current brainrot: jjk ; cate blanchett ; emily prentiss ; wednesday addams ; aaron hotchner ; daemon targaryen ; house md ; the sandman ; the phantom of the opera ; doctor strange ; pjo ; doctor who ; valorant
emilyprentissxf!reader
tags: single parent!reader, no use of y/n, getting to know each other, Emily meets your daughter for the first time
Summary: A picnic with your team takes an unexpected turn when your boss Emily Prentiss arrives and meets your daughter for the first time.
A/N: Based on this request! Thank you!
word count: 3.1 k
Masterlist âą Taglistâą Age gap masterlist âą AO3
âLilia! Slow down,â you call after your daughter, who is racing across the sprawling green fields of the park, laughter carrying on the warm summer breeze.
A small pond glimmers in the distance, park benches line a pale gravel path, and dense trees rise on either side of you. You take in the scenery, the season, the company. You've only been living here for a few months, yet somehow you keep discovering places that leave you just as enchanted as the first day you arrived.
Birdsong fills the air. Not a single cloud drifts across the sky, and although the afternoon sun is warm, it remains bearable beneath the shade of the towering trees surrounding you. Their thick canopy is a blessing, shielding all of you from the worst of the heat. It's a beautiful summer day, the perfect way to unwind after work and the darkness you face every day on the job.
âShe's growing up so fast,â Penelope sighs beside you, watching your daughter as the small braids woven into her blonde hair bounce with every step. âI don't see her for a month and suddenly she's running around like lightning.â
âShe's outrunning Morgan now, so...â You stop yourself, suppressing a laugh. âYeah. She's growing way too fast.â
Your lips press together as you watch Lilia dart across the grass on her unsteady little legs, laughing from the depths of her soul as she glances over her shoulder at whoever happens to be chasing her. Before she can get anywhere near the pond, Morgan swoops in, lifting her high into the air. Lilia lets out a delighted squeal that immediately earns a grin from everyone nearby.
âSeriously, Sugarplum,â Penelope says, turning toward you, âwe can't let that much time pass again.â
âYou know she was staying with my parents until...â you begin quietly, trying to push down the unpleasant feeling that still settles in your chest whenever you think about it, but the sentence dies before you can finish it.
âI know, I know.â Penelope's hand comes to rest gently on your shoulder. âBut if you ever need a babysitter and we're not working a case, I am absolutely available to spend time with that adorable little human.â
âMe too,â Morgan calls from across the grass, and relief softens your smile.
You honestly can't remember when exactly all of you became this close, but you're grateful for it every day. The anxiety you'd felt about joining a new team had disappeared almost immediately, swept away by a welcome so warm it had nearly hurt. Somehow, you'd found yourself included in weekly girls' nights before you'd even had time to settle in.
It doesn't feel like a team anymore. It feels like a family. A unit.
âThank you, Penelope,â you murmur, squeezing her hand. âI honestly don't know what I did to deserve you guys.â
âThere you are!â
The voice carries across the park, and your gaze lifts, landing on the two figures making their way toward your group.
Excitement shoots through you so suddenly that you almost panic, and when your eyes dart toward Penelope, she has to bite back a laugh.
âI thought we could make our little gathering a bit bigger.â
You press your lips together, far too aware that Jennifer isn't the only one approaching. Your boss is walking right beside her. The boss who, up until now, knows nothing about your daughter. At least not officially.
She hasn't been to any of your get-togethers yet, and outside of work you've barely had a chance to talk. There have been too many cases, too many long days, and then your family emergency on top of everything else.
âHey, everyone,â Emily greets as she reaches the blanket, and somehow that simple greeting is enough to send your pulse racing. âYou picked a great spot.â
âThank God itâs in the shade,â JJ adds.
Penelope nods emphatically. âIt's way too hot today.â
You manage little more than a smile, because Emily's presence alone is enough to completely throw you off balance. Ever since she stood in front of the team two months ago and announced that she was your new Unit Chief, things haven't quite felt the same.
Part of it is the change itself, the adjustment to a new dynamic within a team that had already been established. The other part is Emily herself. Emily and the way her smile makes something flutter nervously inside your stomach.
You don't understand your reactions or maybe you do, and simply don't want to acknowledge them because that would make everything far more complicated. Almost anything is easier than admitting that you've developed a bit of a crush on your boss.
And of course Penelope noticed. The slight stutter whenever you give a profile, the new lipstick that mysteriously appeared a few days later, the way youâd suddenly found reasons not to ride with Emily whenever the team headed for the jet, all of it had not gone unnoticed by Penelope Garcia, who has an infuriating talent for noticing everything.
âPâŠâ you mutter under your breath, your eyes following Emilyâs gaze as it rests on your daughter. A soft smile has settled on her face, and your heart starts beating even faster. âWhy did youââ
You watch Emily think. Watch the subtle shift in her expression as she studies Morgan and Lilia before looking back toward the rest of you. Something changes behind her eyes. She's connected the dots and despite yourself, a thought takes hold.
Would Emily Prentiss ever consider dating a woman with a child? Hell, you donât even know whether sheâs interested in women at all, even with Penelopeâs endless theories.
âAlright, Princess,â Morgan says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts as he sets Lilia back on the ground. âTime to eat.â
Only then do you notice the large tote bag beside JJ, the baguettes sticking out from the top, the grapes Emily is carrying, and the strawberries Penelope is currently stealing from JJ's supplies.
âA picnic?â you ask, unable to hide your surprise.
You'd only told JJ last week how much you missed spending an afternoon in a park, sharing food with friends.
âExactly.â JJ smiles. âI just hope there's something here for everyone.â
Warmth spreads through your chest at the realization of how thoughtful they all are.
âDid you bring cheese, too?â Morgan asks as he settles down cross-legged beside Penelope.
âOf course I did, what kind of question is that?â she replies with mock offense. âI even got the same one we had last time, remember whenââ
Whatever story follows is quickly lost on you. Your attention drifts far too easily, drawn instead to Emily, who is unpacking the grapes while repeatedly glancing in Lilia's direction as your daughter continues wandering around the group, seemingly determined to put as much distance between herself and everyone else as physically possible.
âLilia,â you call, a note of warning slipping into your voice, though it earns you little more than a grin before she continues on her way. âCome back.â
As expected, she has no intention of listening. That stubborn little thing.
With a sigh, you push yourself to your feet and make your way over to her, arms already spread open in anticipation, which sends her into a fit of laughter. By the time you reach her, she is practically bouncing with delight, and you cannot help smiling as you scoop her into your arms, turning once before settling her comfortably against your hip. Instantly, her small hands find your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric while she rests her head against your shoulder with all the unquestioning trust only a child is capable of.
It hasnât escaped your notice that Emily still hasnât asked a single question about your daughter, no polite curiosity, no careful probing, none of the usual attempts to confirm what she is to you, or how she fits into your life. Most people never hesitate.
Are you a single mom?
Who's the father?
How do you manage a job like this and a child?
Why have you never mentioned her before?
The questions usually arrive in rapid succession, as though your existence has suddenly become a puzzle people are entitled to solve, and somewhere along the way you've grown used to offering explanations before anyone can even ask. Emily, however, hasn't demanded any. She hasn't made you feel obligated to justify your choices or explain your circumstances, and perhaps that is why the quiet ease of her presence settles so comfortably beneath your skin.
When you return to the blanket with Lilia in your lap, your gaze inevitably drifts back toward your boss, only to find yourself caught by the expression in her eyes. There is nothing there but joy, pure and unguarded, accompanied by a sparkle you've never seen before and a warmth so deep it seems to soften every line of her face. The sunlight filtering through the canopy above catches in her eyes and turns them almost honey-colored, and for a moment you find yourself staring before you remember that staring is exactly what you've been trying not to do for the last two months.
Penelope holds out a strawberry, which you pass to Lilia. She takes a delighted bite, her face lighting up with satisfaction, and it doesnât take long to realize that she has somehow become the center of the entire group. Everyoneâs attention seems fixed on her; you catch snippets of conversation, hear the unmistakable fondness in their voices whenever they talk about her, and for a moment youâre overcome by a warmth that has nothing to do with the summer sun filtering through the trees overhead.
And then thereâs Emily.
While everyone else watches Lilia, Emily watches you.
Her head is tilted slightly, her expression soft, thoughtful, and entirely unreadable, yet there is no mistaking where her attention rests. Not on your daughter. On you.
âLilia is a beautiful name,â she says, slipping a grape into her mouth.
At the sound of her name, Lilia looks up and turns her attention toward the woman who has been occupying far too much space in your thoughts lately. You can almost see the curiosity flickering behind her eyes, though it is tempered by the same caution she reserves for every stranger she encounters. Lilia has never been a child to throw herself into unfamiliar arms. New people are studied carefully first, approached only after extensive consideration and usually with a healthy amount of skepticism.
âThank you,â you say quietly.
The moment Lilia sticks her tongue out at Morgan, he mirrors the gesture right back at her, and she quickly buries herself against your chest, prompting a laugh from the group and a small smile from Emily that somehow does something to your heartbeat that is far too distracting.
âDo you like lilies?â Emily asks.
The question reaches you a second too late, your attention caught instead by the sight of her biting lightly against her lower lip while raising a hand to shield her eyes as a shaft of sunlight breaks through the canopy above.
The effect is unfair. There is no other word for it.
The sunlight settles across her features and turns her skin almost porcelain pale, while strands of dark hair catch the gold spilling through the leaves overhead. Every slight movement seems to reveal a different shade, a different undertone hidden beneath the black, and before you can stop yourself you find your gaze lingering far longer than it should.
Garcia elbows you hard enough to pull you out of your thoughts. Apparently Emily has already said your name twice. You hadnât noticed, because you were far too occupied with staring at your boss.
âYeah, you got me,â you admit with a quiet laugh, and the knowing lift of Emilyâs eyebrow does nothing to help your composure. âTheyâve always been my favorite flowers. The name felt like the obvious choice.â
As the conversation drifts elsewhere, Liliaâs attention settles on the piece of bread in JJâs hand. With an encouraging smile and the sort of hopeful expression that could probably convince almost any child, JJ offers her a piece. Almost any child. Just not yours.
Lilia presses herself deeper into your lap and shakes her head with surprising determination.
âSorry,â you whisper apologetically to the blonde.
JJ only laughs.
âItâs okay. Last time she took food from me without a second thought. Iâm choosing not to take it personally.â
You smile despite yourself.
âI know. Sheâs been a little wary of people lately. Ever since staying with my parentsâŠâ
The explanation never reaches completion. Halfway through the sentence, you feel Lilia shifting against you, and before you can think much of it, she has already wriggled free from your lap. You glance down, expecting her to wander off in search of another distraction, only to watch in complete disbelief as she straightens and takes a hesitant step toward Emily.
âGrape,â she mumbles, pointing with strawberry-stained fingers toward the container still resting in Emilyâs hands.
Your bossâs expression softens at once.
âWould you like a grape, Lilia?â
She holds the container out toward her, but Lilia frowns. The gesture is so familiar it almost makes you laugh. Youâve seen that exact expression in the mirror often enough to know where she inherited it from.
For several long moments she simply studies Emily, rocking gently back and forth on her heels as though weighing a decision of monumental importance. She looks almost as if sheâs caught in a quiet inner conflict, one no one else is privy to, and for a moment you find yourself unable to read her at all.
After a long silence, Lilia finally nods and takes another cautious step forward. You arenât entirely sure whether you should stop her or warn Emily. Right now, you canât quite tell what sheâs going to do, whether sheâll burst into tears from sheer determination, ignore Emily completely, or retreat back into your arms without a second thought. There is simply no way of knowing.
Instead, she seems to overwhelm herself. The confidence that carried her this far suddenly falters, and she takes a step backward again.
Before you can intervene, Emily calmly sets the container aside, plucks a grape from the bunch, and pops it into her own mouth.
âThese are really good,â she declares, turning toward JJ. âSweet, too. Want one?â
âOf course.â JJ accepts the grape with a nod.
âOh wow, those are good. Henry brought some home from his grandma last week, she got them from a farmerâs market. They were so sour he practically launched them across the room.â
Laughter ripples through the group, but your attention remains fixed on Lilia, who seems fascinated now. Her gaze shifts from the grapes in Emilyâs hand to Emily herself and back again, as though she is trying to determine which of the two is actually responsible for holding her interest.
And then, once she realizes nobody is paying attention to her anymore, she inches forward again. Slowly. Cautiously.
The uncertainty is still there, but curiosity appears to be winning. Little by little she closes the remaining distance until the toes of her red sneakers brush against Emilyâs black slacks, and a completely irrational part of you can only hope she doesnât get them dirty.
Emily offers the grape once more, but by now it is obvious that the fruit has become secondary. Liliaâs attention is fixed entirely on her. An encouraging word rises instinctively to your lips, but before you can say anything Emily glances toward you. The look is brief. Reassuring. Calm in a way that settles something restless inside you.
Iâve got this, she seems to say. And somehow, you believe her.
âWould you like a grape?â
This time the question is directed at you.
Only then do you notice Penelope watching from the corner of your eye, entirely too interested in what is happening.
âIâd love one,â you manage, though your voice comes out thinner than intended.
As you reach for the grape, your fingers brush Emilyâs. The contact lasts no more than a second. Still, you flinch. Your gaze snaps upward, colliding with hers, and what unsettles you most is the realization that she has never looked away. Not once.
The smile lingering at the corner of her mouth is subtle, almost unreadable, but there is something undeniably knowing about it.
Far from calming your nerves, it makes them infinitely worse.
Did she notice the way you reacted? The slight change in your voice? The fact that your hands suddenly feel far too warm?
Before you can disappear entirely into the spiral of your own thoughts, Lilia decides to solve the situation for everyone. Without the slightest warning, she climbs directly into Emilyâs lap.
One hand reaches for the grape while the other settles comfortably against her thigh, as though this is the most natural thing in the world.
The surprise that flashes across Emilyâs face mirrors your own. Only for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty before it begins to ease out of her expression. Her shoulders loosen almost imperceptibly, and the tension that had caught in her features seems to dissolve as Lilia settles more fully against her.
What takes its place isnât sudden, but it changes her all the same. The careful restraint she usually carries softens around the edges, replaced by a kind of quiet attentiveness that makes her look, for a fleeting second, as if everything else has fallen away.
Your heart stumbles at the sight, at the way she adjusts Lilia more securely against her, steadying her without even seeming to think about it, something that feels practiced in a way that isnât learned but lived. Her hand remains where it has come to rest, steady and unthinking, simply there in a way that feels completely natural in this moment.
It is the kind of expression that doesnât pull focus but still fills the space around it, effortless in the way it holds itself, leaving you oddly unable to look away.
When her gaze drops to your daughter, the change in her expression deepens rather than arrives. It gathers slowly, like something settling into place without resistance, until there is nothing guarded left in it at all. Her smile doesnât appear so much as it lingers, soft, unforced, shaped entirely by the moment in front of her.
For a second, all you can do is watch.
Emily Prentiss looks happy. A smile spreads across her face so beautiful you think you could spend your life trying to memorize it. Your heart is beating twice as fast now, and the warmth creeping into your cheeks has nothing to do with the sunlight fighting through the trees overhead. It is Emily. Emily and the way she holds your daughter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
prompt list âWhat part of âi want you and only youâ do you not understand?â
The message came at 11:47 on a Tuesday night.
Not a call â a text, which meant heâd thought about it first. Weighed it. Aaron Hotchner did not do things without weighing them, and somehow that made it worse.
Can we talk?
Three words. You stared at them for long enough that your screen went dark, and then you turned your phone face-down on the nightstand and looked at the ceiling and thought: not tonight.
Tonight you were allowed to not be ready.
It had started, as most things between you and Aaron did, without either of you naming it.
Two years of working alongside him. Two years of learning the specific weight of his silences â which ones meant he was thinking, which ones meant he was hurting, which ones meant he was about to make a decision that would cost him something. Two years of black coffee on late nights and his hand on your shoulder after bad cases and the particular way he looked at you sometimes when he thought you werenât paying attention.
Youâd been paying attention for a long time.
That was the problem.
The other problem was Mary.
She was kind. That was the worst part â if sheâd been awful it would have been simple, you could have filed it under not my business and moved on cleanly. But she was warm and genuine and she made Aaron smile in a way that reached his eyes, and you had stood at your desk one afternoon and watched him laugh at something sheâd said over the phone and felt something in your chest go very quiet and still, like an intake of breath before something falls.
Youâd gone home that night and been ruthlessly honest with yourself, the way you rarely allowed.
You were in love with Aaron Hotchner. You had probably been in love with Aaron Hotchner for the better part of a year. And it didnât matter, because he was happy, and he deserved to be happy, and wanting things that belong to someone elseâs life is just the tax you pay sometimes for having feelings you didnât ask for.
You paid it. Quietly. You got very good at it.
Mary left in March.
Nothing dramatic â a long distance that kept getting longer, a relationship that had never quite found solid ground, an ending that Aaron absorbed the same way he absorbed everything: inward, contained, with the kind of stillness that looked like composure and wasnât.
You didnât say anything. You made coffee. You covered for him on a report he forgot about. You sat across from him in the conference room on a late Thursday and pretended not to notice that he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the case.
That was what you did. That was the arrangement youâd made with yourself.
You just hadnât anticipated him changing the terms.
It started slowly, the way dangerous things do.
A conversation that ran longer than it needed to. A lunch that wasnât really about the case youâd both claimed it was about. Him at your office door one evening after everyone else had gone, hands in his pockets, no particular reason given for why he was still there.
Youâd let it happen because you were weak, and because being near him had always felt like something you couldnât quite bring yourself to ration.
Then one night, three weeks ago, heâd driven you home after a late case and walked you to your door and stood there in the hallway light looking at you with an expression you recognized from a hundred careful moments â and then heâd looked away, and said goodnight, and left.
And youâd stood inside your closed door with your back against the wood and thought: stop it. Stop letting yourself think it means something.
That was three weeks ago.
Can we talk? was tonight.
You didnât answer until morning.
Sure. When?
His response came within two minutes, which meant heâd been waiting.
Tonight, if thatâs okay. Dinner?
You typed three different responses and deleted all of them.
Okay, you sent.
He chose somewhere quiet. Not a work dinner place â no sharp lighting, no chance of running into anyone from the Bureau. A small Italian place with candles on the tables and soft enough noise that youâd have to lean in to hear each other properly.
You noticed. You wished you hadnât.
Aaron was already there when you arrived, which was typical â he was always early, always prepared, always with some version of the situation already mapped before you walked into it. He stood when he saw you, which he also always did, and the candlelight made him look tired and certain at the same time.
âThanks for coming,â he said.
âOf course.â You sat down. Kept your hands around your water glass. âWhatâs going on?â
He didnât answer immediately. He looked at the table, and then at you, and then at the table again, and Aaron Hotchner almost never looked at the table â he was a man who held eye contact like a professional obligation â which meant whatever was happening was costing him something.
âI owe you an apology,â he said finally.
That wasnât what youâd expected.
âFor what?â
âFor the last few months.â His jaw was set. âIâve been â I havenât been fair to you. Iâve let things go in a direction that I didnât have the right to let them go, and I think Iâve made things complicated in a way that isnât fair, givenââ He stopped. âGiven the fact that I hadnât actually said anything.â
Your hands were very still around the glass.
âAaronââ
âIâm not good at this,â he said, quiet and direct. âI want to be honest about that upfront. Iâm aware that I process things slowly and I hold too much back and Iâve spent so long keeping everythingââ A short pause. âCompartmentalized. Itâs not a good habit.â
âYou donât have toââ
âIâm in love with you.â
The restaurant kept going. A waiter passed behind him. Someone laughed two tables over.
You looked at Aaron Hotchner and felt all the careful architecture of the last year shift under your feet.
âIâve been trying to figure out how to say that for a long time,â he continued, measured, like he was reading from something heâd prepared and was determined to finish. âAnd I kept finding reasons not to. The team. Protocol. The fact that I wasnât sure I was â that I haveââ He stopped again. âI come with complications. Iâm aware of that.â
âAaron.â
âJack. The job. Theââ He looked at you directly. âI know what Iâm asking is not a simple thing.â
âAaron.â Your voice came out steadier than you felt. âStop.â
He stopped.
You exhaled slowly.
Here was the thing about loving someone carefully for a long time â you built walls around it so thoroughly that when someone tried to hand it back to you, you didnât know what to do with your own hands.
âI need you to understand something,â you said.
He waited.
âI stopped letting myself believe this was possible a long time ago.â You kept your voice even by concentrating on it. âI watched you with Mary and I told myself to be grateful that you were happy and to leave it alone, and I got very good at that. So when you sayââ You stopped. Pressed your fingers flat against the table. âI donât know how to just accept that. I want to. I justââ
âI know.â Something in his expression shifted â not softer exactly, but less armored. âI know Iâm asking you to trust something I havenât given you a lot of evidence for.â
âItâs not about evidence.â
âThen what is it about?â
You looked at him across the candlelight. At the careful, earnest, slightly-wrecked expression of a man who had measured every word heâd just said and meant all of them.
âIâm scared,â you said. It came out plain and honest and it cost you something. âIâve been managing this for a year and I got it to a place where it was â livable. And now youâreââ You shook your head. âWhat if I let myself believe it and something goes wrong? What if the job gets in the way, or itâs too complicated, or you realize that what you feel is justââ
âItâs not just anything.â His voice was quiet but there was an edge under it â not anger, something more like conviction. âI donât say things I donât mean. You know that.â
You did know that.
That was most of the problem.
âYou have Jack to think about,â you said, one more attempt, because you were thorough in your self-sabotage.
âJack asks about you,â Aaron said. âHe has for months.â
That landed somewhere it had no business landing.
You looked down at the table.
âAaron.â
âWhat part of I want you, and only you do you not understand?â
It came out quiet. Not frustrated â something rawer than that. Like heâd been holding it back for a long time and it had finally worn through.
You looked up.
He was watching you with that expression â the unguarded one, the one youâd only seen a handful of times in two years, the one he kept behind everything else because heâd learned somewhere along the way that wanting things openly was a liability.
He was showing it to you anyway.
Something cracked open in your chest that youâd been keeping very carefully sealed.
âI understand all of it,â you said quietly. âThatâs whatâs terrifying.â
His shoulders dropped slightly, the faintest release of tension.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he said. âWhatever you need. However long it takes.â A pause. âIâve waited this long.â
âThatâs notââ You exhaled. âThatâs not a fair thing to say.â
âNo,â he agreed. âBut itâs true.â
You sat with that for a moment. With the candlelight and the soft noise of the restaurant and Aaron Hotchner looking at you like you were something heâd already decided on.
âI donât know how to do this gracefully,â you admitted.
âNeither do I.â The corner of his mouth moved. Barely. âI think that makes us even.â
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, you turned your hand over on the table.
He looked down at it. Then at you.
He placed his hand over yours.
Neither of you said anything for a while after that.
What kind of top/dom Emily would be in different points of the show (pt 1)
!This is all just my personal opinions and not necessarily taking canon into account obv!
Season 2/early season 3
As I said, she looks like a softie but 1. if she has her eyes on you she IS gonna get you home, full stop and 2. she starts to realize just how much she likes to see a woman at her mercy. There's something about being the one to reduce someone to a certain state that strokes her ego like never before and it gives her such a high that at first she doesn't even realize her demeaning remarks and reactions, but once she registers not only her behavior but also the reaction it gets from the other person she can't get enough of it. She's such a fucking mean dom like I know she'd make me cry and laugh at me because of it ugh.
Later season 3/season 4
COCKYYY omg she's so fucking cocky!! Like in a frat boy, borderline offensive way and the fact that she has a constant line of girls waiting and begging for a chance only makes her ego grow. She definitely likes to take control but more so because she likes knowing that these women are so into her and worship the ground she walks on that they're willing to let her do anything she wants to them.
Now if she seriously falls for a woman, though, she becomes the dumbest, most pathetic service top ever and her only mission becomes to satisfy any wish of her woman.
Season 5
Daddy?? Ahem sorry. After the pussydrunk phase she comes back to her senses and tames her ego a bit. She's definitely very dominant but in a more "subtle" way. She doesn't need to be all cocky and over the top to have a woman submit to her, one look is more than enough to get what she wants. The fact that she's a little different doesn't mean that she's gonna be softer, though, in fact she's probably shifted a little bit more to the hard dom side. She's not snarky or mean, though, and she probably starts giving praises more than she's ever done. She's a little surprised at how many more women she can have by not trying to pursue them in a more pushy way like before (season 3/4) but of course is not mad about it.
Season 6
Ok now that's daddy ugh!!!!! Sorry sorry. At this point she doesn't even try to find women, they just come to her like to a magnet, could it be the lack of interest she shows like she has previously noticed? Probably, and the "gloomy", mysterious look she has about her definitely helps attract attention. She's the biggest hard dom and has found a sweet spot of a subtly degrading language mixed with just the right amount of praise that melts on the spot the women she chooses. Oh and yes she's officially over the "taking home as many women as she can" mentality and would rather see someone she really likes for a while, even if not for a relationship and just for sex.
Let me know your thoughts and opinions I'm super curious!!!!!!
Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.
Word Count: 5107
Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex
A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)
âââââââââââ
It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.Â
Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it.Â
It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencerâs wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christâs sake. And your best friend. And youâd thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that youâd known him.Â
Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derekâs niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevinâs birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache.Â
Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, youâd decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man youâd slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right?Â
You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. Youâd never been one to abuse the badge before, butâŠÂ
Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it.Â
Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. âWhat about her?â you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her.Â
âSheâs clearly waiting for someone,â Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. âI also donât understand why youâre so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.âÂ
You snorted into your drink. âHog you up with?â you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs.Â
âYeah, is that notâŠâ realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. âThatâs not the phrase, is it?âÂ
âHook,â you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. âAnd Iâm not dead set on it,â you argued. âI just didnât want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.âÂ
Your eyes flickered up to Spencerâs to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him.Â
âYeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?â Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand.Â
âIt doesnât matter right now,â you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - youâd finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. âWeâre looking for you.âÂ
Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencerâs elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. âAny of them? The blonde is cute,â you pointed out.Â
âNot really into blondes,â Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. âBut, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.â Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table.Â
You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what heâd been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he⊠totally sober?Â
You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three womenâs faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencerâs mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencerâs hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do?Â
âWhat happened?â you asked as he returned to you.Â
âI blew it,â Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that heâd gone over there and purposefully botched it.Â
âRight,â you flagged down the bartender to order another drink.Â
âYouâre getting another one?â Spencer asked.Â
You whirled your face to meet his and didnât see judgment, but rather, concern. âWhy does it matter?â you asked, no, dared.Â
Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. âIt doesnât,â he grumbled.Â
âWhat about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?â you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. âThe grabby one. She seemed really into you.âÂ
Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. âIâm not interested.âÂ
âAre you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?â You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencerâs frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you.Â
You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that youâd dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid.Â
You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. âIâd better go home,â you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible.Â
You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. Youâd forgotten your coat at the office and insisted youâd be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth.Â
Thirty seconds hadnât even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. âWhat did I do?â he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused.Â
Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. âNo,â you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. âYou didnât do anything.âÂ
âThen why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?â Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader.Â
âWeird how?â You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didnât flip every morning when you saw him.Â
âLike youâre⊠like youâre mad at me. Like you donât want to be around me,â Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. âYou always find an excuse to leave the room when itâs just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you donât have to interact with just me. Youâre out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?â he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. âItâs either youâre trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -âÂ
He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you.Â
âOr,â you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question.Â
âOr?â Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly.Â
âOr,â you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath.Â
Spencerâs throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. âOh.âÂ
Oh.Â
âHow long?â he asked, turning his feet towards you.Â
Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasnât any point, not when he knew now. âSince March,â you admitted. Your voice was squeaky.Â
âMarch?â Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now.Â
âYeah,â you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. âYou donât have to say anything,â you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. âYou donât have to-â
âIâve had feelings for you since the day we met.âÂ
You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second heâd asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. âOh,â was all you managed to choke out.
Oh.Â
âYeah, oh,â Spencerâs mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile youâd learned to love on him. He stepped towards you.Â
You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental?Â
âWhat do we⊠what do we do now?â You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command.Â
Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. âWell,â his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. âIâd like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,â he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile.Â
âI think that would be okay,â you whispered.Â
His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest.Â
He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencerâs smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. âYeah?â He asked, the word carrying more meaning. Youâre into this, right?Â
âYeah,â you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. Iâm really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again.Â
Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head.Â
Just like a dance, Spencerâs hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather.Â
He kissed you again, and this time it wasnât as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise.Â
Spencerâs low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you.Â
His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle.Â
Oh, he liked you a lot.Â
âYou okay, Spence?â You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it.Â
Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. âYeah, Iâm great,â he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you.Â
You didnât want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasnât going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch.Â
He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. âWant me to call an Uber?â You asked.Â
Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. âYou okay?â You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencerâs face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. âCareful,â you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. âDonât want you having an-â
âShut up,â Spencer cut you off, and you snickered.Â
You had never been in Spencerâs apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture.Â
There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books.Â
You had never seen so many books in someoneâs possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer.Â
He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didnât use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move.Â
You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers.Â
It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - Iâve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now?Â
You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too.Â
There wasnât any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now.Â
And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencerâs living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises.Â
âSo,â you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. âThis is where you live.âÂ
âUh-huh,â Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.
âLot of books,â you pointed out.Â
âYep.âÂ
You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. âWhatâs with the monosyllabic conversation?âÂ
Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. âItâs just⊠really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,â he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face.Â
You grinned. âYou can touch me,â your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it.Â
Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how heâd teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. âMaybe I will,â he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.Â
âYou canât really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-â
âPlease stop talking,â Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about.Â
You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair.Â
Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since youâd known him.
Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. âLook at me,â he requested, his voice low.Â
Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reidâs hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star.Â
And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled.Â
âI want you.â
Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. âI want you, too,â you whispered.Â
âAre you stillâŠ?â He asked, his eyes searching yours. Youâd had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but youâd polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted.Â
âIâm fine,â you assured him.Â
Spencer inclined his head to the side. âYouâre sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?âÂ
You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. âOkay,â he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. âYouâre fine, then?â
âIâm fine,â you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath.Â
Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencerâs lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. âSpencer,â you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone.Â
âWhat?â he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face.Â
You realized you had actually worried him. âOh, no, no,â you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. âIâm just really frustrated, because⊠because your shirt,â you stammered, and Spencerâs mouth twitched up into a smirk.Â
âMy shirt,â he stated.Â
âThat one, right here,â You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. âHang on,â you murmured, working through another button, and one more. âIâm concentrating.âÂ
âYouâre sticking your tongue out,â Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.
âIâm concentrating!â Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencerâs hands went to your hips.Â
âItâs adorable,â he told you. âYou make the same face at work. When youâre in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,â Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again.Â
âYou noticed that kind of stuff?â You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.
Spencer just nodded. âAll the time.âÂ
Iâve had feelings for you since the day we met.
You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it.Â
âY/N?âÂ
You met Spencerâs gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadnât been in the company of your best friend. âYou okay?â he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again.Â
You didnât know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it.Â
Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool.Â
Spencerâs fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts.Â
Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself.Â
âCan IâŠ?â Spencerâs hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched.Â
You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. âYeah,â you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencerâs brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe.Â
âYouâre so beautiful, Y/N,â he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat.Â
âYou-â
âIâm not done,â Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. âYouâre so beautiful. And youâre so kind, and smart, and funny. And Iâd really like to show you how much I care about you,â he looked into your eyes as a sort of request.Â
âIâm not on birth control,â You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. âDo you have a c-â
Spencerâs soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. âWeâre not going to need one,â he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood.Â
________________________________________
Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didnât allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldnât very well deny him what he wanted, right?Â
Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencerâs body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. âThat wasâŠâ his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. âIncredible.âÂ
âYeah,â you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencerâs lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight.Â
Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when heâd looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before youâd abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. âWhatâd you say to those women tonight?â You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him.Â
Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. âWhy?âÂ
âBecause Iâm curious,â you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. âYou were obviously blowing it on purpose.âÂ
Spencer rolled his eyes. âI actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,â he said, his tone defensive.Â
You snickered. âSure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?âÂ
Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. âI just asked them how they were doing tonight,â he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying.Â
âYou did not,â you pushed back. âCome on, Reid, spill it.âÂ
âOk, fine,â Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? âI told them⊠Jesus.â Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. âI told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,â he began.Â
You started to smile.Â
Spencer continued. âI told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldnât stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.âÂ
Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. âSo I asked them,â Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. âI asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.âÂ
âDid they say anything to that?â You asked as Spencerâs hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back.Â
Spencerâs voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, âThe girl in the middle did. She said âthat girl definitely has feelings for you, tooâ. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.âÂ
âShe did not say that,â you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips.Â
âI have an eidetic memory, Y/N,â he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. âWould I lie to you about that?âÂ
summary: you and spencer have to go undercover to catch an unsub - as a couple in love.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader.
tags: afab reader, r wears a dress, heels & has long hair, mentions of murder & other themes present in criminal minds, just some silly flirty hehe, fake dating trope but hidden
word count: 2.4k
notes: based off of a request by my lovely sawyer <3 @reidswrld
As a BAU agent, going undercover was not normal. Majority of the time, you were stuck at a desk, scribbling down on legal pads and filling out profiles to send on over to police departments around the world. But this unsub, hunting in the bustling city of Queens, was good. No physical evidence, no witnesses, nothing concrete to stick on him other than a profile that fits and the teamâs gut intuition. Therefore, the only way to take him down was going undercover and catching him in the act.
The unsub had been brought in and questioned by the police department twice now. No arrests, as nothing had stuck, but two questionings without an arrest usually led to a sense of cockiness. Especially with a narcissist, heâd felt like he had been given a new lease on life and had delivered two bodies in the middle of the city as a thank you. As the only two agents he hadnât seen during his questionings, there was no question that you and Spencer would draw the short straws and have to take a night out on the town.
It was a simple modus operandi, not a complicated case at all. The BAU had been called in solely to assist with finding the unsub without the help of physical evidence or witnesses. They had had four bodies in two weeks before they had called the team in, heterosexual couples found shot in the streets with no evidence of robbery. The working theory was that the man was tazed and incapacitated while the unsub took his time with the woman before killing both of them.
Lucky for you, there was a popular restaurant nearby known for romantic dates, such as anniversaries and proposals. The three couples that had been turned into victims had all had dates there in the week before they were killed, turning something that was sweet and romantic into a hunting ground. You and Spencer just had to play the mushy part of a couple in love for a quick dinner, step out of the restaurant and hope neither one of you ended up with a taser to the side.Â
Donned in a shorter, long-sleeved black dress that you had purchased earlier that day and heels that squeezed your toes too tight, you wore Spencer like an accessory. Your fingers were curled around his bicep, keeping him close to your side as you kept a close watch on your surroundings. The ear piece in your ear, concealed mostly by your thick, styled hair, was uncomfortable, crackling with static more frequently the farther you got from the van. Each step that brought you closer to the restaurant and then closer to your table reminded you why you had chosen the BAU instead of anything that forced you to be undercover.
While Spencer was dressed handsomely in a well-fitted dark suit, you could feel the anxiety radiating off of him. His hands were tucked tightly into his front pockets, shoulders squared and jaw tense. While you had gone the full mile of styling your hair and putting on make-up and shaving every square inch of your body, he looked essentially the same as every other day. Long, unruly curls, a slight shadow of stubble decorating his jaw, a polka-dotted tie instead of something simple. Effortlessly beautiful, if you allowed yourself to admit it.
Due to your reservation, the two of you were quickly seated at a booth in the corner by the hostess. Spencer slid into the side that put his eyes directly on the door, clearing his throat as he scooted in. Just as you were about to sit across from him, the earpiece crackled with Derekâs voice. âCome on, sweetheart. Youâre in love. Sit on the same side as him.â The lilt in his voice proved he was having too much fun with this situation, giving away the smile in his voice.
Bringing your wrist up to your mouth with a cover-up of wiping lipstick off the corner of your lips, you mutter beneath your breath into the microphone hidden there. âYouâre a pain in my ass.â With an apologetic look and a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slide right next to Spencer, bare thigh pressing up against the warmth of his clothed one.
Your lips press together tightly as he props an arm on the back of the booth behind your head, reeling in the proximity. You wish you could say it was subconscious when you pushed your knee more into his thigh, or when the toe of your heel ended up pushing his foot a bit forward to slot your leg behind his own. You wish that your reasoning was because you had to seem like a couple that was in love with each other, that had done the first dates and the meeting the parents and discussing the future.
But it had been a while since you had been this close to someone. A while since you had even considered being tucked into a manâs side, since you had had a chance to. Dating has never come easy to you, both as someone with an avoidant attachment style and a demanding job. It didnât help that your chance had come in the form of Spencer, who was gentle and kind and soft-spoken, who saw the good in everyone unless he was having a bad day. The same Spencer who left a steaming cup of tea on your desk when the two of you had a late night in the office or walked you home from the team outings even though he lived far down the road and refused to use public transportation due to the germs.
âAre you okay?â He mumbles from beside you, breaking you out of your trance. Glancing over at him, you catch those doe eyes staring down at you, long eyelashes fluttering at his glances over your face. âI know itâs⊠weird.âÂ
Smiling, you nod almost too eagerly. A nervous laugh follows, glancing around the restaurant at all of the happy couples. People with their hands on their partnerâs arms, laughing so hard their eyes crinkle. First dates who lean towards each other despite being scared to touch. Married couples who hold each otherâs hands even as they eat, their feet slotted between each other underneath the table. âI donât know if weâre doing enough to convince him,â you admit, voice low. An excuse to get closer, or an actual observation for your goal, who could tell?
You scoot closer until your shoulder overlaps his chest, leaning into him. He stiffens behind you for a blink of a second before relaxing, the arm originally perched at the back of the booth falling over your shoulder. Fingertips press into your upper arm as he gives you a soft squeeze before letting the side of his hand balance on your collarbone.
As soon as the waitress walks up to the table, you order your meals and drinks at the same time, trying to get over this as fast as possible. Despite the two of you obviously being there together, her eyes hover on Spencer the entire time, attempting soft, flirty giggles at everything he said. Your eyes narrow at the disrespect of it all, leaning forward to block her view of him and placing a possessive hand right above his knee as you smile tightly and order briskly.
Spencerâs chest rumbles beneath your shoulder as you stare her down the entire way to the kitchen, breath brushing against your neck as he leans down to murmur. âIs there a problem?â Amusement laces his tone, cocky and playful and embarrassing.Â
Whipping around to explain yourself, youâre interrupted by static in your ear, although itâs luckily Emilyâs voice instead of Derekâs this time. âUnsubâs here. Make it believable. Put on a show, lovebirds.â She giggles before the transmission fully cuts out, leaving you to hold back a roll of your eyes.
As shy and bashful as you wanted to be in this situation, you couldnât find it in yourself to feel shameful. This was a moment you could take advantage of. Do everything youâve thought about doing under the guise of being a great undercover agent. Game on.
To test the waters, you raise your hand, tucking a curl behind his ear and letting your fingertips brush against the hinge of his jaw. Thereâs a miniscule widening of his eyes before heâs grinning, lines around his mouth deepening. His thumb raises to brush along the corner of your mouth, dark eyes watching as your lips fall open in response. Thereâs another rumble of a laugh from him before his hand falls onto your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.
By the time the food arrives, youâre comfortably settled into Spencerâs side, his fingers pressing into the skin of your inner thigh and thumb brushing against the outside. To keep yourselves occupied on happier subjects and not on the fact that a spree killer was actively hunting you (as confirmed by your comrades outside), you make a game out of profiling the people in the restaurant.
âTheyâre on a first date,â you murmur near his ear as he leans down to take a bite, eyes locked on two girls in the corner. âThe brunette asked, the blonde agreed, but is now regretting it.âÂ
Spencer lets out a hum in response, taking a sip of water to wash his food down. âI would put money on the fact that blondie didnât even bring her wallet.â
That pulls a laugh out of you, turning to look at him. âOh, thatâs just every woman. Who do you think is paying for this?â You grin. To prove your point, you grab your bag from beside you, opening it and showing him the absence of a wallet. âI have everything I need.â Lip gloss for a re-up, your FBI badge and a handgun that took up most of the space. The necessities.
His nose wrinkles before his fingers pinch your thigh, causing you to yelp and shove at his shoulder. âHopefully I get reimbursed for this,â he grumbles playfully.Â
Despite his grumblings, he grabs the check as soon as it's set on the table, sliding his card into the pocket. You take the time between the waitress taking the card and Spencer writing down his tip (25%, you note with a blush) to get back into the zone, remembering that you were here to catch a spree killer, not to laugh it up and fuel your crush on your coworker.
At Spencerâs nudge to your hip, you slide out of the booth, draping your bag over your shoulder and keeping it closer to your front. His hand slides along the small of your back until his fingers rest on your opposite hip, pulling you into his side as your steps match up on the way out of the restaurant.
You babble to Spencer about nothing important, like how good the food was and how it reminded you of your grandmother (who has been dead for a long time), the feeling of eyes on you unnerving. Emily and Derek spoke in your earpieces, guiding your steps and keeping you updated.
âHeâs crossing the street to get behind you now. Can you lean down and pretend to fix the strap of your heel? Morgan and I are on the way.â Emily murmurs before the departing static moves through your ear again.
Pulling away from Spencer, you give him a soft smile before crouching, making sure your bag is in front of you as your fingers curl into the straps of your high heels. Fiddling with the loop, undoing it and redoing it, you watch the shadow on the corner of your eye grow closer. You slowly stand, hand slipping into your bag and fingers curling around the cold metal of your gun.
It happens quickly. The crackle of a taser, the yells of Derek and Emily announcing themselves, your own voice calling out the same thing you had repeated many times. âFBI!â Your gun raises to point at the man behind you, whoâs eyes widen as his taser clacks onto the ground. Derek gets him to his knees before arresting him, pulling him away before anything could be said.Â
A sigh leaves your lips as you put the safety back on your weapon, sheathing it away in your handbag. You turn to Spencer with a soft smile, running a hand through your hair. âGlad you didnât get tased?â You tease, pulling the strap back over your shoulder.
âVery grateful,â he agrees, nodding. He steps forward, fingers brushing along your hip. Heâd been touching you all night, your face and your neck and your legs, but this one is different. It settles into your skin like a brand, feeling like something more, something shaky.
Spencer studies you for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he takes in every bit of emotion or thought on your face, before he speaks again. âWould you like to do this again sometime?â He asks, shuffling on his feet. His cheek caves in as he bites at the skin inside of his mouth, gaze still traveling along your features.
âGo undercover?â You ask, and not because youâre an idiot. You know what heâs asking. Do this, as in dinner and dressing up and soft touches. Not to get paid, not because the both of you took a vow when you joined the FBI, but because you enjoyed each otherâs presence. But thereâs a part of you that vies for the confirmation, for the admittance.
He smiles, seeing right through your facade. âNo,â he responds slowly. Gentle fingers reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. âThis. Dinner. Just us, without Emily and Derek there, without a spree killer watching us.â His lips spread into a grin, hands tucking into his pockets. âYou do not have to bring your wallet.â
A laugh escapes you before you can even try to push it down, head shaking. Your arm pushes through the gap between his arm and torso, fingers holding onto his bicep the same way they had when the both of you had walked to the restaurant. Your feet start to walk at the same pace, left foot than right foot, as you make your way back to the surveillance van. âThat sounds perfect to me.â
Heyyy, I'd love a latte with hazelnut/coconut drizzle (one or both, whatever you decide) and whipped cream!
Maybe one where reader is Garcia's childhood best friend and they end up traveling near her on a case? And Spencer notices how pretty she is and yadda yadda kissy kissy
Also I did see your most recent post, take your sweet time I'm in absolutely no rush, I'll probably forget about this the second I send it anyway <3
a/n: wowwww the way this absolutely wrote itself. I LOVED THIS REQUEST!!! seriously this was the fastest iâve ever written a fic before. ty for the req i hope you love!! receipt is at the bottom!!
summary: spencer meets garciaâs childhood best friend and promptly forgets how to act like a normal human being. between phone calls and sneaking around, what starts as a crush turns into something a lot harder to keep hidden.
content warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, lots and lots of smooching, slightly suggestive moments if u squint real real hard, otherwise just disgustingly tooth-rotting fluff
The case wrapped up clean.
The unsub had been apprehended with no further casualties, hostages rescued. The team had made it back to the precinct, packing up their things as they prepared to leave.
âOkay, now that weâve got the bad guy and all of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things are over, I have one tiny request.â Garcia announced to the team.
Hotch glanced over his shoulder as he zipped up his go-bag. âWhatâs that?â
âCould we please stay for dinner?â She asked, eyebrows raised hopefully. âMy best friend growing up lives right down the road from here, and I havenât seen her in ages. Iâd love for her to meet all of you.â
Hotch looked around, assessing the reactions of the team. The accomplishment of a job well done seemed to outweigh their tiredness as everyone shrugged and nodded.
Before long, Spencer was trailing behind the group as they strolled up to the restaurant. The air was starting cool as the sky dimmed, and the aroma wafting out the doors was making his mouth water.
âOh, hi!â He heard Garcia exclaim suddenly. He couldnât really see through the crowd of people, with the team and the patrons coming and going from the restaurant, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited his turn to be introduced.
âItâs so good to see you!â Garcia chattered. âThese are the people Iâm always telling you about. This is Hotch, and Emily, and Rossi, Derek, JJ, andââ she paused, peering over everyoneâs heads. âReid! Thereâs Reid, in the back.â
He turned his head as everyone shuffled aside, creating an opening, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket to wave and thenâ
Oh. Oh, wow.
âHi.â You smiled, and it almost knocked him off his feet.
He blinked, hand awkwardly half-raised before he reminded himself to look slightly less like a deer in headlights.
He straightened, clearing his throat. âHi.â
You wereâŠ
For once, his brain actually ran out of words.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Breathtaking. Captivating. Alluring. None of them seemed to truly encapsulate you.
The group was soon ushered inside the restaurant and sat at a table. Conversation began to flow as you and Garcia caught up and you got to know the team.
âOh, you actually said that?â Your jaw dropped as you looked at Emily.
âNot only did she say it, she said it in front of the entire Sacramento Police Department!â JJ interjected, causing the table to burst into laughter.
Spencer couldnât help but watch you as you threw your head back, shoulders shaking with laughter. Your laugh was infectious, he thought. He wanted to be the reason you laughed like that.
Wine and chatter flowed around the table as you dicussed JJâs children, Rossiâs career as an author, Derekâs most recent date.
He was mid-bite when you turned to him. âSo, Reid, what about you? I hear youâre the resident genius.â
He nearly dropped his fork, chewing quickly. âUm, well, I guess you couldââ he coughed, trying to swallow before continuing. âI mean, it depends how you classify âgenius.â My IQ is statistically above average, I have an eidetic memory, and I read at an average speed ofâŠâ
He trailed off, noticing the rest of the table had gone silent. He cleared his throat. âUm, yes.â
You nodded approvingly, eyebrows raised with a slight smile as the group chuckled.
The meal began wrapping up, plates slowly clearing and wine glasses emptying. Spencer watched you still as Garcia turned the conversation back to you, actively reminding himself not to stare.
âSo, tell me.â Garcia said, leaning in to you. âAre you dating anyone?â
Spencer felt like a puppy who had just heard the word âtreat.â He stared hard at the tablecloth, trying not to seem invested in the answer.
âNo, not since that guy from the bank.â You replied, smoothing your shirt.
âThank God. He was so⊠average.â Garcia answered. âYou could do so much better.â
Someone accidentally nudged his shin under the table. He shifted, heart fluttering at the knowledge you werenât involved with anyone. Not that he would ever do anything about it, but it was nice for the moment to not have to imagine you with anyone else.
Checks rolled out, everyone paid, and the group made their way to the door.
A chorus of goodbyes echoed across the group outside the restaurant. Garcia pulled you into a tight hug. âKeep in touch.â
âOf course.â You replied as you pulled back, looking to the rest of the group. âIt was so great meeting you guys.â
The sentiment was returned and you waved, flashing that brilliant smile one more time. âHave a good flight!â
You turned on your heel, and Spencer felt a pang in his chest at the thought of not seeing you again. Oh, well.
A hand grabbed his arm with a vengeance, and he turned to face the culprit.
âOw! Garcia, what are you doing?â He pulled his arm from her grip, rubbing at the irritated skin.
âFor a genius, you really are acting like an idiot!â She whispered. âGo get her number!â
His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. âWhat?â
âDid you not feel me kick you under the table when she said she was single?â She asked, exasperated. âIâm setting you up! Go ask her for her number! Now!â
She punctuated her demand with a little shove in your direction, and before he knew it, he was calling out.
âHey!â
You turned around, already about fifteen feet away. âHey?â
He glanced back over his shoulder briefly before half-jogging over to you.
He swallowed. âUm, I wanted to, uhââ He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look up at you. âI wanted to ask if I could maybe⊠get your number.â
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips. âReally?â
His heart dropped. âI mean, only if you want to. I justâ I think you are really nice, and pretty, andââ
âYou think Iâm pretty?â You interrupted softly.
He paused, meeting your shining eyes.
âYeah.â He breathed. âI do.â
You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, rustling through your bag. Spencer thought, briefly, that thereâd never been a time he so badly wanted to watch someone bite their lip like that in slow motion on repeat. He wanted to tattoo the image on the inside of his eyelids.
Chill out. He reprimanded himself as you handed him a napkin with your number scribbled on it.
âYou can call me.â That smile turned his brain to static once more as you waved sheepishly, a rose tint coloring your cheeks in the dim light. âBye, Reid.â
The whole interaction had him heckled mercilessly on the flight home, but he didnât mind too much. The teasing was all worth it the second his gaze landed on that ink-stained piece of tissue.
He waited about three days to call you. He almost hung up on the fifth ring, convinced you wouldnât answer, when your voice crackled through the speaker.
âHello?â
âHi, hi. Um, itâs Spencer. Reid. Garciaâs friend?â He sat up straighter, as though you could see him.
âOh, hey!â He could hear your grin in your voice, and it made him smile reflexively. âHow are you? Read any good books lately?â
âYeah! You know, I just re-read The Count of Monte Cristo in the original French. Itâs fascinating.â He replied animatedly, settling back into his couch.
That first phone call lasted nearly forty-five minutes.
The second was nearly an hour.
Before long, he got in a routine of calling you ever other day, and then every day. Eventually, Spencer Reid, ever the technophobe, found himself texting you every chance he could. He even bought a used laptop so he could video chat with you on WhatsApp.
It wasnât just your physical appearance. Spencer was attracted to so much more than that. Your kindness. Your humor. Your patience. Your laugh. Your intelligence.
You told him about your life, your family, your job. He eventually opened up to you about his mom, some of his trauma. And you listened to every word with heartfelt kindness.
After a few months of this, the man who relied so heavily on statistics felt that it was just dumb luck you actually gave him your number.
âSo, Iâve been thinkingâŠâ You said one night on a video call.
He raised his eyebrows at the screen. âYeah?â
âWhat if I flew out and stayed with Pen for a weekend?â You asked. âYou and I could actually⊠you know, spend some time together. In person.â
Spencer hesitated, turning the idea over in his mind.
It wasnât that he didnât want to see you. God, did he want to see you. Three months of only having you over a screen was slowly becoming torture. His dreams were becoming increasingly plagued with the idea of holding you, kissing youâŠ
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
âIâll take your silence as a no,â you said jokingly, but he could hear the dejectedness in your tone.
âItâs not a no, itâs justâŠâ He paused. âHow are you going to keep it from Garcia if youâre staying with her? Wonât she wonder where youâre going?â
Privacy was very important to Spencer. He loved his teammates like family, but truthfully, he valued keeping your relationship between the two of you, at least for now. He wanted to navigate the idea of you without any outside influence or opinion.
Heâd had that conversation with you early on, given your relationship with Garcia, and you had been fine with it.
âI can make something up, give her a fake reason Iâm in town.â You shrugged. âI just really want to see you, Spencer.â
He felt a strange swell of pride in his chest at the thought. âI really want to see you, too.â He replied softly.
A mischievous grin crossed your face. âBesides, it might be kinda fun. Sneaking around.â
He fought a smile at the idea. âYeah? When would you fly out?â
And so the plan was set in motion.
You texted Garcia not long after, saying you needed a place to stay for a weekend for your great-grandmotherâs funeral. She agreed, albeit her excitement dying a little at the addition of your need to spend time with family members in town, but you assured her you would reserve some time for her, too.
Sure, you felt a little bad about the lie, but it would have to do for now.
Two weeks later, Spencer was checking his phone every five minutes for a text signifying youâd landed.
Buzz.
He scrambled for it so quickly it was almost comical.
âin your city :)â
He bit back a smile at the message before quickly typing his reply:
âSee you soon.â
When four p.m. rolled around, Spencer found himself walking up to the park.
There you were.
Sitting on a wooden bench, people-watching. The afternoon sun was beating down on the world, but around you, it looked like a halo.
You. Real. Not on a screen for the first time in months. And this time, not as a stranger.
Your head turned at the sound of his footsteps, and you broke into another one of those steal-his-heart smiles.
âHi.â You said, looking up.
âHi,â he echoed, a little breathless.
He stepped closer as you stood, and then you were both right there.
You hesitated. He paused. Should he hug you? Was that too much too soon? He hadnât had any sort of physical contact with you before, outside of your fingers brushing his when you gave him your number.
A small, nervous laugh from you. âI didnât know if we were, umââ you gestured.
âYeah, me neither.â He huffed out a laugh. He took you in for another moment before asking, quietly, âCan I hug you?â
âYes. Please.â Your answer was immediate.
His arms enveloped you, and then you melted into him.
He exhaled slowly against the top of your head, nerves and tension melting away as he held you. Real and warm and solid against him, not just a memory and a voice through a speaker.
You pulled back just a bit, hand staying on his arm.
âI missed you,â you breathed.
His eyes flicked down to your mouth before he could stop himself. âYeah, Iâ me too.â
You gazed up at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. âYou can.â
âI can what?â He asked.
âKiss me.â
âOh.â He mentally chastised himself for being so obvious.
Then immediately mentally high-fived himself the second his lips touched yours.
The kiss was soft, and new. His hands came up to cradle your face, a little clumsily.
But somewhere, distantly, in the static that was currently filling his brain, he thought this must be nirvana. A state of perfect peace, liberation, and completion. This must be the glorious thing and the pinnacle that everyone dreams of acheiving.
He doesnât know how long he stood by that bench, kissing you, but he knew that he would spend every waking second waiting for the next one.
The rest of the weekend felt⊠unreal.
He took you to his favorite local coffee place. You perused the shelves of his frequented bookstore, fingers laced together. He showed you his apartment, which all too quickly felt like your little corner of home in an unfamiliar city.
And every once in a while, another kiss.
Maybe it was more often than that.
He absolutely committed himself to relishing every single moment you were there. You spent nearly all day Saturday at his apartment before you finally convinced him you had to spend some time with Garcia, or she would get suspicious.
âIâll stop by tomorrow before I have to leave.â You said, toeing your shoes on by the door.
He swallowed, the notion weighing heavy on him. âSounds good.â
You stopped. âOh, hey. I still have your sweater on.â
He shrugged, looking down at you. âIt looks good on you. Keep it.â
You flushed, eyes dropping shyly to the floor. âThank you.â
He kissed you one more time, really breathing you in, before he opened the door for you and watched you walk away with a wave.
Sunday had arrived all too quickly.
You were outside his door, bags in hand. You handed his folded sweater back to him gently.
âI did wear it all night.â You smiled half-heartedly. âBut you can have it for now. I need a reason to come back and steal it again.â
Spencer pursed his lips, fighting back the emotions threatening to rise up in him.
âIt was⊠really good to see you.â You said softly, gazing up at him.
âYeah.â He nodded. âIt was.â
There was a pause.
âYouâll text me when you land?â He asked.
âObviously.â
Another pause. You looked at each other for a moment.
He was very appreciative for his eidetic memory in this moment, because he couldnât forget you standing here in his apartment.
âWe should do this again sometime.â Your voice was watery through your joking tone. âI really liked sneaking around with you.â
Spencer didnât answer you. He just leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss. Warm and sweet and over all too soon.
A thin laugh from you as you parted, eyes brimming with tears.
âIâll see you.â He said softly.
You nodded, brows crinkling. âBye, Spence.â
And you were gone.
On Monday, Spencer wore the sweater to work. You really mustâve worn it all night, because it smelled just like your perfume, bringing him a small amount of comfort knowing this weekend hadnât been a fever dream.
He tried to work, his focus drifting between thoughts of you and the occasional buzz in his pocket.
âHow was your weekend?â He overheard Emily ask Garcia as she walked in.
âOh, it was great. I really love getting to see her, but she was super in and out the whole time. Lots of visiting to do, she said.â Garcia replied.
Her footsteps faltered by his desk.
âReid?â
âYeah?â
âWhere did you get that sweater?â
He froze, risking a glance up. Garciaâs face was twisted in confusion.
âThis? Itâs mine.â He replied, trying to keep his voice smooth. Casual.
âNo.â
âWhat do you mean? Itâs mine.â
âNo, I sawâŠâ she trailed off. Spencer swore he could see her eyes light up, growing wide as it clicked.
Uh oh.
She gasped. âOh my gosh!â
âWaitââ Spencer started.
âOh my gosh!â She repeated, louder this time. âYou! You dirty dog!â
âIt wasnâtââ He leaned in, trying to do damage control. âIt wasnât like that. Weâve been⊠long distance.â
âI knew it!â she shouted, spinning in a circle. âI knew something was weird when she wouldnât tell me where she kept disappearing to!â
Spencer winced. âWe didnât want toââ
âYou lied to me,â she gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. âOh my gosh, youâre in love with her.â
His cheeks were on fire. âIâ what? No, I didnât sayââ
âYou didnât have to,â she said, grinning. âYouâre wearing the sweater.â
He blinked. âItâs my sweater.â
âExactly.â
And later, when his phone buzzed again in his pocket, he didnât even try to hide it.
âmiss you already :(â
âMiss you more.â
âCall you tonight?â
Across the room, Garcia watched him with a knowing grin.
And for once, Spencer didnât mind being figured out.
Summary: Itâs taken you a while to realise. But Sherlock Holmes is a very touch starved man.
Word Count: 800
Warnings: none, just fluff and soft Sherlock
a/n: Itâs been a while since Iâve written for Sherlock and I think itâs about time I go back to my roots :)
You hadnât noticed it before now.
You hadnât noticed when his fingers would drag across your palm when you released his hand, almost as if he were hesitant to let you go. You hadnât noticed when his hold on you tightened and your shirt bunched in his fists each time he had his arms around you. You hadnât noticed when his eyes softened and slid shut when your hand fondly made its way through his hair.
But now, as you lay together in the quaint living room of 221B it was clear as day. You suddenly couldnât believe you hadnât noticed it before. Sherlock Holmes was touch starved.
okay, because you broke my heart with everything is blue, I want a barty x potter!reader where it's the mauraders seeing how barty and the reader love/take care of each other. I need to be healed, I might die
They'll Be Alright
Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Fem!Reader
AN: I've taken out all the stops to mend your heart
WC: ~5k
Summary: James Potter learns to like tolerate his sisters taste in men.
Warnings: Grumpy James, Snogging, cursing, tooth rotting fluff, self indulgent, this is literally the cheesiest things I could come up with
âI can't do this much longer, I'm going mad.â James hissed as he sat on the grass, watching from across the courtyard as you stood outside the Quidditch pitch with a bit of a pacing form. You were sitting with your big brother and his friends just moments ago, but RavenClaw was out for practice and you just couldn't wait for your precious boy to leave the stands.
âI think it's cute.â Lily sang sweetly. âShe's as obsessed with him as he is with her. Only a Potter could match a Crouchâs insanity.â
James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Sirius burst out laughing, collapsing onto the grass beside him. âItâs not cute, Lily,â James hissed, throwing a wild gesture toward you. âItâs deranged. Sheâs my little sister, for Merlinâs sake! And sheâs practically glued to the sidelines for him. Him! Of all people.â
âSheâs not glued, mate. Look- sheâs pacing,â Sirius pointed out helpfully, grinning as he threw a snitch up into the air and caught it lazily. âAnd, to be fair, Bartyâs just as bad. Didnât he travel all the way from Hogwarts to the Potter Manor once just to say, what was it? Right!â He sat up sharply and threw in some jazz hands. âHi, to her over winter break?â
James groaned louder, flopping onto his back in the grass. âDonât remind me. Heâs the one whoâs mad, and now sheâs gone mad too. My familyâs turning into a bloody soap opera.â
âItâs not madness,â Lily argued, her voice soft with a knowing smile as she plucked a daisy from the grass. âItâs love, James. Messy, consuming love. And if you canât see it, then youâve forgotten what it was like when you were chasing after me.â
âOh, donât start,â James grumbled, sitting up to glare at her, though his face was tinged with a hint of pink. âThatâs completely different.â
âIs it?â Lily asked, raising a brow as she tucked the daisy behind her ear. âBecause I distinctly remember you doing some insane things for me- like charming the entire Gryffindor common room to play my favorite song every time I walked in.â
Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly choking on his snitch when he forgot to catch it. âOh, that was brilliant! What was it again? Some Muggle tune about sunshine?â
ââHere Comes the Sun,ââ Lily said smugly, her smile widening as James grumbled under his breath. âAnd Iâll remind you, Potter, that it worked.â
âThatâs different!â James protested again, jabbing a finger in your direction. âI wasnât a bloody Crouch!â
Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally looked up from his book with a raised brow. âAnd what, exactly, is wrong with being a Crouch?â He asked calmly, though his tone carried a faint edge of amusement.
James floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. âYou know what I mean! Heâs- heâs- heâs bloody Barty! Heâs reckless, obsessive, and- and-â
âAnd utterly devoted to her,â Lily interrupted firmly, her eyes softening as she looked toward you across the courtyard. âHeâd send us back to the stone age if she complained it was too busy, James. And sheâd do the same for him. Thatâs not something you get to stand in the way of.â
James sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he ran a hand through his messy hair. âI just want her to be happy.â He muttered. âAnd safe.â
âShe is happy,â Lily said gently, resting a hand on his arm. âAnd as for safe- well, thatâs why sheâs got you, isnât it? To make sure nothing gets in the way of her happiness. I'm also quite sure if anyone is to defend her like you have all these years.. it would be him.â
James let out a long, slow breath, watching as you finally stopped pacing, your face lighting up as Barty appeared at the top of the Quidditch stands. Even from across the courtyard, the way your shoulders relaxed and your smile softened was undeniable.
âShe looks so bloody happy,â James mumbled, almost to himself.
âShe is,â Lily said softly. âJust like you were when you finally got me.â
James turned to her, his face scrunching up as though heâd tasted something sour. âDonât make me feel good about this, Evans.â
Lily just laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. âSorry, love. Itâs my job.â
Remus chuckled. âJust watch mate.â
~~~
âMy dazzling girl!â Barty called down from the steps as he hurried down. You couldn't help but feel a humiliating bubbling of excitement in your chest. Normally, you wouldn't be so shameless and public with your affections, but since dating the brazen Bartemius, you had forgotten what it meant to hold private affections.
âMy brilliant boy.â You cooed back and he hurried across the yard to meet you. âHow was it?â
âDreadful. Humiliating. Humbling.â He rambled and stepped closer to you, taking your hand and kissing it, before slowly leading the kiss up your arm to your neck. You laughed and attempted to free yourself, only for him to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in, flush against him. âYou simply must make me feel better.â
âIt was only practice!â You laughed and cupped his cheeks in your hands, stilling his unconventional attack before it could reach your face. He gave you that signature woman eating smile with dimples that pressed so far into his cheeks you could about die. âIt couldn't have been that bad.â
âIt was, you see.â He started and gave you a playfully firm dip before he spun you around to scoop you back up to a proper stand. âThere was this dazzling girl-â
âYou've used dazzling for today, Barty.â You teased and he gave you a wolfish grin.
âBarty!â You laughed and he leaned in with a flurry of kisses to your cheek, effectively freeing himself from your hands.
âIrresistible, bewitching, stunning-â
âBarty-â
âAbsolutely exquisite witch who promised to watch my every game, and yet, not this one.â He moped and you shook your head.
âThat was practice, my love.â You muttered and he gasped.
âAnd thus it does not deserve your full undivided attention?â
You couldnât hold back the giggle that escaped your lips, your hands playfully swatting at his chest as you shook your head. âYouâre insufferable, Bartemius Crouch.â
âAnd yet, youâre still here,â Barty countered, his grin widening into something wickedly charming as he tugged you closer. âWhich makes you either as mad as me or utterly bewitched. Shall we flip a coin to decide?â
âBewitched, obviously,â You teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned in closer. âBut donât let it go to your head, Mr. Crouch.â
âToo late.â He replied with a laugh, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your cheek. âMy headâs been full of you for years, my star. Youâve left no room for anything else. I think it's only fair I consume your every thought from now on.â
âSweet words donât excuse your theatrics.â You teased, your hands gently slipping to his shoulders as you pretended to push him away, though neither of you truly let go. âYouâre going to give James a heart attack if you keep this up.â
Bartyâs grin turned mischievous, and he tilted his head to glance toward the courtyard where your brother and his friends were undoubtedly watching. âGood,â He said with mock seriousness, his tone laced with humor. âIf I can survive Quidditch practice, he can survive the sight of me adoring his sister.â
You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the smile off your face as you sighed dramatically. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre perfect,â He murmured, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. âSo I think that makes us even.â
âEven?â You repeated with a laugh, shaking your head as you leaned your forehead against his. âI think it makes you a menace.â
âIâll take it,â Barty replied, his voice softer now, his green eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip. âAs long as it means I get to keep you.â
For a moment, the playful banter between you faded, replaced by the weight of his words and the warmth of his presence. You knew the world saw Barty as reckless, obsessive, even dangerous. But in moments like this, when he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him, it was hard not to feel the same pull that had always drawn you to him.
âIâm not going anywhere.â You said softly, your hands brushing down his arms before entwining your fingers with his. âJust⊠promise me youâll try not to antagonize James too much. Heâs already halfway to pulling his hair out.â
Barty smirked, his dimple deepening in that way that always made your heart flutter. âNo promises,â He teased, though the glint in his eye told you heâd try- for you, if nothing else.
âBartemius Crouch,â You huffed, feigning sternness as you tugged his hand. âI mean it.â
âAnd I mean it when I say youâre irresistible,â He countered, spinning you again for good measure before pulling you back into his arms. âNow, my alluring, charming, pretty girl- are you ready to make Jamesâs day a little more unbearable?â
You let out a laugh, the sound bright and lighthearted, as he laced your fingers together and led you back toward the courtyard. You could already see the exasperation on Jamesâs face from across the field, but Merlin did you hear it. Him and Lily.
âI wasn't THAT bad!â
âOh yes you were!â
~~~
It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room when James finally let out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back against the couch. âI canât take it anymore!â He exclaimed, startling Lily, who had been peacefully reading beside him.
âWhat now?â She asked, though the amused quirk of her lips showed she already knew the answer.
âItâs them,â James hissed, pointing toward the window where you and Barty were clearly visible in the courtyard below. You were both sitting on the edge of the fountain, laughing at something Barty had said as he carefully wrapped a scarf around your neck, adjusting it as though it were a delicate treasure. âTheyâre insufferable.â
âTheyâre adorable,â Lily corrected, leaning over to peek out the window. She sighed softly, her expression turning fond as she watched Barty tuck your hair behind your ear and press a quick kiss to your temple. âLook at him. He absolutely dotes on her.â
âExactly!â James groaned again. âDotes! Itâs unnatural. Heâs supposed to be a Crouch-brooding and conniving, not⊠not whatever that is.â
âLove,â Remus supplied calmly, not even looking up from his book.
âObsessive devotion,â Sirius added with a smirk, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth as he sprawled on the armchair.
âSame thing,â Lily said with a shrug. âAnd besides, James, werenât you the same way with me? You practically worshipped the ground I walked on.â
âStill do,â Sirius muttered, earning a glare from James and a stifled laugh from Lily.
âThatâs different,â James argued, his voice petulant. âI wasnât⊠that. Look at him! Heâs practically wrapped around her finger.â
âAnd sheâs wrapped around his,â Lily pointed out, motioning toward the window again. Sure enough, Barty had pulled you to your feet and was holding your hand as he led you toward the castle steps, pausing every few moments to make you laugh with his animated gestures.
âHe carries her books half the time,â Sirius added. âAnd she carries his cloak when he forgets it.â
âShe fixes his collar when it's crooked,â Remus chimed in. âAnd he charms her quills when they snap.â
James groaned louder, dragging his hands down his face. âYouâre not helping.â
âProngs,â Sirius said with a chuckle, sitting up and clapping him on the shoulder. âYouâve got to admit, theyâre good together. Annoyingly good, yes, but still.â
âAnnoying is an understatement,â James grumbled, but his protests faltered as the portrait hole swung open and you entered the room, Barty trailing behind you with an armful of books and an easy grin on his face.
You turned to him with an exasperated laugh. âYou didnât have to carry all of them, you know. I can manage.â
âNonsense,â Barty replied smoothly, setting the books down on a nearby table before tugging at his crooked collar. âIf I canât carry a few books for my treasure, what kind of wizard am I?â
âA dramatic one,â You teased, stepping closer to him to fix his collar with practiced ease. âThere. All better.â
âAnd this is why I adore you,â He said, grinning as he caught your hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.
James let out a strangled noise from the couch, causing you to turn with a startled look. âEverything alright, Jamie?â you asked, tilting your head.
âPerfectly fine,â he said through gritted teeth, glaring at Barty, who had the audacity to wink at him.
Lily leaned over to whisper in Jamesâs ear, her voice low but teasing. âAdmit it, James. Youâre just mad he treats her as well as you treat me.â
Jamesâs face turned scarlet, and Sirius howled with laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. âGot you there, mate!â
~~~
The clatter of hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stopped in your tracks, turning just in time to see Barty sprinting toward you with an energy that bordered on reckless. His tie was slightly askew, his school robes flaring behind him as he called out, his voice full of dramatic flair, âTreasure! You simply must hear this- youâll have no choice but to reward me with a kiss once you hear of my heroics.â
You furrowed your brow but couldnât suppress the amused smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making everything sound like the most exciting tale in the world. As he skidded to a halt in front of you, panting slightly but grinning ear to ear, you took a moment to properly look at him.
For once, Barty had made an effort with his appearance. His robes, usually a little wrinkled or hanging off his shoulders in that endearingly careless way, were perfectly straightened. His tie was knotted neatly (if a little loose), and his hair was slicked back in a way that made your stomach twist, the gleaming coil of one rebellious strand falling charmingly over his forehead. He was maddening, and he knew it.
âOh?â You replied, your voice playful as you arched a brow.
Barty straightened, smoothing the lapels of his robe with an exaggerated air of importance. âCorrect me if Iâm wrong- I hardly ever am- but you look like you might just kiss me unprompted.â
Your cheeks flamed at his words, the boldness of his statement making your heart skip. âCrouch!â You hissed, swatting lightly at his chest in mock indignation.
He caught your hand easily, holding it against his chest with a dramatic sigh. âSee? Even your instincts betray you. Your heart is telling you to reward me already.â
âAnd what exactly did you do to earn this so-called reward?â You asked, your tone laced with amusement.
He tilted his head, his dimpled grin widening as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. âI managed to survive an entire Transfiguration class without turning our professorâs patience into dust. Surely that deserves a small token of appreciation.â
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head at his antics. âThatâs your big heroic tale? Restraint in a single class?â
âNot just any class,â He countered, pulling you closer with the hand still held captive against his chest. âA full fifty minutes of maintaining decorum. You, of all people, should know what a trial that is for me.â
âDecorum, huh?â You teased, your lips twitching as you fixed his slightly frazzled lapel. âThen why are you so out of breath, running down the halls like a maniac?â
âBecause the faster I reached you, the sooner Iâd get my reward.â He grinned, tilting his head closer to yours. âNow, treasure, letâs not delay-â
âBarty!â You cut him off with a laugh, stepping back to put some space between you. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet, here you are, utterly smitten,â He said cheekily, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest ache. He reached out, brushing an errant strand of hair from your face, and you felt your heart skip again.
Before you could respond, a voice broke through the moment, sharp and incredulous. âYou two are going to make me lose my mind.â
You both turned to see James standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a look of pure exasperation on his face. Sirius was behind him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Remus stood a little further back, his book tucked under one arm, an amused glint in his eye.
âHonestly, mate,â James continued, throwing his hands up. âMust you be this dramatic? Sheâs my sister, not the bloody queen.â
âAnd yet,â Barty said smoothly, not missing a beat as he turned to James with a smirk, âshe deserves nothing less than a royal treatment.â
James groaned, dragging his hands down his face as Sirius burst out laughing, clapping him on the back. âHeâs got a point, Prongs.â
You shook your head, trying to suppress your own laughter, but Barty caught your chin with gentle fingers, turning your gaze back to him. âPay no mind to the peanut gallery,â He said softly, his tone dropping to something more intimate. âIâm only interested in you, treasure.â
Your heart swelled, and for a moment, you forgot all about Jamesâs groaning, Siriusâs laughter, and the knowing look Remus was undoubtedly giving. All you could see was Barty- your boy, maddeningly confident yet infinitely tender, his green eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only person in the world.
And as maddening as it was, he certainly did deserve that kiss.
~~~
The firelight flickered warmly in the Potter living room as the group gathered for the holidays. Snow had blanketed the grounds outside, creating a cozy atmosphere inside the bustling house. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. James sat nearby, watching with a sharp eye as Barty leaned down to adjust the blanket around your legs, making sure you were tucked in properly.
The sight grated on James- he was used to being the one to look after you, his little sister, not this Crouch boy who had somehow wormed his way into your life. But then Barty turned, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside you, and James found himself watching the interaction more closely than heâd care to admit.
âYou didnât have to go out into the cold to fetch the marshmallows, you know,â You said softly, your voice filled with affection as you sipped your drink.
âOf course I did,â Barty replied, grinning up at you. âYour hot chocolate isnât complete without them. Itâs a crime to deprive you of anything less than perfection.â
James rolled his eyes, but Lily elbowed him gently, a knowing smile playing on her lips. âWatch,â She whispered.
As if on cue, you reached for the plate of marshmallows to pop one into your drink, but Bartyâs hand shot out to stop you. âAh, ah, allow me,â He said with a dramatic flair, picking out the largest marshmallow with precision. He placed it delicately into your mug before handing it back with a flourish. âPerfectly placed, as all marshmallows should be.â
You laughed, a bright sound that made James pause. He couldnât deny that it was genuine, the kind of laugh he hadnât heard from you in a long time. And the way Barty looked at you in response- like your happiness was the only thing that mattered- made Jamesâs chest tighten in a way he wasnât prepared for.
As the night went on, James watched the two of you more closely. It wasnât just the over-the-top gestures or the playful banter; it was the way Barty noticed the smallest things about you. How he shifted your mug away when he noticed you leaning too far forward, how he reached for the book youâd left on the side table before you even asked for it, how he listened intently to every word you said, his focus unwavering.
Merlin even their parents loved him.
Later, when the others had dispersed to different parts of the house, James found himself in the kitchen with Barty. The younger boy was rinsing out a mug, his usual bravado toned down in the quiet moment.
âYou really care about her, donât you?â James asked suddenly, his voice steady but curious.
Barty looked up, surprised by the question. But then his expression softened, and he nodded. âMore than anything,â He said simply, his tone devoid of his usual dramatics. âSheâs everything to me, Potter.â
James leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he studied Barty carefully. âYou know, if you hurt her, Iâll-â
âSpend every waking moment trying to kill me?â Barty interrupted with a small, knowing smile. âI know. But you wonât have to. Because Iâd rather tear myself apart than see her hurt.â
James blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in Bartyâs voice. For the first time, he saw past the theatrics and charm, and what he found there surprised him. There was a genuine devotion, a steadfastness that even James couldnât deny.
âYouâre good to her,â James said finally, his voice quieter. âBetter than I thought youâd be.â
Barty smirked, but there was no arrogance in it this time- only a quiet confidence. âShe deserves nothing less.â
James nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. For the first time, he found himself believing that maybe- just maybe- Barty Crouch wasnât the worst person his sister could have chosen. In fact, as he watched Barty quietly return the mug to the cupboard, James couldnât help but think that she might have chosen someone who truly knew how to love her the way she deserved.
~~~
The tension between you and Barty had been simmering all day, ever since that small disagreement in the courtyard earlier. It wasnât anything monumental- just one of his reckless decisions clashing with your cautious nature- but it had left you feeling irritated and, perhaps, a little hurt.
Now, as you sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, picking at your dinner, the weight of the silence between you lingered in the back of your mind. Barty hadnât come to sit with you, choosing instead to stay at the Ravenclaw table. Every so often, you caught him sneaking a glance your way, but neither of you made a move to close the distance.
âYouâre brooding,â Lily said gently, nudging your arm with her elbow.
âIâm not brooding,â You replied, though your tone lacked conviction.
âSheâs brooding,â Sirius confirmed from across the table, earning a glare from you. âYouâve got that âheâs an idiot, but I still love himâ look all over your face. I'm very familiar."
You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, Remus leaned in, his voice calm and measured. âYou know, heâs been sulking at the Ravenclaw table since lunch. Practically hasnât touched his food.â
âI donât care,â You muttered, stabbing at your mashed potatoes.
âSure, you donât,â James said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he leaned back in his seat. âThatâs why youâve been glancing at him every five minutes.â
âI have not,â You snapped, though your cheeks flushed in betrayal.
James smirked, folding his arms across his chest. âLook, Iâll admit it- heâs an absolute pain sometimes. But heâs your pain, and frankly, Iâve put a lot of effort into liking this one. Donât break his heart.â
The entire table froze. Lilyâs fork clattered against her plate, and Sirius let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth like heâd just heard the most scandalous news of the year.
âDid⊠did you just admit you like him?â Remus asked, his tone full of disbelief.
James shifted uncomfortably under the weight of everyoneâs stares. âI didnât say I like him,â He grumbled, though the tips of his ears burned red. âI just said Iâve put in the time.â
âThatâs the same thing, mate,â Sirius said with a grin. âAnd weâre never letting you live this down.â
Lily laughed, nudging James playfully. âI think itâs sweet. It only took him months of watching them make heart eyes at each other to admit it.â
âShut it, Evans,â James muttered, though his scowl softened as his gaze flicked to you. âSeriously, though. Heâs mad about you. Donât let this stupid fight ruin something good.â
You blinked at your brother, caught somewhere between gratitude and shock. âYou really think that?â
James sighed, his expression softening. âYeah. I do. Just⊠go talk to him, alright? Put me out of my misery.â
You couldnât help the small laugh that escaped you as you stood, smoothing out your robes. âFine. But if heâs still being a prat, Iâm blaming you.â
âFair,â James said, though he shot you a rare, encouraging smile.
As you crossed the Great Hall, you could feel the weight of everyoneâs eyes on you, the murmurs from the Gryffindor table blending with the soft hum of conversation around the room. When you reached the Ravenclaw table, Barty looked up, his green eyes widening in surprise as you stopped beside him.
âTreasure,â He started, his voice tentative, but you held up a hand to stop him.
âWe need to talk,â You said firmly, though the corner of your lips twitched upward.
Barty stood immediately, his end of the bench scraping against the stone floor. âAnything. Anywhere.â
You nodded toward the doors, and he followed without hesitation, leaving behind his untouched dinner and a flurry of whispers in his wake.
Back at the Gryffindor table, James let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. âFinally.â
âI canât believe it,â Sirius said, shaking his head in mock astonishment. âProngs has feelings. Actual, human feelings.â
âDonât push it, Padfoot,â James muttered, though the faint smile on his face betrayed him.
Lily rested her chin on her hand, watching as you and Barty disappeared through the doors. âI think itâs sweet. He finally gets it.â
âBetter late than never,â Remus added with a small smile. âThough Iâm sure heâll deny it by morning.â
Sirius, smirked devilishly and Lilyâs smile twitched just a bit.
âIt's almost like we didn't catch them snogging a few days ago.â He sang and James's face turned pale and his eyes widened.
James shot up from his seat so quickly that his table toppled backward, the loud clatter echoing through the Great Hall. âWHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?â
Sirius threw his head back in laughter, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice, while Lily covered her mouth with her hand, clearly enjoying the chaos.
âI said,â Sirius repeated slowly, his grin widening, âitâs almost like we didnât catch them snogging a few days ago. Almost.â
âYou- you WHAT?â James sputtered, looking between Sirius and Lily with a mixture of horror and betrayal. âAnd you didnât tell me? Evans! Youâre supposed to be on my side!â
âI am on your side,â Lily said, struggling to keep her composure as she shrugged innocently. âI just didnât think it was a big deal. Theyâre dating, James. What did you expect?â
âWhat did I- what did I- NOT THAT!â James shouted, flailing his arms toward the doors where you and Barty had disappeared. âI didnât expect him to be sticking his tongue down her throat in public!â
âIt wasnât public,â Sirius said with a mockingly thoughtful expression. âIt was a little alcove near the library, actually. Quite private. Youâd be proud of them, Prongs- very stealthy, very romantic. A solid 9 out of 10.â
James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Remus finally chimed in, his tone calm but amused. âJames, theyâre in a relationship. This isnât exactly shocking.â
âIt is to me!â James snapped, glaring at Remus as if heâd just committed treason. âAnd you lot just sat on this information like it was nothing?â
âMate, youâve been watching them practically live in each otherâs pockets for months now,â Sirius said, still grinning. âI figured youâd have put it together by now.â
Lily patted Jamesâs arm consolingly, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. âI think youâre just mad because youâre starting to like Barty, and this makes it harder for you to yell at him.â
James opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He closed his mouth, glaring at the table as his face turned an impressive shade of red.
âAdmit it, Prongs,â Sirius said, leaning forward with a gleeful grin. âYou like him. Heâs grown on you.â
âI donât like him,â James muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. âI tolerate him. For her.â
âYou tolerate him enough to tell her not to break his heart,â Remus pointed out, his lips twitching.
James groaned again, collapsing back into his seat with the air of a man defeated. âFine. I donât hate him. Happy now?â
âEcstatic,â Sirius said with a wink. âThough Iâd be happier if you didnât look like you were about to throw a fit every time you saw them hold hands.â
Lily leaned in closer, her voice soft but teasing. âHe loves her, James. And she loves him. Thatâs not something you need to fight.â
James sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. âYeah, well⊠if he hurts her, itâs still open season.â
âFair enough,â Sirius said with a laugh. âBut youâll have to get in line behind her. Sheâs got a mean right hook.â
The table erupted into laughter, and even James couldnât help but crack a small smile. Somewhere beyond the Great Hall doors, you and Barty were likely making amends, and for the first time, James felt a reluctant sort of peace about it.
He still didnât like Barty- he probably never would- but he could admit, quietly and only to himself, that the boy made you happy. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastianâs life was finally okay â passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace â when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.
or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isnât dating you. Sebastian spirals.
Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back
An Ashwinderâs wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was ⊠alright.
Life wasnât perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.
But he was okay.
Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.
Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.
And he did such a good job at it.
The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imeldaâs team as her beater to keep him occupied.
The latter, however, had a grating consequence â he had become popular.
It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenagerâs dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.
But now heâs just gotten tired and bored of it all.
Ominis says itâs a geniusâ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesnât quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says heâs just a bastard.
He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he canât be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.
Garreth doesnât bother to swallow his bread before saying, âReally, mate? I thought you liked this one?â
âLiked her rack, more likely,â Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.
Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.
âNo talking about my ex-girlfriends,â he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.
âAll right, all right,â Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastianâs scarf back to him. âBut as your friend, I think itâs about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.â
âI donât swap them out,â he rolls his eyes. âBreakups are normal.â
âBreakups are normal,â Garreth points out. âSix breakups in 2 years is an issue.â
âMaybe Iâm just meant for the bachelor life,â he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. âNot everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.â
Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.
âTo the Three Broomsticks, then?â Andrew stood up, patting his pants.
As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.
In a yearâs time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.
âLeander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since itâs a Friday, itâs gonna be packed full,â Andrew explains.
Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. âYou go on ahead Iâm waiting for ââ
âSebastian!â
A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.
âSorry, Iâm late,â you pant, smiling at your friends once youâre back on the ground. âProfessor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.â
âI canât believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,â Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anneâs curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.
âItâs exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,â you dramatically curtsied. âAnd they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.â
That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesnât look offended, more ⊠focused on Sebastian.
âAlright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,â Andrew quips.
âWiped your asses there too, Larson,â he quipped, Andrewâs jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.
Andrew groans. âSlytherins are assholes.â
Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.
Well, at least one of them is.
He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last âimprovedâ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave â not that he wouldâve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.
The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.
âI was thinking ââ
âPlease donât,â he groans.
âWhy have you two never dated?â
Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.
âYouâre drunk,â he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.
âBecause! When I think about it âŠâ
Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.
âYouâve been inseparable from the start! I canât believe itâs escaped my notice youâve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but youâve never been bored and annoyed with her and youâve been friends for years!â
Bored with you? Heâs had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each otherâs throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldnât turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.
âPlus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, sheâs a fucking catch, mate!â
If Garreth wasnât carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian wouldâve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.
âIâm just saying,â Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall. âMaybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.â
Garreth winks.
âWeâre still accepting members.â
Heâs decided.
He needs to kill Garreth.
He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and itâs all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.
âWhy have you two never dated?â
Sebastianâs pencil cracks in his hand.
âIs he alright?â he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasleyâs hair.
âHeâs been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call ââ
He stands up, escaping.
Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadnât been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.
It wasnât until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:
âWhereâs the rest of you?â
He blinked at his captain, âIâm sorry?â
She shook her head. âMan, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? Youâre usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.â
Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) â itâs been a side effect of avoiding you.
Okay, itâs not that heâs avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that canât do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, youâre going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.
Thatâs why heâs taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.
âI canât believe itâs escaped my notice youâve never dated!â
He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, âThe fucking bastard.â
Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.
Because Sebastian is a lot of things but heâs not a fucking moron.
Itâs not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.
But Garreth was right: heâd never thought about it before â hadnât thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.
He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. Heâs not exactly rich with true companionship and heâs not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush.Â
And not just any crush â his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could â ones who could offer her the world.
So, yeah â forgive him, but heâs never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.
Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe ⊠yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.
The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone?Â
Itâs impossible, heâs decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. Heâs an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.
It wouldnât matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when theyâre courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face.Â
But he cares â you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.
His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.
She canât be that reckless, right?
He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where itâs gonna lead to.
There goes his late-night plan.
It isnât exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why youâre so fond of the place is something heâll never understand.
But thatâs just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.
How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when youâre studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.
With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.
His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.
Gods, you are a beauty. Heâs always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.
âSebastian,â you smile, his heart stops. âI knew youâd find me.â
You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.
âYou left your scent on purpose,â he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty â mischievous, cunning, irresistible. Heâs never loved anyone more. âNaughty, naughty, darling.â
She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldnât be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise âI had to get you somehow, knew you couldnât resist a damsel in distress.â
âFunny,â he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. âWith all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.â
You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. âCome, Sebastian. Iâve been bored all week since youâve been avoiding me.â
Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasnât escaped your notice as he had hoped.
Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.
He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.
He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. âYou called?â
âYouâre so fucking full of yourself,â you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.
He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.
âYou done running now, pet?â he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.
Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest â in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.
Skinship wasnât foreign between the two of you. When youâve saved each otherâs lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.
But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.
âAre you?â you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you â finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.
He smiles.
He was satisfied, he swore he was.
Sebastianâs life was finally okay â passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldnât strive for more, couldnât allow himself that luxury â the luxury of love, the luxury of you.
But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips â that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.
He feels it win.
âAre you done running now?â you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.
âI wasnât running,â she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. âI was thinking.â
âAnd?â
Leander was right: he really is a bastard.
But heâs a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.
âI think,â he whispers, at peace. âI think Iâm gonna marry you someday.â
content warnings: conversations about kidnapping (usual CM talks)
âË ê€àż đ” àŒâ ĘË
Fighting the bad guys had always been second nature to Spencer Reid. He arrived at work each morning with a quiet, steady determination, armed with enough fun facts to exhaust his team before their first cup of coffee. For years, his heroism had been like clockwork, instinctive and effortless. He was the lanky, six-foot-one genius who would stand in the line of fire without a second thought.
Then came his wife. Suddenly, the routine stuttered. A flicker of fear began to shadow his face whenever a case involved a woman in danger. He couldnât stop the thoughts; he saw her face in every victim, her laugh in every cold file. He started to care about his own survival, too, haunted by the image of her receiving a folded flag and a hollow apology from the Bureau.
Then came his daughter. When he first held Olivia, Spencer didnât just cry; he broke. He sobbed loudly, unashamedly, cradling the tiny, fragile miracle that now held a permanent piece of his heart. Olivia changed his life in ways even he thought were impossible. Now, cases involving children didn't just make him sad or angry; they made him vibrate with a terrifying, protective anxiety.
Then came this case. The briefing room felt smaller today. Lily Evans, a three-year-old, had been snatched from her daycare in broad daylight. The abductor, Arthur Vance, was a disgruntled former janitor with a history of delusions. When Spencer walked into the local station, he froze. He saw Lilyâs mother, a sobbing wreck of a woman, and her father, who looked like a shell of a man whose soul had resigned from his body. Spencer thought of his family almost immediately, his throat tightening. The bullpen at the local precinct was a chaotic hum of ringing phones and frantic officers, but the BAU stood in a tight, silent circle around a map of the Manassas farm country. "We have a confirmed sighting," JJ said, her voice tight as she pinned a photo of Arthur Vance to the board. "An old farmhouse at the end of a dead-end ridge. Itâs isolated, heavily wooded, and the structure is unstable."
"Vance is spiraling," Hotch added, his eyes scanning the blueprints of the house. "Heâs paranoid and armed. If he feels cornered, heâll see the girl as his only leverage, or his final exit. We need a precision entry. One person to breach and distract, the rest of us for cover and containment." Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the layout. "The front porch is a deathtrap, rotting wood, itâll creak the second you step on it. We need someone light on their feet, someone who can get close enough to talk him down or take the shot before he panics."
"I'll go," Spencer said. The team went silent. It wasn't the request itself; Spencer was a capable agent, but it was the tone. It wasn't the hesitant, calculated voice of the teamâs resident genius; it was low, cold, and utterly immovable. "Reid," Rossi said gently, tilting his head. "This guy is a hair-trigger. Usually, youâre the one quoting the statistics on why the secondary breach is safer." Spencer didn't look up from the photo of three-year-old Lily. "Heâs holding a child in a high chair in the center of the kitchen. Thereâs a window with a direct line of sight from the tall grass on the east side. I can move through that bush without a sound, and my grouping on the range has been perfect for six months." He finally looked up, and the intensity in his hazel eyes made even Morgan blink.
"Iâm not letting her spend another minute in that house," Spencer said. "I'm going in first."
Hotch studied him for a long beat. He saw the way Spencerâs hand hovered near his holster, not with nerves, but with a grim readiness. He recognized the look. It wasn't just an agent looking for a suspect; it was a father coming to claim a child. "Alright," Hotch decided, his voice gravelly. "Reid takes point. Morgan, youâre on the back exit. JJ, Rossi, youâre with me on the perimeter. We move the second Reid gives the signal."
When they arrived, the farmhouse looked like a skeletal ghost against the gray sky. Spencer checked his sidearm, the cold metal feeling like an extension of his own hand. "Reid," Morgan whispered into the comms as they crouched in the high weeds. "You okay, kid?"
Spencer didn't answer immediately. He didn't even breathe heavily. He just watched the back door, his mind's eye seeing Olivia's face, hearing her laugh, and feeling the sheer, unadulterated rage that anyone would dare hurt a child. "I'm in," Spencer whispered.
He moved like a wraith through the tall grass, his lanky frame disappearing into the shadows of the porch. When the small, jagged cry of the girl broke through the silence, Spencer didn't flinch. He didn't wait. He signaled Hotch with a sharp hand motion and stepped into the darkness. Inside, the floorboards didn't even groan under his boots. He was a man possessed by a single purpose. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Vance spun around, his face a mask of sweat and madness, leveling his gun. "Don't move!" Vance screamed. "You're in my way," Spencer said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Before Vance could even process the lack of fear in the agent's eyes, Spencerâs weapon was up. One shot. The bullet found its mark in Vanceâs shoulder with surgical precision. The threat was neutralized before the rest of the team even crossed the threshold. Spencer didn't even look at the fallen man. He dropped his own weapon as the team swarmed in to secure Vance. He ran to the wooden high chair in the corner where Lily was tied. The child looked deathly frail, whimpering because she was too tired to cry. "Iâve got you," he whispered, his voice cracking as he fumbled with the rough hemp ropes. "Oh, darling, Iâve got you."
He gathered the toddler into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. He refused to let anyone else carry her. He rode in the back of the ambulance, his long fingers gently rubbing the red, angry rope burns on her small wrists, trying to soothe away the memory of the pain.
At the hospital, the doors swung open. When Lilyâs parents saw her, the sound that left them was something primal, a mix of agony and pure, radiant joy. They collapsed into a huddle on the floor, pulling their daughter into the safety of their arms. "Thank you," the father choked out, looking up at Spencer. The man looked lighter, as if the blood was finally flowing back into his heart. Spencer didn't need a long speech or a fun fact about the history of medicine. He simply nodded, a silent understanding passing between two fathers. He patted the manâs shoulder and walked away into the cool night air.
Now all he wanted to do was go home. To the people he truly fights for.
The drive home had been a blur of streetlights and silence. Spencerâs hands, usually steady enough to perform magic tricks or aim a service weapon with surgical precision, had gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles remained white long after heâd parked in the driveway.
As soon as the front door clicked shut, the heavy, suffocating tension of the case began to peel away. The house smelled of lavender laundry detergent and something savory simmering on the stove, the scent of a life he had fought so hard to protect today. Before he could even set his messenger bag down, he heard the rhythmic, familiar cadence of footsteps.
"Honey, is that you?" She appeared from the hallway, wearing an apron over her clothes, her hair pulled up in a messy, practical knot. She didnât even have to see his face; she felt the vibration of his exhaustion from across the room. Spencer didnât speak. He couldnât. He simply stepped forward and crashed into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her in so tightly it was as if he were trying to merge their heartbeats.
"Oh, Spence... my love," she whispered, her voice a soft anchor in his storm. She held him back just as fiercely, her hands rubbing steady, soothing circles into the small of his back. She didnât ask; she didn't have to. She just knew that in this moment, the man she loved needed to be silent, and the hero needed to be held. They stood in the foyer for a long time, a quiet island in the middle of the world, but then, the soft thump-thump-thump of tiny, barefoot steps echoed from the living room.
"Dada?"
Spencer let out a long, shaky sigh. He pulled away from the hug, a sanctuary he knew heâd return to later tonight, to face the little girl who made his heart both terrifyingly fragile and impossibly fierce. "Hi, Vi," he croaked, his voice thick with unshed tears. He reached down and scooped the toddler into his arms. Olivia was a solid, warm weight against his chest, smelling of baby shampoo and crayon wax. He carried her into the living room, sinking onto the sofa as if his legs had finally given out. His wife followed, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek and another to the top of his head before retreating toward the kitchen.
"I'll finish up dinner," she said softly, giving his hand one last squeeze. "Take your time, Spence." Spencer watched her go, feeling a wave of sheer, humbled luck wash over him. He had spent his life studying the worst of humanity, but somehow, he had been allowed to come home to the very best of it. He looked down at Olivia. She was clutching a plush squirrel dressed in a tiny, hand-sewn FBI tactical vest, a gift his wife had made to help the scary parts of his job feel approachable. They called it Squirrel Reid, the brave guardian who watched over the house whenever Daddy was away on a case.
"Why are you sad, Dada?" Olivia asked. Her brow furrowed with a seriousness that mirrored his own, her small, sticky hands reaching up to pat his cheeks. Spencer felt a sharp ache in his chest. He knew she was too young to understand the complexities of the world, but the honesty felt necessary. "The bad man I had to find today... he took a little girl away from her home," Spencer whispered, his eyes searching his daughterâs face. "And I got scared, Vi. I got so scared because I started thinking... what if someone tried to take you away from me?" Olivia didn't blink. She looked at the brave squirrel in her lap and then back at her father with a look of pure defiance, one he recognized as his own but on a face so angelic.
"They won't take me, Dada," she said firmly. "If a bad man tries, Iâll step on his shoes! Really hard!" A startled laugh broke through Spencerâs throat. He pulled her closer, the tears finally threatening to spill over. "Oh, wait!" Olivia scrambled off his lap, her little feet padding quickly out of the room. She returned a moment later, breathless, her fist clenched tight. "Open your hands."
Spencer obeyed, holding out his trembling palms. She dropped a single, strawberry-flavored lollipop into his hand. "When I get sad, Mama gives me this," she explained solemnly, her eyes wide and bright. "She says it takes the bad feelings away and hides them in the sugar."
That was it. The last of Spencerâs professional armor shattered. The tears finally fell, hot and fast, as he pulled Olivia into a crushing embrace. "Thank you, baby," he choked out, his voice muffled by her hair. "Thank you so much."
Olivia giggled, squirming happily in his grip. "Tight hug, Dada! Too tight!" From the doorway of the kitchen, she leaned against the frame, a wooden spoon forgotten in her hand. She watched her husband, the man who saw the darkest corners of the human mind every day, find his light again in the arms of a three-year-old with a lollipop.
Tonight, the world was safer, and their family was whole.
Word Count: ~1,500
Tags:
Sebastian Sallow x f!MC, fluff, pining, just confess already, No Y/N, Unspoken Feelings.
The Slytherin common room carried its own kind of silence, deep and echoingâthick with the damp stillness of the lake pressed just beyond the glass. In the daylight, it was dim. Now, it was nearly soundless.
Theyâd started studying that afternoon, just after lunch, the three of them: Sebastian, Ominis, and her. Charms exam tomorrow. Final theory paper. No mercy from Professor Ronen this time.
Ominis was the first to cave. He dropped his illuminated wand, rubbed at his temples, and sighed.
âIf I spend any more time staring at these runes, Iâll be even more blind than I already am.â
Sebastian smirked, propping his chin on one hand. âWell, youâre not exactly winning any awards for eyesight anyway.â
âWatch it, Sallow.â
Sebastian merely lifted a brow in reply, and Ominis gave a quiet huff before collecting his notes. âIâd better get out of here before I lose what little vision I have left.â
He left with a small nod.
The young wizard turned his attention to the witch beside him. She didnât even glance up, her quill moving steadily as if they hadnât spoken at all.
Sebastian stayed.
He didnât really need to. If anyone in their year could pass a Charms exam with their eyes closed and hands tied, it was him. He couldâve returned to his dorm, or gone out for a walk, or pretended to rest like everyone else. But instead, he stayed.
Not because he was particularly interested in reviewing wand movements or breaking down theoretical applications of advanced levitation charms. No. He stayed not because she asked, but because she didnât.
She hadnât said a word â just kept working, brow furrowed in soft focus, occasionally chewing at the corner of her quill or scratching out a line of notes with irritated precision. Every so often, sheâd whisper a spell under her breath and test a movement, her motions fluid, earnest, tired.
He had pretended to read for a while â kept an open book on his lap, one elbow propped on the table. But most of his attention had drifted.
To her.
To the quiet curve of her back as she leaned into her work, the small sighs she let out when she got something wrong, the occasional muttered, âBlast it,â under her breath.
Even her frustrations had a rhythm to them now, one he recognized. There was something maddeningly compelling about how she moved through the worldâchaos stitched into grace, exhaustion softened by sheer force of will.
And then, sometime later, she stopped moving.
He glanced overâquill still in hand, head pillowed on her arms, hair falling messily over the parchment.
Asleep.
Just like that. Mid-word. As if her body had made the decision for her.
Sebastian didnât move for a long while. Just watched her breathe.
In that moment, he thought about everything. Everything she carried.
Only yesterday, sheâd been running errands between classesâlists clutched in her hand, dashing from one corridor to the next, hunted down by classmates needing ingredients or help with rogue creatures. Heâd heard the rumoursâhow sheâd helped a villagerâs son escape a poacher camp, how sheâd fought off a young dragon near the coast with little more than nerve and a charm.
She never talked about it, not really. Just shrugged, said it had to be done, and returned to class like nothing had happened.
Yet here she was, after all that, expected to sit through three hours of History of Magic and somehow still summon the energy to memorize wand theory before morning.
How did she do it?
Sebastian reached outâgently brushed back a loose strand of hair that had fallen over her brow. She didnât stir. Her breath was slow, steady. Her fingers still curled around her quill.
His heart twisted with something he didnât dare name.
A door burst open, the sound echoing through the stone room like a firecracker.
Two younger students clattered into the common room, mid-argument and louder than necessary. One had a half-torn Astronomy chart waving like a flag. The other was trying to wrestle it back.
Sebastianâs spine straightened in an instant. He pressed his hand lightly against the small of her backâjust enough to soothe, to keep her from stirringâand shot them a death glare as a silencing gesture.
They froze mid-step.
The two hurriedly mumbled apologies and shuffled quickly inside their dorm, this time with the door clicking quietly shut behind them.
He exhaled. His hand lingered at her back for a second longer.
It was funny. There was nothing grand in this â no spells, no battles, no world-shifting decisions. Just him. Just her. Quiet, ordinary stillness in a world that demanded everything.
He let it stretch. Let the moment grow and bloom like some soft, impossible thing he didnât dare touch.
If, in the midst of all that is unrelenting, remains a flicker of peace, a normalcy â then let it be his to give.
She stirred.
A soft exhale. A shift of her arm. Her head lifted slowly, bleary-eyed, disoriented. Quill still in hand.
She blinked. Eyes widen, then frowned at the windowless dark around her.
Sebastian closed his book, voice light, teasing. âGood morning.â
Her eyes widened while she pushed herself upright. âWhat time is it? âdid I actually fall asleep?â
âYou did,â he said, leaning back in his chair. âHonestly, Iâm impressed. Mid-sentence. Very committed.â
She groaned, rubbing her face with one hand. âThatâs mortifying.â
âI found it endearing.â
That made her pause. Endearing
âHow long was Iâ?â
âLong enough for Ominis to abandon ship, a horde of third-years to nearly invade, and me to read the same sentence about Wingardium Leviosa seventeen times.â
âYou shouldâve left.â
He tilted his head. âAnd miss the chance to watch you snore into your Charms notes?â
âI do not snore.â
âYou make tiny huffing noises. Very dignified.â
She swatted his arm with a scowl, though it lacked real heat. âI canât believe I fell asleep.â
âYouâve had worse places for naps,â he said dryly. âRemember the Transfiguration courtyard? You nearly froze.â
âThat was strategic,â she said, straightening her notes. âSunlight. Warmth. A perfectly planned study break.â
Sebastian hummed. âAnd now youâre branching into the soothing acoustics of the Black Lake. Very refined.â
She squinted at the pile of parchment in front of her, then paused.
Her ink bottle was upright. Her papers were neatly stacked.
She turned to him, eyebrows lifting. âYou stayed and organised my notes?â
He blinked, all innocence. âI think youâll find they organised themselves. Enchanted parchment is very progressive these days.â
She didnât say anything at first. Just traced a line with her finger, eyes softening.
âThank you,â she said quietly, the word catching her off guard; an almost-smile on her face.
Sebastian arched a brow. âThatâs not something you say often.â
She shrugged, cheeks colouring. âMaybe I should say it more.â
He smirked. âDonât make it a habit. Youâre supposed to be a pain in the neck.â
âSomeone has to keep you entertained,â she shot back, a teasing spark in her eyes.
âRight, my daily theatrics,â he said, folding his arms. âThough I suspect youâre just tired.â
She sighed, not bothering to deny it. âYou noticed.â
âWouldnât have stayed otherwise,â he replied softly, watching her with an unreadable expression.
She looked up, caught in his gaze, and tried to mask the sudden flutter in her chest with a smirk. âWell, donât expect me to admit defeat.â
âNever do,â he said. âItâs part of your charm.â
There was a beat of quiet. She looked at him then, properly, as though seeing him differently now in this stillness.
He held her gaze. Said nothing.
Finally, she stood and began gathering her things. He helped.
As they reached the base of the girlsâ dorm staircases, she hesitated.
âGood night,â she murmured. âAnd⊠thank you.â
Sebastian leaned against the banister, arms crossed. âTry not to dream about levitation theory," he said cheekily.
She rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. âI only dream about dragons and sarcasm, you know that.â
âI must feature often.â
Her smile lingered. âGood night, Sebastian.â
Her notes pressed against her chest as she drifted down the quiet corridor. Stone walls breathed back the lanternlight, long shadows bending where tapestries stirred. Footsteps echoed faintly from some distant staircase, but hereâhere it was still.
She flipped her notes open again.
Tiny arrows. Detailed annotations that werenât hers. New scribbles in a handwriting she vividly recognised.
Her cheeks warmed.
And her thoughts circled back, stubborn as ever, to him: some careless turn of phrase, the flicker of a look he hadnât meant, the weight of a smile that lingered long after it should have gone. Perhaps he had slipped into her dreams already, and she hadnât noticed.
Ridiculous. Foolish. Entirely unlike her.
Yet her arms curled tighter round the parchment, as if ink and paper might steady her â might hold her nearer to him when she could not.
And maybe she had lost it.
But if quiet hours meant thisâmeant himâthen maybe it was worth being a little lost.
A/N:
Finally had the time to finish this one. It all began with a conversation about love languages â and somehow that spiraled into this fic. (Headcanon: Sebastianâs love language is 100% acts-of-service.)
Lately Iâve been rewatching Zeffirelliâs Romeo and Juliet (1968) â and digging through their old press interviews â and I canât stop thinking about young Olivia Hussey. The cheek, the charm, the softness. Thatâs how I ended up faceclaiming my MC as her. lol
Anyway, thatâs enough rambling. Hope you enjoy the quiet.
Let me know what you think!
âNina
i read "when did you get so hot?" and i think about them two some time later, soo can i ask you for request? maybe theyâre in a relationship. spencer being the responsible guy, do the dishes, assemble a chair from IKEA *wink wink*. anyway, love your work!!
tears run down (on my thighs) - s. reid
criminal minds masterlist || part 1 - when did you get hot?
Summary: spencer reid would not use sex to convince you to come back to the fbi... or would he?    Â
Pairing:Â laterseasons!spencer reid x fem!reader
Word Count: 2.9kÂ
Warnings: flirty reid, like itâs probaby incorrect characterisation but i honestly do not care, also gossip sesh with the girlies, penelope and jj having absolute time of their lives watching the reader suffer, of course talk about sex (obvi), manipulation, sex as a manipulation tactic
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.Â
âI need to talk to you,â you announce, walking into the room uninvitedâand frankly not caring about the lack of decorum on your part. Not that Penelope would mind, of course, she has done the same to you multiple times over the past however many years of your friendship, after all. Â
âI need to talk to you,â you announce, walking into the room uninvitedâand frankly not caring about the lack of decorum on your part. Not that Penelope would mind, of course, she has done the same to you multiple times over the past however many years of your friendship, after all. Â
Penelope turns to you on her swivel chair, her eyebrows rising with surprise, âHello to you... too?âÂ
You blow out a breath, hands on your hips. âSorry. Hi. Hello. Greetings. Iâm great. How are you?âÂ
Penelope narrows her eyes at you like sheâs running a full psychological evaluation, and then, much to your dismay, a wicked smile widens on her face. âYouâre flustered.âÂ
âI am fine.âÂ
âYouâre lying.â That one is accusatory, not that sheâs wrong, but also not something you expect.Â
You groan. âPenelope, I need to talk to you.âÂ
âOh, okay,â she chirps, rolling her chair closer like sheâs about to conduct a deposition. âIs this about the thing? Or like⊠the thing?âÂ
âPenelope,â you warn.Â
She gasps dramatically. âItâs the thing.âÂ
Before you can respond, another voice cuts in from the doorway. âWhoâs talking about a thing?â JJ walks in holding two files, looking far too perceptive for your liking.Â
âOh perfect,â Penelope beams. âYouâre just in time, weâre having a crisis.âÂ
âWe are not having a crisis,â you snap. âNo crisis. Zero crisis. Negative crisis.âÂ
JJ raises a brow. âRight. Thatâs why you look like youâre going to burst into flames if I say Spen-âÂ
Hands still on your hips, your eyes narrow as you look at the two blonds in front of you. âListen, do you guys want to hear how Spencer Reid is using sex to convince me to come back to the FBI, or not?âÂ
There is a beat of utter silence, then:Â
Penelope slams both hands onto her desk. âYES.âÂ
JJ nearly drops her files. âIâokay, hang onâwhat?âÂ
You pinch the bridge of your nose. âDonât make me say it twice.â Youâre not above begging, and thankfully, it seems you wonât have to. Â
Penelope leans forward, elbows on her desk, and chin in her hands. âOh, youâre absolutely saying it twice.âÂ
JJ sets her files aside and crosses her arms. âStart from the beginning. And donât leave out details,â she mentions you to sit, âhave a seat, girlfriend.âÂ
The BAU has been understaffed for months. Theyâre drowning in cases. Emily asked youâgently, in that soft voice she uses when she knows sheâs asking for a huge favor, though also respectfully, consider coming back. Youâd said youâd think about it. That was three weeks ago. And after three weeks of sexual manipulation delivered in absolute precision of your boyfriend, you donât know whether to curse or thank Emily Prentiss for the best sex of your life.Â
It had started so innocent, or thatâs what you thought. After spending the first couple of months of your relationship in your own bubble, it was easy to forget the world outside of itâQuantico, cases, the constant weight of being needed. Youâd left the BAU for a reason, whether it was because of burnout or grief. Or perhaps a quiet, desperate need to be something other than useful. Â
And Spencer knew that, of course, he did. Â
Thatâs why he never talked about why you left.Â
And ever so foolishly, you thought you had an understanding between the two of you: he keeps the horrors of the office at the office, and you keep your peaceful, civilian life at home. But Spencer Reid doesnât play by the rules when heâs determined, and apparently, heâs determined to have you back in a tactical vest beside himâand he is not afraid to play dirty to get what he wants.Â
âHeâs using psychological conditioning!â you hiss, pacing the small, tech-cluttered space. âItâs subtle. Itâs genius. ItâsâŠÂ itâs exhausting.âÂ
Penelopeâs eyes are practically vibrating with excitement. âExplain. Give me the data points. I need a spreadsheet.âÂ
âTwo nights ago,â you begin, counting off on your fingers. âI was telling him about my new jobâthe one with the reasonable hours and the zero chance of being kidnapped by a serial killer. He didn't say a word. He just started kissing my neck, right behind my ear, and whispered that my brain was clearly suffering from a lack of âenvironmental stimulationâ.âÂ
JJ lets out a suppressed snort, trying to hide her reaction behind a well-timed cough. âHe did not.âÂ
âHe did! And then he told me, while his hands were doing things that should be illegal in at least twelve statesâthat the adrenaline spike of a high-stakes case is the only thing that truly satisfies a mind like mine.â You stop, breathless and red-faced. âI almost agreed to sign my reinstatement papers right there on the headboard.âÂ
âOh sugarplum,â Penelope sighs, âthat wouldâve made our poor Unit Chief Prentiss a very happy lady.â Â
âEmily would probably give him a medal for recruitment,â you groan, finally collapsing into the ergonomic chair Penelope practically shoved under you. âItâs not just the talking, itâs the methodology. Last night, I told him I was looking at weekend getaways, and he started tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb. He looked me dead in the eye and said that while relaxation is a biological necessity, my specific cognitive profile thrives on the 'bonding through shared trauma' that only the team provides.âÂ
JJ leans against her chair, an impressed smirk playing on her lips. âHeâs rewarding the thought of the BAU with dopamine, kind of like Pavlovâs dogs.âÂ
âHeâs rewarding it with a lot more than dopamine, JJ!â you cry out, gesturing wildly at your own flushed face. âI went to his place to stand my ground. I had a whole speech prepared about work-life balance and the beauty of corporate consulting. I didn't even get past the foyer before he started talking about the 'unmatched neurological intimacy' of working a joint profile.âÂ
âAnd?â Penelope prompts, leaning so far forward sheâs nearly nose-to-nose with you. âWhat happened to the speech?âÂ
âThe speech is in the trash. Along with my resolve. And probably my dignity,â you mutter. âHe backed me against the door and whisperedâ literally whispered into my skin that if I came back, we wouldnât have to waste twenty minutes every evening catching each other up on our days because weâd have lived them together. Then he showed me exactly what he meant by 'efficiency'.âÂ
Thereâs a beat of silence in the room. Penelope looks like sheâs just witnessed a miracle, and JJ is shaking her head in disbelief. âI always knew he was a genius,â JJ says softly, âbut I didn't realize he was a diabolical genius.âÂ
âI honestly donât know whether to be happy about all the âfulfillmentâ Iâve experienced, or file a formal grievance with the Bureau for unethical recruitment tactics,â you finish, burying your face in your hands.Â
Penelope lets out a sound that is half-gasp, half-giggle. âI wouldnât file that grievance, honey. Keep that gift horse, and its extremely high IQ, exactly where it is.âÂ
âItâs not a gift!â you protest, though the way your heart flutters says otherwise. âItâs a trap! A beautiful, six-foot-one, sweater-vested trap. Heâs making me associate my career with my⊠my physiological satisfaction.âÂ
âI think you mean your very specific needs,â JJ clarifies with a wink, her eyes dancing with an unholy amusement. âIâm sorry weâre enjoying your suffering,â JJ finishes, clearly not sorry at all, âbut this is objectively fascinating.âÂ
âFascinating?â You repeat weakly through your fingers. âHeâs weaponizing emotional intimacy.âÂ
Penelope tilts her head thoughtfully. âCounterpoint: heâs using his natural gifts in the service of love and workplace retention.âÂ
âThat is not better!â you groan.Â
JJ pushes off the desk and begins pacing slowly, slipping into the same thoughtful cadence she uses when theyâre building a profile. âOkay, letâs look at the facts. Spencer is patient, highly strategic, andââÂ
âDangerously persuasive,â you interrupt.Â
ââand deeply attached to you,â JJ finishes calmly. âSo, from his perspective, getting you back at the BAU solves multiple problems at once.âÂ
âName one,â you challenge.Â
Penelope raises a finger. âOne: he misses working with you.âÂ
Another finger. âTwo: the team misses you.âÂ
JJ adds a third. âThree: youâre extremely good at the job.âÂ
âAnd four,â Penelope says brightly, âhe gets to see you more often and apparently continue his⊠conditioning experiments.âÂ
You stare at her. âYouâre both the worst.âÂ
Before either of them can respond, a familiar voice drifts in from the hallway.Â
âWell, technically it isnât conditioning.â And suddenly, all three of you freezeâbecause the voice doesnât belong to either one of you. Â
Spencer stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a stack of case files tucked under one arm and a deceptively mild expression on his face. He looks every bit the boyish professor in his layered knits and slightly oversized messenger bag, but the way his eyes lock onto yoursâdark, focused, and humming with a terrifyingly sharp intellectâsuggests heâs heard much more of this conversation than youâd like.Â
"Technically," he repeats, stepping into the room with that rhythmic, long-legged stride that usually makes your heart skip for all the right reasons, "itâs a form of positive reinforcement designed to strengthen a specific behavioral response. Conditioning implies a lack of agency, whereas Iâm simply highlighting the natural, symbiotic relationship between your professional fulfillment and your... personal well-being."Â
Penelope lets out a sound that is dangerously close to a squeak, her hands flying to her mouth. JJ just leans back against a server rack, crossing her arms with an "I told you so" smirk that you would love to slap off her face.Â
You point at him slowly, horror creeping up your spine, as you accuse him. âYou were eavesdropping.âÂ
Spencer blinks once, an innocent smile creeping on his face. âI was walking to Garciaâs office.âÂ
âYou stopped.â You narrow your eyes at him.Â
Spencer shrugs, âYes.âÂ
Penelope lowers her hands from her mouth. âFor how long, exactly?âÂ
Spencer thinks about it. Actually, thinks about it. âLong enough to hear the part about the headboard.âÂ
You make a strangled noise. JJ presses her lips together again, her shoulders shaking. And you can practically hear Penelopeâs internal scream. âFantastic,â you mutter, dropping back into the chair. âGreat. Wonderful. Iâm thrilled.âÂ
Spencer doesnât even have the grace to look embarrassed. Instead, he sets the stack of files down on Penelopeâs desk with a deliberate thud, his fingers lingering on the manila folders as he turns his full attention back to you. The fluorescent lights of the technical suite catch the amber in his eyes, making them look warmerâand far more calculating than usual.Â
âThe headboard comment was an interesting data point,â he says, his voice dropping an octave. âThough, if weâre being academically rigorous, I believe your exact words were âsigning reinstatement papersâ on said headboard. Which, from a legal standpoint, would likely be contested due to the... distracting nature of the environment.âÂ
âSpencer!â you hiss, looking at JJ and Penelope, who are both vibrating with the kind of glee usually reserved for closing a serial killer's case file.Â
âI'm just saying,â he continues, stepping closer until heâs effectively boxed you into the ergonomic chair. He leans down, bracing one hand on the armrest and the other on the desk behind you. The scent of old books and his specific, clean soap hits you like a physical weight. âIf the environment is the variable that's working, why fight the science?âÂ
JJ clears her throat, picking up her files and nudging a dazed Penelope. âOkay, I think we've reached the âtoo much informationâ threshold for a Wednesday evening. Penelope, don't you have those encryption keys to rotate?âÂ
âRotating! Yes! Rotating so fast!â Penelope squeaks, grabbing her coffee mug and power-walking out of her own office behind JJ.Â
The door doesn't even fully click shut before Spencerâs gaze intensifies. He doesn't move away. Instead, he reaches out, his long fingers tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, but it sends a familiar, treacherous spark straight to your core. âYou told them I'm weaponizing intimacy,â he murmurs, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear.Â
âAren't you?â you challenge, though your voice lacks the bite it had five minutes ago. âYou're trying to Pavlov me back into a bulletproof vest.âÂ
âIâm reminding you of who you are,â he corrects softly. He shifts, his knee brushing against yours, and the proximity is suddenly overwhelming. âYouâre a profiler. You see patterns where others see chaos. You crave the resolution of a complex puzzle. I'm just ensuring that your physiological rewards are aligned with your intellectual strengths.â He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. âThink about efficiency, like I said. No more debriefing over dinner. We can use that time for... other things.âÂ
You try to find your voice, your âcivilian lifeâ resolve crumbling like wet paper. âThis is unethical. Youâre a doctor. You should know better.âÂ
âActually,â he whispers, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, âas a doctor, Iâm highly concerned with your lack of adrenaline-induced endorphins. Itâs a health intervention.â You think heâs going to give in this time, and actually kiss you. But instead, he continues talking, his lips so close yet so far away, âAnd Iâm not that kind of a doctor, darling.âÂ
The problem with Spencer Reid, one of many, reallyâis that he can say something deeply inappropriate in the same flat, academic tone he uses when discussing statistical anomalies. It makes arguing with him nearly impossible; half your brain is busy being offended, while the other half is trying to process whether youâre being seduced or peer-reviewed.Â
Right now, itâs a deeply unfair combination of both.Â
âYou are unbelievable,â you manage, leaning back just enough to put a few inches of desperately needed oxygen between your faces.Â
Spencer doesn't move. He just studies you with a quiet, clinical curiosity, like heâs observing the heat signature of a particularly volatile chemical reaction. âYou came to Quantico,â he points out mildly.Â
âThatâs notââ You exhale a deep breath, frustrated, âThatâs not the point.âÂ
âYou came to Garciaâs office,â he continues, his voice dropping into that rhythmic, unstoppable cadence of a lecture. âWhich is located in the BAU wing. This suggests that, subconsciously, you still associate this environmentâand by extension, the people in itâwith safety and familiarity.âÂ
You know, deep down, that whatâs heâs telling is true, of course. Because when has Spencer Reid ever been wrong? But if he thinks youâre going to give him the satisfaction of being right, heâs wrong. So, in a bored voice, you contend, âI came here specifically to complain about you, Spencer.âÂ
âStill counts as exposure therapy.âÂ
Your jaw drops. You search his eyes for a flicker of a joke, but theyâre wide and earnest. âDid you just turn my frustration into a clinical case study?âÂ
He tilts his head, a stray lock of hair falling over his brow. âStatistically? It was the most logical way to frame the interaction.âÂ
âIdeally,â you start, âIâd like my boyfriend to stop profiling me.â He tries to argue, but you stop him with a mere raise of your eyebrows. âyou know exactly which buttons to push to get the results you want. Thatâs profiling, Spencer. Youâre profiling me.âÂ
He doesn't deny it. Instead, he tilts his head, his nose grazing yours in a torturously slow movement. âIâm not profiling you," he murmurs, his voice vibrating with a low, steady confidence. âIâm appreciating you. Thereâs a significant difference in the neurobiological intent.âÂ
He lets his hand slide from the back of your chair to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The pressure is just enough to keep you grounded, just enough to make you forget why you ever liked the idea of a quiet office job.Â
âIf I were profiling you," he continues, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he speaks, âIâd mention that your pupils are currently dilated, your heart rate is likely exceeding 110 beats per minute, and youâve stopped mentioning the 'beauty of corporate consulting' entirely.âÂ
âI hate you,â you whisper, though youâre already leaning into him, your hands finding their place on the soft wool of his sweater. You also find you hate the fact that he can reduce you to thisâ a breathless, flustered, and entirely incapable of remembering why you were supposed to be angry in the first place.Â
âThe thin line between love and hate is often just a misinterpretation of high-arousal stimuli,â Spencer retorts, finally closing the gap.Â
The kiss isn't the soft, gentle thing he usually offers in public. Itâs possessive and intelligent, a physical manifestation of his refusal to let you settle for a life that doesn't challenge you, and completely unlike the Spencer Reid you know. It tastes like coffee and victory. When he pulls back, just an inch, his eyes are dark with a playful sort of triumph.Â
âEmily's office is down the corridor, up the stairs,â he reminds you, his thumb smoothing over your lower lip. âSheâs leaving for a meeting in ten minutes. If you sign the paperwork now, Iâll take you to that Italian place with the dimly lit booths. We can discuss your... orientation.âÂ
He steps back, breaking the physical contact and leaving you feeling suddenly, frustratingly cold. He picks up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual grace that makes you want to scream.Â
âIâll be at my desk,â he says, giving you one last, lingering look. âTiming is everything in a case, after all.âÂ
Summary: hotch meets a mysterious woman on a solo night out, and realizes that they both have daddy issues.  Â
Pairing:Â aaron hotchner x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings:Â mentions of daddy issues, age gap, kinda suggestive, allusions to sex and one night standsÂ
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.Â
Hotch couldnât tell you the last time heâd been in a bar all by himselfâhe just couldnât. When Haley was still alive, the operative word being alive, they would have the occasional and very rare date night to go to a bar together, sure. And he did try to participate in the team outings as much as possible as a single father. But the last time he was in a bar, alone? Now that seemed like a lifetime away. Â
But some things never change, he supposes. The whiskey still burns down his throat after each sip, something so comforting in a way he couldnât quite explain. Thereâs still some football match playing on a TV somewhere in the barâas he could hear the announcer and the occasional outburst of cheers or groans from the booths behind him. The lighting is still dim, low enough to make people feel like their mistakes might not follow them home. And the musicâan old Springsteen song bleeding faintly from the speakersâstill manages to make everything feel just a little more cinematic than it really is.Â
He likes that. The illusion of meaning.Â
Aaron Hotchner isn't the kind of man who does things spontaneously. Everything in his lifeâevery choice, every movementâis measured. Precise. But tonight, he finds himself wanting not to think. He doesn't want to calculate or lead or fix. He just wants to be.Â
Thatâs when he notices you.Â
Youâre seated two stools down, legs crossed, fingers lazily circling the rim of your glass. You look like you belong thereâlike the bar is an old friend, not a crutch. Thereâs something magnetic about you: the way your lipstickâs slightly smudged, the way you watch the world with a kind of detached curiosity, like youâve already heard every story and none of them have surprised you in a very long time. Â
You feel his eyes on you before you see him. âCareful,â you say, still looking straight ahead. âStaring too long might make me think youâre interested.âÂ
Hotch smiles behind his glass. âWould that be a problem?âÂ
You finally turn to look at him. Heâs handsomeâsharp suit, tense shoulders, tired eyes that look like theyâve seen too much. You can tell immediately that he didnât come here looking for trouble. Which makes you want to be it more than anything. âDepends,â you say, cocking your head slightly. âAre you the type to make polite conversation, or the type to make confessions?âÂ
He considers your question like itâs a riddle. Like youâre a case file. Then he adds, âDepends on which youâd prefer.âÂ
You smirk. âConfessions, then. Polite conversation is for people who plan on remembering this in the morning.âÂ
His brows liftâjust barely. Enough to give him away. âSo youâre not planning on remembering?âÂ
âOh, Iâll remember,â you say, taking a sip of your drink. âBut Iâm not expecting anything more than the night.âÂ
Thereâs a flicker in his eyes. Interest? Intrigue? Maybe even relief. He shifts in his seat slightly, closer. âAlright then,â he murmurs. âA confession.â You raise a brow, nodding for him to go on. âI havenât done this in a long time,â he says. âI donât even know why I came here.âÂ
You lean in, whispering conspiratorially loud enough for him to hear. âThat wasnât much of a confession.âÂ
He glances at your lips, then your eyes. âFine,â he says. âI came here because I didnât want to go home. And because sometimes, drinking alone in a crowded room feels less lonely than being in your own house.âÂ
That shuts you up for a second. âOkay. Now thatâs a confession.â You nod slowly. Then, think about his answer for a bit, and giggle while adding, âA bit poetic too, are you a poet?â Â
âNo, definitely not.â He laughs softly. You tip your glass in a silent toast, and he mirrors the gesture. âYou?â he asks. âYour turn.âÂ
You shrug, swirling whatâs left of your drink. âI have a habit of liking older men. Usually ones with tragic backstories and sharp jawlines.âÂ
He chucklesâquiet, low in his chest. âThat sounds specific.âÂ
âHuh,â you hum, taking a generous sip from your drink, âis it?â You roll your eyes subtly to the unamused look he attempts to give you. Â
His mouth twitches again, like heâs fighting back a smile. âDo you say that to all the older men in bars?âÂ
You feign offense, hand over your heart. âOnly the ones who look like they havenât smiled in a decade.âÂ
He exhales a curt laugh, and for the first time tonight, it reaches his eyes. âAnd what does that say about me?âÂ
You lean in slightly, resting your elbow on the bar. âIt says youâre overdue.â There's a silence for a brief moment, and your eyes curiously watch over him as he takes a few steps closer to you and place himself onto a nearby stool. âYour turn again,â you murmur as you push your glass towards the bartender for a refill, not breaking eye contact.Â
Hotch considers you carefully, like heâs weighing whether itâs worth crossing a line. Then, with a voice quieter than before, he says, âI think... if I were twenty years younger, Iâd ask for your number.âÂ
You smile. âYou think age is the problem here?âÂ
He doesn't answer right away. Just watches you, eyes dark with something unspoken. âI think youâre dangerous.âÂ
That makes you grinâgenuine, mischievous. âFunny. I was going to say the same about you.â Then you gesture to his suit, âYouâre either an accountant or a spy, and I donât peg you for someone who has much interest in numbers.âÂ
He watches you for a beat, something sharper slipping into his gaze. His voice drops lowerâbarely a murmur between you. âHowâs your relationship with your father?âÂ
You blink, startled by the shift. âNot particularly great, why?âÂ
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. âWeâre going to get along great.âÂ
You nearly choke on your drink, laughter bubbling out of you. âJesus,â you whisper, setting the glass down as you catch his eye. âThat was a bit on the nose, donât you think?âÂ
He shrugs, unbothered, eyes still pinned to yours. âYou said confessions, remember?âÂ
You lean closer, fingers ghosting over the rim of your glass againâonly now youâre not fidgeting. Youâre daring. âAlright then, confession number two: Iâve never wanted to kiss a man as badly as I do right now.âÂ
Hotch doesnât move for a second. Then he shifts on his stool, knees brushing yours beneath the bar. âThat so?âÂ
âMmhm.â You tilt your head. âBut you strike me as someone who doesnât do casual.âÂ
âNormally, I donât. But tonight, I think Iâll make an exception.â Thereâs a beat, a shared breath, and then heâs reaching out, fingers brushing the underside of your jaw, guiding you to him like heâs done it a thousand times before. Â
The kiss is slow, precise, controlled at first. But it doesnât stay that way. Your hand fists in the front of his suit jacket, dragging him closer until itâs mouths and heat and the steady thrum of restraint slipping between your teeth. When you part, breathless, you stare at him like youâre not sure whether to laugh or drag him into the nearest dark corner. Â
âYou wanna get out of here?â he asks, voice low.Â
You glance at the untouched rest of your drink, then back at him. âThought youâd never ask.âÂ
Summary: You kissed him until he looked like a walking valentine.
He let you. Now Wilsonâs covered in lipstick marks, half-laughing in the bathroom mirrorâand youâre trying very hard to pretend you wonât show House the photo you just took. (You definitely will.)
Tags: Domestic Fluff, Soft Boyfriend!Wilson, Established Relationship, Kissing, Lipsticks, Gregory House Is a Menace (Mentioned), Lighthearted
Page divider by FireflyGraphics
The bathroom mirror reflects back something that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughingâWilson, standing there with lipstick kiss marks scattered across his face. Deep red lipstick marks his cheeks, his forehead, and the bridge of his nose. They trail down his jaw and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt, evidence of your attack just moments ago.
"Don't," Wilson says, but he's smiling despite himself, that soft smile he reserves just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he catches your expression in the mirror.
"Don't what?" you ask innocently, even as you're already reaching for your phone.
"Don't even think about it."
"Too late. I'm thinking about it." You hold up your phone, framing him in the camera. "Come on, just one picture. Please?"
Wilson turns to face you fully, and the sight is even better from this angle. There's a particularly perfect kiss mark right on his cheekbone, and another on his chin. His hair is slightly mussed from your fingers, and his shirt collar is askew.
"Why do you need a picture?" he asks, but his resistance is already weakening. You can tell by the way he's not actually moving away.
"Because you look adorable," you say honestly. "And I want it as my homescreen. I want to look at this every time I check my phone."
A flush creeps up Wilson's neck, adding to the artwork you've created. "That's exactly why this is a terrible idea."
"One picture. Just for me." You step closer, tilting your head. "Please? I promise I'll treasure it forever."
Wilson sighs, but it's the sigh of someone who's already lost the argument and knows it. "Fine. One picture. Butâ" he points at you seriously, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the lipstick kiss on his finger from where he'd touched his own face earlier, "âyou absolutely cannot show House."
"Why would I show House?"
"Because you two show each other everything just to torture me," Wilson says, but there's no real heat in it. "And if House sees this, he'll never stop. Never. I'll be hearing about it until I'm ninety."
You can't help but grin because he's absolutely right. House would have a field day with this. You can already imagine the commentary, the jokes, the way he'd bring it up at the most inopportune moments. "I won't show House," you promise.
"You're lying."
"I'm not lying!"
Wilson gives you a lookâthat particular look that says he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. "You're going to show him within twenty-four hours."
"I am notâokay, I might accidentally leave my phone where he can see it."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's completely different. That's him snooping, not me showing."
Wilson shakes his head, but he's laughing now, and you take the opportunity to snap a photo. The click of the camera shutter captures him mid-laugh, lipstick marks and all, looking happy and loved and absolutely perfect.
You look down at the photo and your heart does a little flip. "Oh, this is definitely going as my homescreen."
"Let me see," Wilson says, moving to look over your shoulder. You tilt the phone so he can see, and he groans. "I look ridiculous."
"You look like someone loves you very much," you correct, already setting the photo as your wallpaper. "There. Done."
Wilson wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both look at your phone screen. "You're impossible," he murmurs against your ear.
"You love it."
"I do," he admits quietly. Then, after a pause: "Just... really don't show House. He'll make my life miserable."
"Your secret is safe with me," you say, turning in his arms to kiss him properly this timeâthough it just adds another lipstick mark to his collection.
Your phone buzzes with a text. You both ignore it, but you already know it's probably House, asking where Wilson is, or making some sarcastic comment about something completely unrelated.
Wilson pulls back slightly. "That's House, isn't it?"
"Probably."
"And you're going to show him the picture."
"I'm not going to show him the picture!"
Wilson just looks at you.
"...I'm going to try very hard not to show him the picture."
"That's what I thought." But he's smiling again, pressing a kiss to your forehead that probably leaves a faint lipstick mark there too. "Come on, I should probably wash this off before we go anywhere."
"Or," you suggest, "you could leave it. Make a statement."
"The statement being 'I have completely lost control of my life'?"
"The statement being 'I'm loved.'"
Wilson's expression softens, and he cups your face gently. "I am loved," he agrees. "Even if it means House is going to mock me mercilessly when he inevitably sees that photo."
"If he sees it."
"When."
You don't argue, because you both know he's probably right. But for now, you just pull him close again, adding a few more lipstick marks for good measure. After all, if House is going to tease him anyway, you might as well make it worth it.
Omg a movie marathon with tasm!Peter being in criminal minds?? I think his friendship with Spencer would be saur cute, especially if he was with bau!reader!!! đđđ€
Thanks for requesting my love! This is probably all highly inaccurate, I donât know how to build bombs and I was scared to do too much research and get on a watchlist </3
bau tasm!Peter x bau!reader ⥠665 words
âBut he couldnât have done it with urea nitrate.â Spencerâs brow is furrowed, his eyes stuck on some point in space. âItâs highly regulated, heâd need to make it himself and nothing we profiled indicated he had those kinds of resources.âÂ
âMaybe he knows someone who does?â While Spencer is still in his contemplation, Peterâs bouncing all over the place. He keeps getting up and sitting back down, spinning his chair in circles. Heâs been tapping an uncapped pen against his jaw for the last five minutes; Spencer hasnât noticed, and you feel like itâs probably your job as his girlfriend to tell him but neither you nor anyone else on your team wants to interrupt his thinking. âIf he knew someone who worked in a lab or maybe at the university, he could have gotten it from them.âÂ
âBut would someone really make an explosive chemical like that without asking any questions?â JJ wonders. âThey had to have wondered what he was using it for.âÂ
Peterâs pen stops moving. He sits up in his chair. âMaybe he didnât ask.âÂ
Everyone elseâs brows furrow, but Spencerâs unfurrows. He looks at Peter. âWe didnât profile he had a partner, but it could beââ
âA mentor!â Peter laughs, ecstatic. âThatâs the helper!âÂ
âOnly he doesnât know heâs helping,â Spencer agrees, getting out his phone. âWhen the fire department got thereââ
âThey poured water on the flames, decomposing it intoââ
âUrea and nitric acid.â Spencer puts his phone to his ear. âGarcia, we need a list of all non-students or faculty who had access to the labs at the university. Start with family of professors, administrative staffâŠâÂ
âHey.â You slide onto Peterâs desk, wetting your thumb when he turns to you and brushing it over his cheek. Blue ink smears across his jawline. âIâm getting the impression that you guys figured it out, but, uh, do you want to tell us what you figured?âÂ
Peterâs grin is half sheepish. He wraps a hand around the back of your knee, squeezing excitedly down your calf. âThe reason we only found that fertilizer compound on the site of the explosion was because the original compound was this homegrown explosive, and when water hits it it separates into its original parts.â He starts talking faster as he explains, amping himself up again. âThe only people who would have access to the chemicals needed to activate it are professors in the university labs, so since we profiled he doesnât have a background in educationâŠâÂ
âHeâs probably getting access to the lab through the professor,â you finish. Your boyfriend grins proudly, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your wrist. Behind him, Rossi makes a face, and you retract your hand shyly, using it to smooth down the cowlick at the crown of Peterâs head. âYou think the professor taught him how to combine them, too?âÂ
âThey couldâve,â he says. âEven if someone doesnât have a science background, professors are always excited to talk about their field. The unsub only would have had to ask a couple of questions to get them to show him.âÂ
You hum, nodding. âYouâre a genius,â you tell him.Â
Peter grins, jutting his chin towards Spencer. âThatâs him. Iâm just the wall he gets to bounce ideas off of.âÂ
âShush,â you chide, forgoing the teamâs judgment for a moment to press a kiss into his hair. He smells like his shampoo, like freshness and home, and he squeezes the back of your knee in response. âYouâre both freakishly smart.âÂ
âOkay.â Spencer shuts his phone off. âGarciaâs narrowed it down to three, we need to bring them in for questioning.âÂ
âHereâs your moment,â Peter says, nudging your leg with his. âReady to kick down some doors, sweetheart?âÂ
You laugh. âThink Morgan will let me have a turn?âÂ
âHe will.â He stands, kicking his chair under his desk and helping you down. âI told him Iâd build upgrades into his phone over the weekend. He owes me a favor.â
house md x criminal minds muahahahaha (reduce your expectations to zero)
pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
words: 2.7k
warnings: FLUFFIEST FLUFF IN ALL LAND, language, canon doesn't even exist at this point rip, established relationship, spencer and reader being sooooooo in love, House is in it for like 2 minutes T_T, new jersey slander, vegas slander, florida slander (only for funsies, i have never been anywhere except vegas teehee), minor Chase slander (this is solely for the plot i love my problematic daughter)
a/n: listen i TRIED but house has like 2 minutes of screen time I'm SORRY I'M SORRY OKAY? I only now got back after the hiatus and I didn't know how to end it and well yada yada yada this cesspool of disappointment happened. also apparently I cannot write a fic of anything without making a brooklyn 99 reference so here you fucking go <3
Getting shot did not feel as badass as expected. It hurt like a bitch. Damn every single movie that made it look cool. And damn every single paramedic who said you were lucky it didn't hit any vital organs. My brother in Christ, I am the most vital organ. It hit ME. I am in inexplicable pain. Fuck you, you thought.
A case in Princeton? What could go wrong? Well, several things, apparently. A, you had been shot, as we already know. B, you were probably going to run into Chase, which was the last thing you needed right now. C, much worse, by the end of your little adventure, your boyfriend was going to be well acquainted with Gregory House, for all the wrong reasons.
You didn't exactly have a say in which ER they were rushing you to, but even in the barely conscious haze, you tried to mutter "Mercy... Mehr...," before you passed out, which the paramedics unfortunately interpreted as you begging for mercy. What you were actually trying to say was that you wanted to be taken to Mercy General Hospital, and by no means, Princeton Plainsboro. You were taken to Princeton Plainsboro.
You had no idea how much time had passed. All that you were aware of at the moment was the static white noise that you'd been hearing for hours on end slowly dissolving into proper sounds that your brain could interpret. Shrill beeping of medical equipment, the faint hum of the AC, muffled voices and rushed feet, presumably outside whatever room you were in, pages being turned. Pages being turned? Of course. A sound you were well accustomed to. Spencer. You were instantly at ease.
You opened your eyes as slowly as you could, so as to not overwhelm your eyes with all the light after being unconscious for so long. It didn't work. It was still too bright. You couldn't see shit for a few seconds. After taking a couple of seconds to adjust, you carefully looked around the room.
It was a typical room for a hospital, you thought. Simple, minimalist, boring, mildly drab, if we were being honest. But something about the interiors seemed... off. Familiar. The walls. This sickly shade of green (which was a poor design choice, by the wayâ no sick person would get better in this sorry excuse of a room). You knew this place. Oh, shit.
You tried to call out for Spencer, let him know you're up, but then decided you didn't want to do it like this. You wanted to wake up all nonchalantly, like it didn't matter that you were shot by a bullet; you were still extremely cool and awesome. You thought to ask "Enjoying your book?" so you'd seem mysterious and also convey that even in this state, you were observant enough to know what was going on around you.
While in the process of deciding how to soft-launch your newly found consciousness, your throat, your very own throat, betrayed you. The only sound that left your throat, despite having an entire monologue ready in your head, was a pained cough. But it got his attention, so that's something? He quickly shut his book and sprinted from across the room to be at your side, his entire focus on you.
"Hey. You're awake."
"You're, like, so pretty right now."
"Really? Oh, uhâ well, thankâ thank you. You, uh, you look really pretty too," he managed to muster up, clearly caught off guard by your declaration, despite the fact that you were his girlfriend of well over months at that point.
"Sorry. Painkillers," you explained, even though it was a completely conscious decision to make him blush like that. "You okay?"
He exhaled a laugh at your question. "You ate a bullet, and you're worried about me right now?"
"Yeah, I'm considerate like that. You still didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I'm okay," he replied, his eyes soft as he scanned you. You never stopped catching him off guard, be it with your concern, your intellect, your care, your love, or even just your mere presence, captivated him. He loved being loved by you. "You feeling okay? Doctors said you'll be fine, mostly, save for some internal bleeding."
"It's okay. That's where the blood's supposed to be."
Spencer gave you a deadpan look, clearly not amused.
"Actually, though, my mouth is feeling a bit tingly?"
"Oh. Well, that's not normal. You shouldn't be feeling anything right now, also you got shot in the abdomen, so it reallyâ"
"Yeah, yeah, I was hoping you could just kiss it better for me? You know, cause technically you're a doctor and everything?" He visibly relaxed after he understood what you were actually doing.
"Gotta say. You make a compelling argument. That is the prescribed treatment, yes," he played along, as he leaned in to close the distance between you.
Every time you kissed him, it felt like the first. This time was no exception. Modern medicine be damned, you could survive just off his kisses. He kissed you like a man starved, and you, well, you were a giver. The smile on your faces as you broke apart couldn't be erased even if you tried. Just pure joy and bliss.
"Next time, though, you can just, you know, ask me to kiss you. Radical concept, I know. But I'm your boyfriend. We sorta tend to do that. It's all part of the package."
"Yeah, it's these crazy painkillers, man. I swear. It's like I'm horny for you, but, like, emotionally."
"And they say romance is dead."
You exhaled a laugh, straining slightly as it reverberated through your wound. It wasn't an exaggeration that your laugh was music to his ears. Any time you laughed, it was instinct for him to laugh along with you. With love like this? Romance could never die.
"Seriously, though, you're okay?"
"Never better, Spence," you promised, noting that his concern didn't reduce one bit. "Seriously. I'm, like, zooted out of my mind right now. I can't feel a thing. I'm fine. I swear."
He deflated a little, knowing that you weren't in as much pain as he thought. Still, he had to be sure you were okay.
"I'll go tell your doctor you're up. Just in case."
"Honey, I'm fiâ"
"We're just making sure."
You sighed, knowing there was no winning this. Besides, it's probably a good thing. The sooner your doctor was convinced you were okay, the sooner you can get the fuck out of this place.
"Hey, Spence?"
"Hmm?" he questioned, stopping halfway out the door, already on his way to call your doctor.
"Who's my attending?"
"Oh, Dr House."
The few minutes you were alone in that room were pure agony. This did not make sense. Even Remotely. House was your attending? Gregory House, who famously does not see patients, doesn't even do clinic duty or help at the ER when the hospital is short-staffed, was your attending physician. Either something truly drastic had happened since you left, you were actually in a coma and hallucinating, or he was fucking with you. Which does sound like a very House thing to do.
You watched as House entered first, cane tapping against the tile, followed by Spencer, whose face screamed I am doing my best to be polite, but I have so many questions. House, to your horror, was wearing his white coat. Clean-shaven. Professional. Smiling. There was a clipboard in his hand. Coma theory wasn't looking all too far-fetched right now. You were definitely hallucinating. This was The Bad Place.
âThere she is,â House said, flipping through a chart that probably wasnât even yours. âThe FBIâs own bullet sponge. Looking good, Agent.â
You narrowed your eyes. âYouâre being nice?â
âIâm being professional,â he corrected. âYou know, the thing you insisted I didnât know how to be.â
Spencer raised a brow at you.
âIâŠâ you gestured weakly, âmay have painted a picture.â
âDonât worry,â House said smoothly, still not looking up from the chart. âIâm sure you told Beautiful Mind over here that Iâm a misanthropic, narcissistic, cane-wielding reprobate who shouldnât be allowed near scalpels or people. Which is why Iâve decided to dedicate the rest of this week to being the poster boy for medical decency.â
Your eyes narrowed further. âYouâre fucking with me.â
âAbsolutely,â he said brightly, still not breaking character. âI took one look at him and thought, yeah, letâs make her eat her words,â he taunted, the last part of the sentence in faux glee.
Spencer, clearly still confused, looked between you two. âIâm sorryâ whatâs happening right now?â
âDon't worry about it, honey,â you said, your voice too high-pitched to be reassuring. This day couldn't end faster.
"I can't exactly help it, I'm yourâ"
âBoyfriend,â House interrupted. âI picked that up when she asked you to kiss her gunshot wound better," he explained, stressing on gunshot wound.
"Okay, how the hell do you knâ" You were interrupted before you could finish, once again by House.
"Just FYI, thatâs not in the AMAâs list of recommended interventions.â
Spencerâs ears pinked, but he stood his ground. âActually, sheâs not wrong. Oxytocin release from affectionate touch can lower cortisol levels and reduce perceived pain.â
House blinked once. âSo it talks back. And it knows things.â
"House," you warned.
âHe's right,â House replied, now facing Spencer. âUnless her libido is compensating for cranial trauma. In which case, you should maybe keep the tongue down until we run an MRI.â
Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it. You knew that sound all too well. That was the sound of Spencer Reidâs neural pathways short-circuiting.
"House, I swear to Godâ"
âNo, no, this is good!â he beamed at Spencer, ignoring you completely. âYouâre weird. I like that. And considering your girlfriend once got back together with Chase for exactly 3 days because he made her a mixtape, you're something of an upgrade.â
Was that... was House giving you his blessing? Is that what this was? Or were you reading too much into it? Either way, you couldn't get out of there any damn sooner.
You buried your face in your hands. âOh, God. Sedate me. I beg you.â
"Relax. The bullet didn't hit anything. You'll be up and gun-slinging in no time." He snapped the chart shut. âReid. Want to come talk about your girlfriendâs insides with me in the hallway?â
Spencer looked at you for permission, ever the gentleman. Also, he looked sceptical. And mildly afraid.
âGo. Please. Maybe heâll behave if youâre watching.â
âI wonât,â House said cheerfully. âBut weâll both pretend I will, and thatâs basically the same thing.â
As they left, you heard House murmur, âSo. You ever try Vicodin recreationally?â
"Dilaudid, actually."
You slowly reached for the morphine dispenser and set it on the highest possible level.
~
The morphine wore off soon. Too soon, honestly. You were up, staring into bright white lights and sad green walls in no time. Spencer, thankfully, was by your bed. Alone. House-less. That was vaguely terrifying, actually. He looked confused. Confuddled. Not exactly dumbfounded or scared, but very concerned. Typical House interaction aftershock.
"Honey? You okay?"
"Either everything he said was definitely sarcastic, or we need to deliver a profile as soon as we possibly can."
You managed to muster an amused laugh, which quickly died down after you sensed the genuine horror in his face.
"Oh, you're seriâ honey, he was kidding. He likes to mess with people, that's all. He wasn't being serious, I promise." Well, for the most part. But he didn't have to know that. He needed reassurance right now. He needed to know he wasn't crazy. Again, typical House interaction aftershocks.
"Okay, that helps a bit. A tiny bit. Although I definitely have questions."
"How about I answer them while I cuddle my boyfriend in this huge-ass bed?"
"It's like you're Romeo," he teased, as he climbed into said huge-ass bed.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the interrogation began.
"Exactly how are you acquainted with Greg?"
"Oh, he's Greg now?"
"Long story. Again, how do you know him?"
"Well, you know how I joined the team as a forensic pathologist? Before that, I had a brief stint as a medical fellow in his differential diagnosis team at this here hospital," you admitted, like just the memory had mildly inconvenienced you.
"Somehow, I'm more disturbed that you had to live in New Jersey."
"Hey. Just because I'm too tired to argue doesn't mean I'll tolerate New Jersey slander."
"The state animal of New Jersey is the orange construction cone."
"Please, like Vegas is any better. What happens in Vegas stays the fuck there 'cause no one else wants it."
"Alright, compromise. Florida sucks," he suggested a truce. His eyes were on you, already waiting to lock it in.
"Florida sucks," you concurred with a satisfied smile, closing the deal and the distance between you. He broke away after god knows how long, albeit begrudgingly. Damn oxygen.
"Alright. Next question."
"Shoot. I'm so ready right now."
"So... Chase." He begins. Well, you weren't prepared for that.
"Alright, maybe not that ready."
"No, no, I'm just curious. Was it, like, a really good mixtape, orâ"
You hit him with the pillow you had at your side for support, just as he braced for impact and failed. The bastard laughed at your agony and pulled you in closer, into a harder embrace.
"I'm kidding. I'm just messing with you. If you don't want to talk about it, we donâ"
"No, no. I do. It's not a touchy topic or anything. He was just... well, a lousy boyfriend."
"Hmm. Lousy how?"
"He did try. I'll give him credit. But whenever he fucked up, it was big, you know? And having House meddling the entire time didn't help either. It's just, it never felt right. Like it was so close to being what I wanted, but no matter how much we tried, it could never be... that."
"What about me? Am I what you want?" he inquired, his tone playful, yet you sensed the hesitation that lingered.
"Honey, you are what I need."
"I think we need to renegotiate on the painkillers."
He drew another laugh from you and joined you in your glee as he admired you in silence. Just as he was thinking about how much he loved you, he was met with a revelation.
"You know, in a weird, twisted way, we wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for House."
Your face scrunched into pure disgust, and much to your chagrin, he was right.
"Ugh, honey, I need you to promise never to tell him that."
"Agreed. Also, follow up on the last question."
"Come at me, lover."
"Oh wow, okay. Moving on. So, if I were to over majorly screw up, what songs would you prefer on the mixtâ"
You hit him with the pillow once again.
"Truce, truce," he proposed for the second time that day, still laughing.
"You are so lucky you're cute."
"I am aware, yes," he replied, his voice all playful.
"Are you? 'cause you're blushing real hard right now."
"I think I'm allowed to be flustered by my girlfriend's shameless flirting."
You fake an exaggerated gasp. "Who you callin' shameless? You know, I could take you in a fight, Reid."
"Oh, we're on last names now?"
"Keep deflecting, I'll show you what a proper uppercut looks like."
"I'd rather you don't rip your stitches, actually. You're still very much healing."
"I'm letting you go. For now," you warned, pointing a finger at him threateningly. Menacingly.
"I am shivering in fear. On the inside. I swear." He kissed your temple and got off the bed rather unceremoniously. It made you laugh, so he'd take it.
"Rest, okay? Get some sleep."
"I'll be dreaming of you."
"I take it back. I love your painkillers."
He heard you laugh yet again, his favourite sound in the entire world. Part of him wanted to record it and play it on loop. Other parts of him wanted that sound, that music, etched on the insides of his ear.
"Oh, and before you go to sleep, I do have one last question."
"Ask away, darling."
"I met Greg's oncologist friend earlier?" he posed it like a question, like he wasn't really sure if he was right.
"Wilson?"
"Yeah, him. It's just, do theyâ do they know gay marriage is legal now?"
