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magical-reid · 25 days ago

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The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

___________________________________________________________

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

___________________________________________________________

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

___________________________________________________________

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

___________________________________________________________

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

___________________________________________________________

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

___________________________________________________________

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

___________________________________________________________

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

___________________________________________________________

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

___________________________________________________________

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

___________________________________________________________

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x yn #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid series #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #magical-Reid

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gyuzgrl · 10 months ago

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Look at me ||kmg||

Summary- when your boyfriend surprises you with a new haircut, you can't help but want to jump his bones. You'd die before letting him know that though, ugh.

You were utterly fucked.

The moment Mingyu walked in, tired and sweaty from rehearsals, sporting a fresh haircut, you wanted nothing more than to grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

You were on the couch, as usual, reading some novel- now hastily discarded on the coffee table- when you heard your door open. It was Mingyu, obviously, and your face lit up at the realization. Like an eager puppy, you perked up at the sound of his keys jangling in the door frame.

"baby, I'm home" he called out, hanging up his coat as he walked in, eyes immediately finding your own. He donned a navy basketball cap, one you'd seen him wear very often.

You giggled, jogging over to him before burying your face in his chest- his arms came around to settle at your waist. "missed you"

"I know, I'm here now, hm?" His voice soothed its way into you, and suddenly the world was good. Nothing mattered except you and him, nothing mattered except home.

"whatcha readin' there," his eyes flickered briefly to the novel you'd flung onto the table in a rush, "same as last night?"

"hm, same one"

You pulled away from his embrace, arms settling around his neck now. Finally, you looked up at his face. Something was different.

"hold on-" your hand gently lifted the cap off his head when you noticed how his face stood out more than it did before, "oh my god"

"oh my god, good, or oh my god, bad?"

"good- so good" you mumble, staring at his now freshly cut hair. Mingyu had traded the long hair for a sleek French crop- a refreshing change. You loved his long hair but god did he look good with shorter hair. The faded sides brought out features that were previously hidden by his hair- his tan skin, his eyes, his jawline. You felt your skin heat up under his observing eyes. Had it always felt so intense when he looked at you?

"m'glad you like it" he grins.

You clear your throat. Your arms slip back down to your sides.

"yeah, uh- you should shower, I'll take care of dinner today, kay?"

"I thought I was sup-"

"you've had a long day gyu," you cut him off, ushering him to the bathroom to get him out of your sight.

"you're the best"

Nope. I'm a filthy, filthy woman who can't think past getting laid. If you knew what I wanted to do to you right this moment, you'd call the cops.

"pfft, damn right I am" you quipped, shoving your thoughts aside.

Alright, out of sight, out of mind. Mingyu had disappeared into the shower, and you made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a pot as you skillfully dumped a bunch of ingredients in. Nothing like a hot bowl of rice and stew to get your mind out of the gutter.

Or so you thought.

As you tossed the veggies around, spatula in one hand while the other rested at your hip, your mind drifted to Mingyu. Realization hit you like a truck and your eyes widened. He was naked right now. Naked and wet and probably soapy. His hair would be wet too. Fuck he probably looked sinful right now. You could practically see him standing in front of you- skin glistening, biceps flexing as he washed himself. The image had you weak, and an all too familiar heat spread between your legs.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

The hiss of kimchi- dangerously close to being burnt- caught your attention, snapping you out of your thoughts. You startled back to reality and added a dash of water to revive the spicy mixture. Diverting all your attention to cooking, you sped through the active parts of the recipe- chopping, stirring, frying- and sighed in content when all that was left was for the stew to come to a boil. As you carefully placed the lid over the now steaming pot, you felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around your waist.

"hi" Mingyu's voice was breathy and low. He dipped his head into your neck innocently, taking in your scent.

"hi" Your own breathlessness surprised you.

"thank you for making dinner," his hands squeeze tighter around you.

"c'mon you'd do it for me"

Trying to ignore the way his skin heated up your back, you made a lame effort to get him away.

"hey- uh, you should- you wanna put on some music?" you stumble over your words.

"sure, what do yo-"

"anything" you interrupt, too quickly for him to not get suspicious.

Mingyu raises a brow at you but decides to keep his mouth shut. Slowly, he walks over to the speaker lying on your table and connects it to his phone. You can hear his footsteps as he makes his way back to you- speaker in hand.

He sets the speaker on the kitchen counter with a soft thud, before tapping away at his phone. Soft r&b floods the kitchen and you wonder if you've done something to upset the universe. Mingyu's arms find their way back to your waist as he settles behind you.

You can't get upset. You can't. He asked you what to play. You said anything.

"anything I can do?" he asks, voice muffled by the skin of your neck.

"no I-" you let out a shaky breath, "I'm waiting for it to boil- it's almost done"

"so why're you staring at it like it'll burn if you look away for a second"

"I'm not sta-" Mingyu spins you around, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter.

"c'monn, gimme some attention," he mumbles, eyes burning holes into you, "you haven't so much as looked at me properly today"

"I-" you start, feeling your throat close up at the sight of his freshly showered frame.

Grey sweatpants. No shirt. Wet hair. Smash.

"you?"

"I'm looking at you right now, aren't I?"

Your eyes dart between his face and the space between your bodies, unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. He scoffs, leaning closer,

"look at me"

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. You have no choice but to meet his gaze and boy does it burn.

"what's up with you today, hm?"

"nothing"

"puppy, c'mon you're so jittery, tell me why"

The name sends chills down your spine. A feather-soft touch ghosts over your cheek, the pads of Mingyu's fingers stroking free strands of hair behind your ears. His hand lingers around the shell of your ear for a while, before he sighs.

"I just," you whisper, "uh, the um- stew- oh fuck the stew's boiling"

He groans as you wriggle out of his touch, now turning back to the stove. Mingyu moves to scoop rice into two bowls while you bring the pot to the coffee table, settling on the warm rug below.

"thanks" he mumbles.

You eat in silence.

Every movement on his end has you jumping out of your skin. You're aware now, that he's caught on. He's been staring at you all this while. You've been too scared to meet his gaze. When he leans forward to nab the last spoon of stew, you jolt upright with a small squeak.

"I'll clear up-" you begin, desperate to cover up the sound you just made, but Mingyu was too quick for that. As you stood up to leave, Mingyu tugged you back down- right into his lap.

"stay"

"what are y-"

"stay here"

The scent of his body wash floods your senses and it's almost overwhelming how large his presence feels. He was everywhere. There was no escaping this, no escaping him.

"here's what I think is happening- you tell me if I'm on the right track, okay?" You nod, glancing down at the floor.

"I think you're a little flustered,"

You nod.

"and it's 'cause of me,"

You nod again.

"my haircut, specifically-"

Hesitantly, you nod once again.

"and," he traces his hand down to the crotch of your shorts between your crossed legs, "I think you need my help"

Your breath catches in your throat when his fingers tease your slit through the flimsy fabric of your shorts. Looking away, you can't seem to hide the red flush bubbling up your cheeks. It was embarrassing how easily he read you.

"am I wrong?"

You shake your head.

"so you do need my help"

You nod.

"how bad?" Suddenly his voice drops to a whisper and your eyes widen.

"wh-"

" how bad do you need me"

"I-" you feel your throat tighten. Words seem particularly difficult today, don't they?

You squirm in his lap, your back flush against his firm chest, but his hands hold you still. "this won't do, doll,"

"gotta use your words, yeah?"

He knew damn well how shy you got around him. He knew how you rarely initiated anything physical. He knew you couldn't bear the way he said such filthy, filthy things to you with a poker-straight face.

He knew, but still, here you are- sitting red-faced in his lap as he tries to coax pleas out of you. The bastard wanted to hear you beg.

"Mingyu please " Your voice is a whisper, meek and soft. It almost gets him to stop teasing. Almost.

"please?" he echoes, smirking against your skin. Mingyu presses gentle kisses along your shoulder, so soft you can barely feel them. The action leaves your skin tingling, goosebumps running across your arm.

"don't be mean gyu c'monn"

He grins, "just wanna hear you say it puppy," A hand slides its way down your body and into your shorts while his lips continue their assault. "you can do that for me, can't you?"

When his fingers find your clit and he toys around with it ever-so-softly, you can barely contain the whimper that threatens to spill from your lips.

"gonna be good for me, hm? gonna tell me how bad you need to cum?" he groans, "fuck you're dripping "

"Mingyu plea- oh" He slips a digit into you, pumping in and out so slowly you could cry, "fas-faster please" As the words leave your lips, embarrassment settles on you like a rain cloud. Mingyu, however, seems super satisfied.

"good girl, keep talking puppy, tell me what you need"

His finger picks up speed and your back arches away from him at the sudden change- "min- oh my god fuck you feel so good" His thumb rubs tight circles at your clit, and you feel your stomach tighten, an all too familiar knot threatening to snap with his movements.

The room feels hot. Hotter than it was a few minutes ago. Your shorts were still on, your shirt too. Clothed and writhing in Mingyu's lap, you wanted nothing more than to shed the suffocating fabric. He, however, still had his sweatpants on and didn't seem the least bit concerned. With his chest pressing into your back, you could feel the bare skin of his torso against yours, but it was a shame that you couldn't see his half-naked frame. His muscles tensed as his hands worked you up to your high, biceps flexing deliciously around you.

"please," You clawed at his hand- the one sitting snug in your shorts- nails digging into his forearm when he added a second digit into you. "keep- fuck keep doing that I'm gonna-"

"I know, puppy, I know, let go for me hm? can you do that? can you be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?"

His words sent you over the edge, and your head fell back in pleasure as you chanted his name like a prayer. You were a martyr for him- dying small deaths every time your bodies connected, every time he touched you, every time he lit you ablaze with his words. Mingyu always knew what you needed, what your body desired. It was eerie, almost, how well he read your mind.

"fuck-" a low groan on his end has you settling back to reality, and you realise his fingers are still moving. A cry leaves your parted lips at the overstimulation and your legs tremble when he holds them open. "you wanted to cum, didn't you? you can give me one more, doll, c'mon

"oh my god Mi- Mingyu"

"that's it puppy,"

His fingers slip out of you and trace their way up to your clit, coating it with your arousal. Two digits part you open, while his middle finger glides across the tender bundle of nerves, adding pressure when he hears your breathing grow shallow.

Your body spasms under his touch, cries bouncing off the walls of your living room, and he knows you're nearing another high. Mingyu flicks your clit, pulling a particularly loud moan from you, and quickens his pace.

"c'mon, sweetheart, cum for me, hm? I know you want to baby, just let go" And with that, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, stronger than the first, mixed with a tinge of pain- you didn't mind at all, though, did you?

Mingyu can't resist slipping his fingers back into you to coat them with your juices, and you jerk up. A smirk graces his handsome features and he pumps into you a few times, teasing just a little. Your body goes limp atop him, shoulders slumping, thighs quivering into him. It's adorable, he thinks. All he'd done was fuck you on his fingers, yet here you are, spent like you'd been at it all night.

"still with me, puppy?"

You nod, dazed. Your mouth feels dry- throat hoarse from all the screaming you'd done minutes before- and your limbs feel like jelly, but god did you want more. No matter what time of day, no matter how tired or upset or distracted you are, if he was offering, you were game. Just like you are now.

"are you sure? you're- fuck you're shaking " A soothing hand smooths over your exposed thigh, tender like he didn't just rip two orgasms out of you in succession. It's almost ironic how he switches from being an overwhelming tease to a gentle little lamb. The same hands that labored to work you up, to break you, are now rubbing your skin softly to bring you down and settle your frenzied nerves.

The two of you sit in place for a minute, with him whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he calms you down. When he feels you relax completely Mingyu is quick to scoop you up in his arms and place you on the couch, settling himself between your thighs on his knees. He looks up at you in silent permission, eyes practically begging for you to say yes. To say something.

So you do.

"please- please touch me " It's embarrassing the way your voice comes out all soft and wobbly but neither of you mind. Fuck, Mingyu thinks it's the hottest thing he's heard you say. And of course, since you asked so nicely, who was he to disoblige?

Seconds after, you found yourself sobbing into your arm- draped over your face- at the way he lapped you up. The sheer wetness of you was intoxicating. He couldn't help but be a little selfish. He'd wanted a taste ever since he saw how hard you tried to control yourself all night.

"so good for me," you heard him mumble against you, "so fucking sweet". You could've sworn he was getting more out of this than you were, but with the way your voice gave way to the most lewd sounds you've ever made, it was anyone's game.

Mingyu licks a fat stripe up your folds before plunging his tongue into your hole, fucking you with the wet muscle. You cry out in pleasure, feeling the way he forces his way in. The wet squelches of your sex coupled with the borderline pornographic moans you made were enough to make a sailor blush. It was so raw, so carnal.

His hands pry your thighs apart when you start closing in around him, and he pins them open, merciless in his assault. "be good, baby" he warns.

And you want to be. You really do. But with the way his tongue works into you, you can't help yourself. It's too much. You feel your legs strain against his hands, flesh giving under the force of his grip. His brows crease with effort and he groans into you, shoving your thighs even further apart. The sudden force earns him a yelp on your end, and he smirks in satisfaction.

"you're gonna keep these open for me aren't you, puppy?" Mingyu withdraws his tongue and kisses his way up to your clit. He places a few wet pecks at your clit before stimulating it with his tongue, using your wetness to trace back and forth.

Your back arches against the couch, head falling back- "ye-fuck- anything you want". Mingyu seems satisfied with your response and within moments he brings you to your third orgasm of the evening. His name leaves your lips in a high-pitched cry as you cum, hands flying to grab at his hair and drag him away from your sensitive heat.

It makes him chuckle, your sensitivity. You were so fucking cute like this, ruined for him, by him. He did this. He did this and he knew no one else could.

"baby," he coos, now standing in front of you, "where'd my pretty girl go, hm? thought you wanted to cum on my cock but if yo-"

"n-no please daddy, please- want your cock so bad plea-" The urgency in your voice is evident as you scramble up on wobbly legs to keep him close, knees giving way so quickly you can barely process what happens when he rushes to support you.

"oh puppy," Mingyu feels something stir within him at your panicked desperation, "shh baby, I got you hm? whatever you want from me is yours, I'm yours- always will be"

That's how you end up in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with his eyes locked onto yours; wordless and intense. He lowers you onto the plush surface of your bed, making sure your head rests comfortably on the pillows behind. In a swift motion, he sheds his sweatpants, leaving himself completely bare for you.

"please," you whimper, "daddy please-". It's painful how badly you need him. He seems to be able to tell as well, seeing how his limbs drag him back into bed, parting on either side of your hip. You feel the way his cock ghosts over where you need him most, and your eyes begin to well with tears. "please"

He complies, wordlessly.

The head of his cock- angry and red- slips between your folds, lubricating his length with your slick so he doesn't hurt you when he pushes in. It's a simple action, but it makes your back arch prettily under him, begging for more.

"colour?" he asks, looking into your eyes.

"green" you affirm.

Slowly, he pushes into you, hips meeting yours as he bottoms out. Mingyu groans at the tight fit, you sob at the stretch. Your walls stretch deliciously around him and he finds himself getting lost in your heat right away. The sounds you made, that blissful fucked-out look on your face, the way you tried so hard to keep your eyes open- failing almost always- he was weak for it all. Weak for you. He draws his hips back before thrusting in again and again, until tears stream down your cheeks and all you can think is 'mingyu mingyu mingyu'.

His eyes never left your face for a second and he drank in the sounds you made, muffling his own by biting down into your neck. The tender skin vibrated under his lips with every moan, every sob he drew out of you.

You were alive under him.

Feverish hands trailed around his shoulders up to the sides of his neck, pulling him closer, feeling his skin, his weight, his breathing against your body. The slow, sensual drag of his hips was intense. More than it usually was. Thus far, you'd always had a great time with him, always been fucked right, but now? Now with the way he cradled you in his arms, inhaling your scent as he rocked his body desperately into yours, you were certain this was more than just fucking. He was making love to you.

Perhaps it was the way you so earnestly needed him. Perhaps it was the desperation in your eyes. Something, something, had struck a chord within him because now, he looked at you and made you feel like you were made for him. Like you were the only two people in this world and nothing else mattered. Like he had maybe- just maybe- fallen in love with you.

"gonna c- daddy, fuck don't stop," you moaned, tugging at his hair, nails digging into his back.

He groans in response and you know he's cumming right with you. "so good for me- made just for me- fuck"

A few more thrusts before his movements lose precision, growing sloppy and strained. Mingyu rips his head from the crevice of your neck and looks at you. You're on the brink of coming undone, nearly there, and he could swear he's dreaming. You're so pretty, always are, but something about you now has him losing himself faster than usual. The pink tinge on your cheeks that glows when you drink yourself nearly to death pales in comparison to the burning hue now, your pupils are blown wider than he'd ever seen, and your lips- fuck your lips- they were swollen and bruised and glossy- he can't get enough.

He watches as you break under him, his name flowing from your mouth along a stream of sobs and whimpers, and follows suit, releasing his load into you.

Reality hits soon after, and his exhaustion catches up to him, as does yours. Mingyu crushes you under him, laying on top of you for a minute to catch his breath.

"that was-" he starts before breaking off into an airy scoff, "christ "

All you can offer in response is a weak laugh, and he kisses the skin under his lips in pity. "m'sorry puppy, I dunno what got int-"

"don't be. really. I uh, I liked tonight. a lot."

Mingyu pulls himself up to kiss you, softly, gently. It made your stomach churn. 'oh.' you realized, 'I'm in love'

What you don't realize, however, is that Mingyu feels the same.

For now, all you can do is lean into his touch as he picks you up and takes you to the bathroom to clean up. We'll save confessing for another day.

#seventeen smut #seventeen #kim mingyu #mingyu smut #mingyu scenarios #smut #mingyu x reader #svt #svt smut #kim mingyu smut

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hitomisuzuya · 8 months ago

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Kunikuzushi (Scaramouche) x fem! reader. Smut. Cunnilingus. Kunikuzushi giving. One brief mention of killing. Yandere! Kunikuzushi. Mention of bondage.

This is by no means written sober lol. I just wanted to write about Scara as Kuni for awhile, mainly discovering eating out for the first time. I saw fics going around like this and wanted to write one of my own.

Kunikuzushi made it a habit to study human nature. He was a people watcher. Inevitably, he heard sex discussed one day between two drunk blacksmiths. However, instead of asking about it, he preferred to read about it. He found out a lot of things that took him awhile to process, but ultimately filed it away in the back of his mind as basic human knowledge.

He didn't have any use for it until he met you.

Kunikuzushi didn't exactly know when he started to spend all his free time with you. But the more time went by, the more he started to notice certain little things about you. The way your hips swayed when you walked. The way you always smelled so good. How soothing it was to listen to the sound of your voice. The way your fingers moved when you did things.

While indulging tea way too sweet for his liking, Kunikuzushi overheard that same two drunk blacksmiths talking about oral sex. He listened with his head cocked, listening to them talk about how good it could taste and how good it was to feel pussy clenched around the tongue.

Later, he went and read about it. He even found light novels from Yae Publishing House, or books from merchants that had detailed descriptions in it. He read about all kinds of things, like squirting and different things he could do with tongue or fingers.

The more he read about, the more thoughts of doing those things to you flooded his mind. He would even dare say it consumed him. Late into the night, he would fist his cock and think about eating you out. He swore he couldn't have pumped enough cum onto his hands to abate the thoughts.

One day, Kunikuzushi got up the nerve to ask you about it. And you were already in the perfect position: on your back on your bed, listening to him talk about how sickeningly sweet he thought the tea had been today.

"Do you know what oral sex is? He asked abruptly, looking at you hesitantly in anticipation for how you would respond.

You were silent for a moment, your cheeks flushing in a way he'd always found adorable. He could tell you were contemplating the best way to explain it to him. "Yeah, I know what it is. It's where someone uses their mouth on their partner between their legs to make them feel good," You fidgeted with your fingers as you talked.

Were you..flustered about him asking? Kunikuzushi decided to press you further. He didn't know how else to ask other than being straightforward. He wondered if anyone had ever done it to you. He secretly hoped no one had.

Kunikuzushi wanted to have you all to himself. In every way. The thought of anyone else having your thighs squeezed around their head while you whimpered that you were cumming made him want to squeeze his hands around their throat until their eyes popped out of their sockets.

This, he gathered, must be jealousy.

"Has anyone gone down on you?" The blunt question blindsided you. Your cheeks flushed darker as you shook your head. "No, I haven't," He was delighted at how flustered and shy you looked. Studying human behavior told him that you'd fantasized about it before. Did he dare think that right at this moment, you were thinking about him eating you out?

Kunikuzushi didn't know if he could he bring himself to tell you that one time, he'd spied on you fingering yourself and rubbing your clit. He'd practically drooled, quietly panting as he watched your fingers pump desperately in and out of your hole. He'd palmed his cock with a trembling hand, listening to you moan and sigh.

"Can I go down on you? When I think about it, I get really hard," He responded, further throwing you for a loop. You suddenly wondered where he had learned to talk like this. He hoped that you'd been thinking about him while you fingered yourself that night. His cock had pulsed almost painfully hearing you whimpering that you couldn't cum, your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you rubbed and pinched your clit.

"S-Sure," You said, and Kunikuzushi swore that if he had a human heart, it would be beating right out of his chest. It overwhelmed him sometimes how strongly he could feel what classified as human emotions to him. You drove him to feel this way. He'd long since given up trying to fight it.

He got up and crawled onto your bed, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss as he crawled on top of you. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He'd more than gotten ahead of himself a few times, his hands groping on your body while he pinned you underneath him or against the wall while he devoured your mouth with his.

Kunikuzushi had stopped apologizing for it after the second or third time. It has only spurred him on to do it more frequently when you showed you liked it, moving into his touches and pressing your body up against his.

He would never force himself on you, and now that you'd give him complete verbal permission instead of physical actions, he was less hesitant and more eager. His hands clumsily pawed at your clothes, his fingers shaking as he took your panties off last and spread your legs.

Kunikuzushi licked his lips as he parted the folds of your cunt with his hand. It looked pink, and soft, already damp in response to his hands groping on your body. The pads of his fingers rubbed on your clit, sweeping down to trace lines up and down on your cunt.

Your thighs felt soft as he groped and ghosted his wet fingers on the sensitive skin close to your cunt. Leaning down, his teeth nipped and sucked at your flesh, busying his fingers on your pussy again. He was eager to see how wet he could make you while he bit and sucked possessive bruises, his tongue prodding soothingly on the inflamed skin.

Your breaths started to come out shakily, your clit throbbing as his fingers circled and rubbed, sweeping down to circle your hole, rapidly soaking your juices on his skin. Your body was starting twitch in response, and that was what he wanted.

Your body was tensing in anticipation of his strokes. You were starting to crave him. To want him. And he latched onto that like a rabid dog with its jaws around a human limb.

Kunikuzushi decided it was time. His tongue swept out to trace the shape of your puffy pussy. His body tingled, your taste assaulting his tongue. His tongue drug slowly across your clit. He indulged in the texture of your cunt on his tongue, slowly prodding and swirling the tip around and around.

He vibrated moan on your pussy. Now he understood what the blacksmiths meant by pussy tasting good. Soft whines and moans keened from your parted lips, your hips grinding up against his mouth.

Kunikuzushi scooped your clit into his mouth to suck on. He was fascinated by the responses from your body. Your stomach started to twitch, your legs started to shake as louder moans sounded from you.

"Good girl," He moaned, making your back arch off the bed. He was focused on your every noise and every twitch as you started to writhe, your hips squirming and bucking into his mouth. His eyes rolled closed in bliss as he swept his tongue inside of you. Your hands found the back of his head, pressing his face down onto your cunt as you grinded into his mouth. "I can taste you better that way."

"Ah, Archons! Kuni," You cried out. Your hands tightened on his head, tugging at his hair as you held his face against your pussy. He was dragging his tongue in slow circles around your clit again. You gasped, your clit throbbing as your cunt clenched around nothing.

Kunikuzushi looked up at you, his eyes hazy and glassy with lust. You were crying out to the Archons, but you hadn't named one. Was he your God in this moment?

His tongue felt like it was exploring inside of you, swirling and lapping between your walls. He focused his tongue when your cunt clenched around him. He didn't think he'd ever tasted something so soft and desirably sweet.

The pleasure was dizzying, your orgasm building up tight in your core. You shivered as you writhed, his hands caressing your hips as he held your cunt against his mouth. He vibrated grunt on your clit, whimpering in bliss as drool pool down your pussy.

Kunikuzushi didn't notice he was whining and rutting against your mattress until cum spurted inside his pants. He was so carried away listening to your moans and broken whimpers, his body shaking as he held your hips down on the mattress.

"Cum for me, I need to taste it," Moaning, he latched his lips around your clit. He focused his sucks, swirling his tongue greedily. Your fingernails dug into the back of his scalp as your orgasm broke over you.

The way you clenched around his tongue as he lapped your release, ravenously tongue fucking you through your orgasm was intoxicating to him. He became addicted to that feeling.

After that, it became routine for Kunikuzushi to spend hours between your legs. He was breaking you slowly with his mouth. He was only growing more insatiable. Soon it would be with his fingers. And then his cock.

His thoughts were already swirling of burying his cock and fingers inside of you. You were starting to beg him to cum, which was perfect to him because he'd read about what bondage was. How exhilarating it would be for him to tie you up while he ate you out.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi smut #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x y/n #yandere kunikuzushi #yandere scaramouche

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bunny-jpeg · 5 months ago

Note

Hiii can I please have a profiteroles with a side of Martini and juice served by Charles Leclerc

bakery menu

want to order something? check out the menu! there are all kinds of things on it for your liking! these delicious items are waiting for you! if you want to submit for an order outside of formula one, please do! as for this, i feel so bad that i haven't written enough charles! charles is who got me into f1 originally, so to not write him a lot feels so weird! (the verstappen brain rot is real)! as for this, i love a good mafia au.

profiteroles ("come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go.") + martini (mafia au) + juice (cockwarming) served by charles leclerc (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!charles, cockwarming, clingy!charles, breast play/worship, college student!reader, devoted!charles

you often found those mafia romance novels that were sold in the grocery stores rather amusing. the cheesy covers and titles, the dumb plots and the over exaggeration of characters. it was all very.. funny.

mostly because you had nabbed yourself your own mafia lover. and while he was one of the most dangerous men in monaco. around you he was a huge suck-up.

while in public he was smiles and a sharp eye. behind the scenes he was vicious and scary. but, when it was just the two of you alone in the mansion you called home. charles leclerc, was mafia prince of monaco, wanted nothing more than to feel the soft flesh of his lover between his calloused hands.

and love you like the precious gem you were.

he had come from a week in the netherlands. it was always nice to see his long time friend, you knew business was talked about, but you tried not to pry too deeply. charles tried to keep your name and face out of that line of work, the last thing he needed was his princess to have a price of her head.

for all everyone knew, you were a simple university student in one of the most beautiful places on earth. he had arrived home and beckoned for you to join him in the shower.

you kissed his bronzed skin, you chuckled when he returned the kisses. even brushing his lips across each of your fingers like a quiet worship.

he noticed the bandage on your finger and held your hand up to you. he tilted his head to the side like a puppy as he asked, "what's this, what happened?" his voice tinged with concern.

you chuckled, "i was chopping onions a few days ago and i nicked my finger. trust me, it was nothing serious. just keeping it covered to heal." you smiled at him.

he nodded and kissed your fingers, "you have to be careful, mon amor. i can't have you getting hurt when i'm not here." he kissed the bandage softly.

once your shower was done, you helped dry him off before you took him to the bed to get comfortable. you were both naked and curled up in bed together. you chose a movie to put on in the background while you became reacquainted with his body and him with yours.

you pressed your palm against his and noticed the difference in your hand sizes, "what was holland like, it's been so long since i've been there."

he chuckled, "same old, same old, mon amor. max had asked about you, he always asks about you. i told him to back off, he cold have any woman he wanted. but you are mine."

you giggled, "he's probably saying it to get under your skin." while you flew under the radar most of the time, at least with forces that could hurt you. but close friends of the family knew of you. like max verstappen, a close ally of charles. as a result the dutchman knew to mess with charles he simply had to bring you up.

it was like the time he mailed you a nijntje plush and charles was almost on the next flight to utrecht to kick his ass. in reality you had asked max to do that for you because you wouldn't be able to get it in monaco. (charles just forgot).

your lover's hands roamed your body and his cock twitched between his legs. he said softly, "i need you. i've needed you all week. you were all i could think of." his jaw tensed, "you drive me mad, mon amor. you're all i ever want."

you got him seated upright against the headboard and you straddled his waist. with a little help you sank down on his cock, but you didn't ride him. instead you warmed his cock as you straddled him. it slipped in with ease and the feeling made him shudder.

he wrapped those strong arms around you and held you. you got comfortable against his chest and kissed at the side of his neck. he melted into your touch, loving the feeling of you around him.

"i thought about you every moment i was away." he dipped his head towards your chest, he peppered kisses along the soft flesh, "i wondered if you were eating, sleeping, if you were going to classes." he sighed.

"i know, my dear." you said as you held him close to your chest and combed your fingers through his dark hair, "you were constantly texting me. i'm sorry that i couldn't text you during my lecture, you know all about that professor."

he sighed, "i could kill him."

you pulled away further and wagged your finger at him, "don't you care, leclerc. he is one of the best professors in the region." and he whined, you let him press himself back to your chest.

you let out a small noise when he mouth captured your left nipple. his hands explored your bare back, yearning for the closeness. his cock was heavy inside of you and you played with his hair.

the movie played on in the background, the light from the television cascaded you in a soft glow. you rolled your hips a little to give him a bit of friction, which made a shiver run up his spine.

"i love you." he said.

"i love you too." you yanked on his hair a little bit and he moaned with your nipple in your mouth. he played with your breasts, cupping them in his hands.

oh lord, you were perfect. those beautiful eyes looked to you and you smiled down at him. you leaned in and kissed his forehead. you rolled your hips a little more and let the feeling wash over both of you.

to just be so softly intimate felt nice, after time apart from one another. to feel close to your mafia boyfriend, felt good. he left a few marks across your soft breasts which only made you clench around his cock.

"you're my whole world, mon amor. to the ends of the earth, i love you."

"and i love you, charles." it wasn't the easiest thing being in love with someone so powerful. but the way he looked at you, the way he wore his heart on his sleeve for you. all the risks seemed to fade away, you loved him and he loved you.

you two continued to kiss once more, you knew that he was getting hot all over. his skin felt electric as you pressed your hands on his chest. you could feel his racing heartbeat as the two of you made out.

he looked up at you as you held his face, you rubbed the scar on his cheek, you could see the hearts in his eyes. "my world." he said.

"my universe."

he chuckled, "you always have to one-up me, huh?" he kissed your neck softly as felt the shudder of pleasure through his body. he knew he was close, he held onto you while the movie played and softly thrusted up into you. he couldn't handle it anymore. he kissed at your collarbones and groaned against your warm skin.

"i love you."

"and i love you more, forever. you are mine until the sun swallows the earth whole." he promised. he just wanted to be smothered by you, to hold onto you tightly. to love you with all of his heart.

he was in heaven, heaven was you. you were the angel that whatever god sent down to him. and he'd worship the ground you walked on until the ends of the earth. you were his soul, his beating heart.

not even the mafia lifestyle could pull the love he had for you out of him. you were the reason why he never got cold.

he shuddered as orgasm took over. then it ended with you on your back and him looming over you. those eyes of his transfixed you as he panted heavily. he pulled you in for a kiss, "i love feeling close to you." he said quietly. he looked down at you, his cock still buried in your at the hilt, the movie droned in the background. he kissed your jaw, "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go."

you smiled at him and draped your arms around him. you yearned for your own orgasm, you leaned up and kissed him on the lips, "i'd like to go back home."

"home? i thought i was your home." he pressed himself against you, his mind clearing up from the orgasm.

"i mean my childhood home." you played with his hair, "you've shown me your world, now i want to show you mine. it might not be as extravagant as monaco, but.... i want to make memories with you there."

he perked up at the thought. you wanted to show him your life. the life you had before you met. he broke out into a grin and wrapped his strong arms around you. he kissed at you face and said, "of course. i would love to meet your family, see your home. thank you! thank you!"

you smiled and kissed him once more. even with his cock still snugly inside of you. it was cute to see him light up. you've seen the headlines and his face in the paper. you've seen what he's capable of. but when he was with you, he was nothing more than a sweet puppy.

you kissed him once more before you shifted and asked, "now why don't you make me cum before we start to make plans, handsome?" you giggled as you pulled him in for a kiss once more.

those romance novels were silly, because if they were writing mafia bosses the way that your beloved charles was, the stories would be a lot less steamy and a lot more clingy. <3

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cranberrv · 8 months ago

Text

enchanted

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston falls for the new girl

( a/n : i love this request sm!! reader is fem by the way, also not proofread also ooc! still cute tho! )

not many people wanted to move to tulsa, but for some people, it was their only option. that was the first similarity spotted between you and dallas.

of course, you and dallas were on different sides of the track, different chapters in a novel. you moved to tulsa for your fathers work, you were perfectly happy back at your old city, but you didn’t have a choice. dallas moved to tulsa to escape from the new york police.

you thought tulsa was bland. it was only your first week here, your first week emerced with all the other teenagers at school, but everyone here was grey. especially the east-side kids, the greasers. they were all broke and it looked like all the life was sucked out of them.

you, on the other hand, were fresh from los angeles, with a feminine flare to yourself and a genuine kindness that was rare in tulsa. even the rich kids were rude, but you were anything but.

it was the start of your second week of school, and your least favourite class was science. not because of the subject, it was just that the people in your class gave you dirty looks and the teacher had a voice that could put you to sleep. and your lab partner in the seat next to you had been away the entire time, leaving you to do projects alone.

today was supposed to be the exact same as usual. at the start of class, you walk in and sit down alone. the teacher does the attendance, and marks your mystery lab partner absent. today is independent work, finishing up a lab report and then doing a worksheet on protons and electrons. you want to fall asleep, it’s so boring. you’re listening to every silent conversation and looking out the window for a source of entertainment. you got your wish soon enough, as the door creaks open.

“hello,” your teacher greets to the boy that enters the room. “you are?”

“dallas winston,” he answers, throwing his burnt-out cigarette in the trash.

your teacher nods her head. “ah, you’re dallas winston,” the voice is slow as she pieces it together. you wonder why the words are said in such distaste.

you’ve given up on your work, watching dallas winston. he looks like an east-side kid, his hair is a bit messy and he radiates confidence. he certainly puts out an energy unlike anyone in this school.

they talk for a bit longer, the teacher obviously telling him it’s not okay to skip class. dallas tries to argue back for a little bit, but eventually gives up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. the teacher takes a breath then points to you, giving him a worksheet and telling him to go sit next to you. he follows the teachers finger, and he tilts his head when he looks at you, trying to figure out if he knows you or not. his eyes light up a bit when you make eye contact with him. you like the way he looks at you.

dallas walks over, and sits next to you. there’s a few moments of silence as he gets himself settled. spitting out his gum, taking off his leather jacket, and finally landing his eyes on his sheet. he reads over the questions, and realizes has no idea how to do any of this. “you got a pencil?” he asks you.

“yeah, in my pencil case, help yourself,” you answer, and he grabs your pencil case and sifts through it to find one.

he takes one out and hands it back. you say thank you, and he thinks it was unnecessary to be polite about a simple thing but doesn’t say anything. “mechanical, huh?” he says about the pencil, pushing on the bottom to get the lead out. “expensive. what, you a soc or somethin’?”

you look from your worksheet up at him. he has a nice jawline, you notice. “a what?” you ask. an innocent question in your eyes, but one that has a lot more meaning for dallas.

who the hell doesn’t know what a soc is? he stares at you for a second, eyebrows furrowing. not out of annoyance, but out of genuine confusion about why you don’t know about the class-status that built up the entire reputation of tulsa. you know what a greaser is, but not a soc. and you barely know what a greaser is, anyway. you’ve just been told to stay away.

“you know, a rich-kid. a west-side kid.” you still look confused, and he comes to the conclusion that you’re not from here. so when he notices the confused look in your eye, he changes the subject. “where ya from, sugar?”

“i just moved from los angeles,” you tell him. his eyes drift down to your cute lace pink top. he thinks it’s totally something that someone from LA would wear. there’s a speck of silence as he analyzes you, and you feel the need to break it.

“i shoulda guessed,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. you don’t know if he’s being mean or not. you hope he’s not mean.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you look like you’re from hollywood or somethin’, with all the lace and the flashy bows and shit..” he’s poking at the lace lining your top. you can see him thinking about something while he’s looking at your lace. “christ, your lingerie collection must be insane, huh?”

there’s a blink of silence and a look of slight disbelief on your face. “what?��

“i’m messin’ with ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“oh,” you say softly, cheeks going a bit hot.

“so,” he starts, switching the topic to a different note. “why’d ya move to fuckin’ tulsa?”

“my dad got a job here,” you explain, fiddling with your pencil in your hands. “why?”

“just curious,” he shrugs. “you know, most people don’t move to this hellhole.”

“you did,” you say, and he tilts his head. you think he’s looking at you because you’re just assuming things, and you’re probably wrong, so he’s judging you. “did you not?”

he cracks a smile. he wasn’t judging you, simply curious as to how you guessed he wasn’t from here. “yeah, i did, sugar,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “how’d ya know?”

“your accent,” you explain. “very new yorker.”

“yeah? you like it?”

you mirror his smile. “yeah, i do.”

the class falls silent as the teacher insists everyone quiets down and focuses. dally's voice drops to a whisper when he responds, playfully pushing you away. “alright, miss hollywood, go do your work,” he teases. “gonna tell the teacher you’re distracting me,” he threatens, obviously playing around because he knows that he’s the one distracting you.

you smile and turn your head back to your sheet to finish it up. you begin peacefully working. dallas can’t help but stare at you as you do so. nibbling at your pencil while you’re thinking, constantly adjusting your top, brushing your hair out of your face every now and then, he notices it all. he can’t help it, he thinks you’re the sweetest person he’s ever seen.

you look up at him, feeling his intense gaze on you. you make eye contact and instantly turn away again, cheeks going pink like a tulip. why is he looking at you? do you have something on your face? you don’t know. you subconsiously wipe your cheek to make sure, and adjust your top again.

dallas finally looks away, and you take a breath and relax your shoulders. as much as he was acting sweet towards you, you could tell he had this rough edge that you should be worried about. but what truly worried you is the fact that his edge didn’t worry you. if anything, it lured you in. you wanted to learn everything about him. he was like the ocean, he was calm and beautiful but you had to swim out far and dive deep down to find out everything about him. and it felt like no one had, yet. he was a mystery. you liked that.

as you’re working, you hear the rip of lined paper beside you, then the scratch of a pencil. a few moments later, dallas hands you a piece of paper with a note on it.

“how do you do question 1?“ it reads.

you read the note and look up at him, smiling. you write down your answer, saying that he needs a calculator. you hand him yours, assuming correctly that he doesn’t own one.

he slides you another note a few seconds later. “it keeps saying weird shit on the calculator”

“what does it say?” you write back.

he takes longer than usual to write. you wait in anticipation. after what feels like forever (but was probably 15 seconds) he hands you another note. you read the numbers. you don’t understand how he got that answer. you read over it again, and then it clicks. it’s his phone number.

he’s looking at you as you read it. you look up at him and gently nod, putting his number in your pocket. you rip another piece of paper and write down, “i’ll call you.”

he reads it and writes back, and is about to hand it to you, until he quickly takes it back and adds something. then he hands it to you.

“good. (p.s. your little lace top is kinda cute)”

you read his little p.s. and smile to yourself, then to him. you mouth thank you to him. he mouths “anytime” back.

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you and dallas winston say hello to each other in science class.

#the outsiders #dallas winston #dally winston #dallas #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston headcanons #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston fluff #dally winston fluff

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freyadragonlord · 6 days ago

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Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

#been feeling some feelings #love languages #omniscient reader's viewpoint #the s classes that i raised #lout of the count’s family #orv #sctir #tsctir #lcf #tcf #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #kim roksu #han yoojin #kim dokja

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erwinsvow · 1 year ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment.

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?”

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.

“What?”

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago.

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?”

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.

and voila <3

#spent my sunday writing this while rewatching season 3 #putting off prep for my grad school interview b/c this is so much better <3 #hope everyone likes it #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotcher imagine #hotch #hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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the-travelling-witch · 2 years ago

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

summary: the types of kisses the demons like to give and receive

pairings: demon brothers :: barbatos x gn! reader

warnings: i totally never play favourites ever

obey me! masterlist || similar post: hold me close

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

Lucifer takes great pride in being able to make your heart soar and head spin. And what better way to do that than stealing all air from you with a passionate kiss to the lips? But he also has his softer moments filled with only praise for you and he can’t stop himself from holding your jaw between his fingers and pressing a sweet peck to your forehead.

He is frankly a little awkward with receiving affection, being more used to facing either admiration, fear or annoyance. Yet, he cannot suppress the warmth spreading through his chest if you try to pull him away from work with a kiss to his temple and a hushed whisper to come to bed. Although Lucifer may not admit it, when you lean in to flutter a kiss to his closed eyelids it symbolises the ultimate trust to him.

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍

You already know, this snowy-haired tsundere will absolutely deny enjoying your affection. Pfft, you really think he needs some human’s love and care? (Yes, he does. And everyone knows it too.) Mammon would kill for a sliver of your tender affection, only to curl up on your lap and bask in your touch; he thrives with your attention on him and only him. Normally pretty chill and laid back, he’ll get really pissed if someone interrupts your one-on-one quality time.

Mammon, being the Avatar of Greed, obviously wants all of your kisses! Give him all your love and affection, human! There is, however, a comfort that comes with pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head while he has you wrapped up in his arms (and wings on occasion). Not only can he hide his glowing cheeks from you but he also feels like he’s protecting you and keeping you safe.

Your kisses? Again, he wants them all! Of course you want to kiss the Great Mammon, ya can’t seem to get enough of him, ain’t that right? Kiss the area peeking out from the collar of his shirt where his neck meets his collarbones, that’ll shut him right up. And lord help him if you ever kiss the marks on his chest when he’s in his demon form… Please pretend not to notice his reddened face or ears.

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍

Leviathan is… freaking out, to put it lightly. His heart and mind are racing!! Not only do you want to hang out with him, no you also like like him. Him!! Not one of his stupid brothers!! Is he back in the Celestial Realm? It takes a while for him to show affection at all and not immediately self-deprecate afterwards if you don’t initiate it. But after enough reassurance from you, he learns that you really are okay with having him touch you.

He’s still a shy baby though and something so bold as a kiss to your cheek or lips is way too high-level normie stuff (although he really wants to kiss you)!! The genius solution? Kissing the palm of your hand!! Whether you’re watching anime or you’re sitting in his lap watching him game, chances are Levi’s fiddling with your fingers anyway once his hands are free. (Jealous Levi is a different kind of monster though…)

If you ever kiss his cheek, Levi.exe will stop working; a kiss to the lips would take him straight out. Whether it’s just because you want to be cute or if it’s a little thank you or you’re excited he won a game, it doesn’t matter and you can basically see the blood rush to his face. If he’s ever in his demon form with you, consider giving some love to his non-human traits too; he’s very insecure about them and it’ll help him greatly.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍

Satan is a true romantic at heart. Whether it’s all the romance novels he absorbed, if he’s just naturally like this or if he’s trying to cover his reputation as the Avatar of Wrath, he is a gentleman either way. And a gentleman kisses the beloved’s hand right? As cute as the basic is, Satan prefers pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist. It feels way more intimate and the trust you have in him, one of the most dangerous demons, to let him so close to a sensitive area of your body sends his mind reeling.

Your every kiss will bring a fond smile to his face, so he’s not picky. That being said, there’s a special place in his heart for the times you lean in to place a kiss to the tip of his nose. It’s playful and endearing and the spark in your eyes so close to his captivates his whole being.

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒

When it comes to affection, Asmo might as well be the Avatar of Greed. Give him all of your love, he deserves it! In turn, he will smother you in as much attention as you can take. It’s no secret that Asmo is as shameless as a demon can be when it comes to sneaking a kiss here and there, and he’s not picky about the place. Whether it’s all over your face, up your thighs and to your hips or a cheeky little kiss to the back of your hand, Asmo is the demon to fulfil whatever your heart desires.

If he were to pick his personal favourite though, it would be your spine. Not only is he delighted to see your bare back, he can also watch you shiver as the ghost of his fingers grazes your skin. For him, the space between his shoulder blades is very sensitive as it sits right where his wings sprout. So to see you expose such a vulnerable spot to him makes his heart beat faster and head spin if he thinks too long about it. You do funny things to him, you know that, darling?

Again, Asmo being Asmo, he welcomes all your kisses gladly, but not equally. Sure, connecting your lips is delightful and the way you sensually move to his neck makes him all giddy. Yet, in a very un-asmo-esque fashion, what excites him most are the most innocent of gestures. Case and point, the blush that settles on his perfect skin when you kiss the back of his hand. Do it after he finishes a manicure, when your hands are interlocked or just casually when you see him. This demon is all yours now.

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁

Beel loves you very much and he shows it pretty openly, no beating around the bush here. It might not be as refined as writing a poem or what the films always show but he shares his food with you, which is a dead giveaway about how serious he is. Consequently, he’s very concerned about your health and making sure you’re taking care of yourself. So if he presses soft kisses to your stomach when you cuddle after a meal, not only can he express his affection but he can also make sure you’re eating regularly.

Every time you kiss the corner of his lips, Beel’s absolutely stunned for a few seconds, eyes adorably wide as his brain catches up. Not only is he happy you are initiating affection but when you get so close he can pick up on your scent so effortlessly. Not to mention, the fact you didn’t quite meet his lips leaves him wanting more and there’s a high chance he pulls you back in for a real taste a second later. You know, suddenly he’s hungry again…

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

Belphie might not be as over the top with his affections as some of his brothers but there’s no doubt to be had that he is absolutely smitten with you. To outsiders it might not be as obvious but to those who know him, it’s clear as day, really. The way he’s trying to hide his blush, subtly show off or try to stay awake for you really gives him away. Plus, he’ll put up with any of your nonsense and will also put in the effort to care about and for you.

On that note, finding you two together isn’t always as easy though because Belphie will steal you away for a nap at any given time of day. No matter how long you’ve been in the Devildom already, Belphie is still insistent that he has to make up for lost time.

Whether you’re just his favourite pillow or if you are wrapped up in his arms, he wants to be as close to you as possible for a good night’s (or day’s) sleep. Whatever the case, the youngest is a lot more likely to press a half-asleep kiss to whatever part of skin he can reach while curled up next to you. If he could choose one, it would have to be kissing your neck while holding you from behind. Not only does he get to hear your pulse, he can also get a rise out of his brothers if he accidentally happens to bite down just a little…

Good thing Belphie is lying down most of the time because whenever you kiss his forehead, his knees go weak. Your hand gently pushing his hair out of his face before your lips flutter against his skin in the softest of touches could send him straight back to dreamland with how much comfort it provides. It doesn’t even matter when you do it. Whether it’s to wake him up, give him a good night’s kiss or to display how proud you are and how much you love him, Belphie could never get enough of your kisses.

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒

Barbatos lives to serve and there’s nobody he likes to please more than you. Life can get tough, especially since you do so much for the people around you, so Barbatos would love nothing more than to be a place of comfort for you. Besides making tea for you and listening intently to what troubles you, Barbatos would also like to alleviate some of the physical strains. And what would be better suited for that than a massage provided by your partner?

As skilled fingers knead away the knots and stress of your everyday life, Barbatos will sneak in a few affections just for you. Whether it’s the small of your back, your shoulder blades or the back of your neck, expect them to be lavished in the gentlest attention as you melt into his touch. But your demon is always very keen on pressing soft kisses along the skin of your shoulders, from the moment he slips your clothes off for the massage to the moment he helps adjust them again. Also, if you ever find yourself in a situation where Barbatos has some free time to step away from his job for a while and just be himself, he’ll take every chance he gets to slip the collar of your top out of the way and indulge a little.

There’s no doubt that you are Barbatos’ favourite way to wind down. Just being with you recharges his energy fully and reminds him he’s more than just his job. That’s why it means so much to him when you carefully work off his gloves like he’s a delicate porcelain cup and place a lingering kiss to each pad of his fingers. The first time you do it, he’s very much taken by surprise but after recovering from his shock he’s already fond of the gesture. Even after he slips his gloves back on, he feels as if your touch still tingles underneath the material, the urge to feel your skin on his again burning bright under his composed façade.

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muzansfangs · 4 months ago

Text

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Shuhei Hisagi, Shinji Hirako, Ichimaru Gin, Shunsui Kyoraku;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: domestic dynamics, suggestive themes, language, fear of storms, denial, sexual tension, struggling with feelings, mention to unprotected sex, breeding, violence, injuries;

Plot: To ease off the tension between you two, you decide to take Sosuke out to buy himself clothes, a phone and anything else he may need during his permanence in the World of the livings. Visiting shops, you mark some lines and establish rules to make your forced cohabitation more pleasant. What a shame you keep on repeating yourself the umpteenth ‘kiss’ is just an accident not bound to happen again.

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚.

After five hours spent in avoiding Sosuke, you had come to the conclusion you just had to put an end to this circus. The day had not started the way you had planned, but it was not too late to actually try to fix things. After all, your forced cohabitation had barely begun. If you did not confront him now, things would have decidedly degenerated in the near future. Before locking yourself up in your bedroom, you had caught a glimpse of him wandering through the living room and directing his attention to your library. At least, he was reading, not destroying your flat or the whole city. Still, you did not think he was still doing that. He was too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Therefore, stepping out of your nest, you made your way to the living room, only to be taken aback by the sight of him still sitting comfortably onto your sofa with his nose buried into a novel. You had definitely underestimated his capacity of maintaining a deep and constant concentration for hours. How stupid of you to forget he was built differently from common mortals. He was a self-proclaimed god, was he not? He had trascended reality, challenged the quintessence of the world.

Staring at him from the entrance to the living room, shoulder against the wall and arms against your chest, you also took notice that he had removed his eye-patch. Handsome, almost looking regal, he was already bewitching you again. You had almost forgotten how much his eyes had always affected you. His features, sharp yet gentle, made your stomach twist and turn for the war waging in your head between your morals and your lust for him. You had to keep your distance from him. It was not going to be easy, you were well-aware of that, but you had to try not to be stuck in the deadly web he was subtly sewing around you.

“Staring is rude. Hasn’t your father taught you that? Shame on me, I should not be surprised, if he has not. It’s Kurosaki Isshin, after all” Sosuke’s snarky remark brought back on Earth.

He was such a jerk at times.

You rolled your eyes, ambling towards the couch with an annoyed expression plastered over your face “As if I would waste my time staring at you. I was merely doing my job: checking on you. — you punctuated, the fact he had caught you red-handed upsetting you to no end — What are you reading, anyway?” you asked, plopping down onto the opposite side of your couch with a sigh. You had missed your forniture. As much as you loved the Soul Society, you had to admit the beds and sofas were not that comfortable.

“One of your books. I found it in the novels section, but I believe you misplaced it” Sosuke stated, flipping a page seemingly unbothered by your presence.

You quirked your eyebrows up, squinting to get a glimpse of the cover to read the title “Huh? That’s impossible, I personally make sure not a book is out of its genre. — you reasoned, scratching the back of your neck thoughtfully — What is it?” you asked then, only for your jaw to drop to the floor.

“It’s ‘Fifty shades of Grey’. That’s porn. Low quality porn, to be fair” Sosuke replied, before delicately closing the book and settling it down onto the coffee table in front of you.

Out of the vast collection of books you had, he had really picked up that one. You felt your cheeks boil, you eyes frantically averting from him to the volume under your nose, as you cleared your throat to utter out some excuses. Did you feel ashamed for owning something tagged as erotic? It was just a stupid book, a gift from Shinji to mess around with you.

“It was a gift and… It’s a novel, anyway. It’s just a little steamy” you stammed, avoiding his gaze at any cost.

“Oh, is that so? Interesting friends you have. Who was it from, if I may ask?” he inquired, propping his hand onto the palm of his hand, leaning forward to pull your gaze back on him. He did not even had to try to catch your attention. He always had it. As if you were strong enough to evade his magnetic gaze, though, you pretended not to be affected by those caramel eyes. Or his whole persona, to be fair.

“Why should I tell you?” you replied, grasping the book and standing back up to put it into its original place. You would have done anything in that very moment not to be forced to look at him.

“Oh, just to take note of who are your real friends and who merely wants to sleep in your bed” Sosuke cooed, causing you to flinch.

“Excuse me? None of my friends has such ambitions and, even if they did, this is not your business. I have already told you not to meddle into my life” you countered back, your voice taking a warning edge that seemed to amuse him.

Sosuke smiled, that subtle smile you viscerally hated “Are you so naive to believe men have pure intentions, when it comes down to a woman? — he questioned you, swiftly standing up as well and walking up to you slowly, the stately pace and elegance of a panther stalking down its prey — A friend doesn’t gift such scandalous books to a girl. Not unless he wants to send her a message” he explained his point of view, causing you to sigh in exasperation and clasp your hands together not to lash out at him. He apparently had no intention of dropping the topic and, above all, he was attempting to get you to talk. He wanted informations from you, this much was evident. But you were not going to tell him anything, especially given the altercations between him and Shinji. You did not really want your chaotic friend to go through more psychological trauma thanks to your new roomer.

“No, I’m not. — you started curtly, gaze hardening — In fact, I let you fuck me only because I agreed to sleep with you, not because I thought you were genuinely offering me a shoulder to cry on” you countered back, before glancing at the clock and realizing it was almost noon. Well, considering you had to help him settle down anyway, you could help yourself out of this conversation and tell him to follow you out of your flat.

As Sosuke stared down at you, seemingly resentful for your answer, you just walked towards the door and grasped your wallet and keys from the bowl at its left. You expected him to talk, say anything, but you were genuinely surprised when he silently followed you out of the door. It was irritating, so much that you had to be the one to break the ice after your snippy comment.

“Aren’t you even asking me where I am heading to and if you are allowed to come with me?” you asked him, locking the door behind you.

“Why should I bother questioning you? It’s not like I’m not going to follow you anywhere you go, love” he casually replied, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt absent-mindedly.

Love. Now he had started using nicknames. Where did it come from? Why was he burying the hatchet, even though you had just wounded his ego? You eyebrow twitched as you shoved your key into the pocket of your shorts, head whipping in his direction only to find him placidly smiling at you.

You sighed “Love? Really? Sosuke, cut the crap—“.

It happened too quickly for your brain to register it. One second you were staring daggers at him, the next one your back was flattened against the wall and his hand was clasped over your mouth to prevent you from talking. He was not upset, then again he did not seem to be irate. Reading him was hard, he was too imperturbable to be affected by human emotions. You looked at him wide-eyed, muffling noises of protests reverberating against his palm as he hushed you by raising the index of his free hand.

“Calm down. — he commenced, cocking his eyebrow up as he watched your features relax gradually, albeit your hands were still scrambling up in a pathetic attempt to tug his hand down and free your mouth — Did you forget what I have told your neighbour? We are supposed to act like a couple outside your flat. Can I remove my hand from your mouth, or are you going to keep up that stupid attitude of yours?” he asked you, watching your eyes grow round and then be reduced to two fissures.

He had a point. He always had a point and throwing hands in the corridor was not exactly a good idea, given your proximity to Mrs. Watanabe’s door. You were one hundred percent sure that hag was staring at you from the peephole, confident you were going to make a false step. Against your will, you nodded your head slowly and inhaled sharply before raising your hand to cup his cheek in your palm and sneering at him.

“Alright, we are on the same page about keeping a low profile. — you said lowly, through gritted teeth — But once we are back home, you will keep your hands for yourself” you clarified, before slowly and gently slipping out of his grasp.

Ignoring him never worked. Acting like a couple in public was probably the equivalent of letting the population of a small medieval town drag you to the village square and tie you up to a stick to burn you alive. Sosuke was going to be your excruciating death. The worst part of it was that you did not have the strength to run away from your feelings for too long. Not after chasing them away for years. You were tired.

But then, he made comments that got under your skin and you admonished yourself for having let yourself think he could have been a good match for you, if only he had not almost massacred your whole family and your friends.

“As you wish. — he replied, his presence looming over your frame from behind as you exited the building — Admittedly, I do not think you are going to last long without my attentions, darling”.

Yes, in times like that, you desired nothing more than kicking him twice in the guts and feed his genitalia to a crocodile at the zoo. Instead, though, you decided to keep your chin up and head towards the main shopping area of the city “Believe it or not, I have been living a relatively peaceful and satisfactory life until Shunsui appointed me to babysit you” you replied, an hint of pride in your voice as you hastily crossed the road not to be rolled over by a car you had failed to spot.

The driver’s insults pierced your ears as you did your best to ignore him and resumed your march. The man standing right at your left, however, was not going to let it go.

“Are you sure Shunsui appointed you to babysit me? Maybe you’re mistaken” he commented dryly, watching you roll your eyes and grasp him by his forearm roughly to pick up your paces and reach your destination faster. The less you spoke to him, the better. You had no time to bicker with him over such trivial matters, not when your stomach was protesting as well. You craved food and you knew a cheap place not too far from there, where you used to grab your lunch on your way back home from school.

Sosuke shot you a displeased glare, his hand gripping yours to stop you. His hooded brown chocolate eyes bored into yours, slender fingers slipping between your smaller ones to lock your hands and, factually, forcing you to halt. Your eyes met his once again, his lean frame making you feel so miserable once again as he tugged you closer to him, this time more carefully.

“Y/N” he spoke firmly, a warning for you to settle down and listen for once. In the middle of a crowded street, mere inches separating your bodies, you lost yourself into his gaze. It was not the first time it happened. You should have known better than trusting yourself around him.

Sosuke’s free hand skimmed over your arm, resting onto the top of your shoulder, goosebumps pattering your skin under his touch “I know no one respects me. Despite that, you once did. What did I do to be undeserving of your company?”.

You frowned, blinking to clear your own clouded mind “What? We live together now. Whether I like it or not, I’m stuck with you”.

“Don’t lie, Y/N. Your body is here, but your soul is desperately attempting to run away from me”.

His words rang in your head, a lump in your throat you could not swallow forming. You had not let your guard down, not since you had slept together, still he was capable of reading your mind. You clenched your jaw, sucking in deeper breath, as you shook your head.

“Get out of my head”.

“I don’t think I will. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever had the pleasure to be in” he replied, a faint grin crossing his lips as he shook his head and dipped his head down.

You were unable to talk back, his lips a magnet pulling you in, hypnotizing you, as you tightened your grip on his hand. No, you had to resist, you had to push him back, to block him out of your head. But a kid passing by ruthlessly bumped onto your back, your balance failing you as Sosuke caught you promptly in his arms and stole a brief kiss from you. Lips pressing against your soft ones for a few seconds, yet causing a turmoil of emotions into your stomach. You scrunched up your nose, feet finding their place back onto the cobblestone as he tentatively let go of you.

The moment you stepped back, hand reaching up to your mouth, you stared up at Sosuke stupefied only to notice he was smiling almost imperceptibly. He licked his lips, his tongue swiping out to brush over his bottom lip and a guttural hum reverberated through his chest.

“You’ve changed your chapstick” he commented, before hinting at the road with his chin and ambling towards the busy street leisurely, silently awaiting for you to join him.

And you did, you followed him, with your fingers still lingering right where his sinful lips had met yours. You reprimended yourself for having enjoyed it, but you refrained from shouting at him he had blatantly ignored one of the first rules you had set. It had been just a casuality. He was standing too close, that kid had the same grace of an elephant and the politeness of an ogre. It was not even a real kiss. Insignificant touches did not count, right? You really wished you could explain that to your heart too.

You soon found out Sosuke had a classy taste for expensive fabrics and brands. His charm even helped to get a discount, at times, and you were seething in rage. With the amount of money he had, that man did not someone to deduct such generous amount of moneys from the price. Right, he was filthy rich. You had literally goggled your eyes, when Shunsui had given you the access to Sosuke’s accounts. The Soul Society had made sure to change the local currency into Yen. You were genuinely surprised he had saved so much money from his days as a Captain.

“I can’t believe it…” you muttered under your breath, as you entered into your last shop for the day. You needed to buy him some boxers, but he had pushed you right into an Armani shop because he was not going to wear ‘cheap boxers’.

“Still upset I’m not broke?” he replied amusedly, as you two wandered through the shelves to look for the lingerie section.

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you picked up a pair of black boxers and showed them to him “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, Shunsui is the Captain Commander and he’s not that wealthy” you spoke your mind, watching Sosuke examine the fabric absent-mindedly before looking at the size.

“He’s constantly dissipating his savings in women and saké. — he replied monotonously, before glancing at a point at your back with a sly expression on his face — I never had to pay for sex and I’m not an alcoholic”.

With that he handed you the boxers you had chosen for him and gestured at you for purchasing a couple of other ones too. You scoffed, his words pulling out a bitter chortle from you, as you whipped your head around and rummaged through the different assortments of boxers on the shelf. He was such a bastard. You did not even spare him a glance to check at what he was doing, as you walked up to the cashier and told her you had to pay for some articles.

However, on your way out of the shop, Sosuke was quick to catch up to you. You noticed he was holding a bag in his hand, something that made you arch your eyebrows “What is it?” you asked.

“Curiosity killed the cat, huh?”.

“You know what? Nevermind. I don’t even care”.

”Not even if it’s a little something to apologize for having offended you earlier?” he hazardously tempted you, causing your ears to prick up rizzare. Did he really buy something for you? Did he think he could get on your right side so easily?

You sighed “Really now? Why spending your money for me? It’s not like you really yearn to earn my forgiveness or something. This is surely one of your bluffs”.

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings. — Sosuke defended himself, the sky turning gradually purple above you two as you headed back towards your home — You’re a broken record. I never lied to you, I think I have abundantly made myself clear”.

He had, that was true, but you wished you could trust him blindly. You wished he was not the user of a deceitful zanpakuto, you wished he was not the man you had fallen for and tormented yourself not to love anymore. But above all, you truly wanted to erase those intimate moments you spent in his bed. Sosuke was a snake, a wizard, a bewitcher.

“It’s a nice gesture, Sosuke. But I am pretty sure you know that a simple gift will not make it up for everything you’ve done. I don’t think I can accept anything coming from you” you replied, only to be feel his hand cup your hip and pull you closer to him.

With his lips grazing the shell of your ear, you felt your breath hitch in your throat “Then, forgive my language, why did you accept my cock so easily? Further more, why did you let me breed you?” he whispered darkly.

The sound of a thunder rolling in the distance was all you needed to shove him off of you and run all the way down to your home. The warmth coiling in your lower abdomen, the irriration and rage blinding you when he got under your skin were something you could not control and it was driving you insane.

You did not want to die young. You did not want to die by the sword of a Captain, or a Lieutenant. Despite being the oldest of the team, and obviously not the weakest, you were not confident enough to wander down the mazy streets of the Seireitei. You had miraculously entered the walls without your brother and the rest of the gang, after escaping a tremendous fight with a Captain. The same Captain that had sent chills down your spine for his easygoing nature, but cold homicidal rage.

The same Captain that had almost cut your arm off of your shoudler. Hand pressing onto the wound, you were jogging down the streets, hoping no one recognized you. Some shinigamis did not pay much attentions to you, your uniform clearly confusing them.

But a guy with a tattoo over his face had been following you around for quite a while now. You had not even had the guts to look him straight in the eye, someone referring to him as ‘Lieutenant Hisagi’ had scared you off. You needed a shelter, you needed a place to heal your wounds and look for Rukia.

Your vision was getting blurry, though. Your limbs hurt and you eventually slumped down against a wall with a pained expression and the certainty you were going to die. Your eyes closed, a whimper leaving your lips, as you hoped no one found you like that. But a powerful spiritual pressure squashed you down onto the ground. Your wary eyes snapped open, a familiar face blessing your vision as a man with glasses knelt down in front of you.

The white haori, that reiatsu. He was a Captain. You were dead!

Your hand gripped your zanpakuto, swinging it towards him, as you coiled like a squirrel when he reached his hand out to touch your cheek. But he stopped you.

“I don’t want to hurt you”.

Curled up in a ball on your bed, you flinched at the sound of the umpteenth thunder exploding outside, the rain pattering against the window of your bedroom. You had not even eaten in Sosuke’s company, barely talking to him if not to inform him you were going to sleep. This happened around midnight. It was two o’ clock and you were restless, nervous and … Scared of storms.

You did not want to tell him about your weakness. You had been made fun of for it in the past and you were in no mood to argue anymore for the day. Probably a glass of water could calm you down. Or this is what you told yourself, whilst you walked barefoot in the dark corridor to reach the kitchen.

The door of his room was closed, your feet making no sound on your way back to your room. But a sudden thunder caused your grip on the glass to loosen and you watched helplessly as it made contact with the hard floor. Splinters of glass and a puddle of water littered the tiles and you let out a screech that caught the attention of your housemate.

Door creaking open, Sosuke leaned against the doorframe. No shirt, grey pants on and his chiseled abs in full display, he narrowed his eyes at you and the scene unfolding before his droopy eyes. You had never really seen him like that, partially disheveled, more human. He was not faking his sleep, at least.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep, I will clean up” you fretted, looking for a rag to wipe away the water and collect the shattered glass.

“Turn the lights on, at least. You’ll cut your feet like that” he tiredly observed, finger switching the lights on.

You were about to snap at him, ranting about how you were not a toddler and how you could perfectly take care of yourself, when you squirmed out in fear again and the thunder gave Sosuke the hint of what was happening right before his eyes. Trembling like a leaf, you stared at him like a soaked, scared kitten, his lips parting in disbelief.

You feared being judged.

“It’s pathetic, I know” you blurted out in defeat.

He did not reply immediately, merely glancing at his room behind him before stepping aside “Come inside” he offered.

You furrowed your brows, his offer sounding strangely soothing and you searched for his eyes to find some further infos about his intentions.

The shinigami sighed, folding his arms across his chest “I don’t want to hurt you”.

Those words again. This promise of not harming you, the way you found yourself entering his room in search for protection felt like a deja-vu. However, as you sat onto the edge of his bed and he joined you, grasping a black t-shirt from the desk and wearing it, you could tell he had no intention to fool you in any way.

“If you don’t want to sleep alone, you can stay here” Sosuke said, before lying down onto his back.

You felt your cheeks heat up, foreteeth sinking onto your bottom lip “It’s inappropriate and… I don’t understand why you’re doing it anyway”.

“We’re far beyond the ‘appropriate’ etiquette, don’t you think? — he bantered, watching you shift onto your seat and slowly lying down next to him, rolling onto your side to face the wall — Also, I don’t mind you sleeping next to me”.

You mentally cursed yourself for having accepted, but when his arm snaked around you, pulling your back against his body to spoon you, you felt safe. Not a single thunder scared you anymore that night, not as you fell asleep in his arms.

As selfish as he was though, Sosuke had his reasons for wanting you there. Since you two had slept next to each other, he had learnt to appreciate the company of a warm body next to his one, your body.

Maybe feeling was not as detrimental as he had always thought. Maybe you were worth the shot. Probably, you were the cure to his solitude.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi, there!

I honestly did not think so many people were going to be invested in this story. Thank you so much for showing appreciation to my work, it means a lot! Having said that, I have been looking forward to write this chapter. Whilst there will be other chapters in which Sosuke is going to be involved into mundane situations, shopping with his ‘so-called-girlfriend’ is something I really enjoyed picturing. Sorry for the late update! I promise you very spicy things in the next one. As for now, thank you so much for your feedback!

Love,

— Luce

TAGS: @pseudowho @seireiteihellbutterfly @onyxino @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @noirfan12 @velaenaa

#aizen sosuke x reader #sosuke aizen x reader #aizen x reader #aizen smut #bleach smut #bleach x reader #shunsui x reader #shuhei hisagi x reader #ichimaru gin x reader #shinji hirako x you

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