#reader x fbi

[newobsessionweekly]

You will always be my Boot

Main masterlist | The rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x FBI!FormerRookie!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are a former FBI agent and come back to your roots after many years. Little did you know Tim waited for you all these years.

A/N: This is my first Tim Bradford one ever and I know I need some improvement in this police area. I'm thinking about making a part two of this. Anyways, let me know what you think. Have a wonderful day, bubs! Lots of love.

Requested: Yes Words: 2.5k Requests for Tim Bradford are open! GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

The flight was exhausting and the shitty bed from that cheap motel was even worse. They'd think an FBI agent would afford a five star hotel and a warm meal, instead of that reheated noodles you had last night, but LA is expensive as shit. One thing you didn't miss about this city were those self-centred Hollywood "stars" and the exorbitant prices.

You watched the time over and over again, shaking your foot nervously. You are ready to go, but you just can't gather the courage to face those police officers again. The bathroom light is dim and you put the blame on that for your horrendous bun, not because you lost practice. You redo the bun one more time and watch yourself in the mirror. LAPD uniform hugs your curves so perfectly and the overloaded belt accentuates your waist. You allow yourself to wear a small smile today, for the sake of old times.

The tranquility of the morning was shattered by the unmistakable sound of gunshots ringing out in the distance. Instantly alert, with your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins, you grabbed your service weapon and badge, slipping them into your waistband as you hurried out the door and into the cool morning air.

As you made your way down the narrow staircase of the motel, the sounds of the gunshots grew louder, sending a chill down your spine. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you quickly assessed the situation—a group of armed men engaged in a shootout with one another only a few blocks away. Confusion made its way to your mind; why would some people from the same gang fire at each other?

As you analyse their tattoos, some have it on their neck, some on their wrist, it snapped. You recognise those tattoos from your FBI files that lay on your motel bed, two different markings, two different gangs. Dangerous ones, wanted ones.

Without a second thought, you sprang into action, ducking behind parked cars and storefronts, you closed in on the scene, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to confront them. There's no time to wait for backup. And who'd you call anyway?

With a burst of adrenaline, you emerged from cover and sprinted towards the gunmen, your weapon drawn and ready. The element of surprise worked in your favor as you caught them off guard, their attention momentarily diverted as they turned to face you.

"Drop your weapons! FBI!" you shouted, your voice ringing out clear and commanding above the chaos of the shootout.

For a moment, there was hesitation in their eyes, uncertainty flickering across their faces as they weighed their options. But then, with a defiant snarl, they raised their guns once more, their fingers tightening on the triggers.

Time seemed to slow as the standoff unfolded, each moment stretched to its breaking point as you and the felons locked eyes, the tension thick in the air. And then, with a burst of gunfire, the situation erupted into chaos once more.

Bullets flew past you in a deadly dance as you returned fire, each shot ringing out like a thunderclap in the stillness of the morning. You managed to hit two of them, one in the shoulder, that dropped the gun and grabbed their wound in shock and the other one in the thigh, forcing them to fall into the ground. You didn't had enough handcuffs to secure them all, so it was your priority to stop them from running away until the officers arrived.

It's crazy to see how four rival gang members united to get rid of you when seconds before were about to blow their heads off.

"I said, drop your weapons, now!" you demanded to the masked one still standing, gunshots finally stopping. You didn't see any response or will to do so and that made you place aim for their legs as well, forcing them to collapse. "Hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers."

Before handcuffing them, you pulled up your phone and searched for that one number.

"Sergeant Grey" the voice on the other side responded.

"Agent Y/L/N, FBI. I have in custody two of Crenshaw and two of Tongan. I need backup and R/A. Crenshaw bulevard with W 66th Street." you informed Sergeant Grey.

"Copy that."

Not long after you made the call, three cars and an ambulance pulled up to the address you gave. The look on the officers faces when they saw you holding one handcuffed suspect and three injured on the street, was as satisfying as catching those. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you.

"Y/L/N, FBI." you presented yourself to the officers, you showed your badge and shake their hands, each wearing a mortified expression after they heard your name. "After they're checked, let's get going. I'm late for my first day." you demanded and the six officers nodded as an understanding.

You could tell by the look on their faces, some of them are rookies. You can't forget those eyes, you had the exact same expression when you were a rookie and as Tim as your T.O. didn't help much.

"Agent Y/L/N." a serious tone came from just as a serious man. Sergeant Grey standing tall and imposing in the booking room as you walked the men to one of the benches and let another officer take care of him. As you approached the man, a big and friendly smile appeared on his face "It's so good to have you back."

"Good to be back, sir." you accepted his handshake with that small smile from the morning that you promised yourself you'd be wearing all day.

Your name was on everyone's lips as you walked through the station besides Grey.

It had been years since you last walked these familiar corridors, but as you made your way toward the meeting room, a sense of nostalgia washed over you.

"Is that Y/N?" one officer whispered to another, having the impression you didn't hear them.

"Yeah. Still hot. Heard she's working with FBI now." that remark made you turn your head in their direction, locking your eyes with one of them as he swallowed the lump in his throat and returning to his seat.

Inside, the meeting room was filled with the buzz of conversation as officers gathered for the morning briefing. All eyes turned to you as you entered, whispers and murmurs following in your wake. You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, their curiosity palpable in the air as they watched the former FBI agent return to their ranks.

"Good morning everyone. Sorry I'm late, had to take care of something so early this morning because someone doesn't sleep." he glanced at you and the murmur stopped when the eyes landed on you standing in the doorframe. "Take a sit." you nodded and sat down in the first row.

"Is that Y/N?" Lucy whispered to Nolan and Jackson. It was impossible to shake the feeling of being under a microscope, every move you made scrutinized by your colleagues.

"Hell, yeah, she is!" Jackson laid his eyes on you and gave you an appreciation smile.

As the sergeant launched into the details of the day's assignments and priorities, you found it difficult to concentrate, the weight of everyone's eyes on you making it hard to focus. But you pushed through, determined to prove yourself in your new role as a police officer.

"Today we made serious progress towards the gangs that won't let Los Angeles sleep in peace. Agent Y/L/N, first thing in the morning had in custody four men, almost as important as the gang leaders." your mind zoned out, you already knew that story. But what you didn't know and what's really eating you inside is that specific blond man.

In the corner of the room, Talia and Angela exchanged knowing glances, their whispers barely audible over the sergeant's voice.

"Can you believe she's back?" Angela muttered.

"I heard she was with the FBI," Talia replied, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Wonder what brought her back here."

"From an FBI agent to an officer? Seems like a joke to me..." Lopez paused as she looked at Tim for a moment. "Maybe something bad happened. Maybe she did something bad." the excitement of her voice was unquestionable.

Meanwhile, Tim Bradford watched from his seat at the front of the room, his expression unreadable as he observed the scene unfolding before him. Memories of your time together as rookie and training officer flashed through his mind, the bond you had shared still lingering despite the years apart.

"I heard she was the best rookie this station ever had. And it was his rookie, can you believe that!" Angela's mind was focused on one subject and one only. She is more than convinced that something has happened between you and Tim.

"Almost 100 on every exam and she was the only person this grumpy smiled to!" Talia added, making Tim shift uncomfortable in his seat, his eyes not letting the sight of you even for a second.

"That's not true. And I'm not grumpy, I do smile..." Tim responded to their feminine gossip, something he's not doing too often. He still thinks it's a waste of time this kind of conversation and one's personal life is no one's business, but maybe, maybe he wants to know more about you. "Sometimes"

He was wondering as well what could've possibly had happened to make you come back to LA, knowing very well how much you hated the city and how much you suffered the moment you stepped on that plane.

Tim's heart was below the sea's surface, buried inside the burning hell somewhere since the moment he caught a glimpse of your siluete walking around these hallways again. His hands were sweating and the lump in his throat could swallow him.

But you were nowhere far away from that feeling either. All the feelings from back then were coming alive faster than the light-speed and the memories of the time you were his rookie, the looks, the touches, the sweetness of his words alongside the glances from your colleagues made your eyes fill with bittersweet tears. You had to raise your head a little and blink as fast as you could to make those tears disappear and take a few deep breaths to calm down. You have to put this feelings aside. Now.

As the meeting drew to a close, Sergeant Gray turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving on to the next item on the agenda.

"You're dismissed and be safe out there!" Gray closed the meeting and everyone rushed to start the day.

You waited for everyone to clear the room, mostly because you hate crowded places and people jostling around. You kept your head low, already full of everyone staring. When the room cleared just enough, you wanted to make your way to Sergeant Gray's office when a big, warm hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you on spot.

Some time ago, you knew by heart every single trace and curve of that hand, and now your mind doesn't disappoint you remembering it all with just a blink. His breath winding down your spine as minty as always.

You hated him. You hated yourself. Damn, you hate everyone and everything this moment.

"Y/N." his voice was as overwhelming as always and it made your feet weak. It made you weak and it hit you hard right into your bones. You didn't think twice and as you raised your chin up high and faked a confident expression, you turned to your heels to face him. Once and for all. "I can't believe you're back."

"Tim" you nodded, greeting him with a smile. This time a genuine one, wider and more powerful than the one you had forced yourself to wear all day. Not a forced one, but one that you found you couldn't hide. "It's been a while." you cleared your throat and searched his eyes.

They were staring right into your soul with the same spark and love you've missed so much. It seems like you've never changed, seems like everything is just the way it was. Like he was your TO, teaching you, teasing you, caring for you, having your back and you were his rookie, learning from him, turning into the best version of him, making him proud.

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension as you struggled to find the right words to say. The spark that had once ignited between you still burned bright, despite the years and distance that had separated you.

"How are you? How's Isabel?"

"Uh-Yeah..." he paused for a moment, the light in his eyes fading. "We separated a few months ago."

Tim wished this words would hurt more admitting them in front of you, would hurt just as much as he hurt you. But it didn't. That wound is almost healed, making room for another one to open.

"Oh, Tim. I'm so sorry" you were sincere, though not with all your heart. You knew it must've hurt like hell having in mind how much Tim loved his wife. But at some point he loved you too. Maybe not as much as her, maybe more, maybe less.

"But I'm fine, yeah. It's past now." he cracked a smile, resting his arm on the table as close to your thigh as you could feel its warmth. "What about you? Making an entrance for sure. Catching those guys from Crenshaw and Tongan, impressive. I taught you well." oh, he knows what he's doing and watching your shield breaking before his eyes, he's delighted.

"Oh, don't be so cocky—"

"Why are you here? Why now?" he asked. You rested your hand on your belt and raised an eyebrow as a response to his questions.

"You know I can't tell you." he sighed at your words, realising just now maybe the things are not how they were. You are not as open to him or talkative as before. You are not in love with him as you were before. But he's not done trying yet.

"Dinner tonight?" Tim was bold for sure and his question took you by surprise. You weighed the answer, but before you could say yes, he continued "I can't lose the chance again. I can't lose you again, Boot."

"Okay, yes!" you pushed your finger into his chest "Stop making those puppy eyes, you know I can't resist." he laughed and before you can walk away, he grabbed your waist and kissed your forehead gently. His lips lingering on your skin few more seconds, memorising your sweet scent, trying to remember it, like if he could ever forget.

"It's good to have you back, Boot!"

"Stop calling me 'Boot'!" you fought back, annoyed, but he enjoyed every moment. He missed you like hell and now all of this is hitting him hard in the face like a... boot. "I'm not your Boot" you persisted.

"Oh, you'll always be my Boot!"

[imsofreakingtired]

Silco: What do you want from Sevika?

You: I want to smell her skin.

You: I want to hear about all the boring things she does that she never bothers telling anyone about because they’re that boring.

You: But to me it would be fascinating because…it’s Sevika.

You: Because in our bones we understand each other.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Hey! I’d love a one-shot where Hotch is really protective over the reader, who’s been getting some unwanted attention from someone at work. Maybe she’s a bit younger and new to the team, and she’s always been close with Hotch, but lately, he’s noticed that someone’s been making her uncomfortable. I’d love to see how Hotch handles it, especially since he’s been realizing he has feelings for her. Lots of protective Hotch vibes, maybe a little angst, but definitely some fluff and maybe a confession at the end. Thanks so much!

Of course lovely!!

Title: “Shield of Silence”

Pt2

You weren’t sure when it started, but the pit in your stomach had been growing for weeks now. At first, it had just been lingering looks—nothing overtly inappropriate but just enough to make your skin crawl. You’d brush it off, thinking you were imagining things, but the feeling only intensified as time passed. It was like being watched constantly, a gaze that clung to you when you least expected it.

It was your third month with the BAU, and although you were still adjusting, you felt like you’d finally found your place among the team. Spencer had been a wealth of knowledge, always eager to share some obscure fact or statistics. JJ had quickly become like an older sister, guiding you through the maze of FBI procedures and office politics. And then there was Aaron Hotchner—your unit chief, your mentor, and more recently, the person you found yourself gravitating towards the most.

Hotch had been nothing but professional with you, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You admired his leadership, the way he commanded respect without demanding it, and his quiet but unwavering sense of justice. More than once, you’d caught yourself staring at him, wondering what it would be like to cross that line between professional and personal. But you always pushed those thoughts aside—he was your boss, after all.

Lately, however, you found yourself needing his presence more than usual. There was someone on the team who was making you uncomfortable, someone who lingered a little too close, who spoke a little too softly when he was near you. It was subtle—nothing you could report without feeling like you were making a mountain out of a molehill. But you knew it wasn’t just in your head.

The elevator ride that morning had been the final straw. You were alone, checking your phone, when you felt the presence beside you. Your stomach twisted as he moved closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. You stepped away, mumbling an excuse about needing to review a case file, and practically fled to your desk.

It wasn’t until you were safely seated that you noticed Hotch watching you, his brows furrowed with concern. He’d always been perceptive, but this time, his gaze felt like it was peeling back the layers you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Y/N,” his voice was low as he approached you, leaning on the edge of your desk. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a smile, trying to mask the anxiety churning in your gut. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Hotch didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If anything’s bothering you, you can always come to me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, grateful for his concern but unwilling to drag him into something that might just be a product of your overactive imagination. “I know, Hotch. Thank you.”

But Hotch wasn’t the kind of man to let things go easily, especially when it came to his team. Later that day, as the team gathered in the conference room for a briefing, you noticed that Hotch had positioned himself closer to you than usual. It was subtle—just a shift in his usual place—but it felt like a protective barrier, a silent assurance that he was there if you needed him.

The meeting went smoothly, but as it wrapped up, the same coworker who’d been making you uncomfortable sidled up beside you, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that made your skin crawl. Before you could step away, Hotch was there, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Y/N, I need you to stay back for a moment. We need to go over the details of the Montgomery case.”

The man beside you stiffened, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch, but he said nothing as he backed away. You watched him leave, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the room was finally empty, Hotch turned to you, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “This has been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”

You swallowed, nodding reluctantly. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I thought maybe I was overreacting.”

Hotch shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not overreacting. If someone’s making you uncomfortable, it’s my job to protect you. I don’t take that lightly.”

There was something in his tone that made your heart ache, a protective edge that spoke of more than just professional duty. “Hotch, I—”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush your arm where the other man had touched you. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not when I care about you as much as I do.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’d just said. “You… care about me?”

Hotch’s eyes softened, the usual hardness melting away to reveal something far more vulnerable. “I care about you more than I should, given our positions. But I can’t help it. I need you to be safe, Y/N.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken feelings. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to a truth you hadn’t been ready to face. But as you looked into Hotch’s eyes, saw the sincerity there, you felt the walls you’d built around yourself begin to crumble.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hand resting on his chest. “I feel the same way,” you admitted softly. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but… I can’t anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the tension of words left unsaid. But then, Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“Let me take care of this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He smiled—a rare, genuine smile that lit up his usually stoic features. “You can call me Aaron, you know.”

Your own smile mirrored his as you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the lingering tension. “Okay… Aaron.”

The moment was perfect, the beginning of something new and fragile, but full of promise. As he pulled you into a comforting embrace, you knew that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

[angellic4l]

la vita è bella - s.r

in which; sunshine!bau!reader and season2!spencer see a foreign film together after work.

content: fem!reader and season2!spencer, they’re so in loveee, fluffy fluff, mentions of drinking but no one actually does it, brief mention of spencer’s germaphobia, mention of the holocaust and ww2.

a/n: i wrote this all in one go bc my draft that i’m working on is so not ready, so i apologise if it’s bad. also, la vita é bella means life is beautiful, the Italian name of the film, which is why i called the fic that. WAIT I JUST READ IT AND I NEED TO SAY I DON’T THINK ELLE IS MEAN I LOVE ELLE! anyway, kisses!!

After a pretty rare, uneventful day at the BAU - just hours of paperwork, filing, reports, and a lot of team banter - the team of profilers begin to pack up. Coats are lifted from the backs of chairs, bags slung over shoulders, chairs put under desks, and a chorus of contented sighs coming from the agents.

The team, bar Hotch and Gideon, begin to make their way to the elevator together, walking in a huddle on their way out of work while making light conversation about their plans, considering everyone’s getting out early today.

“I say we all go the bar, a few drinks, maybe some darts, and lots of fine women,” Morgan suggests with a smirk, patting Spencer on the back when he says ‘fine women’.

Elle and JJ laugh, the thought of Spencer trying to talk to ‘fine women’, as Morgan called them, an amusing thought to the two of them.

Spencer, who’s walking in between you and Morgan, pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger, his face sporting one of his infamous looks you’ve come to know, his brows furrowed as he silently questions Elle and JJ’s laughter.

“Actually, I was going to go and see a foreign film downtown, if any of you want to come. It’s an Italian film, but I can whisper translate, called ‘Life is Beautiful’, which is kind of ironic because it’s about a Jewish man and his son becoming victims of the holocaust, but-“ Spencer’s cut off by a comment from Elle about him being ‘dorky’, his face loses the small smile he’d had while talking about the film, and his once gesturing hands fall to his sides.

You think your heart might’ve actually shattered at the sight, Spencer’s dejected look never becoming easier to see, no matter how many times you do see it. The other three agents agree to go to the bar together while you and Spencer remain silent, walking in step with each other.

“You coming, sunshine?” Morgan asks, looking past Spencer to gaze at your face, Elle and JJ turning their heads slightly to look at you stood behind them, all of you coming to a stop at the elevator doors.

“No, I think I just want to have a quiet night in. I hope you guys have fun, though,” you reject them, a small smile on your face because only you know what you’re actually going to do.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

All of you step out of the FBI building, JJ, Morgan, and Elle splitting off to head to the bar, Spencer walking through the parking lot and starting his journey to the metro station, while you wait for the other 3 to be gone.

It’s not because you’re embarrassed of Spencer, no, you wouldn’t have cared about offering in front of the others, but you knew he’d probably be teased for it, and that’s the last thing you want. He’s so sweet to everyone, unbelievably kind to you, but everyone teases him regardless. It hurts your heart every time he goes quiet after being told to ‘shut up’ or someone comments on his rambling.

Once you’re sure Morgan, JJ, nor Elle are in earshot, you hurry over to Spencer’s slender figure that’s slowly dissipating, emerging with the dark night sky, becoming nothing but a shadow as he gets further.

“Spence! Wait, come back!” You call out, quickly realising his long limbs are no match for you and he was getting further by the second.

Spencer stops almost immediately, spinning on his heels when he hears your voice. He could recognise it anywhere, your sweet, melodic voice engrained into his brain; it’s one of his favourite things about you, how each word you speak seems to be infused with honey, ringing out sweet and soft.

Although, even if your voice is sweet and soft, despite the fact that you’re shouting, adrenaline spikes in his body - Why are you shouting him? Are you hurt? Are you okay? - the questions plague his mind, increasing his heart rate faster than anything ever has before. That’s saying something, considering he sees dead bodies, crime scenes, and confronts serial killers almost weekly.

Spencer’s legs have carried himself over to you before he’d even processed it, his own mind had distracted him, thoughts had clouded his head, and he only realises he’s stood in front of you and that you’re okay when he hears your melodic voice again.

“Spence? Spencer? Are you okay?” You ask, brows furrowed ever so slightly and pink lips pouted to express your concern for the brunette boy.

You didn’t ask him to ‘snap out of it’, make a joke about him being stuck in his big brain, or say ‘are you even listening?’. No, you just asked if he was okay. Spencer smiles softly at that, another gentle reminder that you really are an angel personified, despite his agnostic beliefs, regardless of whether he prays to a God or not, you are angelic to him.

“Yeah, yes, I’m okay,” Spencer reassures you, the soft smile on his face still there as he looks down at you. His brain catches up after he stops being dazed by your seemingly divine presence, in his opinion.

“You called me over, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s okay. Could I come and see that movie with you? I know some Italian and you said you’d whisper translate.”

Standing in the middle of Quantico’s parking lot, the pair of you clad in thick coats due to the recent spike in cold weather, your head tilted back so that you can look up at Spencer and his tilted down so that he can see you. You watch Spencer’s face go from a small smile to a full blown grin, his teeth peaking out from behind his pink lips making your heart warm in your chest, winter weather aside.

“Yeah? You’re serious?” Spencer asks, you nod.

“I’ll drive us there, no need for the metro. I’ll take you home, too,” you say, dangling your keys on your ring finger. The pair of you begin to walk to your car as Spencer explains what the movie is about, not being cut off this time.

In the car on the way there, he starts to talk about WW2, rattling off all of the details he knows about it, mainly ones he thinks will be relevant for context to the film. Smiles rest on both of your faces as he does so, his hands moving frenetically as he talks. When you know what he’s talking about, you’ll wait for him to finish before talking yourself, but mostly, you just listen to him.

Spencer stays true to his word and whisper translates the film to you, his voice in your ear something you like much more than you probably should, close proximity between the two of you because of it. His head is tilted towards you, lips by your ear but not so close that all you hear is his breath, Spencer’s very mindful of that.

At some point, you both reach for the popcorn between you without looking, his hand coming to rest on top of yours in the bucket. Suddenly, you’re very thankful for the dark room hiding the pink tint of your cheeks, completely unaware that he’s thinking the same thing.

Retracting his hand from the bucket quickly, he whispers a small “sorry,” secretly hating the loss of contact with your smooth, silky skin, warm fingers, no longer under his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, eyes never leaving the screen in front of you for fear of him seeing the blush that’s painted your cheeks. You reach into your bag and hand him a hand sanitiser, knowing how he is with germs.

Spencer can’t help but wonder if you carry this just for him as he takes the clear bottle from his hands, reading the label as best as he can in the dim theatre and learning the hand sanitiser smells like vanilla. So do you, he notes, and he decides he doesn’t mind his hands smelling like you, in fact, he actually quite likes it.

An hour into the film, despite your best efforts not to, you succumb to sleep, the sound of Spencer’s voice in your ear every few seconds, the dim room, and how warm you are all lulling you into the unconscious state you currently find yourself in. Well, Spencer finds you in that state when your head drops to his shoulder, looking down at you through his glasses, and realising you’d fallen asleep.

He blushes at the sight of your head on his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him and sending him to some extreme height at the same time, your hair splayed over his shoulder making him smile to himself. In this moment, he decides that, despite all of the horrors he sees daily, the trauma he was subjected to growing up, and everything else in between, life is beautiful.

[im-tired-404]

I am going to (respectfully) rip his clothes off, (respectfully) leave hickies on his neck and jawline, then (respectfully) pamper him.

Im going to eat him arm. Right now.

[mrsnishimuraaa]

i’ll take good care of you

PAIRING : FBI agent!niki x CEO daughter!reader

SYNOPSIS: having an insanely rich and powerful father was always something different, you never know who can be after you or your family. So when you have your own agents hired and Nishimura Riki is assigned to look after you, trained to always keep his emotions in check but when he meets you everything changes, the professional detachment unravels as he falls for the girl he’s sworn to keep safe. torn between duty and desire even in the worst of times.

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fluff and angst, mentions of death

well i did do a poll for this but i ignoredthe poll and decided to write it anyways plus all the votes were yes! so here we are ☺️

“now off you go, don’t mess this up Nishimura” the head of agents says sternly as he pats niki’s shoulder gently. they had just finished a long briefing the objective coming out as: Protect the CEO’s daughter. keep her safe. at all costs. Simple enough, very do-able.

niki stepped out of the office building and made his way to the sidewalk. the area around was busy, but he caught the company transport, gave the driver the address, and relaxed as they drove through the nice neighborhood, passing big houses and well-kept gardens on the way to the destination.

when niki arrived at the place he was sent to, the first thing that hits him is the silence. The kind of quiet that comes with a fuck ton of money. as he steps up to the front doors, he’s greeted by an abnormally large door that’s framed by tall columns. lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and a series of different flowers. useless stone statues in spots around the well kept garden. ‘what kind of fucking person with this much money needs a special agent’ is the thought running through his mind, but he continues to walk up the concrete steps before knocking on the door.

the front door swings open and he’s met with a man in a suit “nishimura riki right?” the man asks , he can hear the money imprinted in his voice. “that’s me, you can call me niki if you’d like” he responds, reaching a hand out to shake the man’s hand. “come inside” the man wavers him in, stepping aside to invite him to the house.

as he steps in he’s met with marble floor, a big grand staircase and chandeliers as if they were normal room lighting. the openness of the house screams filthy wealth to him, expensive artwork on the walls and an unnecessary amount of vases. “take a seat, take a seat let me call my daughter down” niki nods as he lets himself fall back on the big white couch, admiring the inside of the house that is before him.

the man comes back with a girl, as she elegantly walks down then stairs before making her way over. “hey, i’m y/n it’s nice to meet you” her smile beams as niki stands up in a array of manners , reaching his hand to shake hers “ Riki Nishimura, but you can just call me niki” he faintly smiles and nods his head. “look i’m so sorry about this, my dad is just so paranoid” you laugh in attempt to lighten the mood a bit, sitting on the chair across from him. but niki knows how oblivious you are to the situation your in, your thinking your dad hired him for no reason. “ well it is my job at the end of the day right” he says , clasping his hands together.

after chatting for a while, and niki being shown to the room he will be staying in for probably quite some time, night had fallen and niki was left to soak in his own thoughts.

niki had forced his mind back to the mission what felt like millions of times , pushing aside the thoughts that kept drifting to y/n. everything about her was distracting, but he couldn’t afford to get caught up in it. this was only a job, nothing more. he had to remind himself that his focus had to stay sharp and collected, any personal feelings were a risk he just couldn’t take.

the first few days were definitely something , attempting to grow to know each other he figured the job may not be too difficult, the only instruction from her father being to keep her safe at all times, even if it means fleeing the country. you on the other hand never knew why being protected so well was so important, your father never explained it to you and only left you just plain curious as to why what he does is so serious that people want to hunt down him and his family

all of that aside you thought niki was generally attractive, though you know that’s something you can’t go against on your father, you’ll just have to keep it to yourself. although you do enjoy his company, despite how cold and collected he may seem. as you’ve never really spent much time with many people your age because of the so called ‘risk’ . it was oddly comforting to finally have someone to talk to other than your mother or father for once.

but at the same time he has this cold, almost unapproachable look, with a tough expression that doesn’t seem to change no matter what’s happening around him. it’s like he’s built a wall around himself, but sometimes in the quiet moments, you catch a glimpse of something different. softening in his eyes or a rare smile that feels out of place but somehow not. you know it’s there, buried beneath the tough play, that soft heart of his waiting to be seen if you’re patient enough to look beyond the coldness. and it really makes you wonder sometimes how long it’s gonna take for you to crack the cold surface of his heart.

you think maybe it’s because he’s here sincerely to do his job and that he could possibly get in trouble if he shows a warmer more bright side of him. either way your determination to figure it out grows

although most of the time your father was never home , and your mom always being in other countries on business trips, you found yourself spending a awful lot of time with niki, desperate to crack the coldness and authority in his heart against you, bringing up random topics to get to know him better was definitely helping a bit but never a lot.

but oh little did you know his feelings only ever growing fonder and fonder of you, having to push them right back down and attempt to separate his feelings from buisiness. he can’t let his guard down like this, he’s only here simply for work right?

never in a million years would his mind cross that you would feel the same way as him, suppressing your feelings thinking he would not be here for a long amount of time. or even the thought of how cold hearted he may seem, you hope maybe he will become much warmer to you one day.

but the day your father never comes home from work, it all changes.

your first instinct is to panic, the morning you realise your father has been missing for 2 days, your hysterical sobbing whilst pacing the kitchen awakens niki as he rushes downstairs, completely forgetting to put on a shirt but that’s the least of his concerns, grabbing the gun he was told to bring incase of an emergency, thinking you were being attacked.

he puts his back to the walls, gun drawn infront of him as he carefully yet quickly makes his way to where the sound of your crying is coming from.

gladly hes met with the sight of you laying over the kitchen counter sobbing at a piece of paper in front of you rather than being stabbed brutally by a hit man. “y/n what’s wrong, talk to me” he rushes over dropping the gun on the counter, his cold hearted play immediately washing away as he hears your cries, placing a hand on your shoulder, the other reaching out to pick up the letter infront of you.

“Dear miss Kang Y/N

We are incredibly sorry to inform you of the tragic assasination of your father Sir. Kang Jin-woo.”

that being the only sentence his eyes run over,the word ‘assasination’ ticks something off, completely ignoring the rest of the long letter. he engulfs you in a hug, rubbing your back as you sob into his bare chest. the moment is cut short by the ringtone of his phone “shit, one moment” he gives your back a last light rub before pulling back to answer the phone. “Hello? yes nishimura speaking, okay i’ll be gone in the next hour.” he hangs up the phone in urgency.

“get your stuff y/n we have to leave. now.” he hurries you, your sobs coming to a stop slowly as panic sets in “w-wait what’s going on” you sniffle as you follow him upstairs “i’ll explain later, transports gonna be here in half an hour hurry” he firmly says, but the urgency in his voice gives you the instinct to pack up and go.

he gathers his own items before dropping them downstairs , making his way up to you as he knocks on your door “come in” you chime as he makes his way in, “how close are you to being ready” he asks , leaning on your doorway as you push your last suitcase toward him “now, but can you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” you question as he takes your suitcases and bags , leading you downstairs “there’s a car out the front get in and i’ll explain to you there, we don’t have time we need to go”

you get into the car, saying hello to the random driver as you buckle yourself in, hearing the trunk close before niki jumps into the seat beside you.

“now y/n, don’t panic okay” he starts to trail off

“your dad was assassinated by the people that want to take over his company, this was the whole reason i was sent to take care of you in the first place, now they are coming after you as your the next person in line to take over as the next CEO. they are already on their way to find you, most likely more than half way as it’s not that difficult to track people down anymore.”

the seriousness in his voice concerns you the slightest “what the fuck?” your face shows utter shock.

“i know” he sighs “i’ve already booked us flights to japan” he leans back in the car seat , man spreading in search of comfort. “sorry what?” you blurt out “i don’t even speak the tiniest of japanese” you raise your concern. “i know, but i do” he raises a brow as you give him a look of confusion

“y/n im japanese,i was born there.” he laughs, as you nod and form a small ‘ohh’ understanding his idea a bit more. “we’re gonna stay in Okayama where i was born, trust me we will be safe there okay?” he says as he reaches for a bottle of water from the cup holder “niki i’ve known you for barley 3 weeks and you expect me to ‘run away’ with you?” you say quietly. “it’s my job y/n i am here to look after you. i can promise you i’m not some creepy freak that’s kidnapping you, it’s for your safety ” he adds a small joke to a serious matter, you seem to relax a bit at that.

arriving to the airport, he hands you a mask and gestures for you to put it on, you need to keep your identity hidden until your out of south korea.

the two of you make it through checkin and security with ease, and begin to roam to the international terminal. “sorry to bother but im lowkey hungry” you tap him on the shoulder. “that’s okay, there’s a cafe just there we can go get something?” he says pointing around the corner as you nod, leading you over to the cafe. you grab a drink and 2 hash browns to snack on, you reach into your pocket to grab your card but as you look up you see that niki had already payed for you. “niki.. you don’t have to pay for me” you shove him lightly and he only chuckles at you “its fine y/n ,let’s go to the gate” your heart warms at his sweet gestures.

maybe he wasn’t so cold after all? the geniune care and thought in his gestures make your doubt of him ever showing any feeling to you wash away.

though y/n needs to keep her feelings in check, no matter how strong they may be. the reality is, he’s just there to do his job, not someone she can let her heart run away with, or can she? but the feeling of finally seeing niki’s warm hearted side envelopes her in her thoughts. would she ever know he’s thinking the same?

boarding the plane as the attendant tells you to turn left, you look at him in confusion “oh yeah i booked us business class” he laughs as he ushers you forward. “ki” the nickname slips out of your mouth and goes straight to his heart, he feels like he could melt into a puddle right infront of you.

sitting down on the comfy seats next to each other , making small talk as the flight fills. doubt starts to set into you, and your mind runs a million miles per hour and niki can see it on your face. “what’s wrong?” he leans forward to take a better look at you in an attempt to read your expression better.

“ nothing , it’s just what if they find us in japan? y’know what if we’re not safe niki” you turn to face him, “y/n i can promise you we will be okay, im gonna do whatever it takes, i’ll take good care of you” he pushes the strands of your hair behind your ear as you smile at him.

you relax a bit more, after takeoff you find yourself in an attempt to ponder off to sleep, but you just can’t so you opt to just rest your eyes for a while knowing you may have a big day ahead of you.

on the other hand he can’t help but think about how he’s been holding onto his feelings for a while now, wanting to confess but unsure if it’s the right time. there’s a part of him that wonders if she sees him the same way or if it would just complicate everything between them, his doubt lingers making him hesitate, but the urge to be honest with her grows stronger with every conversation the two of you share.

until he finally gains courage speaks up “y/n” his settled voice slightly startles your tired self but you hum at him, gesturing him to continue on. “this might sound crazy but just listen to me please” he asks for reassurance and you nod

“y/n i’ve liked you since the day i layed eyes on you, every conversation we have, every time we laugh together i can’t help but love it. i know your in a crazy situation right now and i promise im never going to let anything bad ever happen to you. i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that i can keep you safe y/n, hell we can even stay in japan for the rest of our lives if you want too y/n im willing to try” the loving words that leave his mouth have you in shock for a second or so, and your heart races in your chest at the sudden confession

“niki..” you trail off, “but what about your job?” you question “ i would quit in a heartbeat for you, we can both start fresh, please give it a chance” his voice is so sincere.

you think for a moment, your dad got assassinated your mom has probably fled for good and people are after you big time, you realise how you may have little to nothing good left back in korea, and the opposed risks of going back truly frighten you and the opportunity of a fresh start with a lot less risk is something you can’t afford to not take up and the offer really sparks up your brain.

fuck it let’s do it.

“you know what” you breath, and niki’s face brightens a bit “ yes, only if you really want too niki ill start fresh and give you a chance” you look into his eyes for assurance and he can’t help but smile so brightly at you pulling you in for a quick kiss, he feels like your smile lightened up the whole entire plane. “ i’m gonna take good care of you y/n i promise” he says in a warm voice as his thumb caresses your cheek gently.

the two of you land in japan, and you immediately feel so much more free and relaxed as niki communicates to the airport staff for you as you can’t speak japanese, though you find that utterly attractive but anyways. collecting your luggage and making you way out of the airport before catching transport to his home town.

the feeling of this once in a life time opportunity is so beautiful to you, a fresh start in a new country. you prepare to meet niki’s family the next day as a surprise and can’t help but feel nervous alongside excitement to meet new people.

meeting his family went extremely well, they took a strong really liking to you and you bonded so well with his siblings. also slowly starting to pick up the basics of japanese as niki gives you occasional lessons when needed otherwise you both communicate in korean any other time.

two years pass and you can’t be any more thankful for the opportunity of a fresh start, you haven’t had any opposed threats so far and seem to be un reachable from the people after you back in korea. and the thing your most grateful for?

you and niki got engaged.

[reidswhore]

Imagine the team thinking Spencer is so sweet and innocent, a total virgin and any sexual encounter he would’ve had must have been so vanilla.

Sweet innocent Spencer Reid, who rails you into oblivion every single night, who makes you forget your own name and scream his so loud the entire neighbourhood knows who’s making you feels so fucking good.

[luvfo00l]

Some of my favourite fox Mulder hcs

Pairings: Fox Mulder x F!FBI!reader

Warnings: these are SFW and NSFW, MDNI below the cut!

SFW

Fox’s love language is physical touch, anytime of the day, you could just be looking at a case at your desk, he would lean over from his desk to feel your hand.

Whenever you steal his glasses he blushes almost uncontrollably, he just thinks you’re so cute.

totally writes you love notes and letters, leaving them around your desk and when you two live together he leaves them around the apartment.

Mulder is a surprisingly protective lover, he’s the sort to put his arms around your waist if another man was ever looking at you, he’d kiss your neck too

You two on a case of some crazy X file and Mulder getting bored in the car and singing along to the radio.

Whenever you feel upset he doesn’t leave your side, like at all

Fox is a super romantic man, he could see you’re cold on a case in the middle of the night and give you his big trench coat that was significantly too big for you.

He absolutely adores when you do his makeup, there’s something about you practicing your makeup on him that he just really thinks your concentration is cute.

The first time Fox realised you had taken his heart was when you got sent to work with him on a case in the middle of nowhere Oregon when you were focused on reading, he just..fell for you.

NSFW

Fox Mulder is a switch. You cannot tell me otherwise.

He likes when you wear his glasses and ride him, it just makes him so hard.

He likes missionary and cowgirl.

He REALLY likes your ass in pencil skirts..

Mulder is a tits man, he just loves squishing them, putting his head on them and obviously putting his cock between them.

You two once had sex in a rental car on a case.

You wanna know why he always wears that long coat? To hide his damn boner when you bend over in a skirt or trousers.

Remember when I said physical touch is his love language, it has two meanings..

He LOVES when you leave hickeys on his neck, people in the FBI don’t really call him ‘spooky Mulder’ when they realise his ‘innocent’ little girlfriend gave him those hickeys.

He absolutely loves when you sit on his lap and when you grind on his lap he just loses it completely.

Sorry guys this is my first time ever writing for Mulder so I hope I did good :)

[fangdokja]

He knows your favorite color, your childhood fears, and how you’ll look in a coffin.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! FBI Agent x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 865

The fluorescent lights hum above, sterile and cold, casting sharp shadows on the concrete walls. You’ve been sitting there for hours, hands trembling in your lap, wrists raw from the biting metal of the handcuffs he fastened too tightly. The air reeks of copper and disinfectant. His scent cuts through it all—cologne muted by sweat and iron. It clings to your skin, branding you, suffocating you.

He watches you from the other side of the table, an impenetrable wall of muscle and authority. The tailored suit stretches taut over his shoulders, framing a chest that could crush you. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms veined and powerful, the kind you could imagine snapping necks without hesitation. His jaw is tight, shadowed with stubble, lips curling around a cigarette he’s not smoking. He doesn’t need to. The threat lingers in his silence, in the way his narrowed cold eye studies you, dissecting every inch of your quivering form.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His voice is gravel, low and cutting, a razor against your ears. “Every breath you take, every blink, every time you clench those pretty little thighs—I see it. You think you’re smart, playing coy, hiding behind your trembling innocence. But I’ve been watching you for years, sweets.”

The way he says it sends a chill ripping down your spine. Years? Your stomach lurches, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. You try to meet his gaze, defiance flickering behind your panic, but the way his lips curve into a predator’s smirk makes you regret it instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He leans forward, the heavy oak table groaning under the weight of his arms. His eye gleams, sharp and calculating, a hunter reveling in the sight of his trapped prey. “Unless you want me to punish you right here. Is that it? Do you want me to break you down where the cameras can see? I can. I will. But you’re mine, and you’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”

His knuckles crack as he flexes his fingers, the sound echoing in the empty room. He slides the recorder off the table with a flick of his wrist, the device shattering against the floor. His calm dissolves in the blink of an eye, replaced by something feral, volcanic, terrifying. He’s standing now, looming over you, the chair scraping the floor behind him like a warning.

You try to shrink back, the cuffs clinking as you press against the chair, but his hand darts out faster than you can react. His fingers tangle in your hair, jerking your head back, exposing your neck. His breath is hot, acidic, on your skin as he leans in, speaking directly into your ear.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?” His voice trembles, not with vulnerability, but with the strain of holding himself back. “You’ve made me into this. This thing. This monster who wakes up every night imagining what your blood would taste like on my tongue. You don’t know what it’s like to feel this way, to be consumed by you, to want to rip apart anything that touches you just so I can glue you back together with my own hands.”

The hand not tangled in your hair drags down your arm, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake, his thumb pressing cruelly into your wrist. “These little hands…what were you thinking, trying to run with them? As if you could open a single locked door I didn’t personally design to keep you exactly where you belong.”

You’re sobbing now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, but he doesn’t stop. He revels in your misery, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, almost sweet. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re afraid? It’s fucking intoxicating. I don’t just want your body, sweets. I want your soul. I want to mold it, twist it, own it until the only thing left is me.”

He steps back suddenly, releasing you. You crumple forward, gasping for air like you’ve been drowning, but the reprieve is short-lived. His massive hand claps your shoulder, dragging you up to your feet like a ragdoll. His eye bores into yours, the weight of his presence suffocating, inescapable.

“You don’t have to like it, sweets,” he murmurs, voice a low, rumbling storm. “You just have to remember one thing: there’s no world where you exist without me. None. I’ll find you in every lifetime, in every corner of hell, and I’ll make you mine again. And again. And again.”

The lock clicks. You realize it isn’t the door—it’s the shackles he’s just fastened around your ankles. He tugs the chain once, hard enough to pull you off balance. His laughter fills the air as you stumble, the sound dark, amused, and utterly devoid of humanity.

“That’s better,” he muses, gripping your chin and tilting your face upward to meet his. “Now, why don’t you thank me, sweets? For saving you. For loving you. For making you perfect.”

[cumulo-stratus]

Aaron + fbi best

Taglist- @mvndfvelds | @mindfullycriminal | @luce-reid | @khxna | @il0vebeingdelulu | @lover-of-books-and-tea | @jaden-reid

Join my taglist here

[writersdrug]

CIA: why is she looking up computer hacking software like "password cracker devices"? And searching "Dutch Intelligence Agency"? and "c-17 Aircraft" and "Long range automatic rifles"?!

My FBI Agent: *looking at my masterlist on their phone* she's making plot for porn

[dragon03138]

❝so i'll try to talk refined for fear you might find out how i'm imaginin' you❞ || talk, hozier

[magical-reid]

Back to Beacon Hills

Pairing: FBI!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Setting: AFTER the Teen Wolf timeline

Summary: After three years away, FBI agent Stilinski returns to Beacon Hills to investigate a string of strange occurrences at the high school, only to find himself drawn to a new teacher with a quiet strength and a mysterious past. As the investigation intensifies and danger lurks closer, Stiles finds that the town—and the unexpected connection with her—might just be the fresh start he never knew he needed.

It had been three years since Stiles left Beacon Hills. The last time he was home, he’d packed up a lifetime of memories, heartbreaks, and near-death experiences into the back of his jeep and told himself he wouldn’t look back. He needed out. Away from the constant looming threat of the supernatural, away from the haunting shadows of his own mistakes. The FBI was supposed to be his new chapter, a clean slate.

But now, standing in the middle of the high school parking lot with the echo of his dad’s voice ringing in his ears, it didn’t feel like a fresh start. It felt like old ghosts had dragged him right back.

“They’ve been hearing things at the school,” his dad had said over the phone two days ago. “Strange sounds. Flickering lights. Animals acting weird near the woods. People are scared, Stiles.”

Stiles wanted to dismiss it—chalk it up to Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. But when his dad mentioned an incident with a teacher—a classroom full of students trapped in a room where the temperature had plummeted for no reason—he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

Which was how he ended up here, walking into the high school with his badge tucked in his pocket and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

The teacher was nothing like he’d expected.

He’d thought someone who worked in this place—this town—would be frazzled or resigned, the way most people here seemed to be after years of unexplained phenomena. But when Stiles walked into your classroom, clipboard in hand, you stood at the whiteboard, mid-sentence, utterly unbothered by his presence.

You turned to face him with an arched brow, marker still in hand. “Can I help you?”

Stiles blinked, thrown by the directness. You were younger than he’d anticipated, maybe close to his age, and not at all the panicked figure he’d imagined when his dad mentioned the incident. If anything, you seemed skeptical.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles stammered, recovering quickly. He held up his badge, stepping closer. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.”

Your eyes flicked to the badge, then back to his face, unimpressed. “FBI? Really? What does the FBI want with Beacon Hills High School?”

“It’s more of a precaution,” Stiles replied, trying to match your calm exterior. “You were here when… whatever happened, happened?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, like you were holding back a laugh. “You mean the part where I was stuck in a classroom with twenty tenth-graders and the thermostat decided to stage a coup?”

“Sounds about right,” he said, leaning against the nearest desk. “Mind walking me through it?”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the desk at the front of the room. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Agent Stilinski, but it’s probably not here. Weird stuff happens in this town. People get used to it. I’ve only been here a year, and even I’ve figured that out.”

Stiles tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “You’re not from here?”

“Moved here last summer,” you said. “I was teaching in Seattle before this. Figured a smaller town might be… quieter.”

He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Yeah, good luck with that. Beacon Hills has its own definition of ‘quiet.’”

You smirked, but there was a flicker of something else in your expression—something wary, maybe even a little haunted. “I’m starting to see that.”

The investigation wasn’t straightforward.

Stiles spent the next few days digging into police reports, chasing dead ends, and finding his way back to your classroom more often than he expected. He told himself it was because you’d been the one present during the most dramatic event—your insight was crucial. But deep down, he knew there was more to it.

There was something about you. The way you carried yourself, calm and composed, but with a sharp edge of sarcasm that kept him on his toes. The way you didn’t seem scared of him—or the things he was starting to suspect were at play here.

You fascinated him, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

One night, he found himself standing outside the school, flashlight in hand, staring at the woods where he was sure something was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt the familiar prickle of danger.

“Agent Stilinski?”

Your voice cut through the tension, and he whipped around to find you standing on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself against the chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, lowering the flashlight.

You shrugged, stepping closer. “I could ask you the same thing. Thought you might need backup.”

“Backup?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. I was working late and saw you skulking around out here.”

“Well, for the record, I don’t skulk,” he replied, but the teasing fell away as his gaze drifted back to the tree line. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“And you think it’s safer for you to be out here alone?” you shot back, stepping closer. “If there’s something out there, shouldn’t someone else know about it?”

His chest tightened at your words. He’d spent so many years doing exactly this—throwing himself into danger, insisting he could handle it alone. And now here you were, a stranger, challenging that instinct with nothing but quiet determination.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softer. “But stick close to me.”

The tension between you only grew from there.

Stiles found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when things got weird, or the way you handled yourself with quiet confidence, even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart. Maybe it was the way your wit matched his, sparring with him effortlessly, giving him something to hold onto in the chaos.

But it wasn’t just fascination. It was something deeper, something that made his heart race whenever you brushed past him in a narrow hallway or glanced his way during a tense conversation.

And it scared the hell out of him.

The break in the case came on a Friday night. Stiles was combing through old records at the station when his phone buzzed. It was you.

Unknown Number

You: I don’t know if this is important, but I think I saw something outside my house.

He stared at the screen, pulse quickening, before he grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door.

When he arrived, the street was eerily quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. You were standing on the porch, arms crossed, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that looked like it had been thrown on in a rush.

“I wasn’t sure if I should call,” you said when he jogged up to you. “But I saw… something. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t human.”

Stiles’ hand twitched toward his flashlight. “Which way did it go?”

You pointed toward the woods behind your house, and Stiles nodded, stepping off the porch. But before he could go more than a few steps, you grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

He turned, startled by the urgency in your voice.

“Be careful,” you said quietly. Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the case, the danger, the unspoken questions hanging between you. It was just you and him, standing in the glow of the porch light, and the weight of what neither of you could say.

“I will,” he promised, his voice softer than he intended.

And then he disappeared into the trees.

Hours later, after chasing shadows and coming face-to-face with something that definitely didn’t belong in Beacon Hills—or anywhere else, for that matter—Stiles found himself back on your porch.

The creature had fled, wounded but not defeated, and he was sure it would be back. But for now, all he could think about was you, waiting here alone while he was out risking his life.

You opened the door before he could knock, your eyes scanning him for injuries.

“You’re okay,” you said, exhaling a breath you probably didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping inside. “Are you?”

You nodded, but your hands were trembling as you closed the door behind him. He noticed, and without thinking, he reached out to steady you, his fingers brushing against yours.

The contact sent a jolt through both of you.

“Stiles…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said, his hand lingering on yours. “I know this is crazy. I know I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Don’t talk yourself out of this.”

He froze, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the overwhelming pull he felt toward you. But when you looked up at him, your eyes full of a quiet strength that matched his chaos, he realized he didn’t want to run. Not this time.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “This is a really bad idea.”

You smiled, a soft, almost teasing curve of your lips. “Maybe. But it’s not the worst one you’ve had.”

He laughed, the sound quiet and full of relief, and when you tilted your face toward his, he didn’t hesitate.

The kiss was tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, years of frustration and fear and longing spilling out in a way neither of you could stop.

When you finally pulled apart, your breathing uneven, Stiles rested his hands on your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you.

“Guess I’m not so great at staying away from trouble,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a wry smile.

“Good thing I’m not afraid of it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the flush in your cheeks.

He didn’t know what would happen next—how the case would end, or if he could ever really leave Beacon Hills behind. But as he stood there with you, the weight of the world momentarily lifted, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to.

Because for the first time in a long time, Beacon Hills didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt like home.

[spencerrsmopbucket]

When It Rains, It Pours | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: After a frustrating and long case, Spencer walks you home from a late night of paperwork. To your luck, it starts pouring. But are you really so unlucky? Word Count: 3,065.

Normally, you had nothing but good things to say about your line of work. You loved it, in all honesty. You loved helping people, you were interested in the inner workings of people's minds, and you enjoyed the fast paced energy of the job. Even more, you loved your co-workers. They were your best friends. But sometimes.. Work got frustrating.

You hated when things were slow. You hated when you couldn't figure things out. You hated when you felt time slipping through your fingers, feeling helpless. And this last week had been all of that combined. You'd been in Maine on a case; the most frustrating case you'd ever been on. It was a week long, spent mostly in offices staring at information you'd already read fifteen times. And when you finally got into the action, you had to go hand to hand with some greasy farm hand with no backup.

You'd even been spit on by the Unsub. And even worse? It got in your mouth! And now, you sat in the bullpen at your desk, filling out piles of goddamn paperwork.

You were almost sure you were going to go crazy. It was eerily silent in the bullpen, besides the slight noise of Spencer Reid, your colleague and friend, beside you. You were so bored that you began to study him.

Every so often, he'd make a slight hum or a 'tsk' at something on a file. For someone that could read 20,000 words a minute, he worked quite slow. But at least he was thorough. You couldn't lie; he wasn't the worst person to spend time looking at. In fact, Spencer was rather cute, though you'd never admit it to anyone.

You were attracted to his mind, before anything else. He was so incredibly smart, so much that it made you swoon. And he was playfully dorky. And witty. His wit went hand to hand with his humor. And after his mind, he was physically attractive. He had dark, curly hair and pretty brown eyes, combining well with his gorgeous smile and straight teeth. He dressed clean, in a dress shirt usually paired with a sweater or a vest. Sometimes, to your delight, he rolled his sleeves up to the creases of his elbows, showing off his strong forearms. And he--

Stop, you reminded yourself. You were supposed to be working.

To put it lightly, you had a massive crush on Spencer. It was something you battled with daily. You had to keep your swooning under wraps.

To interrupt your secret thoughts, Spencer cleared his throat, looking at you curiously.

"You okay?" He asked softly, noting how you'd zoned out. "If you’re zoning out, it’s actually your brain’s way of conserving energy. It shifts into a sort of default mode, which is why you might find yourself lost in thought. Studies show that the brain is almost as active during these periods as it is when you’re focused—just on different things." He explained, a half smile on his face.

You coughed, clearing your throat. Of course he'd noticed -- Spencer notices everything. It was just a bit awkward that he had noticed while you were thinking about him.

"Yeah." You smiled back, looking back down at the file you had been working on. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Spencer lets out a hum of acknowledgement, quickly reading something over on his own files before answering. "I understand. I'm tired too. I didn't expect to have so much paperwork for such a.. A lackluster case." He lets out a breathless chuckle.

You snort, leaning back in your chair.

"Me either. And of course we'd be the ones stuck here doing it."

Spencer shrugs, a half smile on his face.

"Better us than Hotch, I suppose. He'd be grumpy in the morning and we'd be paying for it."

Spencer was speaking the truth -- late night paperwork was Hotch's biggest downfall. It was becoming a thing for your colleagues and yourself not to even entertain the idea of letting Hotch do it. If he didn't, he'd have no reason to be so brooding in the mornings.

You and Spencer continued working in silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of typing filling the air and the quiet scratching of a pen. As the hour dragged on, the room grew quieter, the only noise coming from the occasional rustle of paper or Spencer’s soft hums of concentration. Eventually, you looked up at the clock: it was nearing midnight.

You groan, rubbing your temples. Being out this late sucked for you. You always woke up with a headache and wanting to throw yourself back under the covers; you weren't really a morning person to begin with.

Picking up your noise of frustration, Spencer glanced up at the time himself. He winced, and then his expression softened into one of thoughtfulness.

"It's getting pretty late," He said softly, glancing at you. "I know you don't live far, but.. I know you don't love the route so much. I could walk you if you like." He offers, a soft smile on his lips.

You could've actually swooned and dropped dead. You would've died happy. But you felt that it would be an inconvenience for Spencer to do this; he walked too, but his apartment was the opposite direction of yours.

You smiled back, a small blush spreading across your cheeks. You cursed yourself, but turned to answer Spencer.

"Um.. That's okay, Spence. You live the other way and I don't want to keep you out any later than you have to be."

Spencer pursed his lips.

"Actually, it’s no trouble at all. I know it’s a bit of a detour for me, but it’s more important to me that you get home safely with decreased anxiety," he says, offering you a soft smile. "Plus, it’s a nice break from paperwork, and I could use some fresh air myself. Consider it a small favor from a friend."

You inhaled to speak again, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Spen--"

"Name. Let me walk you home. Please?" He persisted, looking at you softly. "It would make me feel better. It's midnight and walking home alone in the dark can be risky."

You exhaled, nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, it would be great actually. Thank you."

He gave you a small smile, and you both gathered your things. As you walked out of the bullpen and into the night, the crisp air felt refreshing after hours of being cooped up inside. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the city was unusually quiet.

You walked in a comfortable silence. Spencer was right; you hated walking this route at night, in the dark. Despite being a federal agent, after hours, you didn't love the idea of being alone in situations like this. Surprisingly, you weren't even judged for it. It seemed that a lot of the team had the same hesitations with certain things.

You felt even better with how Spencer had positioned the two of you. He was doing something called the "sidewalk rule," usually typical of couples. He walked on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from the street and anybody on it, including the cars passing by. You were on the inside; the scariest thing you came into contact with were untrimmed hedges on apartment lawns.

Your position threatened to make you blush, but you somehow kept it down. You felt like a schoolgirl; it was like everything Spencer did made you want to kick your feet.

You and Spencer chatted casually eventually, the conversation drifting from case details to your mutual love of old detective novels. The night seemed to be winding down peacefully until dark clouds began rolling in, and a sudden crack of thunder startled you both.

“Looks like we’re in for some rain,” Spencer observed, his tone almost scientific, as if he were analyzing a weather pattern. Just as he finished speaking, the first heavy drops began to fall. You cursed under your breath, eyeing the dark clouds above you, the difference in color between the black sky and gray clouds.

"Damnit. I'm sorry, Spence.. I shouldn't have had you walk m--"

Spencer snorted, nudging you.

"Name. You have no reason to apologize unless you can see the future or make it rain. It's fine. It's just water." He said matter-of-factly.

It was as if your acknowledgement of the rain made it come down harder. Soon, it was pouring.

You both quickened your pace, but it was too late. The rain poured down, soaking you both within seconds. You laughed, the sound mingling with the patter of rain. Spencer looked over, his hair plastered to his forehead, and grinned back at you, clearly enjoying the unexpected adventure. Even in the horrible rain, he looked so attractive. The water traveled in drops down his face, the humored grin on his face shining in the street light.

“Let’s find some cover,” he suggested, his voice barely audible over the rain. He took your hand, rain making his grip slippery as he led you towards a nearby gazebo in the park, its structure providing a welcome respite from the downpour.

You blushed at the grip of his hand on yours, heat contrasting the coldness of the rain pouring around you.

Once inside, you both shook off as much water as you could, though you were still dripping wet. His hand left yours, almost making you shiver at the loss of his body heat. You couldn't help but feel disappointed. The rain continued to fall heavily outside, creating a soothing, rhythmic noise on the gazebo’s roof. The cool, damp air and the close proximity made the situation feel oddly intimate.

Your clothes were plastered to your body, soaked and dripping onto the wooden floor of the gazebo. You looked outside of the gazebo at the sky. It was covered with clouds, an occasional bright flash of lightning exposing them to you. You bit your lip, frowning.

Turning to Spencer, you found him already looking at you.

"Spence, I'm--"

He interrupted you, a small smile on his face.

"Don't apologize. This is kind of nice, in a way," Spencer said, shrugging. "You know, the rain, the quiet. It’s… peaceful. After a week of dealing with such grim things."

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a silence that spoke volumes. You could see the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the rain-soaked air, casting a warm light on his face. He was so pretty this way, you thought. His curls dripped water and his warm brown eyes were just as expressive as usual.

Realizing your silence and your staring, you cleared your throat to speak. A blush spread across your cheeks yet again.

“Yeah, it is. Thank you for walking me home. Or trying, at least. I really appreciate it.” You mumbled, looking up at him.

A flash of something crossed his face, but you couldn't quite catch what it was. Spencer could sometimes be a difficult person to read. Probably because he was so different.

To your slight shock, Spencer’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, his usually awkward demeanor replaced with something more confident, more vulnerable. “I’m glad I could. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you outside of work. It’s nice to see you like this, just… relaxed.”

His words caught you off guard. Your face immediately resumed the blush you'd tried so hard to fight off; Spencer was unintentionally trying to kill you. But a flutter of hope and excitement spread through your chest, though you were sure he didn't mean it the way you wanted to perceive it.

The air between you and Spencer felt thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. The rain outside created a serene backdrop, making the moment feel softer. More approachable. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the stutter of nerves in your chest. It felt like this was an opportunity to finally be honest, to stop crippling yourself by stuffing everything Spencer made you feel inside.

"Spencer.." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you tonight, even if it was under these… circumstances."

A beat passed. You almost began to regret what you'd said, hoping it didn't reveal too much, so that you could reword yourself if he didn't feel the same way about things.

Spencer’s gaze softened, his own nervousness evident in the way he avoided eye contact. Finally, he spoke. "I’m glad you feel that way," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been wanting to… well, I’ve been wanting to get closer to you, but I didn’t know how to say it."

You felt your heart stutter, a mix of hope and apprehension swelling in your chest. Closer? He wanted to get closer?

"Closer.. What do you mean?" you asked, your voice almost too quiet to hear over the rain.

Spencer hesitated, his hand reaching out slowly to gently touch your arm. The touch was light, almost as if he were afraid to impose. You almost would've thought an alien had taken over his body; Spencer was usually so avoidant of touch, a germaphobe and far too awkward for it. His eyes were soft, shyly looking at you in the hazy darkness.

"Like… this," he said, his fingers brushing against your skin. "I didn’t want to make things awkward or anything, but I’ve felt something more between us for a while. I just didn’t know how to… express it."

You couldn't believe it. If you weren't trained to keep things inside to avoid being exposed (FBI agent things), you would've squealed. You'd never dreamed that in a million years Spencer would be having this conversation with you, let alone touching you without being held at gun point to do so.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing as you felt the warmth of his fingers tracing your arm softly. "I’ve been feeling the same way, Spencer. I just didn’t know if you… if you felt the same." You admitted, exhaling shakily.

He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I do. I really do. But I didn’t want to rush things or make you uncomfortable," He explained, his fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes on your upper arm, hesitantly like he expected you to pull away. "And I was, uh, a little bit.. Afraid, honestly. Scared of rejection."

You smiled back, feeling a rush of warmth on your face despite the chill of the rain. "I appreciate that. And I’m glad you told me. I’ve been wanting to… to get closer to you too. I just didn’t know how to start." You reply, struggling not to lean into his body, to receive more of his touch. "And if it's any consolation, I've been terrified to make any indication of.. this." You snort.

He chuckles, his touch spreading further across your arm. His full palm now rubbed up and down your bicep, spreading its warmth. The touch was innocent and soft.

Spencer’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a gentle silence between you. Then, in a classic Spencer move, he spoke up again, his tone almost matter-of-fact. "Did you know that according to studies, sharing physical closeness with someone you care about can actually lower stress levels? The brain releases oxytocin, which reduces anxiety and creates a feeling of safety and comfort."

You blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected fact, and then chuckled softly. You knew better than to be shocked. This was Spencer. "That’s… actually really comforting."

Spencer’s smile widened sheepishly, still looking a bit shy. "I thought it might be relevant. So, um, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to be closer to you, both physically and emotionally." He admits, a soft look in his pretty brown eyes.

Your feet moved before you could really register what you were doing. The rain created a soothing rhythm around you, seeing to match the stuttering beat of your heart inside your chest. The air was thick but cool, almost difficult to inhale. Bringing yourself even closer to him than you were seconds ago, you slid your hand over his, the warmth just as heavenly as it was when you'd first been running to the gazebo.

You felt Spencer's hand squeeze yours, a silent reassurance, though hesitant. Looking up at him, you met his eyes. God, you loved his eyes. They were so pretty. Soft, warm, comforting. Now, they were so much more telling than usual, as if he'd let you in. They showed fondness.

You stilled immediately, feeling him lean towards you. Your brain struggled against your heart; it told you to stay still, but your heart told you to lean forward to meet him.

Before you could make your choice, he was too close. Your face burned as he captured your lips in a soft, shy kiss. It was delicate, as if it was his first time ever kissing someone. You paused for a moment, realizing slowly what was happening, but then leaned into him; your dreams were coming true.

You pressed yourself closer to him, inhaling. He smelled like clean laundry and something light and fresh, a subtle aftershave or just one spritz of cologne. His lips tasted like coffee. He parted them slightly, deepening the kiss; the move was hesitant, but heavier than the softness from before. His hand slid from yours to your waist, gently pulling you tighter into him, as if giving you the choice to step away if you wanted to. Nothing about kissing Spencer was forceful; he was gentle, hesitant, as if every move he made was a silent question. It was a sweet, hesitant gesture, as if he were afraid to impose but hopeful that you’d respond positively.

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were slightly breathless, faces flushed with shyness and glowing with excitement.

Spencer looked at you with a hopeful expression. "Was that okay?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You felt like you were going to explode. You were so happy, probably happier than you'd ever been in your life. Nodding, you smiled widely at Spencer, a breathless giggle falling from your lips.

"Yes. Absolutely."

Spencer’s smile widened, though he still looked a bit shy. "I’m really glad. I'm.. I'm not exactly the best with things like that," he explained, his hand still resting gently on your waist, warmth traveling through your cold, soaked clothes to your skin. "But I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that I.. I feel that way."

You soften, reaching up to push his soaked curls from his face. He leaned into the gesture.

"I feel that way too."

"We feel that way together. We're.. We're together."

[socgf]

one thing about matt dillon is he's gonna have that boombox CLUTCHED by his side

[amell333]

Incorrect Bau quotes

*Reader getting off a call.* : ugh i don't have the energy for this.

Reader: Spence, can I stay at yours tonight?

Spencer: yeah sure… why tho?

Reader: my dad just called and said his crazy sister is satying at mine because they gotta help grandpa move back to the farm soon.

Hotch: …

Rossi: …

Reader: …

Reader: ok what is it!?

Hotch: I didn’t give you a call.

Rossi: and I’m definitely not moving to a farm… I’ve never even lived on a farm!

Reader: … haha good joke.

Them: …

Reader: … wait you’re serious!? Omg fine ‘sorry’ I meant my blood connected family members. Happy now?

Them: Much better thank you. It gets a little confusing sometimes.

Everyone+Reader: …wtf just happened