every other victim of yours.”

“You are not my victim-“

“Oh yeah, then what am I?” she teased, daring him to confess his feelings in front of the boys.

“Y/N!”

“Fine! Fine, later you little coward.”

Boys chuckled

“And as for you, I am shocked and maybe a little disappointed you are not at each other’s throats already. I was hoping for a show-”

“I’m sorry, how exactly did Bruce describe us to you-?”

“cavemen.”

“Whaat?!”

“Ok, well, maybe not exactly cavemen but-“

Bruce cleared his throat again.

“What now?” she rolled her eyes turning back to him. “Wait, what time is it?”

“9.15.”

“9.15? You sure? Not a 9.14 or --?”

“It’s 9.15 sharp.”

“But that would mean-“

“Mhm.”

“And you are-?”

“Yes.”

“What is going on in here?” Damian was beginning to lose his temper.

“Oh, nothing. I won a bet with Bruce.”

“A bet?! You bet on us!?” Jason yelled feeling like a circus monkey.

“What exactly was the bet about?”

“Well thank you for asking, Tim.” Y/N turned to look at Drake. “I voted on you surviving an hour in each other’s presence. Bruce- well – not so much.”

“Oh my god, we are cavemen in his eyes!” Dick wailed theatrically.

“And now – since he lost” she put an emphasis on the word – “he will apologize for the lack of belief.”

“He what?!”

“No way!”

“Could you give me a second to rush upstairs and grab a camera?”

Gods. Never in his life was Bruce that ashamed.

“Y/N-“

“Bruce-“

“Do I have to-“

“Yes, you have to.”

“But-“

“Come on, really it’s not that hard.”

“I’m shocked you survived this long.” Bruce muttered almost incoherently with the grim expression, willingly making a full out of himself by admitting his wrongdoing.

Leaving the boys in pure shock and maybe, a little respect to this woman who made the Batman do this.

Little did they know that said woman was about to be thoroughly dominated that night for this.

Therefeore – the family dinner happened to be a huge success, everyone getting what they wanted and what they deserved.

Especially Y/N, cause it felt like she won three times.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x y/n #batman x you #batman fluff #bruce wayne fluff

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mariasont · 9 months ago

Text

The Manuscript - A.H

a/n: this was supposed to be based on t.s new song manuscript, but it didn't realllyyy turn out like that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while unpacking you find a series of letters aaron wrote to you in college

warnings: angst, age gap (reader is 20s, hotch is 40s), haley and jack don't exist in this universe

wc: 1.3k

Your gaze swept over the towering stacks of boxes littering your living room floor, and with a resigned sigh, you began the daunting task of unpacking them. Your hands found the nearest box deftly lifting the flaps as you began to pull out its contents. Your felt the soft crinkle of paper beneath your fingers, and gently, you drew out a stack of letters, their edges softened with time, all neatly tied together with a string.

Your heart seized a sudden halt as you realized just what they were. Your throat constricted, parched, as tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over, your fingers coming to rest over your mouth. Instinctively, your body sank onto the cold hardwood floor, gently placing the papers down beside you. You had forgotten these had even existed, let alone made it with you on the move.

You didn't remember seeing them when you packed, did you? Your fingers shook slightly as they picked apart the knot, and with a hesitant touch, you reached for the first piece of weathered paper.

January 5

Honey,

Your letter was a welcome surprise, far sweeter than any text message could be. I enjoyed spending New Years Eve with you too, and I hope this case ends quickly so I can take you on a real date.

I'm glad to hear college is going well. Should you encounter any more issues with your professor, please let me know. You're a bright young woman, and I have no doubt he'll see that in time. I am looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Aaron

March 12

Honey,

I'm glad you enjoyed our date as much as I did. At times, I find my thoughts wandering to you in that dress, and it's a welcome distraction.

I'm glad you look forward to our letters, because I do too. And yes, rest assured, I'm taking all necessary precautions in the field. Don't worry, the team has my back, especially Garcia--she's got more eyes on us than stars in the sky.

Goodluck on your psychology exam. I know you will ace it.

Yours,

Aaron.

May 5

Honey,

I've read your letter several times, and I want you to know that it's perfectly normal to question your path. Trust your instincts--they've led you well thus far. Remember you are allowed to change your mind. Your parents will understand.

No matter what you decide, I have no doubt you will succeed. You have a rare combination of intelligence and empathy that will serve you well in any profession.

Once I'm back, how about we go to that restaurant you love? Consider it a date.

Yours,

Aaron.

July 19

Honey,

Summer suits you, I can tell--even from a distance. I'm proud of the work you're doing--shadowing at the occupational therpay office and working with children is no small feat. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back.

The case is demanding, as they often are. And as for the sweatshirt, consider it yours. I had a feeling it wouldn't find its way back to me anyway.

We should talk about getting you a key to my place. Then you'll have no need to borrow my things--you'll have access to them whenever you wish.

I love you. I'll say it again when I see you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

January 14

Honey,

Congratulations on your first semester of OT school. I am incredibly proud of you and everything you have accomplished. Smarty pants.

I'm glad to hear you've been using the journal I gave you for Christmas. I would give you a thousand if that's what you wanted.

When I'm back, we'll celebrate your achievements properly. Until then, know I'm grateful for you every day. You've made me the happiest I've been, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

May 20

Honey,

Your last letter lingered on the topic of our age difference, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. It's a subject that, admittedly, has crossed my mind more than once. But let me reassure you, to me, it's the person you are, not the years you've lived, that matters most.

I understand the concerns that come with this, and I want you to know that it's okay. Your feelings are valid. We're navigating this together, and I remain certain in my commitment to you and to us.

We'll talk more about this when I'm home. I love you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

August 8

Honey,

I want you to know that I didn't mean to leave things unresolved, I'm sorry I was called away. I'm not writing to rehash the argument. I understand everything you said, and it's given me much to think about.

You are the most important part of my life, and us being at odds is more challenging than any case I've ever face. I love you deeply, and I'm committed to finding a way through this together. When I return, let's sit down and talk--really talk. I'm sorry for the way things were left, and I hope we can move past this.

Yours forever,

Aaron

December 22

Honey,

I find myself at a loss for words yet compelled to write to you. I've had time to reflect on everything that happened between us. I'm deeply sorry for any hurt I've caused, and how things unfolded. My only wish was for us to want the same things.

Please know, I will always be here for you, in any capacity you need. I hope you find someone who is worthy of you and can provide the life you deserve. You deserve someone who can walk with you through all stages of your life--someone who can give you the family you dream of. You have so much to offer.

You are an extraordinary person, and I have no doubt you will find great love and joy. And though it may not be with me, please remember, I still love you.

Yours always,

Aaron.

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your tears began to soak into the page, each droplet distorting the text as it spread. Your hand moved instinctively to your face, the fabric of your sleeve brushing against your wet cheek. A decade-old ache twisted inside you sharply, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

You returned the letters to their stack, the bow tied as neatly as it was before, and laid them at the bottom of the box. As the papers found their place, your focus shifted, something else catching your attention--the journal he'd given you.

The sudden patter of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped you back to the present. Hastily, you wiped away the lingering tears and secured the lid on the box. As you turned, your face transformed with a practiced smile just as your seven-year-old daughter came skipping into view, her voice bubbling with excitement, "Mommy, mommy!"

Gathering her up in your arms, you showered her cheeks with affectionate kisses, her infectious giggles filling the empty house.

"When is daddy going to be home?"

With a gentle smile, you replied, "Soon, sweetheart," while your fingers danced along her side, eliciting more giggles. "Do you want to help Mommy unpack?"

She quickly scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Mmm, no, not really."

You laughed, and your heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt. The front door swung open, and your daughter's voice pierced the air once more with a, "Daddy!"

Her little feet dashed off as she rushed to greet him, leaving you to resume unpacking. You barely had time to refocus when you felt a gentle touch in your hair. Aaron was there, kneeling to your level with a tender smile.

"Hi, honey," he said, his hand pausing as he noted the redness around your eyes. "What's wrong angel?"

You reach for the letters, holding them out to Aaron with a half-smile. "Just revisiting the time you were this close to losing the best thing in your life," you tease, a laugh bubbling up. But as the laughter fades, it morphs into a sob.

Aaron's laughter mingled with yours as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Yeah, that was a close one," he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. "Glad I came to my senses."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds angst #cm #thomas gibson #Spotify

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piastrisun · 18 days ago

Text

warming up to love.

pairings: franco colapinto + fem reader.

summary: beneath the falling snow, the warmth of a shared moment transforms a casual connection into something unforgettable.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 3.6k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: i love writing long stuff about franco cause we know he’s a very talkative guy and would pull a before sunrise any day. this kinda made me wanna fall in love.

“oh, the weather outside is frightful / but the fire is so delightful / and since we've no place to go / let it snow.”

the christmas party hums with a mellow energy as the night winds down. it’s a familiar scene—mutual friends scattered across the house, the remnants of shared laughter echoing softly. you hadn’t planned to come this year; after all, these gatherings had long been a minefield of awkward encounters and unspoken wounds. your ex, the one who shattered your heart last christmas, always seemed to be at these parties, and the thought of facing him again was enough to make you steer clear.

but tonight is different. encouraged by a friend who insisted it would be ‘good for you,’ you found yourself here, hovering on the edges, nursing a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace. franco is here, too—franco, who has always been little more than a polite nod or a quick ‘hi.’ the two of you aren’t close, not even friends, really. yet as the evening stretches on, you find his presence more noticeable than usual, his laughter drawing glances from across the room.

most of the guests have either slipped away to spare rooms or are scattered in half-asleep clusters, the laughter and music now a faint echo in the house. you sit near the fireplace, nursing a mug of mulled wine, its spicy warmth a small comfort against the chill outside. the flickering flames cast golden light over the room, and you sink into the soft cushions of the couch, grateful for the moment of solitude.

until franco joins you.

you hear him before you see him, the faint sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor. all evening, he’s been the centre of attention—his jokes landing perfectly, his energy magnetic, his laughter infectious. but now, as he lowers himself onto the couch beside you, he’s different. his movements are slower, deliberate, as though he’s shedding the playful bravado for something more genuine. he leans back, draping one arm casually over the backrest, close enough for you to feel his presence without it pressing on you.

“you’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, his voice quieter than you expect, his accent rolling over the words with a natural charm. “thinking deep holiday thoughts?”

you glance at him, arching a brow, already on guard. “oh, you know, debating whether santa’s elves have a decent union.”

a grin spreads across his face, quick and easy. “they don’t,” he replies, leaning slightly toward you, his dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. “you can see it in their eyes—overworked, underpaid, stuck making toys for kids who’ll forget about them in five minutes.”

the corners of your mouth lift before you can stop yourself, the response catching you off guard. “exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than you intended. “and don’t even get me started on rudolph. classic case of workplace exploitation.”

his laugh is rich, low, and unrestrained, and for a moment, it drowns out the crackle of the fire. “you’re good,” he says, his grin lingering. “sharp. i like that.”

you shrug, trying to deflect the sudden focus on you. “it’s just common sense. someone has to advocate for the underappreciated holiday workforce.”

his grin widens, but there’s a shift in his expression—something more curious, more intent. “so, do you always deflect with humour,” he asks, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just my lucky night?”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation. “and do you always psychoanalyse women at christmas parties?” you shoot back, the edge in your tone softened by the playful smile tugging at your lips.

“only the ones who seem like they have really good stories to tell,” he replies smoothly, his voice dipping lower.

you roll your eyes, though you feel the laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “you’re persistent, i’ll give you that.”

“i’m argentinian,” he says with a light shrug, as though that explains everything. “it’s genetic.”

the absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, this time unrestrained and genuine. you shift in your seat, tucking your legs beneath you as you hold your mug close, needing the warmth against your palms. he adjusts as well, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. his gaze is steady, direct, and disarmingly sincere.

“you’re good at this, you know,” he says, his tone softer now, almost conversational.

“at what?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“deflecting,” he says simply, his eyes searching yours. “you tell a joke, flash a smile, and everyone forgets to ask the real questions.”

you shift uncomfortably, your grip tightening around the mug. “maybe i just don’t like questions,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended.

“or maybe you don’t like answers,” he counters, his voice steady but without judgment.

the weight of his words settles over you, and you find yourself looking away, your gaze fixed on the fire. the orange glow feels safer than the intensity in his eyes.

“you’ve been hurt before,” he says, breaking the silence.

“haven’t we all?” you reply quickly, your tone sharper now, a reflex to protect yourself.

“sure,” he agrees, his voice calm, unbothered by your resistance. “but not everyone builds walls like you do.”

your shoulders tense, and you draw back slightly, the heat of the fire no longer comforting. “you don’t know me well enough to say that,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but firm.

“not yet,” he says, the gentleness in his tone catching you off guard. “but i’d like to.”

the vulnerability in his voice chips away at your defences, and for a moment, you exhale, leaning back into the couch. you’re silent, but the tension in your posture eases.

“it’s not that simple,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “people think you can just… open up and everything will be fine. but when you’ve given your heart to someone who didn’t want it, it’s hard to trust anyone with it again.”

his dark eyes don’t waver, his gaze steady but soft, and he nods slowly. “i get that,” he says. “but maybe the trick isn’t trusting someone else first. maybe it’s trusting yourself—that you’ll survive it if things don’t go the way you hope.”

☆

the flickering firelight dances across his face, softening his features, and his expression is open, patient, unhurried.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be,” he says after a long pause, his voice dropping lower.

“what did you think i’d be like?” you ask, curious despite yourself.

“i don’t know,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smile. “polished, untouchable, the kind of person who always has the upper hand.”

“and now?” you press, leaning in slightly, the space between you shrinking.

“still intimidating,” he admits, his smile widening just enough to make your heart skip. “but in a good way.”

for the first time, you let the moment linger, the tension between you shifting into something unspoken but undeniable.

the fire casts a warm glow over the room, its crackling filling the quiet pauses between words. you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light but genuine. a comfortable silence stretches between you and franco, and in that quiet, you feel it—a subtle but undeniable pull. it’s unspoken, yet it lingers, drawing you closer to him in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable.

“you’re not what i expected, either,” you say, your tone casual, though the words carry weight.

franco leans forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “oh? what did you expect?”

your lips curl into a teasing smile. “someone who tries too hard to be funny. but you’re just… effortlessly annoying.”

his laughter bursts out, rich and warm, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “effortlessly annoying? that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

you shake your head, your smile widening despite yourself. you can feel your guard slipping, piece by piece, the edges softening with every laugh, every shared glance.

☆

as the night drifts on, the conversation flows like an easy current, touching on favourite movies, childhood christmas memories, and absurd holiday traditions. you trade stories that are ridiculous and endearing, the kind that make your sides ache from laughter. each word exchanged deepens the connection between you, weaving a thread of familiarity where there was none before.

he leans back, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “you know, this has to be the best christmas conversation i’ve ever had. no offence to santa and the elves.”

you raise your brow, feigning seriousness. “i’ll take it as a compliment. i don’t usually do this, you know.”

he tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression. “what? talk to effortlessly annoying guys?”

“no,” you reply with a soft laugh. “sit here, opening up to someone i just met. it’s… different.”

the teasing fades from his face as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intent. “different good or different bad?”

you meet his gaze, your heart beating a little faster at the intensity in his eyes. “good,” you say softly. “definitely good.”

the fire crackles softly in the background, the rhythmic pops and hisses filling the spaces between breaths. your laughter, which had moments ago echoed brightly, now fades into something quieter, something deeper. the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s laced with a gentle understanding that neither of you has to name. you feel it—a warmth spreading through you, unfamiliar yet comforting, like an old song you’ve almost forgotten but still know by heart. it’s a feeling you haven’t let yourself embrace in years.

franco shifts slightly beside you, leaning forward as if to close the distance without intruding. his voice cuts through the quiet, warm and deliberate. “for the record,” he says, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile, “you’re pretty good at this too.”

you glance at him, your brow lifting in subtle curiosity. “at what?”

his eyes linger on yours, the firelight flickering in their depths. he doesn’t hesitate, his tone softer now, almost confessional. “making me want to stay up all night talking to you.”

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a moment, your heart stumbles, a traitorous skip in its rhythm. you’re certain he notices, but for once, you don’t try to hide it.

your grip loosens slightly on your glass of wine, and you exhale, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. the vulnerability in his words disarms you, but it’s the sincerity in his gaze that keeps you still, like he’s waiting, patiently, to see if you’ll let him stay.

☆

you stand near the balcony door, the hum of the christmas party a soft murmur inside. outside, the chill air brushes your skin, the twinkling lights from the decorations contrasting with the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. your glass of wine rests in your hand, swirling gently, the dark liquid catching the firelight. you find yourself momentarily lost in the way the flames dance, tracing their movement, letting the quiet settle over you.

franco is standing beside you, so close now that his knee almost brushes against yours, but neither of you says anything. it's the first time tonight that the two of you have actually been alone, outside the usual nods and polite greetings you’ve exchanged over the years.

after a beat, he breaks the silence, his voice low but steady, like he’s testing the air between you.

“you know,” he begins, glancing toward you but keeping his gaze just slightly above yours, “i used to think love was supposed to be this big, dramatic thing. like fireworks and grand gestures.”

you raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk as you shift your weight, the wine glass still twirling in your hand. “let me guess—movies and cheesy romance novels ruined you?”

franco laughs, the sound soft but amused, and you can hear the humour in his voice when he responds. “hey, i’m a romantic. sue me.”

you chuckle, the ease of his words making you relax, but there’s something in his tone that lingers. the idea of love as a grand, sweeping event feels familiar, even if it's been a long time since you've believed in it. the pause between the two of you stretches a little longer, the silence pulling at the edges of your thoughts, and you finally turn to him, looking at him fully for the first time tonight.

“and now?” you ask quietly, your voice catching the reflection of the fire in his eyes. “what do you think it’s supposed to be?”

he looks at you, really looks at you this time, and there's something about the way he shifts, the way he leans slightly forward, that makes his words hit you harder than you expect. his eyes are steady, but his voice is softer now, more introspective.

“i think it’s quieter,” he says, his tone almost reverent, like he's sharing a truth he's only just realised. “more like… finding someone who makes you feel like you’re home, no matter where you are.”

the words settle heavily in the space between you. you blink, your breath momentarily stuck in your chest. there's something in his expression, something real and raw, and it pulls you in. you turn your body slightly towards him, the firelight flickering off his face, and you can feel the weight of his honesty pressing into your own guarded heart.

“that’s nice," you say, almost whispering, but a knot tightens in your throat. you shift your gaze, struggling to maintain the usual lightness, but it’s hard now. "but what if you’ve been hurt? what if 'home' feels more like a risk than a refuge?”

franco doesn’t hesitate. his elbows drop to his knees, the movement slow and deliberate. he leans in just slightly, his shoulders squared toward you, and the teasing edge that usually follows him is gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

“then maybe you stop looking for a perfect home,” he responds, voice steady, each word measured. “maybe you find someone who’s willing to build it with you, one piece at a time. even if it’s messy.”

the simplicity of his answer leaves you breathless for a second. you swallow, feeling something shift within you, like a door cracking open just a little wider. his words hang in the air, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the weight of them settle into your chest. it’s a thought you’ve buried for a long time, and you feel a flicker of warmth in the cold air around you.

“you make it sound so simple,” you say, a soft laugh escaping you, though your voice is quieter now, more fragile.

his lips twitch into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes right away. he glances at you, his gaze lingering before he answers. “it’s not. but i think the right person makes it worth the mess.”

you exhale, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though his words have left something unspoken between you. the weight of the conversation feels too heavy to hold onto for much longer, so you try to shift the mood. you take a deep breath and let the faintest hint of a smile curve your lips.

“okay, mr. romantic,” you tease, your voice a little lighter now. “what’s your other grand passion? what keeps you up at night?”

franco grins, the teasing spark returning to his eyes. “besides annoy people by fireplaces?”

you laugh, shaking your head at him, but there’s something different in the way you look at him now, something softer in your gaze. you catch the slight change in his expression, the way his eyes soften, even if only for a fraction of a second, as he watches you.

“i like cooking, actually,” he says, a genuine warmth to his voice. he leans back slightly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he talks. “there’s something about making a meal for someone—putting care into every detail, knowing it’s going to bring them joy.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement creeping back into your features, but there’s a spark of curiosity now, too. “cooking, huh? sounds like an elaborate way to flirt.”

franco’s grin widens, and you notice the way his eyes twinkle with mischief. “absolutely. works every time.”

you lean back, finally allowing a full smile to spread across your face. it feels natural, comfortable, the awkward tension of the night slipping away with the shared laughter, but something lingers—a connection that wasn’t there before. the warmth of the fire and the quiet rhythm of your conversation are the only things that matter now.

you lean back, your body sinking slightly into the chair, the chill of the balcony air brushing against your skin. the soft hum of the christmas party drifts in from the room behind you, but here, the cold night air feels refreshing, clearing the noise in your head. your smile lingers, and you can’t help but feel a change in the air. the distance between you and franco now feels different—closer, more intimate.

“i like that,” you say, your voice calm but thoughtful. “the way you think about it, i mean. cooking for someone. it’s... intimate.”

franco shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his gaze focused on you. “what about you?” he asks, his voice soft, genuinely curious. “what’s the thing that makes your heart beat a little faster?”

you hesitate for a moment, the chill in the air suddenly making you feel a little warmer under his gaze. his openness makes you feel safe enough to share, and without thinking, the words tumble out of you.

“i write,” you say, your voice quiet, almost wistful. “or i used to, before life got in the way. it’s like... the only time i’ve ever felt completely free.”

his expression softens, his gaze gentle as he watches you, and for a brief moment, the world around you seems to fade. he looks like he understands the weight of your words. "why’d you stop?” he asks, his voice low, quiet with concern.

you shrug, avoiding his gaze, not wanting to face the vulnerability in your own eyes. “fear, maybe,” you reply, the words hanging heavily between you. “that i wasn’t good enough. that it wasn’t practical.”

“fear’s a bad reason to stop doing something you love,”he responds, his tone firm but gentle, almost as though he’s speaking to himself as much as to you.

the silence lingers in the space between you, and the cool night air feels heavier, somehow more present. you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, your breath catching slightly as you meet his gaze. the snow falls gently, glowing faintly in the moonlight. the world feels suspended, quiet, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this stillness, and nothing else matters. there’s a sincerity in his eyes that pulls you in deeper, something you can’t quite explain.

“you should writing again,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost like a quiet plea. “you’re too passionate to keep it all locked inside.”

you swallow, the idea of writing again making something stir in your chest. but you don’t let it show, instead trying to keep the mood light. “and you should stop psychoanalysing strangers at christmas parties,” you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he grins, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s a shift. his gaze softens, and the playful atmosphere between you both changes. “maybe i’ll make it my new year’s resolution,” he says with a teasing tone, but there’s something deeper in his voice now. “right after ‘kiss beautiful smart women by fireplaces.’”

you laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seems to break the tension between you. but when your eyes meet again, the air is different. the laughter fades, replaced by a quiet understanding that neither of you can ignore. there’s a pull, something magnetic. his smile fades into something deeper, and you feel it too—a tension you haven’t felt in years.

“can i?” his voice is soft, his eyes searching yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through you that makes your heart race.

you nod, your throat tight, unable to say anything. but your silence speaks volumes, and it’s enough. he gives you every opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. you stay, rooted to the spot, as his lips hover just inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest as he inches closer.

the kiss comes softly at first, tentative, almost as though he’s testing the waters, unsure of the fragility of the moment. but then, something shifts. the warmth between you builds, and the kiss deepens, both of you leaning into it, the connection effortless. it’s like you’ve both been waiting for this, and now that it’s here, it feels as though nothing else matters—just the two of you, wrapped in the glow of the lights and the quiet of the night. you both lean into it, your bodies moving as if they’ve known how to do this all along. it feels natural, easy, like the conversation you’ve had all night.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth. franco’s smile is softer now, more intimate, and it makes your heart flutter.

“you’re a hard one to read, you know that?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes are still searching yours.

you shake your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “and you’re impossible to ignore.”

the soft crackle of the fire still echoes from the living room, and the snow falls gently on your coat, glowing faintly in the moonlight. but here, on the balcony, it’s just the two of you. for the first time in a year, you feel something stir within you—a piece of yourself that you thought was lost. and in that moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found it again

#piastrisun: work #piastrisun: one shot #piastrisun: series #f1 x reader #franco colapinto x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fic #piastrisun: under the mistletoe

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