sagestr

[sagestr]

charms and trinkets | s.reid x reader

genre: I’ll let you guess (fluff)

content warnings: none!!

content: non bau!reader, reader works at a bookstore, reader and spencer are already in a relationship, awkward!reader, they are all cuties, penelope and reader have mutual obsessions, female reader (im sorry i was gonna try and make it gn i forgot :((()

a/n: this is for my lovely anon who requested it !! i hope you enjoy it i tried to make it as close to your request. yes i made reader and penelope obsessed with calico critters because i am.

Request: here!!

wc: 1.4k

you and spender met at the bookstore you work at, ten months ago. he had nervously rambled off a genius like fun fact about the author of the book you were checking out for him. and you had laughed, that’s what caught his attention. that, and, well obviously how radiant you were. the maybe five minutes he spent checking out at the bookstore were spent with his eyes trained on you, completely captivated.

soon after, spencer became a regular at the bookstore, for the selection of books or for you? he wasn’t sure, but regardless, he kept coming back. after those couple visits, checking out his books again, you wrote your number on the bottom of the receipt, handing it to him. in front of you, he was blushing and stuttering. but the spencer that called you that night? was confident, and you loved it.

now, eight months from then, you and spencer were in an extremely happy relationship. every case he came home from, especially the particularly hard ones, he would rush over to your apartment. grasping you into his arms and holding you on the couch for hours. you were all he ever thought about, and spencer, being some one who talked a lot, showed that. the team had heard countless rambles about how amazing you were. Yet none of them had ever met you. the team usually just listened, not pushing spencer on when they were going to meet this mysterious girlfriend. well, everyone except penelope.

every meet up between spencer and penelope in penelope’s lair, every call between them, penelope always asked when she was meeting you. why? because truthfully, she had never seen spencer so happy, and she wanted to thank you for making her best friend more positive than she has ever seen him.

and that’s what led to this conversation that you and spencer were having right now. you two were at spencer’s apartment, sitting on his couch. “i know your hesitant about meeting the team..” he started, his hand holding yours, his thumb gently rubbing the top of your hand. you shook your head, looking at him, “it’s not that I don’t want to meet them spence, but, what if they don’t like me?” he smiles at you softly, “love, they will, I promise.” his gentle eyes caressing over your face.

how could you say no to him? when he looked at you with such love and tenderness. But still, the anxiety that flowed through you hadn’t subsided, and spencer, being ever observant, noticed. he sighed softly, squeezing your hand. “how about this? you just meet penelope for now, maybe not being surrounded by my entire team will help.” you took his words into consideration, you had heard a lot about penelope. and from the way spencer described her, you liked her already. “okay..yeah.” you said, “yeah?” spencer responded, a small grin playing on his lips.

spencer had made a call that night to penelope, arranging a meet between you three tomorrow, on his and penelope’s off day. penelope was ecstatic, you were anxious.

that night, spencer reassured you with comforting words. reminding you that if his awkward self loved penelope, you would to. that made you laugh, and honestly a little more comfortable.

the next day, a knock sounded on spencer’s apartment door. you had stressed cleaned his already clean apartment all morning. spencer came out, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head, before going to the door. you took a couple deep breaths, before following.

when spencer opened the door, you were greeted with a beautiful woman, adorned in a mixture of colors and patterns. penelope had a large smile on her face, that somehow widened when she saw you. she rushed in the apartment, “oh my gosh!! well, aren’t you pretty? how are you sweetheart, im penelope!!” her sweet voice rang in your ears, as she engulfed you in a big and sudden hug. you heard spencer chuckle softly in the distance, but you hugged her back.

penelope’s look and the small glimpse of her personality put you at ease almost instantly. the three of you made you way to spencer’s couch, all sitting down. spencer had his hand resting loosely on top of yours, and penelope sitting across from you two. “ive heard so much about you..!!” you started, looking at her. she smiled, shaking her hand dismissively, “darling I guarantee, I’ve heard more about you!! spence can’t stop talking about you.”

you blushed at her words, flustered with the idea that spencer talks about you to his coworkers. before you could even continue your flustered thoughts, a gasp sounded in the room, penelope gently grabbing the hand spencer wasn’t holding looking at your charm bracelet. “is that charm a calico critter?” she squeaked excitedly. you nodded quickly, “yes do you like them too!!” in which penelope gushed about how much she loved them. you had become immediately less shy when the common interest was of topic.

spencer was watching you lovingly as you talked quickly about the little trinkets the two of you loved so much. you and him were alike, always going on rants about the stuff that interested you. except he went on rants about scientific stuff that most people didn’t care much about, but of course, you cared.

watching his favorite person and closest coworker be so close and enjoy each others company, warmed his heart. the way your face lit up at anything that excited you, your voice growing higher and excitement shining through.

you had ran into spencer’s room where you kept a little collection of your favorite trinkets. spencer loved them, because they reminded him of you. you showed them to penelope, calico critters, sonny angels, and little cute things that the two girls adored. the three of you sat for a while, spencer occasionally butting in.

you picked out three calico critters that remind you of each person, a little deer one for penelope, a latte cat one for yourself, a silly giraffe one for spencer that made you and penelope burst out with laughter.

after a while, penelope had to leave, but not before exchanging numbers with you. when she left, you still had a giant smile on your face, one that spencer was so glad to see. you crashed into his arms, wrapping your own around him, “I like her a lot..” you mumbled into his chest. he laughed softly, you felt it rumble in his chest. “I knew you would, wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teased lightly, in return you shook you head.

“im really happy you like her, though. and im glad i can talk about you even more now that penelope has met you.” you pulled back, looking at him, “do you actually talk about me that much?” you asked.

spencer grinned, ruffling your hair playfully, “absolutely.” he confirmed. you whined jokingly in response. in which he grabbed your hand pulling you back into his living room. “cmon, we gotta clean up all these. they’re all over my couch..” he sighed dramatically. you hit him gently in the arm, “you’re lucky, look how cute!!!” you said, picking up a koala family of calico critters.

“yeah, cute..” he said, shamelessly staring directly at you instead of the trinkets. you rolled your eyes, not seeing him come closer to you, his hands resting gently on your hips. your own arms wrapping around his neck and bringing him closer. your lips catching in a gentle and loving kiss.

spencer pulls back, looking at you with a mock serious expression. “alright, now we really have to clean up, it looks like a toddler spread all of their toys around my apartment.” you made a considering face, the idea of a mini spencer running around a thought you enjoyed. spencer noticed, raising his eyebrows, “absolutely not.”

the rest of the night was spent picking up all the trinkets you and penelope had dropped, spencer falling asleep on the couch halfway through the cleaning session. you giggled quietly as you took a picture of him, curled up in a bright pink fluffy blanket, his curly hair a mess over his face, and sent it to penelope.

spencer may have made a mistake introducing you to penelope. he had unknowingly and unintentionally created a duo bound to causing immense amounts of trouble.

[sagestr]

𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦…

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Loki Odinson x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | jealousy, low self esteem .

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳… 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘴𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘓𝘰𝘬𝘪, 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦—𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦.

▸ Masterlist

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

Loki had not always been the cold, angry man he had become. Once upon a time, he had been a boy full of laughter and warmth, with a smile that could brighten even the darkest day. Back then, life felt simple, filled with moments of joy and the comforting certainty of family.

He had a brother, Thor, from whom he was never separated. They played together from sunrise to sunset, laughing as they chased each other through the golden halls of Asgard, their joyful voices echoing softly against the high marble walls. He had a father, Odin, whose stern face softened whenever Loki succeeded in performing a clever trick or learned something new. And he had a mother, Frigga, whose gentle touch was softer than the feather of the rarest bird. She always had comforting words, and her voice soothed every worry away.

But those days seemed like distant dreams now, lost somewhere in the past. Loki stood quietly by the large window, his breath lightly fogging the glass, as he watched Thor train in the courtyard below. Thor swung his magical weapon, Mjolnir, with ease and grace, defeating each training partner with a confident smile lighting his face. Loki felt a sharp pinch in his heart at the sight. The pride on Thor’s face felt almost cruel, reminding Loki of all the ways he fell short.

Everything had changed from the day Thor began preparing to become king. Suddenly, Loki became invisible. Odin’s proud gaze never strayed from Thor, and it felt as though he had forgotten entirely that he had a second son. Loki tried hard to catch his father's attention, tried to impress him with knowledge, cleverness, and magic, but nothing seemed enough. His accomplishments felt small, his talents unnoticed, overshadowed by his older brother’s effortless greatness.

Loki couldn’t understand why it had to be this way. Wasn't a father supposed to love all his children equally? Why was it that Thor’s victories filled their father’s eyes with pride, yet Loki’s own achievements were met only with silence? He often felt like a shadow, fading slowly into nothingness, unseen and unheard.

He told himself repeatedly that someday he would get used to this painful emptiness, to the bitter absence of a father's attention and a brother’s warmth. But how could anyone ever grow accustomed to loneliness, or accept being constantly reminded of one's weaknesses?

Feeling frustrated and weary, Loki turned away from the window as Thor cheered with his friends below. Thor had once again succeeded, and everyone admired him, applauded him. Loki swallowed his anger, took a deep breath, and picked up the heavy book he had left abandoned on a nearby table. He opened it gently, his fingers tracing the familiar pages. At least here, within these written worlds, he could escape the pain and solitude. Within these pages, he wasn't a second prince living in anyone’s shadow. He was free.

Yet, Loki’s peaceful moment vanished once more when Thor burst suddenly into the room, loud and joyful as always. The heavy wooden doors swung open with such force they banged loudly against the walls, making Loki jump slightly. Annoyed by this sudden intrusion, Loki sighed deeply, his tired green eyes slowly turning away from the page he had been reading, and settled reluctantly onto his smiling brother.

"Thor..." Loki said with a weary voice, barely hiding how irritated he felt at being disturbed again.

"My dear brother!" Thor shouted cheerfully, stepping forward and filling the quiet room with his booming voice. His face shone brightly, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement, completely oblivious to his brother’s irritation. "You will never guess what Father just told me!"

Loki rolled his eyes and gave his brother a bored look, full of sarcasm.

"That you will become king? Oh, but wait—everyone already knows that," Loki replied coldly, a bitter smile curling at his lips.

Thor laughed heartily, completely unaware that Loki was being sarcastic. To Thor, everything was joyful and amusing, never complicated or painful.

"Ah, good one, brother!" Thor chuckled, shaking his head happily. "But no, this is something even better!"

Something better than Thor becoming king? Now, this was interesting. Loki straightened in his seat, suddenly curious. He stared intensely at his brother, waiting eagerly for his answer.

"Fine," Loki said finally, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward. "I give up. Tell me your news."

"It's Y/N!" Thor announced loudly, his voice filled with excitement and joy. "She’s coming back to the palace!"

Loki froze completely. His heart seemed to skip a beat, and his eyes widened with shock and surprise. He had not expected this at all. If he felt lonely now, it hadn’t always been that way. Because long ago, when he was younger, he had never felt alone—not even for a moment. And that was because of you.

You had always been there beside him, his best friend and closest companion. Loki remembered your laughter clearly, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, and the feeling of warmth your friendship brought him. Together with Thor, the three of you had been inseparable—a trio of young friends, happy and free, running through the corridors of the palace, whispering secrets and dreaming of adventures.

From the time you were just four years old, you and Loki were always playing together, laughing and giggling on the floor of his large, sunny bedroom. The golden sunlight would shine through tall windows, filling the room with warmth as you built castles from blocks, chased imaginary monsters away, or whispered secrets under cozy blankets.

At ten, Loki taught you all his best tricks and pranks, whispering mischievously in your ear and grinning as you put them into action. Together, you played jokes on everyone in Odin’s court. You laughed so hard that your sides hurt, hiding behind corners, watching the faces of unsuspecting friends and servants as they discovered your little surprises.

By the time you were sixteen, your days were quieter but still just as happy. You spent long hours together in the library, surrounded by tall shelves filled with thousands of books. You sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, lost in stories and magical worlds. When not in the library, you wandered through the palace gardens, beneath the trees, walking slowly, talking softly, enjoying each other's company in peaceful silence.

If Thor ever wanted to find one of you, he only needed to look for the other—you were never apart. You were two halves of the same whole, inseparable and happy.

As Loki grew older, his feelings for you changed. Slowly, without him even noticing at first, friendship became something deeper. He saw you differently. You became more beautiful, smarter, kinder with each passing day, and Loki felt his heart beat faster whenever you were near. Soon, he realized it was obvious: you would always be together, and someday, he would marry you.

But sadly, life had different plans. Or rather, Odin had different plans.

The Allfather decided to send a group of people from Asgard to another planet, far away, to start a new colony. Your parents were among those chosen to go. Loki would never forget that terrible day when you said goodbye. You held each other tightly, your tears wetting his shoulder as you cried softly. His heart broke as you left him behind, alone, trapped with a family who had forgotten he existed.

For many years afterward, Loki blamed Odin for taking you away, adding one more painful memory to his growing list of reasons to resent his father.

But now, suddenly, Thor’s news of your return brought all those feelings back to life, stronger than ever. Joy, excitement, and hope filled Loki’s heart. It was hard to keep these emotions hidden, even as he tried to stay calm.

"When will she arrive?" Loki asked, his voice shaking slightly, trying hard to hide his excitement.

"In just a few hours," Thor replied with a wide smile. "Father says we should both be there to welcome her home."

Loki nodded silently, quickly leaving to get ready. His heart was racing as he prepared himself carefully, wanting everything to be perfect. He picked his favorite clothes, brushed his dark hair, and took a deep breath before joining Thor at the Bifrost bridge.

The bridge glowed softly beneath their feet, shimmering in the light. Loki stood silently, his nerves growing stronger with every passing second. He stared at the empty space ahead, waiting anxiously for the moment you'd finally appear.

Then, suddenly, the Bifrost began to glow brighter, colors swirling wildly as it opened. Loki held his breath, heart pounding loudly, ready for the moment he had dreamed of for so long—your return.

Your smile appeared instantly as soon as your eyes landed on the two princes standing in front of you. The Bifrost's bright glow faded slowly behind you, and your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Trying to remain calm and formal was very difficult because excitement bubbled fiercely within you. You took slow, careful steps towards them, but your eyes quickly searched for one person in particular—Loki, your oldest and closest friend.

When your eyes met Loki's, your heart warmed immediately. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, but somehow he was still exactly as you remembered: quiet, shy, gentle, with kindness hidden beneath his serious expression. You felt a burst of happiness at seeing his familiar face, the soft smile playing on his lips.

"Loki," you said softly, stepping closer with a bright grin. "It fills me with joy to see you again, my friend."

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, feeling comforted and safe in his presence. Loki's arms held you gently in return, a quiet happiness filling his chest.

"I'm happy you're back, Y/N," Loki replied softly, a small smile appearing on his usually serious face. His voice, calm and soothing, reminded you how much you'd missed his quiet comfort and gentle ways.

Reluctantly pulling away, your eyes then fell upon Thor, and your reaction became very different. Your mouth fell open slightly, surprised by what you saw.

"Thor? Is it really you? You've changed so much!" you laughed, shaking your head with surprise and amusement. "What happened to the skinny little boy I remember?"

Thor laughed loudly, his face turning slightly pink. His blue eyes sparkled with pride and amusement, though your attention made him a bit shy.

"He grew up," Thor replied cheerfully, flexing his muscles playfully, "and he got stronger, too."

"My goodness! You're hardly recognizable," you joked, smiling warmly as you hugged Thor as well, feeling small in his strong arms.

As Loki watched the excitement on your face at seeing Thor, a strange feeling began growing inside him. You had noticed how much Thor changed, how strong and impressive he had become—but you hadn't seemed to notice any difference in Loki. Did that mean he hadn't changed at all? Or had you simply not paid enough attention to him?

Loki shook his head, quickly chasing away these uncomfortable thoughts as he turned to lead the way back to the palace. He thought this would be the perfect chance to catch up, to ask how you'd been all these years. But things didn't go exactly as planned.

Thor began speaking immediately, his booming voice taking over the conversation. He eagerly shared every story about his adventures, battles he'd won, and places he'd visited. You listened closely, your eyes bright with interest, laughing and asking questions that made Thor smile even more. Loki walked silently next to you, listening quietly and feeling left out, though he didn't say anything.

Slowly, the uneasy feeling from before came back, stronger than ever. He felt invisible again, overshadowed by his brother’s lively personality and endless stories. Loki sighed quietly, feeling disappointed. He had imagined this moment so many times—talking to you, hearing your laughter, sharing stories again—but now he was walking silently, unable to speak or interrupt Thor's excitement.

The rest of the day continued exactly like this. Thor filled every conversation, sharing his heroic stories loudly, waving his hands to show how exciting everything was. Meanwhile, Loki stayed silent, following quietly behind, feeling as if he was invisible again.

But what truly upset Loki wasn't just his brother talking too much—it was the way you listened to Thor, completely charmed by every word he spoke. You seemed hypnotized, smiling eagerly at everything Thor said, even laughing at jokes Loki thought weren't funny at all. Every glance, every smile made Loki feel sick inside.

Loki had always been jealous of Thor, ever since he was a little boy. Thor always seemed better, stronger, and more popular. But Loki never thought that one day, he would be jealous because of you. He had secretly dreamed that, just once, he could be the special one—the one who captured your attention, the one who won your heart. But again, he seemed to have failed.

The soft music of your laughter suddenly echoed through the room. Loki lifted his eyes slowly, and his heart sank even deeper as he saw you laughing warmly at something Thor had just said. He felt a sudden ache in his chest, a painful feeling of sadness mixed with anger. He couldn't take it anymore. Quietly, Loki stood up, excused himself, and quickly left the room.

You had not seen Loki in many years, yet you still knew him better than anyone else. That was why your happy smile faded immediately when you noticed Loki leaving in a hurry. Something was definitely wrong. After a polite goodbye to Thor, you quickly stood up and slipped out of the room too, determined to find Loki.

You hurried down the long palace halls, your footsteps quick against the smooth, golden floors. After just a few minutes, you finally spotted him, the green fabric of his cape fluttering behind him as he walked away.

"Loki!" you called, your voice echoing through the hallway as you tried to catch up with him.

Slowly, he turned around at the sound of your voice. His green eyes were dark with frustration, and even though he tried hard to hide it, you could see his anger clearly. You've always had the talent of reading his emotions easily.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly, your voice full of worry. "You seem… upset."

"Don't worry about me," Loki snapped back sharply, his voice rough and cold. "Just go back to Thor. I'm sure he's waiting impatiently for your return."

You took a step back, surprised by his sudden harshness. He had never spoken to you this way before.

"Loki," you said again, gently this time. "I know you. Something's bothering you. Tell me what's wrong."

He laughed bitterly, a sarcastic smile spreading across his lips.

"Oh, now you're interested in me?" Loki asked, his voice filled with bitterness and hurt.

"Of course I'm interested in you! Why wouldn't I be?"

"Please don't mock me," he said sharply, looking away. His voice trembled slightly with emotion. "You haven't even glanced at me once since you returned. Everything is about Thor! It's as if I don't even exist!"

A moment of silence passed between you as you stared at him, suddenly understanding the truth behind his anger.

"Loki…" you began carefully, stepping closer, a soft smile starting to form on your lips. "Are you… jealous?"

Loki stayed silent. He knew it was useless to deny his feelings. He was known as the God of Lies, but you were the one person he could never lie to. You always saw through his masks, straight into his heart. Taking a deep breath, Loki decided to finally be honest about everything he felt.

"Does it surprise you?" he asked softly, his voice low and filled with emotion. "Ever since we met, we've been together. You were always there, at my side, my best friend. I hoped it would always stay that way." He paused, feeling his cheeks warm slightly, nervous to reveal his deepest thoughts. "As we grew older, I saw you become the wonderful woman you are now. And I hoped that maybe someday, you and I would…"

He stopped speaking, afraid to finish the sentence, too scared to openly say he loved you. But you didn't need words. You understood exactly what he meant. Your heart beat faster as you watched his green eyes carefully avoid yours, filled with pain and sadness.

"You know better than anyone," Loki continued quietly, "that I've always lived in Thor's shadow. I was never as strong, as brave, or as admired. But I truly hoped that this time, things would be different. That for once, I would be better than him—in your eyes. But today… I saw you with him, laughing together just like we used to, sharing moments that once belonged to us."

Silence fell between you again. You didn't know what to say, your heart aching at the sadness and hurt you heard in his voice. Loki shook his head, sighing deeply.

"It's not your fault, Y/N. It's mine," he said quietly, his voice breaking just a little. "I was foolish to think you'd ever choose me over Thor."

Hearing these words, seeing Loki in so much pain, was too much for you. You couldn't bear to see him suffer like this. Slowly, you stepped closer to him, gently touching his arm to comfort him.

"Loki," you began softly, your voice gentle and calm. "Do you know why I've come back to Asgard?"

Loki looked at you, puzzled, slowly shaking his head.

"No," he admitted softly.

You took a deep breath, looking deeply into his eyes, wanting him to feel the truth of your words.

"I came back because I'm now old enough to marry. It’s time for me to choose a husband," you explained, your voice warm and reassuring. "But when my mother told me this news, I didn't want to stay on my planet. I begged her to let me return to Asgard instead."

"I came back because I'm now old enough to marry," you explained gently. "My family told me it's time to choose a husband. But when my mother shared this news, I didn't want to stay on my planet. I begged her to let me return here, to Asgard."

Loki stared at you, confused and curious, but he didn't interrupt, eager to hear more.

"My mother believed I wanted to search for someone among the people of Asgard city, but I insisted I needed to return to the palace," you continued with a soft smile. "And believe me, Loki, I didn't come back here just to admire Thor."

Finally, Loki understood. You weren't speaking about Thor at all—you were speaking about him. You had returned hoping to marry him. His heart began racing with happiness and surprise. Could it be true? Could your feelings really match his own?

"Please, Y/N, be honest with me," Loki said quietly, stepping closer, his voice shaking slightly with emotion. "You don't love Thor?"

"I am honest, Loki," you answered softly, your voice firm but tender. "Just as you've watched your feelings grow for me over the years, mine have grown for you too—for a very long time now." Your cheeks warmed as you smiled gently, looking into his bright, hopeful green eyes. "Thor has always been charming and loud—you know that—but he's only ever been a friend to me. Nothing more."

Loki's face lit up with relief and joy, his worries melting away instantly. Without hesitating, he stepped forward and gently took your hand in his, lifting it slowly and placing a soft, warm kiss upon your knuckles. His gaze remained locked with yours, bright and full of warmth, and your smile grew brighter.

"I promise to do my very best to win your heart," Loki whispered softly, smiling playfully.

"I don't think it will take very long," you laughed happily, squeezing his hand gently, feeling at home once again, knowing your heart had finally found its place.

Loki smiled warmly at your words, his heart feeling lighter and happier than ever before. Gently, he guided you to walk alongside him down the long palace hallway, enjoying the quiet moment together. As you walked, your fingers stayed gently intertwined, as if they belonged there.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

[sagestr]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥����𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically just two bookworms arguing about books and having a s3x right after

𝐚/𝐧: please read the note! so it's only a very short part of my upcoming fanfiction that has...25k words...i'm aware no one is going to read it all soo i'm publishing one of my favorite parts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny. 

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger.

“You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that.  He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan. 

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt. 

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours. 

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet. 

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay” 

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

i know some of you were curious about this fanfiction, so I'm tagging it.

@nightfullofparadox @bloodredrubyrose @lillaberry @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[sagestr]

True blue — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader

Summary: You had a bad day, and your boyfriend is too awkward to ask for a hug, which happened to be the only way he really knew how to comfort you without rambling.

Disclaimer/s: upset!reader , hurt/comfort , fluff fluff. waiter/ess!reader

A/N: getting back into my cm era bless bless… early seasons spencer is sooo.

You’d had about the worst day possible at work. A middle aged man had insulted you, mocked you, all the annoying things customers seemed to do with no remorse. All you wanted, was to go to your boyfriend’s and rest.

Since your apartment had been getting renovated, he told you to stay at his place. It was a sweet gesture and you’d accepted instantly.

Now, you’d thrown open the door with an irritable sigh, closing it a little more gently than you had opened. Spencer was in the living room, book in hand.

“Hey?” He says slowly, setting the book aside. Concern etches into his face as his eyes examine you closely.

Dating a profiler was all fun and games until you saw that look in their eyes, the one that was taking in every minuscule detail about you, trying to place together exactly what happened.

“Stop profiling me, Spencer.” You sigh, “you can just ask.” You end with a small smile, not wanting him to think your words were meant to be mean.

Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, his shoulders lifting slightly. “So.. what happened? Or, did something happen?” He’s taking even steps toward you, not quite knowing what your boundaries were at that moment.

“Stupid customers, nearly hit the guy.” Your eyes widen in annoyance, but settle when you catch a glimpse of Spencers hands twitching at his sides.

A teasing grin threatens your lips. “You can hug me Spencer,” Your arms open wide, fingers motioning for him to come to you.

Spencer laughs quietly, taking the final strides into your arms. He wraps them tightly around you, head nuzzling into your neck. The small gesture wipes away your lingering anger at the customer, now your only emotion was adoration.

Your boyfriend’s hugs felt like the first hint of spring after a harsh winter. A breath of fresh air, all consuming. “Thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder where your head rested.

He doesn’t reply, simply giving you three tight squeezes in short sequences. A smile breaks out on your face, “i love you too.”

DTS , @halfwayhearted !

[sagestr]

cinema seven | spencer reid

summary; spencer goes to see a movie in cinema with derek, when cinema seven breaks down, he offers to help the pretty — all too stressed manger (who he has been too nervous to ask out) fix the projectors.

warnings; guys this fic is actually just for me. cinema manger reader, fem reader, they lowkey break rules but we don’t talk about that, probably boy band haired reid and ooc spencer bc they flirt or banter idk, fluff!! So much fluff!!spencer has been pinning for a while

an; i am a cinema manger 😐 cinema seven is making me want to die because of the bloody projectors breaking constantly. this is probably soo ooc, and also like uncorrectly timed bc it based off how cinema’s are now, not how they were. Whoops. this has been in my drafts for weeks and i hate it.

Dimly low lights lit the theatre room, couples, families and other guests filling the space of the soft red velvet chairs set aligned, finding their seats as the advertisement’s played over the big screen in front of them, the stairs lit with small red lights to ensure everyone knew where they were going, and to ensure nobody missed a step under the dim lit lights.

The room smelt strongly of sweet buttered popcorn, and whatever antiseptic spray had been used to wipe down the cupholders of the seats when being cleaned in between movie sessions, the smell sent a small wave of reassurance over Spencer.

Spencer had never been a massive fan of cinemas, he preferred watching his documentaries or show’s from his couch at home, curled up in blankets, in an area he knew was completely sanity, away from the public and in his own space. However, lately Derek had been inviting him to the cinema more and more after he agreed the first time.

He didn’t necessarily mind, and he knew why Derek had continued to invite him — which was the reason he didn’t mind so much. The first time they had come to the cinema apparently they had picked a bad time, since it was absolutely packed the minute they arrived.

Thats when Spencer had seen you, working on one of the till’s. He had been to the cinema before, but he had never seen you before. As they got closer and the queue shortened, he was able to read the small ‘manger’ badge that hug off the lanyard around your neck.

Explained why he hadn’t seen you at the front before.

His palms had grown clammy as the line grew shorter, whatever Derek had been talking about was completely lost on Spencer, his gaze was locked on your pretty face smiling at a young kid who — spencer assumed — was blabbering about something, hardly coherent over the noise of the people around, but you smiled and nodded none the less as you handed the parents boxes of popcorn.

That was the first time he went to the cinema’s with Derek. Derek had watched the boy stumble over his words as he spoke to you when you served them, cheeks flushing and his gaze never meeting yours for two long. You had laughed and told him to take his time as you wiped down the benches, listening intently. He had taken note of the way you juggled tasks all at once, making popcorn, serving, cleaning.

He had been three times since, the second time wasn’t with Derek, and he honestly didn’t really want to see a movie, he just wanted to see you, unfortunately you weren’t working and he was left seeing a movie he didn’t actually want to watch.

Derek teased the boy endlessly, about his cinema crush. Which was why him and Derek were here now. Again, a movie Spencer had no interest in, but it was busy enough that you would have to be working tills. That was enough to justify seeing a boring film to Spencer.

He had seen you, you had served them and when you smiled widely with recognition of their faces Spencer felt like he was about to pass out with how hard his head was beating. Now he was sitting in the cinema, next to Derek who was shovelling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth before the movie had actually even started.

It was only about five minutes into the actual film when the sound had dropped out.

It was another five minutes before people started talking, before someone had stood up to leave the cinema. Then another two minutes before a worker — not you, a different one, came in and looked over the screen before talking into a hand held radio.

People were growing frustrated, annoyed and restless in waiting. Fair enough, no one really wanted to see a film with no sound. However what made Spencer pinch his eyebrows together with a frown is when you did walk in, and there was someone else standing, obviously taking their frustration out on you.

Spencer looked at Derek, who looked at him at the same time, obviously noticing the interaction before the guy had returned to his seat in a frustrated huff. Then your voice rang out throughout the cinema as you stood to the side, Spencer watched from his seat as your hands toyed with the lanyard around your neck.

“Im really sorry about this guys— We’ve been having issues all day. Just give me a couple of minutes to try to fix the projector then I’ll put it back to before the sound went off, so you don’t miss anything.” You sounded stressed, clearly apologetic as you spoke. There were mumbling that went around the cinema. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as you ran your hand through your hair before turning to walk out.

Spencer— didn’t know what was going through his mind when he stood up and made his way down the stairs, ignoring the confused splutter from Derek. Spencer made his way out of the cinema, looking around at the foyer area, it didn’t take long to see you.

Standing there, you were talking to another customer, clearly stressed and in a rush but still respectful. He waited patiently before the customer thanked you and walked away. His feet worked quicker than his mind could when he walked up to you.

“Hi” he said gently. Your eyes lifted to his before you looked towards a doorway, you smiled softly. He stood in front of you, your hands continued to fidget, he noticed that, he noticed the way your cheeks were slightly flushed and a few baby hairs stuck to your forehead from sweat.

You wiped your cheek, “Hi- Cinema seven right? I promise I’m getting there — Im so sorry.” You apologised, his heart both warmed and ached for different reasons, one because you remembered what movie he had gone to see, and because you sounded so insanely overwhelmed. There was a slight shake in your tone, he noticed.

He nodded, “yeah- But uh- I just- What’s the issue?” He asked, he wanted to slap himself in the face for the way he stuttered over his words. He was embarrassing himself, and wasting your time and he knew he should probably just turn around and walk back to his seat but he couldn’t.

A sigh left your lips, “I honestly have no idea — all day the sound has just been going out, it works for a bit but it’s just — so annoying. I’ve tried restarting it like ten times — i can’t seen any obvious issue, I really am so sorry.” You continue to apologise, he hated that you were apologising for an issue that was out of your control, its not like you went and broke the projector.

“No- Its okay. I just — I could look at it — if you want? If thats okay? I just, uh.. know quite a bit about them..” He offered, because you looked so stressed and so overwhelmed and he just wanted to help in any way he possibly could. This was something he knew he could do, he was smart enough to figure it out.

You sighed and smiled gently at him, “Thats really nice and I would totally say yes — like i genuinely would but we can’t uh— have customers going up there.” You mumbled out, almost as if you were genuinely disappointed by the fact.

He nodded in understanding because it made sense, of course you couldn’t. Projectors weren’t cheap by any means and if you just let customers go up there then chances are they would all be broken within minutes.

“Im not- I work for the FBI, I-I can show you my badge.” He mumbled, hand already reaching out for his pocket to pull out his badge and flick it open. Now, Spencer didn’t use his job as a personal weapon often; however this was different. This was you, and you were oh so pretty.

He watched as your eyes trailed down his hands to his badge, reading over the information before your eyes flickered back up to his — you were considering it, he could basically see the mental debate you were having with yourself. He hoped you said yes, because if not then he had wasted an incredible amount of your time and was actually just stopping your from doing your job.

Then you huffed out a small breath of air, “You know what you’re doing?” You asked.

He nodded instantly, “If it helps I have an IQ of 187 and have three pHD’s?” He offered the information, not to impress but to provide some sort of comfort to the clear worry over your features.

Yours eyes met his and you just looked at him for a minute — trying to find any hint of dishonesty in his features, but when you didn’t you huffed out a small ‘okay.’ Before turning around, Spencer followed you.

His mind was spinning. If he thought he was flustered before now was something else. His skin felt so hot he wanted to dive into a pool of pure ice, despite knowing that it wouldn’t actually be nearly as enjoyable as it sounded right now.

“Please don’t make me regret this. And please— for the love of everything above, don’t break anything, i do not need to loose my job right now” you had mumbled as he followed you up the stairs after you unlocked the door. He smiled gently at your words and the trust you were putting in him, maybe it was naive and stupid if it was someone else who had bad intentions, but you took your chances with him.

Spencer steps up to the controls, eyeing the mess with a focused look, his fingers tracing over the switches and buttons like he’s reading a puzzle. “Wow,” he says after a beat. “This is… pretty old-school.”

You let out a short laugh, leaning against the doorway. “Yeah, tell me about it. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t had more breakdowns.”

He glances over at you, his expression softening. “You’ve been keeping this place running pretty well, considering.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you feel your face flush. You quickly shake it off and nod toward the panel. “So, you think you can fix it?”

Spencer nods confidently, already getting to work. He’s methodical as he checks the wires and makes adjustments, explaining the technicalities as he goes. You pretend to understand most of it, but really, you’re just watching him, impressed by how he seems to know exactly what to do.

After a few minutes of working in silence, he glances at you again. “You know,” he says with a small grin, “this isn’t the first time I’ve saved a situation with some quick rewiring.” He grows more comfortable under your gaze as time goes on, the nerves still fluttering through his body, he tries to keep his hands as steady as possible — because you were trusting him.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself.

“Yeah. One time, I had to disarm a bomb using only a circuit board and a pair of wire cutters.” He pauses, eyes sparkling with that same quiet confidence. “This is a little less stressful.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I should hope so.”

The conversation continues like that—light, easy, playful. and the tension you’ve been feeling all evening starts to melt away. There’s something about his calm demeanor that puts you at ease, like you can trust him to handle things, not just here, but in general. It’s a strange feeling, but a good one.

Finally, he steps back from the panel, brushing his hands together. “That should do it.”

You blink, glancing at the screen where the sound has suddenly returned, loud and clear. “You fixed it?”

“Looks like it,” he says, his voice soft but full of satisfaction.

A wave of relief washes over you. You hadn’t realized just how tightly wound you’d been until now. You smile, unable to hold back your gratitude. “Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much this helps.”

Spencer shrugs, looking a little bashful. “It’s nothing, really.”

But it’s not nothing. You can feel that. He’s helped you out, more than just with the projector, and the gratitude in your chest grows warmer.

You glance at him, hesitating. He can see it in your gaze, your eyes are on his, a warm smile on your face. He has to stop his mind from drifting away.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice softer now, more personal. “Is there anything I can do— Free tickets, do you need more popcorn?— That doesn’t do it justice. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know” You rambled and his heart fluttered.

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to wonder what he’s thinking. Then, he meets your eyes, his expression a mix of uncertainty and hope. “How about a date?”

The question hangs in the air, and your heart skips a beat.

It takes a moment to process what he’s asking, but when you do, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re asking me out?”

He nods, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “If you’re free. I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

You furrow your eyebrows slightly, hands coming back up to fumble with the lanyard on your neck — for maybe the hundredth time. You look over his face as id you don’t believe him for a moment before you let out a breathy laugh, and for a moment his heart dropped with the idea of rejection.

“Yeah- Yeah. I’d like that.” You said. And he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Spencer liked the cinema’s a lot more now.

[sagestr]

That Green Monster (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your relationship with Spencer is fresh new, and some of his insecurities arise when someone new joins the team, making him react in a wrong way to you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. And then fluff at the end (I don't even understand myself). Spencer lashes out. Spencer is insecure. Reader is mad. Both are so madly in love, though.

A/N: This one has been sitting as a WIP for way too long, so I decided to finish it today!

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A shot in the neck.

That's what it took for you and Spencer to - finally - get together. To confess you loved each other.

Everything happened while working a case in Texas. You had cornered a suspect who was hiding in a restaurant. You wanted to open a communication line with him, but out of nowhere, shots got fired. And one of them ended in your neck.

What happened next was a blur to everyone, especially to Spencer. He barely remembers Morgan pulling him back so that the paramedics could check on you.

The ambulance ride to the hospital and the hours of waiting for news were excruciating.

In Spencer's brain, only the thought that he might lose you forever without coming clean about his feelings for you.

You have been in a similar situation before, but this time, he thought you wouldn't make it.

It would be the loss of a friend and the loss of the love of his life.

If Spencer has to be honest, he realized he loved you after your first month working at the BAU. And with every passing day, the feeling only got stronger. But he was scared of saying anything, afraid of changing - or losing - the strong bond you guys already had.

So, he kept it to himself for years. For six years, to be exact.

But what he didn't know was you had fallen for him, too.

And how could you not? You both went through so many things over the years: Spencer's kidnapping, his Dilaudid problem, your family issues, the injuries, bad cases, unsubs attacks, hospital visits, and so on. With every bump in the way, you both were each other rock. Always together, no matter what.

The team affectionately called you Mulder and Scully, but in reverse roles, of course.

But even if, at some point, both of you realized what you had was much more than a friendship, neither of you did something about it.

Until you got shot in the neck.

In that uncomfortable waiting room chair, Spencer prayed, to whatever or whoever could listen, for a chance to make things right.

So when you woke up in your hospital bed hours later, the first thing you saw was Spencer's face.

He was by your side as always. But this time, he had something to tell you. Spencer didn't have the chance, though, because before he could say anything, three words blurted out from your lips: 'I love you.'

Between happy tears, you both spent hours talking and coming to the conclusion you were both idiots in love.

You didn't say anything to the team, but you all knew they knew, so it became unspoken knowledge after you were released from the hospital.

-------

With you home due to your neck injury and JJ on maternity leave, Hotch decided that some help would be better than putting more pressure on the remaining team members.

That's why he borrowed an agent from Sex Crimes.

Spencer had already told you that there was a new agent, but he hadn't developed this information in detail.

You knew him on your first day back, a month after you got shot.

Once you exited the elevator on the sixth, you headed through the bullpen glass doors. When you pushed them open, you didn't realize that someone was going in the opposite direction, and you almost hit the guy in the face with one of the doors.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry!" you exclaimed when you realized what almost happened.

The man shook his head in dismissal. "No, no. Don't be. Nothing happened."

"But I almost hit you with a glass door," you pointed. The guy didn't seem phased by it, though.

"I'm okay, really," he insisted, flashing you a smile. You hadn't picked much of his appearance, to be honest, but the guy was easy on the eyes. Another thing that caught your attention was you had never seen him before.

"Do I know you?" You asked with curiosity.

"I don't think so. I'm Agent Dodds. Jake Dodds," he introduced himself, extending his hand. You've heard that last name before. You told him yours, shaking his hand.

"Really? You are a BAU member, right? I'm the backup agent Hotchner brought to the team," he explained, and then it clicked. He was the new guy.

Jake Dodds was young, fresh and motivated. After his first year in Sex Crimes, he already has a lot of accomplishments to show off. And, of course, he was doing his best to impress Hotch and the team.

Coming to the office bright and early and being the last to leave gave Dodds a chance to engage with the cases and the team members - you included. Due to your neck injury, you were mostly on desk duty, so you had enough time to help Jake with paperwork and all the questions he might have about past cases. And Dodds had many.

In the weeks that followed, he has spent a lot of time by your side, working with you when the team wasn't out of town.

It was part of your nature to be forthcoming and willing to teach others. And having worked at the BAU for almost six years, you felt like you could teach one thing or two.

Spencer loves that from you; it's one of the many things that made him fall in love with you. But for some reason, Jake's closeness to you started to bother him.

Spencer knew it was irrational and without foundation. Still, in the past weeks since Dodds joined, with each laugh from you when Jake cracked a joke, every time you sat together at the office a little too close, or every day you decided to have lunch with Jake rather than him, Spencer's jealousy only got stronger. It didn't help the team's comments about you and Jake.

'Dodds looks hooked by her'; 'The newbie definitely is flirting with her'; 'Really handsome view she has over there.'

Spencer could only bite his tongue. He could easily assume that the team was only messing with the situation, but the green monster growing inside didn't let him think clearly.

Spencer knew you, and you would never do something to hurt him, so why did he feel that uneasiness inside of him?

Maybe the fact you were in the early stages of your relationship made Spencer insecure. It was all new and fresh; he was happy with you, but although you both have known each other for years, he was inexperienced in the love department. Being friends was one thing, but being a couple was different.

So instead of talking to you—which he knew was the right thing to do—Spencer did what he usually does when he feels overwhelmed: he shuts people out.

And you did notice, of course.

Something was troubling him, you knew that, but every time you brought up the topic, he dodged it. You didn't look much into it at first because you knew Spencer would talk to you eventually when he felt ready. Or you assumed he would.

But the days went by, and Spencer still hadn't told you why he had been so distant, so you decided to confront him.

You both were watching a movie at your place, but you noticed Spencer wasn't paying attention to the TV. After an internal debate about whether it was a good idea to bring this up, you tested the waters.

"Spencer, are you okay?" you asked him, genuine concern lacing your voice.

The question hung in the air enough to make you think he might not hear you.

"Spencer?" you tried again, swearing you heard him huff even if he tried to be subtle.

"I'm okay, just tired," he hastened to dismiss, not looking at you.

So he heard you, but you had to call his name again to get an answer. Something is definitely wrong.

Contemplating your options, you chose to end the 'patiently wait until he comes to you' strategy. You were his girlfriend now. Why he couldn't trust you enough to tell you what's going on?

"Okay. This bullshit needs to stop now. You have been weird for too many days to tell me now you are okay and just tired. I know something happened and need you to tell me what it is," you demanded.

Shifting uncomfortably in his spot, Spencer had an inner debate about coming clean to you. He didn't want to admit how much Jake's closeness to you was bothering him. Spencer didn't want you to think about him as the possessive and clingy boyfriend who can't see his girlfriend near other guys.

He wasn't like that, right?

"You are imagining things. I'm perfectly fine," Spencer deadpanned, eyes returning to the TV.

Your mouth went slack. Were you imagining things? Was he thinking you were stupid?

"So I'm imagining things, uh? It's not you being defensive right now, isn't it?"

"No." He gave you a curt answer that meant precisely the opposite of what he was implying.

You wanted to give him a chance to open with you, but Spencer wasn't engaging.

It seemed easier to talk about what was happening to each other when you were only friends. Why is it so hard now you are a couple? You couldn't understand, and your patience was running short.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you called him out in frustration. "Who do you think I am? A random person who hasn't known you for fucking six years?"

Spencer internally flinched. He saw the confusion and anger mixed in your eyes, and he felt the urge to hug you tight, telling you he was being an irrational jealous asshole. But Spencer didn't bring himself to do it, and instead, he tried to play cool and detached.

"I already told you. Everything is wonderful, at least for me. Not for you?" Spencer asked casually.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked calm and collected, but you could feel he was anything but.

"Okay. I'll bite the bullet. So the distance between us in the past weeks doesn't bother you as it bothers me," you concluded.

Spencer let out a bitter chuckle.

"Funny you're bothered by that. You have seemed very busy in the past weeks," Spencer mumbled.

A slip that didn't go unnoticed by you.

"Very busy?" you echoed his words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spencer shrugged, unamused.

"Exactly what it is. You have been very busy at the BAU lately. I only have been giving you space."

You squinted your eyes, raking your brain to understand Spencer's meaning. For your mandatory desk duty, you have spent more time in the office than in the field, but besides that, what has been different?

And then it clicked on you. Jake Dodds.

Sure, you've been very willing to teach him things and help him with his work, but that only explains Spencer's annoyance if there is another reason.

"Is this about Dodds? Are you jealous of Jake?" you questioned in disbelief.

Spencer's face paled. You had caught him.

After your deduction, he should have told the truth, but Spencer is stubborn enough not to give in, especially if that meant recognizing something he felt embarrassed of.

"W- what?! No! Where did you get that? I'm not jealous or remotely close to that," Spencer rebutted defensively.

Oh, he was definitively jealous. At the realization, you let out a giggle, eyes softening at your boyfriend. For you, there is no guy he should be worried about- not for Jake or any other person. Your heart is his, and you know there is nobody in this world you want to be with more than Spencer.

But Spencer's face deflated. You were laughing at him, and he felt even worse.

"Spencer, there is no reason for you to be -"

You couldn't even finish your sentence when Spencer cut you off, standing from the couch.

"I already told you! Am I not speaking English to you?"

His face was red, but not by embarrassment anymore. Now, it was a kind of contained rage.

Stunned by his reaction, it took you a few seconds to say anything.

"I - I'm just trying to understand what's going on. Don't be rude," you chimed.

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle.

"Rude, did you say? Am I rude because I disagree with you? Is that? Or am I rude because this doesn't have to do with you?"

"Excuse me? When did this turn into a problem related to me?"

You stood to mirror his stature so as not to look vulnerable.

"I don't know, you tell me. Are you disappointed because not everything or anyone in this world is revolving around you?"

Spencer's voice was cold and sarcastic, something you had seen in him before but never directed toward you. He was outrightly saying you were self-centered.

"Spencer -" you tried to warn him to back off, but Spencer didn't stop.

"No. I get it. You like the attention. But, I'm sorry, I'm not in the mood to indulge your childish self. Maybe the young and funny Agent Dodds could help you with that. But not me."

A dead silence settled in the room. If a needle had fallen on the floor, it would have made a noticeable noise.

You couldn't believe that man was your boyfriend—the man who was telling you such hurtful words.

Spencer saw how your features morphed from confused to hurt and then to offense, and with a twist in his guts, he knew he had fucked up.

"Are you done?"

Your tone was flat and collected, even if, on the inside, there was a storm of feelings. Spencer was deflated and looking for the right words to apologize.

"Hey, look, I'm -"

"I asked if you were done." You questioned harshly this time, and Spencer only gave you a shy nod.

"Okay, now get out!"

Your command was only followed by your actions as you walked to your entrance to open the door.

With horror, Spencer tried to sputter words to change your mind.

"I'm sorry. I - I didn't - Please, don't do this."

"I said, get out! I don't want you here!"

You emphasized your words, gesturing to the open door.

"Baby, I wasn't - I didn't mean what-" Spencer tried again, but you had made up your mind and didn't want to hear him.

"I don't fucking care! You had your time to explain yourself, and I don't want to hear anything else from you."

Spencer knew that nothing he could say at that moment would help his cause, so like a dog with the tail between his legs, he slowly made the walk of shame towards your door, but not before looking at you and begging for forgiveness with his eyes. It was a useless thing because you didn't even look at him back. Once he was out of your sight, you slammed the door shut, and your facade crumbled.

Tears started to fall freely, in a combination of pain and frustration.

It's needless to say, you couldn't sleep that night.

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Spencer looked distracted and visibly sad.

Morgan knew something had happened to him, even if the man had denied the fact for the past two days. And Morgan was sure it was something related to you. It looked like Spencer would combust from guilt whenever his eyes landed on you. Morgan's suspicion turned to be right the moment you caught Spencer's gaze, and you purposely averted it.

"Okay, pretty boy, what did you do?" Morgan questioned Spencer when he caught him pouring coffee in the kitchenette.

"What? Me? Nothing!" Spencer defended himself, but the crack in his voice did nothing to help his cause.

"So she's not talking to you just because?"

Spencer shrugged, leaving the pot over the counter.

Was he being so obvious? If Spencer wanted to maintain the facade that 'nothing is wrong here,' he was failing miserably.

Morgan scoffed, grabbing a mug to pour some coffee for himself.

"Come on, Reid. There must be something. Since yesterday morning, you look like a kicked puppy, and she seems visibly upset, and you're both always attached to the hip."

Dangerous territory, Spencer thought. But at this point, his regret was more powerful than keeping your relationship private.

"She is mad at me," the man recognized. It was a 'vague' recognition, but it was something.

Morgan seemed not surprised, though.

"No shit, Sherlock. The question is why, pretty boy," Derek prodded.

Spencer sighed deeply. How could he express what really happened without telling the whole truth?

Morgan saw the struggle in Spencer's eyes.

"I know you are both hurting by whatever happened. Maybe talking would help you clear your head and think about how to fix it."

Spencer took in Morgan's words. Some advice could help, he decided.

"We fought. I mean, we argued two nights ago, and she kicked me out. And now she is not talking to me, and I don't- I want to apologize, but I don't know how."

Spencer winced, just remembering your fight.

Derek looked at him incredulously.

"She kicked you out? What in the world did you do so she reacted like that?"

The actual question was 'what he said' because, strictly speaking, he didn't do anything besides let his mouth run on its own accord.

He regretted every word he said to you the second they left his mouth, but the damage was done, and you were fed up enough to listen to his apologies, so you yelled at him to let you alone. He didn't blame you. But he was feeling miserable, and it showed.

Spencer told Morgan exactly what happened—word by word.

"Jesus, Reid. I didn't peg you like the jealous type," Morgan acknowledged. Spencer shook his head.

"It's not like that. I mean, I know she loves me..."

"But?"

Spencer sighed. "What if - what if she realizes there are better men than me? That I am not enough for a romantic relationship?"

Morgan's eyebrows knit together. Spencer's face was pure panic, only thinking about the possibility.

"And Dodds would be better than you? You know he's like a kid, right?" Morgan pointed.

"Yeah. A young man with a lot of confidence that makes her smile and has her undivided attention. He's smart and qualified for this job like any of us. I'm not better than him. And I can perfectly be disposable in comparison."

That was the thing. Spencer felt insecure about you finding someone better than him.

Morgan looked at him empathetically.

"Man, I think you are looking too much into it. I don't think you should feel threatened in your relationship with her. And I guess she thinks the same and feels hurt for you thinking that."

Spencer nodded. "That's why I know I fucked up. I hurt her for my insecurities. It's all my fault," he lamented.

"You need to talk to her," Morgan advised, and Spencer whined.

"How? She hasn't spared me a glance in two days!"

"You're a genius, Spencer. And above all, how long have you known her? Five years? Think of something."

"Five years, eleven months, three weeks, and four days," Spencer corrected without hesitation.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You'll figure it out."

Spencer sighed deeply as Morgan patted his shoulder before leaving the kitchenette. Derek was right; they should talk. Spencer just had to figure out how to make that happen.

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That night you were sulking at your apartment, laying on the couch and watching some crap on the TV, when three knocks alerted you.

You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't think Spencer could be outside your door. You were clear in telling him you didn't want to talk to him when he cornered you in the breaking room this afternoon.

But if you knew something about Spencer Reid, it was that he could be stubborn as fuck. So when you looked by the peephole and saw him standing there, you only closed your eyes and sighed.

Spencer knocked again. "I know you are there. And I know you don't want to talk to me. But please, let me do the talk. Please, at least listen to the things I need to say."

"You already said enough," you spat from your spot on the other side of the door. Spencer gulped hard. He said enough hurtful things to you to kick his ass, but he was determined to gain your forgiveness somehow.

"I can't stress enough how sorry I am for that. But I need you to know that I didn't mean any of it." Spencer paused, and when he didn't hear you say anything, he continued. "I'm an asshole, and I would understand if you want to break up and never see me again. I mean, well - it - it would be kind of difficult not to see each other because we work together, but you know what I mean. Or maybe not, I don't know. Jesus, what the fuck am I saying?" Spencer chastised himself, trying to control his nerves.

You could hear him struggling, so you decided to spare him a panic attack in the middle of the hallway. You opened your door and saw him still trying to sputter what he wanted to say.

"If this is your way to apologize, you are doing a terrible job." Your voice was not angry but tired. Because if he had had two tortuous days of you not talking to him, you haven't done it any better, overthinking about your fight over and over again.

Spencer's glassy, pleading eyes found yours.

"I know. It seems it's another thing I suck at," he admitted fidgeting with his hands. "Would you, uh. Would you let me try again? Apologize. That is."

It's true you were still mad with him, but you really wanted to understand why he reacted the way he did that night and said all the things he said. You know him too well to ignore that something else beyond mere jealousy clearly triggered his outburst.

Without saying a word, you gestured for him to get into the apartment. Spencer was quick to comply before you changed your mind.

You both took seats on opposite sides of the couch, eyes overly interested in your living room rug. After some minutes of silence and knowing he needed to say something, Spencer cleared his throat.

"I guess I'm going to start with the beginning," he prefaced, keeping his hands in his lap as you turned to contemplate him in silence. "Uh - you know it took me time to come clean with my feelings for you. A lot of time, almost six years," he chuckled nervously. You nodded, not wanting to interrupt him, fearing to get him more anxious.

"The thing is- I have been in love with you for so long and creating scenarios of us in my mind that - that now I know it is real, I don't - It's still difficult to grasp the idea we are together, you know?"

As Spencer raked his hair, collecting his thoughts, you couldn't help but remember all the things you both went through until you decided to tell the truth to each other. Six years is a long time. But you wanted to believe it has been worth it.

"I'm not used to a life where I get to be happy; when I think I am, things crush down, and I lose everything. It's a rule: good things don't last in my life."

You know how difficult it has been for Spencer to accept that he is not cursed or anything like that—a very difficult task, knowing the things he has been through.

"So my mind began to be haunted by the idea that it was a matter of time before you realized you could do better than me, and I'm only worth it as a friend."

His words made you recall the times you both discussed your love life in the past and all the doubts weighing on Spencer's shoulders. After those conversations, you always swore to make him feel loved and appreciated.

"And then you came back to work, and Dodds was there. I created this whole scenario, telling myself that you would be better with someone like him."

Spencer paused to gauge your reaction. You were openly listening to him, taking in every word.

"I know it's unfair to you. I - I betrayed your trust by mulling those ideas and saying all those hurtful things I truly don't believe. I'm so sorry; I don't have a defense other than my incompetence in dealing with my insecurities," Spencer concluded, letting a deep sigh escape from his lips and averting your gaze. He looked embarrassed and vulnerable, and it hurts you to acknowledge how small he feels about himself. You reached your hand tentatively, touching his forearm, and Spencer's eyes drifted back to you.

"Spencer, you have to know there is no one in this world who I love so deeply as I love you. No man could compare to you. No matter how young or confident or whatever difference you can name. You are the most thorough, caring, and selfless person I know, and I love you so fucking much it hurts," you gave his arm a gentle squeeze to emphasize your point. Spencer's cheeks flushed a bit. He still needs to get used to your compliments.

"What I still don't get is why you didn't tell me. Don't you trust me enough to talk to me about how you feel?"

Spencer hastened to reply, taking your hand in his. "No! It's not that! I do trust you with my life!"

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth at the beginning?"

"I - I don't know. I thought you would see me as the shitty boyfriend who can't see his partner near another man. It's as if I wanted to control you. And that's far from what I want," Spencer explained, scooting by your side as his grip on your hand tightened. "It was my problem, not yours. You did nothing to make this happen. I'm the one who must have to fix it." You shook your head.

"Baby, no. If it is something that upsets you, it is my problem, too. Spencer, we need to talk about those things and resolve them together."

Spencer's head hung low, taking in your words.

"But why? I am the insecure one, and you have done nothing more than show me how unfounded my fear is."

"Well, because you're still my best friend, and I care about you." Spencer's gaze met yours again. "It's the thing I first loved about us, you know? I love feeling safe with you and having the trust to talk about what is happening to us." With loving eyes, you brought his hand to your lips to kiss it.

"I want you to keep being my best friend, too," Spencer said with a hopeful smile. It was all you needed to hear.

"Then please don't forget that. You can always talk to me, and I promise to do the same, okay?" Spencer nodded at your words, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay. I promise," Spencer replied before wrapping you in a tight embrace. You melted in his arms, feeling his warmth and inhaling his scent, something you have been missing in the past two days.

"I love you," you mumbled into his chest. "So so much."

"I love you too. And I'm so sorry for my behavior two days ago," Spencer muttered in your hair.

You chuckled, slightly parting to look at him.

"Yeah, we have to work on taming that green monster, doctor. Otherwise, Hotch won't be able to bring anyone new to the team," you pointed, leaning to kiss his lips. Spencer smiled into the kiss.

"That means you forgive me?" he asked hopefully. You narrowed your eyes.

"Yes. But you still have to make it up to me," you teased, faking seriousness.

Spencer nodded eagerly nonetheless. "Whatever it takes."

"You could start making something to eat. I'm starving here after two days with a hole in my stomach," you rubbed your belly for emphasis.

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer smiled, standing and strolling quickly to the kitchen. He felt so relieved after coming clean with you that he swore not to make the same mistake again. That green monster fed by his insecurities dissipating as he thought how lucky he was to love and have you in his life.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[sagestr]

WHY WAIT | Spencer Reid.

summary; reader works at a childcare and realises she wants kids sooner than she expected she would and struggles to admit that to Spencer after their agreement to wait a few years.

warnings; 16+, slight angst, a bit suggestive at the end. fem reader, childcare worker reader, mentions babies, wanting babies, avoidant reader, guilt, feeling scared to talk about emotions, talks about feeling empty, references sex, makeout, talks about trying for a baby. lmk if i missed anything

a/n ; i imagined this as post prison reid but literally any works

Your head is almost a foggy mess when you step into the bau office out of the elevator. Your hand grouped your hair before tying it up into a mess of a ponytail but you couldn’t find it to care as your eyes skimmed over the room for your husband.

You had finished work almost an hour ago, to where you were supposed to go out with Spencer for a date night — it was an unspoken agreement between you two that no matter how busy you were, at least once a week you would go out for a date night. It was important for your relationship because of how much Spencer was away.

Working at a childcare had its ups and downs, being vomited on, the headaches from toddlers screaming tantrums and annoying parents weren’t always the best or easiest thing to deal with — but you were doing what you loved.

The little letters or flowers you would be given by kids throughout the say, the big grins on their faces in the mornings, and watching their curious faces grow more and more was so rewarding. The job fit you perfectly it allowed you to be able to be nurturing and caring, like you were in your everyday life.

Normally you worked in the toddler room, which you enjoyed the absolute most, having little conversations, answering their hundreds of curious questions, and reading to them. A few weeks ago however, you had to take over the baby room because one of your coworkers were out sick and causing the baby room to be out of ratio of babies and adults, whereas the toddler room was perfect — you were able to help out, it had been a continuous thing, you would go in and help out whenever due to the low staff in the baby room, over the last few weeks you had spent many days in there.

Only it didn’t go exactly as you expected and not at all in a bad way, you had something about you that was so enhancing to little humans, their adored you — It was no different with the babies.

Only holding them and rocking them to sleep, feeding them bottles and watching them coo and smile made you think too deeply. You couldn’t stop your mind from travelling to the idea of kids of your own.

You and Spencer had talked about it, you wanted kids and he wanted kids, that was definite, but you both also agreed you would wait a few years until Spencer was ready to teach. He didn’t want to risk the chance of not coming home to you and his children — he didn’t want to leave you alone.

And you were completely okay with that. You worked around kids all day so there was no rush for you, you were completely content with the decision. Until recently.

Until it was all you could think about all day, and the entire way home, until you were laying in bed thinking about it, until everyday doing anything it felt like there was something missing, someone missing.

You smiled as your eyes laid on Spencer who was sitting at his desk finishing Paperwork, the only reason you were here was because he had some extra work to do and would be here later than he planned but he wanted to see you. So he called you once you finished and suggested you come here to hang out with him until he finished and then you would go on your date.

You walked up to him, hand gently brushing over his shoulder. He tilted his head to look up at you, the smile on his lips arrived almost instantly after seeing your face. “Hey” He smiled, hand reaching back placing itself ontop of your hand that was on his shoulder.

You repositioned your hand, clasping it over his own. “Hi honey” You leant down to place a gentle kiss on the top of his head. You could feel his thumb rubbing back and fourth over the back of your hand.

“How was your day?” He asked, shuffling around on his chair to be facing you completely as he swung your hands together gently, everything he did was so gentle. You couldn’t stop your mind from imagining him holding your baby in his arms, playing peekaboo with them.

Your mind didn’t stop there. You could just imagine your baby wrapping its small hand around Spencers ring finger where his wedding ring stayed. You could see it all playing out in your mind.

“Baby?” He said after your lack of response, noticing clearly your mind was elsewhere. You looked at him— you were looking at him before but you were really looking at him now, out of your daze.

“Sorry, What?” You apologise as you realise you had basically ignored whatever he was saying, making a small puddle of guilt flood through your stomach.

He tapped his knee, encouraging you to sit down innocently. You did so without question after he repositioned slightly in order to make it more simple and comfortable for you. His hand rested gently against your thigh. “I asked how your day was.” He said softly.

You hummed, turning your head in order to be facing him. “Good” You nodded — purposefully not mentioning any details, too scared you may go into too much detail. You and Spencer had agreed on a timeline for your future and you knew how important timing was, and you didn’t want to ruin that for Spencer just because you had a bit of baby fever.

Or what you passed off as baby fever.

“Yeah?” He muttered, hand raising to brush untied strands of hair out of your face. You nodded in response, leaning into his touch as he hand paused, cupping your cheek slightly. “How was yours?” You ask, you hand trailed behind his head to rest gently in his hair.

“Good, I missed you” He said, head leaning back slightly into your touch. You smiled at the little thing, how his body relaxed at your contact.

“I missed you too, Im sorry I had to leave early this morning” You left before he woke up, which wasn’t normally the case but you were called in because a parent needed to drop off a kid extra early.

He just shook his head, bringing your free hand up to place a gentle kiss to your wrist. You heard your name causing you to turn your head, you smiled widely as you saw JJ — looking very pregnant. It had been a while since you had seen her, last time being at the start of her pregnancy, she would’ve been just over half way now.

“Hi!” You smiled widely, lifting yourself off Spencers lap to wrap your arms around the blonde girl, she reciprocated the action, smiling widely. “Hot mama!! you’re looking great” You smiled once you pulled away, referring to how good she looked.

She chuckled softly, “Thank you.” She said, her hand coming down to her belly, rubbing it gently. Your mind traveled slightly to the idea of you in that position, before you brought yourself out of it.

“When you two gonna start a little family of your own? He will need a friend” JJ teased lightly, a smile on her face.

You smile as you thought about your baby growing up with JJ’s, the idea of them having little playdates while you and JJ could mutually support one another, before your smile slipped slightly when you realised that wouldn’t happen.

You tried not to show it in your face as you pushed out a rough chuckle, shaking your head. You looked over at Spencer who’s eyes were on you with a soft smile on his face, before you looked at JJ.

“Oh no, not for a few more years” You said, you wondered if she could hear the lump in your throat as you talked, a lingering feeling of disappointment taking over your stomach as you plastered a smile on your face.

She frowned, looking between you and Spencer. “You would make amazing parents” She said, gushing slightly at the idea. “Seriously you would be the best mum, wouldn’t she?” She asked, looking at Spencer.

Spencer stood up from his chair to rest his arms around your waist from behind you. You hated the way you slightly tensed before relaxing. “She would” He said, placing a tender kiss your temple.

You pushed out a laugh — it all hurt. In a way you couldn’t explain. It was as if they were taunting you even though you knew they weren’t. You wondered why the universe chose today for JJ to ask the question.

The feeling of loss returned, the feeling of something missing. It had been turning up randomly, doing the littlest things like washing the dishes, doing laundry or just laying in bed at night next to Spencer when he was home — it was worse when he was home. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much you craved your baby lying with you and him.

JJ smiled widely, “Don’t you want kids? Why wait?” She was almost joking, you could hear it in her tone there was a hint of seriousness lingering in it.

“We’re gonna have kids.” Spencer said as if there was no question about it. Your entire body tensed and you hoped Spencer didn’t notice it, you silently prayed he didn’t. “Just in a few years, when everything had calmed down a bit” Spencer said.

Your chest ached at his words more than you cared to admit. A few years, just a few years.

You didn’t know if you could wait a few years. The feeling was taking over every aspect of your life and it was already driving you insane — it had merely been a month.

JJ pouted dramatically as she looked at you, “You would make such a hot mum, full milf” She nodded as she looked you up and down, throwing in a gentle wink.

You chuckled, “I don’t know about that” You brought your hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek gently pushing a smile to your lips as JJ looked at her watch before sighing. “I have to go, how about we go for coffee this weekend?” She suggested looking at you.

You nodded your head smiling as she said her goodbyes before making her way out of the building. Spencer spun you in his arms turning you so you were facing him.

“You’re so beautiful” He said, thumb brushing over your cheek gently as he brought his hand up to your face. He leant down for a moment finally placing a gentle kiss on your lips now that the office was basically empty.

You laughed as you pulled away, “Okay boy wonder, finish up — im starving” You said. He smiled, leaning down to place another kiss against your lips, this one softer and quicker before he turned to sit down.

“Tell me about your day while I work” And you did, leaving out the parts that caused your heart to pull on itself.

The thought never left your mind that night, or any night after that.

“So much for our coffee date” JJ joked after you both ordered hot chocolates rather than coffee’s. You smiled widely at her, shaking your head slightly. “Coffee is overrated” You joked.

She groaned, “Im glad you think that, I’m hardly surviving. My obgyn told me I should cut back a little bit — which is all well and good till I actually had to do it” She said, you watched as her hand instinctively dropped down to her stomach.

There was a feeling in your gut, jealousy? Envy? You weren’t sure but you knew it was beginning to get harder to deal with. You just chuckled, “I could imagine”

The table fell quiet as your eyes dropped to the table, almost wishing you had the struggle of not being able to drink a lot of coffee because you were having a baby — you hated that.

“Alright, no more small talk. Whats up”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you looked up at her. You pushed a laugh past your lips as your head fell to the side, “What do you mean?” You asked in confusion.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “You have been all… sad. You’re so sad. Why are you sad? I noticed it the other night at the office— Did Spencer do something?” She started out worriedly before becoming slightly defensive of you at the idea that maybe Spencer did something that upset you.

You laughed, “Spencer didn’t do anything. Spencer is amazing.” You reassured lightly. Although the pit in your stomach deepened — you knew exactly what she was talking about and no matter how much you denied it if there was one person able to get it out of you, it would be JJ.

“It was right after I mentioned you having kids… Do you not want kids?” She guessed, it almost made you laugh because it was exactly the opposite. “Does Spencer know?” She asked — everyone knew how much Spencer wanted kids of his own one day.

You shook your head. “I want kids.” You said but the words held more depth. You wanted kids, you wanted a baby and you wanted them with Spencer.

“I still don’t understand why you’re waiting.” She muttered shaking her head and she distracted herself from the topic at hand — which you would’ve been grateful for besides the fact she was now bringing up exactly what was wrong — waiting.

“Spencer couldn’t do it now” You muttered slightly under your breath but she caught it, furrowing her eyebrows she asked why.

You sighed, shrugging. “He loves his job and he wants to wait a few years before he starts teaching. We decided to wait” You said, you tried to hide the disappointment in your voice but that was useless when sitting across from a profiler.

“You don’t want to wait.” She realised, her lips pulling into a frown. You mirrored the look, nodding your head sadly. She huffed slightly.

“It’s alright, really. Its just working around kids all days, babies and toddlers really makes it difficult for me to just—“ You were cut off when your waitresses came to place yours and JJ’s hot chocolates on the table, you both thanked her before she walked away and you continued. “It just makes it difficult to ignore it.”

JJ nodded her head in understanding. “You shouldn’t have to ignore it! You know Im sure if you talked to him—”

You didn’t mean to cut her off, “He wants to wait. If i bring it up he will agree just because it’s what I want, I don’t want that.” You said, shaking your head as you looked down at the hot chocolate in your hands.

“He wants kids.” She said. You knew this but it felt nice hearing it again. “He wants to be a dad and he wants to have kids — with you. Of course he will do it if you want it, thats not a bad thing. He wants it to, theres ways to work around work — you just need to have a conversation about it” She said honestly.

You pushed a smile to your lips as you thought about her words, still there was an overwhelming amount of guilt in your chest. “Ill see how it goes” You say.

It had been two weeks since your ‘coffee’ date with JJ and you still found yourself unable to admit out loud to Spencer that you wanted kids now. He had been away on a case this week, which didn’t help you being alone with your thoughts — but it made it easier trying to hide the feeling of emptiness that had been present for weeks.

Not because of Spencer, he made you happier than you thought humanly possible. There was just something missing, you kept waiting for the feeling to go away but it never did. You kept waiting to be able to fall asleep at night without the feeling of longing for something more.

You were lying in bed, when you heard the front door of yours and Spencer’s home open and close. It was probably some outrageous time in the night. You had been lying in the same position for hours unable to fall asleep.

You heard footsteps you knew all too well coming towards your bedroom. The door opened and you turned slightly to look at Spencer who was tugging his tie off messily as he walked towards the bed, eyes widening when he saw you were still awake.

“Hi” He sighed tiredly, throwing his tie on the floor. As he began unbuttoning his shirt, after pulling off his suit jacket. “Im so glad you’re awake” He breathed out.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you sat up to look at him properly. His hair was a mess and he was rushing to get changed. He hardly finished taking off his pants before he was pulling on grey sweatpants leaving his top half naked as he got in bed next to you.

“Hi” You said.

He smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around your body as he pulled you in close to him, so much so you found yourself straddling his hips as he laid on his back. “Hi” He breathed out again.

You were confused. Of course you adored the affection — evidently he missed you but he was out of breath and you didn’t know why. You looked over at the clock seeing it was nearing three in the morning. Spencer never had this much energy this late at night — especially after being away for a week on a case.

Normally he would come home and just hold you. That was what he needed after being away. Just you in his arms.

“What-” you were cut off by him leaning upwards, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, you hummed slightly as you kissed him back, melting into the softness of his lips. His hand trailed down your torso before slipping under your shirt — which was actually his shirt.

You gasped as you felt his cold hands against the warm skin of your waist. His hands traveled up your back like a mad man — as if he could hardly get enough, he took your gasp into his advantage slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You made out with him for a few minute before pulling away, he chased your lips but you pulled back, “What has gotten into you?” You breathed out — chest rising and falling heavily as you worked to catch your breath.

He looked up at you, eyes full of an emotion you’d never seen on his face, one you couldn’t place. He let out a breath. “Let’s have a baby.”

You swore your heart stopped as your breath got caught in your throat. You were sure your pulse was going haywire as you tried to process what he said. “W-What? Spence.” You moved to slide off his lap, feeling a sense of hurt in your stomach.

His hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place. “Please.” He said breathily. “JJ told me” He said, looking so deep into your eyes. Your eyes widened and your lips parted as you sucked in a harsh breath. You felt a sense of betrayal from JJ but you knew deep down she was just trying to help you. She hated seeing you so.. Sad.

“Spence” You could cry. You swore you could cry.

“Im serious angel. Let’s have a baby. I want a baby.” He said, thumb rubbing over your hip sending a burning sensation to the place his fingertip brushed over.

You frowned, “But you wanted to wait.” You said.

He shrugged his shoulders, “So did you.” He muttered, leaning up to place gentle kisses down your neck.

You tilted your head instinctively at the feeling of his lips gently brushing over your skin. “But you shouldn’t change your- your mind just because I did” You sucked in a harsh breath as you felt his tongue brush over a sensitive spot of your neck.

“I want a baby with you. I want to raise kids with you. I want to be a dad to our children.” He said, pulling away to look at you. “If you’re ready Im ready, I’ll start teaching. I want a baby with you, now.” He said, looking into your eyes. He spoke genuinely.

“Really?” You asked.

He nodded, “Lets start trying.” He said, leaning back down to kiss your neck again.

“Right now?” You laughed out a giggle as your stomach swarmed with an overwhelming amount of happiness.

He hummed against your skin.

“Why wait?”

[sagestr]

Sundays at the Library | Part Two

Part One

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Despite Spencer's best efforts to keep you his Sunday solace, you become all he can think about.

Warnings] Gruesome descriptions of typical CM gore, references to sex, Spencer's POV, insecure/anxious reader, poetry excerpts, like 3k of Spencer pining over reader (sorry not sorry), tech stuff I know nothing about

Word Count] 14.1k

Author's Note] These are links to the poetry from this part: "Your laughter", "The Insect", "And because love battles". Though I use important excerpts, I would highly recommend reading these because I reference them throughout. Sorry to make you do homework but I promise it's cute bc Spencer is falling in love through poetryyyy.

Spencer spent four days in Seattle, but he would be lying if he said that was the only reason he didn’t get to finish all ten of his library books by Sunday. 

He read one book last Sunday evening while sipping tea on his couch and then he read two of them a day from Monday to Wednesday in between his work hours. Early Thursday morning Penelope rallied the troops to the conference room to explain that they were going to Seattle because four women had been found butchered. No case was easy exactly, but this one was especially hard. The women were found in horrific states, cannibalism was suspected, and Spencer was in charge of doing the geographic profile. The problem was the unsub was very criminally sophisticated and it seemed like he had no comfort zone, so Spencer was struggling. To top it all off, one of the victims' mothers had broken down wailing in the police station, right in front of Spencer’s map, begging for someone to find her daughter's killer. . . and the rest of her remains. 

Spencer had nothing he could say to the poor mother. JJ ended up trying to comfort her, old instincts from her liaison days kicking in. He went back to his hotel room that night and cried. It’d been a while since he cried on a case, a few months or so, but it happened every so often with bad ones, mostly children. So he let himself cry on the loveseat in the corner for a few minutes before taking a shower, putting on some soft PJs, and crawling under the covers of his double bed. For a while he stared into the ceiling picturing the map, the circles he drew, and the pins he placed on it. Half the pins marked an abduction site and the other half signified where a body was found. If he concentrated too hard, he could see the bodies in the morgue: their blue lips, sheet like skin, the carved out flesh.

Most people would assume there was no downside to an eidetic memory, but Spencer knew there was. He could remember every horrendous, gruesome detail of a crime scene, a victim's injuries, an unsub’s taunts. It all haunted him, swimming around in his vision and fogging his brain when he wanted peace. Reading helped because it kept his brain busy and his head clear. When he couldn’t take the horror anymore, Spencer leaned over the side of the bed to his go-bag on the floor. 

Inside was a couple outfits, sleepwear, his usual toiletries, and a few of his library books. He wasn’t sure how much time he would have, so he brought all three of his unread ones. When Spencer unzipped the bag, he remembered he brought four borrowed books. The Poetry of Pablo Neruda sat atop the rest of his clothes and books. It must have floated to the top as Spencer rooted through the bag for his comfiest pajamas. He hesitated to bring it up onto the bed, thumbing the curling corners, but eventually took it into his lap. 

Spencer wanted to read the book as soon as he got home from the library. He actually almost blew a stop sign he was in such a rush, which Spencer never did because he was a very careful driver. Some—Derek—would call him too careful, but there wasn’t such a thing as too careful. However because he was so reckless and excited, Spencer couldn’t bring himself to read the book. It was too distracting, too enticing—he couldn’t allow himself the pleasure of it because it would consume him. Already you were nagging his thoughts, distracting him from his day, his job, and he had to curb it somehow. He certainly couldn’t feed into it by reading the book you gave him. So, he decided he would wait until Saturday to read it so you would continue to just be his solace on Sundays. 

But Spencer wanted a distraction, he needed one really, and he wanted it to be you. He opened the book and immediately smiled as he was met with your handwritten notes in pink pen ink. He couldn’t explain why the loops and lines were so you, but they were, and it only made it easier for him to hear them in your gentle whisper. 

Spencer read 20,000 words per minute, but he read close to three per minute as he combed through the poems and your little comments and analyses. He savored them as much as he could, because he could only read them for the first time once and never again would they be so fresh and sweet. Every other line his heart would flutter and his breath would pause as he searched between the stanzas and in the margins for your own reactions. 

Pablo Neruda wrote some powerful political poetry in support of the Communist Party in Chile, but it was only a sliver of the book's poems. The rest of the pages consisted of beautiful and heartbreaking romance poems. As he read them, he thought of you. Because you’d given him the book, of course, and it was your thoughts scrawled out on the page right alongside Neruda’s. In his drowsy head, the words merged, printed black and scribbled pink swirling, and suddenly the woman Neruda was talking about was you. You were the woman he longed to forget, but would forever plague him. You were the woman made for his arms, his kisses, his soul. Your body was the journey his hands itched to make.

But Spencer couldn’t think that of you. When his eyes would glaze and your image would appear on paper, he blinked quickly and rubbed his eyes raw. It was wrong to think of you like that because you were an acquaintance—a friend at best. He had no right, even if you’d given him the book. He thought then about why you’d given him the book. Sure, it was because he reached his check out limit and could always read more, but why had you given him this book? It was clearly a favorite by how worn and full of notes it was, but the notes were your deepest thoughts on love. Obviously he would consider you as he read them. 

He tried not to though, he really did, until he came across “Your Laughter.” Upon its title alone your giggle echoed in his ears and he leaned closer to the lamp light to read it unobstructed. 

“My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life.”

Perhaps he had imagined those other women Neruda wrote about as you, but this was you. Your laughter gave him life, comfort, and he was starting to think he couldn’t be without it. Every stanza solidified it in his mind that he loved your laugh, that he would take it over bread or air, because in the dim library it stole him away from the world and relieved his burdens, if just for a moment. He finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning with the page open on his chest.

—

On Friday morning Spencer woke with you on his mind, and that couldn’t happen. He had to banish you from his head, lock your memory away in a deep, dark vault just to get his work done, because every time he saw a flower, or a book, or even heard a laugh, he was thinking of a line from The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and you were that poetry. He had to stuff the book at the bottom of his go bag and swear off it until the case was finished—and he did. He redirected his entire focus back to his map, pins, and circles.

But every night when he went back to the hotel, depressed and exhausted, he sought the book out and found comfort in your words. He fell asleep to them and dreamt your thoughts, then woke up in the morning to you clouding his mind and he had to lock you away again to stay focused.

He was successfully able to rid you from his thoughts at work until Sunday when he woke up antsy at the idea you were in a different state. He tried again to concentrate solely on the case, but when his watch rolled over to 11 he got stuck staring at it, thinking about what you were doing on the other side of the country. It was already 2pm in Virginia due to the different time zones. He wondered what you were thinking. Did you stand at the desk, perched over it for the best view of the front doors? Were you also sad when the hour hand crept slowly passed 11 on the grand clock above the door and he did not walk in? Maybe you didn’t care and the day continued as normal. Or maybe you were only upset he was not promptly returning your book. He thought if only he solved the case faster he wouldn’t have to wonder.

He shook his head, shaking you away, then focused back on the map. Not more than 20 minutes later he solved it thanks to a call from Garcia about a fifth missing woman fitting the victimology. When he added a pin to her abduction site, he found the pattern, the comfort zone, and the unsub. He gathered up the map to present his findings to Hotch, to show him where he knew the secondary location had to be, and just like that the police station was bustling with a new vigor. 

They wrapped up the case late Sunday evening. They put away a monster and were able to give that grieving mother and three others closure on what happened to their daughters. That night, a woman went home to her family and Spencer returned to his hotel room, gathered his belongings, and rushed to the jet. He’d never been more ready to get back to Virginia because as exhausted and relieved as he was, he was also sad. He shouldn’t have been, but he was, because 11am came and went in a police station and not in the library ten minutes from his apartment. You’d called him so reliable and he missed it. He should have warned you about his unpredictable hours, he realized, but now he was just anxious to explain himself. He didn’t want to be the unreliable man leaving a trail of disappointment and broken promises, it was so much like his father the thought made him shiver. 

He was so quick to the jet he beat Hotch and JJ, who were always prompt to get back to their kids. She eyed him as he bounced on his heels, checking his watch. It was nearly 9:30pm which meant they would arrive in the early morning anyway. He would return to his apartment and sleep, hopefully for a while, because the library wouldn’t be open for hours. But Spencer bounced with anxiety because he was late and he hated being late. All he did was think and he was overthinking. He hoped you weren’t. 

“Spence?” He realized JJ’s eyes were on him. She had her usual concerned expression, knitted brows and tilted head. “You okay?”

He nodded because he was okay, technically. There was nothing really wrong. “Yeah, of course.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, and by now Hotch was watching their exchange. “Are you sure? You look a little. . . stressed.”

She wouldn’t give it up then. “No, I just sort of had plans today I missed. I had to return some library books and I don’t like to be late,” he explained, hoping it would soothe her worries. It wasn’t a lie. . . maybe a bit of a half truth, but his weekends were meant to be his and he wasn’t obligated to talk at length about his personal life.

JJ scoffed, checking her phone as she relaxed, calmed by his explanation. Hotch’s eyes swept back across the street, waiting for the others to arrive. “Well, you know better than to make plans. I missed date night with Will again.”

“That sucks,” Spencer hummed absentmindedly, eyes also watching down the road for the rest of the team. 

It was approximately seven minutes later when their SUV pulled up and the six of them boarded the jet. The team took their usual seats, mostly in silence as Hotch did paperwork, Morgan listened to music, and the rest of the team tried to get some sleep. Spencer took the familiar couch at the back of the jet, but he didn’t curl up to sleep just yet. Instead he opened his go bag to the book he had packed away right at the top to ensure he brought it. A smile spread across his face unbeknownst to him as he took it into his hands. He brought his legs up onto the seat and leaned with his arm on the armrest and his head tucked into his elbow as he got comfortable. Unfortunately, he was used to folding himself up on the small couch, long limbs and all, but it was a good enough position to read in. 

Spencer picked up where he left off reading slowly again, tasting the words as he mouthed them to himself alone. Every so often his silent recitation was interrupted by a quiet chuckle or a snort, because not only was your commentary deep but it was witty. Your takes on Neruda’s physical interest in love was so intriguingly sardonic he couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

Spencer found one particular poem, “The Insect,” sensual until he spotted your jokes scrawled along the bottom near the page number. 

“From your hips down to your feet I want to make a long journey. I am smaller than an insect. Over these hills I pass, hills the colour of oats, crossed with faint tracks that only I know, scorched centimetres, pale perspectives."

In your hasty, sloppy handwriting you responded:

“He better be adept at  licking between those hills if he is smaller than an insect”

Spencer cracked a wide grin, stifling his laugh in his collar. Your humor, tucked between the pages of an unassuming book, was uninhibited by your meekness. He couldn’t help but think you would never say such a crude thing aloud, or maybe you would, and he only needed to know you longer to hear it from your lips. Neruda’s next stanza was even more lewd.

“Now here is a mountain. I shall never leave this. What a giant growth of moss! And a crater, a rose of moist fire!”

He followed a loopy arrow from the section of lines to your reply.

“Crater??? I suppose my razor bumps must be the  stinging rocks that tearing out the moss uncovered”

Spencer snorted, wondering if you remembered writing those quips when you generously handed him the book. They weren’t abundant, most of your responses were scholarly thoughts or opinions on love, but he could see your mood ebb and flow throughout the poems, crossed out thoughts and new additions from when you reread and re-examine with fresh eyes and new ideas. When he got to the end of the poem, he could see how your tone had shifted.

“Sliding down to your feet I reach the eight slits of your pointed, slow, peninsular toes, and from them I fall down to the white emptiness of the sheet, seeking blindly and hungrily the form of your fiery crucible!”

Another arrow from the last word guided him to the next page where he assumed you added more thoughts after going back over the poem again.

“Neruda is only a man, so his metaphors of the body have to be expected. But his unrestrained desire and dedication is the important subtext. To make the journey  long and slow and appreciate it all with unparalleled reverence? A girl might just have time to fall in love.”

Your interpretation of the poetry spoke volumes about your outlook on love. How you searched between the lines for the words unsaid, that between the carnal romance, you found desire and dedication. That was what you valued, as well as “time to fall in love.” The sentiment gave him pause because Spencer had a habit of. . . fixation. Spencer cared fast and deeply, and maybe that was too much for you. He would have to cool off, give you space, even if he was starting to want everyday to be Sunday. 

“What’s so funny over here?”

Spencer looked up, tucking the book into his chest, startled by Derek suddenly standing right in front of him. “Nothing. Just. . . reading.”

Derek leaned down his head to see the title, eyebrows rising with a scoff. “The Poetry of Pablo Neruda?” He shook his head as he continued behind the curtain to the bathroom. “Only you would be laughing at poetry, pretty boy.”

Derek would laugh too if he took a look at your writings, but Spencer didn’t feel like sharing you. He went back to his reading and it took him about an hour to finish the book. The feeling of turning over the last page was hollow. Of course, he could remember every single word, could recite it backwards if he wanted to, he studied it so intently, but the feeling of reading it, of getting inside your head was over. He drifted to sleep with the book tucked into his arm, trying to hold onto that feeling just a little longer.

Rossi shook him awake when they landed. The sun wasn’t up yet and a glance at his watch told him it was only 5:30 in the morning. The team wasn’t expected back until Wednesday, so Spencer only dipped into the office to grab paperwork before he got into his car and drove back home to his apartment. Blasting the radio was the only thing that kept him awake while driving. He didn’t realize it when he first got on the jet, but his body and mind were exhausted. His limbs ached and his head was foggy. Once he got in the door he dropped his bag on the floor and slumped into his bed, drifting back off into deep sleep.

—

From the way the light filtered in through the blinds, the sun was arching high in the sky when Spencer finally woke up again. His eyes were practically crusted shut and his mouth was dry, all the moisture leaking out onto his face and bedspread. He rubbed a hand over his face as he sat up and stretched. The rest did him good. He had more energy, at least, and he didn’t feel like weights were attached to him. He sat there for a minute, just adjusting to the world, then his eyes drifted to his alarm clock. It was 12:43pm. 

At once he jumped up from his bed, raiding his closet for a fresh pair of clothes. He didn’t mean to sleep in, he meant to be at the library early to explain himself. All he bothered to put on was a clean button up and slacks before he slipped on his converse and grabbed his keys. He stopped himself at the door when he remembered he was going to the library to return his books, so he swung back around to pick up the basket on his coffee table and grab The Poetry of Pablo Neruda from his go bag. 

He jogged down the stairs to his car, breezing past his neighbor Mrs. Cavanaugh who greeted him kindly. Of course, he drove just as carefully as he normally did, using his turn signal, completely stopping at each stop sign, and maintaining the speed limit, all the while his fingers rapped the steering wheel. His parking job in the library lot wasn’t great, though if he was being honest it never really was, but he didn’t hang around long to admire its crookedness as he grabbed his basket and speed walked into the library. 

It was comforting to be met with the familiar chill and paper air. A hand thoughtless combed through his hair as he took his time to walk down the rug to the front desk. He realized he didn’t put a comb through his hair before he left which meant it was definitely wild. He would have spent time being embarrassed about it if he looked over the counter and saw you, but he didn’t. In your chair was an elderly woman who squinted through her own glasses as she read a thick book she clutched in her wrinkly hands. She looked up and saw Spencer standing there, an unamused look on her face. 

“Checking something in?” She asked in a smoker's voice. 

“Oh, uh, yes,” Spencer floundered, surprised you weren’t there. He took your book from the top of the basket and then brought the rest up to the counter. The woman watched him as he pulled the books from the basket, an over plucked eyebrow raised. He had to dig around in his wallet for his library card too, but eventually set it on the counter to avoid the talons at her fingertips. She let out a sigh as she began scanning them. 

Spencer tapped his fingers against the countertop, eyes roaming around the library. Was Monday your off day? He never asked. He actually didn’t know much about your personal life besides that you were in graduate school. Maybe you had classes today? He could come in again tomorrow. . . but was that weird? He wouldn’t have any books to check in, so he didn’t have any actual reason for coming in besides seeing you. Would you find that odd? That he sought you out? He didn’t want to wait until next Sunday to talk to you again.

Spencer looked back at the librarian as she cleared her throat. She finished checking in the books and slid back over his library card, but he was still just standing there. “Is there something else you need?” She asked and he whispered your name. “What?”

“I–I mean, is she working today?” Spencer clarified quickly. “The girl who is at this desk on Sundays?” 

She blinked at him, leaning back in her chair and picking back up her book, a sharp finger turning the page. “She’s working.”

He nodded, gathering up his library card and basket and briskly walking away from the desk. With no additional clues as to where you were, he went to the second floor and began walking around. You had to be around there somewhere, eventually he would find you. He scanned the shelves as he walked, looking in the sciences for books that interested him, but he was too preoccupied looking over his shoulder for you walking by. Eventually he was fed up waiting for you to walk by and roamed the library just looking for you.

It took going to the fiction section to find you. He rounded the corner of a bookcase and saw you up on a ladder, arm full of books, the other busy nestling them into their places on the shelves. Your hair was done up and you wore a long, patterned skirt, but also a fitted long sleeve shirt. It hugged you like you hugged the books, and Spencer’s eyes trailed the outline of your figure illuminated by a gold halo from the window behind you. In over a week of not seeing you, Spencer didn’t forget a single detail of how you looked, but the feeling he got when he looked at you was new and invigorating. 

He saw you in a new light, literally and figuratively. He knew some of your inner thoughts; each poem he read felt like a conversation. Maybe it was one way, but you read the book so many times perhaps it wasn’t. He hoped maybe you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave it to him, as if, in your own shy way, you were saying all those words to him.

A quiet gasp broke his train of thought and suddenly you were looking at him, turned on the ladder to see him at the end of the bookcase. “Spencer?” You looked surprised, caught off guard, and when you tried to scramble down the ladder clinging onto the books and nothing else, you tripped on your skirt and teetered on the foothold.

Spencer was next to you instantly, the basket sliding up his arm as he steadied you with a hand on your waist. You took hold of his other hand, delicate fingers wrapping tight around his palm, and slowly came down off the ladder. He let you go once you were on the floor again, unsure of what to do with his hands warmed by the feel of you.

“Thank you, I was really trying not to twist my ankle falling off that again,” You smiled nervously, embarrassed, and looked down at the books you held against yourself. 

“Again?” Spencer asked, brows quirking up, lips twisting into a smile. Not only were you shy, but you were klutzy. He wasn’t sure which made you more endearing. 

“Oh yeah. I was laid up for a week after falling off a three foot ladder. Now I don’t reach so far out,” you explained, finally chancing a look up at him and finding his eyes already on you.

“I got shot in the knee once. I was on crutches for five months, two weeks, and five days and I hated pretty much every second of it,” he blurted out, and to his delight you breathed out a quiet laugh. 

“Well you’ve got my twisted ankle beat,” You shrugged at him. He chuckled in reply, and slowly the conversation faded away. He had so much to say to you, to explain, but it disappeared from his mouth when he stood in front of you. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. He wondered if you thought about him even half as much as he thought about you. Finally, your voice came out in the softest whisper. “I didn’t know if you were going to come back. . .”

 “I was in Seattle,” like a dam burst, at last his words came rushing out. “I travel for work a lot and I’ve been in Seattle since Thursday. I only got back this morning.”

He searched your face for your reaction but your eyes were unreadable. “You just got back from a four day work trip across the country and the first thing you do is go to the library?” He couldn’t tell whether you were weirded out or not. Normally your emotions were all over your face and he read it just like a book, but suddenly you snapped it shut.

“No. Well—yes, kind of. . .” When you only continued to look at him, he felt the need to keep talking. “I had to return the books, y’know? And. . .” He searched your eyes for an indication to stop or keep going, but they were only pools of hope with borders of acetate. “You called me reliable—before, I mean—and I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t. I didn’t have any way to contact you either to let you know I wasn’t going to come in so I just. . . came here as soon as I could.”

The meekest of smiles lifted the corners of your lips and Spencer nearly let out a sigh of relief. “I guess it’s silly, but I was a little sad when you didn’t come in. I thought I really messed it up, and that sucked because it gets kind of boring in here without a genius FBI agent to be surprised by,” you shrugged, finger tapping along a hardcover book in your arms. Spencer opened his mouth to reassure you that you didn’t do anything wrong, but you continued. “I think it’d be better for both of us if we had a way to contact each other—so you can warn me of course! When work has you too busy to come in.”

Spencer stood in front of you for a few seconds, processing what you were saying. Then you inclined your brows at him and he scrambled to get his phone from his pocket. “Oh, right. You can just put your number in and I will, uh, text you.”

You struggled to adjust the books in your arms to get a free hand, so Spencer set the basket down and offered his help to take them. “Oh, thank you,” you mumbled, passing the books into his long arms and taking his phone. As you thumbed in the numbers, Spencer turned to the shelves and began putting the books in their rightful places. You furrowed your brows at him, mouth falling open. “Oh, Spencer, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to help.” He gave you a smile over his shoulder and went back to fingering over the spines to find the correct placement.

“Thank you then. Just. . .” Your head craned outside the end of the bookcases, glancing either way before walking back to the trolley that carried the books that needed reshelving. “Don’t let Mrs. Wilson see you. I think she’d actually fire me.”

“Mrs. Wilson?” Spencer questioned, brows creasing. “The woman at the desk today?”

You just gathered another armful of books from the trolley when your head snapped back to Spencer, then glanced between him and then the nearly empty basket on the floor, worried. “Oh my God, she checked your books back in. She didn’t say anything mean to you, did she? Nasty little comments are her specialty.”

Spencer took more books from the cart, his eyes glued to you as you scaled the ladder again. “No. She wasn’t exactly friendly either, but she didn’t say anything mean.” You wiped fake sweat off your brow. “Is she your boss?”

“Kinda, yeah. Technically I’m a library aid, but I do pretty much everything she does as the librarian,” you said, voice dry and tired with annoyance. “Actually I do everything she’s supposed to do besides berate people for late books, that’s her favorite pastime. Most of the day she manages the desk while I do everything else. I only work the desk Sunday because that’s her off day. I’m pretty sure she spends it at church because she’s always telling me I should be going.”

He glanced at you as you talked, continuing to organize the books. It was the most he ever heard you talk, and he was starting to hear the same voice he heard on the margins of The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. “I’m glad I came in on Sunday then,” he said. He likely never would have met you if he didn’t come in on Sunday, what with you rushing around doing all the other day to day library duties. That meant there was a 1/7, or 14% chance of him meeting you at the library the way he did. He didn’t even want to think about how slim the chance of him meeting you was after also factoring in the other libraries in the area he could have visited.

“I’m glad you did too.” You smiled over at him, shelving your last book and carefully heading back down the ladder. “She never would have let you check out all those books at once.”

He quickly placed the remaining book in his hand on the shelf, joining you at the trolley as you divided up the last of the books left. “So, if she’s so mean and awful at her job, why don’t you report her?”

You paused, eyes going distant and your shoulders slighting curling in on yourself. “I could report her to the director I guess, but. . .” You only considered it for a moment before collecting the books and spinning away down the bookcase with a shake of your head. “I don’t see the point. She’s just a grouchy old woman. It’s not like I can’t handle it. I think the reason she hates me so much is because she thinks I’m going to replace her.”

Spencer eyed your body language and shift in tone. It was the confrontation that scared you, he realized. He saw it before with Todd and now with Mrs. Wilson and the director. You didn’t stand up to her or advocate for yourself because of some self conscious doubt or fear of rejection. Sure, Mrs. Wilson might be mean and a bit scary, but that shouldn’t mean you have to deal with her blatant disrespect. He wanted to give you some encouragement, but seeing your reaction to his question—the way you curled in on yourself to protect yourself from the discomfort just considering reporting her gave you—made him not want to push you, so he finished putting the books in the bookcase. 

“If you say so. I'm just sorry you don’t get along with your coworker. I feel like my team at the BAU is my family and I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” he confessed. His only real family was his mom, but he felt it wasn’t appropriate to talk about her just yet. Although he did feel like the team was also his family, so it felt right to talk about them.

You hummed, a dreamy look on your face. “That’s nice. It makes sense too, since you all have to trust each other with your lives, don’t you?” You brought your bottom lip between your teeth suddenly, hesitating to look at Spencer. “I um, I looked up what the BAU was the other day because I wanted to know what you did exactly. It just said you created “profiles” of serial killers, but it didn’t mention field work.” You slotted onto a shelf the last book in your hands, fidgeting with your fingers as they became idle, eyes wandering back and forth between him and the floor.  “I was just thinking if. . . are you in danger often? You didn’t seem very scared of that guy the other day—obviously he’s not nearly as scary as a serial killer, but you also said you got shot in the knee?”

Spencer held back a smile because you seemed upset, but the fact that you took the time to look up what he did and worried about him made his stomach swirl in a way which was more pleasing than nauseating. “Field work is a part of my job, yes. We profile serial killers and other criminals, but we also help the local police catch them. I’ve had other injuries besides getting shot in the knee, too. So, yes, often it can be a very dangerous job.” It also felt wrong to bring up Tobias Hinkel, the trauma Spencer experienced, and the path it led him down. Maybe at a later time he could bring it up, but now he was more comfortable recounting exactly the amount of times he’d been shot at and every injury he’d gotten on the job from being punched to poisoned. Spencer did none of that though, because your face became sickly and your brows knitted so tight with concern he thought they might merge together. “I’m always okay though! I trust my team and we all keep each other safe. I wear a bulletproof vest to protect my vital organs and I carry a gun, so I’m kind of hard to kill.”

You crossed your arms, nodding as you calmed down from the worry. Spencer wondered if you were also an anxious person, it would make sense since you were so concerned about him and his job. It was a dangerous job, sometimes in the moment Spencer dismissed the probabilities that he could actually die, but it was always possible despite his experience, knowledge, and skills. Unlikely, but possible. “It’s a really good thing your coworkers have your back then,” you joked, but it was weak and Spencer could tell you were still unsettled.

He wanted to calm you down, because there wasn’t anything to be worried about. He was good at his job, safe, and he always ran all the probabilities and took the best course of action. Most importantly, he always had a thorough and accurate profile, which Gideon always said was the deadliest weapon he could have. You didn’t need to worry about him despite the danger. “‘What more can they tell you? I am neither good nor bad but a man, and they will then associate the danger of my life, which you know and which with your passion you shared,’” he recited. Your head tilted as you took in his words, an excitement of realization slowly filling up your face. “‘And good, this danger is danger of love, of complete love for all life, for all lives.’”

“‘And because love battles’, Pablo Neruda,” you named it. Spencer was right when he assumed you read it several times because you had it memorized enough to spot it. “That poem is about fighting for and defending his love despite his past and what others have to say about it—not the danger of having standoffs with murderers.”

“Yes, but I can repurpose it. I do this job despite the danger because I love people. I love helping them, saving them. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. If I don’t catch the murderers, who will?” He explained, trying to show you that this job was just a part of him, however dangerous it was, he could handle it. “I know it can be scary, but trust me when I tell you that I’m good at what I do. There aren't any people out there better at this job than my team. You don’t have to worry.”

You plucked at the ends of your sleeves, thinking on what he told you. The seconds ticked by and he resorted to examining your body language, how your shoulders were even and between them your chest rose and fell at a steady pace. Your face was placid too, until it warped with a playful smile and you stepped closer to him. The breath left his lungs in an exhale. “So. . . you did finish The Poetry of Pablo Neruda?” He took air in again with a chuckle. Teasing him must have meant you felt reassured. “You must have been distracted being so good at your job that your interpretation was off, because that’s not at all what that quote means.”

Spencer took a step towards you, his long legs almost closing the gap of space between your bodies before you scrambled back a step. “Oh, I know what you think of that poem. I know exactly what you think of all Neruda’s poems, since you spelled it out for me.”

Your hands came back to the front of you, fidgeting with your fingers as you avoided the intensity of his eyes, face warming with embarrassment. “You read all my notes?” How could he not? Surely, you must have known he would. 

“Of course I did. I thought it was all very insightful,” he said, and because he couldn’t help himself, he continued. “Especially all your little jokes. What did you have to say about ‘The Insect’? ‘He better be adept at licking—’”

“Spencer!” You squealed, certainly disturbing anyone who was in the surrounding rows of bookcases. Your hands rushed to cover your face. “I didn’t—You weren’t—oh my God!”

Spencer laughed at your suffering, taking sadistic pleasure in it only for a few moments before he gently pulled your hands from your face by your arms. “It’s okay. I thought they were all very funny. You’re very funny.”

It was harder for you to shake off the embarrassment. You carefully removed your wrists from his hands to wring them. “I didn’t think you were even actually going to read it.”

Spencer’s brows twitched into a furrow, puzzled as to why you thought he wouldn’t read the book you gave him. “Why not? I like poetry.”

You shrugged. “I–I don’t know, I just definitely didn’t expect for you to memorize it and everything I said.”

“I have an eidetic memory,” he countered, knowing he would remember everything you ever wrote and said to him. “And some of that stuff is pretty hard to forget anyway.”

You whined, mortified. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize what that means.”

There was a pause between you and Spencer, because you were embarrassed and he wasn’t sure why. Having someone read your private thoughts is vulnerable and flustering, but you gave him the book. You must have known he would agonize over your every word, but your reaction said you didn’t. Spencer couldn’t help but feel he was reading too far into things, his obsessive, addictive personality sending him spiraling down a hole of a relationship he dug all on his own. You didn’t think about him as much as he did you; you didn’t read into the things he did and search for more meaning. 

“Do you need more books?”

“Huh?”

He was staring into your face thinking hard, but you snapped him back out of it. “You finished reading all your books right?” You repeated.

“No, I only read seven of them,” he thought aloud.

“What? What happened to Mr. 20,000 words per minute?” The shyness fled you slowly as you turned again to teasing him. It was cute, but it also flustered Spencer, because he definitely couldn’t tell you he didn’t finish his other books because he spent all his time scrutinizing every word both you and Pablo Neruda wrote. 

“I–I told you I was in Seattle for four days. I didn’t have time to finish them because I was busy.” It was a lame excuse because he definitely did have enough time, he just spent it reading the book you gave him because it comforted him better than any other book could.

You hummed, tapping your fingers along your forearm. “Okay, well, you should look for some more books. I have to get back to work or the library’s going to collapse without me. So, um, text me?”

He got whiplash from your sudden goodbye. “Y–Yeah, of course. I’ll see you next week right?”

“Of course,” you repeated, throwing him a wave as you grabbed the handle of the trolley and started pushing it out of the aisle. 

“Wait, don’t forget this.” Spencer stopped you as he picked his basket back up from the floor, plucking The Poetry of Pablo Neruda out of it to hand to you. 

You took it with a grateful smile, setting it on the trolley. “Thank you, Spencer, I’ll have to give you more poetry book recommendations since clearly you liked this one so much.”

He watched you disappear around the corner and was immediately hit with everything he wanted to say to you, what he should have said, all the conversations he wanted to have had. It wasn’t enough. You’d taken a decent chunk of time out of your busy day to chat with him but it still didn’t satisfy him. Spencer wondered if there would ever be enough of you, or if he was now forever craving you, needing your words, your laugh, you entirely.

He resigned himself to looking around the library for new books to read. Every time he entered a new aisle, he looked for you, having hope you’d be there but you never were. Still, he took his time finding books, but once he had seven in his basket he made his way down to the front desk.

Of course, Mrs. Wilson was sitting there and she was just as pleased as she was before to see Spencer standing in front of her. She stood up as he began unloading the books onto the countertop. 

“Seven books?” She croaked.

“Yes? I only have three out and the check out limit is ten,” he justified, pausing as he rummaged his wallet for his library card.

“I know the checkout limit. You can’t check out more than five books at once,” she hissed, clawing two books off the top of the stack and dropping them onto the cart behind her. Without missing a beat, she turned back and snatched up his library card from the counter and began scanning.

“Okay. . .” he mumbled, unsure how to respond. Obviously that wasn’t library policy, but he wasn’t interested in fighting with your coworker. All he needed was for her to dislike him. Well, dislike him more than the disdain she seemed to have for everyone. 

When she finished scanning and checking the books out, she slapped his library card on top of the stack and sat back in her seat, picking up her book again without a word. Spencer took that as his sign to get lost and quickly gathered up his books in his basket and made for the exit. He looked back once more as he opened the double doors and turned back around as they shut behind him.

Spencer wiped down the books and his basket in his car, setting them both up snug in his passenger seat. He sat there for a moment, looking back at the library, then pulled out his phone. Like you said, your name had been added to his contacts, your full name. He bounced his leg as he considered sending you a message, but finally gave in and typed a simple one out.

- Hey, it's Spencer Reid.

Again, his leg bounced viciously as his fingers hovered over the buttons, sporadically typing out letters before deleting them. He even set it down before he picked it back up and hurriedly sent another message.

- Mrs. Wilson only let me check out five books.

He tossed his phone over into his passenger seat with a sigh. Spencer Reid did not text. It was strange, embarrassing, and not at all something he was used to. He felt the urge to call Garcia and even ask if he was doing it right. Was there even a right way to text? There had to be and he had no clue what it was. Constantly Garcia was bringing up internet language Spencer did not understand. What if you knew it and he didn’t? He almost went back into the library to research it on the computer. 

But he had to go home. He hadn’t eaten yet and his stomach was starting to rumble and growl. There was a chinese place on the way home, he could stop by there and get takeout. It wasn’t the healthiest plan, but there wasn’t much at the apartment besides pasta. That meant he also had to go grocery shopping tomorrow. He sighed through his nose as he put the car in drive, only to immediately throw it back in park when he heard his phone chime. He lunged over the console to the passenger seat so quickly the seat belt locked up and he choked himself momentarily before he could unfasten it and snap up his phone from the seat. There was a text from you.

- When do you go back to work?

His brows creased, but he responded swiftly nonetheless.

- Wednesday. Why?

- That means you have to come in tomorrow at 11, that's her lunch break. I can check you out.:)

He was even more confused by the punctuation at the end of your sentence. He reread it thrice for any clues to the meaning before he tilted his head and saw a smiley face staring back at him. A laugh burst from him, shaking his chest. He could put off grocery shopping until later in the day tomorrow.

—

Spencer came into the library Tuesday at 11am promptly. You escorted him around the library as he found two more books, then you let him pick an additional two more to check out on your own library account. After picking out the books, sneaking to check him out at the front desk became the best covert op mission Spencer had ever done, and he actually had done quite a few. As you talked, Spencer recounted cases he worked on and taught you the lingo they used in the field. When you slunk behind the front desk, you actually whisper-screamed “Clear!” at him with a face so serious Spencer had to slap a hand over his mouth so he didn’t blow the whole operation by laughing in your face. Your head bobbed constantly for any sight of Mrs. Wilson, even though you told him she ate lunch at the diner down the street. Then you slid him the two extra books like the scandal was DEA investigation worthy. All the while, you and Spencer giggled like children. 

You were a lot less worried now when he told you about the cases he worked on, he tended to leave out the really scary parts, but the idea of him chasing after armed murders didn’t terrify you as much anymore. You seemed to trust him and his skills more, likely because of his excellent performance during “Operation Paperback,” which was the code name you lovingly bestowed upon your mission to check Spencer out more books while Mrs. Wilson took what was most definitely not a smoke break. (You told him you were going to launch your own investigation into the cigarette butts you kept finding in the parking lot when he left now that you were a pro at “FBI stuff.”)

Spencer left the library with a giant grin on his face and it stuck with him even as he picked out his next week's worth of meals at the grocery store. He also planned when he would see you again and thought about all the things he wanted to talk to you about. Of course, he wanted to tell you about all the great things he did: his successes as an FBI agent, how he earned his PhDs, the time he hit the ball and ran the winning homerun for Derek’s baseball team. But he also wanted to tell you the darker parts of his life: his mother’s illness, how the job had traumatized him, his struggle with addiction. And he wanted to know so much more about you in kind.

Swiftly, it was no longer just Sundays he was visiting the library. He was dropping in after work and on the odd days he had off due to prolonged cases in other states. It took him less than a week to memorize your schedule. You had off on Fridays and Saturdays, and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you had classes. Of course, your classes were late after work on Monday and Wednesday, however they were early in the morning on Friday. The library hours were something he also saved in his mental rolodex. It had open hours all seven days of the week: 10am to 4pm on weekends and 11am to 7pm on weekdays. Spencer was leaving work on time for the first time in years to make it to the library before close. 

Over the next couple weeks as he went to the library, he realized you spent a lot of time troubleshooting the computers. So when he came in he would either find a book to read or set himself up at an open computer near the one you were working on. He told you he was “researching” things for cases, but he didn’t really have to because anything he wanted to know he could have asked Garcia with her masterful skills and FBI grade software. He came to chat with you, listen to you complain about having to fix the computers so often because the local teens kept breaking them. Still, you were too timid to reprimand them or threaten to kick them out. In his job everyday there was always confrontation, everyone had to do it, so it was both confusing and sweet to him that you lacked the nerve to address people. He only wished you would stand up for yourself, because when you avoided confronting the problems it only ever gave you more labor. 

You became much more comfortable with him though. You shared more thoughts openly, met his eyes more, and even shared things about yourself that seemed very personal. You told him about your parents, your friends, your quaint apartment, and some embarrassing stories of your childhood. As close as you both were becoming over the weeks, you refused to let him read any of the poems you wrote because “it's different when you read it than when strangers read it.” He couldn’t dream of it being bad. He wouldn’t even give criticism or comment on it, but still you wouldn’t let him. You did, however, let him read your interpretations and analyses of poetry and literature you were reading for your classes. He would finish scanning the texts in minutes, which you would whine and complain about taking hours doing as a slow reader, and then read your writings and give you his critiques. At first you were nervous and fidgety about it, would go quiet when he didn’t necessarily agree. Then, slowly, you became more argumentative, fighting him on whose perspective was correct. Spencer loved arguing with you, the way your face lit up when you thought you had him, and the pout of your lip when you conceded the genius maybe knew what he was talking about. 

He handled five cases over the weeks he got to know you, during which he never used his phone more. He would be away for days at time and not be able to visit the library, so he resorted to texting you during the day and calling you from his hotel room in the evenings after you got home from classes, or just before you tucked yourself in for bed. Sometimes he talked about the cases, only giving you bits of information and keeping out the truly horrific things. Other times, he talked about his life. It was hard at first, telling you about the darkest parts of him, how he was far more complex than he originally led you to believe, then it became easy. You took it in stride, showing him an empathy he never knew he craved so deeply. You comforted him over the phone, or in the library, and assured him you didn’t see him any differently than before. Told him you were still his friend.

His friend. Of all the things you said to him while he was vulnerable, that one was the only one that wounded him. You were a great friend, truly, but Spencer was closer to the realization everyday he didn’t want to just be your friend. On the nights he wasn’t away on a case, when he entered his empty apartment and prepared himself dinner alone, he missed your voice. He wanted you there always, more than someone should want a friend. He never thought about Derek, or Penelope, or JJ the way he thought about you. His team was his family and he loved them, but the way he felt about you was another thing entirely. You consumed him at times. When he should be thinking about a case or chatting with one of the team, something reminds him of you and suddenly he’s stuck in a loop of thinking about what you were doing, thinking, feeling. He was distracted, and the worse part of it all was that his team was starting to notice.

Spencer tried to be discreet, but sometimes as he sent a text under his desk or hidden alone in a room Derek would catch him and he’d have to come up with a fast excuse. It always sounded defensive and not quite convincing because Spencer was not a very good liar. The rest of the team was catching him lost in thought, which wouldn’t be as damning if it didn’t happen so often. He cared for you so much he couldn’t help but think of you all day. He likely would never stop talking about either if he wasn’t hiding your existence from his team. At first it was because he tried to keep you very separate from his work life, like his job at the FBI didn’t have to exist when he was with you and therefore you did not exist when he was at work. But now you’d infiltrated his life completely and there was no possible way to keep you separate. He hid you now because well. . . he was embarrassed. Clearly he was obsessed with you, he couldn’t deny it anymore, but you didn’t feel the same way. 

You were caring, kind, generous, empathetic, yes, but in love with him? Well you gave no indication you were. Often you would call him your friend, mention you were scared of relationships, and when he tried showing you he was interested in being more than your friend—getting closer to you, complimenting you, flirting with you—you got quiet and shied away, so he backed off. He wanted to be with you so desperately he put to use all the tips Derek had given him—the PG-13 ones at least—but none of it worked. Perhaps he wasn’t doing it right, or you just didn’t like him. He was trying hard to just settle with being just your friend.

“Oh my God, I hate this thing!” You hissed, slapping your hands over your face and groaning quietly into them. 

“I’m guessing you tried turning it off and on again?” Spencer grinned. He pulled out the seat to the computer next to you, hanging the strap of his messenger bag on the chair behind him. Your eyes glared at him between your fingers.

“Don’t make me hate you too, Spencer. That never works.” Well then the problem went beyond his ability to fix. “I just don’t understand how they can get so many viruses on a computer? Everyday I’m blocking new websites.”

Computer six, which conveniently was the computer with the least visibility from the front desk, was almost always in need of fixing. Mainly because of a group of teens who would come in on the weekends or after school to play around on it. Constantly you were blocking the unsecure, often dangerous or pornographic websites they frequented. How they found them all, you could not fathom. You were fairly good at fixing the computer with all the time you’d spent doing it and all the tutorials you had to research, but were truly stuck. It was almost a week of the computer being down and you had no luck repairing it. 

“You tried everything?” He asked, his smile dropping into a frown at your distress.

“Yes. I don’t know what to do anymore. Mrs. Wilson is on my ass about fixing it and she’ll never call the director to send someone to fix it because that costs money. And I’d have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting a new computer and I don’t even play.” You drug your hands down your face, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“I could get it fixed.” 

You let out an unstifled laugh, which he would be happy to hear if you weren’t laughing at him. “Spencer, you suggested turning it off and on.”

“No, I mean I could ask someone to fix it. A member of my team, Penelope, is a technical analyst. She’s very good with computers and she could fix it.” He didn’t want to ask Garcia, actually the last thing he wanted to do was get his team involved, but he hated even more to see you so upset and stressed. He was just your friend and that was all Garcia would see. 

Your mouth fell open and you waved your hand dismissively. “Oh no, I couldn’t bother her with this. She's probably so busy. I–I can handle it.”

Spencer smiled. You were so sweet, always determined on dealing with things so you didn’t have to put the weight onto others. It only made him want to help more. “She’d be doing me a favor. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help.”

“Are you sure?” Beyond the apprehension, he saw how hopeful you were. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll let you know when she can come fix it,” he said, watching the smile spread across your face. You were so elated, you reached over the space between the chairs to give him a hug, letting out a deep sigh of relief. 

“Thank you so much, Spencer,” you mumbled into his shoulder. He awkwardly patted your back, unsure exactly what to do with his gangly arms. He wasn’t too much of a hugger, neither were you, so it was the first time you’d ever hugged him. His cheeks warmed at the thought.

Unfortunately, he had to follow through on his promises. So the next day when he went into work he hung around the door to Garcia’s lair, repeating over and over in his head how he was going to ask. He opened the door with a knock and she swirled around in her chair to look at him, a megawatt smile beaming.

“Hey handsome, what can I do ya for?” She greeted, spinning a fuzzy orange pen between her fingers. 

Spencer wrung his hands in the doorway, halfway between coming in and running away. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“Of course! What did you need me to look up?” She spun back in her chair, hands at the ready.

“It’s not that, it's a personal favor. A–A tech problem. Do you think you could help me with it this Sunday?” 

Slowly, Garcia tapped her heels on the floor to turn her spinny chair back towards Spencer, eyebrow quirked. “Okay, technophobe. What’s this tech problem because I didn’t think you owned a computer?”

“It’s a computer at the library I go to. It’s been out of order for a week now and they can’t seem to get it fixed,” he explained, continuing to fidget. 

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, gesturing at him with her fuzzy pen. “Is there not more than one computer at the library? Or are libraries really that popular still? I think you should just get a computer, Reid. I promise it’s not that scary and I’ll pick you a good one! The kind even old people know how to use—no offense. We can go—”

“Garcia,” he interrupted her rambling with a wince. Clearly he wasn’t going to get away with asking for her help so vaguely. “The library can’t afford to pay someone to fix it so I told the librarian I’d ask if you could. If you’re too busy, it’s alright.”

She seemed skeptical, mouth bobbing open and closed like she had more to say, but finally closed it with a simple nod. “I can fix it, of course I can fix it. JJ canceled our brunch plans Sunday so I can be there at 11:30.”

Spencer gave her a tight lipped smile and a nod. “Okay, I’ll send you the address. Thank you, Garcia.” He wanted to add that she probably shouldn’t mention it to the rest of the team, but knowing Garcia’s lack of subtlety and habit of being just a tad nosey, he figured that would only make it more suspicious and odd.

So he gave her a farewell and speed walked back to his desk, taking his seat with a heavy sigh of relief. Garcia may not be a profiler, but she knew him well and she had a bloodhound like nose for gossip. If he wasn’t careful, she would sniff out just how much he liked the librarian he mentioned so briefly. Then it would spread like wildfire around the office and Spencer would be safe from no one’s prying and teasing. 

It was the first Sunday he was nervous to go to the library. His palms were sweaty as he waited at the computer with you, you none the wiser. He tried to focus on you to calm down because you were always his source of comfort. His eyes trailed over your long skirt and t-shirt combo, making note of the way you kept touching your arms as if you were cold. No doubt you’d slip on the cardigan you kept behind the desk soon, but he assumed you wanted to look nice to meet Penelope, because you did look very nice. Your hair was out of its updo and if he looked hard enough at your face, which he did, he could tell you were wearing lipgloss and some other little bits of makeup. 

“You okay?” You asked him softly, eyes looking over his own face.

“I’m fine,” he blurted maybe a little too quickly because you looked unconvinced. Slowly you were learning his tells and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before you found out how fixated he was on you and you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. “I just. . . I hope Penelope can fix it for you.”

You smiled sweetly, looking away at the entrance. “I bet she can, but even if she can’t, it's okay. It was nice of you and her to try.”

He wanted to reassure you that he would always try for you, but Penelope came through the double doors, absolutely glowing like the sun. In mood, but also in outfit. Or maybe it was more like a sunflower? All Spencer knew was that it was very yellow and vibrant. She came rushing over when she saw him and you stand up to greet her.

“Hi, you must be Penelope. Spencer told me so much about you,” You greeted and immediately Spencer realized he messed up.

Garcia’s eyes ran over you, then went back and forth between you and Spencer. He could see the gears turning in her head. “Oh, hello!” She chirped, friendly as always but awkward because she heard nothing about you.

Quickly, Spencer introduced you to Penelope and both you and her shook hands before she put him out of his misery and asked what the problem with the computer was. She took a seat at computer six and you stood next to her, pointing out things on the screen.

“I have some kids that keep coming in and going on all these sketchy websites. I keep blocking them, but they keep finding new ones and it’s loading the computer up with viruses. Then it runs slow and freezes so often it’s unusable,” You shook your head as you explained, exasperated by it all. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot, but do you think you could fix it?”

“Oh, please. Those are some easy fixes! I’ll just remove the viruses and add some more blocking software not even tech savvy kids can get around.” Garcia was already typing at the computer, doing things on the screen Spencer didn’t bother to try and comprehend. He was looking at you as the grin yanked up your lips.

“Really? Thank you so much. I’ve been fighting with this damn thing for weeks. I’m not great with computers.”

“I think you’ve done pretty good so far. You’re much better than Reid, that’s for sure. Sorry fellow genius, but it's true,” she glanced back at him, almost remorseful but still carrying a smile.

You laughed, always eager to tease him. “When he’s on a computer I think he lied to me about having an IQ of 187. He needs my help finding research databases, pulling up old articles, everything but logging in, really.”

“Huh,” Garcia glanced back at him again, only to find his eyes averted and his hands stuffed into his pockets to stop their incessant fidgeting. He was caught and he knew it. He maybe. . . exaggerated how bad he was with computers to you at first, just to get you to come over and talk to him when he first started coming to the library after work, but unfortunately he didn’t know how to end the ruse. Garcia called him a certified technophobe, but even she knew he had those basic skills, especially since she’d seen him do it on his own before. 

“How long do you think it will take?” You asked, glancing over the rest of the computers to the desk. “I just have to get back to managing the front desk.”

“Only about a half hour. I’m going to do the other computers as well to save you some time blocking websites. You can go though, I got this.” She gave you a smile, gesturing for you to leave.

“Thank you again, Penelope. I’ll be back before you’re done,” you promised, fluttering away from the table swiftly to help someone standing at the front desk.

“So…” Garcia was looking up at Spencer impishly.

“So?” He asked, though he had a good idea of what was coming.

“Do you like her?” Her eyes were hopeful, lips spread into a grin. 

“Garcia. . .” he warned, pleading for her not to go any further. He didn’t want to have to lie, but he couldn’t tell her that he was hopelessly falling in love with you.

But that only sold it for her, her hands reaching off the keys to fan her face. “OMG. You do like her!”

He glanced around to see if you heard her exclamation, but you were busy talking to the man standing at the front desk. “Penelope, she’s my friend,” he tried to be firm in his assertion, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a whine.

“A very cute friend! Who seems like the sweetest person on earth. Oh, and she works in a library. So adorable—y'know—because you’re always reading? Are you sure she’s just a friend?” She launched into a ramble, too clouded by the idea that he may be interested in someone to recognize the hurt on his face.

“I’m sure. She’s… she doesn’t like me like that,” he sounded sad, he didn’t mean to, but he was. He had a very hard time hiding his feelings, and now Penelope heard it and was looking at him like he was a kicked puppy.

“Oh, well, I—really? She seemed so. . .” She was at a loss for words, watching as you walked past guiding the man from the desk over to the staircase, likely showing him where to find a specific genre. Penelope shook her head as you disappeared from view, redirecting her focus back to the screen and letting her hands fly back to the keyboard. “I should mind my business. Right. Bad Garcia.”

Spencer frowned, eyes lingering on where you vanished up the stairs. He pulled back out the chair beside her and slumped in it, avoiding her eyes. “Thank you, Garcia.”

He didn’t have to thank her for long though. 

She fixed the computer and you were so incredibly grateful you hugged her. Or rather, you hugged her back after Garcia enveloped you into her arms, so overwhelmed with your praise, but you seemed glad to let it happen. Even after she left, and a few days later the teens returned, they were upset to find the new restrictions on the computer they couldn’t bypass, much to your delight. Spencer was thankful for that, but he was much less grateful when only a week and a half later Garcia slipped up and mentioned you to the team.

He was wrapping up his paperwork fast, reading through documents at lightning speed and filling them out so quickly his handwriting was nearly illegible. But he promised he’d come to the library to see you after work because he was away on a case the past couple days including last Sunday. He was so invested in completing his paperwork he didn’t even notice Derek and Penelope passing him with cups of coffee. 

“Whoa kid, got a date you're running late for?” Derek joked, perching at Spencer’s desk to grin down at him with a teasing smile.

“Oooo, I bet it's that cute—” As the words came tumbling from Garcia’s pink lips, Spencer’s face ripped away from his paperwork to look at her, and with a look of horror she quickly cut herself off to sip from her mug.

Derek’s brows creased, looking between Spencer and Garcia with an amused bewilderment. “That cute what?” When Garcia avoided his eyes, drowning in her coffee, and Spencer’s cheeks turned pink, realization covered Derek’s face. “Oh, okay pretty boy, I see you! That must be why you’ve been on your phone so much. What cute girl have you been talking to?”

Spencer cleared his throat, turning back to his papers as he consolidated them from the cluttered mess into a neat pile. “No one.”

Derek laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “No, no, no. Don’t get all shy now, playa, spill.”

When Spencer refused to respond, continuing to shuffle about his papers, Derek narrowed his gaze onto Garcia, who could drink from her cup no longer and began coughing. It gathered the attention of a few other pairs of eyes in the office just in time for her to finish her choking and begin spilling.

“Okay! She’s this absolutely adorable librarian! She’s the sweetest thing and her style is so cute and I wanted to ask her where she got her glasses from, but I was too distracted because Reid totally likes her and thinks that she doesn’t like him, but I was trying to get all profiler on her because I thought ‘there’s no way she couldn’t like boy genius because he’s just as cute and they are so made for each other’ and—like you guys know, I’m no profiler—but I’m pretty sure she likes him!” Finally she took in a breath, practically hyperventilating and fanning her face.

Spencer gawked at her, wide eyed. “Penelope!”

She looked at him sympathetically, but it was Derek’s face that he focused on. His brows were high on his forehead, mouth gaping as he took all of her words in. “Okay, first of all: wow. Second of all: why do you think she doesn’t like you?”

Spencer chewed on his lip. He didn’t really want to explain himself to Derek and Penelope, two people known for their confidence and dating escapades, but he was cornered. Not only that, but he was becoming so desperate he found himself wanting their advice. “I–I don’t know. Whenever I try to show her I’m. . . interested, she gets quiet and awkward.”

“How have you been showing her you’re ‘interested?’” 

He shrugged, leg bouncing under the table. “Flirting with her I guess?”

Derek scoffed. “You guess?” When Spencer could do nothing but look away with a heavy sigh, Derek continued. “Look man, she could just be shy. I know it’s scary, but you have to just ask her out on a date. That's the only way you’re really going to know if she likes you.”

Spencer picked at a loose thread on his cardigan, voice quiet. “But what if she says no? I just. . .” He licked his lips, playing over the words in his head and wondering if he wanted to be so vulnerable to Derek and Penelope. “I like her so much. . .” he whispered.

Garcia cooed, tottering around the desk in her heels to wrap her free arm around Spencer. “Who could ever say no to you, handsome? I’m positive, she’ll say yes, I know that girl likes you!”

“Hey,” Derek said, getting Spencer to look up at him as Garcia released him. “You got nothing to worry about, pretty boy. Now you go to that library and ask her out to a nice fancy restaurant—which no pretty girl can refuse—and I’ll worry about this paperwork.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asked meekly, but Derek and Penelope only reassured him and ushered him out of his seat. He was out of the office less than ten minutes later, getting into his car. He flipped down the sun visor to look at himself in the tiny mirror, frowning at his reflection. His hair was always a mess and he needed to shave. 

He flipped the visor back up with a sigh, putting his car in drive and taking himself to the library before he sat in the parking lot all night stressing. He didn’t have to ask you out, but he did have to go because he promised you he’d be there. . . and he missed you dearly.

The library was empty when entered. There were sometimes a few stranglers this late, but on a random Tuesday night the library was clear of everyone but you, bent over wiping down the tables for the night. His eyes roamed over you, breath catching in his chest like it always did when he first laid his gaze on you again.

“Good evening,” he greeted, trying not to startle you with his presence. 

You turned quickly, a smile taking over your bored face when you spotted him standing by the front desk. “Spencer! How was your flight this morning?”

“Fine. I finished the book on biological regulations and development, but I mostly just slept because we had a whole day of paperwork to catch up on.”

“And work today?” You asked, throwing a wet wipe in the trash and plucking out another as you moved to clean the next table.

“Like I said, paperwork. Very boring.” He untucked his hands from his pockets, setting his messenger bag down at the front desk and grabbing a wet wipe from the container to help you wipe down tables. He often helped you with your closing work when he arrived so late, especially on nights you had classes after work. “How about you?”

You shrugged, gesturing around the room with your hands. “It’s the library. Same thing everyday here.”

“That’s not true. What about the clown?” 

A laugh burst from you as you remembered the story you told him the other day on the phone, you curled up in bed and him sitting on a couch in a hotel room five states away. You stayed up late until he got back from the police station just to tell him about the man who came in dressed in a full clown get-up to print out coloring book pages for a birthday party he was running late to. It made your whole week and you just had to tell him, howling particularly hard about how Mrs. Wilson, after thoroughly wiping down the printer, printed out a notice to put on the front door instating a library dress code of no costumes. 

“The clown was probably the most interesting thing to ever happen in this library. That says something about how boring it is.”

“Is the FBI showing up everyday not interesting?” He mocked confused.

You gave him a playful glare over your shoulder. “Okay. I guess you can be the second most interesting thing to ever happen in this library. Right below the clown.”

Spencer chuckled. “I should be offended by that, shouldn’t I?”

“Feel how you want to feel, Spencer. But Bo-Bo is the only one who’s given me coloring book sheets.” You shrugged, playing nonchalance. 

“Oh, because I print those out so often at my job? If I did, there wouldn’t be enough crayons at the dollar store for you to color them all.” Maybe he was in a fake competition with a clown for your favor. Either way, when you ducked your head with a breathy giggle, he knew he won it. 

When you both finished wiping down the tables, he took out the trash while you set about turning off the lights, shutting down the computers, and other small tasks. He met you at the front desk as you collected your bag and jacket, pulling his messenger bag back over his own head. He held the door open for you as you both left the library and stood by your side as you locked the doors. 

“Thank you for helping me close,” you smiled at him as you tucked the keys into your bag.

“Of course.” He wanted to say it should have been Mrs. Wilson helping you, because the old bat usually took off an hour or so before close, but you brushed him off every time he suggested reporting her and he didn’t want to sour your mood. He also liked walking you to your car, especially when it was this late and dark, because the thought of anything happening to you was so devastating he couldn’t stand to think about it.

So he walked with you down the staircase and across the lot to where you parked your car early this morning and he pulled in next to you a little while ago. It was already dark, but the street lamp you parked your car under illuminated you and him as you stood under it, arms wrapped around yourself. You searched for something to say, he could see it in the way your lips twitched and your eyes roamed his face. For a moment, the sound of crickets and the eerie hum of night faded, and Derek’s words were thunder in his ears. He would never know unless he asked you, and he couldn’t live looking at your sweet face knowing he never even tried.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?”

Your eyes nearly as big as planets amplified by your glasses, which glinted off them as you nodded rapidly, lips parting to take in a sharp breath. “Yes!”

Spencer was taken aback. His ears buzzed and a tingling sensation filled his extremities. He was elated, but thrown off by your complete enthusiasm. “Wha–really?”

You shook your head at him, laughing breathily as if he stole the wind from you. “Yes, of course I do, Spencer. I–I’ve wanted. . .” Your eyes looked between his nervously.

“You wanted what?” He insisted, leaning in because he had to know what you’ve been thinking, what you’ve been wanting from him that he missed. 

You looked down shyly, picking at your nails despite how your fingers shook. “I wanted to ask you out when I first met you. When you were just some guy in the library, and I thought you were obviously flirting by trying to impress me but. . . then you were telling the truth and I–I was so embarrassed I was wrong and I thought you didn’t like me like that. . . and soon enough you weren’t just some guy, you were Spencer, and I–um, I couldn’t let myself ruin it.”

His hands gently took yours, stopping their anxious picking. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you, heart so full and beating so fast he heard it thrumming in his ears. “You couldn’t ruin anything. You’re so. . . perfect,” he mumbled, close enough to taste your air. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since you gave me that book. I saw you in every poem and reading your thoughts made me feel like I was in your head, feeling what you were feeling. I needed it after every case, I–I needed you. All I wanted was to ask you out but. . .”

He was at a loss for words, but you shook your hand, squeezing his hand in yours. “It’s okay, Spencer. . .” His eyes glanced down to your lips, but just as he considered leaning down to capture them with his, you ducked your head nervously again, softly letting go of his hands. Spencer reeled with disappointment he didn’t kiss you, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Um, I did give you that book on purpose. I think the most romantic thing on this Earth is poetry and. . . I hoped it was enough of a sign.”

He recovered quickly, excited just to know you returned his feelings. He sighed into the new open air between the two of you. “I knew it. You bewitched me.”

You giggled, a sweet sound that picked up as you met his eyes again, swatting at him with a hand. “No I didn’t!”

Your laugh dissipated and the two of you were standing in the parking lot, looking at each other under a streetlamp. “Saturday at seven?”

“What?”

“Our date? Is Saturday at seven okay?” He reiterated.

“Oh. Oh, yes. That’s a good time,” you stuttered, snatched from whatever daze you stared at him in. He smiled.

“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll figure out the details?” He offered. You needed time to process it, he thought, because he knew he did. He would get home and sit on his couch, replaying every word from your lips and flutter of your lash in his head. Maybe that was the best part of an eidetic memory.

“Okay.” You nodded. He opened your car door for you and you climbed inside. “Good night, Spencer,” you hummed at him before closing the door.

He watched you leaving the parking lot before he got into his own car because he had to sit there for a minute, calming his pounding heart before he got out on the road. For the first time in a while, he was most excited for Saturday over Sunday.

[sagestr]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 in which you and spencer almost say i love you four times and one time where you actually do.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 16+ minors dni!, fem!reader, established relationship, spencer is down bad, so is reader tho, idiots in love, they’re both lowkey rlly hormonal bro, pet names (love, handsome), this one’s a rollercoaster, fluff, angst, lots of suggestiveness because reader likes to tease lol, allusions to smut (didn’t actually write it tho sorry!) fighting, spencer kinda acts like a bitch, makeoutshesh, mentions of reader being insecure of her physical appearance, mentions of typical cm content, mentions of blood, mentions of reader getting hurt, protective!spencer, derek and reader have a cute friendship, lots of mentions of maeve so spoilers on that end, pls let me know if i forgot anything!!!,

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 8.1k (damn)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i had many cute loose concepts and i kinda meshed it all into one fic. this is also loosely based on birds of a feather by billie eilish! im in love with this piece ugh

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time

“You look different,” Derek mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough to catch on. You turned towards his voice. The only thing different was that Hotch had let you come in later than your usual schedule since you had a random doctor's appointment— Oh, and the recently purchased light-blue button up you were wearing.

Your brows furrowed at Derek, one hand adjusting the strap of the purse that hung loosely on your shoulder as a light brown bag sat comfortably in the other. “Different..?”

Emily followed Derek, joining in as she glanced over at you from her own respective desk. “Actually he’s right,”

“I’m wearing a new shirt..?” You fiddled with the first button of your shirt, pursing your lips in bewilderment.

“No—“ Emily squinted at you. “It’s something else..”

Your mouth hung slightly open, not really sure how to respond to their prying eyes. They both were glancing at you, then at each other, then you again, but this time up and down—

“I hope it’s a good difference,” You commented as you waltzed past them and towards your boyfriend's desk. Spencer was hunched over at his desk, eyes practically burning holes into the files that sat in front of him.

His lips were pursed familiarly, just like he always did when he was so concentrated, along with the familiar furrow in his brow. His hair was tousled, a strand or two falling flat in front of his forehead. He looked so good it made you dizzy.

An instinctive smile had already reached your face once you made it to his desk. You leaned over him, slapping the brown bag on top of the files he was reading. He flinched slightly, but nevertheless, was finally pulled out of his deep concentration pool. You placed your palms on his shoulders, running them down his chest as you leaned over to hug him from behind.

You placed a kiss underneath his ear. “Hi handsome,”

He sank in his desk, realizing it was only just you and immediately easing. He hummed placidly, entranced by the sound of your sickeningly sweet voice. You pulled away to which he took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at you.

You gave him a soft smile, one you used that made his heart soar. How your eyes grew lenient and lips curved gently upwards as you scanned as much of his features as your brain could possibly take in.

You placed both hands on his shoulder and nudged your chin towards the bag. “Brought you your favorite,”

His hands were already on the bag before you could say anything else and when he looked inside he was in fact correct on his suspicions when he saw two chocolate sprinkled doughnuts.

They smelled heavenly and he knew they were enough to cure his very major and very much present sweet tooth he had woken up with this morning. A large uncontrollable smile slapped right onto his face as he opened his mouth. “I—“

He stopped, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Thank god. He swallowed those three words that had nearly left his mouth, pushing them right back into the back of his throat before the damage could be done.

It wouldn’t necessarily be the first time this week where he let the confession accidentally slip. He realized that as of recently, he would catch himself with more and more of a necessity to tell you how he felt.

The two of you started seeing each other romantically about six months back. It was completely out of nowhere when he asked you out for the first time. The second— and third, and fourth and continuing times after were more than expected.

It didn’t take much for the two of you to realize how much of an importance the other partook in your day to day basis, even despite being friends for so long prior to the dating.

And everyday he saw you he felt this big tightening in his chest that made it actually impossible for him to breathe. He felt all this pent up emotion that was getting harder for him to manage with every passing day.

It scared him, how much he cared about you. How much he wanted you to be a part of his everyday life and how much he wanted to tell you how it made him feel— how you made him feel.

But that fear was exactly the reason why he’d clamp his mouth shut every single time he felt like he wanted to tell you.

“I—uhm,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, really I—“

You watched him, titling your head to the side with a prying gaze. “Have I ever told you how amazingly perfect you are?”

You purse your lips, leaning over his shoulder and pretending to be deep in thought. “I’m not sure— I think you’re gonna need to jog up my memory.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh as you leaned down and pressing a long kiss onto his lips. You hummed in contentment, feeling the fuzziness in your chest reach every nerve in your body.

“Hey,” You pulled away, glaring over at Derek from Spencer’s desk. “Calm your hormones or I’m telling Hotch to hit HR up,”

“Actually hormones aren’t something you can consciously control, they’re a biological response to situations we find—“ Spencer quipped, earning a loud groan from Morgan.

You rolled your eyes, looking down at Spencer and reaching a hand up, running it ploddingly through his thick brown curls. “Are you coming over tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Looking forward to it,” You pecked his lips once more. Before rounding his desk and making a b-line for your own.

Spencer scanned you up and down as you waltzed away, not realizing you were wearing the shirt you bought last weekend. The one that enhanced the beauty of your hair and skin color, mapping a perfect picture he wanted to get lost looking at. He also couldn’t fail to avoid the way the shirt deliciously hugged every curve and bump your body had to offer. And those dress pants—

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He then thumped his forehead onto his desk, cheeks blazing with heat, knowing he was more screwed than anyone in this whole building, a lost cause if you will.

As you strutted past Derek and Emily’s desk towards your own, Emily gasped loudly. “I think I finally got it,”

“Yeah, I completely agree with you,” Derek followed. You looked at them both quizzically.

“Could it be?— No,” Emily gasped once again and you immediately noticed that it was fake, alarming you of whatever game they were getting at.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally happened.” Derek leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue and smirking over at you. “Pretty girl here is in love,”

Your cheeks turned hot, as your eyebrows shot up defensively. “What?”

Derek liked to say the two of you were still in your ‘honeymoon phase’ and you couldn’t disagree with him— it was the most accurate description of your relationship with Spencer.

But saying in love triggered something— physically and emotionally.

“No wonder she looks so different,” Emily tutted. “She’s got that ‘happy in love’ glow to her.”

“Shut up,” You have the strap of your purse on a death grip as you opened your mouth to protest but failed miserably as all the words died in the back of your throat. Thank god Spencer seemed preoccupied with the donut you had just given him.

“I’m—“ You shuffled, slapping yourself internally. Way to give it away. “You guys need to find a better hobby.”

And with blazing cheeks, a dry throat and a concerning pattering heart blaring against your throat, you stalked your way back to your desk.

The second time

“But that isn’t fair Spencer!” You groaned, gripping your bag as if your life depended on it. “You can’t expect to save everyone and then blame yourself when it doesn’t go well,”

There had been a sensitive case today, clearly an unsuccessful one. Spencer, like usual, jumped at the first opportunity to start blaming himself— for not being quicker, for not being smarter.. Whatever reason he could nitpick at, he was currently doing so.

You tore your purse off your body and tossed it into a small basket by your front door. You roughly tore your heels off, slightly relieved at the feeling off the palms of your feet on the wooden floor.

“There were flaws in the profile— flaws in the geographical profile,” He huffed, frustrated, filling every fiber of his words. He tore his satchel off his body, grabbing his files from it prior and slapping them onto your coffee table. “We couldn’t even correctly pinpoint the Unsubs M.O before he started sadistically killing again, we couldn’t—“

You felt for him, you truly did. Spencer was one of the most kind hearted, considerate people you knew, but that came with a lot of self-demands. He had to be everything at once, and be there for everyone at once and if he didn’t reach the bar he’d set up for himself, this would happen.

He pushed past you and towards your kitchen. “Spence, we aren’t going to solve every case, no matter how good our work may be.”

“You think I don’t know that? The average percent of homicides cleared or "solved" is 60 to 65 but around 35 to 40 percent go unsolved.” You opened your fridge, grabbing a pitcher of water and grabbing a glass from your cabinet as you listened to Spencer.

“35 to 40 percent, do you know how high that is?!” He stressed. You realized his irritation was heavy because he was reaching his peak of rambling.

Spencer just couldn’t stand when things like this happened. When people did horrible things and got the luxury of roaming free— he couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault for that. If he was just quicker, or smarter maybe they would’ve caught whatever bastard was terrorizing people.

“I know you know that!” You huffed a breath of frustration. “But that’s the way this job works Spence!”

“What would you know about how this job works?” He turned, hot on his heels, facing you with an indescribable exasperation pooling around his eyes.

You stopped in your tracks, looking up at him sharply and setting the still empty glass of water and pitcher back onto the table “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were deeply upset— cold and hard and so much different from the soft and welcoming gaze of your partner. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler. You joined the team around three years after the rest of us.”

You stared at him with incredulity. When in a relationship with somebody, as well as learning all of their admirable virtues, you also learn their defects. And one of Spencer’s defects was that he had no filter whatsoever when he got angry. He just said the first thing that came to mind and spit it out and towards whichever person was unlucky enough to fall victim.

Not that the two of you fought often because you quite literally never did— but you’d see him pissed at people and his petty side sometimes felt the need to make an appearance.

You, however, had never had to experience this firsthand. You’d seen it happen at work, with JJ, with Derek, with the press. But two of you had never spoken to each other the way you were doing now. And if he thought you were gonna let him slide, he’s got another thing coming.

“What about Rossi?” You challenged as you crossed your arms across your chest. “I was accepted into the team just months after he was, you’re gonna tell him he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler?”

“That’s different—“

“How?” Your veins were pumping with adrenaline. Your fingers shook violently, and the back of your throat suddenly burned with the need to cry. “I had jobs before getting called into the BAU, and I busted my ass off in college—“

“It’s not the same!” He spat. “You had never worked with the team before, it took you months to learn how we processed things, how we handled them.”

You could visually see Spencer bite down on his tongue only now attempting to reel himself down back to earth. And if you didn’t know him better, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the identifiable regret that appeared in his eyes while you continued on.

“And who are you to hold that against me Spencer?”

He swallowed thickly and let out a heavy sigh. You ran a frustrated hand through your curled hair. “All i’m saying is that—“

“I know what this job is like, which is why I’m telling you to get out of your goddamn head.” You didn’t scream at him, but there was a firmness in your voice that could scare practically anyone off.

“The things that have happened, happened today or will happen are never going to be in our control,” You told him. “Never.”

“Just because you’re angry and pissed does not give you a free card to attack me,” You slammed the glass cup onto the counter and pushed past him, making your way out of the kitchen. Spencer didn’t follow you to your room, he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

So as your bedroom door slammed shut, he stalked over to your couch, opening up the paper files onto your coffee table, and rerunning them once again. He wasn’t able to concentrate at all though, knowing you were in the other room tossed in bed and probably crying because of him.

A few long hours later, Spencer closed his files and looked over towards your door. There had been no noise emitted whatsoever from your room, which he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He felt like an idiot. Presumably so, he was so stupid for just lashing out like that on you. Your intentions were never ill intended, yet he still pushed you away and he hated himself for that.

He stood up, making his way into your kitchen and grabbing the empty glass. He poured some water into it and went over to your door.

You were lying down, blankets wrapped around you protectively as your back faced him. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the endearment tighten in his chest.

You stirred in your sleep as the bed sunk beside you, groaning softly. Spencer hovered over you, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand beside your head.

“Hey,” His voice was very soft, maybe even enough to send you back into the nap you were in— until you remembered what had happened earlier and thought that maybe talking to him was a better idea.

Your eyes burned and your head hurt. You sniffed away the buildup that the crying had caused. You then blinked away the grogginess from your eyes, along with the slight burning sensation due to the tears you had shed earlier. “Hey,”

Your sleepy voice was enough to send Spencer into a whirlwind. It tugged at the strings of his heart and all he wanted to do right now was grab you in his arms and hold you there forever.

He laid on his side beside you, running a soft hand across your arm with the encouragement for you to turn around and face him.

A slight sense of anxiety was coursing through him. He was scared that a part of you was still mad at the way he spoke to you, and the worst part was that he couldn’t blame you, because he had in fact acted like an idiot.

You blinked up at him from over your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Around nine?” You hummed, flipping on your side and turning to face him. Spencer slapped at the nerves inside him and shifted slightly in his position.

“Hey,” He reached his hand over to yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” His tone hadn’t been patronizing or ridicule intended, it was more so concerned. You reached up to rub your eye.“You were pretty fucking mean.”

Spencer wanted to kick himself. Truly. There wasn’t anything else to say but how utterly stupid he had been for causing you any type of harm when his main promise was to prevent you from any of it.

“You should drink some water,” He lifted himself up by his elbow, hovering over you again and reaching for the glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” You mumbled, snuggling closer into your pillow.

“You should still drink love, you haven’t had a single drop of water since we got here and you’re probably dehydrated,” You didn’t look at him. “I added those watermelon electrolytes you like so much.”

You peered at the glass, suddenly feeling deathly thirsty. With a huff, you reached for the glass. “Fine,”

You downed the whole drink in a matter of seconds, melting at the taste of the sweet watermelon tartness on your tongue. Once you finished the glass, you handed it back to Spencer who set it on the opposite nightstand.

“Can we talk?” You nodded. “I’m sorry,”

You looked up at him, opting him to continue. “I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. You were trying to help me, and by attempting to push you away I said stuff I really, really shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry,”

With a few seconds of silence, you reached down, intertwining both of your hands. Your thumb glided over his knuckles as you listened to him.

You mumbled. “It’s okay Spence,”

He shook his head. “It’s not, honestly. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Yeah, good point.

“I know,” You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But you said that you're sorry and next time we’ll learn how to manage these things a little more efficiently.”

You quickly pulled his arm over your body and scooted forward, too tired to dwell in an emotionally exhausting conversation, nuzzling your face into his neck while his arms instinctively tightened around your frame. “We’ll get the hang of this, okay?”

There was silence after that. One that could’ve been filled by anything, honestly.

Those three words were all you wanted to say right then and there. It had been on your mind a lot recently, how Spencer was making you feel a ton of scary and big and complicated feelings— all amazing but terrifying. And those three words felt the most accurate when it came to telling him how you felt about him.

You really wanted to tell him at that moment. You don’t know where the necessity came from but it hit you like a tidal wave. Strong and capricious. Uncontrollable almost.

But then the fear settled in and you’d obstruct yourself from doing so.

So you didn’t say it, even though you may have wanted to.

Instead you just held him tighter and nuzzled into him as close as you physically could, hoping that somehow the message would get across. He placed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Okay.”

The third time

You smiled into the kiss, tugging at his hair as you leaned back, supporting yourself solely on his grip around your lower back. Your legs rested on either side of him, sitting in his lap while his hands raked across your back in a way that made you feverish.

His lips moved swiftly across yours. He squeezed your hips, fingertips slipping just slightly underneath your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his cold fingertips against your blazing skin. Spencer pulled away, voice breathy. “Is this okay..?”

“Yes,” You whispered back before pulling him onto your lips again.

Your relationship with Spencer was something that made your heart feel so light and airy— something so pure and easy. It made you grow dizzy just thinking about his hands on you and all the sweet things he’d whisper in your ear constantly. How he was always so considerate and sweet and perfect.

You were staying the night at Spencer’s apartment, too tired to drive back to your own apartment after work. But some things lead to others and well— yeah.

When having to restrain so much physical contact at work, strictly wanting to remain as professional as possible, you could merely blame yourself for needing him like this once back at eithers apartment.

You hummed against his lips, raking your hands slowly through his hair. The kissing hadn’t stopped for the past half hour or so— honestly you lost track of time.

Spencer pulled away breathlessly and placed a few messy but calculated kisses on your jaw and neck. You smiled almost stupidly. He pulled away, looking at your dozy face and feeling his chest tighten.

Your lips were slightly pinker than usual, and puffier. Your hair was just slightly tousled while your cheeks glowed a beautiful red hue. Your fingers remained tangled in the locks of his curls.

“You look pretty,” He was saying that as if it was another one of his scientifically proven facts, as if no one could say or believe otherwise. You tucked a small curl that had slipped onto the side of his face behind his ear, humming passingly. However, you never found his eyes, only focusing now on the curls that sat comfortably framing his face.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the hem of your loose shirt. “You do that often,”

You look down at him, questioning him with a hum. “Do what?”

“Overlook the things I say when I compliment you,” He remarked. “Like you don’t believe me.”

You still didn’t move your attention from his curls. You didn’t believe him most of the time.

You weren’t an insecure person, not entirely anyways. You put a lot of focus on your physical appearance, always maintaining your clean look intact to the public eye. To many, you were considered extremely attractive. But unlike popular belief, you had many insecurities that you always tried to overlook. Sometimes it was hard though.

It was just hard for you to understand how he saw you so perfectly, like you had not a single flaw. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘breathtaking’, just like he always says when he sees you at work or back at your apartments. How he’s able to litter you with a million compliments

“I don’t overlook your compliments,” You let out an airy laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him properly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t..!” You laughed, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a long kiss. He drew away, only by a few centimeters, desperately trying to get his point across because god forbid Spencer keep his thoughts to himself.

“You’re deflecting,” He whispered over your lips before you laid another feather-like kiss into his lips. You hummed dismissively, assuring him that you weren’t avoiding anything.

But god, if you didn’t stop kissing him so softly and so painfully slowly, if you didn’t stop shifting around on his lap the way you were and if you didn’t stop your hands from wandering their way across his shoulders and chest— he was going to have a hard time remaining composed.

“You’re—“ A kiss.

“trying to—“ Another kiss.

“distract me,” It was as if you were a magnet he was so desperately trying to detach himself from, but failing miserably. Gravity itself pulled him towards you, he couldn’t help nor control it. He couldn’t blame himself either.

“Is it working?” You whispered, voice dangerously close to a taunt. Your hands began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two undone.

Spencer found himself growing dizzy as his hands dug into your hips. “Unfortunately,”

You kissed his jaw, and Spencer let out a stifled groan. With the willpower of the gods themselves, he reached up and grabbed your hands into his own, stopping their mission at undoing his shirts buttons. You pouted with a glare, pulling away from him as his thumb gilded affectionately across your knuckles.

“So wait,” You pulled back. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to sleep with me.?”

Spencer choked. “What?— No!”

Spencer groaned as you stifled a giggle. Oh, how you loved teasing and getting him all flustered. “That’s not— No.”

You tilted your head. His hands rested on your hips, as he sighed looking up at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

You blushed. “You tell me often,”

“I know you’re beautiful,” He shook his head and sat up, trailing his hands across your back. “Do you?”

“People tell me often,” You smirked and when he glared at you all you could do was kiss it off him. “But I only like hearing it from you,”

“I asked you something,” He let out.

“Sort of,” You admitted meekly, finally responding to his question. His hands came back to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it as his lips found yours again.

“You’re probably the most beautiful person I know,” He whispered above your lips matter of factly.

“Probably..?”

“Definitely,” His hands gripped at the plush flesh of your hips in a way that was making you want to fall to the ground and melt into a puddle of goop. It was so gentle yet there was a specific urgency to it.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek immediately after. “You’re also so smart and kind,”

He kisses traveled across your cheek, to your temple, towards your jaw and that damn spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy. All while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your witt was slowly melting away with any trace of self control you had left in you as you closed your eyes, arching yourself into his addictive touch. ”And funny,”

“Spence..” You warned.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” He looked back at you, reaching up and cupping your cheek in his hand. “I—“

His words failed him as they whipped all the way back into his throat, daring not to leave his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to say it, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say to you, because no matter how much he’d wash you in compliments, those three words were the closest thing to allowing you to understand just how much you truly meant to him— hell, it didn’t even feel like enough sometimes.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Which is why he quickly thought of the closest thing to those three words and spat them out, avoiding any growing suspicions. “I love the way you make me feel.”

You weren’t gonna lie, the first two words had gotten your hopes up in ways that were too pathetic to admit out loud. But his words had other intentions, so it seems, and you had to force yourself from slouching your shoulders foward in disappointment.

Beside, it’s not like the things he was saying weren’t causing a wonderful heat to pool in the pit of your stomach— and among other places.

You watched him, for a second or two, trying to maybe tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t tell him with your words. But it still wasn’t enough, and if you didn’t release the neediness that was starting to take shape within you, you'd quite literally explode.

You tangled your fingers within his hair and pulled his mouth onto yours in a steady but desperate kiss. He responded pretty well, given since his hands found your waist instantly and tugged them towards himself in a feverish manner.

He began pulling at the bottom of your shirt, signaling he needed it off of you and pulled away, whispering breathlessly. “Can I?—“

“Please.”

The fourth time

“Ouch,” You hissed as Morgan dabbed a piece of gauze onto the now stitched up cut on your head. “Are you trying to give me another concussion?”

Derek deadpanned at you, slightly relieved that you still found the energy to pick on him after being whacked in the back of the head with a pipe by the Unsub.

The team was searching for a local Serial Killer that targeted young women around the area, per usual. You and Morgan were put in charge of entering the Unsubs apartment since Garcia had been able to track it down while you and Morgan were on call.

It wasn’t anything past ordinary. This was your job, you had done this more than a thousand times before— much less carelessly and it wasn’t like you to be so careless. But sometimes you get so comfortable and cocky with your job that you forget about the actual risks of it.

Eventually that cockiness would have turned around and bit you in the ass.

When you and Morgan busted down the door, guns in hand, you split up, each directioning yourselves into different rooms of the apartment— in hindsight that was a horrible idea.

When you walked into what seemed to be an empty room, you stupidly failed to check the back of the door. Which was why a second later, when you opened your mouth to inform Morgan that the room was clear, something solid and cold wacked you across the back of the head, knocking you out unconscious.

You weren’t aware of what happened after that, given how the blunt force had knocked you out profusely and you really couldn't recall anything prior to the attack when you regained consciousness. All you knew is that you were alive and the Unsub had been caught, which was all that mattered honestly.

Derek was now wallowing in the self inflicted guilt of not knowing better. But to be completely fair, you didn’t know better either— you were as much to blame as he was.

But Derek was convincing himself that because of his lack of observation, you had ended up with a concussion, six stitches and a bruised cheekbone.

“Derek—” You pleaded, watching him dump the ice pack onto the counter of the back of the ambulance with an angry toss.

All he was doing right now was huffing in anger. “Come on,”

He turned to look down at you. Shot him a stiff thumbs up and a smile, signaling that you were more than okay. Sure, your head was throbbing, but you weren’t dying.

“Stop doing that,” You rolled your eyes and squashed your eyes shut, attempting to relieve your headache.

“Doing what?”

“The sulking,”

“I’m not sulking,” Derek scoffed. Now it was your turn to deadpan him. He opened his mouth, intending to jump instantly to his defense.

“Where is she?” A panicked voice from the depths of the crowd caused you to grimace, immediately recognizing it to be Spencer’s. Derek suddenly felt dread when realizing he now had to face him.

Spencer could be rather ardent when it came to you and your safety— you knew you were fine, but having to convince Spencer that you were fine as well was a tougher job.

Spencer pushed through the vast amounts of people, finally breaking through the last line of them and finding you sitting placidly in the back of the ambulance. The panic Spencer felt coursing within him was something he wished upon no one.

When Hotch told the team that you were down, Spencer couldn’t help but freak out. He hid it well, knowing he had to stay focused on the case, but god was he slowly crashing. His usual sharp intellect was fogged, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your wellbeing. His head was flooded with questions and worries and he needed to know that you were okay.

He strided over to you, quickly crouching and taking your cold hands into his own. His distressed eyes flew all over your face, scanning it as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb gilded gently over your bruise and the deep furrow in his brows was enough to tell you that his mind was going haywire.

“Hey you,” You said, humor glistening your tone while smiling sweetly and oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Spencer forced a weak smile to spread across his own face.

“Hey,” He cooed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,”

Spencer straightened himself out, turning to Derek. “What did the paramedics say?”

“They gave her six stitches for the superficial cut on the crown of her head and some ice for the bruised cheekbone,” He crossed his arms. “They say it’s probable she has a concussion.”

Spencer felt his blood run cold. “A concussion?!”

You could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to remain calm. It was evident in the deep breaths he was taking and the tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. He was doing a horrible job at it though, although you wouldn’t tell him that because he’d just freak out some more. His voice was getting all pitchy and his shoulders shook feebly. He sucked in a deeper breath, closing his eyes and attempting to regain his composure.

“Spencer,” You didn’t need him panicking more than he already was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, probably to scold you or maybe even defend himself, Hotch's stoic voice cut through.

“We need to deliver a statement. Morgan, Reid,”

Spencer looked down at you. But you pushed him to head over to wherever your chief needed him to be. “Go. You can—“

“Hotch, I’m going to stay,” He told the chief, almost finally.

“For the first 24 hours after the injury, it’s important for someone to stay with her to keep an eye out for any new symptoms that develop.”

You clamped your mouth shut and looked at Hotch, who remained neutral watching the two of you. You offered him a shrug, and the two of you knew there was no getting through to him. Hotch hesitated momentarily, but knew Spencer would be more of use if he wasn’t with him worrying about you.

Spencer was as smart as they came but god could he be stubborn.

With a final nod from Hotch, he and Morgan pushed through the group of press. You followed Spencer’s movements with a sweet smile glued onto your face. He sat next to you, close enough so that you could feel the side of his thigh warm against yours.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked again, voice small, worrying that if he spoke too harshly or too loudly it would hurt you further.

“Surprisingly good for someone who was smacked in the back of the head with a metal pole,” You shrugged indifferently. Spencer, however, did not find your humor amusing.

“How sleepy are you on a scale from one to ten?” He asked urgently. You pulled back, pursing your lips quizzically.

“Like three? I slept like shit last night—”

“How about your neck? Does it feel stiff?” His hands reached up, cupping the sides of your neck as his thumbs traced your jaw.

“No,”

“Are you unable to move any part of your body?” His questions were spewing out of him uncontrollably, and it was getting hard for you to keep up.

“I don’t—“

“What about your pupils? Did the paramedics check them?”

“Spence,” You whined, slumping your shoulders forward while your face still rested in his hands. “The bright lights and harsh noises are giving me slight headaches, but that’s it.”

He stared at you. Long and hard, he just looked at you and wondered what he wanted to say out of all the things swirling around in his head.

“What were you thinking?” He asked finally. You stared at him and his eyes hard with annoyance, but still shining an amount of concern. His voice was barely above a whisper. You let your shoulders fall, licking your bottom lip.

You reached up, grabbing his hands steadily from your face and lacing your fingers with his. “We weren’t,”

“We jumped in head first and didn’t think coherently,” His frustration was rational, but to a certain extent. You really wanted to validate his concern, but he was not allowed to get mad at you. “Spencer.”

As you called his name firmly, he only looked away, jaw and shoulders tense and constricted. You sat there, silently waiting for him to react however it is he needed to in order to process.

“I should’ve gone with you, I should’ve—” His head ducked low. His voice was full of frustration, at himself mostly. It didn’t have to be because this was not something he could have prevented.

“Spencer,“ You gave his hands a firm squeeze and tugged on them slightly. “What did we talk about when it came to personal prevention?“

He remained silent. “I’m serious, there isn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent this.”

Spencer couldn't call to mind the last time he had felt this strongly about someone. Maybe Maeve, but he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. He was almost positive he really hadn’t ever felt this way about someone— he’d been in love, but never like this.

Your entire existence ameriolated his entire being. There wasn’t a moment in the day where he didn’t think of you, where he didn’t wonder what you would think of things, where he wasn’t excited to see you every morning for work. A life without you didn’t exist to him anymore— he didn’t want it too.

That could be the main basis as to why Spencer felt so implausibly terrified at the idea of losing you.

His hand left yours, replacing it with a cold emptiness. His free hand flew up to his eyes urgently, pinching them simultaneously to get rid of the minor tears that had welled upon them. He ducked his head low, not wanting you to notice that he had started tearing up.

Immediately, your whole face softened at the realization that he was crying. It tugged on the strings that held your heart up and made your stomach churn in the worst way possible. “Spence…”

Seeing him cry, possibly because of the fear of losing you, made you feel— funny. It gave you this airy feeling in your head that caused you to feel lightheaded and filled your chest with blithe. You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or the affection you felt towards Spencer that made you feel this way.

You smiled meekly, fondness across every one of your features. Spencer cleared his throat and spoke, voice wobbly and unsteady. He sat up, trying to recollect himself. “Sorry, I— I don’t know what i’m crying for—”

You looked into his eyes, eyebrows swooped downwards. At that second a million thoughts ran through your head, but only those three freaking worlds were the only ones that felt adequate enough to say in that moment.

“I—“ You started.

It was right there. It sat in the back of your throat irksomely. You were ready to jump off the edge, to slip into the abyss— to say those words that you’ve been holding off for the past weeks, months even. Spencer watched you, simultaneously growing nervous because he could tell by the way you swallowed thickly that you were about to say something.

“I think I’m seeing double,” You opted. Just the way his eyes blew wide was enough to make you giggle.

Next time.

“What do you mean?! Like actually double or are you—“ His voice died down at the sound of your snort and soon enough you began laughing. He blinked a few times before he glared at you.

“That is not funny.” It irked him massively how you had the capacity to always joke when he wasn’t at all in the mood to. But it also unraveled the itching anxiety that had grown in his chest and replaced it with a deep affection that surged throughout him entirely as he watched you laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Did you know that you look so cute when you’re mad?” Your hands reached up, cradling his face in your palms. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away his frown was still present. The pads of your thumbs rested on both corners of his lips, pushing them upwards and creating a makeshift smile.

“I’ll let you baby me these next few days all you want,” Your voice was soft and sweet, making his head spin as you hovered your lips over his, placing another slow kiss there. “But right now, I’m promising you that I am fine, okay?”

His jaw clenched, eyes flying down to avoid your prying one’s. “Spence.”

You were saying his name one too many times that he was finding it increasingly hard to compose himself. He glanced up at you, nodding weakly. “Okay.”

The fifth time

You leaned forward in the mirror of Spencer bathroom, poking at the scarring on the crown of your head. “It feels weird,”

“It’s scarring tissue, it’ll feel weird for a bit, love” He watched you silently from his seat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think it’ll leave a scar?” You mumbled, voice tight with concern. “The bruising on my cheek is fading but god help me, if this leaves a weird bump on my head I’ll physically seek this psycho out in jail and give him his own bump to worry about,”

Spencer stopped himself from laughing, finding your pouting adorable.

“After an injury, the inflammatory process signals fibroblasts to lay down new, protective tissue in the form of scars,” Spencer quipped. “But it won’t be noticeable since it’s hidden underneath the rest of your hair.”

You huffed, poking at the bruise on your cheekbone and admitting. “It’s hard to feel pretty when I’m all busted up.”

“You always look pretty,” You continued to poke at your cheekbone to which Spencer stood up, walking into the bathroom and planting himself behind you.

“Stop poking at it like that,” He scolded, reaching behind you and grabbing your wrist. You focused on your face, huffing a breath of frustration.

This past week has been utter hell for Spencer. A newfound persistent anxiety managed to find him after your injury and sink its teeth into him, claiming him victim. You've been staying with him since your concussion, ensuring him that you were safe, but he noticed he’d grown more vigilant to his surroundings when he was at work, more possessive when it came to you and your wellbeing and more conscientious.

You didn’t obtrude, since you understood it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to have.

But he hated it. He hated this clawing anxiety he was having. He hated having the persistent fear of losing you. He tried to decipher whether it truly was all related to the recent events or if there was something deeper. But he knew for sure that the thought of you getting hurt was making him sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You grabbed his arms, rubbing soft circles onto it with the soft pads of your thumb.

“Bruises make me feel ugly,” You miffed. “Except the ones you give me, I love those,”

Spencer looked up from your neck, catching your gaze and watching your mischievous smile lighten up through the mirror as he cocked a brow at you. You giggled out a laugh.

Spencer zoned out. He just looked at you, watching your pretty eyes latch onto his through the mirror, seeing your body safe and warm and alive in his arms. His throat tightened and as much as he hated it, his mind immediately thought of Maeve.

Not because he was comparing, of course not. He could never— the two of you meant very different things to him and they were very different relationships.

But he could remember how he wasn’t able to tell Maeve that he loved her— he wasn’t given the chance.

And it made him think about your recent accident, and all the times he'd been stopping himself from telling you. Fear, worry— whatever it was, he had been stopping himself time after time from telling you how he felt.

The thought of him losing you before he could ever tell you how he truly feels is something that made him want to throw up.

“Hotch said I could go back to work on Monday,”

“I love you.”

He said it because he could, he said it because he meant it, and he said it because he didn’t want to live a second longer without you knowing how he felt despite its reciprocity.

He won’t ever forget the way your face just fell. Just stopped moving, mouth hanging open and eyebrows shooting upwards. How your mind just went blank. God, his heart was in his throat and your silence wasn’t helping.

“What did you just say?” You asked, mostly in disbelief— entirely in disbelief.

“I love you.” He’d repeat it for you as many times as you wanted him too. He’d do anything for you.

You turned and his grip around you loosened. Now facing him, your eyes shot around every fraction of his face to determine that this wasn’t a lie or a joke or something cruel he was planning.

“Say that again,”

“I love you.”

And it definitely wasn’t.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a suffocating kiss. One that was desperate, and urgent and full of passion and all over the place.

He pushed you against the marble counter, quickly hoisting you up onto the cold tile as your mouth moved along his perfectly. Your hands dug themselves into his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, tugged at his body, pulling him impossibly closer to your own.

He pulled away breathing over your lips. “I love you,”

He kissed you again before pulling away and whispering once again. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead onto you, reaching up and tangling his hands in your hair. The two of you heaved. Your chest was hammering against your rib cages, the oxygen wasn’t fully reaching your head or lungs and you were pretty sure you were going to faint. It was too much. “You are?”

You both peered your eyes open, looking at each other deeply. He whispered, voice crackling slightly. “How could I not?”

You kissed him, this time slowly and softly, wanting to show him how much you loved him back— needing to tell him how much you loved him back.

“I love you,” You said, wavering an unsteady laugh. He opened his eyes and pulled away, looking at you and infatuated with every part of your existence.

“Really?”

“Spencer..!” Your voice cracked in a protest, ludicrously referring to such a stupid assumption— you’d love him till the day you died. You pulled him closer. “It is physically impossible for me not to love you. Don’t act so surprised.”

He smiled. A big, wide and stupid smile that probably made him look like a kid on christmas morning. He kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to say it.”

You perched up, hands falling onto his chest. “How long have you wanted to say it?”

He cringed bashfully, letting his hands fall to your waist as he shook his head shamefully. “Too long,”

“Well that makes two of us then,” You leaned forward, placing a relaxed kiss on his jaw. “Was there a point you realized?”

He shook his head. He’s pretty sure that after a month of going out on dates and seeing you consecutively outside and inside of work, he knew he’d fall in love with you. How could he not? “My breaking point, however, was the day you were wearing your new shirt,”

He kissed your neck, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “Which by the way, looked absolutely incredible on you,”

“Is that so?” You mumbled, lips curving up in a smirk.

“I love how it looked on you,” He admitted. “I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that,”

“I’m never going to get tired of saying it,” He responded. “When did you realize?”

“It was either that time after our first big fight or on that night on the couch when we,” You shot him a sneaky look, to which his cheeks turned pink, recalling the events of that night. You shrugged. “You know.”

You were going to be the literal death of him.

He kissed your jaw twice more. He loved you and you loved him. It seemed like something too good to be true. “I think I’m going to need you to jog up my memory,”

You giggled at the reference, heart doubling in size at the amount of affection you were feeling towards him at that moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, emitting a loud shriek followed by a string of laughter as he hoisted you up and carried you over to his bed.

[sagestr]

Protector

summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)

wc: 9.8k (oh my god)

cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously

a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on

“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.

Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.

His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”

You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.

You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.

The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.

Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.

“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”

“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”

You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.

You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.

“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.

Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.

------

“Hotchner.”

You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.

“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”

You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.

“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.

You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.

------

The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.

The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.

Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”

“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”

 “Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?

The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.   

You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”

“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.

“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.

“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”

You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.

Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.

Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.

You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.

As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.

You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.

“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.

You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”

“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.

“What’s your book about?”

Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.

“It’s a romance,” you confessed.

“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”

You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”

You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.

“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.

You smiled at his words.

“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.

“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”

You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.

“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”

You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.

“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”

“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.

“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”

“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.

“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”

“My dad said all that?”

“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.

“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”

“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”

“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”

He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.

“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.

“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”

You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.

“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”

You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.

------

You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.

You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.

“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”

He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.

“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”

“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.

You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”

“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.

You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.

As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.

The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.

“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.

-------

In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.

JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”

You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.

“No, I slept fine. I swear.”

“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”

“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”

 “Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.

His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”

Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.

“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”

“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.

Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”

The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”

“Y/N,” Reid said.

All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.

“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”

“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”

“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.

“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.

“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”

-------

For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.

You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.

“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”

You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.

You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.

Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”

You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.

“Put it on.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.

“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.

“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”

“That’s it,” Morgan said.

“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”

On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.

“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I got it.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.

Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”

You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.

------

You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.

Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.

“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.

You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”

“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”

The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”

“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”

“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.

“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.

Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.

“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.

------

The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.

------

You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.

Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.

“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.

“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”

“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”

Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.

“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.

Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.

Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.

“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”

You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.

When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.

“How are you?”

“Everything hurts.”

“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”

“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”

“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”

“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”

Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”

“Hotch. Please.”

Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”

You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.

“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”

He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.

“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”

You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.

“It was you?” you asked.

Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”

“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”

The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”

Hotch shook his head no.

“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”

“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”

Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”

The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.

“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.

“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.

Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”

The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.

“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”

“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.

“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.

Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.

Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.

Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.

“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.

A few of them chuckled at your antics.

“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”

“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.

“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.

“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.

“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.

A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”

“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.

“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.

Imagine how Hotch must have felt.

“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.

The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.

“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”

“You need sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”

You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”

“It’s why I offered.”

You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”

“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”

When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.

“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.

“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”

You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”

He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.

“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”

Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”

He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight.”

------

You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.

The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.

“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.

“How can I help?”

You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”

His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.

“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”

“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.

“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”

All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.

“Wait,” you said.

He froze.

You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.

“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”

You nodded.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

------

The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.

When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.

“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”

“I can get my things just fine.”

“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”

You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.

The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.

Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.

“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”

You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.

You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”

“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.

You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.

Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.

Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.

“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”

“Hotch, what is all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”

“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.

“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”

Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”

“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”

“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”

Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”

You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”

“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.

“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”

“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”

“I would do that for anyone.”

“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.

“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.

“This morning…” you said.

“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”

“Then what did Reid mean?”

Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”

“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”

“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”

You looked at him in shock.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”

“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”

Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”

“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”

“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”

“Stop it, now.”

“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”

“Hotch, I swear to god—”

“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”

“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”

“But he’s not just mean, is he?”

The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.

Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”

You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”

Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”

“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”

His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.

He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

“This is ok,” you said, breathless.

“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”

A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”

You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.

“Your room. Now.”

His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.

Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.

“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.

You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.

You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.

“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.

“You, first.”

Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.

“Your turn,” he said.

You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.

You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.

“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.

“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.

You nodded.

“Use your words, honey.”

Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”

He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.

“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.

“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.

Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.

A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.

“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.

“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.

“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.

“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.

When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.

Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.

“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”  

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”

He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.

Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.

“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”

Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.

You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”

Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.

“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”

“Faster, please,” you said.

His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.

“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”

He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.

“Just like that!” you blurted out.

He did just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.

“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.

“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”

You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”

“Chest!”

He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.

Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”

“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”

Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.

“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.

“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”

In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.

“The team’s gonna know,” you said.

Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”

“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”

Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.

************

ForeversTaglist:

@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude

[sagestr]

scars

summary: spencer reassures you about your scars.

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, cause of scars not mentioned, allusion to spencer’s addiction, spencer is a jeopardy fan (confirmed)

word count: 0.9k

masterlist

you and spencer had been seeing each other for some time now, only barely making things official. previously, you had only had interactions at work or in work attire. now that you were spending more time together, spencer began to notice a habit of yours.

you were both profilers, and you had not considered that your tendency to only wear long sleeves and long pants would raise any questions whatsoever.

you only wore long sleeves. dress shirts and blazers were one thing, but you only ever wore sweaters, long sleeve lounge shirts, or had jackets on. even in times when the weather was unbelievably hot and humid.

“it’s really hot out here,” spencer noted. you nodded back.

“yeah, i mean i guess so.” you said, shrugging it off. you hadn’t really registered anything. the heat that your extra layers provided had been something that you had gotten used to.

his eyebrows furrowed, but he brushed it off.

there had been no shortage of these one-off comments. mainly just, “are you sure you’re not overheating?” or “do you want me to change the temperature?” the comments never raised any suspicion to you. spencer, however, had only gotten more mystified.

this wasn’t a reason for contention by any means, but it did culminate and have a ‘tipping point.’

you and spencer had just gotten back from a case, and had been lounging on the couch after changing into some more comfortable clothing.

you were laying between his legs and on top of him. his arms were wrapped around your torso. there was a blanket draped across your tangled bodies, and an episode of jeopardy softly played in the background.

spencer had been softly answering every question (correctly, and much faster than the contestants). the darkness of the living room had begun to lull you into a meditative state, bordering on slumber.

“why do you always wear long sleeves?”

blinking at his bluntness, you looked up at him. he was looking down with a look of perplexity on his face. “i just like to, why?”

craning his neck, he met your gaze. “i don’t know. you just always wear them. i wanted to know if there was a reason.”

“well, uh-” you cut yourself off. “actually, it's not a big deal.” you looked away from him; you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. suddenly, you felt stuffy and flustered. you were acutely aware of the feeling of your clothes.

“if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. i was just wondering.” his face and voice were flooded with casualty. he continued rubbing circles into your sides with his thumbs.

“um, it’s just that…” you trailed off and he looked down at you again. you melted into him even further, if possible. he placed his chin on top of your head, and you pulled the blanket further over yourself. the soft fleece did little to provide comfort.

“if you don’t want to tell me, it’s perfectly okay,” he kissed the top of your head.

you inhaled sharply. “i just scar easily,” you gulped, “that’s all.” your exhale came out slightly stifled.

“what do you mean?” he craned his neck to look down at you, but you avoided his gaze.

quieter this time, “i have some scars on my arms. i scar pretty easily.” staring at your feet had become much more interesting than looking at spencer’s face.

“oh, okay. i can see why you’d wear long sleeves then,” he responded. “i prefer wearing long sleeves as well. it's a comfort thing for me.”

you nodded, understanding what he meant. “i don’t like the way they look. they're not too appealing.” your statement was followed with a sardonic chuckle.

“what? why would they be unappealing?” he reached over for the tv remote and lowered the volume. soon, his arms returned to their spot around you. the quieter the volume was, the more you could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“my scars aren’t pretty,” you mumbled this time.

“angel, why wouldn’t they be pretty? they’re a part of you.” his brows furrowed even more, but you couldn’t see it. you were still avoiding his gaze.

“i don’t- i don’t know.” the grip that you had on the blanket tightened almost imperceptibly. “they draw too much attention and i don’t particularly like them, is all. they’re ugly.”

“honey,” he moved his hand to your jaw and gently urged you to look up at him. “i’m sure they're not ugly.”

“you haven’t seen them though.” the look in his eyes was a mix of confusion and maybe even a little worry.

“honey, scars don’t make a person ugly.” he paused, “do you think my scars are ugly?”

“well, no, but-” he cut you off.

“there you go, if they’re not ugly on me, then they’re for sure not ugly on you.” his lips flattened into a little smile and his eyebrows raised from their tensed position. the nerves that you had felt dissipated from your body. “if you don’t want to show them, then by no means do you have to.”

you didn’t respond, minorly flabbergasted. “no part of you could ever be ugly i think, actually,” he said after a moment of silence.

the eye contact remained. you finally smiled back at him. “i don’t think that you could ever be ugly, either.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. you're very pretty, spence.” he snorted in response. you both looked back at the tv.

he whispered, “so are you. very, actually.” he kissed your head again.

you hummed in acknowledgment.

“we’re on the same page then,” he said as he held you tighter, and you leaned further into his body. the aura that the room had held had returned to one of blissful comfort.

[sagestr]

BOUNTY

hot outlaw x engineer!reader | 2.8k

story summary; shortly following the death of your mother, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate offspring of a railroad tycoon with insurmountable wealth and power meant to inherit it all. after a hasty departure from home to begin your journey across the continent of san-am, your train is stopped and boarded by a mysterious man in black tatters who claims to be there kill you.

story warnings; mentions of death, mention of bodily fluids and excrement, heavy worldbuilding, mentions of conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, neo-western setting, old-west slang used, usage of unique slang, not really proofread or edited, concept piece for a much larger project.

if you enjoyed, please interact & reblog this post!! ❣️

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel. 

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into. 

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car. 

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat. 

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps. 

And then, there was silence. 

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”  

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather. 

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins. 

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim. 

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded. 

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.” 

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders. 

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others. 

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?” 

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut. 

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead. 

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”  

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said. 

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them. 

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: so, this is a concept piece to a very large neo-western project I'm currently in the process of outlining and fleshing out. most things mentioned in this little oneshot will not be present in the final piece, the quality will, of course, be substantially better.

jericho is an outlaw with an extremely complex background story and will definitely be one of the more interesting characters I've ever written. he's not necessarily the sort of man you want entangled in your life, but he's loyal to a fault once you have his trust. his personality tends to revolve around "taking things as they come", which is a great nuisance to those around him. he likes a good challenge, strong liquor, and good medicine.

here's a brief glossary if you're interested:

san-am: the continent where events take place. no one knows what it used to be called because most historical documents have been lost. it's divided into five territories with a "capital".

grimerise: the central hub of commerce, home of the governing bodies. it's a large city dead center of the other four territories. mc was born and raised there. the university of san-am is also here.

st. corpus: the industrial heart of san-am, found down south near the seaboard. mc's father lives there.

"gris": currency in this world. its components are coins and bank notes. it is a relatively new thing to come about because the bartering system is still the preferred method of trading.

[sagestr]

Utterly Infuriating

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader ☆ Synopsis: Loki is very bad with people, so meeting anyone new just means a new enemy, and you didn't seem to be the exception. And the way you start getting along seems to indicate so. But... perhaps that's not entirely true. ☆ Word Count: 8,607 ☆ Notes: Playful tickles, (a probably very bad) enemies to lovers. @blehblahsworld requested an enemies to lovers and secret dating Loki x Reader, I hope it's more or less what you hoped for. ☆ Warnings: Heavily headcanonned (is that a word?) Loki. This is my first (and probably only) enemies to lovers, the beginning isn't very good because of that, other than that it's a lot of playfulness and tickles. Lots of flashbacks to what I imagine Loki's childhood would be, I just have a weird obsession of writing nostaglic!Loki stuff, I am so sorry.

Who would have thought that Loki would end up becoming part of the group he had tried to take down in the first place? It was laughable, really. People he thought just a thorn in his side were now his first genuine group of friends.

But here he was.

He learned to find humor in Stark and Barton’s sarcastic quips. He got along with Banner, who he found comfortably quiet to read books or drink tea with. He learned to fear and admire Romanoff’s skill and cold mind under pressure, but also adored challenging himself to try tricking her (he wasn’t successful for the most part). He came to admire Roger’s leadership and strong values, and of course reconnecting with his brother was something he’d never admit how much it meant to him. And he learned how much forgiveness and that sense of belonging fulfilled him.

He was a bit surprised that in 10 years the group had grown at least 4 or even 5 times its size. They had gone from 6 heroes to 30 something, with half of them being permanent residents on the Headquarters while the rest came and went.

That’s where he met you. Gods, he didn’t know how there could be someone so insufferable. You were worse than Thor.

You were bright and bubbly, always wore your heart on your sleeve, contrary to him who who always hid his feelings. Loki was a charmer, deliciously cynical and the life of the party if he chose to join, you on the other side where a bit shyer and not the greatest fan of crowded rooms unless it was full of friends; it quite reminded him of the anxiousness he felt as a prince in Asgard, always worried about being seen making a mistake, he was sure you felt exactly that kind of stress.

Seen that way, you and Loki were like day and night. It was no wonder you and Loki hated each other at first side.

“Brother! Come quick!” Thor called. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

Loki sighed and left his book on the little coffee table and got up, Thor’s voice came all the way from the kitchen (loud as always) so he took a bit to reach the kitchen, and as he got closer to the room he noticed laughter and sweet scent filled the air.

It was Thor’s familiar boisterous laughter that made the buildings shake, and a new unfamiliar laughter.

He arrived and saw a Rogers, Romanoff, Thor, Stark and… someone new. That new person was cooking pancakes for dinner and when he turned around… you were like opening the door on a cold winter night after being by the fire all day. Overwhelming for sure.

“Brother what is going on…?”

You had a bright grin on your face and announced Rogers to think fast. Steve chuckled and lifted his plate and soon a pancake flew through the air, nearly hitting Loki in the head had he not ducked in time, before smacking against the plate in Rogers’ hands. Everyone cheered and laughed.

“What the—?!” Loki gasped.

“We got a new friend!” Thor claimed brightly.

“We met at the gym” Natasha announced. “I knew I had met a mutant when I sparred with someone who didn’t hit the floor in the first 3 seconds.”

You smiled timidly and walked to the fridge, lowered and with a single hand and a loud creek, the fridge was lifted effortlessly from the floor.

“Oh.” Loki said uninterested. “Can I go back to my book?”

“I thought I could make dinner as a thank you for being so welcoming” you smiled politely.

“Welcoming?” Loki asked, tilting his head.

“I’m moving here” you grinned brightly.

You know how people sometime tense up when they try to hide their excitement? Well, Loki tense up for the exact opposite reason.

“Remember that empty room beside yours?” Tony smiled brightly. “It’s not gonna be empty anymore.”

Even better.

“What do you like in your pancakes? Chocolate? Nuts? Berries?” you smiled warmly.

“Uh… nuts and berries?” Loki said.

The dinner was delicious, he could give you that. But the second he finished he excused himself wanting to go to bed early. He went to pick up his book before going to his bedroom.

“Ah, brother. There you are.” Thor smiled, already in his pajamas, white and blue stripped pants, a white t-shirt with a stamp of Mjolnir with a cutesy face. “I wanted to talk to you. About our new friend? What do you think? Friendly, right?”

“Awfully” Loki rolled his eyes, “I didn’t think I’d met someone as loud as you. I already have a headache. I know for sure life here has just become infinitely more aggravating…”

“Brother… don’t be like that…” Thor said sadly. Loki simply sighed and went inside his room.

Next morning he saw you again for breakfast. Everyone had their own schedule so to eat there was only Wanda, Loki, Bucky, and you. You helped to make breakfast and you ate quietly, finished quickly and picked up the plates of everyone to put it on the dishwasher and it started running.

“You’re quite helpful…” Wanda smiled warmly.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I wouldn’t want to be aggravating” you smiled brightly, giving a quick glance at Lki that might as well have killed him before leaving the kitchen.

Since then Loki and you hated each other, you argued on daily basis. If Loki said red, you said blue, if he said up you said down.

It even got in the middle of missions. It was only a matter of time until your constant clashing blew up in everyone’s faces.

It wasn’t the greatest idea to send you and Loki on the same group either. But Steve thought it’d help you two get along better if you fought side by side for a mutual goal. It was a nice, but perhaps too innocent thought.

The mission was simple, as Tony called it “bad guys had hostages” situation. There was a bit of intel Nat and Bucky were interested in, hoping to find other settings where potentially more people could be in danger. So it had to be a smooth infiltration and until finding the civilians then it was “breaking stuff” time… Tony should not be allowed to name missions at this point. It made it difficult to take them seriously.

You had been left alone with Loki to find where the hostages were being held captive while Nat went to find the main computer to gather the information while the rest of the group started surrounding and sabotaging the headquarters to cause a diversion and given you a quick escape, plus neutralizing a threat.

Loki wanted to do things his way, as usual. But you had managed to sneak into a clothes hut and you got uniforms to pass undetected… Very much against Loki’s will given he kept arguing he could’ve just casted an illusion.

“This is absurd” Loki scoffed as he put on a shirt gray shirt. “We’re wasting valuable time. My illusions—”

“—Would’ve been casted off the second someone lays a hand on us” you reasoned, doing your best, although fruitless attempt not to sound annoyed at him. “These guys are weirdly touchy, a hand on your shoulder and your done for.”

Loki turned around to give you a snarky comeback, only to be cut off when he saw you changing. You both had been facing opposite directions to give each other privacy, but his attitude got the best of him.

He did not expect the sight he was greeted you as he saw you dressing up.

Your body was toned thanks to the training, and it showed the overly demanding lifestyle and dieting being an Avenger required. It was weird you were muscled like one would expect, given your mutation focused on your physical strength, although he didn’t really know how that worked so he just figured that was part of it. But one would easily tell you trained on a daily basis.

He was mesmerized, even smiling softly at you.

When you turned around you caught him staring and your face turned bright red and you let out a loud screech. Loki panicked and tackled you to cover your mouth.

But it was too late. A guard gave opened the door and the alarms started sounding. It was time to run if you wanted to rescue the hostages.

“What happened?!” Steve spoke through the comms. “The alarms are going off!”

“We were caught!” you called. “Loki—!”

“—tried to save me but I blew it!” Loki cut you off.

“It was your fault!” you snapped at him. “We gotta rush to get the hostages!”

“We need to get the intel we were set to do first…” Loki argued, “we can’t lose the input if the other hostage locations.”

“I’m not abandoning the hostages here, we’re getting them first!” you argued.

“We’re not gonna do either if you guys don’t focus!” Natasha argued through the communicator.

A thing of these groups that became quite cliché was there was always a bunch of guys the were big. Mutants as well. Big, tall and sturdy, almost like human walls, not very smart but insanely strong. He had an axe the size of a human.

You clashed your fist against the guard’s axe and it made you both recoil to process the soreness the impact caused on both of you. This guy clearly had a similar level of raw strength as you. So you wouldn’t be winning this on your own.

You turned to ask for Loki’s back up, but a green fog formed on the spot as Loki vanished on thin air. Not only leaving you on your own, but making the battle field a blurry mess.

“Loki?!”

“Sorry, mortal.” Loki said sarcastically. “We can’t let you ruin the mission.”

“LOKI!” you yelled as you barely dodged a swing from the axe.

“Trickster, go with Romanoff to get the intel!” Tony stated as he flew above the enemy base, knocking out a couple of troupes with his missiles. “Hercules, go with Cap to get the hostages! Go! Go! Go!”

The rest of the mission was a blur, the hostages barely escaped alive, and a few were harmed and had to be treated in the flight back home, and Natasha was injured when she got an ambush from the guards when she was downloading the data.

Even after missions were a nightmare for everyone around you two. The entire trip was loud and obnoxious.

“You had to back me up when the big guy shows up! Not just vanish from the fight!”

“Excuse you, that fight wouldn’t have taken place t begin with if you hadn’t blown our cover!” Loki yelled at you. “You’re lucky my mist cloak allowed us a clean exit!”

“Clean exit?!” you screamed back, poking his chest. “I got a slash on my leg because I couldn’t see where I was going!”

“Yeah, and if you could stay still and not scream so much, I’d patch you up easier” Natasha said half amusedly.

“Sorry Nat…” you apologized, your mood changing completely to warm and friendly.

Thor pulled his brother to the other end of the ship to try having some peace and quiet until they got home.

Of course, Fury was… well, furious.

“You pair of moronic and irresponsible idiots!” Fury said. “It’s a fucking miracle no one is died while the two of you fought like kindergarten brats! Suspended. Both of you. 3 weeks.”

“What?! Director!” you whined.

“Director nothing! Let’s see if this time alone helps you two get along better.” Fury scoffed. “Dismissed.”

Loki on the other hand, didn’t argue. Men with Nick Fury’s temper couldn’t be reasoned with when they were this pissed. He would know, he grew up with two at home. So he just nodded and left the room when he was told to.

It would be a long lock down.

You weren’t much more pleased with the decision, given that after this mission you had plans to go out to the city and now you were essentially grounded like a 5 year old. Downsides of living in the compound, every so often, if you messed up real bad you’d be “grounded”.

Loki too had plans ruined by this. Not the type the others had, who went to big events or dated civilians who they could stay over for a few days when they had time off. Loki didn’t even have friends outside of the Avengers… or at all. But he had learned to enjoy going into the city and indulge in some human theater, casting an illusion to conceal his identity of course, otherwise people would panic. But he liked it, but the dramatic costumes, the theatrical               and embellished of speaking of some plays, and the occasional musical that had always a song or two stuck o his brain for a few weeks.

But now that wouldn’t happen until next month. Instead he was stuck with someone he couldn’t stand and that couldn’t stand him back. Great.

The next day of when everyone left to live their lives out of the compound while he stayed locked in his room for as long as he could. He read, he had a little cloth ball that he threw up and caught, he used his illusions to entertain himself, and he even used his phone to try entertaining himself for as long as he could, but sooner than later he grew bored.

He wasn’t the type to be able to stay still, and he got out of his room to walk around the compound, his legs already itching to get a good walk.

As he stretched his body with a nice walk and he felt his mood already boosted a little. He was by the kitchen when he heard music, and not just music, but a song he recognized.

“It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity. Kiss me goodbye, I’m defying gravity. And you won’t bring me down” he heard the song he very much he liked.

As he walked by the kitchen following the song he was greeted with yet another pleasant surprise. A sweet aroma of one of his favorite treats as a kid, apple pie. He remembered being a young child in Asgard, pulling all the tricks and spells in his arsenal to steal the baked goodies from the talented Pastry chefs the palace had in its staff.

His Odin and Frigga impressions became as good as they were due to impersonating them to request for apple pies when his mother made the kitchen “Loki proof” with her magic. He used to eat it so much that right before he turned a teen, he got quite chubby from how much and how often he ate it. At some point he resigned to his baked love in favor of losing weight and becoming a more efficient warrior… although every so often there would be a party and he’d be sure to get a big slice of apple pie to indulge on his guilty pleasure.

Long story short, he absolutely loved apple pie and just the smell made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

He found his feet moving on his own to the kitchen and he didn’t have time to process you were the only one at home, ergo, it was you who he found in the kitchen, baking, and dancing, and singing along the music. He realized right away you hadn’t realized were no longer alone. You had that lack of shame in your dance that one could only have when they were completely alone, his mind wandered to the accidental peep he got at your body during the mission. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit, he hadn’t seen you so relaxed and carefree, even with your bubbly and energetic nature.

Unfortunately, that soft chuckle gave away his presence.

“Ack!” you screech dropping pie onto the floor, your face red like a tomato.

Loki barely reacted fast enough to cast a spell of to catch the pie inches above the ground, but sparing the baked treat and burning to the counter.

It smelled heavenly.

“My apologies, mortal” Loki chuckled, sounding more amused than sorry, although he didn’t mock you, doubting you would be wiling to share your cooking with someone who made fun of him. “I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You did!” you scolded him with a beet red blush along your face, Loki surprised himself finding it quite endearing. “God dammit, is it a pastime of yours creeping up on me?!”

“I wasn’t aware you liked Wicked too…” Loki mentioned, changing the subject, wanting to get on your good side. And it worked, because your expression changed, you seemed surprised.

“You like musicals?” you said with a slight smile. “I didn’t take you for someone to like human stuff.”

“Well, a misunderstood character that gets people thinking them a monster because of their skin color and decides to accept that they can only be a villain because that’s the only think you get to be? Might as well be my autobiography.”

“Don’t forget the green and black color aesthetic” you giggled, making him laugh as well. “And a bit snobby.”

“Yeah, I suppose that too.” He smiled.

“I never thought of it like that” you said. “Was it that bad? Being an Elphaba?”

The way you said felt quite soft, kind. It stirred something in his chest.

“To be perfectly fair, I found out I was a frost giant when I was 1,048 years old” Loki admitted. “But at the time I felt like I was going insane. Frost giants were monsters, and in a constant state of imminent war with Asgard…”

“I can imagine you felt like the enemy of everyone you loved” you said sympathetically. “It must have been awful…”

“Earth was a witness to how badly it affected me…”

“wait! New Mexico and New York were the collateral damage to an identity crisis and a mental breakdown from a twenty-year-old?!” you exclaimed, your chin against the counter and tugging on your hair.

Loki shrunk in his place.

“You’re telling me it could have been solved with some therapy, a cup of tea, and probably a hug?”

Loki was a bit surprised that your response wasn’t as aggressive towards him, if anything it irradiated a weird mix of anger and empathy.

“There was also a hint of mind control” Loki defended himself.

“Yeah right, a wizard did it.” You smiled amusedly, and weirdly enough, it made him laugh. “We all saw that you had to touch people’s chests with the pointy end to make it work.”

“I mean it” he smiled. “The mind control from the scepter Thanos gave me came from the time stone in it, and it fueled those around him with anger and left them vulnerable to obey orders if you held onto it for long enough. Banner has pointed out he and the others felt it too. I felt so much… I don’t know… rage? …I didn’t realize what was going most of the time… it wasn’t until I had lost that I truly realized what I had done… and it took even longer for me to realize the gravity of my actions…”

That seemed to convince you, and Loki felt a weird relief from you believing him. You stayed in silence for a while.

“That’s heavy…” you mumbled, not sure what else to tell him, and you offered him your hand.

He wasn’t sure what made him place his hand on your and you gave him a little squeeze, before gently caressing his knuckles with a touch so sweet that made thrills go down his spine. You smiled at him.

“Well… You are one of us freaks now” you smiled softly in a way that made him feel warm and fuzzy.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, feeling his face uncharacteristically hot as he looked down and to his side, just trying to avoid your gaze. You laughed and tried following where his gaze pointed towards, looking at the warm pie on the counter.

“Want some?” you offered, tilting your head to point to the pie and Loki’s stomach grumbled, almost in an involuntary affirmation. He really should’ve had breakfast. You laughed and cut him a big slice and Loki’s mouth water.

He hadn’t really been looking at the pie, but he sure didn’t argue back if you offered him some. The taste was divine. He couldn’t help a rather inappropriate sounding hum of pleasure.

“Oh Norns, what did you put in this?” he asked, his mouth half full of the sweet pie. “These tastes so different from… Mmm! Oh Norns!”

“Ah, just the usual, flour, eggs, milk, apple marmalade, sliced apples, sugar, cinnamon” you listed.

“Cinnamon? What is this cinnamon?” he spoke happily as he ate more. “What kind of apples? They feel so different… Mmmm! This is amazing!”

Loki felt like a child again. For a moment he forgot of everything, he ate messily, a bit of marmalade falling on his shirt which never used to happen. He ate loud and let out happy moans and hums as he enjoyed the pie.

He ate so fast he didn’t realize he had almost finished the huge slice until he saw you serving him another huge, warm, sweet, slice of pie. You didn’t shame him, you simply giggled and smiled brightly at him.

He ate more until he was stuffed… Which happened only once he had finish most of the pie. If anything, what he didn’t eat could be barely called a slice. He felt a bit ashamed from his lack of self control, he hadn’t behaved like this since he was a child. He even let out a small airy burp.

“Excuse me…” he apologized, his face burning from shame.

But rather than being disgusted, you burst out laughing. Loki grimaced from shame.

“Sorry, sorry” you laughed. “Adopted or not, you truly are Thor’s brother. You Asgardians sure have a huge appetite.”

Loki smiled. Despite it being a teasing statement, it didn’t feel aggressive, and so it drew a happy laugh from him. You had a charm to you he couldn’t help but smile and feel like a kid around you.

“You’re so…” he growled with a big grin.

“Aggravating?” you said with a weak smile.

Ah, that. He now regretted his words from the first day you two met. He was such a fool. He saw someone loud and bright and decided you were annoying. But while those first statements were true, you were a delight to have around. And a great baker.

“I should probably… a-ap… um… I haven’t been the best God to be around… Ah… I want to… a— apolo— uh…”

“Apologize?” you smiled and he gulped, before nodding. “Apology accepted. I haven’t been the easiest person for you to deal with… I’m sorry too. Want the last slice?”

Just like that? He didn’t understand how he got away with it so easy. But the offer of the last slice made him nod and you served him the last bit of the pie. Your apology was a bit short too, but as you were placing the last slice on his plate, he noticed your face turn bright red. You didn’t seem much better at apologizing. But the effort was there.

He was flooded by a happy memory of his family.

He had failed to convince on of the pastry chefs to make him a pie. He went to climb a special tree on his mother’s garden where he hid to self-contain his tantrums, knowing that his Seidr went out of control when he was upset.

He didn’t know how long he was up there when he heard someone calling him. Frigga.

“Loki? Child? Are you up there?” a voice called him.

“No! I’m not!” he whined.

He heard Frigga laugh and a sudden sweet aroma filled his nose that made his anger fade away. Apple pie.

“C’mon brother, you come down or I’ll go get you!” he heard Thor calling him playfully. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little bit.

“If he doesn’t, I will!” a third voice added.

Loki jolted and jumped down from where was hiding from the tree, falling right on his father’s arms and both tumbled down onto the grass. Odin didn’t often have enough free time to escape his duties and spend quality time around his family. But every once in a while, he sneaked out of his royal duties so all four could do something together.

The rest of the evening they sat together on Frigga’s garden to eat apple pie together, playing and laughing together, and this had been one of the rare occasions where he could outshine Thor, showing the new trick Frigga had taught him. Having the little flower he had picked jump from his hands and onto his brother’s head now as a frog who screeched and fell backwards, making everyone burst out laughing.

It had been one of those happy days full of laughter and joy. Thor and Loki fought with wood swords and both parents chased their kids pretending to be a pair of Bilgesnipes but trapping them in tickle hugs only for both brothers to team up and try returning the favor to their parents… key word: tried.

Loki felt his eyes water a bit and he let out an airy laugh as he wiped his tears. He felt a bit foolish for letting all his anger and insecurities let him forget all those happy days. And letting himself and everyone in his family be drowned in royal duties as he and Thor slowly approached the age of one of them ascending the throne.

“Hey, I didn’t my apple pie was that good” you joked, but still passed him a napkin to clean his eyes.

“S-Sorry, no… yes, it’s um… it’s very good.” He said, feeling a knot on his throat. “Thank you so much… for… f-feeding me. I hadn’t eaten one of these in a few decades. It was…”

“Nostalgic?” you finished the phrase for him, and he nodded. For a silver-tongued guy, he was very bad at expressing his feelings. “It’s okay… Just say the word and I’ll make more for you.”

He smiled and sighed as he wiped the last tears.

“Thank you.”

“Sure…” you nodded and your cheeks turned red. “Hey… uh… since you don’t hate me anymore… maybe we could watch a movie together in the lounge room. Maybe. If you want.”

That made Loki laugh.

“I hated you?! You made it a ritual to disagree with me and get on my nerves, or do I remind you that you are half to blame for the two of us being in a lockdown?!” he said, but he found no anger in his voice, if anything he sounded amused.

The way your face contorted into a funny ashamed grimace made him bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh.

“Maybe… but what was I supposed to do?! I thought you hated my guts!”

“Perhaps let your pride aside for a mission?!” Loki laughed.

“I could let my pride aside had you not mortified it” you grumbled.

Loki froze for a second. The phrasing was different, but he knew exactly what you were referring.

“You like Jane Austen?!” he gasped.

“You like Jane Austen?!”

“I met her!” Loki exclaimed and casted an extremely old book, but it was extremely well kept. “I got this book. “I didn’t come to earth often, but I loved to make little trips to get books. I got this book for my 848th birthday, it’s quite literally a first edition.”

“No way!” you said fascinated as you looked at the book and skimmed through the pages and noticed a scribble and you nearly dropped on the floor. “IT’S SIGNED?! I HATE YOU!”

You grabbed the book and ran.                           

“HEY! GIVE IT BACK, YOU THIEF!” Loki laughed and chased after you, feeling a flutter in his chest he had never felt.

He chased you around the compound and when he got in range he casted a concealment spell to protect his precious book but now you were in trouble.

Now, he knew you better than he’d ever admit, and he knew that you were one of those mutants that had quite literally god-like strength, just like the spiderling. Although your powers were limited to better stamina, superhuman strength and considerably better speed than an average mutant, but not quite outstanding in that group. And thank goodness because a weakness you had were two left feet and constantly having missteps.

Just like one that given the rush of adrenaline made you drop behind the couch and Loki jumped, sitting on your waist, straddling you with his legs and he struggled to pin your arms to each side of your head. Your faces inches away from each other’s, your breaths were getting mixed from the proximity as you both panted after the chase.

Norns, you smelled like flowers and that delicious apple pie. And your lips, half parted were just so inviting… And… no one would know if…

Before he acted, you had pressed your mouth against his, kissing him fervently and he did not object a single bit, kissing you with a passion he hadn’t realized he felt, always too busy with his misconception of you. But now that he had a taste of you he was going wild with the amount of desire in his gut. You were gorgeous, sexy, funny, caring… very… very sexy.

“I’m sorry…” he breathed heavily. “I was an utter, bumbling fool… I’m sorry… I was the aggravating one, and I judged you too fast.”

“I’m sorry too… I was stupid too, I got too defensive and aggressive…” you whispered against his lips, filling his body with warmth and electricity. “I’m so sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

“Let’s take this elsewhere” he huffed breaking the kiss for just an instance.

And so, the lockdown with you went from punishment to blessing. Now the two of you couldn’t get your hands off each other. One thing he had got right from the first meeting is that you gave him that aura of someone who was extremely affectionate. But he never imagined how good it felt to be on the receiving end of those affections. And you were a forced to be reckoned with, but you loved with the same ferocity you fought, and Loki couldn’t love it more.

He had had lovers in the past, but it always felt transactional, like it was to get something from him, or he let his own insecurities sabotage his relationships. But this was… fun… easy. He no longer had any nobility titles on earth, and you refused to acknowledge him as a god in the literal sense. You treated him like an equal, you wanted nothing from him. You were purely and simply  into him… and that made him madly into you.

But it all changed the second the rest started coming back from their lives on the outside world and return to the compound. Loki couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about being lovey dovey in public, much less with someone he had sworn to despise. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from the others. But he couldn’t help being captivated by your beauty, your kindness, your sense of humor, that body of yours… Damn, he was doomed. And you didn’t seem to think much different because you also held back from your affections as soon as there was someone else around.

Wanda and Vision were the first one to return, but those two were in a forever state of honeymoon and barely noticed the world around each other when they were together. But not long after, the compound was full of everyone.

Loki would go insane on days like that because he couldn’t shower with you with his devoted affections. It was like a nasty itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

But it was noticeable that something had changed between the two of you, given you went from nearly killing each other on every interaction to agreeing on nearly everything. And Loki had stopped avoiding the kitchen where everyone gathered around you while you baked. Loki gained a pound or two since the two of you started dating since you always made apple pie especially for him and now, he never missed a single baked treat you made.

It even made him interacted a lot more with everyone else, which at first he considered a sacrifice, but after growing accustomed to the noise, he came to enjoy the company. It reminded him of those few days where his parents, Thor and himself would spend time just relaxing together. And he was sure that was exactly what Thor thought too.

“So, you swear it on your life?” Tony asked.

“Yes Stark, I swear” Loki scoffed with a tiny smile. “Just because I was D. B. Cooper doesn’t mean I caused every little historical mystery. I don’t know who Jack the Ripper was. What he did was vile and disgusting, Thor and I only indulged on confusing humanity, not tormenting you all.”

“Swear it on the name of the love of your life” Clint said holding his beer.

“What?!” Loki said, tensing up, fearing the two of you had been caught.

“I don’t know, you don’t have a wife…” the archer shrugged. “Just swear.”

“I swear it, Barton” Loki said, feeling a bit relieved, but he eyed you and he noticed you had pursed your lips, unsuccessfully fighting a smile and he felt a fuzzy warmth running around in his chest. “But… we may or may not have something to do a certain lost tomb of an ancient queen…”

“NO!” Tony gasped with an incredulous but fascinated smile.

Thor rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetical smile. “Sorry about that…” he apologized and his crewmates started bombarding him with questions. He was so lost in the conversation he failed to hear you calling for him until you raised your voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Loki, cupcake?”

“Yes?” he responded in automatic.

He immediately realized his mistake when he saw the tray of cupcakes in your hand. You were not calling sweet petnames. You were offering him a treat. Everyone was looking at him weirdly.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” you saved the situation quickly.

“I do… want a cupcake” he clarified, clearing his throat to not sound nervous.

“Extra cake frosting for frost not so giant?” you smiled teasingly.

“Sure.”

And there had been a few more slips here and there. From how much time you two spent together lately, how you always sat together to sneak little caresses under the table to reaffirm your mutual love even if in secret. Or even developing an acute hearing to kiss as passionately as you could when no one was around which led to a few close calls. Or a few night he’d sneak into your room (and vice versa) to spend the night.

And it slowly became more noticeable to the one person who knew him best, or well, at least for the longest time.

Loki had been invited to see a racecar event on the TV with Thor, Romanoff, Stark, Barton, Banner, Rogers and the rest of the guys. You had declined the invitation, more interested in trying a new recipe and unfortunately for Loki you two had decided that it’d be better for keeping face if Loki joined the others and socialized with the group instead of going to watch you bake. And just like that, Loki was stuck watching a bunch of cars running in circles with a now nearly empty glass of Asgardian ale on his hand.

“So… you and our little pastry cook, hm?” Bucky asked, drinking his own glass, that had just a bit of Asgardian ale to make up for the super-soldier resistance to alcohol, making him slightly tipsy. “Happy for you.”

“What?” Loki asked, his body stiffening.

“It’s clear you feel a little something-something” Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you done anything about it yet?”

“You bet” Natasha chuckled. “Why do you think they argue way less lately? Missions hadn’t been this easy in so long!”

Loki felt his cheeks warm, but he simply hid behind his glass under the excuse to drink more.

“Congratulations, brother!” Thor grinned from ear to ear.

“You’re all straight up delusional!” Loki blushed profoundly.

Everyone laughed loudly at Loki’s reaction, very evidently not believing a single word. He was so embarrassed, and he couldn’t help the hot blush on his face that went all the way to his ears.

“C’mon… tell us the truth!” Tony elbowed his ribs, making Loki jolt, which was noticed by the inventor. “What was that?”

Thor spoke before Loki could come up with an excuse.

“Ah, my brother is awfully ticklish!” Thor smiled brightly. “He used to love getting tickled when we were little.”

“THOR!” Loki protested with his face red like a tomato. “N-No, I’m— I was a child back then!”

Everyone smiled at him in a way that made even the god of mischief want to run for his life. But Thor knew him well, and before he could escape, and he had put him in an arm master lock, and Loki started squirming to break free, but of course, in a one of one, Loki would never beat Thor in terms of physical strength. Everyone exchanged looks and Loki knew exactly what they were thinking.

“Ohoho! I like how you think, Sparky.” Tony chuckled letting his drink to the side, also grabbing Loki’s drink not to waste it.

“That brings back memories, eh Bucky?” Steve chuckled, exchanging an affectionate smile with his best friend.

“And if my memory works correctly, it was a good way to make you talk” Bucky agreed.

“Let’s see if it works for Loki TOO” Steve said and left his beer.

Everyone had forgotten the race on the TV and their drinks to focus on the currently helpless Loki.

“All of you! If you even dare to lay a single finger on me, I swear I will— ACK!” Loki was cut off my a light poke on the side by Natasha. His face burned. “DON’T!”

Everyone was giggling at the reaction from the young god. Loki could only squirm and tug against his older brother’s grip.

And with that, everyone jumped on their former enemy. Poking and prodding the God of Mischief’s torso. Loki tensed up and held his breath eventually letting out a few laughs, still doing his best to refrain his laughter. He wanted to hold back, but every nerve that was being tormented begged him to laugh.

“This could easily end if you admit you are dating—” Tony teased.

“I’M NOHOHOT!” Loki yelped, cursing himself for the laughs that escaped past his lips.

A part of him wanted to just get over it and admit how helplessly in love he was with you, he could easily start demonstrating the world how much he loved you. But he knew neither he or you was ready to deal with the teasing it’d unleash, and even if you were ready, he wanted to do it together, not because it was tortured out of him.

“Man, he’s more ticklish than my kids” Clint laughed as he squeezed Loki’s left ribs.

“Oh, I was just going to say that” Tony laughed, but I squeezing Loki’s lower stomach. “He’s a lot feistier though, Morgan would already be in a giggle fit if I tickled here, below her belly button.”

“Yeah, but your kids don’t have an ego to protect” Natasha laughed as she wiggled her fingers along Loki’s right armpit.

Banner was a lot nicer in the sense that he wasn’t teasing him, but the constant squeezes above his kneecap had Loki twitching.

“I think he’s gonna explode” Steve chuckled as he poked and scribbled along Loki’s side. “This could all be over if you just admit you are seeing a certain someone we all know you are dating.”

“WE AHAHAHAHA- WE AREN’T!” Loki laughed. “I SWEAR! LET ME GO YOU BUNCH OF- NOHOHOHOHO! NOT THERE! NOHOHOHOHO! STOP!”

Now Loki’s face was a dark shade of red and he was laughing his head off. It made everyone freeze a little. He was squirming as if he was being exorcised.

“Woah! He’s losing it!” Steve jumped. “Who did that?”

“That would be me” Thor smiled innocently.

Everyone moved his hands to reveal Thor contorting his arms in a rather uncomfortable manner although very effective position where he kept Loki’s arms raised and stuck in a Y as he was now drilling his fingers against the spot little crevice at the bottom of each armpit, and right where the armpit met the upper ribs. And Loki was going crazy.

And rather than showing him any sort of mercy everyone else resumed their tickle attacks.

“Dammit Thor, you mean defeating your little brother could have been this easy?” Clint laughed. “We could’ve spared us all of his New York invasion! We could’ve just tickled Loki until him pissed himself!”

Gods no, if at this point they were now friends —or at least, had a cordial relationship— and they were about to tickle him to death he might have actually died if they pulled a stunt like this when they were, in fact, trying to kill him. Tears of laughter were already streaming down his face like a river and his stomach ached from the overexertion.

But Loki still refused to betray your trust. There was only one other option left for him: swallow his pride.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEASE! OH GODS PLEASE, I CAN’T HAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! I CAN’T TAKE IT! I YIELD! PLEASE! PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Oh, the things he did for love. They wouldn’t let him forget it, but he felt his stomach was gonna explode if he wasn’t allowed to catch his breath.

“Oh, begging? Okay, I think he might be serious” Steve laughed.

“I AM! PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHA! THOR PLEASE!” Loki begged, and uttered the words he hated telling Thor the most. But the words that always made him stop: “YOU WIN, BROTHER! STOP!”

Now Thor knew Loki was serious, and he let go of his arms, thankfully everyone else followed, sparing the God of Mischief from the horrid of fate of die laughing. Loki immediately curled up in a ball, he coughing and panting, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Everyone was giggling around him, all completely unaware that you had been around the corner, and you had watched the whole thing.

Days later, you two had the house for yourselves and decided to put a movie Loki would like and sat on the couch to cuddle during the evening, enjoying each other’s warmth. He admitted that just staying home in baggy clothes and have your arms around each other for hours and hours. And the green sweatshirt you got him was extremely comfortable.

Although as usual, the movie was quickly ignored in favor of kissing each other. You were the sweetest kisser he had the blessing to encounter, you kissed him and caressed him with a love he had never met, you always either cupped his face, played with his hair or caressed his body, but you always sent him into a sensorial state of bliss.

You were such a lovely thing.

“Mmm, you choose such good movies” Loki joked and chuckled with his lips against yours. “So engaging…”

“Oh, haha— funny…” you giggled and rolled your eyes.

He looked at you with a self-satisfied grin as you looked annoyed.

“Oh, c’mon darling, I love you…” he smiled.

“You swear, baby?” you said in a tone that made Loki tilt his head, knowing you were trying to say something.

“What do you mean, love?” he asked.

You smiled and placed your hand on his sides, making him jolt.

“A-Ah… Darling… W-What are you doing?” he asked with a nervous smile.

“I may have learned something about my lovely prince the other day…” you said flirtatiously. “Something fun~”

“Oh, i-is that so?” he smiled nervously, already having a good idea of what was this discovery of yours. “I-I don’t like the sound of that…”

“Oh, c’mon, honey… please!” you wrapped your arms around him in a happy hug. “Please let me tickle you… Everyone got to tickle you. I want my turn!”

Oh, so he was right. He felt a sense of dread and mild panic. He still hadn’t mentally recover from the group attack from the other day…

“Your turn?!” Loki gasped out, and panicked at the sight of your determination to tickle him. “N-No… Darling… Please no, honey… Please, I’m awfully ticklish… I—”

You smile widened from ear to ear from excitement. Loki realized that he was burying his own grave, as the more he argued, the more you wanted to tickle him. He sighed.

“Is there something I could do to convince you to not tickle me?” he said with a pleading expression.

“Not at all” you smiled in that way that brought gods —specifically, this god— to his knees.

He accepted defeat like a gentleman.

“Alright…” he smiled and rested his hands behind his neck, letting himself vulnerable for you. “But when I say stop, you stop. Deal? I mean it when I say I’m very ticklish, and you could get hurt, I can’t control my magic when I get overwhelmed.”

“Ooh, a safe-word already? So naughty” you giggled, making his cheeks flush and groan.

“Just get it over with…” he sighed, finding a weird tingle on his belly. A bit of excitement, perhaps.

You nodded and sneaked your fingers with ease under his hoodie, and it was baggy enough to provide no hinderance to your fingers. Wearing a tank top wasn’t the greatest idea in retrospect. He let out a few giggles already.

“Oh norns…” he chuckled and sucked in a gust of air to keep his composure when you gently brushed along his sides.

Despite he being completely free to move, and you were only one person… he was struggling not to burst out laughing more than when he was teamed up against. Perhaps it was the clothing, or the fact that you made him way more nervous than anyone else in the world. But he was already letting out a few giggles.

“Ehehehehe… D-Darling… Please!”

You were utterly delighted. Loki was the cutest thing in your eyes, and being able to make him giggle like that was a treasure.

“Ohohoho gods! Love please, gohoho eheheheasy on mehehehe!” he laughed. “I cahahan’t stand it!”

You smiled in adoration and ran your fingers along his lower belly, gently gracing along his waistline and he placed a hand over his mouth and looked away to get away from you, too flustered to look you in the eye. He was the strong and mighty God of Mischief… How could you render him so helpless?

“Hahahaha! Pffft! Ack—!”

Oh, but you cruel thing, you quickly took advantage of his raised arm to tickle his armpit making both arms shot down to his sides in a louder giggle fit. He still was afraid to try fighting back, but his body started responding on it’s own and his hands shot to your wrists. But he quickly got nervous. He had severely underestimated how badly he weakened when he was tickled and your superhuman strength. Curse you, mutants.

“Nohohoho! Oh, nohohohoho! Stohohohop that! Lohohohohove!” he laughed as tears formed on the corners of his eyes.

All he could do was throw his head back and laugh against the couch as you laid on stop of him tickling him out of his mind.

Surprisingly he didn’t mind it too much. He found himself liking the attention.

“Hehehehe! Dahaharling! P-Plehehehehease! Please! No mohohohohore! Love, mehehercy!” he laughed weakly.

You giggled and stopped tickling him.

“Are you okay, pretty boy?” you giggled and leaned to kiss the tip of his nose, which made him smile.

“Hehehe… heh… Oh, love, you’re vicious… hahaha…” he chuckled. “That was the worst torture I’ve endured in all of my life… haha…”

“C’mon, you loved it” you smiled and kissed him.

It felt lovely the way Loki smiled into the kiss, even delighting you with a nice buzzing with the way he laughed into your lips. He simply irradiated happiness, and it was contagious.

“Whahat’s so funny?” you asked with a giggle.

“Nothing, nothing…” he smiled brightly and let out a loud contented sigh. “This is just perfection… I love you.”

“Aww…!” you cooed and hugged him tight. “I love you too, you ticklish cutie pie!”

Loki’s face turned red and groaned, and cringing at the overly sweet pet name. And you knew it and openly did it to get him flustered, even adding a tooth rotting coo to your tone that got him super embarrassed.

“I-I’m not a…!” he smiled, a bit flustered.

“Yes, you are!” you giggled and started tickling him again.

“AHH! Hahahahaha! Let me go! Hahaha!” he laughed as he tried to push your hands away without risking to hurt you if he grabbed your hands. He even kicked against the armrest where his feet had been resting. He was “I cahahahan’t- I surrender! Hahahaha!”

“Hehehehe!” you giggle. “You’re a sweetheart…”

“Yeah, I… yeah, I alright, you win…” he chuckled and nuzzled your nose in the sweetest Eskimo kiss. “You’re gorgeous.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him in a nice hug with your chest pressed against his as he held you and let out a big yawn.

“Sleepy?” you smiled softly and kissed his cheek and he looked at you with droopy eyes.

“It’s your fault… you tickle me too much,” he yawned again. “…it’s only natural I get sleepy after you tickle me halfway to insanity.”

“You love it..” you smiled and snuggled and fell asleep within seconds.

Loki smiled as his hand stopped glowing from the sleeping spell and saw your relaxed form as you rested against his chest. He yawned, and relaxed more now that you’d stay and nap with him.

“I do love it…” he smiled and kissed the top of your head he smiled and saw the little grin on your face as you slept with me. He sighed and soon drifted off to sleep in a nice and peaceful slumber as he left his hands on the small of your back.

He slept for so many hours, so peaceful and content. He was in such a deep sleep that he didn’t notice when a few set of footsteps walking to the couch where you two slept.

“See? I told you they were dating” Steve whispered.

“I never said I disagreed!” Thor yell-whispered. “I know my brother enough to know when he’s infatuated.”

“Can you two shut up?!” Clint shushed them both, and as he pulled out his phone to take pictures. “This is gonna be excellent blackmail!”

“You gotta send them to me!” Tony demanded.

“C’mon guys…” Natasha reasoned with an endeared smile. “It’s kinda cute, they look so happy together. Look at those smiles…”

All the guys looked at Natasha in disbelief, even Banner looked shocked.

“Do you want the photos or not?” Clint asked.

“Oh no, of course I do…” she smiled. “Send it to me.”

Now the backlash of hiding your relationship would be a truly aggravating situation.

| MASTERPOST |

[sagestr]

WELL SHIT

“(y/n).” aaron hotchner follows you out of the briefing room.

“leave me alone.” you snap, but the devastation is evident in your tone.

when you woke up this morning, you didn’t expect an alive and well emily prentiss to walk into your briefing.

“(y/n),” he grabs your wrist and pulls you to a secluded part of the bullpen. “you have every right to be mad.”

“i’m more than just mad,” you snatch your wrist out of his hold. “i’m furious with you. i cried to you for ten weeks straight over the loss of one of my best friends. you woke me up from nightmares most nights. you watched me fall into one of the worst depressive episodes of my life, when you could’ve put an end to my suffering by telling me the truth.”

“you know i couldn’t,” angry tears fill your eyes as you listen to his excuses. “for security reasons—“

“it’s always fucking security reasons!” your outburst catches the attention of a few people in the bullpen.

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” hotch says lowly. “i did what was right to protect prentiss and to protect my team.”

his stoic expression makes the tears you’ve been trying so hard to hold back spill from your eyes. he wants to reach for you, but the bullpen is starting to fill with whispers and it isn’t long before the two of you need to be on the jet.

“i’ll never forgive you for this, aaron.”

hotch watches you leave, his heart sinking.

[sagestr]

Just to Learn That You Never Cared

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

requested/idea by @usoppsstar

Masterlist

“Oh, hey. Your girlfriend left this in class.” One of Peter’s classmates said as he tossed Peter a hoodie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Peter said before realizing what the person had said. He turned the hoodie over in his hands and recognized it as yours. His face warmed up in a blush when he realized you had just been mistaken for his girlfriend. He shoved the hoodie into his bag and wondered if he should tell you or not.

Peter saw you later that night on a rooftop you frequented often. You were in your suit, as was he, but had your mask sitting beside you. You were munching on a bag of chips and wordlessly extended them to him when he landed on the rooftop beside you. He smiled graciously and took a few before sitting down next to you. Your knees were touching but neither of you moved away.

“You left this in physics, dingus.” Peter said and handed you your hoodie.

“Oh, thanks. We had to run out of there so fast to save that lady. I must’ve left it behind.” You smiled gratefully and pulled it over your head. Peter felt bad that his high tech suit had built in heaters and your homemade suit was probably leaving you freezing every night. He wanted to suggest sharing his warmth, but he didn’t want to overstep.

“I know. Thank God she called the police on those kids for selling lemonade without a permit. I’m really glad we left a test to go witness that heinous crime.”

“It’s not all bad. We did get to see the cops arrest her for wasting their time by making a fake police report, which is always satisfying. And the kids gave us free lemonade. But I think calling it “homemade” was bullshit. I know Minute Maid when I taste it.” You replied, making Peter chuckle.

“You’re right. Both those things were enjoyable.” Peter agreed. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like we have to leave class every other day.”

“I know. Why did we have to pick a college in such a Karen ridden neighborhood?” You sighed.

“Because we wanted to go to the good school with the good science program. We should’ve known the neighborhood would be full of bored housewives who call the police whenever they have a minor complaint. It was our own hubris.”

“It was.” You chuckled and said looked over at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you looked over at the city horizon. Peters eyes never left you and he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh, my aunt and I were gonna get Chinese food later. At the place that got shut down for being a front for money laundering but that was really just a front for a second Chinese food chain.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” He nodded. “Anyways, you should totally come-“

Peter was cut off by the police radio he wired to his phone going off. He rolled his eyes and checked what the alert was.

“Damn it. Robbery at the bakery on 9th.” He told you.

“Lowkey, I’d do the same. Their cream puffs made me cream.” You said as you put your mask back on.

“Haha, yeah.” Peter chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll handle the robbery. But I’ll catch you tomorrow, Parker. Get home safe.” You saluted him before falling backwards off the building.

“I love you too.” Peter sighed.

“Did you say something?” You asked and popped back up.

“No.” Peter quickly lied.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow.” You waved to him and disappeared again. Peter let out another sigh before swinging home.

The next day, you ran after one of your classmates once class was let out.

“Hey, Carly. I emailed you my notes from the class you missed.” You told her.

“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” She replied. “Oh, and could you tell your boyfriend that band practice is in the gym today?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” You agreed. She was about to walk away when you realized what she had said.

“Wait, what am I saying?” You wondered. “Who’s my boyfriend?”

“You know. That guy with the prescription shoes.” Carly answered. You tilted your head in confusion until you realized you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Wait, Peter?” You laughed in surprise. You expected her to laugh too and reveal she was just kidding but she looked completely serious.

“Oh, right. Peter. Why do I always think his name is Timmy?” Carly wondered.

“Because he looks like a Timmy. He gets it all the time.” You waved your hand. “And his shoes are not prescription. He just bought women’s platform shoes because he wanted to be taller and didn’t think anyone could tell.”

“We can.” Carly mumbled.

“I know.” You agreed. “But, I’m getting off topic. Timmy is not my boyfriend. I mean, Peter is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever label you guys use, can you tell him that wind ensemble is meeting in the gym instead of the choir room? The sopranos kicked us out again to practice or do drugs or something.” Carly explained. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and tried to figure out if she was joking or not.

“The label? I’m so lost. Who told you that Peter’s my boyfriend?”

“Nobody told me.” She shrugged. “Everyone just knows that you guys are a couple.”

“Well how would they know something that isn’t true?” You asked and folded your arms.

“I mean, it’s not like you guys try to keep it a secret. Between all the whispering and staying close by each other. Plus you’re always sneaking out of class together or showing up late. And if one of you is absent, the other always is too. It’s been like that since high school. People just put two and two together I guess. Why, did you want to to be secret?”

“I didn’t want it to be anything. We’re not even dating.” You insisted and felt like you were going crazy.

“You don’t have to deny it.” Carly laughed. “I know feelings are weird and gross and stuff and you’ve never been the relationship type, but I think this guy is good for you. He brings something out in you. I don’t know. But you guys are cute. I love seeing the nice loser and assertive pretty girl troupe in real life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” You calmed down momentarily and smiled a little. Carly walked away and your smile quickly faded when you remembered what she had said. You looked around the hallway and saw another student holding an instrument.

“Hey. Band nerd.” You called out to him.

“Me?” He asked and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You had to let go of your saxophone case to point to yourself. Have you seen my boyfriend today?” You asked him.

“Peter? I haven’t seen him since yesterday in-“

“That sentence better not end with “wind ensemble” or I’m gonna lose it.”

“It was wind ensemble.” He said quickly.

“I’m leaving.” You shook your head and walked away from him. You pulled out your phone and went straight to your schools “campus sweethearts” page on instagram. Sure enough, there was a picture of you and Peter sitting next to each other right at the top of the page. You had your head thrown back laughing at something he was saying and he was looking at you fondly. You let out a shocked gasp and before walking out into the courtyard to look for Peter. You spotted him on a bench and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you, small campus”. You pumped your fist and went to sit next to him.

“Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you-“

“Someone is spreading a horrible rumor about you.” You cut him off.

“Oh no.” Peter frowned. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” You shook your head. “Peter, they’re saying you’re in wind ensemble.”

“Oh, I am.” Peter shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I play the clarinet . See. Clarinet.” Peter said and lifted up his little black clarinet case.

“Huh?” You said louder.

“I used to play in high school, pre-bite but post 9/11. I saw a flyer for orchestra on campus so I joined.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You practically shouted. Peter knew you weren’t happy but felt strangely honored that you were so upset over him not telling you something about her personal life.

“Because I know how you feel about band nerds.” He replied. “And you and I don’t really talk about non-work related things. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I care.” You insisted. “My rumored boyfriend has been in wind ensemble this whole time and I didn’t even know?”

“Wait, rumored boyfriend? Who, me?” Peter asked in surprised.

“So you didn’t know about this either?”

“No. I mean, someone did refer to you as my girlfriend the other day but I thought it was just an accident. People think you and me are dating?” Peter asked and tried not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Apparently. I’ve had multiple people refer to you as my boyfriend today. And look. We’re on the campus couples Instagram page.” You said and held up your phone.

“Ew. We have one of those?” Peter grimaced and took your phone to see the picture better.

“Yeah. I honestly think the principle runs it.” You replied. Peter was quiet as he stared at the picture for a while.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing. This just a cute picture of us. And I think the only picture of us.” He said with a shy smile. You frowned and looked at the picture again before realizing he was right.

“Carly said people think we’re dating since we’re always sneaking off together.” You told him. Peter thought out this for a minute and then made another connection.

“Ohhhh.” He said and nodded his head.

“What?”

“This explains why the boys congratulated me on the bus back to New York after the Washington monument trip for losing my virginity at a historic landmark.”

“You lost your virginity on that trip? To who?” You whispered harshly and felt jealousy burning through your veins.

“You, apparently.” He laughed. “You and I disappeared to get the glowy alien egg bomb thing back and I guess everyone assumed we were off desecrating a national monument.”

“Oh my God. That was like 3 years ago.” You realized. “People have thought we were dating this whole time? We need to put a stop to this.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Or…” Peter trailed off and gave you a look.

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or, we lean into it.” He suggested. “We let people think it. We encourage it, even.”

“Why would we do that?”

“People have been suspicious about where we go and what we’re doing since high school. We can only fake so many illnesses and I ran out of grandparents to lie about the death of by junior year. So if people already made up a reason, maybe we should let them think that. We don’t have to go out of our way to confirm it but we can keep the assumption going to keep them from finding out what we’re really doing.”

“So you think we should let people think we’re dating so they stop wondering about what we’re always off doing?”

“That’s exactly what I just said, yes.” Peter nodded.

“Hey. Be nicer to your fake girlfriend.” You said and smacked his arm.

“I’m sorry. I will.” Peter blushed and rubbed his arm. You felt bad for hitting him and wrapped both arms around him to rub them up and down. He smiled softly at you and you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You play the clarinet?” You asked after a minute.

“Squidward made it look so cool.” Peter shrugged.

“Did he?” You asked, making Peter laugh.

“No.” He admitted.

The next day, you and Peter walked to school together with the understanding that from then on out, you were going to play the part of a happy couple. You weren’t going to go around announcing it to everyone or anything. You just needed to convince the few that didn’t already believe the rumor and confirm things for the ones who did believe it.

“You ready for this?” You asked Peter as you stepped into campus.

“I think so. Maybe we should hold hands or something. You know, since people think we’re dating.” Peter suggested and tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter to him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took your hand and took note of the way it fit in his like it was made for him.

“This is weird.” You whispered to him, popping his bubble.

“Why? Are my hands sweaty?” He panicked.

“No. Just really, really hot.” You told him. “It’s just weird that nobody seems to care that we’re holding hands right now.”

“I mean, we are just two random people with almost no social presence.”

“That’s true. I guess I just thought people would care more.” You admitted as you looked around the campus. No one was phased by you and Peter, but he was too busy enjoying the moment to realize it.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked you.

“Yeah. I wore my best bra because I thought I’d be getting more attention today.” You frowned and adjusted the strap of your bra.

“It’s okay. I’ll take one for the team and stare at your boobs.” Peter assured you.

“Aw. Thank you.” You gushed and gave his hand a squeeze.

You got to your physics class and sat together at your usual lab table. Peter looked around the classroom while you carried on as usual.

“Maybe I should put my arm around you. You know, to really convince people.” Peter suggested with a shy blush on his face.

“Is that really something people do?” You genuinely wondered. “I feel like I never see couples with their arms around each other.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have either. But let’s try it anyway.” He said and wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer to him so that you could comfortably lean into him. You quickly realized you didn’t hate it and let out a content sigh.

“Hm.” Peter made a little noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” You asked him.

“Our height difference makes this hurt my shoulder.” He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Then move your arm.” You whispered back.

“I can’t. I just wrapped it around you. It’ll look weird if I immediately take it off.” Peter said as he covered behind him to see who was looking.

“Or, consider this. Nobody in this entire city, and dare I say world, cares where your arm is right now.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. I’ll remove it. But I have to give a reason.” He told you before loudly clearing his throat.

“Ah. Sorry, babe. I can’t cuddle you right now. My arm is sore from band practice.” Peter said loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear him. You hung your head in shame and heard people murmuring about his strange comment.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped. “People are looking. They’re gonna know something is up. I have to put it back.”

He went to put his arm back around you but you stopped him before he could draw any more attention to the two of you.

“Just do this.” You whispered to him and pulled his stool closer to you and turned towards him a little. Your knees and were touching and you were now facing each other.

“That’s it? No one can even see this.” Peter said in disappointment. He thought being your fake boyfriend would bring you guys closer but you were sitting the way you always sat in class.

“It’s not about what people can see. It’s about proximity.” You explained. “We’re sitting closer together than anyone else is without being egregious about it. It’s a simple touch. If we’ve been together as long as people think we have, we don’t need to be wrapped around each other all the time. A simple touch to let the other know we’re there is all we need.”

Peter was silent as he stared at you following your explanation. He stared for so long that you felt yourself blush under the eye contact.

“What?” You asked him.

“I like the way you explain things.” Peter said simply. You quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see the effect that comment had on you and took a moment to collect yourself.

“It’s just something I thought of.” You shrugged.

“I know. But I never would have thought of that. Especially not as naturally as it did for you. You’re so quick.”

“Thank you.” You laughed shyly and found yourself unable to look away from him. Peter opened his mouth to say something to keep the momentum rolling but his phone interrupted him.

“Shoot. Sus-tivity on the b bridge.” He whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked at full volume.

“It means there’s suspicious activity on the Brooklyn bridge.” He rolled his eyes. “We have to act fast so I didn’t have time to say the whole thing.”

“But you just said the whole thing. And the abridged version. So it took twice as long.”

“Shh.” He waved his hand. “We gotta go.”

You reluctantly collected your things and took Peter’s hand to pull him out of his seat. Peter followed you out the classroom but the teacher cleared her throat when you walked by.

“And where are you two going?” She asked. You and Peter exchanged looks as the class snickered and murmured their theories about what exactly you were heading off to do.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pepper. My girlfriend and I have to leave class unexpectedly. Please excuse us. It’s urgent.” Peter’s said politely.

“I bet it’s urgent, Parker.” A boy snickered, making serval classmates laugh.

“Gross.” You wrinkled your noses and looked at the boys in disdain.

“Fine.” The teacher sighed. “The only reason I don’t write you two up for skipping so often is because you somehow have the best grades in the class. Go on. Just get the homework done.”

“We will.” You assured her before leaving the room with Peter. Peter noticed that you didn’t drop his hand even when you were alone in the hallway.

“Hey, you know that teachers name is Dr. Zhang and not Dr. Pepper, right?” You asked him.

“Oh my God.” Peter gasped. “Is it really? I’ve emailed her so many times and said “Dear Dr. Pepper”. We have to drop out.”

You laughed and held his hand the rest of the way out of the building.

That night, Peter laid in his bed with his phone held close to his face. He had been trying to figure out what to text you to let you know he had been thinking of you.

“I had fun fighting crime with you today” He wrote out. He read it over before scrunching his nose.

“No. Too cringe. She is not gonna fall in love with someone that says “fighting crime”. I’m not Paw Patrol.” He said like it was obvious. He deleted his text and thought of another one.

“I had a good time today, we make a good team” He wrote out instead. He read it a few times until he found issue with it.

“Oh, you had a good time stopping those break dancers that were obstructing that Sbarro? That’ll catch her attention.” Peter said sarcastically and deleted the text.

“have a goodnight :)” He typed out and then shook his head.

“No. Wayyyy too horny.” He sighed and deleted it again.

“night” He wrote out and read it a few times.

“This is good. I can work with this.” He nodded. He was about to workshop it when a text from you popped up.

“pick a color” It said. Peters heart skipped a beat at the vague message and replied with the first color that popped into his head.

“blue”

“thank u” You wrote back within seconds. Peters heart stopped pounded and the disappointment that the conversation was over settled in. After all these years of fighting crime together, you two never really managed to make it past the coworkers stage. He was desperate for more but never knew how to get there.

“no homo but I had fun fighting crime with you today” You suddenly texted again. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips and he touched his as if it were your face.

“ok paw patrol” He wrote back. Back in your room, you were laughing at his text and trying to think of a witty reply.

“ur mad bc you know I’m the chase 🐶” You texted him.

“if ur the Chase then who am I?”

“plssss ur such a marshall” You wrote back.

“but that’s the third most important dog :(“ Peter replied.

“well yes but he’s cute and wears red so the little paw patrol shoe fits” You answered. A blush painted Peters cheeks over you calling him cute but he didn’t want to read too much into it.

“Im wearing red right now😳” He texted back.

“oh I bet you are” You answered, making him laugh. He kept the conversation going for about an hour before duty called once again. Peter groaned and put his suit on before swinging to the scene of the crime. He met you there and stopped the crime before stopping on a nearby rooftop to rest.

“These burglars aren’t very considerate of our sleep schedules. Who robs a Jersey Mikes after midnight? Or, like, ever?” Peter huffed as he tugged his mask off.

“I know. They’re always at inconvenient times. I was in the middle of painting my nails.”

“Can I see?” He asked in a soft voice. You pulled your gloves off and held out your hand for him to see.

“Look. Blue. But I only got half way through before Mike’s was targeted.”

“It’s okay. They still look pretty.” Peter complimented you with a soft smile.

“Thanks. You picked a good color.” You replied.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I told you to pick a color. This is why.” You explained and held out your hand again. His eyes lit up at this new information and he took your hand to see your nails closer.

“You let me chose your nail color?” He smiled fondly.

“Well I didn’t know what to chose so I thought I’d ask the audience.” You shrugged and felt shy all of the sudden.

“Oh. And I’m the target audience, huh?” Peter smirked and turned towards you.

“I never said target.” You teased him and shoved him shoulder.

“I must be hearing things, then.” He shrugged as you both smiled.

“Yeah. Must be.” You said in a soft voice as you stared into his eyes. Peter gulped before making a bold move and taking your hand again under the guise of looking at your nails.

“Look at you. You even got my favorite shade.” He noted.

“You like “Eating For Blue”?” You pretended to gasp.

“Is that really the name of the color?” He laughed.

“Uh huh. It was apart of Essie’s baby fever collection. I almost chose “All In Blue Time” but that’s one tends to get little air bubbles and they give me agida. And I used to have “A Dream Come Blue” but it rolled under the sink so it belongs to the dust bunnies now.” You shrugged as you checked out your nails.

“Wow. This is all new information to me. So, are all nail polish colors named after puns and wordplay?” He asked as he stared into your eyes. He didn’t really care, but he was finally getting somewhere with you and didn’t want it to end.

“In my experience, yes. Not always color related wordplay but always something that makes you go yeah, I guess this shade of beige is what the word “ladylike” would be as a color.”

“This is blowing my mind right now.” Peter chuckled.

“You mean blue-ing your mind.” You corrected and tapped the side of your head.

“I think you inhaled too many of those fumes. Because that was not funny.” Peter said through a laugh.

“What?” You pretended to be offended. “You’re literally laughing right now. I’m so funny.”

“You are.” Peter admitted when his laughter died down. You stared into eyes for a minute before smiling.

“Is that what you rumored saw in me?” You asked him.

“Probably.” He chuckled. “I also heard a rumor that I think you’re really pretty. Like, the prettiest girl I was ever rumored to have allegedly seen.”

“Now you’re the one who’s looney from the fumes because that’s a straight up lie. I know you’ve seen prettier girls because I was standing right next to you when Anne Hathaway left that diner.” You said without making eye contact with him. Things were moving a little too fast and you needed it hit the brakes for a second.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Peter forced a laugh and awkwardly looked over at the cityscape when he realized you were politely telling him to pull back.

“But I appreciate it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking saying that.” He laughed nervously. “I was just getting caught up in the fake dating. We’ve been doing it for so long that it felt real.”

“We only started this morning.” You reminded him.

“Right. Well, it’s late. I’m gonna go home.” He said quickly and stood up. He had just blown that and needed to leave as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Goodnight. See you at school.” You called after him. Peter swung home with tears in his eyes and went straight to bed, missing your text about having fun fighting another crime.

The next day at school, Peter decided to start over and push last night from his mind. He played the part of your boyfriend to the best of his abilities and opened every door, pulled out every seat, and carried ever book for you all day long. Then he did it the next day, and the day after that. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings day in and day out no matter how painful it was getting. You and Peter had finally moved past the coworker stage and become real friends so he didn’t want to sabotage it all by telling you that he spent his days wishing for more.

“What are your plans tonight?” You asked him one day as you walked out of class together.

“My aunt is going out with her friends so I was probably gonna watch a movie on my couch. But on my laptop with my earbuds in. Likely in my boxers. Likely with an entire package of Twizzlers. Why?”

“Well I was gonna suggest that we hang out but you sound booked.”

“Really? You want to hang out?” Peter asked with much more enthusiasm than he intended.

“If you want. I’m not doing anything as exciting as boxers and Twizzlers.”

“I would love to. I’ll put on pants for you. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” You laughed. “Text me your address, okay?”

“Sure. Or you could walk with me now. Unless you’re tired of me and need a break before we hang out.” Peter suggested as you left campus together.

“It’s funny you say that. I was just telling my mom the other day that I never get tired of you.” You said casually.

“You..you don’t?” Peter’s face heated up as he followed you down the sidewalk.

“I don’t. I usually need a break from other people if we’ve been together awhile but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my social battery if that makes sense.“

“It makes sense.” He smiled shyly as your hands bumped against each others. He was about to make a bold move and take your hand despite no one being around but you suddenly moved it to hit the crosswalk button.

Back at Peter’s apartment, he awkwardly gave you a tour and wished he had picked up his clothes before leaving the house that morning. You didn’t seem to mind the socks and boxers strewn across his room because you were too focused on all the little things he kept on his shelves. You picked up a picture frame of your freshman year high school class that had you and Peter seated right next to each other. Your friendship had only just begun so you often forgot how long you knew him for.

“So this is your room.” You smiled and put the picture back.

“Yup. This is where the magic happens.” Peter said and immediately cringed at himself.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. This is where I practice magic. Wanna see?” He asked and picked up a deck of cards. You laughed and went over to take one.

“Is your card the ace of spades?” He asked.

“Queen of hearts.” You snorted and turned the card around.

“You’re the queen of my heart.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” You asked as you looked at all his Legos.

“I asked what you wanted to do tonight.” He lied.

“I don’t know. We have the place to ourselves. We could do something rated R.” You said with a coy smile.

“Like what?” Peter gulped.

“Watch an R rated movie, you perv. Your aunt isn’t here to stop you.”

“You remember me telling you that I’m not allowed to watch R rated movies in the living room anymore?” Peter blushed at you remembering something he had randomly told you long ago.

“Are you referring to the time you watched Tusk at full volume while she had her friends from work over for the first time? How could I forget?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what the movie was about. And I didn’t think her friends were gonna come into the living room and see that guy getting turned into a walrus.”

“Yeah, the title and cover art gave no indication that the movie would end that way. But that’s not a bad idea actually. Let’s watch something scary.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed and followed you out into the living room. He turned off the lights and got some snacks while you picked a movie. He hated scary movies but he was not about to tell you that. Instead, he sat on the couch beside you as a respectful distance and handed you a bag of chips. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other. Peter had never really seen you scared before but you were practically in his lap just 40 minutes into the movie. You reached into the bag of chips at the same time as Peter and your fingers touched. You both froze and looked at each other as your faces heated up.

“Shit. I’m not wearing a condom.” Peter sighed, making you yank your hand out and laugh.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed and turned back to the movie just as a jump-scare happened. You screamed and jumped closer to Peter.

“This is so scary. Why did I pick this movie?” You asked as you drew your knees up and leaned into his side.

“Yeah, same.” He replied, not even listening. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. You were cuddled into his side with your head on his shoulder and knees in his lap with a blanket drawn up to your nose. He knew you were only cuddling him because you were scared but it didn’t even matter at that point. The movie went quiet for a minute and then made a loud sound, sending you to burry your face into Peter’s neck.

“Tell me when it’s safe to come out.” You whispered into his ear. Peter gulped and wrapped an arm around you to fully protect you from the movie.

“I will.” He said in a soft voice. You peaked your head out a few minutes later but stayed nestled into Peter’s side. You realized his arm was around you and smiled a little.

“Oh, this isn’t so bad.” You shrugged as the main character got eaten alive.

“I don’t understand you.” Peter chuckled and looked down at you. You laughed as well as you looked into his eyes. He was about to say something when another sharp sound from the movie caused you to jump.

“Hold my hand.” You blurted and grabbed his hand. Peter happily accepted and clasped your hand before holding it under his chin. You stayed in that position for a long time and watched the movie. You were both so focused on the screen that you didn’t hear May opening the front door and coming in.

“Hey. I’m home.” She said, making you both scream.

“Oh, hi May.” Peter greeted while he realized it was just her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m-“

“I know.” She smirked. “I’ll just be in my room. But, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“No going in your room with the door closed, okay? I’m home. And we have thin walls. Just keep that in mind.” She said, making Peter turn bright red.

“Got it, May.” He mumbled. She winked at you and disappeared into her bedroom.

“You told your aunt we were dating?” You whispered to Peter in confusion.

“No.” Peter answered honestly. “I guess she just assumed we were.”

“Wow. She’s just like the kids at school.” You shook your head. “I don’t get it. Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

“I mean…” Peter trailed off and looked down at your clasped hands. You hadn’t realized you were still cuddling and quickly jumped off of him. Peters heart sank and the longer he sat in the absence of your body heat, the more upset he felt.

“You just jumped off of me like I was sharp.” He said without looking at you.

“I didn’t want your aunt to see us cuddling and think-“

“And think what?” He snapped, cutting you off. You gutted your head back in surprise and let out a nervous laugh.

“Woah. What’s going on with you? She already knows about your secret life. We don’t have any reason to pretend we’re dating in front of her.”

Peter stared at you for a long time as the word “pretend” cut into him like a knife. Every time he thought you were going somewhere, he was reminded that it didn’t actually mean anything to you.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He mumbled and looked at the movie again. You kept your eyes on him and felt guilty. You had so much to say to him but you felt unable to speak.

“Peter-“

“I don’t think we should pretend to date anymore.” He blurted, cutting you off once again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise and you got a sick feeling in your tummy that you had just ruined something really important.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s stupid. No one even cares anymore.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to fake a breakup or anything but I don’t want to hold hands or play along anymore. I’m done.”

“What changed?” You asked in a soft voice. He was still looking at the movie while you were fully turned to face him.

“Nothing changed. That’s the problem.” He said and angrily got off the couch. You quickly caught his hand and he stopped. He looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you if he hadn’t told you what was wrong. He slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Five years ago, you showed up to the same robbery at an all night CVS that I was at and I realized we knew each other from AP Spanish class because I had asked you earlier that day how to conjugate “poner” and you said “pusiste” and I laughed because I thought you were joking but you weren’t and then that night you heard me tell the burglar that he better“pusiste” the money back into the register.“ Peter began.

“Okay. Wow. That was a really long sentence.” You laughed softly. “But I remember that. I laughed and told you that you better remember that for the test.”

“You did. That’s how I knew it was you.” He smiled at the memory. “I failed that test, by the way. I still can’t conjugate “poner.” And I still think it means “boner” even though I know it’s a verb. But anyway, that night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to have met you. Even though we technically already knew each other, that night put us in each others radars. I could not believe that I had met my match. You’re into science like me and sarcastic like me and you understand this side of my life because you have the same side. But despite running into each other on patrol almost nightly and seeing each other around school, I barely got you to notice me. I don’t think you even knew my name until we ended up going the same college. You called me “Timmy” all throughout high school.”

“You seriously look like one. It’s uncanny. I don’t know what it is.”

“I thought things would change when I found out we were going to the same college. The campus is so small I figured there’s no way we wouldn’t become friends. But even then, we hardly ever talked and when we did it was always about work. I didn’t even know where you lived until last semester.”

“I remember that too. The first night we really bonded was when you fell off that roof because you were trying to show me how to do a backflip.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to do a backflip.” He admitted. “I only said I could because you said you always wanted to learn how to do one and I assumed given my abilities I’d be able to do one if I just followed my body. But I busted my ass and you were kind enough to sneak me through your window and patch me up with some Scooby Doo bandaids.”

“It was all I had.” You shrugged.

“And you gave it to me anyway. Because you’re kind and compassionate and I’m just…I’m crazy about you.” Peter finally admitted. “I was so excited when we started hanging out more this semester but it always ended up crushing me when I remembered that we just doing it to keep people from finding out the truth. I really, really love our friendship and if I’m ruining it all by saying all this then at least I can die with it off my chest.”

“Wait, now I’m confused. Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It feels like I am every time you and I start to get close and then I remember this is all pretend for you.”

“So it’s not pretend for you?” You asked quietly. Peter stared into your heads for a minute and then shook his head.

“No. I was never pretending. I like you.” He told you. Your facial expression didn’t change as you stared back at him. Peter was really starting to panic until a smile tugged at your lips.

“Sit back down.” You told him.

“I’m sat.” He said and rushed it sit down. You nestled back into his side and laid your head down on his shoulder. Peter smiled and rested his head on top of yours, finally pleased with the way a conversation with you went. You both turned your attention back to the movie just in time for it to end.

“Hm.” You huffed. “That was supposed to be us symbolically finishing the movie as a real couple but it appears we’ve already arrived at the credits. Now what?”

“We could watch Tusk.” Peter suggested at the same time you said “We could make out.”

“I never actually saw Tusk but I always wanted to.” You gasped and hit his arm with excitement.

“Or we could do your thing.” Peter forced a laugh and tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Let me see if I can find it.” You said as you scrolled through the streaming services on his TV.

“Or we could do your thing.”

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