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studioeisa · 2 months ago

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in good faith 🕯️ seungcheol x reader.

“because angels are beautiful.” he pauses for a beat. “more than that— they’re obedient.”

★ word count: 5.8k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. smut. alternate universe: non-idol, religious themes and references, blasphemy, corruption kink. morally gray/manipulative csc, inexperienced reader, oral (m), fingering. let me know if i missed anything. not proofread. ★ footnotes: this is not the first fic that will be written about these photos. it will also not be the last. dedicated to @cxffecoupx, who so generously let me play with her idea and add a bit of my spin to it. love you dearly, ris; i hope this lives up even the teensiest bit to what you had in mind! ‹𝟹

The first time you meet Seungcheol again, it’s in the dimly lit corner of your parish hall. Your mother drags you over to him like an offering, her fingers biting into your wrist as she beams up at him.

“This is my daughter,” she says, voice brimming with pride. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Seungcheol’s smile is gentle, his head dipping in a slight bow. “Of course,” he says, steady as a psalm. “It’s been a long time.”

It has. You barely remember him— just a vague recollection of a boy with scraped knees and a perpetual grin. Someone who always stood too close to the altar, staring up at the crucifix like he wanted to be swallowed whole by it.

This man before you is different. He stands taller now, his shoulders broad. His dark hair is neatly trimmed; his white button-down, pristine. A silver cross dangles from a chain around his neck.

“Seungcheol is leading the youth ministry now,” your mother gushes. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” you echo, eyes flicking to the way his fingers curl around the spine of a leather-bound Bible.

Seungcheol chuckles. A low, rich sound that hums in your chest. “I’m just doing what I can,” he responds. “It’s a blessing to be able to serve.”

The conversation drifts around you. Talks of charity events, of how Seungcheol spends his weekends visiting the sick, of how he volunteers to clean the church after late-night vigils. Your mother calls him a godsend. A good man.

And he is. Seungcheol meets your gaze with the unwavering steadiness of a saint, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face. He offers to walk you home, and your mother all but shoves you toward him.

It should be safe. Seungcheol is good. Seungcheol is holy.

But something lingers in the air as he falls into step beside you.

“You didn’t say much back there,” he muses, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Do I make you nervous?”

You hesitate. “No,” you lie.

He smiles. Not the same polite, tempered curve of his lips from earlier. This one is smaller, sharper. As if he knows something you don’t.

“Good,” Seungcheol murmurs with a tone of velvet and smoke. “I’d hate to scare you away.”

The streetlights above you flicker, their glow dimming like a prolonged inhale. You wonder, briefly, if you should be afraid.

The walk home is quiet, save for the steady echo of your footsteps against the pavement. Seungcheol doesn’t push for conversation, letting the silence stretch between you like an unspoken understanding. Every so often, he glances at you.

When you finally reach your doorstep, he lingers, his fingers slipping into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. The porch light casts a warm halo over his head. For a moment, he looks almost ethereal. Like a painting of an angel, edges softened by the glow.

“You’ll be at mass on Sunday?” he asks conversationally.

You nod, your hand gripping the doorknob like a lifeline. “Yeah.”

His grin returns. “It’s important to stay close to God,” he says.

There’s a beat of silence and you think he might finally leave. But Seungcheol steps closer instead, his presence looming; pressing against you without ever touching. His eyes dip to your hand on the doorknob before lifting back to meet your gaze.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” he says, “you can call me.”

Your throat tightens. “Okay.”

Seungcheol tilts his head, studying you like he’s searching for something just beneath your skin. Then, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s supposed to be casual, supposed to be part of his carefully packaged goodbye.

Why does it burn, then? Why does it feel like some forbidden apple, hanging just within your reach?

“Good night,” Seungcheol says, voice dripping with something saccharine. Something final.

“Good night,” you say back as your heart hammers against your ribs.

He turns and disappears into the night, footsteps fading until you can no longer hear them. Even as you step inside and lock the door, the weight of him lingers.

That Sunday, Seungcheol’s presence bears down on you once more.

Families are packed into the wooden pews, the soft hum of hymns echoing against the stone walls. Candles flicker, drawing long shadows over stained glass windows. The air smells of incense and old wood.

You spot Seungcheol right away.

He’s kneeling at the front of the church, head bowed in prayer, his fingers delicately clasped around his cross. The morning light catches in his hair, turning the dark strands golden at the edges. For a moment, he looks like he belongs in one of the frescoes above the altar.

You sit, try to focus on the mass, but it’s impossible. Not when he finally rises, turning to scan the crowd. His eyes find yours like a hook, and you swear he smiles before he looks away.

When it’s time for the sign of peace, he’s suddenly there, slipping into the pew beside you.

“Peace be with you,” Seungcheol murmurs, his hand reaching for yours.

It should be an innocent gesture. Everyone is doing it— trading handshakes and wishes of peace. But when his fingers wrap around yours, his thumb drags over your knuckles, slow and deliberate. The touch is fleeting. It sears.

You don’t even register your automatic response before he pulls away, stepping back as if nothing happened. His expression remains serene, respectful, as he nods politely and returns to his spot at the front.

Your heart pounds through the rest of the service.

Afterward, as the congregation drifts outside, you linger near the vestibule. You half hope and half dread that he’ll seek you out.

In the end, he does.

“You’re staying for fellowship?” he asks you smoothly.

“I— no,” you stammer. “I was just leaving.”

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. “I’m glad you came today.” The corner of his mouth lifts with the hint of a smirk. “It’s nice to see you.”

It shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it does. But as he steps back, joining the rest of the parishioners with effortless ease, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s still watching you— even when his back is turned.

You tell yourself you’re going to church for yourself. That the knot of anticipation in your stomach is just leftover nerves, not expectation. When you slip into a pew, your gaze flicking over the heads of the faithful, you know better.

Seungcheol finds you like he always does. He slides into the seat beside you just before the first reading, the scent of his sharp cologne mingling with the sharp tang of incense.

“You came back,” he whispers, the hint of a praise just for you. Just for you.

You try not to balk. “Of course.”

His gaze lingers, dark and steady, before he turns back to the altar. His thigh presses against yours, just enough that you can’t ignore it.

Through the homily, he doesn’t move away. If anything, he shifts closer, his knee brushing yours every time you shift in your seat. Your skin sparks where he touches. The ache in your chest only deepens.

When mass ends, he doesn’t let you slip away this time.

“Can I walk you home?” Seungcheol offers.

You should say no.

You don’t.

As you head out together, the only sound initially is the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the distant toll of the church bells. Seungcheol walks beside you, his cross glinting in the late morning light.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he says after a couple of minutes, breaking the silence. The words are soft, carefully chosen.

Your pulse jumps. “What?”

He stops and turns to face you. For the first time, he makes no effort to hide it— the way he looks at you, like he’s already made up his mind about what he wants.

“I think,” Seungcheol says, taking an infinitesimal step closer to you, “you like when I pay attention to you.”

You step back, but he matches it. His hand lifts, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not holding. Just enough to feel your pulse hammering beneath the skin.

“I shouldn’t say things like that, should I?” His voice is low, nearly apologetic. “I’m sorry if I’m wrong, angel.”

Angel. The choice of pet name settles over you like a second skin. This is the part where you’re supposed to agree that he shouldn’t say things like this, that you deserve the apology he’s doling out. Instead, you find yourself willingly trapped in whatever dance Seungcheol has orchestrated.

And the smile he gives you— all dimples and sharp teeth— tells you he notices.

He tilts his head, studying you as if you’re a puzzle he’s already halfway solved. “Angel,” Seungcheol repeats. “Is that alright with you?”

“Why that?” you ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

His thumb grazes the inside of your wrist, the faintest touch, like he’s testing the weight of your reaction. “Because angels are beautiful.” He pauses for a beat. “More than that— they’re obedient.”

The word lingers, heavy and deliberate, and the heat that rushes through you feels sinful. He waits, gaze unwavering. “Do you mind?” he asks again, and his concern would be genuine there weren’t a dozen alarm bells going off in your brain.

You’re a lamb being primed for slaughter, you think, as you give a jerky shake of your head. No, you don’t mind, you’re saying, even though you’re not a hundred percent sure what you’re walking into.

“That’s what I thought,” Seungcheol says, his hand sliding to entangle your fingers with his.

The satisfaction in his voice sounds a lot like benediction.

You hadn’t expected to see Seungcheol waiting for you outside the parish hall.

The evening mass just ended, the lingering scent of incense clinging to the humid air. Most of the congregation had already filtered out, murmuring goodbyes and making their way home.

You should be among them, with your mother. Instead, you find yourself waiting with bated breath by the outside of the building— watching Seungcheol shuffle toward you with slow, deliberate purpose.

His eyes drop to your dress. It’s subtle, the way his expression changes, the slight shift in his stance. You feel his scrutiny like a weight.

“This is new,” he says, gaze dragging over the delicate fabric. The way the hem flutters just above your knees.

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly unsure if you should shrink under his stare or stand taller. “I wear dresses to church all the time.”

“Mm.” Seungcheol hums, something unreadable in his tone. “Not like this.”

It’s not a condemnation, not exactly. But it makes your skin prickle. Your pulse, too loud in your ears.

You exhale shakily, trying to maintain at least some composure. “Is there a problem?”

His answer comes slower this time, drawn out like he’s considering it carefully. “Not at all,” he says, though his voice has dropped to something quieter, rougher. “It just makes it a little harder to behave.”

Your breath catches.

“Did you wear it for me?” He takes another step forward, crowding the space between you. The parish hall looms behind him, dark and quiet, as if holding its breath.

“No,” you fib, but you’re not sure why you bother.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue and reaches out. His fingers graze the hem of your dress, barely a touch. Enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Shame,” he murmurs. “It’s a pretty little thing.”

His hand trails upward. Not far, just a few inches. The implication is there, hanging thick in the night air.

Your lips part, a protest or a prayer— you don’t know which. Then, Seungcheol lifts his other hand, cradling the side of your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek. Featherlight. Loving, in another lifetime.

Seungcheol leans in, his breath warm against your lips. “Angel,” he murmurs, “tell me if you want me to stop.”

You don’t.

When he finally closes the distance, kissing you slowly and deliberately, you realize— he already knew that.

The gentleness from before fades quickly, replaced by something more desperate, more demanding. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. His lips part against yours, tongue sweeping over the seam of your mouth until you give in and let him take more.

You whimper, and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him. It’s reckless— the way he presses you back against the stonewall of the parish hall, the way his body cages yours in. The silver cross hanging from his neck brushes against your chest. A cold contrast to the heat blooming between you.

His fingers ghost down your arm, trailing lower, lower, until he’s gripping your waist. His thumb rubs slow, deliberate circles against your ribs, inching dangerously close to the curve of your chest. He doesn’t go further, but the tease of it— the way he lingers right on the edge of propriety— makes your knees go weak.

This must be how it felt like, your brain screams, for Daniel in that lion’s den.

Seungcheol bites your bottom lip, sharp enough to make you gasp. He soothes it with a slow drag of his tongue. The shift in pace makes your head spin, your body leaning into him as if begging for more.

But just when you think he might give, he stops.

Seungcheol pulls away sharply, suddenly, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His lips are pink and kiss-bruised; he licks them absently, savoring the taste of you.

You try to chase after him, to bridge the distance, but his grip on your waist tightens. Not to pull you closer, but to hold you still.

“That’s enough,” he whispers, voice rough.

It’s not. It’s nowhere near enough.

He must see the frustration on your face, because he laughs. The sound borders on cruel. Seungcheol lifts his hand, dragging his knuckles along your jaw in a gesture so unnecessarily tender it makes your chest cave.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Wear a longer dress next Sunday,” he hisses, his voice low and filled with something dangerous, belying the softness of his touch, “unless you want me to forget my manners again.”

He steps back before you can respond, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he hasn’t just unraveled you in the church’s shadow. His silver cross catches the light as he walks away, gleaming like a promise. Or maybe a warning.

And you’re left standing there, heart pounding, lips swollen, with the taste of him still lingering in your mouth.

Wanting.

Your mother is practically glowing, flitting around the kitchen to refill side dishes and top off drinks, beaming every time Seungcheol so much as glances her way.

Across the table, Seungcheol's mother sits with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap, watching her son with quiet pride.

Your family reestablishing its presence back at church has made this a normal thing now. Having Seungcheol and his mother over is something you suppose you should expect a lot more frequently, especially with the way Seungcheol effortlessly charms your parents.

“This is delicious, ma’am,” Seungcheol says, flashing your mother that gentle, saintly smile. “As good as I remember it. Maybe even better.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” your mother gushes, waving her hand. “It’s nothing special, really.”

“I don’t know about that,” Seungcheol says, eyes flicking to you. “Everything here feels... special.”

You nearly choke on your water.

His mother, ever composed, laughs softly. “He’s always been so gracious,” she says, glancing fondly at her son. “Even as a child.”

Seungcheol offers her a modest shrug. The perfect image of humility.

But beneath the table, his knee brushes against yours.

At first, you think it’s accidental. Then he presses closer. When you try to shift away, he follows— his calf locking you in place.

“Are you seeing anyone, Seungcheol?” your mother asks conversationally.

He hums, considering. “No one serious,” he replies, his free hand drifting under the table.

His fingers graze your knee, light as a prayer. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t give any indication that he’s doing anything at all. Just keeps chatting like he isn’t testing your composure in front of your families.

“I’ve been focused on church,” he continues, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. “And helping the community where I can.”

Seungcheol’s mother nods approvingly. “He’s very dedicated,” she says. “Always has been.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, your heart pounding loud in your ears.

“We need more young men like you these days,” your father adds as Seungcheol’s fingers creep higher.

“I just try to do what’s right,” Seungcheol answers. His voice is steady, almost pious. But the way his touch trails higher, fingertips teasing the hem of your dress— is anything but.

You shift in your seat, enough to have Seungcheol’s hand stilling. “Are you okay?” Seungcheol’s mother asks as she notices your supposed discomfort.

You nod quickly, your pulse hammering. “Just a little warm,” you say, grabbing your glass with a trembling hand.

By the grace of God, Seungcheol pulls away. He resumes his polite conversation, plays the role of a righteous man.

After dinner, your mothers settle in the living room with cups of tea, conversation flowing easily as it always does whenever they catch up.

Seungcheol lingers with you in the hallway. “Got any movies?” he asks almost casually. “We could put something on while they talk.”

You blink, caught off guard. “I— yeah, but my laptop is in my room.”

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “That okay?”

You should find some excuse, any reason to keep him downstairs, but the way he looks at you— patient, steady, like he knows you’ll give in— makes your resolve crumble.

“Sure,” you breathe.

No one questions it. Your mothers send you off with twin simpers; your father barely looks up from the television. As you lead Seungcheol up the stairs, you realize just how much misplaced faith they have.

When you reach your room, Seungcheol steps inside, hands in his pockets as he surveys the space with quiet interest. The soft glow of your bedside lamp casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edge of his jaw, the silver glint of the cross around his neck.

He turns to you. “What do you feel like watching, angel?” he asks, just loud enough for your parents downstairs to catch.

But then the door clicks shut behind you.

All pretenses go up in smoke.

“We’re not here to watch a movie,” Seungcheol says plainly.

A shiver runs down your spine as he closes the space between you, crowding you up against your door. Wordlessly, he cups your jaw, fingers resting just below your earlobe.

“Do you want to tell me what we’re here for, angel?” he prompts.

Your answer is a weak one. It’s a trained response, similar to the way your body involuntarily melts against his whenever he touches you.

“Practice,” you say hoarsely, and Seungcheol hums with approval.

“Practice,” he confirms— and then he leans in to crash your lips against his.

Ever since that first kiss, the tension between the two of you have crackled like a livewire. It’s only been making out so far. Heated sessions stolen every Sunday, in some dinky, dark corner of the parish where nobody might find either of you.

Practice, Seungcheol had told you about all your rendezvouses. He’s helping you practice for the man you’re someday going to marry, the one you’re obligated to please under your archaic religion.

It had struck you, of course, that Seungcheol never referred to himself as that. He was not your future husband, not somebody who wanted to be shackled by the label ‘boyfriend’. You were not that big of a fool to insist on that.

But you are enough of a fool to think that it will be the same thing this evening. That Seungcheol might exhibit some restraint, considering the fact your parents are a floor away.

He tips you back, one hand in your hair and the other wrapped around your waist. He pulls away from the heated kiss to survey the heat in your cheeks, the haze in your eyes. His breath is hot on your throat, and when he presses his lips to the sensitive skin there, they feel like fire. You shiver, unable to do anything except grip the front of his shirt in both hands, and Seungcheol laughs lowly.

“Trembling already?” he says as he nips at your pulse point, tongue licking over the indentations he’s left. It won’t leave any marks, but the threat of it thrills you enough.

He’s everywhere. Hands roaming, lips mapping out the terrain of your body. When he kisses you, it’s like being consumed by something larger than life.

The hand in your hair tightens, forcing your head back. His other hand pushes your hips flush against his. Seungcheol swallows your gasp, tongue pushing past the barrier of your lips to meet yours. It’s overwhelming— to be kissed so thoroughly— but you’re helpless to the rush of pleasure.

Seungcheol draws back, chest heaving. “You make the prettiest noises, angel," he purrs. “But keep it down, hm? We can’t get caught.”

“Can’t get caught,” you repeat dumbly, still trying to catch your breath.

He seems pleased to see you unravelling. Hand still threaded in your hair, Seungcheol begins to guide your body away from the door. He acts like he has a right to navigate your room, like this isn’t his first time in your private space.

You’d expected him to guide you to your bed, and so you’re mildly surprised when he pulls you over to your work space instead. You stumble over your steps but he holds you upright, tugging at the roots of your hair in a way that borders on painful.

Seungcheol lets go of you as he sinks into your desk chair. You’re dazed as you watch him settle in— as if it’s his God-given right.

“How far have you gone, pretty thing?” If you strained your ears, you might hear just how condescending he is underneath his curious facade. “Has anyone gotten a proper taste of you? Have you had a cock in your mouth?”

Your face flushes at the filth that spills from Seungcheol's mouth. For a moment, you hesitate, your fingers nervously toying with the edges of your dress.

“None of that,” you whimper, partially afraid that your inexperience will ruin the moment. “I haven't done... any of that. Just kissing.”

It’s exactly what Seungcheol wants to hear.

He doesn’t have to probe about any of the other boys you might’ve kissed. In his head, they’re good as gone. He’s the one in your bedroom right now; he’s the one who has you wrapped around his finger.

“We’ve got a lot more practicing to do, then,” he muses. He goes the extra mile, injecting a tinge of disappointment into his tone.

Panic flares in your chest like a firecracker. You resist the urge to clamber on to his lap and try to atone for your inexperience.

Seungcheol is quiet as he surveys your nervous expression. When he speaks, his tone has the blood in your veins running cold.

“On your knees.”

You don’t immediately comply. The slowness of your uptake has Seungcheol arching one eyebrow upward, his fingers flexing over the armrest of your chair.

“Come on,” he coaxes, “you go to church. You know how to kneel, don’t you?”

You feel pathetic, the way you scramble to prove him right. You’ve never been so grateful that your parents insisted you get a carpet. The plush materials press into your knees, and you gingerly shift until you’ve got the skirt of your dress as an extra layer of protection.

There’s something demeaning about this, you think to yourself. About the way Seungcheol’s gaze is heavy-lidded, full of wicked intent. About his fingers finding their way back into your hair, threading through the strands in a way that verges on menacing.

But how could he be wicked, how could he be menacing? He’s smiling down at you, urging you to rest your cheek against his knee. You follow— you always do— and you lean against him, some of the tension in your body easing out.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, and your foolish heart sings. He’s concerned. He’s worried.

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m— it’s okay.”

Seungcheol makes a small hum of approval. His nails ghost over your scalp, lulling you into a sense of safety. You lay your head in his lap, reveling in the feeling.

A couple of moments pass like that. Just as your eyes flutter close, Seungcheol’s voice breaks through the silence.

“Angel,” he says softly, “do you want to help me feel good?”

He poses it like a question, like he doesn’t already know what you’re going to say. You haven’t denied Seungcheol a single thing up until this point. And now you feel indebted, now you have to repay all his guidance.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word a cold, broken Hallelujah.

Seungcheol keeps his hand on your head— holding you in place or comforting you, it’s not clear. His free hand works on the button of his slacks. You shift uneasily, your eyes taking in every movement.

His zipper being pulled. His boxers being pushed down, just enough for his semi-hard cock spring free.

He picks up on your trepidation immediately.

“It’s practice, angel,” he reminds you, his hold loosening in your hair. He’s giving you the option to pull away, you realize.

You’re not going to. You don’t want to.

Desperate to prove yourself, you reach out. He gives a low hiss in response, his eyes darkening at the way your fingers wrap around his cock.

“Spit on it first.” His words aren’t advice or a plea. They’re a command.

You do as you’re told. You note how the spit makes things easier; it lets your palm slide along him much better. There’s a hint of fascination on your expression as Seungcheol twitches and swells underneath your hold, belying the facade of nonchalance that he’s put on.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, peering up at Seungcheol.

His gaze is half-lidded as he stares down at you. “It does, angel,” he says, voice rough around the edges, “but you can go a little faster for me, yeah?”

You comply instantaneously, your hand running from tip to base and back up again with a little more intent. A part of you preens when Seungcheol’s head lolls backward, resting against the back of the arm chair. He’s obviously trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay, and you chalk it up to the fact your families might clock you if they were to find anything suspicious.

“Good girl,” he grunts. “My perfect angel.”

The praise goes straight to your head. You’re a little more enthusiastic as you pump his shaft at the pace he seems to like. After a couple of moments of Seungcheol’s quiet grunts, you ask the question that secures you a one-way ticket to hell.

“Will this be enough?”

Blink and you’ll miss it. The way Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. The millisecond where he looks contemplative, thoughtful. The moment he realizes what he’s going to say, what he’s going to ask of you.

“No,” he answers. “It’s not enough.”

You falter, but you keep your hand firmly wrapped around Seungcheol. So much about this situation is unfamiliar, from the coil in your stomach to the inexplicable need to gain Seungcheol’s approval.

“I’ll need your mouth,” he says plainly.

It makes sense to you now, how easily Eve had succumbed to that apple. The original sin, they called it, and you think you’ve learned a thing or two about sin as Seungcheol spreads his legs. You move until you’re positioned a little better over him, your breath warm against his cock.

Seungcheol grips your hair again. You can feel the reservation in his touch, the way he’s holding back with every fraying inch of his control. Letting you set the pace.

You lean forward, hesitantly licking a strike up Seungcheol’s cock. He masterfully keeps his expression under control. The lack of an enthusiastic reaction spurs you to take him in your mouth, to bob your head up and down experimentally.

Your movements are a bit awkward; the taste of Seungcheol, new to your senses. You grin and bear it as you start to see progress— his fingers tightening in your hair, his breaths coming up a little more ragged.

Instinctively, Seungcheol’s hips buck upwards. You gag when you feel him hit the back of your throat. “Sorry, angel,” he groans. “Feels like heaven.”

You hum with approval, the sound reverberating around Seungcheol’s cock. He twitches underneath you and squeezes his eyes shut, like it’s taking every ounce of his control not to fuck into your mouth.

When you try to hollow your cheeks, Seungcheol tugs you off of him. You gasp— for air, and in surprise— but he’s maneuvering you faster than you can properly react.

It happens so quickly. One moment, you’re sucking Seungcheol off. The next, he has you folded over your desk.

“That was a little too good, angel,” he murmurs into your ear, his cock pressing into the curve of your ass through your dress. “If I come, I want to do it inside of you.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine. With his chest to your back, Seungcheol feels it; he chuckles lowly, wasting no time to flip over your dress.

“Cute,” he says, fingers running along the hem of your underwear.

You feel weak-kneed, supported only by the table and the press of Seungcheol’s body. “What are you—?” you’re asking, even as Seungcheol nudges your thighs apart to give himself a little more room to work with.

“Say ‘stop’.” Seungcheol’s voice has taken on that quality again. That do-no-wrong reverence. “Say the word and I’m off, angel.”

The speed of your response surprises even you. “No,” you blurt out, like you’re afraid he’ll pull away if he sees even a moment’s hesitation. “No, no. I— want this. Want you.”

His smile is sharp against the side of your neck.

He pushes your underwear to the side. You hadn’t realized how neglected you’d been feeling until the first brush of his fingers tears an unbidden gasp out of you. It feels almost cruel, the way he teases the slick gathered at your core.

“Seung—cheol,” you complain, and he breathes a soft ‘shhh’ into your ear.

“What did I say earlier?”

You swallow. “To— keep it down.”

He rewards you by pressing the tip of his finger into your cunt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip in a futile attempt to bite back your moans. Seungcheol’s breaths are heavy as he slowly eases his finger into your heat, giving you time to adjust to the intrusion.

You’ve touched yourself before, but this is something new entirely. Seungcheol’s fingers are thick and he hits parts of you that you couldn’t reach by yourself. Your jaw has gone slack, the sounds of pleasure catching in your throat as you try to keep yourself quiet.

Seungcheol must deem your efforts insufficient, because he lets out a ‘tch’ of disapproval. “This won’t do,” he grunts.

His free hand abandons its hold of your hip. You’re just about to ask what he’s going to do when he shows you— tugging the necklace around his neck, leaning over your shoulder. The chain dangles in your peripheral for a second before he’s shoving the cross past your lips, the silver cold against your tongue.

“Bite,” he hisses. “Keep quiet.”

Your mouth clamps down on the cross. You have only a moment to feel like this is something damning, something sacrilegious, before Seungcheol fucks his finger into you a little faster.

It takes a mammoth effort to be the angel he wants you to be. Your legs are shaking; your forehead is slicking with sweat. Seungcheol deigns to slide another finger in, and it goes by without a hitch. You’re so wet that you don’t doubt it’ll gather all over your underwear and the inside of your thighs.

“Hear that?” Seungcheol coos, referring to the loud, obscene squelching echoing in your room. You can only pray that your parents are deaf to the world as Seungcheol goes on, “Better than a fucking choir. Such a perfect pussy, angel.”

He shifts from behind you. You can feel all of his hardness pressing up against you— everything from the planes of his body to the shape of his cock. There’s a moment where you hesitate, where you worry that your inexperience and softness might turn him off.

If anything, it only seems to excite him more.

“There are bad men out there,” he murmurs, “who will want to take advantage of a pretty little thing like you.”

You try to nod, but there isn’t much room for you to move. Your brain feels like it’s melting, and it only worsens when Seungcheol’s thumb begins to rub tight circles over your clit. That— paired with the two fingers he’s driving deep into your cunt— is enough for you to see stars.

But it’s his words that threaten to do you over.

“Not me,” he says into the side of your neck. “Never me. I’m going to take good care of you. And that starts with having you come all over my fingers, like the angel that you are. The next thing I’m going to do is fill you up, make you feel it right here—”

He presses into the gummy spot inside of you, and you’re done for. Your body slumps and you come with a soft cry, the cross in your mouth muffling the sound.

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm when Seungcheol tugs his necklace free. The silver shines with your saliva, filling you with a sort of indignity that coils low in your stomach.

Seungcheol’s fingers— still lazily fucking into you— distract you from your shame. And when he kisses you hard, as if rewarding you for your compliance, you can’t even think of things like sin.

There is only Seungcheol. There will only ever be Seungcheol.

“You did so well for me,” he says against your lips. “I don’t think they heard a thing, angel.”

The bliss has made your head hazy, has robbed you of your coherency. You can only manage a breathless “Thank God.”

His smile returns. It makes him look like he’s about to swallow you whole.

“No need to thank God,” he murmurs, “when you can thank me.”

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol smut #seungcheol fic #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt #the amount of time it took to write this fic was embarrassingly long. i give it to you now @world #and i may revisit for edits once i'm over how much time it took :")#self-imposed cheol writing ban starts now. but ris u can drag me out of a hiatus any day ily

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dimplewonie · 10 months ago

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୨ৎ rating my exes! | enhypen hyung line.

pairing: enha hyung-line x reader!

genere: smau oneshot, humor/fluff, angst (?).

warnings: swearing, ningning as faceclaim, use of whore & slut, like one typo, crack, unnecessary amount of hate on jakes ham & cheese toastie, my lame humor, signs i need mental help

ri's note🎧: i am making a maknae line ver :3 (lmk if u want a tag!) now tell me why this took yrs to make

𐙚 tagging: @floweryang @zhounauts @mygnolia @jlheon @star-hoon @ilovejungwonandhaechan @wonkixo @wtfhyuck

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awordsmith · 3 months ago

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tangled up 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer join forces to babysit both Jack and Henry.

who? spencer x bau!reader when? s6 genre: novella content warnings: not proofed, contains nothing but pure fluff, reader and spencer get mistaken as Jack and Henry's parents... reid with warmth !! word count: 4.9k a/n: first novella fic whaaaa....i've been wanting to write this one for a while, but i knew it wouldn't be that long, so this is perfect for my first novella fic!!; enjoy!

The morning was cold and frosty, and the only thing able to mend it: a large, hot latte. Hotch approached your desk as you set your things down. He leaned over and whispered conspicuously, “Are you sure you can come tonight?”

You rolled your eyes and whispered back, just as secretive, and perhaps some more to show how dramatic he was being, “Yes, Hotch,” you saluted him, “Jack will be in good hands.”

A gruff sound came from his throat–as if signifying his disbelief, “If you say so, do you remember what time?”

“Hotch?”

He looked around, glancing back at you with pressed lips. “Yeah?”

“I got this,” you pushed his hand–gripping your desk–off.

“Right,” he nodded, “no I know.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, “so why are you stalling? Is this about your date? Because if you don’t want to go–”

“No,” he dusted his suit off, “I’m–I’m walking away.”

“Uh-huh,” you biot back a smile, feeling Spencer slide up next to you, “and what was that all about?” He kept his inquisitive gaze on your boss.

“Hotch had a date,” you stated, turning to look at him, “I’m babysitting Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded–but when Penelope called you to the roundtable room and you began to walk away with her, you could hear him mutter, “Why didn’t he ask me?”

JJ rushed in, she apologized for being late as she took her seat. The team watched her; she was flushed, but her face showed clear urgency. She rolled her eyes, “Please do not question me today, I already have enough explaining to do.”

It was silent, but then you just couldn’t help yourself, “...JJ?” She looked at you with a slight warning, but you still asked, “What happened?”

The air in the room evaporated as JJ sucked in a breath, then deflated against her chair, throwing her head back, “Henry’s babysitter quit this morning.” You kept quiet, waiting for her to elaborate. “Will and I were going to go out tonight, we’ve been planning this for weeks now.” she huffs, running a hand through her hair.

Spencer caught your eyes, and though you shook your head, knowing it’d be a bad idea, he still said, “Well, hey, you know I could watch him for you–if you still wanted to go.”

JJ raised a brow and began to shake her head slowly, “I don’t know, Spence–”

“I wouldn’t be alone,” you noted Hotch raising an eyebrow as Spencer motioned toward you, “— is watching Jack, we could babysit them together.”

JJ glanced at you, then at Hotch–hopeful, “Would you both be okay with that?”

Hotch eyed Spencer’s grin for a moment, “Fine, but — has to keep an eye on Reid too.”

“Uh–what?” Spencer threw his arms up, “I’m a great babysitter–are you laughing?” He glared slightly at Morgan.

“Sure you are,” you reached over and patted the top of his hand, you held his gaze for a split second–the both of you trying to hold in your laughter.

You could hear giggling inside. Jack clung to Hotch, he was eight, and yet he still adored his father. The night was young, but starting to grow darker. Today, you had only been called to air a case, so you worked from the office, which you didn’t have the pleasure of doing most days, making it pretty unique.

“Oh, hey guys,” Spencer called, walking up behind you. You frowned, noting his relaxed attire.

“And I didn’t think you owned anything but sweater vests.”

“Oh–you just had to comment.” He sighed.

“That I did,” you nodded, “that I did.”

The front door opened right as Hotch checked his wristwatch, “you guys made it!”

“Would you believe it? Hotch hasn’t canceled yet.”

Your boss glared at you, but your remark earned chuckles from the others, “Yep, and I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”

JJ stepped out of the house and moved aside, “come on in.” Henry popped his little head out from behind Will and motioned for Jack to follow.

Hotch leaned to the side, eyes only leaving Jack once the boys disappeared behind a corner. “Okay,” JJ approached you, hands on your shoulders, “I am trusting you.”

“Hey–uhm Hi!” Spencer waved, sticking his head over your shoulder, “I’m here too.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling her to be careful.”

After a bit of teasing Spencer, Hotch, Will, and JJ left in their cars. “Come, on, it’s freezing out here,” you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your zip-up.

“Let the night begin…”

Spencer stayed, feet glued to the floor for a moment as he watched you wander into the house. He couldn’t help the small smile that grazed his face; he covered it with a hand, closing the door behind him.

Inside you were asking the boys what they wanted to do. Hotch had picked you up from your apartment and you, him, and Jack drove over together–so when Henry suggested the movie theatre, you could only glance at Spencer, wondering if he’d be willing to drive.

He huffed, rolled his eyes, and fell back on the couch in the living room. “We can see what movies are playing, I guess.”

You huffed a laugh and gripped the couch with both hands as you learned over it, watching Jack and Hnery jump on top of Spencer.

“Okay, okay.” He pushed Henry’s foot out of his face and shot you a look when he heard you cover up a snort with a cough.

Upon scrolling through the nearest movie theatre, you found the newest Spider-Man movie was playing, but you had already missed the 7 o’clock one and the next showing was at 8:30. You, Spencer, and the boys agreed to that time, which left you about an hour before you had to leave. Spencer offered to pay and though you had debated with him about going half–he insisted.

You agreed, but only if he let you pay for the snacks. Spencer wasn’t a boyfriend and he wasn’t one of the girls, so it felt weird letting him pay for everything. He was older than you yes, but only by a couple of years, and though you had to remind him of that several times, he never once failed to pull that card over on you.

“What’s that?” Spencer motioned toward the bag you had brought–that you were now unloading on the kitchen counter.

“Ingredients,” you shrugged, “it isn’t real babysitting if you don’t bake something.”

“You bake?” He sat up, throwing something on the television to distract the boys before he made his way toward you.

You brushed it off, “Somewhat.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rounding the counter and meeting your hip with his, “so what are we baking tonight?”

“We?” You raised a brow. He nodded, lips forming a thin line to suppress a grin. “Oh, no,” you huffed a laugh, “we are not–do you even know kitchen etiquette?”

His face scrunched up, “I’m a quick learner.”

“Sarcastic Spencer never fails to amuse me.”

“Mmm,” he nodded, “what’s first?”

You shook your head, a grin escaping you. You snatched the butter he had picked up and smacked him on the shoulder as you went to go find a bow for it, “Wash your hands.”

“Something smells good.” Jack rounded the counter.

“That would be the cookies.” You spun around and bent to your knees, pulling the oven open.

“When’s the movie?” Henry came waddling in, Spencer not too far behind.

You glanced at him, expecting him to answer for the both of you. You smiled to yourself, pulling off the oven mitts when he said, “uh…we have about five more minutes before we should leave.”

You nodded and began searching for a container to put the cookies in, “boys, do you wanna go outside and help Uncle Spencer start the car?”

“Awesome!” Henry shouted, running off to find his coat.

“Can we really start the car?” Jack looked between you and Spencer.

“Of course,” you smiled, nodding.

“Cool,” he too ran off.

“If either of them wrecks my car, I’m holding you responsible.” He jabbed a warning finger in your direction.

You scoffed, wiping your hands on a rag, “right. Spencer, you drive a van.”

“An SUV,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, you don’t seem the type to care about messing things up.”

He held a hand to his chest, mock hurt flashing across his face, “–and what is that supposed to mean.”

You shrugged, but a cheeky smile pulled your lips upward.

“I’ll see you in the car,” he wandered off in search of the boys. You grabbed three cookies and set them aside on a napkin.

When you walked toward the door, you found Spencer and the boys already secure in the car. You locked the door and made your way down the drive.

“I have something delicious,” you handed each boy a cookie, promising to help Spencer clean out his car if it turned out they made a mess.

You took the third cookie and bit into it. Spencer watched you and he pulled off, turning onto the street. He hit a red light when you were halfway done with it, “were you not going to offer to share?”

Your eyebrows shot up momentarily, “you like sweets?”

“Half you met me?” he shot back.

You huffed, yanking his hand from the steering wheel and toward you, placing the cookie into his hand. The light turned green, so he steered with one arm and used his other to eat the cookie. It was a darling sight, truly. You giggled when a few crumbs fell onto the floor.

“I blame you,” he muttered, his mouth full of cookies as he made his proclamation.

Spencer had bought the tickets online, so as you parked, you made a game plan with the boys. Spencer and Henry would go to the bathroom because he forgot to say something back at the house and you and Jack would stand in line. There were a few games around–and of course, the boys asked to play when they saw them–but you only had ten minutes till the movie began, so you promised when the movie was over, you’d stay a bit longer to play.

There were only three lines open and from what you could tell, pretty long. Jack stuffed his hands into his tiny jacket pockets–he looked comfortable. “Do you know what you want to get?”

He pressed his lips together and notably looked around at the freezers and small box-like shelves separating the lines. They were only about two inches higher than him, maybe three or four higher than Henry.

“I’ve never been here.” You frowned. Jack had never been to a movie theatre or he had never been to this theatre?

“What do you mean?” You stepped forward as the line moved up. A father and his daughter–probably around fourteen–stepped behind you. You took notice, but only because you’ve programmed your brain, they weren’t really important.

Jack shrugged, “What kind of snacks do they have.” You understood Jack didn’t want to speak more on the subject and because you cherished him, you dropped it–but you made a mental note to speak with Hotch about it later.

“Well, I think they have…gummy bears and–oh look–they have cornetto–personally I prefer the cup version–but that’s just me.” Jack laughed and stood on his tippy toes, trying to get a better look at the ice cream flavors.

You caught Spencer walking toward you, Henry skipping a few feet in front of him. He caught your wave and nodded toward Jack, who now stepped to the side of the counter–looking through the glass. “How much time do we have?”

Spencer checked his watch once more, his casual attire contrasting. He wore his glasses–which you absolutely adored–a pair of blue jeans substituted his normal khakis, and he wore a black hoodie with red writing on the back. He wore tenashoes instead of his work shoes and his silly socks were hidden beneath the fabric of his jeans. It made you frown slightly: you couldn’t tease him about it.

“Do you want anything?” You asked as the boys began listing off candy to the cashier.

“No, I’m good.” He shook his head, stuffing his hands into the singular pocket of his hoodie.

“Wanna share a bowl of popcorn?” You pleaded and eventually, he gave in.

You asked for two smaller bowls so you could split the large bowl between you, Spencer, and the boys. Spencer physically winced when you swiped your card–you saw it happen. It sent a flutter through you and your face reddened as much as it could. You covered it up with a laugh, hoping Spencer didn’t find it weird, though the look he threw you said otherwise.

You found your seats, the boys settled in the middle of the two of you. You separated the popcorn between the boys, but then realized it’d be an issue sharing with Spencer if he was all the way on the other side, so instead, you gave him one of the smaller bowls, filled his and Hnery’s, and shared the big bowl with Jack.

You made it in time for the credits which you hated, but Spencer loved. It put a goofy smile on his face as he explained every ad,s aying how they were trying to tug at your heartstrings or logical side. “But we’re too smart, aren’t we?” He met your gaze.

The boys turned toward you, where you now adorned a serious nod, “oh, yeah, we’re way too smart to fall fo that, right boys?”

“Yep!” they nodded triumphantly.

“And why is that?” Spencer rounded the question back to him.

“Because we’re profilers,” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Exactly,” you jabbed a finger at him, messing with his hair a little. He laughed and leaned away, pushing your hand toward the popcorn bowl.

Spencer watched you–but not just your person. He wanted your actions, your facial expression, the way you interacted and spoke to Jack, the way you joked with Henry, the way you took every opportunity you could to tease him about absolutely anything.

He felt his heart tense and then fall to his stomach once he realized what was occurring. Was he falling in love? Was this what that feeling was? Was this how falling in love happened? You noticed minuscule, insignificant things about a person like the way they laughed? Or the way smiled? You analyzed them so thoroughly that you could tell what they would say before they said it. Or know the action they’re about to take before they make it?

He couldn’t tell. Spencer had never been in love before. He had never fallen in love. But was that what this was? He didn’t have a definitive answer, he just knew he wanted to be closer. To you. To you in every way. He wanted you to want to be close to him and he wondered if that was love.

Because if it was, wouldn’t that mean he’d already fallen? But it didn’t feel right. It felt…like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he had been searching for an answer he knew was somewhere in his brain, but hadn’t figured it out until just now.

The movie played and he tried his best to watch it–he grasped the general concept, but he was more focused on, well, you.

Did he love you? Could he say that with genuine confidence? He wouldn’t know until he tried it out, but he couldn’t. Because what if he didn’t? What if what he felt for you was simply pure friendship–he’d be making a crucial mistake, one) if you didn’t like him you’d be weirded out and if you did he chanced hurting you, two) you worked together, that was an issue in and of itself.

He jumped when you stood, watching as you stretched. “What?” You raised a brow, a tired smile forming you mouth.

He found himself smiling back, his stomach flipping, “nothing. Just…tired.”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, yawning, “me too. We should head back now, it’s pretty late. We need to take them baths.”

“Yeah,” Spencer glanced at Jack, who was now standing, and Henry, who was fast asleep in his seat.

Spencer tried waking him slightly, but he wasn’t budging, “just carry him,” you suggested.

Deciding it was the only option, Spencer gripped Henry’s armpits and heaved him upward as gently as he could. You watched him as he laid Hnery’s head on his shoulder, the boy snuggling into the crook of his neck, hugging your coworker tightly.

“Awww,” you sounded like Penelope but you didn’t care, this was too cute a moment not to capture. Whipping out your phone, you ignored Spencer’s pleas and snapped multiple photos from every angle.

Heading to the lobby of the theatre, you nudged Jack, “I’m guessing you don’t want to play some of the games anymore?”

Jack shook his head and rubbed his eyes, “no. m’just tired.”

You nodded, pulling him into your side as you walked, “Me too, buddy, me too.”

You passed an elderly couple on the way out, Henry slightly waking up when the cold air hit his face. “Are we home?” He asked.

The elderly couple snickered and said, “You’re a cute family.”

You opened your mouth to correct the woman, but her husband added, “You look just like we did, don’t they?” before you could. He turned to his wife, made clear by the matching rings.

“Oh, they do,” then she bent over and asked Jack, “What movie did your mommy and daddy take you to see.”

Instead of correcting the couple, Jack glanced at you, then Spencer, and grinned–though it was sleepy– “Spider-Man 2.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t seen that one, is it good?”

“Really good,” Henry answered from Spencer’s arms.

They laughed again, then apologized for keeping you and made their way inside.

You and Spencer said nothing as you made your way to the car. Jack and Henry were silent as well. You wondered just what was going through Jack’s head. Maybe he was too tired to understand or care about the women’s words. Yeah, that must have been it.

You decided you would ignore it just as you would ignore the flutter that continuously courced through you the entirety of the night.

With much prodding, you were able to get Henry into the bath. Jack didn’t take much convincing, but he assured you he could do it himself, which you shouldn’t have believed because he ended up getting shampoo into his eyes.

Spencer finished helping him, though it was hard because Jack insisted on showering. Eventually, the two boys were tucked into Henry’s twin-sized bed, and you and Spencer had a little free time before the others arrived.

You grabbed the bowl of cookies that you’d tucked on the counter near the fridge before you’d left. You meant to eat them at the kitchen counter, but Spencer wanted you to watch some movie he had put on. You would blame and hold him responsible for any crumbs that didn’t land in the bowl.

His chuckle was low and light, just like every other time you found yourself making him laugh. It sent a flutter through your chest and you had to turn away to keep from letting him know just how flustered that one sound could make you.

You shivered, you typically brought a sweater with you everywhere just in case, but you were going to JJ’s house, and you knew she’d let you borrow a few blankets.

“Where are you going?” Spencer caught your wrist as you stood. Your heart jolted and you couldn’t help but stare at it. You blinked a few times before he let go. He sucked in a breath as if you’d stung him. You weren’t sure what he meant by that or if he meant anything at all by it. Spencer was normally an awkward person, but this didn’t feel like something he’d be awkward about, in fact, Spencer would never be put in this situation simply because Spencer hated physical contact.

Maybe that’s why he had such a reaction. You brushed it off, letting a shy smile replace the longing frown, “Just the hall closet to find a blanket…want one?”

Spencer shook his head and wanting to escape the atmosphere, you bottled toward the hall. You retrieved the first blanket on top. It was white with little blue bunnies. Cute. You thought, it must be Henry’s.

“I’m back,” you hopped on the couch, keeping a cushion between the two of you, for fear of making him uncomfortable.

He declined your offer of a cookie and opted to lean back. It might have just been your imagination, but you were sure Spencer kept sneaking glances at you. You thought he must be bored, he’d put on a '90s romcom. Though you loved the, you were surprised when Spencer put it on. But then maybe he put it on for you and that’s why he kept glancing at you.

You huffed under a cookie, that’s so like him.

Halfway through the movie, you’d discarded the bowl of cookies with four left and began to feel the lights dim. Or maybe it was just you. You took a moment and laid your head back but it was uncomfortable. As you shifted on the couch, a yawn escaped you.

Spencer caught it, attention now fully focused on you, he smiled at your dreary state. He moved one leg under him and without really thinking much about it–if it’d make you uneasy or not–he took you by the shoulders and lowered your head into his lap. You noticed, but barely. He pulled the blanket over you as your arms wrapped around his thigh. Your head snuggled into him and when a satisfactory hmm released itself from your throat, he snorted a little.

He loved you, or at least he thought he did. Spencer had never loved anyone. Well, he loved his mom, but he knew he was programmed that way. He loved quantum physics and math and chemistry and psychology, but those were very broad terms, and still not a being. He liked cats, but he couldn’t love a cat–well, he could–but that was a different discussion.

You, on the other hand, he always wanted to be around. You, on the other hand, he always wanted to talk to. You, he fell asleep thinking about; you, he dreamt about; you, he woke up to.

You were always on his mind, there was no way around it. In every conversation–though he rarely voiced it–he could always draw back to you. Penelope bought a new pink fluffy pen? You loved pens. Dereck couldn’t sleep at night because of his neighbor. You could sleep anywhere–it was a skill. Spencer couldn’t sleep at all, really, and when he did–well, he’d already know what he’d dream about.

He couldn’t escape you–but well, he didn’t want to.

The biggest evidence of his feelings for you? He hated–absolutely loathed–the thought of you talking to/dating/marrying anywhere else. He made a face, the thought disgusted him;; it made him sick.

The front door unlocking jolted him out of his thoughts… how long had he sat there watching you? Going back and forth in is mind? His mind began wondering and the lights began to fade. His shoulder drooped and he began pushing you backward, fixing you until you were both comfortable.

“Just for…a bit…” he yawned before the lights went out.

Spencer jerked when he heard the front door unlock. He was always keenly aware of his surroundings–it was a bad habit he picked up in his years at the BAU.

JJ and Will stepped through the door as quietly as they could, the credits were rolling. The movie must have just ended. 48 minutes?

“Hey–” JJ whispered walking toward him.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, but was weighed down, and upon looking–found you still sound asleep. He smiled, but when he realized JJ could see him, he fixed it to a plain expression.

Spencer held up a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes widened slightly in concern when he looked down at you. Which was ridiculous, he couldn’t stay in this position the entire night, much less on JJ’s couch. You both had work in the morning and you needed to get home. Right…but where was Hotch? How would you get home?

He was startled by your shifting movements. Upon glancing at you again, he found you stirring. JJ covered up a small laugh, and turned back to Will, shushing him as he stalked over.

“Hotch texted, he should be here soon,” JJ whispered.

Spencer nodded as you lifted your head, he raised his arms just enough for you to have free reign, if you pushed out of his hold, he’d have no choice but to let go.

But you didn’t, you pulled him closer and buried your face into where his thigh met his hip. “Five more minutes.”

JJ snatched her phone from her pocket and began snickering, “Penelope is going to love this.”

“Hey–come on, JJ–don’t–” Spencer’s protests went ignored as JJ clicked a few photos and slipped her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans.

A knock sounded on the door not a moment later, Will went to open it while JJ sat on the arm of the couch and smiled down at her two coworkers. “Do you think she can hear us?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say no, but raised a brow and glanced at you questioningly, he wasn’t sure you knew where you were, let alone could make sense of a complete sentence. “I’m gonna go with probably not.”

They chuckled to themselves. Hotch waved, before following Will down the hall toward Henry’s room. You yawned and rolled onto your back, stretching over Spencer. “Hi,” you blinked up, a slow smile turning up your lips.

He met your sleepy gaze with one of his own, “hi,” he answered.

Hotch came back out with a very asleep Jack, calling out your name, You sighed, forcing yourself upward. “Guess I better go.”

Once again, Spencer felt his subconscious take hold of his body as he held an arm across your stomach, “I could take you…I mean I wouldn’t mind, besides,” he nodded toward Hotch and Jack, “he should get Jack home.”

JJ watched in silent awe. It was one thing for Spencer to shake hands with someone let alone hug them, so when she stepped through her doors and found you snuggled up to him, her suspicion-radar was going off. Spencer definitely had a thing for you, or at the very least felt most comfortable with you. In her mind, you were his person, and that didn’t have to be romantic, it was just how it was.

Now, though, watching his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind. Spencer Reid was in love. She wondered what kind of catastrophic event occurred for this to happen.

“You sure?” You murmured, rubbing your eyes. You were halfway leaning against his chest, and halfway using his shoulder to stay steady.

“Yeah, of course.”

Hotch seemed to get the gist of the conversation, whispered a few goodbyes, and headed out the door.

“You made cookies,” JJa noted.

“Yep, there’s four left, but they’re probably all stale now.”

“Well, maybe you two can babysit again and make me fresh ones.”

“I helped, you know,” Spencer added.

“Yeah, ‘helped’ so much I almost had to buy you a new pan.” After a good laugh, you stood and stretched, catching Spencer’s yawn, “well, it’s getting pretty late, we should head out.”

“Alright then, drive safe.”

“I’m always a safe driver.”

“I know you are, Spence.” She pressed her lips together, glancing at you, wondering if you even felt a smidgen of what Spencer felt for you.

The car ride was smooth, Spencer had been over a few times, and with his memory, he knew the way by heart. “Thanks for doing this.” You grabbed his hand as he pulled into your complex.

Spencer jolted, his head jerked down: his focus on where your hands connected. “Oh–sorry, I forgot–”

You snatched your hand away, but Spencer was quick to grab it back. “No–no it’s…” he stared at you. He could lose his mind and still be able to put a name to your eyes. They were like none he’d ever seen–which is opinionated, of course, in his mind, you were all there ever was. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” You frowned, “I…know how you hate people touching you.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged sheepishly, “but when it’s you it’s okay.”

Your heart leaped at that and maybe it was because you were half-awake and when you were half-wake you became even more delusional than you were daily. “So, you don’t mind if I touch you?”

“No, not at all.” He replied immediately as if he had been programmed to.

You couldn’t help the goofy grin that made its way onto your face, “good to know.”

You opened the car door and started exiting his vehicle. “Hey, —?”

“Yeah?” You yawned again, the sky a blue-black kind of color.

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” You frowned.

“You know,” he tried motioning with his hands, which only made you snort.

“Nope,” you shook your head, “no idea.” You spun around, starting the path to your apartment, “see you tomorrow, Spencer.”

Spencer frowned, he knew he would think about this the rest of the night, if he could sleep he’d probably dream about it, and when he woke up, it would most definitely be the first thing on his mind.

a/n: lol i've been working on this forever (like a month) and i cried in my maths a few days ago because i couldn't understand it–#mathisnotforme

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

#spencer reid #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer ried #doctor spencer reid #spencer #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #bau team #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #love it or hate it #tangled up

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riddle-me-ri · 4 months ago

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Jojo asks huh?~ how do these characters handle jealousy? Like their crush being flirted with by someone who is very touchy feely and reader being a tad overwhelmed and flustered. It can be the boys you think would have the most amusing reaction if you want or all of them if you want~ thank you very much:)

a/n: YESH FIRST JOJO ASK LETS GOOO and wee jealousy headcanons to boot lets gooo! Thanks so much and congrats on being the first! I hope I did everyone justice, still getting a grip on them all but having fun while doing it! The list isn't in any particular order…just the order they're in on my masterlist lol and also I didn't quite do all the characters I have listed because I was worried about being repetitive or it was hard to see them jealous, hope you guys enjoy!

Content Warning: small mentions of fighting and threats, nothing explicit or detailed.

How (some) Male JJBA Characters Handle Jealousy

Jonathan Joestar

- He's a little naive at first before he feels any true jealousy if that makes sense?

- Plus even though he does adore you…

- If someone was to get to you first, it's his fault for waiting, and you deserve to be happy…

- But surely you can't be happy with this stranger occupying your personal space so…rudely.

- Jonathan knows you well enough to know when you're getting uncomfortable…

- His skin crawls the way the person is clearly undressing you with their eyes…

- Jonathan tries to maintain his composure…not to embarrass either of you…

- As he calls you over to help you get away from the stranger.

- Jonathan can't conceal his small grin as he sees the look of relief on your face as you dashed toward him.

Robert E. O. Speedwagon

- Speedwagon doesn't believe he has a chance in hell with you anyway-

- He feels kind of guilty for even getting jealous…it's not like he owned you or you two were a couple.

- Speedwagon just…knows you deserve better than him…and most other slimy gents he's crossed paths with-

- Such as one that kept getting a little too close when you went to visit Speedwagon at a pub.

- Speedwagon grits his teeth as the patron attempts to wrap an arm around you-

- You try to be polite, give a laugh, and smile

- Maybe…he's overreacting…no he definitely is…

- It doesn't stop him from keeping an eye on you, though, in case the guy gets too comfortable and takes advantage of you.

- The relief on his shoulders when he sees you heading back toward him, leaving the random dude in the dust with a defeated look on his face.

Joseph Joestar

- Joseph tries to hide but is absolutely shit at it.

- He's the loud, brazen, confident type that can take it or leave it, unless it pertains to family or something/someone he cares about…

- And he really, really does care about you, just isn't sure how to show it.

- But Joseph, sure as hell isn't going to let someone whisk you away while he figures it out.

- If looks could kill, anyone that's even dared to tell you a pickup line would incinerate on the spot…

- It wasn't even a good line, Joseph has a far better one (its not, but it makes you laugh, and that's what counts)

- Some guy tries to wrap his arm around you, oh lookie there, I don't think an arm is supposed to bend that way~

- Joseph rarely ever feels bad…only when you berate him and tell him to cut it out, does he feel some guilt.

- I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of these discussions on his jealousy that he finally confesses his feelings (would be down to write that scenario if they're any takers 👀)

Caesar Zepelli

- It takes him longer to feel that gnawing green monster of envy.

- But when it gnaws it leaves marks.

- Caesar tries to remain composed…who could blame anyone to try and steal your heart away?

- However just anyone wouldn't do, not for someone special like you…

- Caesar challenges the offending person to a battle of wooing~

- In which Caesar shows how to truly win your affections in front of the person interested in you.

- Caesar of course wins this battle…

- Either by true deep feelings on Caesar's part OR because the person trying to flirt with you was utterly ridiculed and withdrew from participating…

- The former is most likely, but Caesar would deny it.

Jotaro Kujo

- Definitely the least jealous out of this bunch…

- He's more annoyed than anything?

- Like can't the dude tell you're not interested…

- Good grief, it's so obvious.

- Jotaro can tell a fake smile and forced laugh of yours from a mile away.

- Jotaro doesn't understand why you don't just kick this asshole to the curb-

- But he also knows you are too kind for your own good..

- If he’s got to come give you back up, he will~

- Jotaro has a way of leaving an intimidating impression on people…

- So maybe just maybe one look at him, and they'll know not to mess with you (cause you're his…neither of you know it yet)

Jean Pierre Polnareff

- Epitome of “do you wanna go, bro?”

- I swear this Frenchman is always aiming and ready to fight for your honor and peace.

- A knight in shining armor if you will.

- Onlookers can't help but assume you two must be a couple…

- Which makes your face even redder from getting so flustered.

- Polnareff gets rid of the “pest” easy enough, and now its back to courting you as usual~

- Polnareff doesn't nor did he ever hide the fact he has a major crush on you-

- These moments of vehement jealousy just further cements that fact.

- Please talk to this Frenchman and get him under control for your sake and others.

Hol Horse

- Hol Horse has no reason to be jealous…he loves all women and well, most women love him…

- He isn't clingy or belonging to anyone…

- You're cute as hell. Who wouldn't want to chat you up anyhow?

- Hol Horse can't blame anyone for trying, Lord knows he's tried and even got you to smile and giggle for him.

- However, he doesn't appreciate you giving that same sweet smile to the fellow at the other end of the bar…

- Hol tries to shake it off, you didn’t belong to him, y'all weren't a couple…should be no issues.

- He can tell you're just being polite to the guy. He's no smooth talker, but at least the guy's got some confidence…

- Hol Horse really has no reason to be getting up from his bar stool and walking over to you-

- It's rude to interrupt, really, and truly, but he can't really find it in his heart to care when you turn your attention towards him.

Josuke Higashikata

- cough cough like father like son cough cough

- He's a hot head, I can see him getting frustrated and irritated quickly.

- Just who the hell does that student think they're doing? Pinning you to your locker like some cheesy romance anime protagonist?!

- Koichi and Okayasu's efforts to restrain him are in vain

- But they're relieved to see you escape from the other student, which slowly dissipates Josuke's ire.

- Josuke is still upset at the idea that he almost lost you…

- Not that you were his to lose, but he really does care about you as more than a friend.

- If he comes across the student later, he's still very likely to tell that student to back off “or else”

- It does make Josuke come to the conclusion he needs to confess to you, and soon…

- (not that you two being a couple would cure his jealousy any better, but at least you'd help him calm down faster)

Rohan Kishibe

- Oh, please, him? The Rohan Kishibe, jealous?

- Of who? Oh, you conversing and smiling widely with that individual at an outside table at a cafe?

- Pfft please, why would he care?

- You're your own person, free to see and talk to who you pleased-

- Acts very nonchalant, but deep down, he's agitated.

- Why would you want to spend time with them and not him?

- Rohan tries to dismiss the thought and carry on with his day

- But the image of you clearly enjoying yourself lingers in the back of his mind~

- He'd like to be able to create such a moment, but for the both of you…

Bruno Bucciarati

- Honestly, Bucciarati is sort of ashamed whenever he feels that green monster on his shoulder.

- He tries to conceal it with the notion that he's just protecting you-

- Which is true, everyone knows how protective Bruno is, the same goes for you…

- However, the motivation to protect is slightly… founded on a different basis altogether.

- Which leaves room for jealousy to fester..

- Bruno is quick to pull you away when a random man gets a little too handsy-

- He's quick to push a man back if he finds the man far too close to you to whisper something…

- Bruno does get rather embarrassed for how brazen he acts…

- Perhaps he needs to take some inventory on his emotions towards you

- (please just accept this man's feelings and love him for the love of GOD-)

#ri writes #jjba x reader #jonathan joestar x reader #robert e o speedwagon x reader #joseph joestar x reader #caesar zeppeli x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #hol horse x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader

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sweetheartspence · 16 days ago

Text

planetary alignment - s.r

spencer was expecting a day of solitude researching in the library during his day off, not... whatever that was.

pairings: spencer reid x librarian!reader

genre: fluff? i think

cw: swearing, fem reader, not proofread

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is my first spencer fic! constructive criticism is welcome, please feel free to share your thoughts! this one is third person but i'd like to try out second as well :) dividers by @cafekitsune ! thank you!

Spencer Reid does not believe in love at first sight.

Lust, sure. Infatuation, perhaps. But love?

Love was a whole other problem, an equation he knew by heart and yet had never been able to pinpoint.

It had fascinated him for years, and still did, if he was being quite honest. He's got sticky notes pressed into romance novels, quotes of descriptions underlined and highlighted, Jane Austen and Emily Bronte lining his shelves. He'd long learnt to stop asking about it. Even though it was out of pure fascination, of the drive for learning, people tended to see it as pathetic, as him grasping towards something he would never have. One too many times, he asked, "How do you know if you're in love?" And one too many times, he was met with a fond, exasperated, somewhat condescending smile.

"You just know."

You just know. What a stupid response. That's the kind of response you get from people who aren't educated enough to articulate themselves properly, Spencer thought. Or maybe they thought it was funny, to leave him in the dark. One thing that they understood that he never would. Something that they could have a leg up on, something that they could hold over his head when he had rattled off one too many statistics.

Or maybe it was him, who was too stupid to understand.

And Spencer has learned to be okay with that. It's not like he doesn't have enough to worry about, enough interests to pore over and obsess about and keep him occupied. And that's exactly what he intended to spend his weekend off on: the conceptual mathematics of the planetary system, developed by 16th and 17th century astronomer Johannes Kepler.

Now, Spencer doesn't consider this an obscure topic, per se, but it certainly isn't one that people were tripping over themselves to check books out about at the library. Which means that he's once again found himself in an abandoned aisle of the non-fiction section of the city library, leafing through a somewhat untouched biography. There's a thick layer of dust adorning the cover, and his long, thin fingers run down the pages, marking his progress through the book. And that's when he hears it.

A sneeze, followed by a loud bang, a soft curse, and some unintelligible muttering.

Spencer's curiosity is instantly piqued. A sneeze is nothing to be concerned about in the dusty shelves of the library, but the crash that had followed certainly was. He tentatively makes his way to the end of the aisle, poking his head around the corner.

Sitting on the ground, surrounded by a pile of books, is a woman. Her hair is pushed off her face with a pair of glasses, and she is haphazardly stacking the books, muttering something about how the government needed to reallocate resources and funds. Next to her lays a broken stepstool. Spencer's heart immediately starts to beat faster. She's pretty, even if her eyebrows are currently pinched in a frown.

She looks up at the noise of Spencer's footsteps, and her cheeks instantly color with embarrassment. She hops up from the ground, dusting off her hands on her pants, and offers him an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry. The stepstool broke right under me. It was a faulty hinge, I think, or the screw might have been rusted..." She trails off, crouching down again to examine the stepstool.

Spencer isn't quite sure why he's still standing here. He's found the source of the noise, determined that no one was hurt, and that no one needs his help. So why can't he force his feet to move? Or his mouth to form words?

The woman looks up again, her cheeks still colored at the realization that he hasn't moved. "Uh- I'm sorry. Am I in your way, or...?" She trails off again, looking adorably confused.

Spencer snaps out of his daze. "No! No, I just- I heard the noise, and I wanted to- to make sure no one was hurt, or needed help, and honestly, I hadn't even realized that anyone else was in this section, considering it's at the back of the library and no one even really comes back here, unless they're looking for something specific, or-"

She cuts him off with a soft laugh. The most beautiful sound he's ever heard, he thinks, and quickly snaps his mouth shut. Now it's his turn to blush.

"Were you, then?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow. She's looking at him with a certain look in her eye, interest, maybe, or fascination, or maybe amusement. He can't quite tell. But she's looking at him, her full attention on his face, her gaze fixed to his eyes. There's a small smile playing at her lips. He finds that he doesn't care what she's looking at him with, as long as she keeps looking at him.

"Was I... was I what?" Spencer asks, a bit stupidly. His brain feels a bit like mush.

"Looking for something specific," she clarifies, tilting her head, flashing him a real smile. Spencer finds he can't breathe for a moment. He holds up the book he had been reading.

"Oh! Uh, yeah," he manages, nodding. "Kepler. Applied mathematics in the planetary system. This one is more of a biography, but I was hoping to find something that includes more of his conceptual work..."

She brightens, straightening up again. "I might be able to help with that, actually," she tells him, and his stomach does some kind of weird flip.

"You... know Kepler?" Spencer asks, unable to contain his excitement. His voice comes out more high pitched than he would have liked.

She laughs, her nose wrinkling. "No, no. I'm- I'm not that smart. I know the system, the organizing system? For the books." She's grinning, and Spencer can't bring himself to tell her that he has the system memorized too, of course.

"Oh, wow," he says instead, giving her a smile that he hopes doesn't look too lopsided. "That would be great."

She nods, abandoning the pile of books in the middle of the aisle, and gestures for him to follow. She walks like she's on a mission, leading him a few aisles down, and running her fingers along the spines of the books. Her hands are much smaller than his. Her nails are painted brown, Spencer notices. Understated, yet well taken care of. They match the aesthetic of the library, and he can't help but wonder what her hands would look like wrapped around his own-

"Here we are!" She says brightly, tugging a book off of the shelf. "I think the whole shelf here is on conceptual mathematics, but this one looks like it's on planetary alignment specifically. Um-" Her brow furrows for a second, and she pulls a second book from the shelf. "I recognize this author, I know he gets a lot of circulation..." She looks over at Spencer quizzically, and Spencer realizes he hasn't said a word.

"Yeah, these are perfect," he tells her earnestly, taking the books from her hands. Their fingers brush for a fraction of a second, and Spencer can't help the blush that creeps up his neck. "I'm Spencer, by the way. Spencer Reid."

He's rewarded with a name. Her name. He rolls it around in his mind, and decides he likes the way it fits into his brain.

"It's nice to meet you," she says, extending a hand for him to shake. He opens his mouth to give his usual spiel about pathogens, but his words die in his throat. Would that be weird to say? He wonders. I don't want her to think that I'm odd. I could just suck it up this once, and besides, there was a bathroom on the way in. I could just shake her hand, and go find the bathroom, and wash my hands-

Spencer's thoughts are interrupted by her smile faltering, and her hand dropping. He curses in his mind. Way to go, idiot. Now she thinks you're weird regardless, and she's not going to want to talk to you anymore, and-

A pager buzzes where it's clipped to her waistband, and she clicks a button on the side of it. She gives him yet another apologetic smile, but this time, it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Sorry. Duty calls. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Reid." And then she's breezing past him, her hips swaying as she walks away, without looking back.

It's doctor, actually. The words are on the tip of his tongue as he watches her leave, but they never come to fruition. She's out of earshot before he can get his bearings.

Spencer sighs, leaning against one of the bookshelves. He's suddenly not as interested in reading about Kepler.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer ried #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #mine #my fics!#bea writes >:)

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graynvmbr · 6 months ago

Text

When the Sun Stood Still | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: first kiss with harry

word count: 766

The soft morning sunlight fills your bedroom, casting a warm glow on everything as you and Harry finish cleaning up after the sleepover. Hermione and Ron are already downstairs, probably chatting with your parents and waiting to floo home. You linger in the bedroom with Harry, folding blankets and tucking away the last remnants of his stuff.

“Thanks for, um, helping out,” he says, brushing a bit of hair out of his face and looking at you a little sheepishly as he shoves the extra mattress to the side. You offer him a smile, nodding as you adjust the sheets on your bed, the sun streaming in through the window casting light and shadows over his face.

“Of course. I think that’s… everything.” Your words trail off as you glance up and find him staring at you, closer than you expected. The air between you seems to still, your heart thudding louder with each second. He’s looking at you with an intensity that makes it feel as if time has slowed down, and your mouth goes dry under his gaze.

In a quick, unexpected motion, Harry closes the distance between you, his eyes softening and then flickering with a kind of bold determination. He leans in, and his lips meet yours, gentle yet charged with a quiet, confident passion. You feel a flash of disbelief, but then the shock melts away, replaced by the warmth of his kiss. Your hands reach up to his shoulders as he moves up to your face, cupping it with a surprising gentleness. His lips press against yours in a way that feels both hesitant and sure all at once, as though he’s been waiting forever for this moment but couldn’t wait a second longer.

His mouth is warm, his breath soft against your skin, and you’re instantly enveloped by the familiar scent of him—treacle tart, warm wood and a touch of pine and cedar. You can feel his glasses brushing your cheek, grounding you in this surreal, dreamlike moment. There’s a heady silence around you, broken only by the faint sound of your breaths mingling.

The kiss is heated, filled with all the unspoken words and stolen glances that have passed between you both these past months. He pulls back only when he has to breathe, leaving you in a daze as you look up at him, feeling like the world has tilted off its axis.

You’re still catching your breath, watching him as he straightens and gives you a soft smile—a look that sends your heart racing all over again. He turns and heads toward the stairs, leaving you flustered and rooted in place. You think he’s going to say something, maybe a goodbye, but he just walks a couple of steps down, then pauses and glances back at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Owl me,” he says, his voice soft but smug. Before you can react, he steps back up, reaches out, and pulls you in for one more kiss—a bit bolder, his lips soft yet insistent as he tilts his head, savoring the moment. It’s a little more lingering this time, his confidence steady and clear, making your head spin even more.

When he finally pulls away, he gives you one last grin, that subtle smirk still tugging at his lips. After the kiss he spins on his heel, leaving you breathless and dumbfounded as he disappears down the stairs as if nothing at all has happened.

You stand there, blinking, replaying the entire exchange in your mind as you try to catch your breath. You can still feel the warm pressure of his lips on yours, the thrilling heat of his touch, and the playful confidence in that parting glance. The smirk, the way he looked at you right before the kiss—all of it loops in your mind, leaving you dazed and unable to move.

A small, disbelieving smile breaks over your face as you run a hand over your lips, trying to shake yourself from the daze. The kiss, his words, his look—all of it still feels too surreal. You realize you should head downstairs; Hermione and Ron are probably waiting, and Harry is surely acting casual, like he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down with a single, impulsive kiss.

But before you head down, you let out a soft laugh, your face flushed as you relive the moment. Harry Potter just kissed me, you think, your heart fluttering wildly at the memory of his lips on yours and that knowing look in his eyes.

back to my harry potter masterlist

#daniel radcliffe x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #female!reader #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fluf #ri's writing #graynvmbr

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blckbrrybasket · 8 months ago

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fwb art

keeping it on the dl so people don’t know but he’s such a loverboy

fucking Art on the down low because he doesn’t want Patrick nor Tashi to know. his acquaintances in his class or other tennis players know about you. he acts like they don’t see him ogling you the moment you get close.

you’re informally banned from the court, by Art.

but when you’re back in his dorm, near the locker rooms, or really anywhere besides the court he is all over you. arm around your waist, hand in your back pocket, all of it. so why are Patrick and Tashi left in the dark? simple, Art doesn’t trust them.

now he wouldn’t say it to their face, and barely puts a label on the mistrust, but he doesn’t want them to ruin it. it took him a lot to get over Tashi, but being able to see her real self now…he knows she’s more like Patrick than himself.

so he keeps you away from them, and it was good. until Patrick walked in on you two.

Art had planned the whole day out, really trying to woo you. up until now it had been casual, but Art wasn’t made for that. he suspected you wanted more too from how you’d started visiting him more. a pair of lovesick puppies is what you looked like.

it had gone perfect. Art had even splurged on dinner to make sure you loved what you had. if he had to burn the world down for you, he would. and when he asked you to stay the night there was no way you could say no.

you’d spent the night in his dorm before, but tonight it was different, domestic. Art had brushed his teeth with you and rubbed your lotion into your arms before sliding under the covers with you. but at your core you were still horny college kids and it took barely thirty minutes to start making out with each other.

the intimate nature stayed, neither of you wanting to break the peaceful atmosphere. it was slow and sweet as your lips grew swollen from never parting. when breathing became a necessity, Art kissed down your neck and sucked hickeys onto your skin.

you returned the favor when his head tilted back, wanting everyone to know he was yours. your lips were latched onto his milky skin, sucking a purple hue to his neck when the door burst open from a surprise visitor that couldn’t stay in their girlfriends dorm because they were fighting once again.

Patrick.

Art assumed Patrick had said some dumb shit like “honey i’m home!” but he couldn’t really remember. all he remembered was the way his hips stopped rocking into yours, that your mouth left his skin, and that he was so fucking angry that Patrick had ruined another good thing.

#ri’s requests 🪩#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson blurb #art donaldson drabble #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers art donaldson #patrick zweig

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ask-me-later23 · 8 months ago

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Can you write a little blurb about reader having a sleepy cuddly afternoon with Spencer?

Soft rays of light drifted through the curtains and across your face, a gentle reminder from the sun of its limited time with you. As much as you wanted to continue your adventures within your dreamscape, you were quickly stolen away, back to the real world. Back to the too small couch currently hosting you and your too tall boyfriend, Spencer.

Afternoons like this were rare with him, he was always on call and even when he was home you both were typically too busy to spend an afternoon doing nothing. You both got the afternoon off and while you had said it would be just a few minutes of rest, those few minutes turned into a few hours, which had developed into the entire day.

Spencer was still asleep, you try not to move too much and wake him. His insomnia refuses to let him sleep for more than a few hours, so you know he needs what rest he can get.

This was also your favorite time to look at him, when he had his guard down and looked the most at peace. The beams that drew you from sleep now dance across his curls, making them shine a golden color that reminds you of honey. Freckles are sprinkled across his skin. You remember how you used to make a game of kissing each of them when you first got together. The memories bring a soft smile to your face as you listen to his snores.

As if realizing he’s being watched, Spencer finally stirs. His eyes flitter open, revealing the rich, brown color that always reminded you of dark, vintage books. The corner of his lips tilt up into a smile and he pulls you in tighter.

“Good afternoon sleepy,” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck.

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I can having to listen to your loud ass snoring,” you tease, sitting up to check the time on your phone.

Spencer rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arm across his face to cover the light. “45% of adult males snore on a regular basis, and it only gets worse with age. You should really get used to it.”

“Guess I’ll just have to go find somewhere else to sleep then.” You act like you’re going to stand up, only to have Spencer jump up from his resting position and drag you back down with him, his grasp unusually strong for a man of his stature.

“Not gonna happen.” His grip holds firm as you attempt to wiggle away, giggling.

“We really should get up and be productive,” you murmur into his chest where he currently has your face stuck.

“Productivity is for tomorrow, today is for sleeping and comfort.”

While your mind tells you that his logic is faulty, you can’t ignore how his sweater smells strongly of books and laundry detergent, or how comforting that smell is. You also cannot ignore the circles he is currently rubbing on your back, just underneath your own sweater. So, instead of protesting, you nestle in closer and shut your eyes once more.

“Sleep it is.”

You both drift off to sleep again, locked in each other’s arms and isolated from the outside world. When you inevitably wake again and hear Spencer’s soft snores, all you can do is smile.

#spencer reid #bau team #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #fanfic #fanfiction #derek morgan #matthew gray gubler #spencer ried #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid

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residencyisstrange · 3 months ago

Text

thinking about a cozy day in w/ leon...

especially if it's rainy, the window cracked open just enough in the living room. the cold air rolling in, making you snuggle closer to him. he wraps the blanket more firmly around you, keeping you closely tucked to his chest. he's practically a radiating heater.

you're mumbling about how it's nice, how the rain sounds so calming. it's like a heavy weight of lethargy is weighing in your head, your eyes slipping more times than you care to count. he smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. his face rests there, humming along with whatever sleepy nonsense tumbles from your mouth.

it's a comfortable silence between the two of you after a while, not much really needing to be said. your head pressed against his chest, listening to the soft thumping of his heart. his hand smooths over your back, gentle and careful. it's the perfect ambience, both of your bodies heat and the blanket keeping the two of you warm for the lazy afternoon nap.

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channelisuneh · 1 month ago

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NINE—ONE—ONE

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘—when you and azzi get home, she's loud. maybe a little too loud.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒—sexual content, (kinda)sub!azzi, oral (a receiving), idk what to put here just read

it was a late night in los angeles. azzi and you stumbling into the dimly lit apartment, occasionally stumbling over shoes you'd told her one too many times to put up.

but none of that mattered—not when she had you like this. it'd started in the car, leaving the club after a good win against the storm and a good bit of drinks in your system (four shots and whatever bitter drink nika ordered for you) which had you giggling like crazy.

azzi hadn't drunk as much as you—sober enough to drive home with no complications but her smile never wavered and her body felt warm.

she took her place behind the wheel, hand instinctively going to your thigh as she weaved through traffic that wasn't that bad for a friday night in the city of angels.

it was when you leaned over and place a chaste kiss on her neck that things began to shift. “azzi!” you drug out, basically whining in the girl's ear. “we're almost home.” she muttered, grip tightening on the wheel just slightly.

“i can't wait, that's too long.” you insisted, despite not knowing how far you actually were. “it’s only three minutes away.” azzi corrected, turning to you once she stopped at a red light.

everything she said seemed to be going in one ear and out the other because it in fact was. you couldn't focus on much besides how good she looked.

hair pulled back in a slick bun, plump lips covered in a sheer pink gloss, and her face adorned with light makeup that she didn't even need.

and the outfit choice didn't make it any better—a crop top with a neckline that had you ready to sink your teeth into her like some sort of vampire and loose jeans that somehow made her ass sit up just right per usual. a simple choice that azzi made look so fashionable.

“three minutes too long.” you mumbled quietly. she could tell your attention was elsewhere as you very openly eyed her lips, but she didn't call you out on it. a laugh fell from her lips before she pecked your own. once, twice, and a final time except she didn't pull away.

it was different from your usual kisses, still sweet but messy. tongue, saliva, and teeth clashing as she tilted her head, tongue basically inching it's way down your throat but you didn't mine.

a soft sound elicited from her throat and it had you ready to forget about everything and climb in the driver's seat with her. your lips were beyond wet and you're pretty sure saliva was spilling from the side of your mouth as well as her's, but you didn't care.

until a soft knock erupted on the driver's side window. you and azzi jumped simultaneously, her wiping her mouth as she turned and rolled down her window.

“i am so sorry to interrupt, but you're kinda holding up traffic.” the blonde man spoke, making them extremely aware that the light was now green.

“oh—oh! we are so sorry!” azzi apologized quickly. “oh, no girl, it's fine! just make sure there's no waiting cars behind you next time.” he waved the two of you off, stepping back which made azzi drive just as the light turned yellow.

it was your giggles once again that made her speak up, “you're distracting me.” she mumbled with a smile on her face. after your small moment, the ride felt shorter and before you knew it azzi was rounding the car to open your door.

that's how you found yourself walking—no, stumbling into the lobby, just as you would when you entered the house.

“okay, wait till we make it to our door.” azzi responded to you, tugging your hands away from the hem of her shirt but that didn't stop you from rubbing your hands over her stomach.

the receptionist glanced over, clearly used to the couples stumbling in after late nights. “that's ten floors!” you said but still walked over to the elevator with her right behind you. “eleven.” she corrected with a sly grin.

that's how you got there—clothes hitting the floor before you'd even made it down the hall, shoes forgotten somewhere along the way, until you were stripped to nothing but your undergarments.

“you played good tonight.” you mumbled against her lips as she kicked the door clothes, walking slowly to the neatly made bed that was bound to get messed up.

“yeah?” she questioned breathlessly, connecting your lips once again as your hands roamed each other's body. “mhmm.” you hummed breaking apart for a second.

“twenty-four points? you knew i was in the mood tonight.” you said almost teasingly which earned you a laugh that you swore sounded like heaven. “you're always in the mood.” she pointed out as the two of you finally made it to the bed.

you switched your positions just before you fell so it was you who was on top. “with a girlfriend like you, i have a reason.” with one last peck, you began to trail kisses down her neck, running you lips over spots that had her gasping like she was on her last breath.

kisses so delicate yet speaking measures with the way she was already falling apart. but soon, they grew sloppier as you sucked on specific parts. leaving marks, moving rapidly so you could get to what you really wanted.

“baby—” azzi trailed off as you ran your tongue up her stomach smoothing over the mark you harshly sucked then bit just because you loved the sound she made.

she didn't have to say anything, you knew she wanted what you wanted just as bad- maybe even more. so you wasted no more time, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down quickly once she lifted her hips off the bed to help.

as soon as they were out of your way, you wasted no time attaching your lips to her's. the breath she drew in was sharp and her hand almost immediately went to your head.

it was a simple pattern but it drove her crazy every time—a few flicks of your tongue, a couple swirled eights, and sucking just for minutes was enough to have her legs shaking and eyes rolling.

“please, don’t stop.” she moaned out, just slightly loud but you didn't care. you could listen to azzi yell on repeat for hours. it didn't take long to have your name falling from her lips like a mantra, but you enjoyed it every time.

the grin on your face and the admiration in your eyes even though this wasn't the first time you had azzi shaking above you. in fact, you'd seen it so many times, you could paint it.

you gave a few more licks to clean her up before moving up to look at the panting girl's face. “everytime you do that, it gets better and better.” she huffed. you just smiled, leaning down to connect your lips, azzi humming at the taste of herself.

“again,” you mumbled against azzi’s lips. “cum for me again.” you insisted, staring down at those wide brown eyes. she nodded wordlessly and you smiled, one hand reaching down to rub her clit, slipping in smoothly.

“fuck.” she spit it out, chest beginning to move a little rapidly all while you watched, excitement basically coursing through you as you worked for her orgasm like it was your own.

your thrust grew faster and harder, palm smacking her clit everytime you pushed up. “just-just like that.” azzi nodded at nothing, taking deep breaths as if air was limited. “hm, like,” you trailed off, curling your finger just right with made her moan loudly, nails now digging into your arm. “that?”

“yes, fuck!” azzi squirmed below you which made your free hand travel to her hip, holding it down to the bed. “please baby, please—” she pleaded, unsure of what it was that she wanted.

“yes?” the way you spoke. spoke as if you didn't have her turning to jelly, as if you weren't fucking her up single handedly (literally), as if you didn't have her about to melt into the silk sheets of your shared bed. “i’m so close—”

“hold it.” you instructed. “i can't-” she went to say. she couldn't, not when her lower stomach was on fire. “just a little longer.” you reassured, pace quickening. suddenly all those deep breaths did azzi nothing because the air felt as if it were personally leaving her lungs.

breathless moans and whines fell from her lips along with the occasional mumble of something you couldn't make out. “let go baby.” you whispered, watching as her eyes rolled back and she shook.

“oh my—god!” she exclaimed in a broken moan as you worked her through it. but you weren't done, you slipped your fingers from her hole gently and stood without kiss this time.

azzi watched as you exited to get something to clean her up—presumably, that was. but when she saw you enter your shared closet, that thought went away.

you had your eyes set on one thing, that black box you loved to go through on nights you were both wanting to feel closer in a way. she couldn't help but mumble a quiet but audible “fuck” once her eyes landed on you.

from your hands dangled a toy, long, pink, and your personal favorite to use on the athlete.

you didn't speak, didn't have to. azzi's legs widened as you moved between them, parting like a welcoming home that you'd stay in all day if you could. dragging it up and down her clit, the whine that left azzi's mouth filled the room.

so sensitive yet ready to go again because she wasn't done. far from it actually. the sound tearing from her throat resembled a scream, too loud but you didn't care.

“someone might hear you.” you reminded, knowing azzi liked to keep it down any other time. “i don't care—shit!” the toy turned, stroking different spots that made the girl feel like she was shattering.

her eyes welled with tears, the stimulation way too much, yet not enough as she got close to what she wanted—what you both wanted.

“don’t stop, don't stop.” she repeated in a small whisper, probably the quietest she'd been all night. “i won't baby.” you reassured, pecking her inner thigh in different spots.

something about the moment—so sensual yet comforting that had you ready to forget the outside world. drinking and eating azzi up like you could survive off of her alone, swallowing her moans into your own mouth as you kissed like she was oxygen itself.

“i’m gonna—” she'd tried to say, but she couldn't speak. this release was different, gushing and spraying out of her in a way that had you ready to see it all again.

so instead of stopping, you doubled up. thrusting harder than before despite her pleas. “baby, slow down.” she mumbled, hand reaching down and wrapping loosely around your wrist.

“again.” you repeated as you'd did earlier, except this time you were almost breathless. needing to see it again and a thousand times over if you could.

her hand went limp around your arm and you took it as a sign to keep going. gasps turned to moans and moans turned to screams, falling from her lips with no regard for your neighbors.

“please—oh my god, please!” she breathed out, back arching off the bed. you didn't even bother to comment on how loud she was, loving every second of it.

“i can't! fuck, i can't!” azzi finally couldn't take it, but you knew she was so close. “wait, stop—oh my—” the last thing to fall from her lips was your name in a broken sound that was the result of her sobbing, moaning, and whining all at the same time.

you let her scream as you dragged the toy in and out of her slowly, riding out her high until she was pushing up away from you. you let her, a smile dancing on your lips as you watched her chest rise and fall.

“i made you squirt. twice.” you spoke almost as if you were trying to ensure that the moment was real. “shut up.” she huffed, looking entirely fucked out.

her bun was beyond fucked up and the little bit of makeup she had was fading like a distant memory.

“i'll run you some warm water then i'll shower in the guest bathroom.” you informed, moving the toy to the nightstand. “you're not gonna wash with me?” she asked, you washing separate especially after a moment like this being extremely rare.

“i'm not gonna keep my hands to myself.” you stated and she shook her head. “yeah, go shower in there.” you laughed, moving to your own bathroom to do exactly what you said.

it wasn't surprising that you were done before azzi, her definitely needing to soak in hopes of getting the sudden ache to reside, so you busied yourself with changing the bed sheets.

an easy task that you'd finished in seconds, dropping the ones that previously covered your mattress in the hamper in your bathroom that azzi’d left the door open to.

but she still wasn't done, so you decided to grab a water bottle from the kitchen, already knowing azzi would ask you to grab her one. your feet thumped lightly against the floor as you made your way into the kitchen, but a knock on the door halted your actions.

with a quick glance over to the alexa tablet on your counter, your brows furrowed. who would be at your house as three in the morning? only azzi's best friend, paige, was stupid enough to pop up unannounced but she was in vegas.

the knocks got louder, almost more urgent which made you speak up. “who is it?” your voice was soft but loud enough to be heard through the thick material of the door. “lapd.”

this was a joke. had to be. why would the police be at your door, no less at three a.m.? you traveled over to the front door, looking out the peephole just to see two very real police officers. “hello?” the taller, brown man spoke up, his partner looking ready to kick the door in at any second.

“yeah- sorry, one second.” you pulled the door open, clad in nothing but a green silk robe azzi'd bought you, something along the lines of it brought out your eyes or looked good on your skin.

“um, hi?” you greeted, beyond confused as to why they could be there. “hey. we got a call, neighbors were worried about some kind of domestic dispute.” the shorter, still quite tall, officer informed.

“domestic what?” you repeated, almost sure you were hallucinating. “yeah, lots of screaming, few thumps, then silence. we wanted to make sure everything was alright.” the taller one said, eyeing something on your shoulder which made you suddenly aware of the scratch mark you saw azzi had left.

pulling your robe up, you went to speak but azzi beat you to it. “babe? who's at the door?” her warm voice filled the room as you turned seeing her walk towards you.

she also sported a robe you had bought for her except it was a light pink that almost looked white in the dark and her hair was no longer as messy, now ironically in a messy bun.

“um, the police?” you informed which made her brows furrow much like your's did. “police?” she repeated, long legs taking large strides as she walked up to you. suddenly she was at your side.

“what seems to be the problem?” azzi questioned, and you were thankful she took over the situation because you honestly had no idea what to say. “neighbors were worried, they heard a female screaming for a while and then nothing else. is it just you two here?”

she nodded, hand reaching around to your back where it rested. “uh, yes sir. we were—” she paused turning to you in a silent debate on if she really wanted to tell these officers you had her screaming her lungs out but not for the reason they thought.

thankfully, they saw the marks on her neck that definitely didn't come from fighting and quickly understood your situation. “okay, i see where this was going. just try to keep it down next time, maybe apologize to your neighbors in the morning.”

azzi nodded quickly, “yes sir, sorry for the inconvenience.” she apologized for the both of you since you seemed to stunned to even speak. “it's no problem, have a good night—or morning, ladies.”

with a kind smile, they walked away before you wished the floor could swallow you whole and azzi shut the door. silence lingered between you two, unsure of what to say before you broke it.

“i told you to keep it down.”

#azzi fudd smut #azzi fudd x reader #azzi x fem reader #azzi x reader #ri writes 🖨️#uconn wbb x reader

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dumbbitchgalore · 7 months ago

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Easing Old Man!Price into sex after dealing with erectile dysfunction 💓 (🌽 link)

As Price gets old with every passing day, a subtle yet gnawing voice at the of his head was telling him that he wasn't able to keep his birdie happy and satisfied despite all his efforts and it didn't help that physically he was not able to perform satisfactorily. He mentally curses himself for all the years of nicotine and alcohol use, mentally chiding himself for not listening to you earlier.

His little birdie would eventually leave him for his flaws.

But you saw it in a different light, you tried to keep John happy and fulfilled and besides there is more than one way to achieve the orgasmic bliss that John always seemed to coax out of you with either his hands or mouth or maybe both, one of his many talents. Your love for him never dwindled but you could see the sadness and unfound guilt in his eyes.

One day, he tells you that he wants to use Viagra to make sex as pleasurable as it used to be. Despite your attempts to voice that you have no complaints about the two of your sex life, John shut them down. He needed to do this, not just for you but for him, to make him feel like a man again. You start to understand that maybe reassurance may not be enough to help John find his self-esteem again so you cave and tell him it's fine.

Tonight, you both find yourselves sitting on the bed after John had taken the pill. Sweaty and flushed til the tips of his ears, John felt like a schoolboy seeing a woman naked for the first time. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, what to say or how to react after seeing his chubby cock stand tall and proud after such a long time. He looks away when you sit next to him, wearing nothing causing you to chuckle chuckle at his nervousness.

“Come on, babe. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen my tits. Hell, you even drank my-”

John places a hand over your mouth stopping you from finishing your sentence. You give the palm of his hand a attentive kiss before pulling away and placing a fleeting kiss oh his cheek.

You hand makes its way to his cock, giving it a few trial pumps. Seeing John’s eyes glaze over gave you all the permission you needed to continue your ministrations.

“That’s it, soldier boy. Let your birdie help you.”

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blackdollette · 11 months ago

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₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ "𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫." | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bau!unsub!female!reader x dom!spencer

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 521

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut with a little plot, praise, dominant spencer, he get's a little forceful

“is this what psychotic girls like you fantasize about..? huh..?”

spencer’s chest pressed against your back, your saliva coating his fingers as he curled them against your tongue. how ironic was it that he was fucking the criminal that had cost him hours of sleep right on his personal desk?

you were what the BAU ranked a “stalker” class unsub. an erotomanic individual who had convinced themself that someone completely out of their grasp was head over heels for them. not particularly dangerous, but more than desperate to get a taste of what you had been longing for for countless years.

you had watched him in action for as long as you had served the fbi. every worthless factoid and obsolete piece of information he spat out tattooed itself in your brain, making you more whipped for him with each passing day. and by the time you got caught for your criminalistic tendencies, you wanted nothing more than to have his body against yours.

earlier in the day, he had asked you to stay late at the office with him, said it was private stuff that he wanted to discuss with you. but surely, the BAU’s boy genius had used his skills to see through your semi-flawless facade. and now he was dealing with you the only way he knew how.

and you had gotten exactly what you wanted, but at what cost?

spencer’s cock slipped out of your hole, the tip swollen and red with anger as he teased your puffy entrance with it. he reentered with a deep groan, your pussy making an audible squelch sound as you toyed with your clit.

“i-i’ve always noticed you…” he started, “...giving me those eyes of yours during conferences… trying to get me alone at any possible chance…”

your face pressed into a pile of paperwork, mewls and moans and little sobs slipping from your parted lips. a harsh slap landed on your ass, making you squeal.

“...and you really thought you’d get away with it, huh? or maybe you just wanted this outcome. smart girl…”

the rapid, almost painful rhythm of his thrusts adjusted to a softer pace, the brutal abuse on your cervix reaching a halt. you panted greedily, arching your back against him in an attempt to feel him stretch you out again. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, drawing sloppy threads of saliva from your lips.

“i wonder how the team’s gonna feel about this. i’d be a real shame if they found out about this little game you’ve been playing…”

your blood ran cold. it hadn’t even occuured to you that you had gotten caught in this scheme of yours. and now spencer had the power to ruin your life right in his hands. you opened your mouth, starting to beg and plead for his forgiveness, but his lips found yours and shut you up immediately.

he moved himself against you, feeling the vibrations of your whimpers jittering through his veins. he pulled away, taking your pretty face into his firm grip and staring daggers at you.

“then i guess they’ll just never find out… ”

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dimplewonie · 1 year ago

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gorgeous — 이희승.

pairing: roommate! heeseung x gn! reader

syn: roomates or not, lee heeseung thinks you're gorgeous. and he doesn't hesitate to let you know.

warnings: slightly suggestive (i think), mentions kissing. not proofread oops

wc: 466.

ri's note🎧: im a jungwon stan i swear 🙏 based off of one of novelbear's prompts! wasn't planning on writing on this acct but...

“how do I look?” you asked the moment you stepped into the room, voice casual as you used the living room mirror to check your appearance. you glanced towards your roommate lying on the couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. without looking up from the device, he hummed at your presence, mumbling a disinterested “hm?” in response.

you rolled your eyes at his vague reply, taking a few steps further into the room. the sound of your heel-clad footsteps caught his attention, causing him to finally look your way.

lee heeseung swore under his breath.

the sight of you immediately rendered him speechless, your figure clouding his thoughts with desire.

“do you think i overdressed?” you asked again, hands adjusting the hem of your bottoms, uncertainty visible in your tone. were you kidding?

you looked fucking gorgeous.

and if he could come up with another word to describe you other than gorgeous, he would. but at the moment, all heeseung's mind was filled up with was nothing other than you and your cute little outfit, your cute shoes, your cute hair, and your beautiful smile.

you radiate confidence and poise, there was no way you wouldn’t command the attention of anyone in your presence. every aspect of you was perfect. you are perfect. and you were causing the man to churn in emotional turmoil, making him go haywire.

heck, he’d be damned if he let you go out to see another man while looking this stunning. so he did what he should’ve done earlier. he couldn’t think of anything else.

he placed his hands on your hips, abruptly catching you off guard. he rubbed the pads of his thumbs against the exposed skin, feeling the warmth of your curves against his cold fingertips. as you stood face-to-face with him, he gazed back at you with an unreadable emotion, one you couldn’t quite place. but it seemed to hold a familiar glint that past lovers had looked at you with.

on instinct, you could hear the blaring alarms ring in your head and you were about to step back and push him off. but your body seemed to have a mind of its own and almost like putty, you leaned into him, allowing yourself to meld with his hot touch. lowering your body onto his, your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders to stabilize your weak body. wrapping his arms around your waist, a smirk played on his lips as he leaned closer, whispering.

“you look perfect.” and he smashed his lips feverishly against yours, pulling you towards him like a magnet. the kiss was filled with pent up frustration and longing as you gasped against the mouth of your roommate. you were making out with lee heeseung. and you didn’t mind one single bit.

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awordsmith · 4 months ago

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omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader when? s8 genre: smut content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure... word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet.

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting.

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself.

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication.

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits.

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?”

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out.

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?”

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered.

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that.

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game.

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light.

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table.

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors.

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long.

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast.

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether.

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe.

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep.

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth.

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so.

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.”

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed.

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’?

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact.

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him.

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting.

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

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