summary : reader gets snowed in with spencer while being away on a case. good thing the bau sent out its two favourite agents!
warnings : forced proximity (only one bed hehe), reader is anxious and tired, hurt/comfort, spencer being a softie
you’re in oregon for a case, just in time before the snowstorm hits. the shitty motel also happens to offer one room (with a king sized bed, hello) for you and spencer - because of course, of course everything else has been taken.
if jj or emily were here they’d surely tease the hell out of you.
glad the rest of the bau stayed in quantico, you can’t help but frown as the lovely lady gives you the key to the room.
spencer is hardly phased by it. or you think he is. you can’t really tell between his babbling about the snow and how unfortunate it is that the bau sent out its youngest agents out here.
you barely manage to open the door, when spencer cuts in, saying -
“i’ve read that um-” he starts, too fast too casual - “sharing a bed in cold environments improves sleep due to shared body heat”
you blink at him. once.
spencer swallows.
“are you suggesting anything?” you ask, one eyebrow raised.
“just data”
right. yeah right. cool of him to say such things when you can’t stop thinking about two things.
one, how the hell you’re gonna get through the next three days. two, sleeping in the same bed with spencer reid. someone you like. someone you’ve had a crush on since… day one probably?
just data spencer, yeah.
you step into the room first, dropping your bag by the chair, suddenly very interested in anything that isn’t him.
behind you, spencer is hovering for a second too long before closing the door.
you can swear that the click echoes.
neither of you moves to the bed.
“i can take the floor” he suggests.
“no, please don’t” you immediately shake your head. “we can- we can share the bed?”
“yeah if you’re- if you’re okay with it?” spencer says, scratching the back of his neck.
morning fades into night - and the next thing you know is that you can’t go to the police precinct.
warnings about a heavy snow storm, and not being able to go out for the next twenty four hours is what spencer can only offer you when you’re hunched over the tiny desk of your tiny motel room.
great. twenty four hours with spencer reid.
“we’ll figure something out.” he says, hoping to cheer you up.
you can only nod, dragging your tired feet to the bed. spencer does one thing that makes you melt in this state.
he pulls the covers, tucking you in. all while murmuring something about the case.
you’re already falling asleep when he asks -
“you’ve been quiet all day”
his voice is softer now, careful.
you just hum, pillow pressed into the pillow. “m just tired, spence”
there’s a pause. you can feel him watching you - you can feel his hand near you.
“that’s not it” spencer says.
you almost smile.
“damn you profilers” you mumble, eyes closed.
“don’t have to be one to realise something’s off with you”
oh.
you shift under the covers, suddenly wide awake. aware of how close he is. of how easy it would be just to… say it.
“it’s nothing, really” you push, weaker this time
“you don’t have to tell me- i just-” he stops.
you open your eyes, wishing you could stop the tremble of your lips.
“i don’t like it when you’re not okay”
that surely does it.
spencer can physically feel his heart breaking when your lips press into a thin line - eyes visibly glossy and holding back tears.
and it’s stupid, it’s really stupid. nothings even happened. you’re just cold, tired, stuck, and too aware of him - of the silence, of how close all this feels.
but your throat tightens anyway.
“i’m okay” you say again, and this time your voice gives you away.
spencer goes still.
“hey” he shifts closer, a tentative hand on your cheek as you press your face against the pillow.
you try to wave him off, you really do. turn to your side so you can sleep and forget about it. that all stops when a sob falls past your lips.
spencer doesn’t hesitate this time.
“come here” it’s so simple. gentle. like the most obvious thing in the world.
you hesitate. just for a second. and then you turn.
he’s warm. warmer than the room, warmer than the blankets, warmer than you ever expected.
his arms wrap around you carefully at first, giving you a chance to pull away.
you don’t, of course.
so he pulls you closer.
the second you press into him, another sob comes out. muffled this time - against his sweater.
“hey, hey” he murmurs, softer now - one hand coming to cradle the back
of your head. “it’s okay, you’re okay sweetheart”
you shake your head against him, fingers curling weakly into the fabric at his chest.
“i know” he says, even though you hadn’t explained anything. “i know, it’s a lot right now”
that also does something to you. despite trying to distance yourself from spencer, you found it hard to believe how he’d understand you - without you having to say anything out loud.
the storm hums faintly outside, wind brushing against the windows, but in here - in this room, it’s just his voice.
the soft circles he’s drawing on your back don’t stop - not when you flinch due to the storm, not when you pull away slightly to steady your breathing - especially then.
you try to collect yourself, breathe normally. but it comes out uneven, catching on the last few tears.
“shh” he murmurs, thumb brushing against your temple. “it’s alright, i’m here. i’ve got you”
and you believe him.
your body begins to loosen in his hold, the tension melting away piece by piece. like the way your fingers stop clutching at his sweater so tightly.
his hand keeps moving against your back, like he’s giving you something to hold onto.
outside, the wind hums against the windows. but inside?
inside it’s warm. quiet.
it’s just him and you.
your breathing evens out eventually, matching the slow rise and fall of his chest. you can feel your eyes growing heavy.
and for the first time all day - your mind goes quiet. no more thoughts about the case, about the storm. or about how spencer saw this version of you.
tomorrow you’ll be able to get the hang of this awful case.
but now?
spencer’s soft “i’ve got you” is the last thing you can hear before sleep pulls you in.
His hands seemed to be everywhere...even under her skirt.
His lips felt so good against her skin, sending shivers and tingles to the very center of her being. He made her long for him, long for all the things she couldn't have, and curse the things she could. - An Offer From a Gentleman
y’all are so upset about my fic “chemistry til it blows up ‘til there’s no us” that i’m wondering whether i did my job right or if i should be reconsidering my writing skills???
warnings : angst, non explicit smut, kissing, mentions of reader being inexperienced
summary : gregory house got a new upstairs neighbour - and of course he couldn’t keep himself away from her.
a/n : i’ve had this in my drafts since august…
It started out as a joke.
Jokingly telling Wilson how to get his upstairs neighbour to fall for him, because he wanted to jump your bones.
And everybody knew that when Gregory House set his mind to something, boy did he get it.
He was like a predator, and you were his prey. But in a “i want to fuck your brain out” way. He wasn’t a lunatic…
Or was he for making an entire plan?
You’d moved in almost a month ago, and were surprised by how friendly Gregory House was. You heard from other neighbours - and even your landlord that you shouldn’t pay attention to him.
“He’s nice, but a dull man” they had said.
So, imagine your surprise when dull, brooding, cane-wielding Gregory House was the first one to offer to help you carry your boxes. Not very convincingly since he was hovering in your hallway - making commentary like,
“Careful, if you pull a muscle, I’ll have to share my Vicodin with you”
Oh, but he helped anyway. His hands lingering on yours just a little too long than they should’ve when he helped you with your things.
You told yourself it was neighbourly kindness. The way he stayed to rearrange your bookshelf definitely wasn’t because he was stalling. And the way he raised his eyebrow whenever you bent over to reach for something? Totally normal. Standard House-level perversion. Nothing new.
But then came the other stuff.
Fixing your thermostat. Bringing over take-out with the excuse that he “accidentally ordered too much” - three times a week.
Asking you if your date on Friday had gone well (you don’t even remember mentioning it to him) And worst of all…
You started to look forward to it.
It happened on a Tuesday. The kind of evening that felt like a punch to the throat - long, bitter and full of people who don’t know how to shut up.
You were crying before you got the chance to unlock the door. Not heavy and loud sobs - but the kind of crying that made your entire chest ache and your body to curl up on the couch.
And then you heard the familiar knock against your door. You’d forgotten about this - about him coming to hang out with you.
You scrubbed at your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but it was useless. The tears kept coming, and they wouldn’t stop soon. Your eyes were puffy, your breath still catching in uneven pulls. You stood up anyway, padding down the floor with shaky legs.
When you opened the door, House stood there, two takeout bags in his one hand (oh but of course) and the cane in his other.
He was mere seconds away from saying something sarcastic - maybe mean. Get you to show that fantastic smirk of yours. Instead, he was met with your tear-stricken face, and a heartbreaking expression he wished it didn’t affect him.
Every quirky little line he had died on his lips.
He stared at you for a moment too long, as if he was trying to compute what he was seeing. And then softly - as soft as House could be - he spoke,
“I was gonna make a joke about your poor taste in rice noodles, but I guess I’ll save it”
A sound came from you, more like a sob rather than a laugh. You stepped aside to let him in, leaning against the door as he walked inside and set the bags on the kitchen counter.
You tried to be composed, and he hated how much that effort broke him more than the crying itself.
“So…” He started, a hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the couch. “Do I have to beat up someone with my cane… or?”
You shook your head. “Doesn’t matter”
“Sure it does. If I’m going to break someone’s leg I ought to know names”
You sucked in a breath, more tears falling. “It’s okay”
He sat in his usual seat on the couch, while you still stood there - arms crossed, like your skin was too tight. Like you didn’t know how to let yourself unravel in front of him.
“You don’t have to stay, you know” You admitted. Voice sounding small, soft.
He raised a brow. “Well, you didn’t have to move upstairs from me and ruin my chances at eternal bitterness. But here we are”
That pulled a tiny smile from you. You sat down on the couch beside him, close enough to feel the heat of him - and if you leaned in just a little…
He reached out just a little - shifting enough so his body was turned to you.
His knee brushed yours. You didn’t move away.
Little by little, he brought you in his arms, tucking a loose strand of hair that had fallen on your face.
You leaned in his chest before you could second guess it. Maybe you were too tired to pretend, maybe you just wanted to feel something solid.
He could feel your breath picking up, a small sign that you were still holding in a lot. He didn’t say anything at first. Just kept his hand on your back, resting loosely like he wasn’t sure if comfort was something he was qualified to give. But he was trying anyway.
“You don’t have to explain” he said quietly, eyes fixated on your bookshelf - the bookshelf he helped set up.
“You always do this?” You asked, voice a little quieter now. “Rescue sad girls with noodles and sarcasm?”
House’s lips curved, just a little. “Only the ones who help me build their bookshelf and ruin my peace”
Your pain was soft, breathy. “Oh, I must be special then”
He didn’t say anything else. Just stayed there, rubbing slow circles into your back, until your breathing leveled out.
Before he left, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head - barely there. Like if he acknowledged it too much, it would break the spell.
“Night” you whispered.
-
A few days later, you avoided House like the plague. You’d caught yourself running to your apartment whenever you heard the familiar tapping of his cane. It wasn’t that you regretted let him in - quite the opposite - but the sudden closeness made you feel shy. In a way you hadn’t expected.
And House? Well, he stalled. Tried to downplay it in front of Wilson, muttering sarcastic remarks and all.
But even Wilson noticed.
“You’ve been weird” He said one afternoon in the hospital cafeteria, eyeing House over his coffee. “Weirder than usual”
House rolled his eyes. “Ah, thank you. I strive for excellence in all areas of my weirdness”
Still, James didn’t let it go. “You miss her, admit it House”
“I miss the quiet before she moved in” He shot back, taking his soda and limping off the cafeteria - as if the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
Because two days later, it was raining. The kind of rain that made the streets smell like asphalt and “oh-i should’ve brought my umbrella”. And there you were, groceries in hand, soaked and fumbling with your keys. And just like any romcom cliche, you dropped your keys.
Of course you heard his cane behind you.
Of course you felt him behind you.
“Did you forget how doors work?” His voice was dry, low, but lacked its bite.
You didn’t turn around at first. You let out a sigh, opening your mouth to speak. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m soaked and my keys slipped?”
You bent down to grab your keys, but he beat you to it - cane balanced perfectly as he crouched, grumbling the whole way through.
He held them out wordlessly, eyes flicking up to yours.
You took them hesitantly, fingers brushing against his for a moment.
“You’ve been avoiding me” He admitted, voice too low and honest for comfort.
You scoffed, fiddling with your keys. “No- I’ve been busy”
“Right, because avoiding me amidst proofreading books takes up a lot of time”
That earned him a tiny eye roll, but not a smile. Not yet.
“Look” he said, a little more gently, “If this is about the other night, you don’t have to worry. You should see Wilson during allergy season. I’m not going to hold a grudge because you had a hard day”
You swallowed thickly, the weight of his words settling heavily on your chest.
“It’s not that” you murmured. “Not just that”
House tilted his head, almost amused by how shied away you looked. “Seriously. You thought I’d make fun of you for not feeling okay?”
“I don’t know” You said, truthfully. “Didn’t know what to do with that”
He stepped a bit closer, close enough to hear your breath hitching. “You don’t have to do anything”
“Just don’t bolt every time you hear my cane, alright?”
You finally looked up at him - wet hair clinging to your forehead. Eyes searching his.
“Do you want to… Do you want to come in?” you said in a shy voice. “I can cook you something with um- my wet groceries?”
He let out a chuckle - a sound that made your chest flutter in a way you’d forgotten what it felt like.
“Only if it includes soggy vegetables” he quipped, brushing past you with that familiar teasing smirk.
You opened the door, leading him inside. Your apartment smelt like laundry detergent and old books - comfort wrapped in clutter.
“You can dry off while I criticise you for whatever the hell you just bought.” he added, setting his cane aside with a sigh as he shrugged off his damp coat. His shirt clung to him slightly - not enough to be obscene, but enough to make your eyes linger.
“You want a towel?” You asked, voice a little breathless.
He looked over his shoulder, gaze sharp and unreadable. “Are you offering one… or is this an excuse to undress me?”
Your face heated instantly. “I- God- you’re-”
“Charming? Irresistible? The reason you’ve been dodging your own hallway?” He stepped toward you again, and suddenly it felt a lot warmer in the room.
“I wasn’t avoiding you” you tried to argue weakly. “Just-”
He stepped in front of you, close enough that your chests almost touched. Close enough to smell the rain on his skin.
“Don’t get shy on me again, sweetheart” He whispered, eyes dropping to your mouth.
You nodded - barely.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, a smile on his lips. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you moved here. And every time you avoid me, it drives me insane”
You sucked in a breath — not ready, but needing it all the same. “I… I haven’t either.”
He stepped closer — and you didn’t pull back. His fingers brushed your wrist, trailing up your arm.
“You’re shaking” he murmured.
You swallowed. “I haven’t - I haven’t done this before. Not like this”
His hands paused and you almost whined from the loss of contact. His eyes flicked back to yours, something unreadable but gentler this time. “Then we’ll go slow. Or stop anytime you want to”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just leaned up, barely, and pressed your mouth to his.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real, hungry and tender in all the ways that counted.
The kiss deepened - his mouth warm, commanding but not greedy. House kissed like he thought too much and felt even more. One hand found the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw with startling care, while the other hovered at your waist, not pushing, just waiting.
When you gasped against his mouth, he pulled back just slightly - lips barely grazing yours.
“Is this okay? Are you okay?”
Your hands fisted in his damp shirt. “Yeah, I’m just nervous”
“We can stop,” he murmured. “I can go home and overanalyze this for the next six months, if that’s your thing.”
You gave a breath of laughter, too soft to be anything but tender. “I don’t want you to stop.”
That was all he needed.
The next kiss was even deeper, more certain. Like you’d both crossed a line and didn’t want to look back. His hands gripped your waist more firmly now, guiding you toward the couch like he wasn’t just undressing you with his eyes - he was memorizing every inch of your reactions.
“Tell me what you like” He murmured against your skin, breath hot. “Or I’ll guess. And I’m very, very good at guessing”
You let out a soft hum, not even close to an answer. He wasn’t satisfied.
“Use your words, sweetheart”
“I like this- What you’re doing”
House had an amused smirk plastered on his face, as if knowing exactly how to rile you up. His fingers making their way under your shirt.
“How about this…?”
You don’t answer. You just nod - breath shallow, hands gripping his arms as if they’re the only thing keeping you upright.
pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!bookstore owner!reader
w/c : 2,1k
warnings : angst, mutual pining, A MAN WHO YEARNS IS A MAN WHO EARNS, insecurities (both r and hotch), fluff
summary : away on a case, aaron admits he hates falling asleep in an empty bed. or, how the night distance finally forces aaron and reader to stop dancing around their feelings and make it official.
a/n : think this will be the final chapter of the lover girl series… or… not?
Aaron had never felt like this.
Or he did - once, with Hayley. He can’t remember, because every time he closes his eyes you’re there.
You’re in his head from the moment he opens his eyes - lingering through the day, following him into the quiet of every crappy motel room.
Aaron Hotchner is starting to wonder what happens if he can’t close his eyes without you in his head.
You’re no better than him. Ever since he left that note on his bed, it’s like the ache in your chest got worse.
He’s called a few times, but you haven’t answered. And you’re not sure if picking up the phone would make things better, or worse.
Aaron has picked up on the fact that you’re avoiding him - but even his strongest profiler skills cannot figure out why.
You go on with your work. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Open the bookstore, like everything is fine.
Like you’re not trying to swallow the lump in your throat whenever the bell rings and it’s not him.
What if it was one night only? What if even your quiet confession of falling in love with him wasn’t… enough?
Your head is buzzing with these thoughts as you try to fix the books in the display - doing an awful job at being focused.
Memories of his hands, his touch - every single orgasm that he gave you run chills down your spine. You hadn’t experienced something so… intense in your life.
You also hadn’t expected to fall in love again, after so many years of disappointments and unrequited crushes.
Yet here you were, pining over the FBI agent who just couldn’t stop visiting your shop.
You bite your lip. You shouldn’t feel this way. God - maybe you should’ve seen it coming. He’s older. Experienced. Commanding. And you…
You’re still figuring out yourself.
You glance at the door again. Half of you wants to call him, just to hear his voice. The other half freezes at the thought, imagining how calm, how composed he’d sound - and how easily he’d see right through your insecurities.
A sigh escapes, soft, almost inaudible. You sink into the quiet of your bookstore - surrounded by pages of other people’s lives, wishing for one that included him - and realising, painfully - that maybe you’re writing it yourself.
Two days go by, and Aaron is still trying to get you on the phone.
Minnesota is cold. Colder than before - or at least Aaron hasn’t really noticed before. He’s never been so distracted on a case, so painfully, obviously distracted.
Why won’t you pick up the damn phone?
He knows you’re avoiding him. He can feel it. And still he can’t stop wondering why. Did you regret the other night? Do you think it shouldn’t have happened? Or worse - what if you think that he doesn’t want it too?
He paces the small apartment, hands shoved into his coat pockets, jaw tight. The bed is empty. Cold. Everything about Minnesota feels sharper, lonelier, heavier.
He pulls out his phone for the hundredth time, scrolling through your name, debating if he should call again. The thought of hearing your voice makes his chest tighten, a mix of relief and panic.
Finally, he dials.
Meanwhile, you hover over your phone - fingers trembling. Heart hammering. You know he’s calling. You can feel it in the pit of your stomach, just like every time he calls.
But the thought of hearing his voice - so calm and composed, the man who always sees through everything - makes your chest twist.
What if this was just… another fling? What if you sound too… eager? Too desperate?
And still, your thumb lingered over the green button. Maybe tonight, you tell yourself. Maybe tonight, you’ll finally pick up.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.
Finally, you press the button.
“Hello?” Your voice trembles, almost betraying the control you’ve been clinging to all day.
“Y/N” he says, calm but ragged underneath. Like a dam about to break.
“It’s good to hear you, sweetheart”
You swallow hard, cheeks warming.
“Hi… Aaron”
A pause stretches across the line, heavy, filled with everything neither of you said over the last couple of days.
“I-” He starts, but his voice catches. “You haven’t… haven’t answered any of my calls. Is everything alright?”
Your breath hitches. You didn’t expect him to say it. Not like this. Not now.
“I’m sorry” You manage, voice small. You press a hand to your forehead, leaning against your headboard as if it’ll hold you steady.
“I just… I didn’t know what to say”
There’s a shift on the other end — the faint sound of him sitting down, maybe running a hand over his face.
“Sweetheart,” he exhales, and it sounds like he’s been holding his breath for days. “You can always say anything to me.”
Your eye burn. God, why does he have to say things like that?
“I didn’t want to bother you” you admit, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
“You’re- you’re on a case. You have a million things to think about and- I just- I just didn’t want to get in the way”
“You’re not in the way” He reassures you, his voice firm - certain.
Your grip on the phone tightens. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk after… after the other night”
He goes silent. He’s not surprised by your words… but hearing it out loud…
Felt different.
“Y/N” he says your name again. “Honey, is that what you think?”
“Y-you left m-me a note. Disappeared the next morning. I thought- I thought it would be f-fine but…”
Your voice breaks, and you don’t finish your sentence. Partly because you don’t trust your voice anymore. Partly because you’re afraid of what he’ll say.
“I left a note because they called me in early,” he murmurs, voice cracking on the edges. “Not because I wanted to leave you. I… didn’t want to wake you.”
Your heart squeezes.
“I’ve been trying to reach you because I thought maybe you regretted it.”
Your breath catches. “No,” you whisper instantly, fiercely. “No, Aaron. I didn’t.”
“Good.”
The relief in his voice is palpable. Warm. Quiet. God, he missed you.
“I can’t stop thinking about you” He admits. “About that night. About the way you looked at me. The way you felt- Jesus Y/N-”
“I hate the fact that the first time we-“ He swallows. “Our first time was followed by distance”
Your throat tightens. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “But I needed to hear your voice.”
Your cheeks warm, heart fluttering helplessly. “I… needed to hear yours too.”
“Good,” he whispers again. “Then we’ll fix this when I’m home.”
“When will you be back?” You asked softly, anticipation creeping up your spine.
“Tomorrow night” He says. “I know where to find you, sweetheart”
Your fingers slowly loosen around the phone. You don’t hang up immediately. Neither of you says anything more for a moment, just listening to the faint hum of the city and the quiet on the line.
“Tomorrow night,” you whisper to yourself, almost as if saying it out loud will make it real.
“Sleep well, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodnight, Aaron” you breathe.
And finally hang up.
The next day drags by. Every minute feels longer than the one before it. You keep busy at the bookstore, rearranging shelves, restocking - literally anything. Pretending that time moves normally.
By evening, the city streets feel colder. Emptier without him. You can’t wait to leave your shop, so you close a little earlier than usual.
You can practically feel your pulse quickening with every step toward your apartment, every passing car reminding you of him being so close, yet still out of reach.
The flight back is a blur. Minnesota feels impossibly cold, even from the plane window. He can’t focus on anything but the thought of you — how you’ll look, how he’ll say your name when he sees you, how it feels knowing he’s finally going home.
Reid is stating more facts, Emily is mocking him and Aaron…
Aaron can’t even drink the glass of whiskey someone, maybe Derek? He doesn’t even remember.
Landing, he moves quickly through the airport, coat over his arm, eyes scanning the crowd for you. His heart is thundering. Every step toward the taxi is a countdown. Every second feels like both forever and no time at all.
By the time he’s walking up to your door, the anticipation has him on edge, and he can barely stop himself from knocking a little too loudly, or calling your name in excitement.
You’re pacing.
It’s ridiculous, you know it is. But you can’t stop moving around your tiny living room. Straightening throw pillows. Fixing the stack of books and magazines on your coffee table. Checking your reflection in the window even though it’s too dark to see anything but a vague outline.
Your stomach does this awful twist every time you glance at the door.
He texted you when he landed, called you when he was changed and ready to head to you.
Your phone is still on the coffee table where you left it, screen dimmed, but you can hear his last voicemail in your head anyway:
“I’m on my way.”
You couldn’t decide whether your racing heart was from excitement or being nervous.
You rub your palms against your thighs, trying to steady your breathing. You’re excited. Terrified. Both at once. Because now that he’s really coming—now that the distance is seconds instead of miles—you can feel every doubt creeping back up your spine.
What if he regrets saying everything he said last night?
What if being back home changes how he feels?
What if you’re not enough for him?
You close your eyes, inhale, exhale, try to will your heartbeat into something slower. It doesn’t work.
Another minute passes. Maybe two. You swear the air gets thicker.
And then,
A knock.
For a moment, you can’t make yourself move. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, trembling. It feels like the whole world has narrowed down into this one moment. This one choice.
This one man.
You pull the door open… and Aaron’s standing there.
Hair slightly mussed from the travel, tie loosened, coat wrinkled. His eyes flicker to your face - softening instantly.
Your knees felt weak at the sight of him.
“Hi” He breathes out.
It’s barely a word. More of an exhale. Relief and longing wrapped into one.
“Hi” you whispered back, unable to keep the smile tugging at your lips.
For a second — just a second — neither of you moves. He just looks at you, drinking you in like he’d been starved for days. His jaw flexes, his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up again.
And then he steps inside.
Slowly. Carefully.
Aaron closes the door behind him. But instead of reaching for you immediately, he pauses — giving you space, giving you the choice, like he always does.
“Y/N,” he says softly, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Come here.”
It’s not a command. It’s a plea. A confession.
Your breath stutters.
You take a step toward him.
Then another.
And when you’re close enough that he can reach you, he does.
One hand finds your waist. The other cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin, like he needs to confirm you’re real.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat. “I missed you.”
Your lips part. “I… missed you too.”
His breath shudders — like he’s been holding it since the moment he left your bed.
And then he kisses you.
Soft at first, testing, tasting, easing the ache that’s been gnawing at both of you since the moment you woke up alone.
Then deeper, firmer, his fingers threading into your hair, your hands gripping his coat as if you might fall.
Every worry. Every doubt. Every mile between you dissolves in that single, aching kiss.
When you finally pull away, both a little breathless, he murmurs, “We’re okay. You and me. We’re okay.”
He nudges your nose with his, making you smile.
“Let me take your coat” you whisper.
You slip it off his shoulders, hang it by the door, and when you turn back… he’s still watching you like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
“For what it’s worth, honey…” He says, drawing you back into his arms.
“I’m in love with you too”
His confession hangs between you, soft as a heartbeat.
warnings : fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, both house and reader are little shits, smooch smooch in the end
summary : house always took it upon himself to cheer reader up whenever she needed it. this time he decided a different method
a/c : went back to my roots for a while. also this is loosely based on this request!
You found yourself one too many times at Gregory House’s couch. It had been a habit of yours - staying at his place after a draining shift.
He’d never say the sappy, “You’re okay, I’m here” even though he thought of it. It wasn’t like him. He wouldn’t go out of his way to comfort someone like that. But… House would place a soft hand on your shoulder, muttering a small,
“Come on, I’ve got beer”
You didn’t even drink beer. He knew that too. But he’d rather have you curled up on his couch than overworking yourself at the hospital just because you couldn’t deal with your burnout.
If you weren’t so tired you’d think he was into you.
Spoiler alert, he was.
Curling your legs under your body, you sighed. Your eyes flickered to his cane left on the couch - while he was in the kitchen. Habitually, almost unconsciously, your fingers traced over it - over the little stars and smiley faces you’d drawn just to annoy him.
House pretended not to notice, but everyone knew he did.
“Love the new decorations on my cane. Definitely not thinking of snapping it in two pieces just to buy a new one. A new not-with-pink stars and smiley faces on it- new one” He grumbled, holding a beer for him, and tea for you.
“Oh shut up, you and me both know you like it”
He handed you the mug, eyes dropping to your fingers still resting on his cane.
“You’re annoying” House said, but there was no bite in it.
You grinned, slightly leaning into him as he settled beside you.
“Yeah” you whispered. “You like that too”
For once, he didn’t argue. Because besides annoying, he found you cute. Too cute for your own good.
“So tell me my damsel in distress…” He deadpanned, his lips making a soft pop as he sipped the beer.
“What’s going on in that pretty annoying head of yours?”
Oh, shit. Here comes the time you’d been dreading.
“Aww, you called me pretty” You mocked him.
House rolled his eyes, even though he was nowhere near annoyed with you.
You took a sip of your tea to hide the sting in your chest. He noticed - of course he did, and for a moment he looked like he might actually push. But instead, he sighed, dragging your head closer to his shoulder.
“Fine” He muttered. “Don’t tell me what’s wrong. I’ll just assume it was something tragically stupid”
He sighed and leaned back, eyes on you instead of the TV that wasn’t even on.
The silence pressed in. You stared into your tea, swallowing against the lump that had started to form in your throat.
“It’s not stupid” you admitted.
He tilted his head. “It never is, isn’t it?”
You gave a wet little laugh that broke halfway through. The sound pulled his gaze to your face - red eyes, trembling lip. The effort of trying not to fall apart.
“Hey” he said quietly, sitting up straighter. A hand came to your cheek, rough thumb brushing a tear that had fallen. You froze.
So did he.
“I didn’t mean- Sorry House” You croaked out, trying to get out of his grasp.
Then he leaned in - slow, hesitant, like he was giving you every chance to stop him - and pressed his lips to yours.
It wasn’t sharp or demanding; it was tired, gentle, the kind of kiss that says I see you instead of I want you.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely there.
“See? Not everything I do is an insult.”
Your breath was still shaky, only this time it wasn’t from being mentally exhausted. It was from the sheer intensity of your kiss.
“For someone who hates being affectionate, you sure do know how to cheer a woman up, Greg”
He smirked, pulling you in for another kiss before you could protest.
warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, p in v, use of sex toys (reader has a vibrator lol), both of them are horny hehe, ANGST in the end!
summary : spencer goes all cell block d during a case, and reader is turned on. she couldn’t help but wonder… when did he get so hot?
a/n : told yall sabrina’s new album would have THIS effect on me.
“…and Reid went a little cell block D on him” Emily told Rossi, shooting the unsub a nasty glare.
Her voice felt far far away. All you could do was lean against the wall, hands folded over your chest.
You couldn’t stop replaying the scene in your head.
You’d been in Iowa the past few days, trying to hunt down that motherfucker who kidnapped little kids.
And that’s how boy genius Spencer Reid dragged you into the nearest park from the precinct - determined you’d definitely see something suspicious.
Boy, you did.
It wasn’t hard spotting him, but dealing with him was. As it always was.
But when that bastard mocked you - saying, “To hell with you” while shoving you…
Spencer couldn’t hold back. He pushed him down, twisting his arms behind his back.
It made you definitely feel some type of way…
“Earth to Y/N! Isn’t that right? He shoved you and Spencer went full on protective mode”
Emily’s voice brought you back, mentally cursing yourself for literally swooning over Spencer and his post-prison hotness.
“Oh? Yeah- Yeah, he did that” You nodded, straightening your shirt before stepping closer to her.
Emily tilted her head, studying you with that gaze that made you feel a little exposed.
“You okay?”
Shit. You couldn’t be horny during work. This wasn’t the place. Nor the time.
Heat crept up the back of your neck. You shifted on your feet, but you knew you couldn’t hide in a room with two profilers.
Two really, really good profilers.
“I’m fine” You reassured Emily, wishing this conversation wouldn’t continue.
You stepped out of the interrogation room, fussing while Emily followed you.
“Sure you’re fine? Did something happen in the park?”
You were about to protest again when Spencer came towards the both of you. You could barely focus on what he was saying. His curls were messy- he was definitely tired but god… he was a sight for sore eyes.
“I hope he didn’t hurt you, Y/N” He told you, placing his hand on your shoulder.
Your stomach did a flip. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because how exactly were you supposed to explain that watching Spencer slam that bastard to the ground hadn’t just made you feel safe. It had left your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear?
The unsub’s shove felt nothing compared to the nerves you were experiencing now.
“I- No- No he didn’t hurt me” You blinked, looking at him and then back at Emily.
She was smirking. Emily Prentiss was smirking at you.
Her smug expression only deepened, like she had caught you red-handed. “Good” she said. “Cause you looked really rattled back there”
Your lips parted, ready to protest, but Spencer’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, grounding you in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “If you’re sure you’re alright,” he murmured, his eyes soft but lingering in a way that made your chest tighten.
“I’m alright” You croaked out. Fuck me, you thought.
Spencer nodded, giving you a small smile before going inside the interrogation room.
Emily chuckled, and you just knew that she was filing this moment away for later. She leaned in closer, close enough so only you could hear her - voice low and teasing.
“Careful, agent. You’re not as hard to read as you think”
“Emily, come on” You said, heat flooding your face. You could only gape at her as she walked off, leaving you standing in the empty hallway.
Next to the room Spencer was in.
The rest of the day blurred out - filled with lots of paperwork and forming geographical profiles. You tried to avoid Spencer, talking to him only when needed.
He’d noticed you being a little withdrawn, to the point where you couldn’t look at him in the eye when you were alone with him.
Honestly? He found it cute. He caught you staring at his hands - or literally anywhere else but his eyes. He made you flustered, and that was a win for Spencer.
By the time the team wrapped up for the night, your shoulders were stiff from hunching over files and maps - and your mind kept replaying the park scene. The throbbing between your legs hadn’t stopped once, distracting you and making you feel funny.
You’re halfway out the precinct’s door, ready to catch up on some well deserved sleep - when Spencer approaches you.
You tried to avoid him - almost jogging towards the exit. You just needed to go to your hotel room. Have a nice shower. Maybe make a nice use of your vibrator.
What the fuck were you thinking?
To your horror, Spencer got to you before you could even reach your car.
“You know, you can’t ignore me forever”
You froze, keys clutched in your hand, the cool night air biting against your flushed skin. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding so loud you swore you could hear it.
“I’m not ignoring you, Spencer” You said.
“Yes you are. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since the unsub pushed you” He snapped, wishing he didn’t raise his voice.
You knew where he was coming from, you really did. But it wasn’t so simple to say what was going on.
Your throat went dry. He wasn’t wrong, but you couldn’t exactly blurt out Sorry, watching you take him down made me so wet I can’t think straight.
“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? Everything is fine. I’m fine. That asshole didn’t hurt me. Go to your hotel room, Spencer” You waved him off, deciding to storm off and go to your car.
Spencer stopped closer, pulling you by your elbow. His touch wasn’t hard - just firm. Firm enough to pin you in place with the intensity of his gaze.
“You think I didn’t notice, don’t you?” His voice softened, but the words still made the heat pooling in your belly worse.
“You looked at me like-” Spencer cut himself off, jaw flexing - as though admitting it would be dangerous.
Looked at you like what? Like I wanted you to pin me down and leave bruises that won’t go away? Yeah, sure.
Your pulse was hammering. You were pretty sure that he could feel it.
“Looked at you like… Like what?”
His eyes searched yours, dark and unyielding. For a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer.
“You were turned on, sweetheart”
Fuck.
Big fuck.
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The word sweetheart rattled through you like a bullet. Nobody called you that. Not him. Not Spencer Reid.
Spencer leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “You think I don’t know what that look means? I’ve read people my entire life. But you…” His voice dropped, rougher now, almost a growl. “You made it impossible to focus on anything else.”
Your knees nearly buckled. “Spence…” you whispered, torn between bolting and pressing yourself against him.
He didn’t let go of your arm. His thumb brushed slowly over the inside of your elbow, gentle in a way that contrasted the storm in his eyes. “Say it. If I’m wrong, tell me. Right now.”
But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your silence said everything.
And that silence made Spencer’s lips twitch into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what I thought.”
“Oh, for fucks sake” You said, before locking your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.
He didn’t even pull away. He kissed you back with the same force, making you gasp in his mouth. He took it as a permission to slip his tongue inside your mouth - holding your face in his hands.
The sound that escaped him was half groan half sigh, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally let go. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper against his lips.
“Jesus, Y/N” he rasped, breaking the kiss only long enough to drag in a breath before claiming your mouth again. It wasn’t the shy, awkward Spencer everyone knew. This was darker, hungrier.
“If we…” You spoke between kisses, “If we- If we stay here for long, I’ll quite literally tell you to take me right over here”
Spencer let out a low sound - a soft laugh against your lips. His forehead pressed against yours, curls brushing your skin as his chest heaved.
“You have no idea how dangerous it is when you say things like that, sweetheart” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel how hard he was, straining against his pants, and it made your head spin.
“Then don’t make me say it twice” You whispered, dragging him by his tie.
Your fingers were still fisted in his tie when you broke the kiss, your chest heaving. The night air felt too sharp, too public. Spencer’s eyes burned into yours, darker than you’d ever seen them.
“Not here, Spence- For the love of god” You sighed, but your body wasn’t protesting.
His jaw flexed, and for a moment you thought he might ignore you entirely, might just give in and take you against the wall like you’d teased. But instead, he dragged in a shaky breath and nodded. “Hotel. Now.”
The ride there was torture. His knuckles white on the steering wheel, your thighs pressed tight together in the passenger seat, both of you vibrating with want. He didn’t say much—just kept glancing at you, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven.
By the time you reached your room, your hands were already on each other. The door barely shut before he had you against it, his mouth hot and desperate on yours.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this” he murmured against your neck, hands skimming down your sides, tugging at clothes.
His hands were everywhere. On your waist, your face, sliding down your ass and squeezing you like he couldn’t get enough.
“Fuck, sweetheart” He rasped, breaking the kiss just enough so he could kiss your jaw, biting slightly at your neck.
“Do you know what you’ve done to me? All day? Seeing you flustered and shy because of me?”
You moaned when his hands tugged at your shirt, yanking it over your head. He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before he bent, sucking a bruise against your collarbone, groaning when your fingers tangled in his curls.
Your bra was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere on the floor, his mouth already closing over your breast like he was starved. You gasped, back arching into him, nails dragging down his shoulders.
“Spence- Bed” you croaked out, voice wrecked already.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Spencer half carried you, half stumbled over the not so soft mattress of your hotel bed - both of you losing more clothes along the way. He crawled over you, lips swollen, eyes blown with hunger.
“Condoms” You breathed, pointing toward the nightstand.
“They’re in the top drawer”
Spencer leaned over, yanking open the drawer—then froze. His gaze lingered not on the foil packet but on the slim pink vibrator nestled beside it. Slowly, his lips curved into something dangerous.
“Well, well” He smirked, holding it up. He pressed the button, the soft hum of its vibrations echoing through the room.
“That’s how you would’ve spent your night?”
Your face burned. “Spencer, come on”
He silenced you with a kiss, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Tonight… you’re gonna show me exactly how you use this. And then…” his voice dropped to a growl, his cock brushing your thigh, “…I’ll fuck you so good you won’t even think about reaching for it again.”
“When did you get so mouthy?” You spoke in between kisses, back arching as he cupped you through your panties.
He laughed against your skin, dragging the toy down the curve of your stomach, letting it buzz over your skin but nowhere near where you needed it.
“When I realised how madly I want you” he rasped, slipping his fingers beneath your panties just enough to tug them down your thighs. He kissed you again, deep and filthy before pulling back to watch your face.
The vibrator hovered at your inner thigh, the vibrations tingling through the sensitive skin. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “tell me how you use it. Tell me where you put it.”
You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Spence—please—”
But his smirk only widened as he nudged it closer to your clit, pressing just enough to make you jolt. “Mmh. That’s what I thought.”
The vibrator against your clit wasn’t nearly enough. You needed more. Needed him inside you, desperately.
The frustration of him teasing you with the toy was so evident, you think Spencer would’ve let go. Give you what you wanted.
Your hips bucked, chasing the vibrations, but his hand on your thigh kept you pinned.
“Look at you” Spencer muttered, almost in awe. “So desperate for me” He dipped the toy lower now, near your entrance - before pulling it away. The whimper that tore out of you made his jaw clench.
“Spence” you begged, nails digging into his bicep, “I need you, Spencer”
Before you knew it, the vibrator had clattered onto the mattress - forgotten. He pressed one wet kiss on your mouth again, before he frantically shoved his pants and your underwear down.
“Sweetheart,” he rasped, sliding the condom on, his cock thick and aching against your thigh, “you’re about to feel exactly how much I’ve wanted you.”
Spencer lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, to make sure you still wanted this.
And then—he drove into you in one deep, hungry stroke.
You cried out, clutching at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back as he filled you so completely you swore you couldn’t breathe.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place. “Move, Spence- Please”
He pulled out just enough to slam back inside you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the hotel room. His control was gone, completely shredded, each thrust fuelled by weeks, years even of pent up hunger and emotion.
Spencer’s thrusts are wild. No thought. No patience, pure need. You sob his name, hips bucking as he hits your walls just right.
The coil in your stomach snaps, and your body shudders violently around him. He follows immediately, teeth gritted, hands gripping your waist, claiming you with every moan until you both collapse, gasping and shaking, utterly wrecked.
“That was…” You gasp, almost breaking into laughter.
Spencer turns to look at you, lips coming to press a kiss on your forehead. “So good. You’re such a good girl”
You’re both panting, chest to chest, limbs tangled in the messy hotel sheets. Spencer’s curls are plastered to his forehead, lips still swollen from the kisses, and his hands keep roaming over you, as if he can’t stop himself from checking you’re still real.
You press into him, still trembling, and he hums low, brushing your hair from your face. “You okay, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant, but there’s still that rough edge of need.
“More than okay” You reassure him, burying yourself in his arms.
Somewhere in between Spencer’s whispered praise and caresses you fall asleep. You don’t even register the fact that he cleaned you up, tucked you under the covers and gave you another kiss on your forehead.
By the time you wake up, it’s already time to head to the precinct.
You blink groggily, realizing your body is still tangled in the warm sheets, the lingering scent of Spencer on the pillows. Your mind slowly catches up—last night, him, everything—and a faint smile tugs at your lips despite the early hour.
Spencer is already up, dressed in a simple button-down and slacks, hair still tousled, moving quietly around the room. He pauses when he sees you stirring, and that soft, older-bf energy radiates from him even in the light of morning.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle. He comes to the bed, leaning down to press a quick, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You slept okay?”
You nod, still half-lost in the haze of sleep and last night’s intensity. “Yeah… better than okay,” you whisper, curling a little closer as he brushes a hand over your arm.
Spencer studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before giving a small, satisfied nod.
“We should get going. They’re probably waiting for us”
You sigh, content but slightly anxious.
The precinct was quiet, the usual buzz of activity long gone. The team had dispersed hours ago, leaving you and Spencer alone in the dimly lit break room, papers and laptops scattered across the table. You were both exhausted, eyes strained from hours of piecing together the unsub’s movements.
Spencer ran a hand through his messy curls, jaw tight, leaning back in his chair. “I… I don’t think this should happen again,” he muttered, voice low but carrying that edge of irritation.
“What the fuck Spencer?”
He just leaned back in his chair, letting out a low exhale. “We can’t- We can’t do that again. Not with this case. Or with any case, frankly”
pairing : aaron hotchner x fem!bookstore owner!reader
w/c : 3,9k
warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise kink, slight d/s dynamics, dirty talk, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up irl), AFTERCARE, aaron being a menace in the kitchen, inexperienced!reader, older bf hotch energy, cliffhanger at the end
summary : reader is running late for her date with aaron. amidst the chaos, aaron reminders her to breathe. and rewards her…with more ways than just a nice dinner!
a/n : happy laufey release day to those who celebrate! i hope you like this :)
Everything was supposed to go as planned.
You had two things on your mind.
- open the shop at 9am
- be done and have everything locked up by 7pm sharp.
Okay… maybe that was a wild fantasy. Be done by 7pm? Very funny. The universe clearly knew you had a date for the first time in months, with someone you actually liked…
And decided to mess with your life.
You didn’t know who or what was conspiring against you.
Mercury retrograde? Publishing houses shipping everything they had (an exaggeration) this exact day?
You couldn’t figure it out.
All you knew was that the clock read 6:50pm and you were barely ready to leave. Let alone lock everything up.
You had to be at Aaron’s place by 9. And somehow manage to shower, shave, and do your makeup. The mental checklist went on and on and on.
Aaron had been on your mind constantly, especially after the party. His hands, his lips - everything. You’d be lying if you said that you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him again.
Texting each other had been a habit. It was comforting. Even when he was away on a case, he wanted to keep in touch with you. You could almost feel him through the phone, as if he was really there.
God, you were so head over heels for him.
You couldn’t even deny it. Hell, you admitted it to him.
And still… he had kissed you. Explored you like a delicate painting, tracing every curve with his fingers.
The universe was definitely testing you.
You grabbed a big stack of books, trying to organise them as quickly as possible. Though your hands fumbled, and several paperbacks fell to the floor.
“Oh, come on” You groaned, hands flying to your face.
Your phone buzzed. Oh. Aaron.
I’m assuming you’re not done yet?
Shit, shit. You completely forgot that you’d text him once you closed the store.
i’m almost done, there’s just so many stuff to do. will close up in a few xx
You quickly stacked the last books, sighing heavily.
Your phone buzzed again before you could shove the stack back into place.
Take your time. I’d rather you not rush.
Your lips parted, shoulders slumping against the shelf. Of course that’s what he’d say. Calm and gentle, like he wasn’t the one waiting for you at home.
Yet another buzz.
Besides, it gives me more time to think about tonight.
Oh my god.
Heat pooled in your lower stomach. Great. As if you weren’t already behind schedule - behind paperbacks actually. Now you had him in your head, making you blush- your stomach filling up with butterflies.
You bit your lip, thumb hovering over your phone before you finally typed back.
you’re not helping. i’m supposed to be focused. i have work. remember?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then hurry up, sweetheart.
A quiet gasp left your lips, and you had to put your phone away. Gosh, you were as giddy as a schoolgirl.
All because of Aaron fucking Hotchner.
You spent another thirty minutes trying to tidy up, silently cursing for not fixing up the mess in your bookstore earlier.
Aaron’s texts were replaying in your head, making it hard for you to do something without pausing - smiling to yourself, and then shaking your head furiously as you realised how you were reacting.
By the time you flicked off the lights and locked up, your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with being late.
The drive home was a blur. You barely remembered taking the familiar turns, only that every red light felt like a personal attack from the universe. Aaron’s words looped in your mind, over and over, as if he’d whispered them directly into your ear. Then hurry up, sweetheart.
By the time you stumbled into your apartment, you were buzzing. Shower. Makeup. Clothes. You tried to be methodical about it all, but your hands were trembling, betraying how desperate you were to see him. To feel him.
When your phone buzzed again, just as you were smoothing down your dress - you nearly dropped it.
Still on schedule?
God, he was going to kill you tonight.
You giggled to yourself when you typed back.
yes, sir
Aaron lived almost two blocks away from you, which wasn’t far - but your anticipation was so high, and even the small drive made you jittery with nerves.
And here you were now, in front of his apartment door. Hands shaking as you held a bottle of wine in a gift bag.
You didn’t even get the chance to knock. Unbeknownst you, Aaron had seen your car from the kitchen window. The door swung open, and there he was.
Tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. His gaze soft, but heavy on you.
“Sweetheart…” He said, wishing his voice didn’t betray the fact that he’d been waiting for you all night.
You lifted the bag with a shaky smile.
“Bribery”
His mouth twitched into the smallest smile, and you were sure your heart skipped a beat.
“You didn’t have to”
“I know” You nodded, stepping inside, brushing past him. “I wanted to, though”
Plus, wine has been doing wonderful things for us lately , you thought.
You made small conversation when he took your coat off - well, maybe it was more you blushing too much, and Aaron teasing you.
He draped your coat neatly over the back of a chair, ever meticulous - while you stood awkwardly in the warmth of his home.
Despite being there for not less than 20 minutes, you felt safe - ever so often glancing at the framed photos of Jack, or the faint scent of his cologne hitting your nostrils.
“You look nervous” He pointed out, turning back to you.
“I’m not” You lied, but he saw through it instantly.
“Come here” He whispered, his hand already placed on your elbow to draw you closer.
“You’re nervous” He repeated, voice dipping lower, as he could peel the truth out of you with just one word.
Your breath hitched.
God, why did he have to say it like that?
His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing as he took the bag.
“Why don’t I open this, hm?”
You nodded a little too quickly, your blush deepening, and Aaron chuckled softly - like he’d already won something, though you couldn’t place what.
Aaron set the bag on the counter and pulled the bottle out, turning it in his hands. “You always pick the good ones.”
You shrugged, trying for casual but failing miserably. “Occupational hazard.”
Dinner was… easy. Too easy. Conversation with him was flowing naturally, as if you’d been doing this for years. His low laugh sent warmth down your spine every time you managed to tease something out of him.
You kept telling yourself to relax, that this was just a meal, just a glass of wine, just… Aaron. But the way his eyes lingered on you when you spoke, the way his hand brushed yours when he passed the bread, the quiet attention in every little thing he did - it was all undoing you piece by piece.
At one point, you dropped your fork when he said your name, softly, in that tone that seemed to carve right through you. You bent quickly to retrieve it, cheeks burning, but when you sat back up, he was already watching, that hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Sorry” You said, biting your lip to hide that awkward smile.
“You’re nervous again” He pointed out. Simply- like it was a fact he could file away for a case report.
“I’m not” You insisted, lifting up your glass to sip some wine - hoping it could mask your expression.
“Sweetheart.” His gaze pinned you in place, steady and unrelenting. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, the meal, the chatter, the safe distance of the table — it all felt too flimsy to hold the weight of what was hanging between you.
You set your glass down a little too fast. “I’m not lying,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.
Aaron didn’t push. He never pushed. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a quiet patience that was somehow worse than interrogation. You could feel it — that steady pull toward him, like gravity.
And then, so softly you almost missed it, he said, “Come here.”
He tugged you on his lap effortlessly, his big hand splayed on your waist. Sure, you’d been so close to him before…
But this time it was different. You weren’t hazy and tired after the party and from drinking so much wine- there wasn’t the quiet hum of the night inside the bookstore.
It was just the two of you. Unbothered.
You shifted a little to get comfortable, making your dress ride up your thighs. His other hand fell flat against your skin, steady, grounding — but sending a line of fire straight through you.
Your breath caught. You didn’t mean to, but it was impossible. Not when he was this close, radiating such warmth.
“Aaron…” You whispered, not even sure what you were asking for.
His thumb brushed over your thigh, a slow drag that had your whole body tightening. “I can hear how fast your heart is beating.”
“That’s— That’s not fair” You chuckled, your hand coming to rest on the collar of his shirt.
He tilted his head, eyes soft but searching.
“What’s not fair, honey?”
“That you notice everything”
“Sweetheart.” His voice dipped lower, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “That’s because I’ve been paying attention.”
“You look lovely tonight” He added, eyes trailing down your lips.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. It was too much — the weight of his gaze, the way he said it like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.
For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved. The tension coiled tighter, humming in the air between you.
And then Aaron leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his breath warm when he whispered:
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you” You whispered, voice trembling but steady enough for him to hear.
His eyes darkened, the soft patience replaced with that low unmistakable intensity you’d been craving.
He didn’t say anything else. Just pulled you in, lips capturing yours in a slow - almost tortuously slow kiss.
Every kiss unraveled the tension you’d been carrying all night. Your heart raced, your body hummed with heat, and still he moved with care — each touch, each press of his lips, saying the words you couldn’t voice.
You were the first to pull back, all flustered and breathless.
“Was about time this lovely dinner earned you a couple of kisses” You said.
“Oh really?” He teased, brow raising. “Only my cooking skills are kiss-worthy?”
“Yes,” you whispered, cheeks flaming, “and maybe the chef too.”
Aaron’s lips twitched into a slow, knowing smile. He leaned back just enough to hold your gaze, thumb brushing over your jaw. “Well then… I guess I’ll have to earn more.”
Your stomach fluttered. “Oh? And how do you plan to do that?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he placed a hand under your knees - picking you up. Within seconds, he’d carried you to his room - laying you down on the soft mattress.
A hand slid up your dress, which had pooled in hips now.
“Like this” He whispered, feeling you shivering under his touch.
“Aaron…” You croaked out.
“Shh, sweetheart” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Let me”
Your back arched instinctively as his fingers came closer to the waistband of your panties - tracing slow circles on your skin.
“I- I want this” you spoke, almost desperate for him to know.
Aaron’s lips found yours again, soft at first, coaxing, before deepening into a slow, consuming kiss. Every brush of his mouth, every press of his hand, was patient, precise — a promise that he would never rush you, never hurt you.
“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and husky. “Only mine. Understand, sweetheart?”
“Yes…” You barely breathed the word, letting yourself melt into the weight of him, the safety and fire of him all at once.
“Such a good girl” He praised you, fingers finally slipping underneath your panties, dragging them down your legs.
He trailed kisses on your inner thigh, making you gasp as he got closer to where you wanted him.
God, you were aching for him tonight. You needed this. Needed him.
And boy, did he know.
You arched for a moment, which made him hold your legs even tighter.
“Not yet, honey” He murmured, hot breath fanning against your core.
He let his lips hover just above you, teasing, letting you squirm beneath him. His fingers pressed gently against your entrance, circling, stroking just enough to make you whimper.
“You feel so perfect,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “So tight… just for me.”
You shivered, chest rising and falling, hands gripping the sheets, trying to hold yourself steady. “I… I need you,” you whispered, voice trembling.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he replied, letting one finger slip inside slowly, testing, savoring the way you clenched around him. “I want to make this last. Feel every part of you.”
Your hips pressed instinctively against him, but he held you in place, thumb brushing over your clit, teasing, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. “Good girl,” he praised, lips pressing a heated kiss to your thigh, trailing upward inch by inch.
The anticipation coiled tighter in your stomach, every nerve on fire as he continued to stroke and tease, whispering your name like a promise: “You’re mine, all mine…”
“Fuck… Aaron” You moaned, hands gripping the sheets tighter.
His lips hovered just above you, hot and teasing, before finally pressing that slow, deliberate kiss to your clit.
You gasped, arching into him instinctively, hands clutching at the sheets as heat coiled tight in your stomach. His tongue traced slow, languid circles, every flick and press making you shiver, whimper, needing more.
“You feel so fucking perfect,” he murmured against you, lips and breath sending fire through your core. “All mine… just for me.”
His hands splayed on your hips, keeping you pressed close, while his mouth worked you, teasing every nerve until your moans were trembling, helpless sounds that belonged only to him.
It didn’t take long for him to make you come. You came in gasps, almost crying out his name.
You once thought that what happened in your bookstore was intense. Guess that was a mistake.
“Breathe, nice and slow… Come on” You heard him say, his hands coming up to stroke your cheeks.
“That… That was…” You whispered.
He didn’t let you finish your sentence. He sealed your lips in a kiss - sloppy, wet and tasting yourself on him.
“This…” He spoke, sliding down the straps of your dress. “This has to come off”
You could only nod, letting him undress you completely now. You were completely bare before him - feeling vulnerable. Shy. As if he hadn’t eaten you out like you were his last meal.
“You have… too many clothes on”
Your shaky fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, caressing his exposed skin.
“Well, we can change this. Can’t we sweetheart?”
You almost gasped when he took the lead - removing his shirt completely, his toned arms on display for you. You couldn’t help but trace your fingers on his biceps, looking at him with a hungry expression.
“Eager, aren’t we?” He whispered in your ear, earning a small hum from you.
Then came the low, metallic click of his belt buckle, the soft slide of leather as he pulled it free. His gaze never wavered from yours, steady, consuming, as though watching you react was more intoxicating than the act itself. You bit your lip when he pushed his pants down his hips, leaving him in just his briefs—your cheeks flaming at how little was left between you.
“Still want me to keep going?” he teased softly, hand resting on your thigh.
“Please”
His lips curved, not quite a smile, more like satisfaction at hearing you beg so sweetly. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, sliding his hand from your thigh up to your waist, steadying you as he leaned back to push his briefs down.
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down before darting back up to his face. He didn’t let you look away for long — his hand tilted your chin, guiding your gaze to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Just me.”
You nodded, breath trembling, every nerve sparking as he settled between your legs. His hand smoothed down your thigh again, coaxing them open, slow and patient, as if you were something fragile he’d never dream of breaking.
“You ready for me?” he asked, voice low, careful, the weight of his control holding the moment taut.
“Yes,” you whispered, almost too quiet — but it was enough for him.
Fuck, you thought. He was big. The stretch of him made you gasp, the feeling unfamiliar. It had been too long. Way too long. But still, Aaron’s patience never wavered. He spoke softly to you, reminding you to breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your temple. His hand slid up your side, grounding you, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.
You clung to him, nails digging lightly into his shoulders. The ache in your chest mixed with something hotter, sharper, and you swallowed hard against the overwhelming rush of it. “I… it’s a lot,” you whispered, cheeks burning.
“I know” Aaron said, pushing a little deeper. He wasn’t even fully inside of you but you were writhing.
“We’ll take it slow, sweetheart”
The weight of him above you, the warmth of his body pressed so close, made every thought scatter. You couldn’t find words, couldn’t think of anything but the way he was moving, easing you into him, never pushing too fast. His gaze never left yours — like he was reading every flicker of hesitation, every tremble, and answering it with more care.
And slowly, the sharp edge of unfamiliarity softened, replaced by a spreading heat that made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.
“Aaron- Move- Oh, please move” You moaned, your hips raising to meet his.
Aaron shifted his weight, just enough to ease his hips back and then press forward again, slow and steady, like he was giving you all the time in the world to adjust.
The sensation stole your breath — the deliberate drag of him inside you, the way your body clenched instinctively around the stretch. It wasn’t overwhelming now, but it was so much, every inch making you whimper softly into his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice rough but patient. “You’re taking me so well.”
Your thighs tightened around his hips, almost without thinking, pulling him closer as he moved again. Each careful thrust sent a ripple of heat spiraling through you, the initial discomfort already blurring into something you couldn’t name but craved desperately.
You buried your face against his neck, embarrassed at the sounds leaving your lips, but Aaron only cradled the back of your head, steady and grounding. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. I want to hear you.”
Each thrust was a little deeper, until you couldn’t tell where the sting had ended, and when the pleasure had begun. The heat spread low in your belly, tightening, winding you up until your nails dug in his shoulders, moaning his name like a mantra.
“Aaron-“ You gasped, voice breaking.
“I’ve got you” He murmured, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Let go for me, baby”
And then it hit — sharp and shattering, your body clenching down around him as the tension snapped all at once. You cried out his name, the sound muffled against his neck, trembling as the wave tore through you.
Aaron held you through it, moving slower now, coaxing you down from the high with gentle thrusts and soft praise. “That’s it, sweetheart… that’s it. Such a good girl for me.”
He chased his own high for a while, until his head was buried in your neck, groaning as he finally gave in to the pull. His body shuddered against yours, every deep thrust growing erratic until he spilled into you with a low - guttural sound that made your toes curl.
For a moment, all you could hear was your mingled breaths, his weight heavy but grounding on top of you. He didn’t move right away—just pressed his lips to your shoulder, to your cheek, anywhere he could reach, as if to anchor himself back into you.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked and tender at once, “you don’t know what you do to me.”
Aaron stayed there for a beat longer, catching his breath as well - before he finally eased out of you. You winced a little at the sensitivity, and instantly his hand was on your thigh - rubbing soothing circles.
“Easy” he murmured, “You okay?”
You nodded quickly, even though your lips were trembling.
“Yeah, I’m- I’m okay- It’s just…” you exhaled, letting out a shy smile. “That was… a lot”
A faint smile curved on his lips. “I hope it was good ‘a lot’”
He kissed you gently, and the way you relaxed in his hold was the answer.
“Yeah, I think it adds up to your cooking skills”
“Really, huh?”
You nodded, giggling before he slowly helped you sit up straight, his hand brushing the sweaty strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead.
“Gonna clean you up. Okay?”
You nodded, still a little dazed, and let him slip away just long enough to grab a warm towel. When he came back, he was all gentle efficiency, careful with every touch as he cleaned you up.
The intimacy of it made your chest tighten—it wasn’t just about the act, it was the way he looked at you, as though this part mattered more.
When he was done, he tugged the blankets up around you and slid in beside you, pulling you against his chest. His hand smoothed down your back in slow, steady strokes until your breathing evened out.
“You did so well for me tonight,” he whispered into your hair, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “So, so good.”
Your cheeks heated, but you burrowed closer into him, chasing the warmth of his body.
“Don’t… don’t go,” you murmured, half-asleep already.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron promised, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Not tonight. Not ever, if you’ll let me.”
Aaron’s hands were the last thing you felt, warm and grounding on your back, before you were pulled finally to sleep.
When you stirred again - somewhere between 8 or 9am, the sheets felt cooler.
You could smell his cologne, but the arms that held you through the night were gone.
Heart thudding in your chest - you pushed yourself up, trying do adjust in the dimly lit room.
That’s when you saw it. Folded neatly on the nightstand, written in his delicate handwriting.
Y/N,
I’m so sorry. I was called in for a case in Minnesota, and couldn’t wake you. You looked too adorable sleeping. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Please don’t think I wanted to leave you. I didn’t, sweetheart.
—A
Oh come on, you thought. You put the letter back on the nightstand, flopping back on the bed with an exasperated sigh.
And just like that, the quiet of the room felt louder than it had ever been.
warnings : some insomnia & anxiety. tooth rotting fluff and soft hotch. age gap mentioned!
summary : reader’s had a tough night. aaron notices
a/n : this is so self indulgent lol, need aaron biblically.
Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could even stop them.
You were curled up in a chair on the balcony, Emily Henry’s Great Big Beautiful Life spread out on the table. But you couldn’t read. Couldn’t sleep.
You hated how your mind kept you awake at this ungodly hour, making you replay every bad thing that has happened to you.
Making you spiral into thoughts you’d tried so deeply to keep them from tormenting you.
And then you heard him. Aaron. Your lovely, older - boyfriend. A gentleman. He knew you. He knew you.
He also knew you well enough to guess that you didn’t want to wake him up. You always did this. You always hid away from him - especially when he was back from a long, gruelling case.
He stood there in the corner, silently observing you.
“Aaron” You whispered, voice breaking.
“Hey- Hey, honey” He spoke, voice groggy- oh god you’d just woken him up.
Stupid, stupid. You thought.
He pulled a chair to sit next to you, hand coming to cradle your face. “Why didn’t you wake me up, sweetheart?”
You shook your head, lips trembling. “You were so tired, Aaron”
His thumb brushed away one of the tears that had slipped down your cheeks. You leaned into his touch immediately- eyes falling shut.
“Don’t say that, please. I’m never tired for you” he murmured. “You don’t have to go through this alone”
You shook your head again, face contorting in pain. “I hate that- I hate that you still have to take care of me even when you’re- you’re exhausted and you carry so much. You see the worst of humanity every day. And I’m- I’m falling apart over nothing when you come”
You were full on crying by the end of your speech. Aaron didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue. He just reached for your hand, big palm engulfing yours as you shook with sobs.
“Breathe, honey” He soothed, hushing your pained cries. “It’s not nothing. It’s you, my love. And I’d rather hold you through this, be awake at 5am- Hell, we’ll stay up all night if you want to”
That undid you all over again. A sob escaped your lips, and Aaron was already pulling you from the chair and into his chest before you could fall apart completely. You curled up on his lap like a child, arms wound tight around his waist, face pressed against his chest.
His hand cradled the back of your head, while the other kept rubbing soothing circles on your spine.
“I’ve got you” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Shh, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart”
You don’t remember much after that. Aaron picked you up, not forgetting your beloved Emily Henry paperback before closing the door to the balcony.
“Okay, okay we’re going to bed. Alright?”
You didn’t answer, but the way your arms tightened around his neck said enough.
Aaron brought you back to the bed, the covers rumpled from where you’d previously slipped out. He laid you down with so much care- like you were something delicate and precious. You were to him.
“I got you” He spoke again, turning the AC on - knowing you’d sweat during the night. You wanted to thank him. Wanted to kiss him right then and there. But everything felt too heavy, and you frankly- were too tired.
So you succumbed to sleep, Aaron making sure you were comfortable and calm.
Guys I'm crashing out I can't stop thinking about and obsessing over Deep End. I want to flash a hundred years into the future and dive into ao3 fanfics about Scarlett. I want to write a dissertation on the Aliverse. I want a movie of the book so I can watch edits on tiktok. I want to take Ali to dinner and beg her for a POV from Lukas (seriously I'll beg for just a CHAPTER. I want to see how disgustingly down bad he is from inside his brain.) I want to reread the book again and then reread all of her books just for fun.
I fear I'll never find this high again. Send help (and book recs)
