I Love This So Much
I love this so much
Patron Saints of Nightmares
Summary : Bucky needs to go on a mission, so he asks the rest of the team to take care of his girl.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) / Platonic!Thunderbolts x reader
Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers!!!!!!! Established Relationship. TOWER FIC!!! Fluff, angst. Cursing. trauma. Death, nightmares, sleepwalking, hurt/comfort. Sam and Bucky aren’t mad at each other in this one (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)
Word count : 4.1k
Note : This story is based on my own experiences with sleepwalking. If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!
The New Avengers weren't as polished as their predecessors. You weren’t even close to the universal beacon of hope they used to be — you flickered and survived.
This team was a patchwork of second chances and shattered pasts, proof that good people came with scars — that good people might have done things that kept you all up at night. It was a miracle anyone got any sleep at all.
Least of all you.
Ever since your first kill, you barely got a full night’s rest.
By the time you joined the team, it had already been years of fragmented rest— twenty-minute naps stolen on ships here, an hour of sleep on dirty cots there. And when sleep did finally drag you under, it was rarely ever peaceful.
Sometimes, the worst part wasn’t even the nightmares. Sometimes it was waking up in the living room, not even in control, your feet bare and your skin clammy from a sleepwalk you didn’t remember beginning.
You’d warned Bucky when you started dating him.
One night, you sat him down while your fingers nervously pulled at the threads on your sleeve and handed him a list. Not a literal one, but it felt like that—“If I start talking in my sleep, don’t wake me up too fast. If I’m not in bed, check the bathtub or the closet. Don’t try to hold me down if I fight in my sleep. Only wake me if it becomes dangerous. But most of the time, it passes. I promise.” And worst of all, “Don’t be scared of me.”
You’d braced yourself for rejection then, for an excuse or another that said “you’re too much.” But Bucky had only taken your hand in his, metal fingers brushing gently against your palm like he understood in a way that no one else ever had.
One night, after you’d had a particularly brutal episode—screaming in your sleep, flinching from his touch even though he’d tried to soothe you—he didn’t say a word.
He just pulled you close once you’d woken, let you curl into his chest with your face pressed against his skin.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered into your hair.
That night, you cried into him until your breathing slowed, and for the first time in a long, long while, you stayed asleep.
Over time, you found a kind of peace with him that you’d never had before. It didn’t fix everything— Bucky would be the first to admit— but it eased your nights. You rested better because he made you feel safe.
On bad days, he’d lie beside you, his arm around your waist, his thumb brushing circles into your side.
And sometimes, when sleep came like a gentle tide instead of a crashing wave, you’d open your eyes in the morning light and find him already awake, watching you protectively.
“You slept,” he’d say with a proud smile, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
For a while, things almost felt normal again. Maybe not perfect, but better— until you and Bucky got dragged to be part of the New Avengers. And just like that, for convenience's sake, you both moved in the Watchtower.
It wasn’t awful. There was always someone around, always laughter coming from the common room. But adjusting was hard.
The bedroom felt too large, the ceilings too high, the Watchtower too big. It was… unfamiliar. Uneasy. Still, with Bucky lying beside you, it was manageable.
But some nights… some nights were worse than others. You’d still find yourself drifting barefoot through the corridors, your eyes glassy, your fingers twitching restlessly. You’d pull open drawers, rearrange cabinets, and unconsciously line pens up in perfect gradients. Once, Bucky found you curled in the closet with a granola bar clutched to your chest. You didn’t remember getting there. You only remembered waking up in his arms, sobbing so hard even though you couldn’t explain why you were upset.
That night, when Yelena peeked out of her room to see what all the commotion was about, Bucky smiled and said, “She’ll be okay, Lena. She just needs some peace and quiet, right, baby?”
You gave a small, hopeful smile. “Y-yeah.”
Because with him there… it really was easier to breathe.
—
The next morning, you asked Bucky to tell the rest of the team of your condition, and he waited until you were in the shower to gather the team in the kitchen. Ava leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, John was already halfway through his second cup of coffee, Bob dropped his book, Alexei was drinking a glass of milk, and Yelena sat on the counter with a knowing look in her eyes.
Bucky didn’t pace or shift or stall. He just said it.
“She sleepwalks, sometimes. Worse when I’m gone. It’s not… always random. It’s tied to stress. Or nightmares.” His voice was gentle. “You might hear her moving around at night, maybe see her organizing weird stuff or… I don’t know, in a closet. Don’t freak out. Don’t wake her up unless she's in danger, Don’t make it a thing.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was understanding.
Yelena gave a small nod and muttered, “I’ve done weirder.” John just said, “Got it, man,” and reached for another coffee pod.
Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t want pity for you. He didn’t want tiptoes or whispers. He just wanted you to have a little space to exist without explaining yourself.
And when you wandered into the room an hour later, eyes still a little hazy, no one stared. No one asked questions.
They just said “Hey,” like it was any other morning.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
—
Still, no one got involved... yet.
Bucky was the only one who knew how to reach you. The only person who could read your silences like sentences, who knew exactly when to speak, and when to hold you so tightly the pieces couldn’t fall apart again.
So when Sam reached out to Bucky for help with an intel recovery mission in Madripoor, your heart dropped. You didn’t tell him not to go, but Bucky saw the way your hands twisted in the hem of your sweater, the way your mouth stayed open like you were trying to find a reason to make him stay.
He found you in the kitchen the night before he left, staring blankly into a cup of tea you hadn’t touched.
“Sweetheart,” he said, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me.”
Your eyes slowly found his, and he knew.
“I hate this,” you whispered, the words brittle.
“I know,” he said, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ll be gone for two days. Three, tops. I swear.”
You leaned into him, “I sleep better when you’re here.”
“I know, honey,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “I hate leaving you. But he needs me just for this one thing. And I promise I wouldn’t go unless I knew you’d be taken care of.”
You looked up at him, “I don’t want to be a burden to the team.”
“You are never a burden,” he said firmly, his voice a low rasp. “Never. And while I’m gone, they’ll keep you safe because they want to, not because they have to.”
Before he left, he gathered the others in the main room.
“Keep an eye on her,” Bucky said quietly. “She’s strong — don’t let her tell you otherwise — but she doesn’t always ask for help.”
They all nodded, some more solemn than others.
“If she does, don’t wake her unless you have to. It can be… disorienting. But if she’s not safe — if she’s near stairs or rooftops or anything like that — then wake her up gently. No yelling. No shaking her. It’ll only make it worse.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow. “What if we throw a blanket on her and pretend she’s a ghost?”
Bucky gave her a pointed look.
She raised her hand in defeat. “Fine. No blankets. Understood.”
“Thank you,” Bucky said, quieter now, looking over each of them. “Just… She means everything to me.”
They nodded again. Even John offered a pat in the back, and Ava gave a flickering smile.
That night, he kissed you once more at the door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
But time always moved slower without him. And sleep — if it came at all — would bring with it the ghosts you couldn’t outrun.
—
The first night without Bucky was the worst.
You didn’t sleep. Not even for a minute. You paced the compound like a spectre, wearing one of his oversized Henleys and a pair of mismatched socks. The halls were quiet but your mind was unbearably loud.
What if something happened to him? What if this was the one time he didn’t come back?
You were awake in the kitchen at 2 a.m., your fingers trailing along the countertops. You made tea and forgot it on the counter. You folded a blanket you didn’t remember picking up. You stood in front of the window for forty-five minutes, watching shadows move across the landing pad like you were trying to count sheep.
Yelena followed you silently, not intruding. She was nearby, perched on the kitchen island, tossing a grape between her fingers.
She didn’t ask you to sit down. She didn’t ask what you were thinking. She just waited.
“Can’t sleep?” she finally said casually.
You shook your head. “If I try, I’ll just end up with a bad dream.”
“Then don’t try. Come,” she said, patting the spot beside her. “Sit. Eat terrible snacks with me. I stole jerky from John .”
You offered a smile, and for a moment, it felt almost normal — like you were just friends pulling a late night, instead of trauma survivors outrunning your past.
—
The second night was harder in a different way.
Your body gave in, just barely, around 3 a.m.
You collapsed on the couch in the common room and curled into yourself. The others left you be — glad to see you resting at all.
But two hours later, you screamed in your sleep.
Bob got there first.
He found you thrashing in, tangled in the blanket like it was strangling you. Tears streamed down your face, and your hands clawed at the air as you whimpered words no one could quite make out.
“No—please—don’t take him—don’t—!”
Bob dropped to his knees beside you. He didn’t try to wake you — remembered Bucky’s warning — but he said your name softly, voice like pattering rain on glass.
“It’s okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, over and over. “You’re not alone.”
Eventually, your screams died into sobs. Still asleep, you curled toward him, burying your face in his shoulders. Bob let you cry against him.
He didn’t know if you’d remember any of it.
John had stood nearby the whole time, sleepy when he was woken up by the noise. When Bob looked up at him with tired eyes, he invited John to sit next to you both.
He did, because perhaps he thought he could help keep you both safe.
—
The third night was deceptively calm.
You seemed better. You’d eaten half a piece of toast that morning. You’d even made a small joke at Alexei’s expense, and everyone had taken that as a good sign.
Still, the team took care of you closely.
That night, after the motion sensors in the living room went off because you started sleepwalking, Alexei, Ava, and John took the unofficial nightwatch duty— all of them too alert to sleep anyway. You shuffled into the hallway around 1 a.m., eyes half-lidded. You looked straight through Alexei, who had been sitting on the floor playing chess against himself.
He didn’t say a word, just stood up and followed you at a distance.
You wandered into the kitchen and opened the same drawer four times in a row. Flipped the light switch on and off, on and off. Then you just… stood there, staring at the fridge.
John found you a little while later, drifting into the laundry room. He didn’t panic.
“Hey,” he said, blocking the doorway, “this isn’t your bedroom.”
You blinked slowly with foggy eyes, but didn’t respond.
“Come on, let’s go back,” he said, not touching you, just using the calm voice he’d been practicing since Bucky left.
“Couch sounds better than tile, right?”
You followed him without protest, your feet shuffling over the floor. He guided you gently to the common room and helped you sit on the couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders.
Ava came to relieve him an hour later.
No one told the others to watch you. No one needed to. It had simply become understood — an agreement among people who’d known isolation too well to let anyone else suffer it.
You were never left alone for long.
—
The fourth night, things only got worse.
Bucky's message came in just past midday — the mission was running longer than planned. What was supposed to be three days had stretched to four, maybe more. They were holed up in a safe house, radio silent except for brief check-ins. Your already-bad anxiety only spiked.
So, of course, it manifested in your sleeping habits.
You were beyond exhausted, though. Somewhere between 2 and 4 a.m., your body gave out before your mind could. And that's when the sleepwalking started again.
Yelena noticed first when the motion sensor on the jet landing pad pinged, lighting up the communicator on her bedside table. Her eyes snapped open in panic.
One glance at the screen by her bed and—
Oh.
Oh no.
“Blyat,” she cursed, already half out of bed.
The security feed showed you barefoot and draped in one of Bucky’s shirts that hung past your thighs, drifting forward in a dreamy gait.
You were headed straight for the edge of the roof.
“Ava!” Yelena barked into the intercom by her door. “She’s up—she’s on the roof!”
Ava didn’t even answer. She was already phasing halfway through her bedroom door before the words had finished transmitting.
Her molecules blurred as she sprinted through walls and the glass doors leading to the edge.
She found you on the rooftop, barely more than a silhouette, the wind tugging at your hair and the cold bit at your bare feet.
You were standing at the edge. Right at the ledge.
The skyline sparkled as your fingers trembled to reach for something invisible in the air in front of you.
“He’s gone,” you mumbled into the wind. “I have to find him…”
Ava didn’t shout your name. She didn’t touch you too fast. She knew better.
She forced herself to become solid again and circled herself around your torso from behind.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
You didn’t react — not really. Your muscles twitched, but you didn’t pull away.
John was next, thundering up the stairs with bare feet and wide eyes, stopping short the moment he saw you on the ledge.
His instincts wanted him to act, to tackle you into safety, but he didn’t. Not when he saw how still you were. Not when he saw how gently Ava held you. He lifted both hands, palms out, staying back, like he might catch you if anything went wrong.
“Easy…” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
Alexei arrived just after. One look at the scene stopped him in his tracks. “Bozhe moi…” he whispered. He took a cautious step forward and dropped to his knees, trying to be less threatening.
“Druga,” he said gently, kneeling just to your side. “You’re dreaming, okay? Just a dream. We’re here. No need to find anyone — you’re already home.”
Bob drifted up moments later. He didn’t say a word. He just hovered nearby.
And then Yelena burst through the door, breath hitching as her eyes scanned the perimeter.
“Is she—?”
“She’s okay,” Bob answered quietly, “We’ve got her.”
Yelena let out a shaky breath and moved closer.
You whimpered softly, your whole body trembling in Ava’s arms. Your hands curled into fists, then relaxed again. Tears slid down your cheeks even as your eyes stayed closed. Even asleep, you were breaking.
You were inching closer to the ledge, your toes just brushing the edge of now.
“I have to find him,” you mumbled again, voice cracking. “He’s not safe. I have to find him.”
Alexei looked at Ava. At Yelena.
“She’s not coming out of it,” Yelena whispered. “She’s too far under.”
“Do it,” John said, tense. “Now. Before she—”
Alexei nodded once, then reached forward, placing one palm on your shoulders. It was him who finally made the call. “Time to wake up now. You’re safe. You’re dreaming.”
Your body stiffened immediately. The moment your nervous system registered something was wrong, your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in.
And they kicked hard.
Coming back into consciousness in panic, you bolted— or tried to.
Ava held you still, even as your eyes snapped open, and you screamed.
“No! No, no, no! Let go of me! Let go—“
“It’s okay, it’s okay—” Ava said, tightening her grip, keeping you away from the ledge.
You thrashed. Alexei backed off, hands up, trying not to crowd you.
Yelena stepped forward and crouched, her voice firmer than the others. “Look at me. You’re here. You’re home. We have you.”
But your body didn’t believe her. Your eyes were darting wildly, trying to make sense of noise and faces, adrenaline pumping so hard it made your vision blur.
John, who managed to grab a blanket, wrapped it over your shoulders while muttering, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” on repeat like a prayer, even though your eyes weren’t processing him yet.
Bob moved in slowly, hoping just being there would help.
Eventually—eventually—your eyes found something familiar.
The logo on the roof.
The view on the edge.
The ledge.
Your legs buckled the moment your body remembered gravity.
Ava and Alexei caught you instantly — Ava’s arms looping under your shoulders, Alexei scooping beneath your knees, reminding yourself he was a man who once threw tanks for fun.
“I—I didn’t mean to—” your voice broke, and you curled in on yourself, clutching the sides of Bucky’s shirt like it could protect you from your own confusion. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming. I didn’t mean to come up here. I didn’t mean—”
“We know,” Yelena said firmly. “It’s okay.”
“No one’s mad,” John reassured, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You swallowed, and with a shaky breath, nodded once.
You weren’t fully okay — not even close — but you were with them.
“Let’s get you out of the cold, druga,” Alexei said.
You didn’t fight the suggestion.
The rooftop door swung behind you as Bob pushed it open.
All of you managed to walk back in.
No one said the obvious — how close you’d come to falling.
No one had to.
You reached the common room without question, because none of them wanted to put you back in your room alone. You wouldn’t sleep, and none of them would, either.
They laid you gently down on the oversized couch in the center of the room. You blinked up at the ceiling, eyes still dazed, until Bob appeared beside you with a warm cup of tea. He placed it in your hands.
You didn’t drink it. You just held it, palms wrapped tight around the mug, as if the warmth alone was enough to anchor you.
“I’m sorry,” you said, finally
“You don’t have to be,” Ava replied immediately, sitting beside you on the couches.
John sat on the floor in front of you, back against the coffee table, hands dangling over his knees. “We’ve all had bad nights. This just happened to be one of yours.”
Alexei brought in two more pillows and tossed one over your legs. He tucked the second by Yelena, who tried to wave him off before giving up with a sigh and letting him fuss.
Bob curled into an armchair nearby. “We’ll keep watch,” he said. “We always do.”
And then, something remarkable happened.
The exhaustion hit all of you at once.
One by one, you all stopped pretending you weren’t tired.
Yelena curled up beside you, legs tangled with yours, chin resting on the pillow between you.
John slid down to lie on the carpet, arms crossed over his chest like a soldier who could still sleep with one eye open.
Ava stretched out beside the couch, back against it as she put a hand over yours.
Alexei lowered himself onto the other couch with a dramatic groan, mumbling something about “too old for this” as he tucked a pillow behind his head.
Bob’s head tilted back and his breathing evened out.
And just like that, the common room became a patchwork nest of sleep. And it was some of the best sleep every one of you have had in a while.
—
An hour, maybe two, slipped by. Then, the elevator dinged.
You stirred, still in a haze, but some part of you registered the familiar sound of heavy boots followed by a duffel bag hitting the floor with a gentle thump, carefully placed rather than dropped.
“Hey, sweetheart,” came Bucky’s voice.
Your eyes blinked open, just enough to catch a glimpse of him standing in the spill of hallway light. His hair was damp, rain clinging to the ends. His jacket bore flecks of concrete dust and char near the seams.
He looked like a man who hadn’t stopped running home since he left.
“Bucky…” you whispered, the name tangled in a yawn. “Baby… you came back…”
Your words were fragile, barely more than breath, and already fading into the fog of dreams again.
Bucky stepped over John — who was still passed out on the floor, snoring like a freight train — and made his way to you without a sound. He crouched down by the couch and wrapped his hands around yours — the one not held by Ava— and brought it to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice cracking at the seam. “I’m so sorry I left.”
You made a nonsensical sound in response — half a word, maybe a memory. Something about rooftops, tea, jerky, his shirt. Nothing coherent, just the drift of half-dreams spilling from your lips. He knew you wouldn’t remember any of this come morning.
But still, Bucky leaned in and kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there. For the first time in days, he let himself breathe.
Then he looked up — and finally took the full picture in.
They were all there. The whole team, scattered in sleep around the living room like an improvised fortress. His girl — you — nestled safely in the center of it, wrapped in the arms of friends who had clearly refused to leave your side.
They looked worn down, but peaceful and content. Like being here, with each other, was exactly where they wanted to be.
So he moved quietly around the tower, opting for a quick shower and change of clothes. Then he walked to the hallway closet and gathered every spare blanket he could find.
One by one, he tucked them in.
He threw a thick crocheted navy blue throw over John, who mumbled something but didn’t wake. A quilt draped gently across Yelena and Ava. One across Alexei’s legs, already half off the couch,
Bob didn’t even stir — just sighed, as Bucky knelt, and carefully tugged a fluffy yellow blanket under his chin. It was like Bob somehow knew Bucky was there.
On the coffee table, Bucky found a scrap of paper and scrawled a quick note, placing it where they would see it in the morning.
Thank you for taking care of my girl. – J.B.B
Then he returned to you.
He stood there for a moment, watching you sleep — curled up in the middle of everyone who had held the line while he was gone.
He was so in love with you — god help him — because all he could think about after the long mission was taking you back, holding you close, and not sharing you with anyone tonight.
So he picked you up in his arms effortlessly, like you belonged there, like he’d done it a thousand times and could do it a thousand more.
You stirred just a little, your cheek pressing into his chest.
“You’re home…” you murmured again, barely awake.
“I am,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He carried you back to your shared room, the weight of the world finally lifting from his shoulders.
There, he laid you down and pulled the covers up over you both, sliding in with one arm around your waist, the other across your chest like a shield.
You were finally asleep in his arms, and he wasn’t about to give the world a single piece of you until morning.
-end.
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@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant
@shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe
@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius
@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida
@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22
@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire
@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko
@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat
@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot
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@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter
@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19
@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic
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jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner
here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!
Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder.
You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face.
Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through.
That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought.
There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right?
Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.
Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh.
You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day.
But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why.
You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?”
Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something.
Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing.
“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty.
Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.”
Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch.
-
You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you.
He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely.
Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse.
You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate.
You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file.
As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!
If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss.
And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth.
-
After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short.
Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud.
To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile.
You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground.
You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?”
Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing.
The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand.
While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.”
You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.”
You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob.
Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud.
“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia.
He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face.
Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!”
When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you.
Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting.
You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience.
“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–
“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”
“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?”
“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?”
Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.”
Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.”
You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.”
The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really?
As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away.
You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.”
With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?”
As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”
Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?”
Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.”
-
Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.
Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.
Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.
Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous?
In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish.
-
You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–”
Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now.
The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you.
You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt–
Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice,
“You don’t think you’re my girl?”
HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy
ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered
IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(
anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something
-h
Warm Under the Collar - S.R
summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k
“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.
He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it.
The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.
“I’m always thinking about you.”
The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.
He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas.
Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly.
“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”
He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature.
“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”
Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.
“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”
Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.
“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.”
He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.
“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”
“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”
He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”
“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”
“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”
A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.
“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”
Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”
He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.
“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”
Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.
He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”
Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”
Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.
💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs
They are so cute! What the hell.
😏 ➡️ <_< ➡️ >_> ➡️ <_< ➡️ 😯
I love him so much, this is so adorable 😭
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeTkmpNy/ SPENCER MF REID 🙏🙏 can I pretty please request a one shot based on that video ITS SO CUTE
dewey decimal system | S.R.
in which spencer does the most spencer activity first thing in the morning - reorganizing your bookshelves
(tiktok link)
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: i'm fairly certain there aren't any word count: 619 a/n: the beauty of this being my account is that, even though my requests are closed, i was able to exercise free will and write it anyway. because reorganizing your bookshelves unprompted is so something spencer would do.
The other side of the bed was cold when you woke up. Your desire to roll over into Spencer’s arms before getting ready for the day squashed by his absence. Aimlessly patting your bedside table for your phone, you checked your notifications.
You hadn’t received a text, there was no note left on his pillow.
Sitting up in bed, you frowned before climbing out of bed. Cringing at the cold laminate under your feet, you hugged your arms around yourself and mourned the feeling of your comforter over your skin.
To your surprise, Spencer was wide awake, standing in front of your bookshelf like he was an opponent ready to strike. Padding across the living room, you approached him from behind and wrapped your arms around his waist, depending heavily on his body heat to give you the courage not to run back to bed.
“Good morning love,” he murmured, voice gruff from lack of use. With a morning slowness, he skimmed his palms along your arms, swaying gently to the soft sounds of dawn. “Are you alright?” He asked you when you didn’t respond, too caught up in the feeling of him to speak.
Pressing your cheek to the fabric of his plain white t-shirt, you sighed, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of him, the scent of your laundry detergent on his clothes.
“What’s wrong, angel?” He whispered, softly squeezing your arms before turning himself around while trapped in your arms.
You didn’t let up, forcing him to twist himself within the circumference of your limbs just to see your face. The maneuver was so notably ungraceful that you couldn’t hold back your smile, “Nothing’s wrong,” you mumbled, now pressing your cheek to his chest while he tenderly cupped your head. “What are you doing up?”
Spencer dropped a kiss to the crown of your head, keeping his arms casually slung around you while he nodded at your bookshelves, “I was reorganizing your bookshelves.”
Furrowing your brows, you looked at your previously unruly shelves. They had now been adroitly redone, no longer having books stacked horizontally and being put off for another day, “What do you mean you were reorganizing my bookshelves?”
“Well, initially I had planned on using the Dewey decimal system, which is how my books are organized at home, but you had such an uneven ratio of each category that I ended up doing it alphabetically,” he explained to you, lazily using a hand to gesture to your collection.
Catching a glimpse of the titles, you asked, “By title?”
He shook his head, “Author’s last name,” he responded as if it should’ve been obvious to you. Spencer’s arms tightened around you as he craned his head to nestle his face in the crook of your neck, “Did you sleep well?”
You hummed contentedly at the proximity you had to him, “Right up until I woke up and you weren’t there.”
“I was reorganizing your books,” he emphasized, reminding you what he had spent his morning doing.
Nodding, you shut your eyes, savoring the feeling of his fingers as they now skated their way along your spine, “It looks nice, Spence.”
“Did you want to read a book together?” He asked you, continuing his ministrations on your back.
Pulling away slightly, you rested your palms on his shoulders as you looked up at him, “What?”
He jutted his chin in the direction of your shelves, “There are some books that I shelved, I think we could have a good time reading one together.”
You raised your eyebrows, “You’ll finish way before me though,” you hinted at his reading speed.
“Then I can read aloud to you,” he offered, beaming down at you.
Perfection.
hotchner!reader (hotch’s daughter) who’s married/dating Spencer, and then telling her dad she’s pregnant, lots of fluff please!! :)<3
goads and goats | S.R.
telling your dad (who is also your boss) you're having a baby ends in him giving spencer a hard time
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: accidental pregnancy, missed period, hotchner!reader, pregnant!reader, not proofread, dad!hotch, established relationship word count: 1.01k a/n: i have been so down and out about writing recently but i had so much fun writing this. i firmly believe that if spencer was dating hotch's daughter hotch would never let that man have a moment of peace.
“He’s going to throttle me,” your boyfriend announced mournfully, holding the door open for you to enter headquarters, the two of you flashing your badges at security before passing through the metal detectors together.
Rolling your eyes, you reached your hand out and nearly dragged him into the elevator with you. He had been digging his heels in the mud all morning, even going so far as to propose playing hooky, which you were fairly certain he had never done in the history of ever. “He is not going to throttle you. I mean, just imagine the HR implications,” you gently chastised, watching Spencer as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Hey,” you said, standing in front of him, you placed a hand on his chest, “We don’t have to tell him today, you know. It could be our little secret for a while.”
Quicker than you expected, Spencer shook his head, “Of course, we have to tell him today. What would happen if you got sent out into the field?” He self-consciously readjusted the strap of his shoulder bag before looking up to watch the floor numbers rise as the elevator went up, “If we didn’t tell him because of my own reservations and then something happened to you, it’d… I’d…”
Your chest clenched as his voice trailed off and you thought of the positive pregnancy tests that were still sitting on your bathroom counter. The tiny wad of cells that had been settling in your womb for weeks without your knowledge – until Spencer asked if you needed pads while you had been grocery shopping – was already so loved.
The first test had come back with such a faint line that you convinced yourself it was just a shadow of an indent on the fragile plastic, but the test you took this morning had been glaringly positive. Slowly, you reached out and took Spencer’s hand, intertwining your fingers as the door to the elevator opened and the two of you stepped out together, “Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?”
Taking a deep breath, he nodded while holding the glass door to the bullpen open for you, glancing up, you saw that your dad’s office door was open. As soon as you set your things at your desk, you looked at Spencer, nodding up the steps, figuring it was better to do this now than wait.
By Spencer’s math, you were approximately five weeks pregnant, much earlier than people usually elect to share their news. Still, both of you immediately decided it was in your best interest to let your dad know right away.
Leading the way, you knocked on the heavy wooden door to get his attention, his head snapped up in the direction of the noise, shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw it was you, likely having thought a case was being brought in. “Do you have a second?” You asked softly, nerves creeping up as your father waved the both of you in.
“For you, of course,” he responded, nodding at Spencer in acknowledgment before watching suspiciously as the two of you sat in the chairs in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” He asked, watching you fold and unfold your hands in your lap, it didn’t help that Spencer looked like he had been called into the principal’s office.
You shook your head, “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. We just needed to have a chat,” you told him.
Frowning, his curiosity deepened, “A chat?” Hotch questioned the word that wasn’t a frequent flyer in your lexicon.
“A talk?” You tried again meekly, knowing that he’d start making his own conclusions if you didn’t say something soon.
He looked over at your boyfriend, “If it’s just a talk then why is Reid avoiding eye contact?”
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled heavily, “We should’ve waited,” you muttered to no one in particular.
“Waited for what, exactly? You’re not splitting up, are you?” He inquired, likely developing a list of forms that would need to be filled out if the two of you had in fact broken up.
You waved your hand aimlessly in the air. It seemed that neither of you had fully understood how hard it would be to announce your accidental pregnancy to your father and your boss simultaneously.
Since neither of you spoke, your father continued, “I’m obligated to side with my daughter. Which isn’t solely based on my belief that she can do no wrong, but if-“
“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, clamping your hand over your mouth as if you could recapture the words that had flown from your lips.
What followed was the silence that you had dreaded. Weren’t people supposed to jump for joy in situations like this? However, the moment Hotch jumped for joy for anything would likely end in someone being institutionalized.
Slowly, you dropped your hand from your mouth, watching your father as if he were a ticking time bomb.
“Is this a good thing?” He asked, finally shattering the wall of silence that had been put up.
Your eyes widened as you looked between your father and your boyfriend, “Oh, yes! We’re very happy,” you clarified, bracing your hands on the armrests of your chair.
Finally, your dad smiled and stood up from his desk chair, waving you over and enveloping you in a hug, “Then congratulations,” he told you, pulling away slightly, “How long have you known?”
You looked back at Spencer, who was standing up beside you and looking decidedly less nervous, “About ten hours,” he answered for the both of you.
Releasing you, your father looked your boyfriend up and down, “You should probably get married before the baby arrives,” he suggested. You recognized the mischievous look on his face – you frequently sported the same look.
“Right, of course,” Spencer said, straightening his posture behind you, nerves once again emanating from him.
You held a hand up, “An incredibly bold statement considering I was in your wedding,” you peered at your father.
Ignoring you, your dad continued, “So, we should settle on a dowry.”
“Dad!”
Squish-y - LN
Request from @sunshineeyessss - please something with squish! I miss her, if it can be something angst like her getting really hurt or something in those lines
Word count: 1.1k
Clingy/physical touch-love language!reader
Author's note: I am not making a Squish series, this is a one time part 2. Please don't request more Squish after this guys.
Lando and y/n are rarely apart at this point in their relationship. But y/n had a bachelorette party to attend and to say she was having a good time would be an understatement.
Lando did get constant text, videos and even a couple short-lived phone calls from the night.
But the joy and excitement came to a pretty abrupt end when he got a phone call from another drunk attendee of the party and finding out that his girlfriend fell down not one but two flights of stairs.
Which is how he ended up rushing to the hospital.
"Squ-Y/n y/l/n?" Lando calls having to stop himself from using her nickname.
"It was mentioned you'd ask for Squish. We've been told." The nurse comments not seeming impressed by the nickname but he can't tell if she actively dislikes him or not. "She's room 2F. That way."
Lando moves to follow the directions and finds the young woman looking pretty beat up. Her exposed knees looking pretty beaten up. But the main concern is her cast bound arm in a sling.
She broke her forearm, her elbow and her collarbone all on the right side.
"Squish." Lando sighs placing the flowers he'd made sure to grab on the way there since he's not going to be caught slacking but in reality he knows his still very much drunk girlfriend is looking very emotional as her good but still bruised arm raises making it obvious she very much wants a hug. "Aww. My Squish."
"I was having such a good time then I need to the toilet and I fell." Y/n hiccups. "What stupid club has stairs down to the toilets anyway?"
"A very stupid one." Lando reaffirms as a nurse that thankfully looks a little happier to be there and happier to see him enters.
"Hi, you must be Lando. Y/n told us all about you while we got the cast on. We did need someone sober to discharge her so we knew she was going home safely. So once you sign and sort out all the paperwork, you're free to get her home. Just keep an eye on her. She did hit her head, not too hard but we always want to be cautious with that stuff."
"Yeah, I got her. Thank you." Lando nods with a smile as she hands him the clipboard with all the forms.
"Lando." Y/n mumbles making him move towards her and absently sit on her better side, not that she necessarily has a good side, just so she can touch him somehow. "I love you."
"I love you too, squish. I might need your help for some of these forms...I think I know most of it, but I just want to double check that I'm not putting anything in wrong." Lando mumbles focusing on the paperwork before he smiles at her and leans over for a kiss at the face she's just playing with the hem of his top.
"Ok."
-
"Alright, Squish. I am all yours for however long you want me." Lando sighs once he's got her set up in bed.
And immediately y/n just wants to cuddle. The woman isn't taking into account how awkward a cuddle is going to be and Lando has to figure out the best means of getting them into a position that won't disturb her collarbone which they actually have to go back to the hospital for in a week or so to check that it's not healing incorrectly, otherwise there might be a need for surgery since collarbones can be a little difficult to heal.
Eventually they settle on her lying with her back to his chest as she sits between his legs. Just as the safest position to make sure he's not unsettling any broken bones or making her uncomfortable but still giving her the comfort she wants from him.
"Squish, are you awake?" Lando asks noticing her body pressing down more heavily on him with him realising she's probably asleep.
She’s still on some pretty heavy pain medication since her whole body is pretty battered even if it was her arm and shoulder that took the brunt of her fall. So it’s not surprise she’s passed out. But the issue is, Lando now has to pee.
By some miracle he manoeuvres himself out from behind her and gets to the toilet but there's no surprise when he's halfway through his pee, y/n appears shuffling with a pout.
"I had to pee, squish. You were pressing on my bladder." Lando laughs as she comes up behind him him and hug him with her good arm as he smiles at her, resisting the usual urge to lean back on hr since he knows her other broken limb is very much pressed gently against him. "How are you feeling?"
"Achy."
He knew that would be that answer but he doesn't like it anymore now he's actually hearing it.
"We'll sleep and cuddle then you get you something to eat." Lando states after tucking himself back away and flushing the toilet before he moves to wash his hands while y/n follows like a little puppy. "Ok, squish. Back to bed for you."
-
Walking into the paddock for the next race. Y/n is very much latched onto Lando and his concern for her not gaining more injury means he's holding her just as tightly.
"There's Lando in the garage, and no surprise, he is walking in with Squish. I was talking to Lando early in the week, he was saying that she actually fell down two flights of stairs while at a bachelorette party. She must've landed entirely on her arm. She broke her arm, he elbow and her collarbone. I just hope all concern for her isn't distracting him from the race this weekend. I doubt it. Usually having her there with him seems to actually bring out the best of him." Martin states as the camera remains on the McLaren garage and they see Lando continue to talk to y/n as he also speaks to Jon.
Lando proves that y/n definitely isn't a distraction even with how injured she is because his weekend is mega and while y/n is thankfully not feeling the pain she'd been feeling initially and actually the gifts from fans and Lando making sure to spare any attention to her that he can.
"I'm really starting to hate this." Y/n comments while Lando gets ready for bed, having already helped her. "I can't cuddle you properly."
"Hey...come on now just think, squish, it means when you can cuddle me properly and you'll have a new appreciation for it." Lando smiles before he climbs into bed and pecks her lips. "I love you, squish."
"I love you too. I just hate 4-6 weeks healing time."
This was so beautiful
all those dreams where you’re my wife
gif by @reidgif
inside your mind - the 1975
Spencer Reid x Fem Reader
summary: coming down from the highs of sex, Spencer and Reader talk about his brain and its thoughts.
genre: fluff & angst
word count: 2.1K
warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, this is an old piece of writing.
masterlist!
Panting softly, your breath mingled with his, your chest rising and falling in tandem with Spencer’s. Your body felt weightless, the afterglow of your shared passion wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sweat clung to your skin, and the soft hum of his heartbeat echoed in your ear where your head rested against his shoulder. The intimacy of the moment felt sacred, a shared silence that spoke volumes without words.
Spencer was unusually quiet. Not that his silence was uncommon—he often retreated into his mind after moments like this, his thoughts working in overdrive as if the endorphins had unlocked new pathways in his brilliant brain. He’d once explained to you that post-coital clarity often helped him connect dots he’d never considered before. You’d always found it endearing, a quirk that made him uniquely Spencer.
But tonight, something was different. His quiet wasn’t contemplative—it felt heavier, like the weight of his thoughts pressed down on both of you. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers hesitated as they traced lazy circles on your back, the way his chest rose with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.
“What’s wrong, handsome?” you murmured softly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze. His chin, which had been resting lightly against the crown of your head, shifted as he tilted his face toward you. His eyes, usually warm and filled with an endless stream of curiosity, now held a flicker of something else—something guarded.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as if he were weighing his words. You could see the gears turning in his mind, the way he struggled to reconcile his thoughts with the honesty that had always been the cornerstone of your relationship.
“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice soft but unconvincing.
It was a lie—a glaring, obvious lie. Spencer was many things: a genius, a profiler, a man who could recall entire books word for word. But a liar? Never. You knew him too well, knew the way his eyes darted away for just a fraction of a second when he was trying to mask the truth. He knew you knew, too, which made his attempt at deception almost endearing.
You propped yourself up on your elbow, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his damp forehead. “Spence,” you said gently, your tone a mix of affection and concern. “You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them. Talk to me.”
His lips parted as if to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He sighed again, this one deeper, as though the act of holding everything inside was physically exhausting. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… complicated.”
“Complicated doesn’t scare me,” you replied, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.
He let out a breath, his gaze darting away for a moment before returning to yours. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”
You frowned, leaning closer. “Try me,” you said softly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. Just tell me what you’re feeling.”
His hand moved softly, almost reverently, to the back of your head. His fingers threaded through your hair with a gentleness that sent shivers down your spine, pausing now and then as though he were mapping the curve of your skull. There was something purposeful in the way he touched you, something that felt more like exploration than comfort.
“I wish I could know you the way you know yourself,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His fingers continued their journey, tracing invisible patterns that only he could see. “I want to be able to have your brain all laid out in front of me, every thought, every memory, every piece of you.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, his voice soft but steady as he continued, almost to himself. “The back of your head is at the front of my mind.”
He fell silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to untangle the thoughts swirling in his mind. His hand didn’t stop moving, the gentle rhythm of his touch grounding both of you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice tinged with hesitation. “Sometimes, when you’re asleep, I’ll just… watch you breathe.” His eyes flickered toward you, searching your face as though bracing for judgment, but his hand never faltered.
“I’ll watch the way your breathing slows, the way it evens out. It’s like… proof. Proof that you’re real, that you’re here with me. And then I start to wonder…” His voice trailed off, but the weight of his thoughts lingered in the air.
His fingers stilled briefly before resuming their gentle path, tracing the base of your skull as though it held the answers he was searching for. “I wonder what you’re dreaming about,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost fragile. “I wonder if you dream of me, or of the things you love, or the things you want in life. And I can’t help but think about how much I want to know every part of you. What makes you happy, what makes you sad, what you think about when no one’s watching.”
His other hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. His gaze was intense, those wide, earnest eyes searching yours for understanding. There was no shame in his vulnerability, only a raw, unfiltered need to be known and to know you in return.
“I don’t want to miss anything,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re the most important person in my life, and sometimes it terrifies me how much I feel for you. Like… like I’ll never be able to express it the way I want to.”
The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His hand lingered on your cheek, the other still cradling the back of your head as though he could hold your thoughts in his palm.
He let out a soft, shaky breath, his forehead lowering until it rested against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, the words almost too quiet to hear.
For a moment, he stayed like that, his eyes closed, his breathing syncing with yours. His hands stayed gentle, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. And then he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation that spoke of a love too big for words.
In the quiet that followed, his touch said everything he couldn’t, and you let it.
In the gentle quiet of the room, Spencer’s voice broke through like a fragile thread, hesitant yet determined. “I mainly watch you sleep because I’m terrified of my mind,” he admitted, his tone a mix of vulnerability and unease. He hesitated, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as if debating whether to pull the veil back on his inner torment.
His gaze dropped to the floor, his breath catching slightly as he continued. “When I sleep…” he started, the words trembling on the edge of his lips. “I dream that you’ve been taken. It’s always the same. I’m helpless, paralyzed—every step I take feels like wading through quicksand, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach you.”
His voice grew quieter, a raw edge creeping into it, but he forced himself to keep going. “By the time I finally get to you, it’s too late. You’re lying there…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, as though the very memory of the dream clawed at his throat. “You’re lying on the ground in a pool of your own blood. And the only thing I can see, the thing that haunts me even after I wake up, is the ring on your finger.” The room seemed to close in on you, the silence heavy and suffocating. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to such a confession. You’d never talked about marriage—not explicitly, at least—but there had always been an unspoken understanding between you two. You both wanted it, you both felt it in your bones, but life had never given you the time to explore that possibility.
But hearing Spencer speak of the ring, of the symbol of everything you meant to him, in such a terrifying, haunting context—it shook you. The dream wasn’t just about losing you; it was about him failing you. About the one thing that represented his commitment, his love for you, now twisted into something horrific, something he couldn’t escape.
Your mind raced, trying to process the weight of his words, the depth of his fear. You could see it now—the desperation in his eyes, the vulnerability in the way he held himself. Spencer was afraid. Afraid of losing you, fearful of not being able to protect you.
In that moment, the love between you felt both fragile and immense. You reached out to him, your hand finding his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in the storm of his emotions. You didn’t need to say anything—he already knew how much you cared. But still, you squeezed his hand, hoping to convey everything that words couldn’t.
Spencer finally looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s supposed to be a symbol of everything good, everything I’ve ever wanted to give you. But in that moment, it feels like a mockery—a cruel reminder that I couldn’t protect you. That I failed you.”
The room fell silent, his words lingering in the air like a fragile echo. He looked at you then, his gaze pleading for understanding, for some assurance that the horrors of his subconscious didn’t define him.
“Spencer Reid, you could never fail me, not ever. Don’t ever think that,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of the weight of everything you felt. Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his cheeks gently, guiding his gaze to meet yours. You could see the self-doubt in his eyes, the fear that had taken root there, and it made your heart ache.
He opened his mouth to protest, but you pressed your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to hear you, to understand. “You’ve given me so much in this life, Spencer,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, but every word carried the depth of your emotions. “So much that I never thought I deserved, but you showed me that I do. You showed me that I’m worthy of love, of happiness. That I’m worthy of you.”
You could feel the weight of your words sink in as Spencer’s breath caught, his eyes flickering with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. It wasn’t just the love you had for him—it was everything he had done for you, everything he had helped you realize about yourself.
You gently pulled one of your hands away from his face, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for his hand, placing it over your chest, just above your heart. “This…” you said, your voice catching in your throat as you pressed his hand against the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. “This is because of you. Every beat, every breath—it’s because of the love you’ve given me. You make me feel alive in a way I never thought was possible.”
Spencer’s eyes softened, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested against your chest. The quiet intensity of the moment wrapped around both of you, and you could feel the weight of everything he was carrying—the fear, the guilt, the love—and you wanted to lift it off him, even if only for a moment.
You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against his forehead in a soft, lingering kiss, a silent promise that you were there, that you always would be. Then, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, you whispered, “Spencer, you don’t ever need to worry about failing me. You’re everything I’ve ever needed. And I’ll never let you forget that.”
Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, and without thinking, he leaned in to kiss you, his lips gentle against yours, a kiss that spoke of gratitude and love, a kiss that grounded you both in the present moment. When he pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheek.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. And before you could respond, you kissed him again, this time deeper, letting the weight of everything you had just shared hang in the air between you like a promise, unspoken but undeniable.
thank you for reading!
please like & reblog if you enjoyed!
masterlist!
taglist! @pleasantwitchgarden
This is literal perfection, what the hell
mastermind - d.m
sweet nothing | the great war | masterlist
Warnings: none
Summary: the one where derek morgan realises that you had fallen for him
Wordcount: 1.8k
Derek Morgan was everything that every girl wanted. He was tall, dark, handsome. That was what every woman wanted. Not only that, but he had the best personality. He was so kind, and charming, good with kids, funny. What list didn’t he check? There was so much that you could say about your co-worker of 18 months and yet that in itself would take thousands of words.
It was November and there was a chill in the air, one you had gotten used to in your 18 months working at quantico. You remembered your first day there, locking eyes with the federal agent who was now walking alongside you. He had made you feel so welcome the moment and eased all of your nerves on the first day. It was like the planets and the stars had aligned, bringing you both together.
From that first day, the two of you had clicked instantly and it was like you had known each other for forever. There was nobody else in your life that you had ever bonded with so quickly.
The only issue with him is that he was a bit of a playboy. He had so many women that he would talk to and they would all love him and have sex with him and that was all you had ever wanted from him. Knowing that you would never get to have that side of him made your chest ache.
You looked up at him to see that he was already looking down at you, his deep brown eyes staring at you so intently in a different way than normal; or at least, you had never noticed this gaze before.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked.
“Like what?” He quirked an eyebrow up, like he knew exactly how he was looking at you but was not ready to explain it yet.
“Like there’s something on your mind,” you were both profilers, there was no way of avoiding the questions. You could read each other well enough by now.
“You know there’s not usually anything on my mind,” he teased, a slight pull of his lips.
You snorted at his comment, he never failed to make you smile. Derek smiled at the way that you laughed shortly at his comment, the way your head tipped back, the crinkle by your eyes. He would never get bored of the sight.
You shook your head, dropping the subject, “Whatever,”
“Whatever?” He repeated your comment with the same inflection.
You shrugged your shoulder before looking right in front of you, avoiding eye contact. If he wasn’t going to tell you, you weren’t going to bug him, ”You don't have to tell me,”
“I know,”
You hummed in response. There was something going on here that you weren’t sure of. You would figure it out soon enough, you promised yourself, you always did. He couldnt hide anything major from you.
You had been close ever since your first case, where you had sat next to him nervously on the plane, explains your irrational fear of planes. Reid told you that it wasn’t irrational, spewing facts about the amount of Americans afraid of flying. Morgan just promised you that he would sit by your side the whole time. And as the plane came down to land, he held onto your hand as you squeezed your eyes shut.
That was the kind of man Derek was, one who would sit and hold a complete strangers hand just to make sure they were comforted. The touch of his hand had lit a fuse inside of you and you were still reeling from his touch.
So why was he being weird?
as a profiler, your mind started to race a hundred miles a minute as you wondered what you could have done to make him act this way. Maybe you had gone too far with a joke, made him uncomfortable somehow. God, had you flirted with him?
“You cold?” He asked and you looked up at him, his voice breaking you out of your destructive thoughts.
You hadn’t even noticed the way that your arms were wrapping around your body in an attempt to warm up, the cold was bothering you but you would never admit it to him, not after he had annoyed you.
You shook your head, “I’m a big girl,”
He left it there, muttering something under his breath about how you should just accept it before the two of you started walking in silence again along the tree lined street.
It was peaceful with him, it always was. He could never bother you for long, but as you walked along the trees, orange leaves falling off the trees and landing on the ground beneath your boots, there was something off.
As you walked along, you couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on a couple across the street. They were holding hands and after a few moments, the guy took off his coat and draped it over the girls shoulders. She smiled at him bashfully, cheeks warming up before they kept watching. You tilted your head back to look at them for a moment longer.
You could feel your face warming. That was all you wanted, someone to love you like that, to the point of carelessness for themselves. There was that all consuming loneliness that had been bothering you ever since you realised your fruitless crush on SSA Derek Morgan.
Derek noticed that your eyes had lingered on the couple a little longer than most people’s would and he wondered what was going on with you.
“Take my jacket,” he demanded after a few steps, pulling off the leather jacket that he had been wearing all afternoon. His arms were covered in goosebumps within seconds but he couldn’t care less.
“No thanks,” you shook your head, folding your arms across your chest.
He scoffed, “No thanks?”
“I didnt realise I was walking with a parrot,” you spat back at him, speeding up your walking to get away from him.
He did the same thing in response, jogging slightly to catch up with you. He shook his head, confused as to why you were acting like such a brat today.
“Why can’t you accept my kind gesture?” He questioned.
“I am fine,”
“You want it, I know you do! So what’s your problem?” He reached over, a hand coming down on your shoulder and he felt how cold you were.
You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and his shoes skidded to a halt to stop alongside you and that is when he saw how angry you were, brows pulled together, “My problem is that if I wear it into that building I am going to get the same spiel that I normally get behind my back!”
the admission made your cheeks heat up. Nobody had ever liked you as a kid and you had schemed and begged to make friends. Everyone was always talking behind your back about you and although you had friends here, you always worried they were still talking about you
“What are you talking about?” He questioned. This was it, he had finally cracked why you were being so pissy towards him.
Your chest heaved at the thought of admitting everything to him and you pondered for a second on the consequences of your actions, on how you would have to go back to the office feeling like shit. And before you could even stop yourself, all the words were spilling out of your mouth, “Everyone in the office can see that I have feelings for you! It is so painfully obvious and I can see them whisper every time we talk and-“
Derek cut you off with the sound of your name and you froze, letting the word wash over you. there was something about the way he said it that calmed you in an instant.
He was looking at you with a face that you had never seen on him before. That’s a lie you had seen it before, it was a face that was reserved for the family members of victims at work. It was pity. The face made you sick.
You furrowed your brows together, anger boiling in your veins again, “No. They think I follow after you like some lovesick puppy, like I am always dragging you around places and they think it’s just me being delusional and I know that so-”
Derek shook his head. The face he was pulling wasn’t one of pity, it was of adoration, that kind of love that poured out of every pore in your body as the person you loved made themselves look stupid.
He took a step towards you, his hands coming to your face and you froze, the crease between your brow deepening as you tried to figure out what was going on but before you could say anything, he was leaning in.
“Shut up pretty girl,” his voice was low and there was a look in his eyes you had seen directed at you hundreds of times before but you had never known what it meant. It was love.
He leaned in slowly, watching as your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. The first kiss shared between the two of you was the definition of perfect. His head tilted to the side slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, pressing with just the right amount of pressure to make your head dizzy with desire.
he pulled away after a second and your head fell down to his shoulder, a giggle escaping your lips as you realised what had just happened. Your hands came up to his shoulders, grounding yourself.
there was a heat spreading through your body and you weren’t cold anymore. This explains why he had been so weird earlier, because he was waiting to admit this to you.
“Does that seem delusional to you?” He asked when you pulled your head away from his shoulder.
You shook your head, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered you were at the whole experience.
He looked down at the jacket that he had been holding onto in his free hand the whole time and lifted it up so you could see it, “Take my jacket,”
You nodded your head this time, not trying to fight him this time. Derek slung it over your shoulders, it smells like him.
You smiled up at him like this was the best day of your life and he only made it better with the words that slipped from his mouth afterwards at the sight of your joy, “I’m taking you to dinner tonight, you tell them all that, let ‘em whisper,”
You always thought that you had been the one in control but maybe he was the mastermind the whole time, and now you were his and he was yours.
This is so funny to me 😂
learning sign language so you can make inappropriate comments to spencer while at work and you sign “want to suck your cock” and spencer just looks at you all bewildered like “since when did you know ASL?”
dirty talking to spencer in ASL genre: sfw with sexual innuendos word count: 1,8k a/n: a lil something while i'm working on kinkfest :)
Spencer Reid is a man of many talents. People say — well, specifically, Spencer once told you that learning a new skill is easiest around the age of ten and how the process will be more difficult once you reach the age of eighteen. Something about neural connections forming rapidly, the unconscious system, the critical period… To be honest, you lost your focus the moment he mentioned the new skill he’d learned: sign language.
Spencer was excited to tell you about this new skill. He already knew a handful of languages, from Russian to Yoruba, but what appealed to him most about ASL was the hand motions. How he didn’t need to pronounce any of the words. You still chuckle to yourself when the memory of him pronouncing a Spanish sentence pops up in your head. How vividly you could picture Elle correcting him. There was nothing funny about him using ASL, though. In fact, you remember the way your throat tightened and your cheeks heated when his hands started moving — long fingers, decorated in veins, flexing into different symbols at a speed that other beginners would envy.
“That means ‘I love you, and that sweater looks pretty on you’.”
You had laughed. Had leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you replied. A hot pink flush made its way onto his face, a shy smile tugging on his lips.
“Does this mean you’ll be speaking to me in sign now?”
Your comment was meant as mere teasing, but Spencer had taken it as a challenge. He’d made sure to at least communicate a couple of ASL sentences to you every day. You could imagine it being a good way of practice for him. For the both of you, actually. Because over time you started to recognize some of the movements. A sign you had mistaken as rock and roll before, you had now concluded meant I love you. A swipe of his hand over his face? Pretty. There were a few others you could recognize, but as the sentences grew longer and his signs faster, you gave up.
You had always assumed everything Spencer signed to you was something sweet. You’d smile, kiss him as a thank you, and forget about it, assuming he was complimenting you. That was until Derek caught Spencer in the act, signing something to you before the elevator doors closed in front of him, ready to head over to the lab for another case you were on.
“My man,” Derek chuckled heartily, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Your brows furrowed, the smile that had lingered on your face moments before dropping instantly. “What?”
He kept laughing, not noticing the clear confusion you were in.
“Derek!” you said, giving a soft punch to his arm to catch his attention.
“Oh, you don’t-” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to you and the closed elevator doors before laughing even harder.
“Stop it!” You cried, getting embarrassed by the scene you were causing in the middle of the bullpen. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, pretty girl,” he started, taking a deep breath to recover, still grinning widely. “Pretty Boy over there should be getting the title of Dirty Boy from now on.”
Your mouth opened, then quickly closed when no words came out. “I don’t understand.”
Derek looked around the bullpen, finding no one near. Still, he leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand as he recited Spencer’s words to you.
You gasp, hand clutching your chest dramatically as if starring in a soap opera. “He didn’t,” you say in full disbelief.
“Oh, yes he did,” Morgan smirked in full pride.
“How would you even know that?”
“My buddy works at a youth center. I teach the kids football from time to time. Some speak ASL.”
You scoff. “Kids have taught you these words?”
Derek shrugs. “What can I say? It’s the dirty words that are most fun to learn.”
-`♡´-
You had struggled to think of anything else after that encounter, your mind wandering to every possible naughty sentence when Spencer signed to you from then on. It was frustrating, really, how he must be gleaming knowing you had no clue what he was saying. As long as he knows that you’re also up for a challenge.
After work that day, you told Spencer you’d be home later, having to pick something up from a friend’s house. It wasn’t completely a lie — you had to pick something up, just from a different location. You parked your car in the parking lot in front of the public library, feeling like a criminal as you knocked on the glass doors. A woman in her late sixties greeted you, her kind beady eyes framed by thin glasses that hung low on her nose.
“You’re the one who called? From the FBI?”
You nodded, smiling. “Hi, yes, that’s me. I am so sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but we’ve got a killer on the loose, and it’s very urgent.”
The older woman cringed at the mention of a killer, muttering some words under her breath, and turned to grab an entire stack of books. You reached your hands out, accepting the heavy weight of the books, the title A Beginner’s Guide to ASL written on the top one.
Her hand trembled lightly as she tapped the front cover. “This one comes with a DVD.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you for your help.”
“You better catch that bastard!” You nodded confidently in response as you turned on your heel.
-`♡´-
Unfortunately, Spencer was right: learning a new language as an adult was far from easy. Especially with the lack of time you had because of working a demanding job. You had to make do with the rare free weekends and some late nights during the week to study as much as possible.
You were tucked underneath a blanket on the couch, laptop in your lap, as you were watching a YouTube video Derek had recommended: “Sign Dirty to Me: A Guide to Dirty Talk in Sign Language”.”
“The next sentence we’ll be learning is ‘I want to give you a blowjob’.”
“A what?”
You screeched, lifting yourself up on the couch at a speed that made the laptop fall on the ground with a thud. You mutter a string of curses as the video continues playing, using your foot to stomp the laptop shut.
“Jesus, Spencer, can’t you knock?”
You turn your body, spotting your boyfriend's tall figure leaning against the open bedroom door, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re in my house.”
You groan at his smug grin, trying to find an excuse.
“What were you watching anyway?” He asks in curiosity before you could explain.
“Nothing!”
He takes a stride toward you, and you scramble from the couch to grab the laptop, holding it tight in your arms as a safety measure. Spencer leans on the plush frame of the couch, appearing rather relaxed as a gleam sparkles in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were watching-”
“No!” You exclaim in offense.
“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”
“I was not watching anything.”
The content look doesn’t fade from his face. He looks rather pleased by the scene you’re making. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. Those damn fingers. “I don’t mind, angel. I would just offer you my help instead.”
You swallowed. He was distracting you, and you were not going to fall for his dirty ploys yet again. No way.
“I’m good,” you squeak, hurriedly standing up from the couch. You point at him while your other hand clutches your laptop. “I will go to the bedroom now, and you will stay here. Don’t even think about moving an inch.”
Your words were only making you sound more suspicious, but you didn’t care. It would be worth it in the end.
-`♡´-
Two weeks had passed since you and Derek had exposed Spencer’s dirty, little secret. Two weeks in which you had spent all your free time learning ASL. You had been nervous all morning while getting ready for work, trying to resist the urge to sign something to him. But you wanted to do it in the bullpen; you needed to see him get flustered in a crowd.
Your fingers had been nervously tapping on your desk, eyeing Spencer at his desk opposite yours. You were waiting on Derek, who you had promised could be there for the “big moment”.
“Where are we going?” Penelope’s voice sounded through the bullpen as Derek grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the desks. You throw your hands up in frustration, it wasn’t the plan to make it that big of a show. “Are you kidding me?” You mouth toward Derek.
“Now,” he mouths back as he stays at a safe distance against the far wall.
Here we go.
A single kick to Spencer’s shin was enough to grab his attention. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”
Biting down on your lip to hide your smile, you began moving your fingers, a little exaggeratedly, to make sure he understood.
Look what new skill I learned.
Spencer beams, smiling brightly as the realization dawns upon him. “Hey! Since when did you know ASL?”
You don’t give him an answer right away, not wanting to get out of your flow, so you continue signing the variety of sentences you’ve learned, each one even dirtier than the last.
You knew you were doing a good job when a few snorts came from your right at certain words, Derek understanding what you were saying. Looking at Spencer confirmed it — his eyes stood wide open, red blotches of heat forming on his neck as his lips moved in a struggle to find the words.
Stop it. Right now. He eventually signed.
You grin, pride washing over you as you can understand him. This new method of communication truly opens up worlds.
But I mean it. You sign back.
He hides the small smile that forms on his face, tugging away a piece of hair before finding the courage to respond back to you.
What else would you like to do, then?
Penelope nudged Derek, looking puzzled. “What are they doing? Are they…? Oh my god, they’re trying to get in each other’s pants? Right in front of us?!”
Derek threw his head back laughing. “That’s right. They’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”
“But dirty talk is our thing!” Penelope protested.
Derek shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but they’re outdoing us.”
I cannot stop reading this. I don't usually read series, but this one has me HOOKED.
do you believe me now?
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader navigate all of her firsts
↳ this series is 18+. mdni. please see warnings to each individual part.
♡ part one
♥︎ part two
♡ part three
♥︎ part 3.5 (bonus chapter)
♡ part four
♥︎ part five
♡ part 5.5 (bonus chapter)
♥︎ part six
♡ part seven
♥︎ part eight
♡ part nine
♥︎ part ten
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