Half A Heart Knj | M.

half a heart ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you and namjoon have always been the best of friends; who just happen to be in love and are refusing to do anything about it. 〞best friends to lovers. childhood friends to lovers. idiots to lovers.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: namjoon x reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 19.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: empHASIS ON THE IDIOTS TO LOVERS, pining, god there’s so much pining, namjoon is the sweetest man and this fic will ruin all other men for you, slight jealousy, slight possessive!namjoon, soft dom!namjoon, big cock!namjoon, sub!reader, biting, marking, grinding, dry humping, dirty talk, nipple play, nipple sucking, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, riding, soft sex, i am in love with kim namjoon, some deep dicking because its not a sol fic for joon without this, creampie, slight cumplay

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: there’s honestly so much fluff in this and that is a testament to how much i love Kim namjoon papa bless,

⏤ thank you to my sweet beans @peekaboongi​ and @shadowsremedy​ for beta reading this for me ♡

⇥ part of the mixtape series

Decidedly, there have been many days in your life. Some happy, some sad. Some you remember better than others while others fade away into the back of your mind. Some are ingrained so deep in your mind that when you close your eyes, you can see every detail as if it’s currently happening. None, however, do you remember more clearly than the day you met Namjoon. It had been almost two decades ago; when you were five, and he was six. You remember being nervous - your parents had just moved to Seoul - and unlike your small port town of Yeosu, you had no friends, nor did you know anyone.

Seoul had originally felt like an adventure, but actually moving there had been a lonely experience. Tall skyscrapers dwarfed your form, and life moved as fast as its people - unlike your sleepy hometown. Thus, when your mother had brought you to the park, you’d clung to her skirt - too afraid to venture out and speak to anyone. Closing your eyes, you can still see the faded metal of the monkey bars, hear the tinkering laughter of children running around and smell the sweet scent of the Bungeoppang stall that was nearby.

It had all been incredibly overwhelming back then, and you’d only hidden further behind your mother’s legs. Until - you’d spotted a boy, as lonely as you. A fond smile curls on your face as you remember Namjoon’s little frame. With chubby cheeks, curious eyes, and dressed in little shorts and a bright red t-shirt, he’d sparked your own curiosity. Unlike the other children, he wasn’t running around, or climbing the slide, or even hanging from the monkey bars. Rather, he sat crouched on the floor, intrigued brown eyes staring intently at the bushes as he stuck his hand into the shrubbery.

Keep reading

When I Kissed the Teacher | Azriel

Summary: After crushing on Azriel for almost a year, Nesta dares you to kiss him during Valkyrie training.

Warning: reader thirsting for Az and fluff for my batboy ♥

A/N: @daycourtofficial suggested this song and idea! Though I did a poll and Az won, I couldn't help myself and also write a version for Cas (you can read it here) as a huge thank you for following and reading my stuff. I just reached 1K followers ♥

This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (:

The first moment you saw Azriel, you were instantly drawn to him. 

His sun kissed skin radiated warmth. The hazel depths of his eyes hinted at wisdom earned through ages. His dark hair, a cascade of silken strands, framed a face sculpted to perfection. The Illyrian leathers he wore were a gift from the gods themselves as they only highlighted the well-defined muscles that lay beneath…

And his wings? Gods, those wings of his. They were massive yet delicate and iridescent. The way they always unfurled with such grace had your own wings fluttering in response.

But it wasn’t just the arresting beauty that surpassed all males you’ve encountered that drew you in. It was the impeccable way he carried himself. The mastery he exuded in combat, the patience he had while training you because if you’re going to be honest, you’re sure you pushed him past his limits. Yet, no matter how tough he was on you during training, Azriel was always kind to you outside of training grounds.

It didn’t take you long to fall for him and it didn’t matter how much you unleashed your inner turmoil onto the punching bag. Nothing could shake the strange fluttering sensation in your stomach every time your mind drifted to him. It’s like there were a million butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Sweat glistens on your forehead and your eyebrows furrow in concentration, too lost in your thoughts to pay mind to the silent spectator that had arrived minutes ago…until he finally steps out from the shadows and speaks.

“I’d hate to be the one on your mind right now.”

A misplaced punch lands awkwardly, causing a sharp pain to shoot through your hand. “Azriel,” you breathe, your cheeks flushing as you cradle your hand close to your chest. If only he knew…

“Fuck,” Azriel curses, hazel eyes flashing with concern. He swiftly closes the distance between and gently takes your injured hand into his, inspecting it with a small frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You could never scare me.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Is that so?” He replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I think I may be going too soft on you then”

“Soft?” You exhale in an incredulous manner, remembering the way your last training session with Azriel had ended. 

He had taunted you and your Illyrian blood had heated at the challenge in his words, allowing him to coax you into combating him. Of course, you were no match for him. You had begun training only a year ago, thanks to Emerie’s invitation. Azriel had centuries on you. Your muscles were still aching from the aftermath.

Azriel chuckles. “Come,” he says, guiding you back into the house. His hand holds onto your wrist lightly, being careful so as not to hurt your injured hand further. “Let’s get you patched up.”

**

As Azriel carefully attends to your hand, you can’t help the way your gaze lingers on him. His features are tense with concentration and concern, unbothered by the dark fringe that falls slightly over his eyes. Your uninjured hand is itching to run through those dark strands and brush his hair back for him.

You swear your heart skips a beat when Azriel lifts his gaze, catching your brazen staring. A flush spreads across your cheeks, and you quickly avert your gaze, missing the subtle, self-satisfied smile that graces Azriel's lips.

The sudden intrusion of Nesta breaks the spell, her figure leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, an amused twinkle in her gaze. While you were oblivious to Azriel's reaction, Nesta, caught the soft smile he allowed himself.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Both of you turn your heads to find Nesta. There’s a smirk on her face as her eyes flicker between you and Azriel.

“Uh, no. Not at all,” you stammer, attempting to mask your embarrassment. “Just a little injury, that’s all.”

“Nothing to worry yourself over, Nesta,” Azriel chimes in, lowering his gaze to secure the bandage wrapped around your hand. “All done.”

“Thanks, Azriel.”

Azriel rises to his feet, and the shadows that dance around his shoulders seem to buzz with excitement over the soft way you had said his name. He pats your thigh, suppressing his smile as he stands.

Nesta's smirk transforms into a sly grin, her keen eyes not missing the way Azriel keeps his gaze averted from you to save you from further embarrassment. It doesn’t matter, anyway. His shadows are happy to inform him of the mortified look you send Nesta’s way followed by the way you silently mouth “stop” at her. 

"Well, that’s great news,” Nesta replies, grasping your uninjured hand and pulling you to your feet. “Thank you for taking care of her, Az. Now, if you don’t mind, y/n here is late to girl’s night.”

As Nesta ushers you out, Azriel watches with a mixture of amusement and warmth in his hazel eyes. Unbeknownst to you, the unexpected emotions that had taken residence in your heart were mirrored in Azriel’s.

**

Under the soft glow of fairy lights, you sit cross-legged on the plush rug, facing Nesta while Emerie and Gwyn sit on either side of you. An array of snacks, provided by the sentient house, sits in the middle of the circle you and your friends formed. And of course, it wouldn’t be a girl’s night without the age-old game of truth or dare.

“Your turn,” Emerie grins at you, exchanging a knowing look with the other two females. “Truth or dare?”

Given the mischievous glint in Nesta’s eyes, it was an obvious choice for you. Truth would be the safer option. Emerie’s grin falters, disappointed by your choice.

However, Gwyn sees an opportunity. She wraps her blanket tighter around herself, shifting in her spot eagerly. She leans forward to grab a chocolate covered strawberry before nonchalantly asking: “Do you like Azriel?”

Nesta scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh, come on. Like we even have to ask.”

“True,” Gwyn giggles. “But I want to hear her say it.”

Heat rises to your cheeks for the third time tonight, creating a persistent warmth that makes you wonder if you might give yourself a fever. Your friends collectively hold their breaths in anticipation. Nesta’s gaze remains fixed on you, unwavering.

“Yes.”

The room erupts into squeals and teasing remarks, and your eyes widen, urging them to hush, terrified that Azriel, who is upstairs, might hear. It’s a futile attempt as their cheers only grow louder, making you bury your face in her hands.

“He likes you too.”

Your peak out from beneath your fingers. “What makes you say that?”

Nesta laughs in response but Emerie and Gywn are quick to tease you even further.  Gywn assumes the role of Azriel while Emerie assumes the role of you as they exchange glances and lingering touches. The two females jump to their feet and wooden swords appear in front of them. You look up with a glare directed at the sentient house.

With a swift flick of her wrist, Gwyn uses her wooden sword to knock Emerie’s out of her hand. “Again,” Gwyn nearly growls as she tries to mimic Azriel’s deep voice.

“I can’t,” Emerie replies, feigning shyness.

“I don’t sound like that!” You cry out in disbelief, turning to Nesta. “I don’t sound like that, right?”

Nesta shrugs her shoulders, eyes sparkling with mirth at the scene before her. Emerie and Gwyn ignore your protests, continuing to pretend to be you and Azriel.

“Oh, Azriel, my love,” Emerie swoons, the back of her hand flying to her forehead while her other hand hangs in the air. “I think I sprained my wrist.”

Gwyn gasps dramatically, diving in to catch Emerie before she could fall back against the fortress of pillows behind her. “No, not my sweet y/n, who I’m absolutely smitten with” Gwyn coos, bringing Emerie’s “injured” hand to her lips and kissing it.

Then, Gwyn and Emerie absolutely lose it, the two females falling onto the fortress of pillows as laughter consumes them, unfazed by the glare you’re now directing to them. Nesta stifles her own laughter, turning her attention back to you.

“He definitely likes you,” she repeats, her words awakening the butterflies in your stomach. You wonder if she can hear them fluttering too. “But he won’t make the first move. You’re going to have to do it yourself.”

“Absolutely not!”

 Nesta grins at you. “We’ll see about that.”

“Whatever,” you huff out. “It’s your turn now. Truth or dare?”

The night wears on, filled with more laughter, more shared secrets, and the occasional embarrassing dare. You got your friends back by daring them to have multiple spoonfuls of ice cream and tomato sauce. The house keeps you well supplied with snacks and your glasses of wine never go empty.

When it’s your turn again, you hesitate for a moment. You had thought “truth” had been the safer option but now, you know there is no safe option.

This time, you decide to be brave.

“Dare.”

"Fucking finally," Emerie grins, looking at Nesta while Gwyn smiles at you. Their plan is unfolding seamlessly...

“We dare you to kiss Azriel tomorrow after training.”

Your eyes widen in panic. “What? No way!”

Nesta, seemingly unfazed, inspects her nails with feigned boredom. "Coward," she mutters under her breath.

Her words, though hushed, ignite something deep within you. Your Illyrian blood stirs, the challenge resonating in your veins. Your eyes narrow, fixing on Nesta. "What did you say?"

Nesta meets your gaze as she repeats herself. Louder, this time. “Coward.”

The room falls into a hushed silence as your friends await your response. You bite your lip, contemplating the audacious dare. It was not in your nature to back down from a challenge.

After what felt like an eternity, you let out a deep exhale.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

**

You didn’t sleep at all last night but as Azriel circles around you, his eyes holding a glint of challenge, you are wide awake. Emerie, Gwyn and Nesta watch from the benches facing the sparring grounds while Cassian watches from a closer distance, keenly assessing your every move. Too caught up in your feelings over Azriel, you had failed to realize that this morning’s training session was an evaluation of the skills you had been working on over the past couple of months.

To say you're nervous was an understatement because not only did you have to prove yourself as the aspiring Valkyrie you’d like to become, you also had to prove to Nesta that you were not a coward. Taking a deep breath, your grip tightens on your sword.

Azriel, with his wings casting shadows on the ground, moves with grace. Each movement is precise and deliberate as your swords meet in a flurry of strikes, the sound of steel ringing in the air. Though you struggle, you do your best to keep up and hold your ground, determination burning bright.

Sweat begins to cling to your skin and your envious of the way Azriel hasn’t even broken a sweat himself. With every strike of his and every parry of yours, he continues to push you, his strikes growing harsher and stronger. You literally blink and in that swift second, Azriel knocks your sword out of your grip. A hiss escapes you and you swear your hear Gwyn and Emerie snicker from the sidelines as they find this situation all too familiar.

With a sweep of his leg, you lose your balance and find yourself falling onto one of the training mats. Azriel’s lips twitch upwards as he points his sword toward you. “Do you yield?”

You are weaponless and at his mercy but your stubbornness continues to burn bright. “No.”

In a sudden burst of energy, you land a kick on him, knocking his sword out of his grip just as he did to yours. The bold move leaves him momentarily stunned, his shadows coiling back in surprise. You take full advantage of his distraction, hooking your other leg behind his knees and bringing him down to the mat with you.

Azriel can only blink up at you as you straddle him, eyes widening when he feels a dagger–his dagger–pressed against his throat. How did you–

He’s unable to finish his thought as you shift above him and swallows thickly at the sensation of your body on top of his. The way your breathing is shallow and uneven and the way he can feel the warmth radiating off your body–

“You will.”

Your words have his attention drifting back to you. A radiant smile breaks across your face and his own lips curl upwards, hazel eyes softening as they stare into yours. “I yield,” he murmurs, ever so quietly, you wonder if you imagined it.

Your gaze drifts down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He does the same. And then the next moment, you’re kissing him. Softly and hesitantly, at first, but when Azriel responds, your heart fills with warmth. Your lips move against his with eager urgency.

Truthteller falls from your grasp and you bring your hand to grasp at the back of his neck instead, pulling him even closer. His hands find their place at your waist to keep you in place but then screams and squeals are piercing through the air. You’re immediately pulling away and jumping to your feet, absolutely flustered because in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten all about the audience you had.

You glance down at Azriel, desperately seeking a sign, but his expression is a mix of surprise and confusion. He looks nearly petrified. Your heart races and you begin to wonder if perhaps, you are a coward because all you want to do is run.

Your hand flies to your mouth. Doubts claw at the edges of your courage. What if Nesta was wrong? What if Azriel didn't like you? And you've just made a fool of yourself in front of him–your teacher– and your friends. 

Turning around, your eyes meet with the delightfully entertained audience. Gwyn and Emerie, caught up in the drama, cling to each other with excitement and unrestrained giggles. Nesta stands with the same smirk she gave you the night before though there’s a flicker of surprise in her blue-grey eyes. She hadn't expected you to follow through with the dare.

Meanwhile, Cassian’s gaze is fixed on the body behind you and he throws his head back in laughter. Ignoring the whispers and amused glances from those around you, you hastily make your exit, blind to the way you left Azriel a blushing fool.

Cassian approaches his friend, who remains rooted to his spot on the floor. Azriel is still processing the whirlwind of emotions you've stirred within him. There’s a teasing grin on Cassian’s lips. “Are you okay there, Az? You look a little–”

Azriel snaps out of the trance you've cast upon him to glare up at his friend. “Fuck off.”

He then jumps to his feet, dusting himself off and ignoring the curious glances of the females nearby. Determination fills his eyes as his head turns toward the direction you ran off to. He fears you have misinterpreted his initial shock and he can’t let this moment slip away. 

He needs to feel your soft lips against his again and more importantly, he needs to tell you that he feels the same way.

a/n: Hope you all enjoyed this one! Cas's version is already up!

tagging: @hellodarling1357, @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies

new beginnings

an; Joel has completely overtaken my brain and I'm not mad about it. I kept thinking about how Joel would feel about being approached, and openly desired after everything that happens between game one and game two-although here, he doesn't lie to Ellie. (I won't say more in case anyone hasn't seen the full play through but iykyk) Enjoy a semi-well adjusted Joel. Thanks to @wheresarizona for talking me through this💜 and to @foli-vora for being the bestest cheerleader 💜

reblogs are appreciated

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ no minors, big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, a few spanks, generally clueless Joel, Ellie being a little shit (affectionately) alcohol, let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist part 2

He’d barely taken a sip of his drink when she sat down at his booth. 

“Hi.” She smiled brightly, mischief and amusement shining in her pretty eyes. He frowned at her. 

“Hi-” He took a look around, vaguely wondering if she’d mistaken him for someone else but she pressed on, introducing herself. 

“Now’s when you’d introduce yourself back.” Her smile remained, her eyes scanning him, something like interest arranging itself on her features. 

“I’m Joel.” He straightened out, watching her with growing confusion. 

“Hi Joel, it’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for him patiently. He obliged, giving hers a firm shake. 

“You need somethin’?” His tone was neutral, maybe a bit gruff but she laughed. 

“Depends. You offering anything?” She bit her lip, her drink grasped against her chest and for the first time in years Joel was shocked into silence. She was flirting with him.

“I–uh, I’m good.” He kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t how he’d meant to decline, she wasn’t deterred though, instead she rose, smile still present. 

“Come find me if you change your mind.” She winked then, and disappeared through the crowd. Leaving him with his drink, and his thoughts. 

-

You asked about him as you went about your day, bringing him up as casually as you could with your hands elbow deep in the dirt. 

“Joel? Joel Miller?” Tommy had been looking for Maria, overhearing you mention his name. 

“Joel yes, not sure about his last name-” He was smiling curiously and it clicked. “Is he your brother?” 

“Well, if we’re thinkin’ of the same guy then yes. Big, grumpy old man? Grey hair? Sour expression?” The horse he was leading knickered softly behind him. 

“Gorgeous older man, broad as all get out? Yes–is he single?” The dirt clumped by your feet as you transferred seedlings into bigger nursery pots. Tommy laughed. 

“Shit yeah, he’s single. Not sure how he’d react to you hittin’ on him though.” 

“He seemed a bit annoyed, and confused.” You conceded, “I am very interested in him.” You sighed to yourself, remembering the broadness of him. 

“You already hit on him?” His eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “God I wish I coulda been there to see that. What’d he say?” 

“Well, he basically said -I’m good- and frowned, he seemed a little lost which leads me to believe he doesn’t get approached much.” It was a crazy thought, that no one else would take their chance and speak to him. 

“Yeah I bet he did-” he was leading the horse away. “-he’s a bit closed off, but a good guy. Be patient with him!” He was off then, leading the horse towards the stables. 

-

It was another few days before you saw him at the bar again, that same annoyed expression on his handsome face. You wasted no time. 

“Hi Joel.” You slid into the spot next to him, looking up at him through your lashes. “Nice to see you again.” He frowned at you.

“Hi–” He signalled to the bartender, “You need somethin’ from me?” 

“Some company?” He pursed his lips and thoughts of kissing him flooded your mind. “Thought maybe you could teach me where you learned to be such a great conversationalist?” You raised your eyebrows and almost despite himself, he let out a bark of laughter, but caught himself quickly. 

“I am only here for a drink.” The bartender brought a glass over then, pouring him a healthy measure of something a dark amber colour. He turned with the cup in hand, facing you with something like uncertainty before making his way to the same booth from your first meeting. 

“So, Joel. Tell me about yourself.” You sat across from him, making yourself comfortable. 

“Not much to tell.” He took a gulp of his drink, scanning the room before his eyes fell back on you. They scanned you just as they did the room. “What about you then?” 

“What about me?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“I don’t think you were here when I came the first time.” He took another gulp. “Or maybe you were. I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t, I arrived about a month ago and now I work in agriculture.”

“Agriculture.” He repeated, “Growing the food.”

“That’s right, growing the food.” You nursed your own drink, taking in his features in the low light of the bar. “How old are you Joel?” He lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’d say fifty-six, fifty-seven come fall.” He gulped down the rest of his drink, “And you?”

“Somewhere in my mid thirties in a few months, could be thirty-seven or thirty-eight. I stopped counting a long time ago.” His frown deepened for a moment before he rose abruptly. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night.” With that he was gone.

-

The food always surprised him, no matter how long he’d been in Jackson, it always floored him how good it was. Warm and comforting, nothing like the dry stale things he’d eaten for–well years. 

Ellie was speaking to him but he was too focused on the food in front of him, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t listening until he felt her smack his arm. 

“Hello? Earth to Joel? Am I talking to my goddamn self?” Her face was pinched in annoyance. 

“Sorry, what?” He tore his attention away from his bowl and made himself listen. 

“I said—“ she sighed big, “Tommy says he can help us fix the garage for me.” She spooned more food into her mouth, “I want it to be like a loft.” 

“Mhm.” He grunted into his bowl, “Sure.”

“Hey Joel, nice to see you during the day.” He hadn’t noticed her come in. Seeing her standing there with what looked to be a basket of different produce made him sputter, luckily he didn’t choke. “Hi-“ she spoke to Ellie then, introducing herself with that same beaming smile she always wore. He found himself thinking about how pretty she was.

“I’m Ellie, nice to meet you.” There was something in Ellie’s voice he didn’t like, a cheekiness and he just knew he’d be hearing about this later. “So, how do you know Joel?”

“Oh we met at the bar, are you two related?” She gestured between the two of them.

“Somethin’ like that.” He spoke low, unsure how to answer the simple question.

“He’s just my asshole caretaker. The bar sounds fun though, Joel—should I leave you two alone?” She was enjoying this way too much.

“No need, I’m just making a delivery, but hopefully I’ll see you around.” She bit her lip, watching him intently as she moved a few steps away. “It was nice to meet you Ellie.” With a final blinding smile, she was off towards the kitchen.

He sighed big at the way Ellie practically vibrated next to him.

“Don’t.” He warned.

“Oh but you know I fucking will!” She was giddy with excitement.

“Stop it Ellie.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” He pinched his brow, “Can I be your best man or person or whatever? I’ve never been to a wedding—“

“Ellie quit it, it’s nothin’.” He pushed his food away, no longer in the mood to eat with the way his stomach felt, chucking it up to annoyance at Ellie and definitely not adrenaline at seeing her.

“What? Joel are you fucking blind? That woman likes you! She likes you a lot, you gonna ask her out?” He sighed again, rising from his seat. 

“Ellie, I am beggin’ you, please don’t make a big fuss.” He gave her a hard stare. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He quickly put his jacket on, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Yeah yeah, you goddamn grump.” She went back to eating, leaving him to get on with his day and he couldn’t have been more grateful. 

- 

You found him at the same booth a few days later, nursing what looked to be his regular drink of choice and once again sat with him. This time though, as you tried to make conversation it finally hit you. His attitude didn’t change, his frown remained in place, his answers were short and your heart sank. 

What you’d hoped was just a gruff exterior, a facade waiting to be taken down was now looking more like his general personality. 

I think I’m barking up the wrong tree here. 

The realisation weighed heavy in your gut as you sat there with him, forcing a conversation he obviously didn’t want to have. You watched him struggling, the cogs in his mind turning, no doubt looking for a way to get out of having to entertain you. 

“So–you got any family alive–?” His voice was unsure and suddenly you felt foolish. 

“Nope, all dead. Well, thanks for the company, I’ll leave you to it.” You shot back the rest of your drink and rose quickly, ignoring the shame and hurt swirling in your chest, moving away from him to lick your wounds by yourself. 

-

“What do you want me to say Joel?” Tommy was irritated, his back turned to Joel while he went about cleaning his weapons. 

“I’d like to know why is all, I don’t get it.” He stood at the door to the workshop, his arms crossed.

“God knows why but she’s sweet on you.” The rifle was taken apart on the workbench, holding most of Tommy’s attention. “But like I said before, just talk to her, or let her know if you aren’t interested.” 

“She’s a beautiful young woman, and I’m a grumpy old man.” He couldn’t help but kick at the floor, his mind a whir of inadequacy and confusion. 

“You got that fuckin’ right.” It was said under his breath but Joel heard it just the same. 

“I haven’t been with anyone since Tess, Tommy.” He sighed out loud. His brother's attention turned to him fully then, the tools in his hands now dropped to the table. 

“I know that, you don’t have to be with anyone if you don’t want to. Now this girl likes you, and it sounds to me like you like her back. So be a grown-up and talk to her.” His younger brother gave him a half smile, sending Joel away with more than enough food for thought. 

-

He’d had a pep talk with himself on the way over to the bar. 

Smile. 

Ask questions. 

Be nice to her.

It was a simple list but ever since things had gone to shit, Joel had found it hard to keep up with friendly niceties. Not much room for that in the world of today, things were different here though and he had to get with the program, or he’d be looking at the rest of his time on this earth alone. 

He thought back to how things had been with Tess, how naturally they'd come together, how easy–but it only seemed easy to him because Tess had been the one to go to work. She’d taken the raw anger and muscle that was Joel and shaped him, honed him and directed him towards their common goal. She’d initiated every aspect of their relationship and it was only now that he realised how grateful he’d been.

The bar was busy, his usual booth was taken so he stood near the counter, waiting for the barkeep to bring him his usual drink. His eyes raked through the room. He ignored the relief he felt when he finally spotted her sitting with a group of people he didn’t know, watching the easy way she smiled, the way her face lit up when she laughed. She spotted him then and he frowned to see her dim a bit. She raised her glass to him in greeting, but she didn’t join him like he thought she would. 

So he waited. 

He had one drink, thinking maybe she didn’t want to be rude to her friends. He had another drink, his eyes finding their way back to where she sat every few minutes, perking up when finally she rose from the table. He ran through his notes to himself as she weaved her way through the patrons, but instead of finding him, she waved goodbye to the bartender, and walked out into the night. 

Maybe she was tired. 

He thought to himself as he walked back home, ignoring the tiny voice in his head, the one that told him she changed her mind. 

He shook the thought away. She just needed some effort, what he needed to do was walk up to her and sit with her for a change. He needed to take the initiative and the next time he saw her at the bar, he would.

-

She wasn’t there. 

He asked around for her, noting that no one had seen her at the bar in a few days. 

He didn’t want to admit that he was worried about her, didn’t want to say the words out loud, not to himself, or to Tommy, or god forbid Ellie. He was, though and the feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach, a boulder he carried alone. 

He sighed, annoyed with himself at not having been able to just express the way she made him feel, to tell her that just as she’d been looking at him - god knows why - he’d been looking back at her. He sighed again, thankful her house was just another block away, reminding himself that this town was safe, that she’d probably be busy. 

-

The sky was clear enough to see the stars, the Milky Way a great swathe across the sky. Too bright to be inside and so you’d made yourself comfy on your porch, the cooling cup of tea in your hands  your only companion for the night. 

I should see if I can find myself a dog or something.

The thought bounces around with growing interest, would be nice to have something to cuddle and keep you company.

There’s movement just beyond the walkway up towards your porch and for a second you think it might just be people walking home from the movie but the shape is familiar.

“Joel?” You’re surprised to see him here, “does Maria need something?” You’re on high alert.

“No, I-uh, I came lookin’ for you,” he slows his stride midway up the walkway, 

“Oh, okay—you need something?”

“I was just wonderin’ where you been. Haven’t seen you at the bar, and last time you didn’t come talk to me. Wanted to see if you were okay.” He scratched at the back of his neck, his discomfort apparent.

“It’s alright Joel.” You let out a breath, grateful for his worry but resigned. “You don’t have to check up on me. I can take a hint, I figured I’d leave you be.” You gave him a small smile. 

“What do you mean?” He took another step forward, inching his way to the foot of your porch.

“I mean, I get it. You’re not interested and it’s okay. I can deal with a crush, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because you don’t like me back. I’m a big girl I’ve been rejected before and no doubt I’ll be rejected again—“

“I’m not rejectin’ you I just—“ He took one step up.

“Really Joel, It’s okay, I’ll be fine and you don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“What is it you like? I mean physically, you find me attractive I guess but why? I’m a grouchy old man.” He crossed his arms, his face pinched with an almost angry curiosity. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Why am I attracted to you? I don’t know Joel. I think you’re gorgeous for one. You’re big and strong, and I like that you’re older than me. I like your face and your hands, and when I look at you I just wanna sit in your lap and kiss.” It came out without your permission but there it was, honesty. “I won’t say you aren’t a little scary, in the way that I can see you’ve probably done some things you thought you’d never have to do, but that’s the world we live in now I suppose. Can’t say I haven’t done some of that stuff too.”

“You think all that of me?” He took another step up.

“Yes, now if you don’t want that kind of attention from me, I can understand that and eventually I’ll get over you.” His hair was combed back, the grey of it catching the light of the moon.

“I don’t want you to get over me.” One final step and now he’s standing over you. “I’ll never understand why you think those things about me but I’d like to try, maybe get a drink together like a real date.”

“You want to take me out on a date?” Your heart raced, butterflies fluttering around in your belly.

“Yes ma’am. I think you’re real pretty, and I’d like to take you out for a drink. ” He smiles, making you swoon a little. “Come on, we got time.” He holds his hand out, and you take it without hesitation. 

—-

The walk home from the bar and your official first date was more akin to a stroll, the two of you weaving your way through the streets until your little house came into view. His voice was so soothing, the low pitch of it the soundtrack for the trip back and you did your best to enjoy the sound of it. He stopped when you reached the walkway and that pesky honesty bubbled up and out of your mouth.

“You ever gonna kiss me Joel?” His lips looked so soft, the plush of them a subject of many of your daydreams.

“I was plannin’ on it, was waitin’ til’ we got to your front door.” His hands dug their way into his pockets, a nervous gesture.

Wordlessly you threaded your arm with his and led him up the steps towards your door, hardly able to contain the smile and once you’d made it there, he went for it. Shy and tentative at first, a soft press of his lips to yours but it quickly changed. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, begging for entrance just as his hands moved from your shoulders to rest at your hips.

You can’t help but whimper into his mouth, can’t help but press yourself closer, stand on your tippy toes to be as near to him as you can be. 

“Come inside-“ you breathe the words onto his mouth when you both finally pull away. “Come inside and kiss me some more.” You wrap one arm around his neck, pressing the palm of the other onto his face, satisfying the urge to run your fingers through the greying patches of hair. 

“Yeah? You want me to come in?” He pulls you close, his big palms on your back, the warmth of them seeping through your layers. 

“Yes, do you want to?” You press kisses to his jaw, to his lips and neck, the beating of his heart thrums against your lips with every kiss you press to his throat. 

“God, yes.” His breathy admission makes you drip, makes you rush to open the door and pull him inside. 

He falls onto the couch and you’re close behind him, your knees bracketing his hips to fulfil all of your favourite fantasies. The smile on his face when you settle onto his lap heats your blood, it urges you to slip your hands around his neck and hold him close, to grind your aching core against the hardening pillar of his sex underneath you while you kiss him just how you’ve been wanting to. 

He moans into your mouth. His hands sweep downwards from your ribs, they land heavy on your ass and pull you closer, coaxing a steady river of slick to drip out and onto your panties. 

“I want you so bad Joel.” You bite his lip, relishing the groan he gifts you with. “I’m so fucking wet for you.” Your fingers slip through the soft waves at the back of his neck. His eyes find you and he lets out a low Fuck, his eyes lustblown in the low light of your cozy little livingroom. “Can I sit on your cock?” You ask him in your sweetest voice, “Please?” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his forehead pressed to yours and he nods. 

“Yes baby, you can have whatever you want.” 

Within a few frantic minutes, his cock was out, resting heavily against the softness of his belly. You can’t help but stare at it while moving away to quickly shed your bottom layers. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. He’s so thick, the head of him an angry red and sticky with his own arousal. 

You sat back onto his thighs, moving up to notch him at your dripping entrance–his hands guided you down slowly, until you sat flush and he was sheathed to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck you feel so fucking good.” His eyes are shut tight and you sit motionless for a moment, breathing through the delicious stretch of him. 

“So do you, you’re fucking huge Joel.” You clench around him and relish the filthy moan he lets out. His hands are heavy, gripping the globes of your ass, holding you tight to him. 

Your heart is pounding, both in your chest and in your cunt, you bounce to its beat–unable to hold out any longer. You let out a hiss at the way his fingers dig into your flesh, relishing the thought of feeling the evidence of your coupling in the days to come.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grits the words out, his mouth pressed against the collar of your shirt—too many layers. It only takes a moment to open your shirt, to pull down the cups of your bra and even less than that to have his mouth attach itself to the stiff peak of your nipple. 

It was obscene the way he moaned into your skin, his mouth a steady suck while you did your best to bounce, slick seeping out around him, finally finding the rhythm that inches you closer to your peak but his eyes close tight, reinforcing his grip on your hips.

“Oh fuck, fuck baby wait—oh god I’m gonna come—“ he let out a shudder against the spit slicked skin of your breast and you felt him twitch inside you, felt the spurt of him deep.

It was much faster than you expected. Faster than you’d hoped; you couldn’t help but be incredibly flattered.

“Jesus Christ–” His face was pressed up against your chest, his hands sweeping slowly from your ass, up to rub your back. “I’m sorry, feel like a fuckin’ teenager again.” 

“Don’t be, hell of a way to make a girl feel good about herself.” You tried to ignore the way your own climax was slipping away from you. “Makes me feel sexy.” You pulled his face up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. 

“You are sexy, incredibly sexy.” He looked so beautiful in that moment, with the flush crawling up his neck and stars in his eyes. “But I want you to come.” His hand moved, his thumb slipping into your mouth, the pad of it sliding against your tongue for a moment before he slipped it between the lips of your sex to circle around your neglected little clit. 

You couldn’t help but clench around him–couldn’t help but tighten your hold onto the grey waves of his hair as he kept up his dizzying rhythm, 

“I want you to feel good.” His voice was a velvet rasp, “I want you to come around my cock.” His mouth found your nipple then, his tongue laving at it mercilessly.

It was right there. The friction of his thumb just right, his mouth a steady suck. Heat crawled up your spine, bloomed in your core and with a final swirl you clenched around him, waves of pleasure crashing through you like waves on a shore.

“Good god—“ you folded into him, arms wrapped around his neck tight.

“I feel like I could melt into this sofa.” He was blissed out, softening inside you.

“Me too.” You pressed kisses to his cheeks, showering him with post coital affection.

“We won’t though.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye when he looked up, “let me catch my breath, then you’re gonna get it.” 

-

His grip is tight on your hips, the span of his hands on your skin is almost dizzying but you couldn’t focus on that just now. Instead you focused on the way he filled you, on the way his cock was splitting you open in the best way possible. You focused on the wet, obscene sounds coming from between your legs. 

You focused on how wet you were, on how it seeped out around him and down your thighs, on the comforting feel of his body pressed against yours. 

“That’s it baby, take it–” He snapped his hips faster and you had to put your arms up in front to keep from moving up and bumping your face into the headboard. “This what you wanted?” He bent forward, one hand sliding up the soft skin of your belly, up to hold the weight of your breast in his hand, your nipple tightening almost painfully against his palm. All you could do was moan, throaty cries of pleasure escaping from somewhere in your throat. 

His confidence was high, you could hear it in the breathy laugh he let out at your inability to speak. Could feel it as he slowed down from a heavy thrust to a slow grind, his groin pressed up tightly against the swell of your ass. 

He gave you no warning. 

A loud crack–a heavy spank made you gasp into the damp sheets under your mouth. 

It was a shock, but a very welcome one. Heat spreads through your face, it tingles its way along your skin; into your breasts and through your core and you feel a wave of slick drip out around you but he’s silent. There’s a flicker of doubt in the way he stays completely still. 

“Talk to me baby.” His voice is soft; chaste. His hand soothes over the stinging skin where his palm had landed. 

“Do it again.” You barely recognize your own voice, a low wanton thing.  

He obeys, another loud crack on the other cheek as his thrusts pick up. This time his pace is brutal, his hands landing yet another smack before he’s bent over and reaching around, his fingers a delicious swirl at your clit. 

“Soak my cock, be good for me and come.” His voice is in your ear, his teeth taking your lobe into his mouth while he bodily shoves you over the edge and into a blinding climax. You clench around the thickness of him, the muscles in your thighs tensing as you crest and the force of it pulls him under with you. A filthy moan in your ear before you feel the hot spurt of him deep inside. 

“Jesus Christ Joel–” You breathe hard into the sheets. He pulls out with a hiss and rolls to lay beside you.

“Good?” You can hear the pride swelling in his chest. “Did I redeem myself for comin’ too quick downstairs?” His drawl is more pronounced now with the way he almost slurs his words. You see the relaxation in his face when you turn to look at him. It looks good on his handsome face, almost like seeing a glimpse of a younger Joel, some long lost carefree version of him. If there had ever been that version of him at all. It was a nice image to hold in your mind, him–young and smiling. 

You laugh, giddy with pleasure. 

“It’s not a big deal, really flattering actually.” You trace a scar on his chest idly, the solid beat of his heart reassuring under your fingers. 

“Embarrasin’ more like. I didn’t want you to think I was some two-pump chump.” His hand holds yours to his skin and you ignore the way your heart races, ignore the way it has nothing to do with the remnants of your orgasm. “You got somethin’ I can clean you up with?” He pulls away to sit up with a groan. 

“What a gentleman.” You follow him. You can feel him dripping out of you when you slide to sit next to him at the edge of the bed, the perverse pleasure making you beam. “I got a better idea–” You stand and pull him up, “shower time.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He smiles, and follows you to your bathroom.

---

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy

hi my love!! how are you?🩷

i saw your requests are open and i wanted to ask for more jealous!aaron if you’re up for it! maybe one of the girls (probably jj or penelope) set up reader on a date and they are talking about it on the jet ride home from a case. she’s not too sure about it but wants to give it a chance…rossi and derek are hyping her up too maybe! and our man aaron is just watching thinking he’s lost his chance but little does he know she’s only going to try and get him out of her mind.

wishful thinking

these kinda plots >>> 💓 cw; bau!reader, sooo much mutual pining (they're both idiots), a touch of jealous!aaron, slight angst wc; 1k

You weren't being too subtle.

As the others were settling down, getting situated for the ride home, your priorities laid elsewhere; admiring Aaron and the handsome, beautiful, handsome features he possessed.

The way his cowlicks were tousled gently over his forehead, just begging to swept back. His chiseled jawline, one your hand yearned to span across. His enviously long eyelashes. His lips-

Penelope suddenly sitting next to you pulled you from your trance, causing you to jump. It had been one of those rare instances she was needed in the field, offering her specialities on sight rather than stationed back in Quantico.

The expression she bared was rather eager, complete with a pair of googly eyes.

You laughed shakily, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks - hoping your longing stare hadn't actually gone noticed, "May I help you?"

"So," Her grin widened, "are you excited!?"

You grimaced slightly as your mood instantly deflated. You uneasily crossed a leg over the other, "I don't know."

"Excited for what?" Morgan inputted from above; headphones in hand, twirling the headband in a circle around his index finger.

You offered a sigh in response, so Penelope took the initiative to answer for you.

"You know James Cameron? From Homeland Security?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He's expressed quite the interest in our fellow crime fighter." Penelope's excited grin turned back towards yourself, also nudging you with an elbow. "And so I've honorably claimed the role of Cupid and someone," More wistful eyes pointed at you, "has a date Saturday night."

"He's a catch." JJ expressed enthusiastically, dramatizing a swoon as she sat across from the two of you. "Tall, dark, handsome."

"I can vouch I've heard nothing but good things about him." Morgan teasingly ruffled the hair on the top of your head, "Way to go kid."

You offered a meek smile, squirming ever so slightly in your seat. It took everything in you to not let your gaze drift back elsewhere. "Thanks but... I'm not so sure I want to go."

"What's not to be sure about? He's smokin', successful. It'll be good for you, too. When's the last time you put yourself out there?" JJ pointed out, arching an eyebrow in emphasis.

You shrugged, your chin landing in your palm.

Clearly you couldn't go into the specifics; the truth being you had your eyes on someone else. A particular boss you all shared, sitting just a few feet away.

The whole dating scene, you've been hesitant due to said feelings. The only reason you had truly considered going out - was to get Aaron out of your mind. You've spent countless, sleepless nights thinking about him, picking apart every little interaction; the way he looked at you after you had a breakthrough at a profile, admirable enough to make you want to burst at the seams. Walking alongside him, hands centimeters apart, softly grazing his skin. The concern he showed following an unfortunate brawl with an unsub - he had almost reached out to cradle your face. But, all of which could have been entirely figments of your imagination. Wishful thinking.

But regardless, they had given you the slightest amount of hope. Which is why you waited, but you couldn't do so forever; the probability of you and him - highly unlikely.

You had two choices; to continue holding out for the impossible, or to pursue the realistic.

You peered over at Aaron, consumed entirely by the file in his lap. It didn't appear he was paying attention, and that stung. All things considered.

The truth is, he was, and disliking every single bit of it. While it looked as if he were working, he was merely scribbling on a scrap piece of paper, enough to wear it down and produce a hole; silently brooding and anxiously waiting to hear where the conversation went. The more it carried on, however, the more jealousy burned in the middle of his chest. The two of you were close, you understood him like no one else, but that itself was the issue.

He feared if you got too close, if you really, really knew him, he would damage you somehow. Or worse, you'd end up similarly to Haley - unsatisfied and yearning to leave him behind. And so, he had refrained from being proactive.

In addition, right now, part of him didn't know what hurt more; the fact you were going on a date with someone who wasn't him, or the fact that you hadn't mentioned it.

"I say go for it." Dave offered, "Trust me. I am an expert, after all."

Emily bust out laughing, "Okay."

"What do you think?" You asked over their laughter, your voice detrimentally small. "Hotch?"

Aaron's head lifted, his eyes immediately latching onto yours. It kept circling in his head; You missed your chance. You're missing your chance.

Despite the ongoing internal conflict, one he could resolve in a few simple words, he panicked.

"I don't see a reason not to." He rushed out, your heart plummeting into your stomach at his words. "Of course, don't do anything you're not comfortable with. But there's no harm in seeing if there's a connection."

Even as he spoke, he didn't sound like himself - as if someone else were doing the talking. Extremely feigned, forced. Speaking from his mind rather than his heart.

"Okay," You bit your lip, looking directly at him as you spoke. "I will."

As the others switched topics, your eyes stayed with Aaron's. A silent exchange drifted between the two of you, Spencer's current tangent seemingly miles away. Hurt, betrayal, a touch of something else too.

You exhaled deeply, turning to look out your window.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Did it?

Rattled 01 (M) | JJK

{Pairing} Jeon Jeongguk/Reader {Kim Namjoon/Reader, briefly}

{Genre} Single dad AU, Angst, Healing, E2L, F2L, Smut

{Rating} E 18+

{Word Count} 10.3K

{Warnings} angst, anxiety, depictions of panic attack, lots of crying, feelings of hopelessness, very brief non graphic sex. 

{Series Masterlist}

{Banner by @stutterfly​}

Keep reading

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away.