Words Can Not Describe How Much I Love This 💕
Words can not describe how much I love this 💕
kisses will make it better
summary - you think you’ve made aaron upset so decide not to tell him when you’ve been in a car accident
pairing - aaron hotchner x gf!reader
word count - 3k
Today was shit.
Like really terrible.
It was one of those days where nothing had gone right and you felt like the universe was caving in on you. From missing a meeting due to traffic to getting harassed by your boss again, there was nothing that had technically gone right.
Which is why you were calling Aaron on your drive home, because you knew he would make it better.
It was dangerous to rely on someone to make you feel better, but he was your person and there was no one you would rather speak to than him.
“Hotchner.”
You smiled as he always answered the phone the same way.
He said that people wasted time by looking at the caller ID rather than just answering the phone, so you were used to him never answering the phone any other way.
“Hi love.”
“Y/N?” He questioned and you had to chuckle.
“Who else would be calling you ‘love’?” You laughed.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Um,” You looked at the clock on your car dashboard, “Nearly 11PM.”
“Yeah, it is. Look, you know we’ve got a really busy case right now?” He sounded pissed off and it made your heart drop.
“Yeah, I just thought…” You gulped to swallow back the oncoming threat of tears.
You didn’t want to cry over something so trivial as making your boyfriend upset, but when you had had a day as bad as yours anything was a possible trigger. Especially when Aaron was supposed to be the person to listen and comfort you.
“So I need to sleep and I need this phone line to be open for the police detectives.”
You could hear what he wasn’t saying; ‘Don’t call me’.
“Okay.”
“Alright, bye.” And he hung up.
It felt kind of pathetic to cry, but the tears kept falling.
You sniffled as you let out a few shaky breaths. Your eyes tried concentrating on the roads but your tears were sort of blinding your sight.
Your bad day had just gotten even worse.
The one person you knew would have cheered you up had to go and let you down. It wasn’t really his fault. He did have a really big case at the moment that was really stressful, so any sleep he could get was important, but it would’ve been nice to just speak to him for a few minutes.
You pulled down the sleeve of your jumper over your hand so you could wipe away the tears from your eyes.
You were thankful to be stopped at a red light.
Leaning over into your glove compartment you picked out a packet of tissues and took one out so you could blow your nose. Crying always led to a runny nose.
Maybe you’d done something really terrible and that was why the world was taking it out on you. But what had you done?
Except for this morning, you were always on time for work. You put up with endless sexist and gross comments from your boss. You worked really long nights and early mornings just to get the work done. Working as an assistant for a CEO wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, but it paid the bills.
So why did you deserve to have such a shit day?
That’s what you were hoping Aaron could have answered.
Now you had only gone and upset him too.
The light turned green and you gripped onto the tissue as you took a hold of the steering wheel to turn left.
There were bright lights.
A car horn sounded.
Your feet slammed hard on the breaks.
There was an almighty crash.
And then it all went black.
<.><.><.>
“Miss. Miss, can you hear me?”
Your head felt so heavy and your chest felt tight.
Your eyes were slow to open, but when they finally did they felt so heavy - as if they were being weighed down.
Then you noticed the blue and red flashing lights against the pitch black of night and the paramedic that was leaning into your car to talk to you.
She had a stethoscope pressed against your chest and kept calling out to you for a response.
Slowly it was all coming back to you.
“Miss, answer if you can hear me.”
You nodded your head slowly.
“Okay good.” She said, “You were in a car accident. Do you remember what happened?”
Instead of responding you let the tears fall. Now you were coming back around and things were coming into focus you started to feel how much pain you were in. The seat belt must have stopped you from flying through the front window, but it had definitely bruised your entire chest and rib area in the process. That’s why it was probably painful to breathe.
The lady ducked back out of the car then.
“She’s pretty shaken.”
“We need to get her to a hospital. She could have internal bleeding.”
“Okay let’s cut her out and slowly transport her to an ambulance.”
“Have you asked who we should call?”
Their voices were all a blur as your eyes grew heavier again. The tears in your eyes were making your focus blurry again. It hurt to even cry.
Aaron was going to be so mad.
He was on such a busy case and the last thing he needed was to hear his girlfriend had been in a car accident - a bad one at that. You promised yourself then that you would tell the emergency response people that you didn’t have any emergency contacts. You didn’t need Aaron coming down here.
Not that you didn’t want him, because God you did, but more that you didn’t want to add any extra stress for him.
He had a hard enough job as it was without looking after you too.
He needed his rest, so you would do this alone.
<.><.><.>
Garcia was hurried as she approached Hotch’s office.
“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” Morgan asked from his desk as he watched his friend rush past.
“It’s Y/N.” She said and that’s when Morgan noticed the tears in her eyes.
Morgan shot up from his desk, as did Emily and Reid who had overheard the conversation. They didn’t ask questions, but did follow Garcia to Hotch’s office to listen in. It was clearly serious if Garcia was upset.
Garcia didn’t even knock before entering.
Hotch looked up from his desk, clearly unimpressed with the lack of knocking until he saw the looks on his team’s faces - especially Garcia’s.
“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked, clicking the lid on his pen.
“Sir, you know how you asked me to set up that system where if any immediate family relatives of ours were admitted to hospital then they’d flag on my system so we’d know?” She asked.
Hotch stood up immediately.
“Is Jack okay?” His heart sank.
“Yes, Sir, he is.” Garcia looked distressed still, “But Y/N was in a major car accident last night. Drunk driver hit her side of the car. Caused her car to be sent spinning across the road where it was then hit at the rear by a lorry.”
Hotch went pale. He felt like his heart had stopped beating.
“When?” Hotch picked up his phone.
No new messages.
Why had no one contacted him about this?
He was your emergency contact. He should have been notified about this.
“Accident happened last night at about 11:15. I only got the notification when I came in this morning, Sir.”
“She’s been in the hospital since 11:15 last night?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Where is she now?”
“I had a look and… seems like she’s been in surgery for most of the night.”
Hotch had heard enough. He was ready to go now.
“Prentiss and Morgan. Go to the police station and find out what you can about the accident. I want that drunk driver ID’d.” Hotch ordered and they both left the room immediately.
“Call us if anything changes, Hotch.” Morgan added and Hotch nodded.
Reid…” Hotch said.
“I’m coming to the hospital with you.” Reid said for his boss.
“I need you here to work the case with Dave.”
“Hotch, this will probably be the only time I say this… but no. I’m coming with you and no doubt Rossi will too. Y/N is our friend too.” Reid argued back and Hotch didn’t have to say anything else for everyone to know that he was grateful for it.
Hotch needed the support and he knew you would need it to.
Screw this case.
Family was more important.
“Garcia…”
“I have my computers scanning security footage as we speak, Sir.”
“Good.”
“Go get our girl, Sir.” Garcia said and Hotch wasted no more time before exiting his office.
<.><.><.>
“You can’t blame yourself, Aaron.” Dave said as he drove the car to the hospital.
Aaron had wanted to drive but Dave had disagreed. It would’ve been dangerous for him to drive at a time like this.
“I spoke to her 15 minutes before the accident, Dave.” Aaron said, his composure slowly breaking.
Dave didn’t add anything to the conversation because he knew this was Aaron’s way of opening up as to why he felt so guilty.
“I told her not to call because my phone needed to be open for the police detectives to call me.”
“You were sleep deprived Aaron.” Dave argued.
“That’s not an excuse.”
“Maybe not, but it was the truth.”
Aaron kept his gaze on the road in front of them.
This car journey had felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. Then he thought about how long you must have been alone in your crumpled car until someone arrived - how long that must have felt. How scary that must have been.
“I can’t lose her too.” Aaron said.
“You won’t. She’s got a strength in her that not everyone does.”
Aaron wanted to smile at that because he knew it was true, but it was hard to smile when he didn’t have a clue what state he was about to find you in.
<.><.><.>
Aaron stormed into the ER.
He did a quick sweep of the room and walked to the front desk. His hands gripped the front desk like it was the only thing keeping him standing up.
“Y/N L/N.”
“I’m sorry, Sir?” The nurse questioned.
“I’m here to see Y/N L/N. She was brought in late last night from a car accident.” Hotch explained.
“Let me see.” The nurse typed away on her computer.
Rossi and Reid came up behind Aaron as they also waited to hear what the nurse had to say.
Aaron’s team was like a family to him, which meant they were also a family to you. The team had taken a liking to you ever since they had seen how much you had positively impacted Aaron’s life. They had never seen him smile so much as when he was around you. You brought out the best in him and the thought of losing you meant losing their boss too.
“Are you Aaron Hotchner, Sir?” The nurse questioned.
“Yes.”
The nurse smiled sympathetically, “Miss L/N specifically told the doctors last night that we weren’t to contact you.”
“W-what?” Aaron furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m her emergency contact.”
“We’re aware, Mr Hotchner.”
“S-so what?” Aaron tried to calm himself down because he knew it wasn’t the nurses fault, “That’s it?...”
“Miss L/N told us not to contact you, Mr Hotchner, so we didn’t. However, now you are here I don’t see any reason to hold you back any further. Just sign this ‘sign in’ sheet, please.”
“Thank you.” Aaron said honestly, feeling both a wave of relief and anxiety.
Why had you told them not to call him?
Well, he knew why…
It was starting to feel like this was his fault. Doubts creeping into his mind as to whether he was the right person for you. It felt like no matter what he did, no matter how happy he became, he would always be tested in some way.
<.><.><.>
Reid and Rossi had gone to buy you flowers, leaving Aaron in the room alone with you.
It had been a shock to see you at first.
He hadn’t really prepared himself for how you might look, but he definitely hadn’t expected this.
You were bandaged like a mummy. Your head had a thick bandage wrapped around. Your hands were littered with plasters and gauze from where tiny bits of shattered glass had cut into your skin. He couldn’t see your chest but he had no doubts that the entire area would be black and bruised.
It made Aaron feel sick seeing you like this.
<.><.><.>
When you finally came around you felt lighter than you had before.
There was no seat belt cutting into your skin and you could breathe a little easier too. The bed you were laid in was really comfortable and someone had clearly dimmed the lights in preparation for you waking up.
Your eyes opened to find yourself in a hospital room.
The small window to the right told you it was a new day because it had been nighttime the last time you had seen the sky. Whether it was the next day or a couple of days was difficult to guess.
You looked down from the window to the small table.
There were six bunches of flowers of all different varieties. All of them had cards underneath them and you were eager to know who they were from.
The one that had a mathematical joke on had to be from Reid. The one that was covered in pink glitter was definitely from Garcia. The one that was clearly handmade had to be the work of Jack Hotchner. That one made you smile.
Your eyes went to the other side of the room where there was a chair facing your bed.
It was empty.
You knew who had been there, though, thanks to the blazer and red tie draped over the back of it.
Just as you started thinking about Aaron, you could hear your two favourite boys approaching.
“But I want to give the giraffe to her now, dad.”
“Ssh, ssh. We have to be quiet now bud, okay? Y/Ns sleeping.”
“But she’s been sleeping all day.”
“That’s because she’s poorly.”
“Oh, okay.”
Aaron and Jack entered the room a moment later, leaving the door open.
“Y/N!” Jack screamed in excitement when he saw that you were awake. He shuffled himself out of his dad’s hold until he was on the floor and running over to your bedside.
Aaron was ready to tell Jack off until he saw that you were in fact awake.
“Jack, careful.” Aaron said when his son started climbing on the bed.
“He’s okay.” You assured them both.
“Dad said you’re poorly.” Jack said.
“I guess I am.” You smiled at him.
“Does this hurt?” He pointed to the bandage on your forehead.
“A little.”
“Dad can kiss it better.” Jack explained like he was the certified doctor working in this hospital. It made you and Aaron laugh, which was probably the best form of medicine anyways. “Won’t you dad?”
Instead of giving a yes or a no response, Aaron came over to you and placed a kiss on top of the bandage. You couldn’t feel his lips, but his presence was enough to make you a little bit emotional.
He smelt like home and his closeness was so warm that you felt comforted.
Aaron kept his face close to yours as pulled away. He looked at you and noticed your teary eyes. His thumb reached your cheek to softly pad over the skin there - no doubt to check that you were really here and okay.
“Hey Jack, why don’t we go and get a chocolate bar for Y/N, hmm?” You heard Rossi’s voice behind Aaron.
Neither you or Aaron made a move from each other to check. Rossi must have taken Jack from the room because it went so quiet then.
Aaron kept his gaze on your eyes and you could see the sadness lost within them.
You hated to see him so sad. It was your weakness.
“I’m…”
“If you say you’re sorry I’m going to be really upset.” Aaron said quickly to cut you off.
You nodded, crying a bit more now.
“Thank you for coming.” You said instead.
“Don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’ll always be here.” Aaron moved to perch on the bed beside you, careful not to bump into any sore part of you.
“How did you even know?”
“Garcia.”
“Of course” You smiled. Aaron smiled because you smiled.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry for being an asshole last night.”
“Aaron, love, I can see that you’re beating yourself up over this but it wasn’t your fault. Yes, you were kind of an asshole. I did need you last night, but you definitely didn’t cause this and I know you know that.”
“You’re too lovely.” He responded.
“I just won’t have you blame yourself for something you had no control over.”
Aaron nodded, “I’ll never not answer the phone again.”
“Okay.”
“But you have to promise to never block me as an emergency contact again. You hear me?” He said sternly.
“I do. It was kind of stupid of me.” You rolled your eyes thinking back now.
“Yeah it was.” Aaron gave you a small smirk, glad to hear you were okay enough to make a joke or two.
“I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Honey. I’m going to worry whether or not you are actually okay.”
“When I told the nurse to not call you she asked whether you were a crazy ex of mine.” You chuckled.
“You’re an absolute menace.”
“A menace that’s going to need lots of kisses to nurse me back to health.”
“Oh yeah?”
“That’s what Dr Jack said.” You shrugged.
“I better get started then.”
More Posts from Love-actually-is-all-around-us and Others
I love this so much
mixup- o.piastri
summary: oscar gets a bit jelly when you and franco get close
pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader
a/n: for the person on my last post who wanted the photo of mark webber with his grippers out (just put the fries in the bag) here is two!
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When Oscar saw you for the first time, he was slightly stunned into silence. He knew who you were, everyone in McLaren did. You were one of the board member’s daughters, and you knew everyone. You were friends with everyone, you knew every driver on the grid, everyone. Except Oscar. He’d somehow side stepped your friendship despite you knowing every other driver on the F1 grid, F2 grid, and F3 grid.
Anyway, he was in love with you, and that’s all that mattered. You befriended him in his first year, but you’d only been around sporadically in the 2024 season, and when you were there, all of your time was spent catching up with all the other drivers, and Oscar could only steal so much of your time. That didn’t mean that you two didn’t text though. You and him had months and months of ‘friendly’ texts, and on more than one occasion he’d almost be driven to send the dreaded ‘what are we?’ text, but thankfully, Logan usually stopped him.
He did not like the way you were talking with Franco and had been for a while. He was touching your arm, you were laughing at something he said, and Oscar couldn’t control the frown on his face.
“Jesus christ mate, he’s actually going to get hurt if you don’t stop staring daggers at him,” Lando joked.
“I’m not,” Oscar huffed, getting on with eating his lunch.
“Have you asked her out yet?” Lando asked, and Oscar just… avoided eye contact. “Come on mate! She’s never going to say yes to you if you don’t actually ask her!”
“Well, she’s also never going to say no, if I don’t ask her,” Oscar pointed out, purposefully waving a piece of salmon much too close for Lando’s comfort.
Lando pushed his fork back. “She’s not going to say no!”
“Hey Y/n!” Zak called, sitting at the table next to them.
“Hey Zak,” you smiled. It was an easy, gentle smile, the kind that drove Oscar crazy.
“Where have you been all day?” he mused, an eyebrow raised as he looked between you and Franco, who was slowly walking abc to Williams.
“I was with Franco, actually,” you explained. “I told him I’d never been at the circuit before so he gave me a tour of the entire paddock, and of Williams. I met all of his mechanics and all, it was great!”
He chuckled. “So when’s the wedding?”
You scoffed. “It’s not like that, well… it kind of is. We’re apparently going on a date so, we shall see!” you admitted, a nervous smile on your lips.
Oscar and Lando locked eyes. Oscar’s were full of shock and panic, whereas Lando’s were full of amusement.
“Y/n!” Lando called, alerting half the canteen. “I thought you were with Oscar?”
Oscar had one thought:
Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.
But he didn’t. Oscar buried his face in his hands as Lando stood there, digging him a deeper hole. He would’ve rather just lived out his friend-zoned life and still be your friend, but with the way Lando was rambling on, he would be lucky fi there wasn’t a fucking restraining order.
“And like… all the texts and stuff! I thought you two were hitting it off, they seemed pretty flirty to me! And I’m an expert on that type of thing. And he’s like… in love with you or whatever, and you like him too! Isn’t he pretty! You told me he was pretty once when you were drunk, don’t deny that!”
You stood there with an amused smile on your lips. “I think if Oscar was actually in love with me, he would’ve made a move by now,” you chuckled before walking off, but not before ruffling Oscar’s hair. Oscar was bright red. Bright red. Once you were out of ear-shot, the entire canteen was laughing at the situation. Mark clapped a hand on his back.
“That went over about as well as a dead horse,” he chuckled. Oscar shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“I’m fucked,” he sighed. “I fucked it up. She’s going out with Franco.”
Mark shook his head. “Not if you confess now.”
Oscar stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
Mark rolled his eyes. “The girl is mad about you!” Oscar groaned but Mark shushed him. “Seriously! She adores you. You just need to ask her out! Fuck Franco, he’s a newbie, you’ve been his friend for 2 years now, and Lando isn’t wrong, those texts are flirty!”
Oscar looked at Mark, unimpressed, but then turned to Lando (who had a very big smile on his face, awaiting a ‘thank you’) with a scowl. He got up and brought his lunch with him. “Neither of you are helpful!”
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Somehow, he ended up in your hotel room at the end of the night, his lips on yours. He hadn’t told anyone about this. Whatever it was, he wanted it to be his and yours only. No teasing comments from Lando, no ‘advice’ from Mark. It had started a few months ago, one drunken night that led to too much, but neither of you stopped. Neither of you were drunk the second time it happened, and since then you’d been hooking up every now and then, just to relieve stress.
“Osc,” you mumbled against his lips. He smiled. You'd been making out for about 40 minutes, and the nights either ended with mind blowing sex (with the girl he was in love with), or a movie and sleeping in your bed. Win-win either way. You straddled him against the headframe, his shirt already off and you in your bra and sleep shorts, he was kind of hoping for the first one.
“Hm?” he muttered, never pulling away. Having his hands on you, your hands on him, it felt good.
You pulled back with a nervous expression, and he stilled. Had he done something to upset you? Had he gone too far?
“You weren’t upset today,” you stated.
He stared at you, slightly confused. “Yes?”
You frowned. “You really don’t actually like me, do you?” you chuckled, but it wasn’t a real chuckle. It was too sad to be your chuckle, and the way you pushed yourself off his lap and held your legs to your chest.
He panicked. How was he supposed to explain the 2 years of yearning he’d partaken in? “I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, and your eyes widened, so he just buried his face in his hands again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”
You laughed. Your real, gorgeous laugh. “I love you too.”
He ripped his hands away from his face. “But Franco-?”
“I was trying to make you jealous!” you scoffed. He rolled his eyes.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“Why didn't you just talk to me?!” you accused, and you both just started laughing at how stupid you both were.
“Come here,” he told you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed soft kisses to your neck. “I’m really fucking glad you tried to make me jealous today.”
“Did it work?” you giggled.
“Very much so,” he admitted, biting into the side of your neck hard enough to make you let out a squeak, which made you both laugh.
You turned to him, running a hand through his unruly hair. You pressed your lips to his.
“I love you,” he confessed (again). You smiled.
“I love you too.”
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
hiii! i was wondering if i could request a hotch x bau! reader where they’re dating and they vouch to keep their work life and love life separate but they’re both terrible at hiding how protective they are over eachother
"I'll stay here." Reid decides, already knee-deep in maps and colored pens, as if anyone thought he'd jump up and volunteer to interview the victim's family.
"Right." Aaron nods, "JJ and Prentiss are already on their way to the last crime scene."
"That leaves us to canvass the unsub's safe zone." Rossi glances between you, Aaron, and Morgan, "Y/N, come with me-"
"No." Aaron interjects, stoicism returning just as quickly as it had been abandoned.
"O-kay," Morgan glances at Hotch with a furrowed brow, misinterpreting Hotch's protests, "Y/N, come with me. They can talk about old white man stuff in the car, or whatever they're gonna do."
"No." Aaron repeats, just as unhelpful as the first time he'd said it.
You're squirming on your feet, now. He's not being subtle, even if he is being confusing. Derek and Rossi may not know why Aaron wants to keep you with him, but now they know that he does, and you're sure it won't take them long to discern why he doesn't want you gallivanting across a potential crime scene with anyone other than him.
"Right... So you take Y/N, then." Rossi says what Hotch won't, "That's okay, Morgan and I can talk about whatever's up your butt today while we're driving."
If it were anyone but Rossi, they'd have ended up with desk duty for eight weeks. But both men manage to escape sharing a snicker at Hotch's expense, and you follow dutifully after your boss as he leads you out to one of the SUVs in the parking lot.
You're waiting for the closing of his door to begin scolding him for his reckless, but he decides to make the situation ten times worse by beating you to the car and holding your door open for you. You're sure Rossi and Morgan are watching from their own SUV, and you're glad the windows are up so that you don't have to hear their jeering.
"Hotch," You speak through tightly clenched teeth, but you get in without protest, and you huff as you slam the seatbelt into its latch, which Aaron waits for before he closes your door.
"You're not subtle." You speak the second that his door shuts, "Aaron, did you forget all of our coworkers are profilers? They're going to figure us out if you don't stop giving us away like that!"
"I don't care if they figure us out." Aaron admits, hands on the wheel though his attention stays on you as he pointedly stays parked, "I don't feel comfortable letting you enter a potentially dangerous situation with anyone but me."
"Morgan wouldn't let anything happen to me," You bargain, "And neither would Rossi. Hell, you think a criminal's gonna try fighting Derek to get to me? No one's crazy enough to go up against those muscles."
"But they would be looking to take down the unsub first, and thinking of you second. I'm thinking of you first."
A thick silence hangs in the air after his words; perhaps he's realizing what he's just said- it's weight, its implications.
You put it into words, "That's not professional, Hotch. That's- that's not how a profiler is supposed to act."
"Well then I guess I'm not a very good profiler anymore." He concedes, sighing as he turns to face the road and begins driving, now minutes behind Rossi and Morgan, "Just stay with me, and let me protect you."
I love Franco fics sooo much
Flirt - Franco Colapinto
@shitshowblog prompt request #1 - "I like your last name. Can I have it?"
Summary: Franco is notorious for his flirting abilities, but maybe he's met someone who can play him at his own game.
Norris!reader (bc Lando and Franco seemed to be good friends last year and I think this would be a fun pair)
Word count: 903
Lando was the least surprised person to find his little sister was interested in the Williams driver who subbed in for Logan. The two had crossed paths last year a couple times but it never seemed to get anywhere as more than passing flirty banter than disappeared over the winter break and with him not returning as a driver, y/n wasn't sure what to do.
But then he got announced as Alpine's reserve driver.
Y/n returned this year more determined to get Franco's attention and keep it.
"Hey, Franco." Y/n greets as she passes by him in the paddock making his head whip around upon hearing her voice.
"Hermosa, I-where are you going?" Franco asks expecting her to stop for conversation. But y/n has a plan and it doesn't involve making his life easy.
Y/n slows her steps smiling as she turns to find Franco moving to catch up with her.
"I was going to grab something to eat at McLaren." Y/n explains as if she's none the wiser. "Unless you know something better to eat?"
"I could suggest one or two things." Franco smirks dragging his gaze up and down y/n's body which almost makes her stutter but she manages to maintain composure and maintain the energy he maintains with ease. "I think my ideas would fill you up very well actually."
"That's a very bold statement. You should really act on it rather than saying it." Y/n states watching his eyes widen for a moment.
"Come eat lunch with me. I will make sure you are well fed." Franco states making y/n internally celebrate that her mission is so far a success.
-
It didn't take long for Lando to realise his sister wasn't going to be spending more than the journey to the track with him so he just let her get on with it because he actually likes Franco and while he doesn't want to think about what the two might've got up to last night after being caught leaving together.
"Try this." Franco demands holding his fork out with some Korean BBQ chicken on it that he took from the Alpine catering which seems to be providing better than McLaren today. Y/n flinches away from the suddenness of the fork in her face and she hardly has a chance to process what he's trying to feed her before he speaks again. "You did not complain at what I was putting in your mouth last night you can trust me."
"I prefer what you were doing with your mouth last night too." Y/n comments earning a smirk before she leans towards the chicken and finally accepts the bite to try earning a smile while Franco shifts over and kisses her cheek while she chews and nods in defeat of the fact that his food is much better than what she'd been offered. "Can I have some more?"
"Of course, hermosa." Franco laughs nudging his plate towards her for her to have some more.
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Franco visiting the Norris family home since y/n still lives under her parents roof is already beginning to be more and more of a norm, but Lando hadn't been home during one of his visits despite being a witness to them in the paddock.
"You two are all over each other. Please." Lando groans as he walks out into the garden where the two are "sunbathing" but really are a couple movements away from having sex in the garden with how far their tongues are into each other's throats.
Apparently that was all he came to say so presumably he'd looked out the window and felt the need to speak up, because he disappears back inside.
"I told you we should've gone to your place with Lando coming to visit." Y/n states while Franco hums, his mind very much elsewhere and the lust clouding his eyes is definitely not going to be easy to clear so she has to say something to snap him out of. "You know I like your last name."
"Thank you, mi amor." Franco mumbles slowly coming down from his thoughts while y/n smiles a little.
"Can I have it?"
"Of course you-my name? You want my-oh-OH you are very good." Franco laughs then pausing. "Do you really want my name?"
Y/n had really just stolen the pick up line and put it to use on the Argentine. But in truth neither had actually discussed their long term future, they've sort of been caught up in living in the moment that they just didn't think about the future much.
"I...I mean it would be quite nice to think we'll last that long together." Y/n mumbles earning a grin before she is almost head butted in an excited kiss.
"Amor, you leave it with me I will make sure you get my name and anything else you'd like." Franco smirks then biting his lip for a moment. "If your brother does not want to know what we get up to, I will get us a hotel to have fun in."
"W-Wait, leave it with you? What does that mean?" Y/n questions realising she might've just encouraged a very early engagement.
"Do not worry about a thing mi amor." Franco assures her then muting her second attempt to question him with another kiss. "Let's go find a hotel."
This was so fucking good
NOT LIKE A FRIEND
summary: y/n overhears something that sends her on a spiral and harry has no idea
7.6k words
warnings: friends to lovers, a smidge of angst. this was requested months ago but here she is! it might not be exactly what the request was asking for but… there’s angst so enjoy <3
(Y/N) wished she’d walked down the hallway ten seconds later. Maybe then she wouldn’t have heard what she did.
All of the bridesmaids and groomsmen were at the fitting at the same time and before everyone went their separate ways to try on the dresses and suits to make sure everything fit just right, Harry had stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Let me see you when you’re dressed.”
At that, she rolled her eyes but smiled and nodded. She wanted to see what Harry would look like in the suit he’d been asked to wear, so she didn’t mind too much. She had a flowy sage green dress that she couldn’t wait to slip into so after parting from him, she followed the other bridesmaids down the hall to where their dresses were being held.
Their good friends Jesssica and Landon were getting married and they asked both (Y/N) and Harry to be in their wedding. It was an honor and (Y/N) was almost brought to tears when they asked her.
It was the final fitting just before the wedding that would happen a month or so later.
One of the other girls who (Y/N) is certain is Landon’s younger sister, helped her with the zipper on the back of her dress and she did the same for her before finding an empty mirror to look herself over in.
Of course, she wasn’t quite done up yet because this was just a fitting but the dress was beautiful. It exposed her shoulders and fell all the way to her feet. The fabric was smooth and it clung to every curve of her body. She really couldn’t wait to show Harry. He’d love it.
The dressing room for the guys was on the other half of the building, so it was a little ways down the hallway, but she didn’t mind the walk.
Harry and (Y/N) had been best friends for just about ten years. She’s not sure when it happened but they just suddenly started incorporating each other into their daily lives and they realized that they really enjoyed the company. It’s strange when she thinks about it now because now there is no way that she’d let anyone know her the way Harry does.
He always knows what she wants before she does. He calls her everyday, she’s sure of it. He sends her silly photos that remind him of her, he’s knocking on her door every Sunday morning to take her to breakfast. Wherever she goes, he does too. She’s never been closer to someone in her entire life and she loves the support he gives her for everything and anything.
She stopped at the doorway before the guys’ dressing room, just about to announce her presence when she heard something.
“I know your type, Harry, and she is not it.”
“You don’t know shit,” She heard Harry laugh. “(Y/N)’s not my type at all, actually, thank god.”
“She’s cute though, isn’t she?”
“She’s like a sister to me, Matt, come on.”
Her listening was interrupted by the other girls coming down the hallway to show off their dresses. She wasn’t sure why Harry’s words seemed to have hit her so deeply. Her stomach dropped when she heard what he said but she doesn’t quite understand it right now. If she was feeling a little less lightheaded, she might follow after the others and force a smile to get through the rest of the fitting but she doesn’t. Instead, she makes her way back to the room with her clothes and changes back into them. The dress fits nicely. That’s all she needed to know.
“Did you even try your dress on?” She heard behind her. In the mirror, Harry is in the doorway, dressed in his suit. He looked like a dream, if she was being honest. The suit fit to his shoulders perfectly and tapered at the waist. Whoever took his measurements really wanted to do him justice.
“Yeah,” She answered, trying to keep a casual expression as she zipped the dress back into a garment bag. “I just feel a little sick suddenly.” She shrugged, watching as his eyebrows drew together in concern.
“Oh, no,” And then he was in her personal space, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, searching her face over intently, like he’d be able to figure out what was wrong with her just by looking at her. “I can get changed and we can get you home. Give me five minutes.”
He left the room and she sighed, finding a seat to sit down for a second.
She’s not sure why it makes her stomach churn in such a way. To hear that. She’s not Harry’s type? Not that it matters much because she never ever thought about him that way. Maybe right before she falls asleep when she’s in between consciousness and not but it’s never gone so far that she’s felt awkwardness with him. It’s just little what ifs. But hearing him completely shut down even the suggestion of it, made her heart drop.
Harry is probably as attractive as attractive gets. She can’t believe he gives her the time of day sometimes. And she’d never want anything to ruin the friendship they’d been nurturing for the past ten years, so lines were never blurred between them. Strictly friends. Best friends.
He couldn’t even call her cute though. Or attractive. Or pretty when Matt asked him. He just said she’s like a sister. And that should be fine. (Y/N) isn’t sure why she’s feeling nauseated at the thought of it but it ruined her day. Flat out. She’d just decided that.
The other girls came back, dressing into their clothes and chatting amongst themselves but (Y/N) felt frozen. She hates the way that got to her. It doesn’t matter. Harry doesn’t think she’s his type. He’s right. She’s seen his type too and (Y/N) checks none of the boxes. The way that he was so sure and so quick to answer is really what’s nagging on her. Like he’s thought about it before and already deemed (Y/N) not good enough for him.
She said goodbye to the other girls before making her way to the front of the building with her dress. She’s not certain she’ll be able to stand the sight of Harry. Not today at least. She needs time to ruminate and figure her feelings out. Why does it feel so weird to hear what she already knew?
Before she could reach the doors, Harry was behind her, holding it open for her and then following her out.
“I think I'm just going to head home on my own. I don’t want to get in the way of your plans.” She spoke up, already swiping on her phone screen to call herself a ride. Harry picked her up earlier and they were meant to go to dinner after the fitting but she can’t even think about eating at the moment. She just needs to be alone.
“My plans were with you, (Y/N). I can take you home and make you something there if you want.” He offered, his hand rubbing down her back in a comforting gesture. She stepped away from him so he could no longer touch her and tried to remain calm.
“It’s okay, Harry. Seriously. I just need to sleep, I think. And that would be boring for you.”
“Well, I need to sleep too, so let’s go.” He took her phone right from her hand and slipped it into his pocket with a smirk.
Harry is stubborn and as soon as he doesn’t get what he wants, he’s an annoying little shit and somehow the cards are always already in his favor anyway.
So, she followed him to his car and let him shut her inside. The drive wasn’t too long but he kept the car quiet, like he was waiting for her to speak up and tell him what was really wrong but she didn’t. She just kept her eyes out the window and tried to keep her mind off of what he said only just shy of twenty minutes ago.
“I’m just going to run a bath and go to bed, Harry. I don’t need a babysitter.”
He’d helped her inside and was set on making her dinner and spending the night but she wasn’t feeling like being in his company right now. For the first time ever.
“But you don’t feel good, (Y/N), and someone should be here with you,” He kicked his shoes off by her door, telling her that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “I’ll run the bath. You get comfortable.”
She huffed as he walked down the hall to her bathroom and flicked on the light. See what she means? Stubborn.
That was a month ago. And she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head the entire time. When she first wakes up and when she’s about to go to sleep, she’s thinking about what he said. She’s always had a hard time with letting things go. Even the smallest things. So she knows that conversation will be with her for a long, long time.
She’s probably seen Harry five times since then. And she is positive he knows that something is going on now. She tried to be normal around him but it was too hard. He’d wrap his arm around her shoulders when they were sitting with friends at the pub and she’d make an excuse to get up and from under his arm. But he noticed, he just hadn’t said anything yet.
The wedding is three days away. Jessica and Landon wanted to be married on the beach or near it anyway, so everyone would have to drive about an hour to get to the coast. It wasn’t a big ask, (Y/N) wanted to visit the beach first thing when they got there because it had been a while since she’s been.
The wedding party was arriving two days before the ceremony so they could all help get things in order before the big day. (Y/N) was meant to drive down with Harry and Jessica had put them in the same room in the hotel because neither of them minded at the time. They’d shared a bed more than a handful of times so it wouldn’t be anything unusual. But now that (Y/N) knew what she knew, she had secretly asked Jessica if she could book another room, under the guise that there had been an extra room and to not tell Harry a word of it. Jessica was a little puzzled but didn’t ask and agreed.
She wanted to hitch a ride with someone else but she doesn't want to hurt his feelings. Even though he unknowingly obliterated hers. For a reason she’s still not sure of.
So, Friday after work, Harry came to help her finish packing and then they’d set out for the hour drive.
When her doorbell rang, she was filled with dread. For the first time since she’s known him. But still, she opened the door for him and accepted his tight hug that he always gave her when he saw her.
“Almost ready to go?” He pulled back, squeezing her shoulders and smiling down at her.
“Almost.” (Y/N) stepped back so his arms fell away and started back toward her bedroom. He followed of course, and sat on her bed as soon as it was in sight. She was done packing for the most part, she just had a few things to shove in her bag and then they’d be ready to go.
“Hey, babe?”
She hummed because her back was to him as she finished stuffing a smaller bag with her toiletry items.
“Who exactly are these for?”
She turned, seeing her skimpy pair of black panties wrapped around Harry’s finger. Gasping, she stomped toward him so she could snatch them away.
“Stay out of my bag!” Her hands shook as she shoved them down further into her bag where he wouldn’t be able to see them or get a hold of them again. He only laughed, relaxing further into her bed.
“It’s cool. Can show me what they look like when they’re on. I think I’d like that more.” His smirk lessened none when she shot him a mean look before turning back to her other bag.
“In your dreams.” She muttered, zipping the bag shut and tossing it on the bed.
“Every night.”
(Y/N) ignores him when he makes comments like that. He’s just a guy and they’re only friends, so she takes none of it to heart. Especially now that she knows what he really thinks of her.
Once everything she could possibly need is in the duffle, Harry offered to carry it out to the car for her. She lets him, only because it’s heavy and he wouldn’t let her lift a finger for it anyway.
They get comfortable in the car for an hour-long drive as soon as her house is locked up and everything is situated in the car. He always let her pick the music and this time was no different than any other. She connected her phone to his car and shuffled one of their usual favorite playlists before leaning back into her seat and shutting her eyes.
There’s no talking until they get about fifteen minutes from the hotel. They both prefer the quiet sometimes and are totally always okay to sit in silence, nothing but music playing, and just be. Especially after a day of work, it’s nice to just mindlessly watch the scenery go by and not worry about much.
Jessica and Landon arrived at the hotel hours ago, so the plan was to meet them in the lobby so they could get their room key. Jessica and (Y/N) had already smoothed over the plans for going about the extra room. It would just be a happy coincidence that there was another room and (Y/N) didn’t mind taking it. That’s how easy it would be.
Harry, holding both of their bags on his shoulders, texted Landon and both of them met them in the lobby. Jessica hugged (Y/N) tightly and thanked her, once again, for agreeing to come all the way there for her special day.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jess.” She parted from the hug and from the corner of her eye saw Landon hand the key card to Harry.
“Oh, right! We have an extra room if one of you wants it. It’s paid for so use it if you need to.” Jessica passed the other key card to (Y/N) and she smiled in thanks at her, trying not to look so relieved.
“We don’t need that, but thanks.” Harry went to grab it from (Y/N)’s hand and give it back but she pulled away.
“It’s paid for. I’ll use it.” She forced a convincing smile at him before nodding at Jessica again.
Landon and Jessica left the lobby to go to the beach right across the street, leaving (Y/N) to get in the elevator with a now grumpy looking Harry. She paid him no mind as she pushed their floor number and hummed to herself. That was seamless. She really will have to thank Jessica again.
“You’re really going to take that room?”
“Why not?” (Y/N) can tell from the tense way that his jaw is sitting that he’s not exactly happy with the arrangement but she doesn’t think too hard about it. “It’s not that big of a deal, Harry. We’ll be right next to each other anyway.”
He only huffed in response, grumbling something under his breath as he followed her out of the elevator to her door.
“What if someone else needs it?”
“Jessica wouldn’t have offered it then,” She shot back, trying not to seem so defensive about it. “Plus, it’ll be nice to stretch out.”
“You do that every night anyway.”
“Most nights, yeah.” She clicked the card in and pushed the door so she could step inside.
“What do you mean most nights? Who the fuck do you have in your bed then?” He kept his grip tight on her bag when she tried to take it from his shoulder to set it down.
Her eyes widened at his tone of voice. She’s never seen Harry like this and she’s not sure what to call it. But instead of asking, she laughed at him.
“Set my bag down and let’s go to the beach.” Gently rubbing her thumb over his wrist like she liked to do sometimes, he released her bag, his face falling neutral again.
“You expect me to go in that other room?” He pointed. “Because I’m not. I’m right here with you, I don’t want my own room, I don’t want to stretch out, I want to be here.”
(Y/N) is unsure why he’s so adamant about it. She really thought he wouldn’t care and this would be her chance to get even more distance between the two of them. But Harry is unwavering in his declaration to not leave her room, so she sighed.
“Fine. I guess you can stay in my room.”
“Funny.” He dropped his bag before sifting through it to find his swim shorts.
It’s evening now and they probably would need to stop somewhere at some point to get something to eat but she guessed Harry wanted to go to the beach first. She changed too, in the bathroom, into the orange bathing suit that she knew Harry was a fan of. He said the color went well with her skin and maybe it did, but she didn’t put much thought into those words either.
(Y/N) put an oversized tee shirt on before she left the bathroom. She wasn’t sure they were actually going to swim since it was getting late, so she wanted to have something to cover up with.
Harry led her back down through the hotel and out the doors that allowed you to step right into the sand. His hand brushed hers, earning him a look.
“You don’t want to hold my hand?”
“My hands are sweaty.”
“So?” He chuckled, holding his hand out for her this time. The sand was a little hard to navigate in her sandals but she really doesn’t want to hold his hand either. She could manage on her own.
“I’m okay.” She answered, thankful that they just reached Jessica and Landon so he wouldn’t force an explanation out of her like he often did with little effort.
(Y/N) decided to just dip her feet in. That way, she didn’t have to take off the tee shirt and get wet. She’d much rather find something to eat after this and not be soaked while she does.
Landon occupied Harry while (Y/N) got to whisper with Jessica for a little bit.
“He refuses to stay in the other room.” She muttered, rolling her eyes.
“What’s the issue with the room anyway? I thought you didn’t mind sharing a bed.” Poor Jessica. She should’ve given her a bit more information but she really didn’t want to explain to other people that Harry doesn’t find her attractive in the least. She’s already embarrassed, she doesn’t want anyone else knowing. Even though the entire room full of groomsmen heard.
“We just need some space, you know? He doesn’t realize it now but…we do.”
The water was calm at the moment. It just reached her ankles when it came up the shore and that was all she needed. The sun was just dipping past the horizon and everything was bathed in an orange glow. It’s beautiful and (Y/N) is so happy for her friends. And to be a part of something so special.
“Aren’t you going to take this off?” Harry stepped beside her, his hand tugging on the end of her tee shirt.
“I don’t want to get wet.” She kept her eyes on the sky. If she looked at Harry now in this light, she’d be a goner. And she needed to stay strong. He doesn’t want anything to do with her and that should be fine. She shouldn’t be wondering day and night what if things were different. What if Harry did think she was pretty? Would that change anything?
(Y/N) knows that he enjoys her company. That part is evident. Her brain just won’t let the idea rest. Harry doesn’t think she’s good enough for him. It was as simple as that but it was a hard pill to swallow.
There was little conversation between the two. (Y/N) knows he’s very aware that something had shifted, he just hadn’t brought it up yet. But Harry is not one to let things go either. He’d bring it up eventually. She tried to keep her eyes on the view in front of her. It was beautiful and it allowed her to relax for a moment and clear her mind.
They said goodbye to Landon and Jessica on the beach and went to find something to eat. Harry suggested room service since a lot of the restaurants around the hotel were beginning to close.
After eating, (Y/N) took a quick shower and snuggled into the sheets while Harry went off to take his own shower. She wanted to be asleep before he got back, but apparently, he wasn’t interested in being in the shower longer than five minutes. He was back before her eyes could shut so she was forced to interact with him.
“Feel alright?”
“Mhm.” She hummed, keeping her eyes sealed shut as he slipped into the bed beside her.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She felt his body shift closer to her under the blankets. He’d moved so close that his chest was pressed to her back. Normally, this would never be a problem but now that she knows what she knows, she doesn’t feel as comfortable as she once did.
His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her even further into him.
“Goodnight then.” He said before settling his hand over her stomach.
“Uh,” She interrupted the quiet after his goodnight. “Would you mind like…giving me a little bit of space?”
“Oh,” His hand pulled away quickly. “Sure. I didn’t realize that…yeah. Okay. Goodnight.” He moved back toward his side of the bed, laying on his back now.
(Y/N)’s not sure why, but she feels like she’s being mean to him. Even though she really did want the space between them, it wasn’t something that she was saying just to hurt his feelings. But she knows she did anyway.
At the moment, it feels necessary, so she doesn’t apologize or curl up next to him like she’d normally do. She just shut her eyes again and tried to get to sleep.
***
The next day, (Y/N) and Harry were rushing around, trying to make the final arrangements for the wedding before the rehearsal dinner.
There wasn’t much time spent with Harry actually, she was too busy doing things centered around Jessica. She figured Harry was doing the same for Landon but hadn’t yet responded to his text asking if she was as tired as he was. She was busy. At least that would be her excuse when he pouted and asked her why she was ignoring him when they met at the rehearsal dinner in just shy of an hour.
She made it to the hotel room, showered, changed, and left again before he ever made it back. So, she didn’t have to deal with his questions quite yet.
(Y/N) tried to keep herself surrounded by bridesmaids while Jessica and Landon’s families went on with speeches and toasts. And then Jessica and Landon themselves had a few words to say. So, she was able to sip her wine and pretend like she didn’t feel Harry looking at her every few seconds. When he walked in, she did send him a wave but didn’t get out of her seat to go join him at his table near the back. It was full now, so there really wasn’t a reason to go over there. At least, that’s what she thought.
When everyone broke up to get dinner at the small restaurant right across the street from the venue they were in, the same one that would be used for the reception, Harry caught a hold of her arm.
“Fuck’s sake. Where have you been? Don’t you know you’re supposed to sit next to me at something like that?” His smile was still bright and playful like he didn’t mind much that she was practically avoiding him. Or he hadn’t noticed. Or he was just pretending he didn’t at the moment, she’s not sure.
Dinner was good. Sitting next to Harry was as it always is. His arm was splayed over the back of her chair and he was making jokes the entire time only for her to hear. He made her genuinely laugh a few times but most of it was her rolling her eyes and nudging him with her elbow. Things almost felt normal. Until one of Jessica’s cousins who was gorgeous sat in the empty seat next to Harry and she had to listen to them talk for thirty minutes and she wasn’t invited into the conversation once. Those same feelings of self-doubt and not feeling good enough came hurtling back at her. And then she couldn’t even look him in the eye when the girl finally did saunter off after slipping him her number like she didn’t want (Y/N) to see or something. And that just made her sick.
Jessica and Landon were completely occupied with their family and they probably wouldn’t need her anymore tonight, so (Y/N) considered just going back to the hotel to get rest for tomorrow. Plus, the time that she’s supposed to meet Jessica and the other bridesmaids is early enough for her to want to go to bed now.
“Hey. Take a walk with me?” Harry rubbed his hand over her shoulder. She nodded, agreeing even though she shouldn’t have. She just thought it’d get her back to the hotel quicker.
In minutes, (Y/N) and Harry are on the beach, walking side by side in the sand. They kicked off their shoes in the grass before stepping into the sand and they hadn’t said a word since.
“You’re stunning,” He said all of a sudden. “I mean…truly. You’re beautiful, (Y/N).”
She wanted to shoot him a look and tell him to stop lying to her but she didn’t. Instead, she shrugged, trying not to take him too seriously.
“Thanks.”
“I missed you today.” Another bright smile was sent her way.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” He sighed, reaching for her empty hand. “Weddings are always fun, huh?”
“Sure. It’s a lot of work though. But Jess and Landon are so good together.” It was true. (Y/N) had never really seen anything like it. How in sync the two of them are and how in love they seem to be.
“I’d like to be married one day, I think.” His hand squeezed hers.
“Me too, I guess. Just because.”
“Really?”
“Eventually.”
“Can I be honest for a second?” Harry stopped where he was in the sand, causing her to do the same. She’s not sure what he’d want to be honest about. She thought he was always honest with her.
“Yeah.”
“You’re my best friend, (Y/N),” Suddenly, his expression was serious, something that (Y/N) seldom sees. “And…I love you.”
“I love you too, Harry.” It was something they’ve said to each other for years. But he shook his head as soon as she said it back.
“No. Like, I like you.”
“I’d hope so with how much time we spend together.” She chuckled. He grabbed both of her hands, another unamused look on his face.
“(Y/N). Listen. I love you. I like you. I want you. Not like a friend. Not even close to a friend.”
She snatched her hands away, taking two steps away from him.
“Can we just go back to the hotel now? This was a waste of time.”
“A waste of time? I just told you how I feel about you.” The very vulnerable expression he had is long gone now, replaced by something close to hurt and disbelief.
“God, what did you do? Make a bet with Matt or something? Just to pull one over on me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard what you said to him.” (Y/N) is ready to confess and get this entire thing over with. She can finally tell him that she heard what he said and confront him about it.
“To who?”
“Matt!” She took another few steps away from him but he followed. “Is this fun for you? Messing with me like this? This is why I didn’t want to share a room with you.”
“I’m so lost—”
“Of course you are.” Turning, she wanted to make her way back to the room, collect her belongings, and beg one of the other bridesmaids to stay in their room for the night. Surely someone would take pity on her.
“(Y/N), just fucking talk to me! What’s going on?” He gripped her arm, spinning her to face him once again. “What did I say?”
“How could you forget?” She laughed, ripping her arm from him. “You’re just so thankful that I’m not your type, aren’t you? I’m just your best friend, like your sister, and you’d never even take a second look at me. Because I’m not worth your time.”
Maybe she added in a few bits that she’d been stewing over in her own mind. He didn’t outwardly say most of that but to her, it all fell in line anyway.
“When did I—” He started to ask but stopped himself, as if he suddenly remembered when he said those things. “You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How else could you mean that? I’m not your type. Sounds pretty straightforward to me, Harry,” He looked helpless for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to make it better. For the first time in his life. “And then that girl! She’s your type! Go get her since you seemed so interested earlier.”
“What girl, (Y/N)? Christ, what are you on about?” Now he looks frustrated by her lack of answering his questions but she really doesn’t feel like talking.
“Jessica’s cousin. She gave you her number, I bet you loved that.”
“I didn’t take her number, (Y/N). I was just being nice!”
“You’re always just so nice, aren’t you? So fucking nice all the time!” She hated that. He was too afraid to tell someone to fuck off, so he just put up with anyone that decided to to talk to him even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just the fact that you dragged me out here to try and lie to me. You like me—love me—I don’t buy it for a second. I’m done with this conversation. Goodnight.”
It would be almost impossible to avoid him like she wanted to but maybe she’d find another ride home. They do have to walk down the aisle together but she doesn’t have to talk to him, she can just try to keep her face pleasant as she walks beside him. It shouldn’t be longer than a minute. And then she can ignore him for the entire reception and when they get home, she can consider figuring all of this out. After plenty of time, of course.
“You misheard me. It wasn’t like that.” He reached for her but before he could touch her or say much more, she was on her way back to the hotel. After grabbing her sandals in the grass.
She felt like crying. But there was no reason to. Yes, technically she’s in a fight with her best friend and they’ve never really had one before. They have disagreed a few times but never anything like this. He’d never made her so mad or hurt her so deeply. Talking about something like that to someone neither of them really knows just crossed the line. Matt is far outside of their friend group, he shouldn’t have gotten any information like that. (Y/N) just wonders why Harry offered it up.
Harry doesn’t have to like her or think she’s attractive. It would almost be strange if he did, considering how long they’ve been friends. But hearing it from someone who looks like him cuts deep. She wishes she could brush it off because Harry isn’t someone she ever thought of as a possibility. But now that she knows there’s not one, it stirred something inside of her. All of her insecurities came right to the forefront of her mind and no amount of self-soothing has been able to fix it so far.
She was lucky that she caught one of the bridesmaids in the hallway on her way back to the room. She explained very vaguely that it wasn’t quite working out in her room anymore and she’d sleep on the floor if she had to. The girl was nice and very reassuring and even helped her grab her things from the room. And the best part: she asked no questions. She was just nice and they briefly talked earlier when they were all assigned tasks to do before the rehearsal dinner so she didn’t mind at all.
She’s also lucky Harry didn’t catch her in the hallway. He wouldn’t have let her go anywhere until he said his piece but she’s not sure he’s made it back to the hotel yet.
(Y/N) just wants to go home. She hates to be so down during what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of one of her best friend’s life. But it was hard to think about anything other than Harry.
That night, she had to force herself to sleep. After thanking the girl ten more times.
She just hoped that, even though she was upset with him now, everything would work out and they could put this behind them.
****
(Y/N) ignored the messages on her phone for the time being. She was too busy getting herself ready and doing a few last minute things for Jessica. So, while she maybe wanted to see what he had to say, she didn’t give herself time to dwell on it. She’ll see him at the end of the aisle.
He was there before she really knew it. Across the room, looking stressed. Like he tossed and turned all night. Like he wanted to run to her now and say a million different things. But he didn’t. He stayed put in line with the other groomsmen and sent her pitiful little looks occasionally when she’d catch his eye, while she kept a stoic expression, not wanting to give him any kind of false hope. She honestly didn’t know how things would be when she decided she wanted to talk to him again.
Unfortunately for her, that time came too soon. She was already walking down the aisle with him. Their arms interlocked and pleasant smiles on both their faces, like they weren’t not talking at the moment. Like everything was fine.
When they were meant to let go at the end of the aisle, Harry hesitated, but decided to do nothing more than give her another longing look. He was sorry about something. Or regretful. Something like that. She’d never know unless she talked to him.
(Y/N) is almost certain that Harry didn’t hear a word of the ceremony. His eyes were locked on her the entire time. Every time she accidentally met his gaze, he was already staring right back. And that would make her force her focus back on the two people in front of them, only until she let her eyes wander his way again.
The reception was only a short walk away, but she wasn’t sure she’d make it that far. He’d definitely catch up to her before she made it inside.
When the ceremony was over, Jessica and Landon walked back down the aisle and everyone else dispersed and made their way to the cocktail hour that was supposed to immediately follow.
“(Y/N)?”
There it was.
“Can we talk, please?” A hand touched her arm, gently turning her toward him. She had no choice but to look at him and as soon as she saw just how sad he looked, she didn’t care about how mad she was yesterday. Maybe it was true.
What if he did love her? What if he did want her, but not like a friend? Would that be so bad? She spent the past month making herself believe that she never stood a chance. Not that she has ever wanted to before now, but the idea was just so jarring. Him? With her? It didn’t seem possible.
But here he is now, almost begging to make things right.
“Yeah. We can talk.”
The relief that overtook his face made her own shoulders relax. It was only Harry, there’s nothing to be afraid of. A lot had been revealed in the last day but it’s only him. And she knows him. The fact that he’s willing to talk means that he cares a little bit about how upset he’d made her yesterday. Of course, he would though because that’s just who he is. He’s an amazing friend and he’s always there for her no matter what. Even when she completely overreacts and brushes off his feelings.
They found a semi-private area away from all the wedding guests with the most gorgeous view of the beach with the sun setting behind it. In different circumstances, she’d comment on it, tell him to take her picture right here so she’d be able to remember this day. Right now, she’s not sure she wants to.
It was quiet for longer than she thought it would be. He was thinking and she didn’t want to rush him, but the time for cocktail hour was ticking down and plus, she just really, really wanted to know what was on his mind.
“How could you not believe me?” He spoke up suddenly, turning to look at her. “I told you I loved you and you just…blew me off. That took…that took a lot and I don’t understand how you couldn’t see it.”
He put her on the spot. Did she really want him to know just how insecure she was? And couldn’t he see that they’re not each other’s type? At all.
“I..I don’t know, Harry. I wasn’t expecting it and when you said it, it just reminded me of that time at the fitting. You were saying what I already knew, so I just didn’t think that you’d change your mind.”
“What did you already know?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. She took a deep breath.
“That you’re not interested in me. I mean, we’re supposed to be friends, so I don’t know why it mattered so much to me, but it hurt to hear you say that and I was so angry at you.” Looking back, she wants to roll her eyes at herself. It was pathetic how she acted. Why couldn’t she just talk to him? This could’ve been cleared up weeks ago.
“But I am interested in you. I think I’ve said that six times by now,” When he stepped closer to her, he grabbed her hand, and she let him. That one night being on uneasy terms had really done some damage. She felt so lost without him when he wasn’t there for her to run to. He was such a support for her and she didn’t realize to what extent until he wasn’t an option. “I’m sorry that what I said upset you. I was pissed that day. Matthew wouldn’t stop talking about how hot you were and it just fucked with me…he asked me what I thought and I just…I said that. And none of it was true. I don’t know what I was thinking but I also wasn’t going to tell him of all people that I’ve had a crush on you since I met you.”
She didn’t mean to do it, but she snatched her hand out of his to put it over her mouth.
“You don’t mean that.” She shook her head. How couldn’t she have known? He chuckled, grasping her hand again and holding it to his chest, right over his heart.
“I do. It feels so good to finally tell you. I guess I didn’t do a good job at dropping hints, did I?” He squeezed her hand.
She tried to recall every conversation they’ve ever had. And nothing came to mind. Nothing he did or said ever made her think that he might be thinking of her as more. In all their ten years together.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She asked, letting him pull her closer to him.
“I did. Every time I told you I loved you I meant it. Every day for ten years.”
That almost made her weak in the knees. None of it made sense. Either he really is the worst at dropping hints or she’s blind. Maybe a healthy balance of the two is what kept them apart.
“But I thought…none of your girlfriends have ever looked like me. I’m so far out of your league.” She wasn’t expecting him to wrap his arms around her back and press their chests together, but she didn’t exactly mind it either.
“You are so out of my league. Never thought I deserved you. And of course they didn’t look like you because…you’re you. No one can compare.”
“You don’t mean that.” Her hand swatted his shoulder before she wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself melt into him.
“I’d never lie to you and I would never play with your feelings either. You mean so much to me. I couldn’t not tell you yesterday on the beach when you looked like that…like this. You drive me insane,” He pulled them closer together, though it was almost impossible with how they were already standing. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
What was she to do? She had never given it much thought, but over the last month, convincing herself that she’d never be good enough for him, was torturous. But he’s here now, making all the wrongs right and making her chest feel tight. In the best way. She couldn’t help it.
A tear hurried down her cheek and he gently wiped it away, shaking his head at her, telling her not to cry. He always said he hated that.
“I’m so sorry,” Her eyes squeezed shut and she shoved her face into his shoulder, forgetting about her makeup that was probably going to be ruined by the time they were done. “I wish that I just talked to you so we didn’t have to do this right now. I’m sorry.”
He shushed her, leaning his head against hers.
“It’s okay. We’re here now, right? And you obviously don’t hate that I have a crush on you. Have a crush on me or something?” He nudged his nose against her temple. “Hm?”
“Maybe. Now that I think of it.” She muttered, not moving from his shoulder yet.
“Maybe? Come on, I know you love me.”
“I do love you.” She pulled back, meeting his eyes again. He was smiling, looking relieved. She felt it too. This conversation had been a long time coming and now that they’re both on the same page, all the tension has left her body. She can relax and finally enjoy the wedding.
“Then, kiss me.”
That had her freezing, looking up at him in shock.
“What?” She breathed out, suddenly short on breath. Kissing him would make it all true. Not that she still didn’t believe him but it would mean it’s real. And that might just be too much for her.
“You’ve never thought about kissing me? Now I know you’re lying.” He laughed when she shot him a look.
“No, I just didn’t know you wanted to do that now.”
“Well, I do. Right this minute.”
“Really? Right here?”
“I think I’m speaking pretty plain English, yes. Right here, right now. Kiss me. I’ve been waiting for years, no exaggeration.” One of his hands left her back to tilt her chin toward him.
“Wait. What if it’s a bad first kiss? I’ll probably ruin it because I’m so nervous. And then you’ll change your mind.” She didn’t mean to say all of that all at once but all her worries came pouring out of her when she really didn’t want them to.
“How could it be bad? Are you stalling? Please, cocktail hour is almost over and I need to tell Landon that you love me and all that.” He tapped her chin, leaning down toward her, but she turned her head just in time.
“Landon knows?”
“Everyone knows. But you, my love. And maybe Matthew. Fucking idiot.” He rolled his eyes.
“How could I be the only one who doesn’t know? That doesn’t sound—”
He grew impatient with her and pressed his mouth to hers, effectively cutting her off and effectively making her forget any doubts she’d ever had.
While it was a long time coming, it happened at just the right time.
They pulled away, trying to catch their breath.
“Fuck me. I think that’s my new favorite thing,” He pecked her lips two more times and then he checked his watch. “One more kiss and then we’ve got to get to cocktail hour. You can kiss me all you want back in our room.”
****
I had this finished a week or so ago but I decided to wait because last week was a lot. I hope you are all doing well and I hope you like this one!! 🖤
tags: @vamprry @sunflowersloverr @tenaciousperfectionunknown @caynonmoondreams @elidoho @peterbenjaminparke07 @daydreamingofmatilda @kissitnhekitchen @amberbambridge @danaehldy @straightontilmornin @forgetdelaney @harrysonlylover @me-undiscovered @80s-outsiders @littlenatilda @outofthisworl-d @butdaddyilovehim-hs @cherrys4suckers @harrystylessslut @hssunflowervol6 @indierockgirrl @satellitelh @daphnesutton @opheliaofficial07 @nathalielovesonedirection @velvetballaspark @watermelonlover @kathb59 @harrysolaf @szoszi2004 @ellaorchard @trooooye @daylighthazzz @prettytulips @stylesfever @mayamonroem @slut-for-artists @in-omn1a-paratus @lunaharrygurl @uncassettodiricordi @a-strange-familiar @sassamanda77 @fangirl509east @voniikg @adore-you-hs2 @m0mmyfromtarget @savannahwendel @babyyhoneyyy @mrschanandlerb @illicitverstappen
*I had more than 50 tags so I had to take out the ones that weren’t working ☹️☹️ sorry*
So cuteee 🤍
helloo🫧🫧
omg i just got this idea! what about rafe getting jealous bc a little boy is flirting with kook!reader like he telling her shes really pretty and to be her gf, and rafe is laughing at first but when the little boy get more attention of reader than him he just 🤨 and he gets all protective bc of a LITTLE BOY. Idk i think is funny do whatever you feel comfortable <3333
hii!! this was sooo fun to write!!
𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉
you and rafe were spending the afternoon at the country club, lounging by the pool when a little boy—probably no older than six—wandered up to you with a determined look. rafe barely noticed at first, too busy scrolling through his phone, but when the kid cleared his throat and tugged on your chair, you looked down with a soft smile.
“you’re really pretty,” the boy announced, crossing his arms.
rafe glanced up, smirking. oh, this is gonna be funny.
“aw, thank you!” you beamed, playfully ruffling the kid’s hair.
the boy huffed, clearly on a mission. “you should be my girlfriend.”
rafe let out a laugh, shaking his head. “alright, kid, relax.”
but the boy ignored him completely, stepping closer to you. “i’ll take you on a date. we can get ice cream. my mom says girls like when boys buy them stuff.”
your heart melted at how serious he was, and you giggled, playing along. “that sounds like a sweet date!”
meanwhile, rafe was watching the exchange with his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowing. at first, he was entertained—but now? not so much. his jaw clenched when you leaned in, actually giving this tiny threat more attention than him.
“alright, buddy,” rafe cut in, voice sharp but amused. “think you should go find your mom now.”
the kid barely blinked. “no. i’m talking to my girlfriend.”
rafe’s smirk dropped. “your what now?”
“you heard me,” the little boy challenged, puffing his chest like he was really about to square up with a six-foot-something kook prince.
you tried to stifle your laughter, but rafe shot you a glare.
“listen, little man,” rafe said, leaning forward with an almost condescending smirk. “she’s mine. so, unless you can drive, pay for actual dates, and fight off anyone who looks at her wrong, i’d say you’re outta luck.”
the kid squinted at him. “my dad fights people all the time.”
rafe scoffed. “yeah? what’s he do?”
“he’s a lawyer.”
rafe sat back, exhaling sharply through his nose. “right. of course, he is.”
you lost it, full-on laughing now. “okay, okay,” you said, patting the little boy’s head. “you’re very sweet, but I think my boyfriend’s getting jealous.”
“i am not jealous,” rafe immediately shot back, crossing his arms tighter.
the little boy just shrugged, utterly unfazed. “i’ll come back when you break up.” and with that, he strutted away like he hadn’t just ruined rafe’s entire day.
you turned to rafe, still giggling, and poked his arm. “you so were jealous.”
“of a six-year-old?” rafe scoffed. “please.” but the way he pulled you into his lap, gripping your waist just a little tighter than usual? yeah. he was totally jealous.
MASTERLIST
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They are so cute! What the hell.
😏 ➡️ <_< ➡️ >_> ➡️ <_< ➡️ 😯
What about cutie first season Spencer Reid who is desperately in love with his coworker and is kinda blind sided when Lila kisses him🥺 He wants to make it really clear that the kiss was one sided but his soon to be girlfriend is jealous jealous🩷
jealous — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader being jealous , mention of lila ( obviously ) a/n: hiii !!! i hope you like this :)
When you read in books the phrase “jealousy boiled in her veins,” you never quite understood it. Sure, you’d felt jealousy before, in fleeting moments of insecurity or longing.
But boiling jealousy? That had always seemed like an exaggeration.
Not until four days ago.
Though, boiling wasn’t the right word for it. No, what you felt then was explosive jealousy.
A kind of heat so intense it made your skin prickle, your throat tighten, your hands curl into fists at your sides. It was the kind of jealousy that made your stomach churn and your heart pound with something dangerously close to heartbreak.
Because four days ago, you saw them.
Spencer and Lila. In the pool.
The images were burned into your memory, tattooed on the inside of your eyelids like a cruel joke. Every time you closed your eyes, there they were—her arms wrapped around his neck and their faces too close.
You had barely slept since.
And work? Work was even worse.
Two days ago, when you walked into the BAU for the first time since that dreadful moment, you told yourself you’d be fine. You could be professional. You could pretend it didn’t bother you.
But you couldn’t even look at Spencer.
Every time he stepped near you, all you could see was her in his arms. Every time he spoke, all you could hear was the laughter they shared in that damn pool. You forced yourself to act normal, to keep your voice steady and your posture composed.
But it was so, so hard.
Elle had noticed. She kept shooting you those pointed glances, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Are you okay?
Of course you weren’t.
How could you be when you had been crushing on Spencer for so long, you could barely remember a time when you hadn’t been? How could you be okay when the sight of him with someone else had nearly shattered you?
Spencer noticed too. Of course he did.
He wasn’t oblivious—not when it came to you. He saw the way you avoided his gaze, the way your once warm smiles had faded into stiff nods and clipped responses. He saw the way your shoulders tensed when he entered the room, how you kept your distance like even standing next to him was unbearable.
And it was unbearable.
He wanted to talk to you, to explain.
To tell you that what happened was one-sided. That he hadn’t meant for it to happen. That he hadn’t wanted it to happen. That it had been unexpected and overwhelming and, ultimately, meaningless.
That he was in love with you, not Lila.
But how could he say that when you wouldn’t even look at him? When every time he tried to get close, you turned away? When the words on the tip of his tongue kept dying in the silence you forced between you?
Today, when you walked into the bullpen, the first thing you noticed was Derek. He was leaning against Spencer’s desk, a smirk playing on his lips as he held a paper in his hand.
The moment he saw you, he straightened, casually tossing the paper into the trash, his expression softening as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he greeted smoothly.
“Morning,” you replied, offering him a small, tired smile.
You already knew what he had been holding. The pictures. The ones of Spencer and Lila in the pool. The same ones Derek had undoubtedly been using to tease Spencer with before you arrived. You also knew why Derek immediately threw the magazine away.
Because Derek, just like the rest of the team, knew exactly how you felt about Spencer.
And how Spencer felt about you.
Everyone with eyes and ears could tell. The way you gravitated toward each other, how you always seemed to seek each other out, how Spencer’s face lit up when you laughed. It wasn’t just friendship. It had never been just friendship.
Spencer glanced up from his desk as you passed by, flashing you a hesitant, almost hopeful smile.
You only nodded, forcing yourself to keep walking.
You settled into your chair, taking a slow breath as you forced your hands to stay busy, flipping through the files on your desk. You could feel Spencer’s gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to gather the courage to say something.
Spencer missed you.
He missed the conversations, the inside jokes, the way you used to nudge his shoulder whenever you walked by. He missed the way your voice softened when you said his name, the way you actually listened to his rambles instead of tuning them out like most people did.
And he wanted—needed—to explain.
But every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words tangled in his throat. Because what if he ruined everything? What if trying to explain just made things worse?
He had been so close before all of this happened.
Just a few days ago, he had been sitting right here, talking to Elle, asking for advice on how to ask you out. He had been nervous, but excited. He had a plan, one he had been going over in his head a hundred times—something simple, something meaningful. He just wanted you to know how much you meant to him.
But then Lila happened.
And now, instead of planning a date, he was trying to figure out how to make you look at him again.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
Spencer stood abruptly, pushing back his chair with a quiet scrape against the floor. He hesitated for only a second before crossing the room, stopping just beside your desk.
“Can we talk?” His voice was quieter than usual.
You didn’t look up right away, your fingers tightening around the file in front of you. A moment passed before you finally let out a slow sigh and nodded.
“Okay.”
Spencer felt his heart stutter in relief.
The two of you walked to the breakroom in silence.
Spencer closed the door behind him, the soft click sounding much louder in the quiet space. He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, fingers twitching slightly at his sides.
“I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply. Then exhaled. Then hesitated again.
You leaned against the coffee counter, arms crossed, waiting. Your heart pounded a little too fast in your chest. You felt awkward—just a tiny bit. Because Spencer wanting to talk to you meant he had noticed your behavior. Not that you had been subtle about it.
But it also meant he had noticed your jealousy.
And that was almost worse.
Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice quiet, careful. Earnest.
“I miss you.”
Your head snapped up and you just stared at him, wide-eyed.
You didn't expect him to be so direct.
Spencer was blushing, a deep red creeping up his neck, dusting the tips of his ears. He looked like he wanted to disappear, like saying those three words had been the most terrifying thing he had ever done—which, knowing him, it very well might have been.
But the way he was looking at you, like he was afraid he had already lost you, made something twist painfully in your chest.
“I—” You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “You… what?”
Spencer gave a small, nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I miss you,” he repeated, voice softer this time. “And I—I know you’re upset. I know why. And I just… I need you to know that what happened with Lila, it—it wasn’t what it looked like.”
You pressed your lips together, your fingers gripping the counter behind you. “It looked like you were kissing her,” you muttered, unable to stop the sharp edge in your voice.
Spencer winced. “She kissed me,” he corrected quickly. “I—I didn’t expect it, and I definitely didn’t want it. I pulled away as soon as I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “It wasn’t what I wanted.”
You stared at him for a long moment. He was shifting anxiously, his hands half-raised like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he could. His brows were drawn together, his lips pressed into a tight line, like he was bracing himself for you to tell him you didn’t care.
But you did care. That was the problem, wasn’t it?
You looked down, inhaling deeply before meeting his gaze again. “Then… what do you want, Spencer?”
His breath hitched.
For a moment, he said nothing, just looking at you like he was memorizing every detail of your face, like he needed to get this right. Then, finally, he took a small step forward, eyes locked onto yours.
“You,” he said simply.
Your heart stopped.
And then it started again, thundering against your ribs, because Spencer Reid had just admitted—out loud—that he wanted you.
The jealousy that had been burning inside you for days was suddenly replaced by something else entirely.
Hope.
“I—what?” Your ability to form sentences had seemingly vanished. Your mouth hung slightly open as you stared at him, heart hammering against your ribs.
Spencer, for his part, was barely looking at you. His eyes flickered to yours for a second before darting back to the coffee pot behind you, like it was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Me?” you finally managed to say. That was it. That was all your brain could come up with. Me?
Spencer nodded, still not quite meeting your gaze.
Silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid words.
Then, finally, he spoke again.
“I was—I was trying to figure out how to ask you out,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, more uncertain. “I was talking to Elle about it, actually. Trying to…to make a plan.” His hands twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “And then Lila—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Everything just got messed up.”
“Really?” you asked, your lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile.
Spencer finally looked at you again, his expression both relieved and vulnerable all at once. “Yeah,” he breathed out.
The heaviness in your chest eased, just a little.
You took a slow step toward him, close enough that you could see the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled slightly like he was stopping himself from reaching for you.
“So…” You tilted your head, your voice softer now. “How were you going to ask me?”
Spencer let out a short, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… I had a whole thing planned. Something about books and coffee and, um, statistics on first-date success rates…” He trailed off, his face burning. “It was probably a bad plan.”
You bit your lip, your smile growing. “I don’t know,” you mused, your heart pounding. “I think I would’ve liked it.”
Spencer blinked at you, hope flickering across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward this time. It was warm.
You took another step forward, and this time, Spencer didn’t move away. He was still nervous, still hesitant, but he didn’t look away when you reached out and brushed your fingers against his.
“I still would,” you said quietly.
Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching against yours before he finally, finally curled them around your hand. His grip was unsure at first—like he was waiting for you to change your mind—but when you didn’t pull away, his shoulders relaxed.
“Then,” he said, his lips curving ever so slightly, “would you maybe want to—”
“Yes,” you interrupted, grinning now.
Spencer smiled, a real, relieved smile, and you felt something settle in your chest—something that had been in turmoil for days.
Perfection
Don't Get In Your Own Way
Summary: You and Spencer have always been close - everyone else can see it's more than just friendship. When will you two be ready to see it as well?
Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader
Category: fluff, light smut (18+)
Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, suggestive content, friends to lovers, minimal BAU case talk, mild public indecency
Word count: 10.3k
a/n: this was an olddd draft ,,, i came back to give it the ol' razzle dazzle
main masterlist
Every afternoon, like clockwork, you and Spencer retreat to the stairs outside the FBI offices, your little quiet corner away from the noise of the bullpen. The team is usually scattered—some opting for takeout at their desks, others heading out for a bite—but you and Spencer? You prefer the fresh air, the slight reprieve from case files and fluorescent lights, just the two of you.
Spencer talks—a lot. And you let him. You never interrupt when he goes off on a tangent, whether about a book he’s been reading, some obscure historical event, or even the latest behavioral theory he’s been mulling over. He’s learned, over time, that you listen—that you don’t just humor him but engage, ask questions, challenge him. It’s one of the reasons he feels safest around you, why he lets the mask slip, why he doesn’t feel the need to filter himself. Around you, he’s just Spencer. Not Dr. Reid, not the genius of the BAU. He's just a guy who loves sharing the things that make his brain light up.
Lately, he’s been growing his hair, letting the waves fall into his face while he works. He never noticed how often he pushed it back, but you did. One afternoon, after watching him shove it out of his eyes for the hundredth time while struggling through paperwork, you wordlessly slid a hair tie onto his wrist.
“For when you finally give up,” you’d said with a small smile.
Spencer had looked at the simple black band like it was some kind of sacred object before slipping it on. He never did tie his hair up, but the band stayed. Now, when he’s anxious, when his thoughts spiral too fast for even him to keep up, he rolls it between his fingers, snaps it lightly against his skin, and uses it as an anchor. He wonders if you even realize what you’ve given him and how something so small makes him feel grounded.
You are completely unaware of how much Spencer sees you and how much he feels for you. You like him—more than you should, more than is probably appropriate for two people who are just friends—but you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Spencer is brilliant and kind and so effortlessly attractive, and you? You convince yourself he’d never see you that way. It’s not self-deprecating, not really—just… reality.
Meanwhile, Spencer sits beside you every day, wondering how you don’t notice how his eyes linger, how his heart jumps every time you laugh, and how he holds onto your hair tie like a lifeline. How he wonders if you feel the same way.
—
Derek doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever.
Spencer’s been subjected to his relentless teasing for years, but ever since he started growing his hair out—and ever since you gave him that hair tie—Derek has been on a mission.
“Pretty Boy, you’re pathetic,” Derek says one afternoon, leaning against Spencer’s desk with his arms crossed, watching him roll the hair tie between his fingers like it’s some kind of lifeline.
Spencer, who has been deep in thought, barely looks up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, man,” Derek scoffs. “The hair tie? The way you light up every time she talks to you? The fact that you, the man who hates all forms of physical contact, don’t even flinch when she gets in your space? Do you even hear yourself when you talk about her?”
Spencer blinks at him, feigning ignorance. “I talk about her the same way I talk about all of my friends.”
Derek lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “That’s funny. Real funny. Because I don’t remember you getting all flustered and dreamy-eyed when you talk about me.”
Spencer’s brows furrow. “I don’t get flustered.”
Derek raises a brow and mimics Spencer in a high-pitched, breathy voice. “Oh, she listens to me ramble. She actually engages with me. She’s so perceptive.” He drops the act, shaking his head. “Man, you are down bad.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and turns back to his book, a weak defense mechanism. “I really don’t think—”
“No, you don’t think,” Derek interrupts. “That’s the problem. Because if you were thinking, you’d realize that she looks at you the same way you look at her.”
That makes Spencer freeze, a book halfway in his hands.
Derek smirks, knowing he’s struck something deep. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Spencer opens his mouth, ready to protest and argue some logical counterpoint, but nothing comes out. He can’t explain away the way his heart clenches at the mere possibility that you might feel the same.
Derek slaps a hand on his shoulder, grin widening. “Any day now, Pretty Boy. Any day now.” Then he walks off, leaving Spencer to stare blankly at his book, brain absolutely wrecked.
He glances down at the hair tie around his wrist, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it sits against his skin.
Rossi is just as relentless with you as Derek is with Spencer—except he’s a little more subtle about it. He doesn’t tease in the same playful, in-your-face way that Derek does with Spencer. No, Rossi prefers to plant little seeds, make small comments, and give you just enough to get your mind churning.
He’s been keeping a close eye on you ever since you joined the team. Maybe it’s the way you love to talk about home or how you light up when someone treats you like family. So, naturally, Rossi steps in. A guiding hand, an occasional piece of advice, a warm presence when you need one.
And right now? Right now, you need someone to tell you that you’re being blind as hell.
“You know, bella, I’ve been around a long time,” Rossi says one afternoon, leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand. “I’ve seen a lot of things. A lot of things. And I’d like to think I have a pretty good read on people.”
You barely look up from your case file. “Are you about to say something wise or just something annoying?”
He smirks. “Oh, I can do both.”
You roll your eyes but don’t argue.
Rossi takes a sip of his drink, watching you with that knowing look that makes you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. “You like him, you know.”
Your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you don’t react. Not outwardly, at least. “Who?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re smarter than that.”
You exhale sharply, still keeping your eyes on your paperwork. “I don’t like Spencer.”
Rossi chuckles, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “That’s cute. Now say it again like you mean it.”
You finally glance up at him, narrowing your eyes. “I mean it.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rossi hums, clearly unconvinced. He leans forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”
You raise a brow. “Oh? You had a thing for Spencer, too?”
Rossi lets out a full-bodied laugh. “No, but I was stubborn. And I was good at convincing myself that things weren’t what they obviously were.” He tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me ask you something. If I told you that Spencer thinks the world of you, that he practically glows when you’re around, what would you say?”
You swallow, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat. “I’d say you’re exaggerating.”
Rossi shakes his head. “No, bella, I’m not. Derek sees it. I see it. Hell, even Garcia sees it, and she’s usually too busy matchmaking herself to notice when something’s right under her nose.” He leans back again, watching you carefully. “But the real question is—why don’t you see it?”
Your mouth opens, then closes. The truth? Because the idea that Spencer could feel that way about you is terrifying. You’ve convinced yourself he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not in the way you secretly hope.
So you deflect. “Spencer’s just… Spencer. He’s sweet to everyone.”
Rossi sighs, shaking his head with something like fond exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.”
You scoff lightly. “What, you want me to march over there and declare my undying love?”
Rossi grins. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
You shake your head, muttering something about meddling old men as you shove your paperwork into a neat stack, trying to ignore the way your hands feel slightly unsteady.
Rossi just watches you, amusement still lingering on his face.
Because he knows.
And one day, you’ll know, too.
—
The precinct is buzzing with too much movement and too much noise. Officers shuffling papers, detectives arguing over case details, coffee machines gurgling, the fluorescent lights humming like an irritating static in the back of your head. It’s a small station, cramped, and the team has been forced into an even smaller conference room, shoulder to shoulder with local law enforcement.
Spencer has been quiet all morning, his fingers twitching slightly, his blinking a little too frequently. You’ve been with him long enough to notice when the world is becoming too much for him, and right now, it’s clear that the rapid-fire conversations, the overlapping voices, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap air freshener—it's all pushing him to the edge of his tolerance.
So, as usual, he attaches himself to you.
It’s something he’s done for years, seeking you out when things get overwhelming. You’ve never minded. In fact, you never even thought much of it—until now.
Right now, his head is slumped against your shoulder, a deep sigh escaping him, his breath warm where it ghosts over the fabric of your shirt. His long fingers loosely clutch your jacket sleeve, not in an obvious way, but just enough that you know he’s anchoring himself with your presence. His entire frame is pressed slightly against your side, fitting into your space in a way that should feel intrusive—but it doesn’t. It never does.
But today? Today, it does feel different. Not bad, not at all, just... noticeable.
The warmth of his body against yours. The way his hair brushes your cheek when he shifts. The way you can feel the weight of him, trusting, unguarded.
You should say something—acknowledge it, maybe even tease him like Derek would—but your throat feels tight. Instead, you sit perfectly still, let him rest, let him take what he needs from you.
Across the room, Rossi is watching. He doesn’t say a word, just gives you a knowing look, an almost smirk, before turning back to his conversation with Hotch.
You swallow hard, your mind racing with thoughts you don’t have time to entertain. Not right now. Not with a case on the line.
Spencer exhales again, a deep, exhausted sound. Without thinking, you lift your hand and gently brush it over his arm, a quiet reassurance. He hums in response—barely audible, but enough to let you know he appreciates it.
And you?
You pretend your pulse isn’t hammering; pretend this is just like every other time.
Even though, for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way anymore.
—
The room is already cold and sterile, the air thick with the lingering scent of antiseptic and something darker, something that clings to the walls of places like these—death, decay, the remnants of lives cut short. The mortuary is dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs casting a bluish hue over the metal slabs, the bodies covered with crisp white sheets.
Spencer and Emily step inside, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them away from the world of the living for just a little while.
Emily exhales, rubbing her hands together despite the temperature-controlled environment. “I don’t know what Hotch thinks we’re going to find that we didn’t already see,” she murmurs, but there’s no real complaint in her tone—just exhaustion.
Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He’s already moving, scanning the room with sharp, restless eyes. He doesn’t like being back here. Too quiet, too still. Too much time to think. And he’s already spent the morning overstimulated, barely hanging onto himself. If it weren’t for you—your presence, your steadying warmth—he might have lost his grip entirely.
But you’re not here now.
Emily watches him for a moment, sees the way his fingers twitch slightly, how he pushes his hair back only to drop his hand to his wrist, rolling the familiar hair tie between his fingers. A grounding mechanism. She’d seen him do it before.
“Spencer,” she calls gently.
He blinks and looks at her.
“You okay?”
He hesitates, then nods.
Back in the SUV, Emily watches Spencer out of the corner of her eye as he flips through the case file, his knee bouncing slightly, his fingers twitching against the edge of the folder. He’s rattling off statistics about the likelihood of unsub behavior escalating post-mortem examinations, but there’s a certain absentmindedness to the way he’s speaking—like he’s not entirely here.
And Emily Prentiss? She’s no fool.
So, as she turns onto the road leading toward the mortuary, she decides to go for it.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she starts, keeping her tone casual. “In fact, I haven’t for the past few years.” She glances at him and watches as his fingers tighten slightly on the folder. “But today felt different. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Spencer stills, his knee stopping mid-bounce before he forces it back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Emily snorts. “Oh, come on. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”
Spencer purses his lips, shifting in his seat like he’s trying to physically move away from this conversation. “We have more important things to focus on right now.”
“Uh-huh,” Emily hums. “And yet, back at the station, you looked about one deep sigh away from crawling into her lap.”
Spencer stiffens. “That’s an exaggeration.”
Emily shrugs, smirking slightly. “Is it? Because from where I was standing, you were practically molded to her side.”
Spencer stays silent, glaring down at the folder like it’s personally offended him.
Emily softens, tilting her head. “Look, I’m not teasing you. I’m just asking—are you okay? Because I’ve seen you cling to her before when things get overwhelming, but today… it was different.” She hesitates. “You were different. She was different.”
Spencer swallows, pressing his lips together. He could brush it off. He could easily throw out some logical, cold dismissal. I was overstimulated, and she provided a familiar presence. There is nothing unusual about that, but the problem is, it is unusual.
Because for the first time, he noticed it.
Noticed how natural it felt, how good it felt, to be pressed against you. Noticed the way your touch lingered, how your fingers brushed his arm with a softness that made his skin buzz. Noticed how he felt safe, not just because you were familiar, but because he wanted to be close to you. Because he liked it.
And that? That realization is unraveling something in him he isn’t sure he’s ready for.
“I—” He hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”
Emily watches him for a moment before nodding, letting the conversation settle for a few beats before she speaks again.
“You know,” she says, keeping her tone light. “You could always ask her.”
Spencer’s head snaps toward her, eyes wide, panicked. “Ask her what?”
Emily grins, eyes twinkling as she pulls into the mortuary parking lot.
“Oh, you know. On a date.”
Spencer makes a strangled noise of protest, but Emily is already unbuckling her seatbelt, pretending she doesn’t hear it.
She lets him stew in his thoughts and sit there with that panicked expression because honestly?
He needs to figure it out for himself.
—
Tuesday nights were for Star Trek, and Friday nights were for pizza and movies. It had started as something casual, a way to unwind after long days at work, but over time, it became an unspoken rule—a part of your week as consistent as waking up in the morning.
Tuesday nights meant curling up on your couch, debating over which Star Trek series to watch that week. Spencer always had his preferences—he loved The Original Series for its groundbreaking storytelling and The Next Generation for its philosophical depth—but he never protested when you picked Voyager because he knew how much you liked Captain Janeway. You didn’t always pay attention to the episodes the way he did, but you loved listening to him ramble, watching his eyes light up as he dissected the scientific inaccuracies or argued about the moral dilemmas presented in each episode.
And then there was Friday night—pizza and movie night.
Unlike Star Trek night, where Spencer usually held the reins, movie night was a battle. You had vastly different tastes—Spencer leaned toward old classics, noir films, and things with intricate plots that required full intellectual engagement. On the other hand, you sometimes just wanted to watch an over-the-top action flick, something fun and ridiculous.
“I don’t understand why we can’t watch Casablanca,” Spencer had complained one Friday, frowning at your choice of Die Hard.
“Because Casablanca is depressing, and I just want to watch Bruce Willis blow things up,” you’d argued, plopping onto the couch.
Spencer had grumbled but ultimately stayed, reluctantly eating his pizza while you enjoyed Die Hard a little too much.
But despite the friendly bickering, you both always showed up for each other. No matter how draining the week was or how heavy the cases got, Tuesday and Friday nights were yours. If one of you was too tired, the other brought food. If Spencer needed to visit his mom, he’d make you promise not to watch Star Trek without him. If you had a bad day, he let you pick the movie without a single complaint (except for that one time you picked Twilight, which he still refuses to acknowledge).
For years, it was just routine, something comfortable, something easy.
The case had finally wrapped up late Wednesday afternoon, and while you should have been relieved—grateful that everything ended as cleanly as possible—you were distracted. Off-kilter. Your mind wasn’t on the debriefing, the flight back to Quantico, or even the pile of paperwork waiting for you tomorrow.
No, your mind was stuck on him.
Spencer.
More specifically, the way you couldn’t seem to shake the lingering warmth of his body from when he had leaned against you, or the quiet, vulnerable way he had sighed into your shoulder, or the way Rossi’s words had wormed their way into your brain and stuck.
"You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time."
Damn him.
You were usually so good at compartmentalizing, at keeping your feelings neatly boxed up and shoved into the farthest corner of your mind where they couldn’t betray you. But now? Now, every little thing Spencer did had you spiraling.
Like right now.
Friday afternoon rolls around, and you’re already on edge.
When Spencer casually walks up to your desk, his messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, and his hands are tucked into his pockets, you already know you’re in trouble.
“Hey,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”
You blink at him.
Wait. What?
Is he confirming plans? He hasn’t done that since the first month you started doing this—since he was still unsure if the ritual was set in stone. But now, after all this time, he’s asking?
Your heart starts hammering, palms go clammy.
“Yeah—yes,” you blurt out, nodding a little too fast. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”
Spencer watches you carefully, clearly picking up on something being off. His brow furrows slightly, and he studies you with that damn profiler gaze, the one that makes you feel like he’s reading every single thought you’re desperately trying to bury.
“You okay?” he asks slowly.
You force a laugh. It comes out weird. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”
His frown deepens.
Okay. You need to fix this before you combust.
You grab your phone off your desk and clear your throat. “So! What are we watching tonight?” you ask, trying to force the conversation forward before you completely unravel.
Spencer tilts his head slightly, still watching you with suspicion, but he lets it go.
“For our movie night? Or are you asking if we’re switching to a Star Trek episode lineup for some reason?”
You roll your eyes, grateful for the distraction. “Movie night, obviously.”
He hums, his lips quirking slightly. “I figured it was my turn to pick.”
You groan dramatically. “Ugh. If this is another silent foreign film that you claim is ‘captivating,’ I’m kicking you out before the pizza even gets here.”
Spencer smirks. “It’s not silent.”
You narrow your eyes. “But it is foreign.”
Spencer just shrugs.
You groan again, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”
He grins, and for a moment, just a moment, everything feels normal again.
Except it’s not.
Because now you’re noticing everything. The way he’s smiling at you, like he genuinely likes looking at you. The way he’s still standing a little too close, the scent of cologne you’ve never noticed mixing with the faint smell of old books and coffee. Your heart is pounding, not from panic anymore but from something else.
And Rossi’s voice echoes in your head—You’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to push the thought away.
Spencer is still looking at you, waiting, expectant.
You clear your throat. “So… my place at seven?”
He nods. “Your place at seven.”
And with that, he walks away, leaving you gripping your desk, trying to convince yourself that your entire world hasn’t just shifted on its axis.
—
The knock at the door makes your stomach drop.
You weren’t expecting it. Not from him.
Spencer never knocks. Not anymore. Not when he’s been coming here for years, slipping inside without hesitation, using the key you gave him so long ago that neither of you even remembers when it stopped being your apartment and started feeling like his, too.
But tonight, he knocks.
And for a moment, you just stare at the door, pulse pounding in your ears, a strange, unsettling panic twisting in your chest.
Why?
Why would he knock?
Did something happen? Did you do something? Did he?
You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the rug in your rush to reach the door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob for half a second too long before you finally pull it open.
And there he is.
Standing in the dim glow of the hallway light, looking just as nervous as you feel.
He’s holding the pizza in both hands, gripping the box like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His lips are parted slightly as if he’s mid-thought, mid-explanation for why he’s standing here like a stranger instead of walking in like he always does.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is careful, deliberate. Like he’s testing the temperature of the air between you.
You swallow. “Why’d you knock?”
Spencer shifts, his fingers flexing against the cardboard. “I—” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wasn’t sure if I should just—if you wanted me to just come in.”
Your stomach twists. “You always just come in.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I just—” He stops, swallows, tries again. Spencer takes a breath, shifting his grip on the pizza box. “Can I come in?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the doorknob as you nod and step aside.
The warm glow of your living room wraps around Spencer like a familiar embrace. The scent of old books and candle wax lingers in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh pizza. He’s holding the box carefully as if it were fragile or important. His fingers clutch the edges a little too tightly.
Something is different.
You feel it the moment he walks through the door, the way he hesitates on the threshold before closing it behind him. His usual easy presence is replaced with something unsure, something heavy that neither of you can quite name.
It’s never been awkward before.
But tonight, it is.
Maybe it’s the way he swallows before speaking or the way you feel hyper-aware of the space between you—space that’s usually nonexistent when you’re tangled up on the couch, watching whatever movie you finally agreed on after bickering for twenty minutes.
Maybe it’s the way his fingers brush against his wrist absentmindedly, rolling the hair tie between them, a habit you know means he’s feeling too much.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because something unspoken has been hanging in the air between you for a while now, something neither of you have dared to name.
Spencer sits down beside you, a little closer than usual but still not quite enough. His knee brushes against yours, and you don’t pull away. Neither does he.
“Movie?” you ask, trying to sound normal. Trying to push through the tension.
Spencer nods, but he doesn’t reach for the remote. Instead, he glances at you, searching your face, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something.
And for the first time in all the years of Friday pizza-and-movie nights, for the first time in all the comfortable silences and easy laughter, you think—
He might actually say what you’re both thinking.
But when Spencer finally does speak, it’s not what you expect. You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting.
"Do you want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You?"
It takes you a second to process the words because that is not what you were expecting.
For a moment, your grip tightens on the edge of the couch, your knuckles going white, and your heart still hammering from the sheer weight of what you thought he was about to say.
“What?” you finally spit out, voice higher than you’d like.
Spencer shifts awkwardly in his seat, clearing his throat as if he’s just realized how strange the moment is. “It’s… isn’t it your favorite rom-com?”
You stare at him. “Yeah… but I didn’t think you liked it.”
“I don’t dislike it,” he hedges, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “And, statistically speaking, if we’re ranking romantic comedies based on their adherence to Shakespearean influence, it’s arguably one of the better adaptations of Taming of the Shrew—”
You cut him off with a squint. “You’re rambling.”
He presses his lips together, a nervous habit, his fingers twitching slightly. “Right. Sorry.”
The air between you feels charged, like an unsaid truth is pressing against the walls, threatening to break them down. But instead of confronting it and saying whatever it is that’s clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue, Spencer is talking about rom-coms.
You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Okay, but… why? Why that movie? Why now?”
His eyes flicker up to yours then, just for a second, and there’s something raw, vulnerable, and uncertain.
And then, before you can decipher it, he shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”
Your heart clenches painfully because God, he’s so Spencer. Always thinking of you, noticing the smallest details, and looking out for you even when you don’t expect it.
And yet… there’s still something unspoken lingering between you, something simmering beneath the surface, something that almost came out before he took a sharp left turn into the world of 10 Things I Hate About You.
“Do you want to watch?” Spencer asks again in that vulnerable tone, lifting the movie case from his bag.
You exhale, rubbing your hands on your pants to wipe off the nervous sweat. “Yeah,” you sigh.
Spencer nods, but it’s almost hesitant, almost like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. He lingers for a second with the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD case in his hands, gripping it just as tightly as he had the pizza box moments ago.
You swallow, rubbing your palms against your pants again before reaching for the remote. “Uh, you can put it in.”
He moves toward the DVD player slowly, methodically, like he’s focusing on the action so he doesn’t have to focus on you. You watch him as he kneels down, sliding the disc into the tray, his fingers steady even though you know he isn’t.
The air between you is thick with something unspoken, a weight pressing on both of you, but neither of you acknowledges it. Instead, you wait as the movie boots up, the familiar menu music filling the quiet space between you.
Spencer hesitates before sitting, but it’s closer than usual when he does.
Not overly close—not close enough to make it obvious—but close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, close enough that his knee brushes yours again.
You pretend not to notice.
He pretends not to, either.
The movie starts, and for the first time, neither of you is watching it.
You’re too aware of him—the way he shifts slightly when you do, his fingers twitch against his knee like he’s trying not to reach out, and the way his breath catches ever so slightly when your arm brushes his.
Spencer doesn’t usually do this. He’s tactile when he’s overwhelmed, yes, but this? This is different. This is hesitation; this is awareness; this is something tiptoeing dangerously close to the edge of something neither of you has dared to touch before.
And you don’t know what to do with that.
So you try to focus on the movie, try to push through the nervous energy coiling in your stomach.
But then—
Then Spencer shifts, leans back against the couch, exhales softly—
And his arm drops, just slightly, around your shoulders.
Your heart stops.
You stare at the screen, unblinking, unsure if he even realizes what he’s done.
But he doesn’t move.
And neither do you.
The room feels different now. Warmer, heavier, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud. You can’t tell if it’s the candlelight flickering in the dim space or if it’s just him, just this, whatever this is, settling around you like a second skin.
Spencer’s arm—his arm—is resting along the back of the couch, not quite on you, but close enough that you can feel its weight, close enough that if you shifted even the slightest bit, it would be.
You try to focus on the movie. Try to act like nothing’s changed.
But your body betrays you.
Your shoulders stiffen at first, instinctively, not because you don’t want this—God, you do—but because you don’t understand it. Because Spencer Reid does not do things like this. He does not reach out in this way, not unless he’s overwhelmed, and even then, it’s different. This is intentional, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
You inhale slowly, carefully, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as Kat Stratford delivers another sharp-witted insult. But you’re not really listening. You’re waiting. Waiting for Spencer to shift, realize what he’s done, pull back, laugh nervously, and pretend like nothing happened.
Except—
He doesn’t.
If anything, he seems more relaxed than before. His breathing is even, his body settling into the couch like he belongs there. Like you belong there.
And then, before you can stop yourself before you can overthink it like you always do, you shift. Just slightly. Just enough that your shoulder leans into his arm.
The movement is so small and insignificant that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t notice. But this is Spencer. And Spencer notices everything.
You hear the sharp inhale of breath and feel the way his body tenses just for a moment—just long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs—before he exhales slowly, deliberately.
And then—
Then his fingers brush against your shoulder.
A whisper of a touch, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for you to pull away.
But you don’t.
You can’t.
So, he stays.
And for the rest of the movie, neither of you moves. Neither of you speak.
But everything, everything, has changed.
The credits roll. The music swells softly through the speakers. The dim glow of the screencasts flickering shadows across the room, but neither of you move.
Not even a little.
Your body is still pressed into his side, your shoulder tucked against him, his arm draped so loosely yet so deliberately around you that you can’t tell if it’s keeping you close or if it’s keeping him grounded.
Maybe both.
Maybe that’s what this has always been.
You don’t know how long you sit there, frozen in the moment. You don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, if he’s waiting for you to speak, to move, to acknowledge that something unspoken has settled between you like a weighted silence.
But then—
“Y/N,” Spencer murmurs.
Just your name.
Soft. Almost careful.
You inhale sharply, blinking yourself back into the moment. Your head turns toward him slowly, cautiously, like moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile balance is hanging between you.
And then—
Spencer shocks you.
Because the second your eyes meet his, the moment your lips part in silent question—he leans in.
And he kisses you.
It’s not hesitant.
It’s not unsure.
It’s not like the Spencer Reid you thought you knew—the one who second-guesses, who overthinks, who analyzes every possibility before making a move.
No.
This is something else entirely.
This is Spencer moving without logic, without calculation, without fear.
This is Spencer wanting.
And for a split second, your brain short-circuits, unable to process what’s happening or understand how the man who had just spent two hours analyzing 10 Things I Hate About You is now kissing you like he means it.
But then—
Then you kiss him back.
And it’s over.
Whatever line had existed between you—whatever barrier had kept you from stepping over the edge—it's gone.
Spencer exhales against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years. His fingers tighten against your shoulder, just slightly, pulling you in closer, pressing against you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.
But you’re not going anywhere.
Not now.
Not after this.
—
Dating Spencer is like stepping into something timeless, warm, and constant. It’s not rushed or overwhelming. It’s not dramatic or chaotic. It’s just Spencer. And that, in itself, is everything.
He doesn’t love convention. He doesn’t do big grand gestures unless they mean something. But he does the little things, the things that matter. The things that show how deeply and irrevocably he feels for you.
Like reading to you before bed.
It starts without much thought, just a quiet habit that becomes part of your nights. You never ask him to do it, and he never makes a point of it, but it happens—night after night, in the soft, dark quiet of your bedroom when the world slows, and nothing exists but the warmth of his arms and the soothing rhythm of his voice.
Some nights, it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray or a few pages from Pride and Prejudice. Other nights, it’s something entirely different—a passage about an old poet, a historical retelling of an artist’s life, something obscure and worn, a book he’s read a hundred times before. It doesn’t matter. You don’t even remember the contents most nights.
What you remember is the sound of Spencer’s voice, the way it lulls you into a hazy, comfortable state within minutes. The way his fingers draw lazy circles on your arm as he reads, absentmindedly tracing patterns like he can’t not be touching you. The way his lips brush the top of your head in soft, feather-light kisses like he’s saying goodnight without ever actually stopping the words on the page.
You never make it past a few minutes.
That’s how long it takes for his voice to pull you under, for the warmth of his chest to turn into a lullaby, for his steady breathing and gentle presence to quiet every thought in your mind.
And Spencer?
Spencer never minds.
Even when you fall asleep on him mid-sentence, even when his voice trails off and he realizes you’re gone, lost to dreams, he just smiles to himself, presses one last kiss to your temple, and quietly closes the book.
Because he loves this.
Loves you.
Even if he hasn’t said it yet.
—
You knew Spencer was good with kids—he had an innate gentleness, a patience that most adults didn’t possess. You had seen him with Jack before, seen the way he could calm a crying toddler with a few soft words and a fascinating fact about dinosaurs. But this? Watching him take care of a baby?
This is a whole different level.
JJ and Will had been desperate for a night out—just a few hours, nothing crazy—and with Garcia tied up at some tech conference, JJ hesitantly asked you and Spencer to watch Henry. She had barely finished asking before Spencer nodded, assuring her that he had plenty of experience with child development and cognitive growth.
Now, an hour into babysitting, you sit on the couch in quiet awe as Spencer moves around the living room, cradling Henry against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"Statistically speaking, infants exposed to language early on are more likely to develop higher literacy skills in adolescence," Spencer muses softly, bouncing Henry gently in his arms as the baby babbles against his sweater. "So even though you might not understand this now, Henry, I think you'd really enjoy learning about the Fibonacci sequence when you’re older."
You stare, biting your lip to contain the ridiculous grin threatening to take over your face. "Spencer, are you seriously lecturing a one-year-old on mathematical sequences?"
Spencer glances at you, unfazed. "He seems interested."
Henry lets out a delighted squeal, gripping a fistful of Spencer’s cardigan and yanking with surprising strength.
"Ah—Henry, no, that's my—" Spencer stops mid-sentence as Henry starts giggling, his tiny fingers still tangled in the fabric. Instead of pulling away, Spencer just sighs in resignation, adjusting his hold so Henry can comfortably rest his cheek against his shoulder.
And oh, no.
Your heart is gone.
Your ovaries? Destroyed.
Because Spencer—sweet, brilliant, slightly awkward Spencer—is standing there in JJ’s living room, holding a baby like he was made for it, rubbing gentle circles on Henry’s back as he hums absentmindedly.
And you are not okay.
"You’re good at this," you murmur before you can stop yourself, watching how he instinctively shifts to sway Henry slightly, lulling him between sleep and contentment.
Spencer shrugs, but there’s a soft pink dusting his cheeks. "It’s just… knowing how to respond to their needs. Babies need security and reassurance. If they feel safe, they thrive." He glances at you then, his voice quieter. "It's not complicated."
But it is.
Because suddenly, your brain is not thinking about just this night. It’s not just thinking about babysitting Henry. It’s thinking about Spencer as a father, Spencer with his own baby in his arms, rocking them just like this, whispering facts to lull them to sleep, pressing soft kisses to their tiny forehead.
And the thought wrecks you.
JJ has no idea what she’s done by asking you to babysit.
Because now?
Now, you are painfully aware that Spencer Reid would be the best dad in the world.
And you really need to go splash cold water on your face before you say something insane.
The drive is quiet at first, a comfortable kind of silence, filled only with the hum of the engine and the faint rustling of Spencer shifting beside you. The weight of the night still lingers, the softness of it, the warmth—Spencer holding Henry, the easy way he’d cared for him, the way it had done things to you that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to name yet.
"Are you dropping me off," Spencer asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness, "or am I coming over?"
Your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.
The question is simple. Straightforward. But there’s something deeper beneath it, something unspoken. Because this isn’t the first time Spencer has stayed over. But tonight, with the way you’re feeling, with the way you want him—really want him—the meaning feels different.
Your pulse picks up.
You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because you do.
Because you want him to come over. Because you want him in your bed for more than just resting. Because you’ve wanted it for a while now, but neither of you have crossed that line yet.
And suddenly, it feels like Spencer knows exactly what you’re thinking.
He’s watching you, quiet, observant, his fingers resting lightly against his knee as he waits for your response. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry—he just waits.
You swallow, exhaling slowly before finally speaking. "Come over."
Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his lips are pressed together, his fingers twitching slightly—nervous energy, anticipation, something else.
"Okay," he says finally, voice quiet but firm.
And that’s all.
You don’t talk for the rest of the drive.
But you feel everything.
The way his hand rests between you is so close to yours but not quite touching. The way your breaths sync up is slow but uneven, charged with something you both know is coming.
When you finally pull into your parking spot, turn off the car, and steal one last glance at him, Spencer doesn’t hesitate.
He just unbuckles his seatbelt, pushes open the door, and follows you inside.
Spencer follows without hesitation but doesn’t move past the doorway immediately. He lingers, standing just inside your apartment, watching as you set your keys down on the counter, as you exhale slowly, as you try to steady yourself against the weight of what this night is turning into.
You turn back to him then, and the sight of him standing there—hands tucked into his pockets, shifting slightly on his feet, looking at you like he’s trying so hard to figure out what happens next—makes your stomach flip.
He’s waiting for you.
Waiting for permission.
You take a step forward, closing some of the space between you. Spencer watches you carefully, his breath hitching just slightly, his fingers twitching where they rest at his sides.
Spencer nods. Swallows. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Are we just sleeping?”
The question hangs between you, thick with implication, and that’s when it happens—the shift from nervous anticipation to something else.
You step closer again, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that if either of you moved just slightly, you’d be touching.
And then, softly, hesitantly, you reach for his wrist, fingers brushing against the skin just above the hair tie he still wears, the one you gave him so long ago.
“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to just sleep?”
Spencer’s breath catches. His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up again.
“No,” he murmurs. “Not really.”
And that’s all it takes.
Because suddenly, you’re kissing him.
Or maybe he kisses you—you don’t know who moves first, don’t care, because all that matters is the way his hands are suddenly on your waist, pulling you closer, the way his lips part against yours, slow and deep and wanting.
It’s different from the previous kisses you have shared. And as his hands slide up your back, as you press yourself into him like you’ve been waiting forever for this, as he exhales sharply against your mouth because he’s finally getting to have you—
You know neither of you will be getting much sleep tonight.
The first time you and Spencer had sex was nothing short of mind-blowing—at least for him.
You hadn’t known just how little experience he had until later when he mumbled something against your skin about only having done this once before, his voice laced with disbelief and something like awe.
But it wouldn't have changed anything even if you had known beforehand. It had started so slow, like neither of you wanted to rush like you were both trying to memorize each other in ways you hadn’t been able to before.
Spencer had been nervous at first—not clumsy, not hesitant in a way that made you think he didn’t want this, but careful, intentional, like he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right. Like he was terrified of messing up, of not being enough.
But God, was he more than enough.
Because once he got past the nerves, once he stopped thinking and started feeling—
It was everything.
He touched you like he was discovering something new like he was learning you in real time. His fingers mapped the soft curves of your body, memorizing the way your breath hitched when he kissed your neck and how you sighed when his hands gripped your waist.
And when you guided him, when you whispered what you liked against his lips when you told him exactly how to move—
That was when he really fell apart.
Because Spencer thrives on knowledge, learning, on understanding. And now, he was learning you—learning what made you shiver, what made you moan, what made you clutch at his shoulders and gasp his name in a way that sent a shudder through him so deep he thought he might break apart completely.
By the time you were actually together, when he finally slid inside you with a deep, shaky moan, his hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—he knew.
He knew he was ruined for anything else.
Because nothing—not the one experience he had before, not the books he had read, not the theories or statistics—could have ever prepared him for this.
For you.
And when he came undone, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—
It was the closest thing to heaven he had ever known.
You pulled Spencer on top of you without hesitation, letting his exhausted body flop onto yours, his full weight pressing you into the mattress in the best possible way. He didn’t resist or try to roll away or give you space—he just let himself be and melt into you like he belonged there.
You traced slow, lazy shapes on his bare, sweat-slicked back, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against yours in a steady rhythm. His damp curls tickled your skin where his face was buried against your neck, but you didn’t dare move. You liked having him close like this.
Then you felt it—Spencer taking a deep breath like he was about to say something important.
His voice was muffled, soft, still laced with lingering wonder as he exhaled against your skin.
“Did… was that good for you?”
You smiled at the ceiling, your fingers still tracing mindless patterns along his spine. He was too cute. Too him.
“It was amazing, Spencer.”
He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him tense slightly, his arms tightening around your waist as he let out a small, almost sheepish exhale.
“I’m sorry it was over so quickly.”
You laughed, tilting your head so you could press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Spencer, you have nothing to apologize for.”
He huffed, shifting slightly so his face was visible again, his flushed cheeks still pressed against your skin. “But I—”
“Nope.” You cut him off before he could finish whatever self-deprecating thought was about to leave his mouth. “I loved it. And besides…” You trailed your fingers down his spine, feeling the shiver it sent through him. “Now that the nerves are out of the way, we’ve got all night to take our time.”
Spencer froze for half a second before lifting his head just enough to look at you properly, his eyes wide, dark, needy.
“All night?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
You smirked, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his back. “Mmmhmm.”
And just like that—
Spencer wasn’t exhausted anymore.
The night stretched long and slow, turning into early morning, and in those quiet, intimate hours, you discovered things—things that made you grin, things that made Spencer writhe, things that neither of you had ever put words to before but suddenly felt so obvious now.
Like hickeys.
Spencer really liked hickeys.
You hadn’t meant to leave one, not at first. But the moment your lips latched onto the sensitive skin of his neck, the second your teeth scraped lightly against his pulse point, Spencer let out a sound that was almost embarrassing—a sharp, gasping whine that had his fingers digging into your waist, his hips bucking up against you without thought.
And just like that, you knew.
“You like that?” you murmured against his skin, already smirking, already marking another spot just below his jaw.
Spencer shivered violently, his breath stuttering, his grip on you tightening. “I—” He cut himself off with a choked noise, arching into you again.
Yeah. He definitely liked it.
And then there was the other discovery that made your entire night.
Spencer was a certified bottom.
He liked giving up control, liked you taking the lead, liked it when you moved on top of him, guiding him, making him fall apart underneath you.
And oh, he thrived in it.
Especially when your hands threaded into his hair, whispered things to him, and praised him in that sweet, teasing tone that made him whimper.
And God, the way his hands roamed when you were on top—
Which led to the third discovery of the night.
Spencer was a tits guy.
Sure, he loved all of you—he worshipped every inch of you with those big, eager hands, his lips, his tongue, taking his time, savoring you like he had all the time in the world.
But your boobs?
Those really got him going.
Maybe it was because of the angle, the way they bounced when you moved, or maybe it was the way they fit so perfectly in his hands, how he could squeeze, cup, and knead them just the way he liked.
Maybe it was the fact that he could bury his face in them, groaning as he nuzzled into your chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your skin, mumbling about how perfect you were, how soft, how he never wanted to stop.
And when you realized?
When you teased him about it?
He turned a deep shade of red, sputtering something about biological instincts and aesthetic appeal, but the second you rolled your hips and dragged his hands back to your chest, his words died completely.
“Oh my God,” he groaned, his head thudding back against the pillow, his fingers squeezing you almost desperately.
And yeah—
You really liked that discovery, too.
—
Spencer had barely stepped into the bullpen when Derek’s booming voice rang through the air like a damn foghorn.
"Pretty boy!"
Spencer flinched. He knew that tone. That taunting, giddy, Derek-is-about-to-ruin-your-life tone.
And then—before Spencer could so much as blink—Derek was grinning at him, full teeth, eyes sparkling with absolute mischief as he pointed directly at Spencer’s neck.
“Oh no,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, instinctively reaching up as if he could somehow erase the evidence.
But it was too late. Because Derek had seen it. The hickey.
The hickey.
The one you had left on him Saturday night. Or was it Sunday morning? Honestly, it didn’t even matter—what mattered was that he had forgotten to cover it up, and now? Now, Derek was never going to let him live this down.
“Damn, kid,” Derek laughed, sauntering over with the confidence of a man who lived for this kind of teasing. “So you are gettin’ some.”
Spencer groaned, his entire face going up in flames. “Derek—”
“Nah, nah, don’t even try to deny it,” Derek interrupted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That is a grade-A hickey, man. I’m talkin’ official, stamped, certified ‘this man is gettin’ wrecked’ level.”
“Derek, please,” Spencer hissed, glancing around desperately as if he could somehow stop this from escalating.
Too bad the damage was already done. Because JJ and Penelope were already staring. And then laughing. Loudly.
“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, practically shrieking with delight. “Spencer! Look at you! Our boy is all grown up and getting marked up like a romance novel protagonist!”
“Okay, stop,” Spencer pleaded, feeling absolutely doomed.
JJ just smirked, sipping her coffee like this was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. “So, how was your weekend?”
Spencer exhaled sharply, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and making a beeline for his desk, determined to escape. “I hate all of you.”
Derek just grinned, following after him with his arms crossed. “Nah, Pretty Boy, you love us. Just not as much as you love your girl—who, by the way, did some damage on you, man. She got territorial.”
Spencer slammed his forehead onto his desk with a loud thud. JJ and Penelope cackled. Derek patted him on the back like he had just won something. And Spencer?
Spencer knew damn well that this was never going away.
—
Spencer was always composed. Always Spencer. Polite, intelligent, articulate. The type of man who didn’t act impulsively, who thought through everything before making a move.
Except, apparently, when it came to you.
Because when it came to you, Spencer had no self-control.
And nowhere was that more apparent than tonight—right now—when he had you pressed up against the bar in the middle of a crowded room, his lips hot against your neck, his hands resting just a little too low on your waist, and his very obvious boner grinding against your ass.
This was not the Spencer the team knew. This was not the awkward, hesitant genius who stumbled over his words and overanalyzed his every move.
No, this Spencer was different.
This Spencer wanted you, and he didn’t care who saw.
This Spencer also happened to be a few glasses of champagne deep in his birthday celebration with the team.
“Spencer,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the bar for support as another firm roll of his hips had heat coiling low in your stomach.
He hummed against your neck, his lips still moving, still marking you in the same way he had been since he discovered how much he loved leaving hickeys on you.
“Hmm?” he murmured, voice low, dragging his tongue lightly over the fresh mark before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against it.
Your grip tightened on the bar. “We’re in public,” you reminded him, but your voice was breathy, weak, barely convincing.
Spencer chuckled—actually chuckled—against your skin, his fingers flexing against your hips. “And?”
And?
And?
You blinked, stunned by his sheer audacity, by the fact that Spencer Reid was grinding up against you in a public bar like he had every right to.
Like he owned you.
And maybe he did.
You hated to stop him. God, you hated it.
But Spencer was too drunk.
It wasn’t that he was wasted—Spencer didn’t drink often, and when he did, he rarely overindulged—but tonight, between rounds of celebratory drinks with the team and the way he had relaxed into your presence, he was just tipsy enough that his usual inhibitions were gone.
And normally, you wouldn’t mind. Normally, you’d love seeing him like this, out of his shell, more bold in his affections. But Spencer was intoxicated, and you were sober, and you refused—refused—to take advantage of that.
So, with a deep breath, you gently pried his hands off your waist, turning around to face him fully.
“Spencer,” you murmured, voice soft but firm.
He blinked, slow and dazed, his lips swollen from where he had been so intent on marking you up. “Huh?”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing against his flushed cheeks. “We need to get you home, okay?”
His brows furrowed. “But—”
“No ‘buts,’” you interrupted, kissing his cheek quickly before pulling away completely. “Come on, before Derek starts making bets about whether you’ll take shots with him.”
Spencer groaned, looking devastated—like a scolded puppy who had just been denied his favorite treat. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to pull you back, but even in his inebriated state, he listened.
With one last longing look at you, he sighed. “Fine.”
You smiled, taking his hand and leading him back to the group. The second you announced, “I’m taking Spencer home,” a chorus of hoots and hollers erupted from your friends.
Derek practically howled with laughter. “Damn, Pretty Boy, she’s gotta put you to bed already?”
“I hate all of you,” Spencer grumbled as Penelope cackled.
JJ smirked into her drink. “Don’t forget to hydrate him.”
“Oh, I will,” you assured her, rolling your eyes as you steered Spencer toward the door.
After a few more teasing remarks and one last dramatic wolf whistle from Derek, you managed to load Spencer into the passenger seat of your car.
As soon as you pulled out of the parking lot, you reached for the stereo and turned on classical music—something calming that would hopefully settle the restless energy still buzzing under Spencer’s skin.
And sure enough, within minutes, he was already melting into the seat, head lolling to the side as the soft notes of Debussy filled the quiet space.
You smiled to yourself, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“Almost home, Spence,” you murmured.
He sighed deeply, squeezing back. “You’re the best,” he mumbled, voice slurred with exhaustion.
The rest of the night had been easy enough—getting Spencer home, guiding his sleepy, clingy self into bed, listening to him mumble drunken nonsense as you pulled the covers over him. He had curled around you the second you lay down beside him, burying his face in your neck, sighing deeply as if you were the cure to whatever hangover awaited him in the morning.
Before you had drifted off, you had set up a glass of water and some painkillers on his bedside table, making sure everything he needed would be right there when he woke up.
Now, in the golden light of morning, you were sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, reading while Spencer slowly resurfaced from his alcohol-induced slumber.
He stirred first, shifting slightly under the sheets, letting out a sleepy little grunt before blinking blearily up at you.
For a moment, he just stared.
His hair was a complete mess, curls sticking up in every direction, and his face was still warm and soft from sleep. His lips parted slightly, his eyes unfocused as he tried to piece together where he was, why he felt like this, and why the hell you looked so perfectly content beside him while he felt like his brain was swimming in molasses.
“…Morning,” he croaked, voice raw from sleep.
You glanced down at him, smiling over the top of your book. “Morning, baby.”
He blinked slowly, still processing. Then, realization dawned—the bar, the teasing, you dragging him home like an overgrown toddler.
He groaned, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “I was drunk.”
You laughed softly, closing your book and setting it aside. “Yep.”
He peeked out from under his arm, his lips twitching slightly. “Did I…?”
“You were very affectionate in public,” you teased, shifting to face him. “Like, very affectionate.”
Spencer made a noise between a groan and a laugh, rubbing his face. “Derek’s never going to let me live this down, is he?”
“I didn’t let anybody see, Spence.”
He sighed dramatically before turning his head to look at you again, his expression softening. His eyes flickered to the bedside table, taking in the water and painkillers, the small gesture that made something warm and fond settle in his chest.
“You took care of me,” he murmured.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course I did.”
Spencer didn’t say anything momentarily, just looking at you like he was trying to memorize you in the morning light. Then, without warning, he reached for you, pulling you down into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin, voice still thick with sleep.
Your heart stopped.
Completely.
Frozen in time, in this moment, in him.
Spencer had said it. So casually, so effortlessly, like it had always been there, sitting just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to slip out. Like it wasn’t something earth-shattering, something that made your breath catch and your entire world tilt.
You barely breathed as you whispered, "You love me?"
You felt his lips curve slightly against your skin—soft, sleepy, so sure.
"I love you," he repeated, voice muffled but certain, like it wasn’t even a question in his mind. Like it never had been.
The warmth of his words settled over you, seeping into every inch of your skin, curling around your heart like the softest, safest thing you’d ever known.
Suddenly, you were moving, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands and tilt his head so that his eyes met yours—still drowsy, still heavy with sleep, but so incredibly full. You smiled, soft and disbelieving like you couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. Like you couldn’t believe he was yours.
"I love you, too."
Spencer blinked, like it was his turn to freeze like his still-sleepy brain was trying to process that you had said it back. Then he smiled—wide and beautiful, the kind of smile that made his dimples show, the kind of smile that made your chest ache in the best possible way.
And without another word, he kissed you.
Slow, deep, certain.
Like he had just decided—right here, right now—that he was never letting you go.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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This is so cute, I love it
LOUD AND CLEAR | LN4
pairing: lando norris x fem!deaf reader
summary: the 4 times that fans noticed the way lando was with you and the 1 time they finally realized why.
warnings: none i don't think
1.the garage whispers
fans noticed things, they always did, but sometimes their reasons were a little bit off, like with lando and his girlfriend.
you had been in the mclaren garage one day. while lando's world was loud, yours was quiet. you were completely deaf, you had cochlear implants but sometimes during race weekends they would get overwhelmed with the loud noise making it harder to process what was happening.
one thing that lando never failed to do though was lean closer for you to hear him. his head falling down so his lips were by your ear, making sure your implants could pick up what he was saying.
"you okay?" he asked you, his voice soft and gentle but still loud enough for your implants to pick up easily, his hand gently resting at the small of your back.
you nodded your head with a smile, "just loud" you say softly.
he nodded his head knowing you hated when he fussed over you and that if you got overwhelmed you'd either tell him or you would leave so he knew you were okay.
his hand came up to tap his heart 3 times, not exactly sign language but a sign that you both had started doing, the simple act saying "i love you."
you smiled and tapped your heart back before saying a small goodbye to him as he left to go get ready for qualifying.
the small whispers and acts didn't go unnoticed by fans though, their theories being far from the truth though.
user1: the way lando's so in love with her user2: watching them whisper to each other feels so intimate user3: WHAT DID HE SAY TO HER?
2.his little taps
lando didn't ever call for you, even when you could hear him. every time he wanted your attention he would simply tap you, a small shoulder tap, the squeeze of an arm, tap on the wrist, just something small.
one time that it was noticed by fans was when you were walking into the paddock together. lando had gotten stopped by some fans and as if on instinct his hand had come to tap your shoulder to get your attention
you turned to him with a small smile, watching as he didn't say anything simply gesturing to the group of fans letting you know he had stopped to sign some stuff, standing and waiting for him to finish with the fans before you guys continued. nothing had been said between the two of you, just silent communication which definitely caused an uproar between fans.
user1: why did bro tap her instead of calling for her user2: he's so in love he needs her to feel him before he speaks user3: they're actually so cute, the way he didn't have to say anything and she knew.
3.face offs
even when you were wearing your cochlears sometimes it was hard to hear so lando would always face you when he spoke so you could read his lips easier.
dinner? he was sat in front of you. talking with fans? he made sure you were stood in front of who was talking to you if you were with him. interviews? if you were watching he was always facing you in some way so you could see his lips.
fans picked up on the pattern easily. the way he always stood in front of you before he started speaking, or the way he'd turn your head, it confused them for sure not knowing the reasoning but they still speculated.
user1: lando being a soft boyfriend for the 200th time. user2: the way he always makes sure she can see him, i love them your honor :( user3: they're so in love it's sickening
4. the signs
it was a no brainer that lando would learn sign language when you guys started to date, despite being able to hear him with your implants he still wanted to learn so if you weren't wearing them he could communicate.
the moment the fans started noticing was during a podium. lando had just finished in P2 and while he was up there he had signed "i love you" to you. from there the fans had started noticing the smaller moments.
the small signs in the garage when he was talking to you, the random signs in interviews as if someone was watching that he wanted them to see.
a favorite clip would be during one of lando's twitch streams though. he was playing a game but suddenly had paused it turning to look in the doorway. you were off camera so they couldn't see you as you stood trying to get lando's attention without disturbing him.
what they did see though was the way lando turned to you and instead of saying anything he had signed with his hands, a silent conversation just for the two of you.
"sorry guys, just checking something," lando had said after turning back to the stream when you had left, leaving the fans confused.
user1: WAS HE SIGNING? user2: since when did lando know sign language? user3: was he signing to Y/N?
+1 the time where everything clicked.
you had been with lando in the paddock one day during a race weekend. at this point you were deaf to the world because the batteries for your implants had died. you were stood scourging for your spares in lando's bag when fans came up, getting lando's attention and trying to get yours.
they were confused when they called your name and you didn't answer until lando tapped you making your head look up from where it was buried searching in the bag on his back, a huge smile coming to your face when you notice the fans.
"hi!" you say as you come to stand at lando's side.
"she's deaf, she can read lips though so just make sure you're facing her when you speak," lando explained, signing with his hands.
the fans' mouths dropped, everything making so much more sense to them, the whispers, the small taps, the way he was always faced to you, the way he knew sign language.
while you talked with fans, taking a couple times to ask for repeats, lando was searching in his bag for your batteries, changing them out for you before a gentle hand came to your shoulder to not startle you as he put them on for you, the noise of the paddock filling your ears as they connected.
the both of you finished talking with the fans, taking a couple pictures with them before saying goodbye, knowing the announcement was about to break the internet.
user1: omg she's deaf it all makes so much more sense now. user2: STOP HE LEARNED SIGN LANGUAGE FOR HER user3: lando "i'd learn another language for her" norris user4: they are actually so cute
everything clicked for the fans after that day, and suddenly lando's love for you was so much bigger, because he didn't just love you, he understood you, and did everything he could do so you could understand him.
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.
General Bucky taglist:
@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
@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess
@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol
@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter
@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19
@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic
@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia
@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125
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