Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who acts too “nonchalant” to the point where you didn’t even know he had a crush on you. You only figured it out cause you caught him lacking one day, exposing himself to his friends and, by mistake, you as well. He still hasn’t lived it down.

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who is ALWAYS watching you when you’re unaware. You could literally be sitting next to him, focused on something on your phone and he’s just watching you. He’s too shy to actually comment or anything so instead he just remains watching. If he gets caught he will look everywhere except you (that one clip on tiktok).

But then at the same time Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who will get visibly upset when you don't notice him watching you. Likeeee he’s staring so desperately at you and you’re just gonna ignore him??

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who can’t take compliments from you, his pretty girlfriend. Will he walk around shirtless doing exercise and taking hot photos? Yes. But the second you go “damn you look fiiiiiiine”, this man is GONE. Now you just have a half naked man who’s hugging himself half shy half embarrassed cause he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who constantly buys you things to remind you of him. Matching key chains, clothes, toys, etc. He even uses your phone to take photos of himself, telling you to just send them to him when he needs them, so that whenever you open your gallery you’re greeted with your happy boyfriend. 

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who would most definitely buy you a Hirono. They look just like him, okay not all of them but a decent amount 😭. He picks out the ones that look most like him and tells you to carry them around with you everywhere so when he’s not with you, you have a mini him in your pocket.

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who has to absolutely lock tf in whenever you go out on dates together. You look fine asf and he is fully aware, he was barely able to compliment you when you dressed up cause he was literally mind blank. Like what even is korenglish?? Anyways. He can’t let anyone else think they have a chance with you so he has to lock in.

Shy but Down Bad Bf Ohyul who texts you things he could never say out loud. At 2am you get a "you were really pretty today" from a man who was standing right next to you less than 3 hours ago and said absolutely nothing.

It’s funny cause he ain’t even shy like that, it’s just you bro. This is your fault.

Down Bad Bf Ohyul who responds to your "good morning" texts with a voice memo instead of typing. Thinks his morning voice is hot asf (it is). Doesn't say much. Just his voice going "mhm. Morning baby." and then silence. He did it once as a mistake and never stopped because of how you reacted.

Down Bad Bf Ohyul who takes the long route when you're walking together. Your destination could be like ten minutes away from your current location but he will literally look for the longest way to get there just so he can spend a bit more time with you.

Bf Ohyul who honestly doesn't know how to act around you cause he just loves you so much. Give him a few minutes to get his act together please 😞😓🙏🏻

you sighed softly, still half asleep as your hips shifted without thinking. your ass now flushed against him as he stirs behind you. ohyul lazily traces his fingers down your stomach, pressing his soft lips against your shoulder. he hummed, voice rough from sleep. his grip tightens on you as his thick cock was already filling up in his boxers as it presses into the curve of your ass.

“baby..” he murmurs, shuffling impossibly closer to you as the duvet crackles in the quiet room. soft breaths hitched in your throats as you grind back against him sneakily, fingers tugging at the waistband of his boxers to pull them down.

“need you..” you whisper, his hips lifting up just enough so you can pull his boxers down. his cock springs free, thick and warm as it slaps up against your ass. ohyul nuzzled into your hair, his hands wandering downwards until his fingers dip into your now wet panties. you gasp as he begins running his fingers along your slick folds and rubs slow circles over your clit. his mouth busy pressing kisses on the side of your head, taking his sweet time as there’s no rush in this sweet morning.

your whimpers for more has ohyul shushing you gently, “ok baby, i got you.” he whispers, finally tugging down your underwear just enough for his cock to slide through. his arm tightens around you as he guides the tip to your slick entrance. he nudges there, sliding his cock in between your sticky folds teasingly before finally pushing himself into your warm wet heat. both of you let out a low moan, ohyul sinking inside inch by inch, stretching you out slowly until he’s fully seated inside you, hips flush against your ass.

“god, yn. feel so good.” his breath shudders against your neck, not thrusting just yet, wanting to savour the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing around his fat cock so good. the feeling of him filling you up so well has you sighing in satisfaction, your hand reaching back to tug at his hair.

“love you so much yn.” he whispers to you, slowly rocking his hips back and forth shallowly. “love you too, ohyul.” you replied softly, pushing back into him. the quiet bedroom starts to fill with wet sounds and the soft crackles of the duvet shifting around you both. your breathing becomes heavier, soft gasps and moans leaving your pretty lips as ohyul fucks into you deeper. he kisses along your neck and shoulders, his hands reaching up to squeeze your soft tits. you gasp at the sensation, arching into him for more.

he gently rolls you onto your back still fully inside you. the mattress dips as he settles over you. you eyes adjusted in the dim morning light, just about making out the broad outline of his shoulders and the way his bed hair falls in front of his eyes. ohyul’s mouth find yours in a sleepy kiss. tongues slide together lazily, no urgency between you both, just the comforting warmth and closeness.

he rocks into you deeper, gasping softly into his mouth. your hands roam over his back, nails digging in lightly into his warm skin. ohyul braces himself over you, his hips grinding into you in slow steady strokes that drags against your gummy walls so good every time. he lowers his mouth to your collarbone, sucking and biting the skin there and then back to your lips. one hand drifts down between your bodies to circle your clit again, thumb pressing down firmer making you moan and throw your head back, your pussy clenching tighter around him now.

“that’s it baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “come on.” you cling onto him tighter, your orgasm creeping approaching faster. ohyul slides his other hand up towards yours to intertwine them, letting you clasp tightly onto him. breathy moans becoming louder as you pull him down closer, burying your face into his neck as you tremble around him. your orgasm spilling out as your walls clamp around him even tighter, moaning his name quietly as he groans too right by your ear. his hips stuttering as he buries himself fully inside you, his cock pulsing as he cums deep inside, filling you with his warmth. his forehead drops to yours, soft pants mingling together as he rides out his orgasm.

you both don't move for a while. your soft sleepy giggles filling the room as he shakes his head, smiling softly. ohyul stays inside you, his cock softening but doesn't wanna pull out just yet. eventually he shifts onto his side, not wanting to crush you underneath him. you tried to sit up to leave but he pulls you to his chest again, back to where you started. “stay. don’t get up yet.” he whispers into your hair, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the sides of your arms. you sigh softly and snuggle back against him quiet already half asleep again. his lips press a soft kiss against your cheek and whispers a “go back to sleep.” and wrapped up in his warmth, you do ♡

You ground your hips against him, just enough to feel his nose nudge against your clit. Sighing at the small relief.

Ohyul's groan vibrated against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. He pressed his tongue flat against the soaked fabric—just for a second—before wrenching it aside with his teeth.

"Impatient," he scolded, but the moment his lips sealed around your clit and sucked, all teasing evaporated into sheer desperation. His fingers dug bruises into your hips, holding them down as you arched against him. "Couldn't even wait until I was out of my damn clothes."

He pulled back just enough to growl, "Stay still." Then dove back in like a man starving—each flick of his tongue sharp and filthy between words— "...or I'll tie you down... and take my damn time."

The pleasure had your head spinning, heat coursing through your veins. The tongue piercing he had only sweetened every lick, the cold metal offering more.

His tongue piercing trailed along your skin. He looked like sin, and god, how he wanted to make you call out his name like a prayer until you were gasping for air.

Your thighs try to close in around his head, to keep him in place. He clicked his tongue, the sound lost to the way he pressed his face back into you, hands digging into your thighs to keep them apart. "I said keep still, or are you just begging for me to tie you up?"

Before you could comply, he was already pulling away. Undoing his belt and grabbed both of your wrists, using the leather to bind your hands together. "That's my girl..." he muttered, dragging your hips to the very edge of the bed and burying himself between your thighs again—this time with no mercy.

His tongue worked in cruel, practiced strokes, alternating between broad licks that had you seeing stars and sharp flicks of that damn piercing right where you needed it most.

One hand slid under your ass to grip hard enough to lift you into his mouth with a muffled groan— "Scream for me."

Your insides were already tingling, guts twisting and knotting as he continued his assault on you. "Oh- yul-!" You choked out a sob, reaching to gripping the bedsheets. "Oh god–"

The second your voice broke, Ohyul redoubled his efforts—sucking your clit into his mouth with a groan that vibrated against you, tongue pressing mercilessly against that perfect spot while his free hand snaked up to roughly pinch one of your nipples.

He could feel the way you clenched around nothing beneath him, and it drove him wild.

"Don't call for god," he snarled against slick skin before biting down just above where you needed him most—sharp enough to wring another ragged cry from you. "Say my name when you cum."

"I'm gonna cum, baby– gonna cum–" You panted, pupils blown wide as you stared at him in between your legs. His fingers digging into your thighs as he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, relentless. His tongue lashed at you in quick, sinful flicks, the cold metal of his piercing dragging just right every damn time.

Until you finally shattered beneath him with a cry that went straight to his cock.

Letting out a loud sob-like groan as you squirted all over his face, splattering messily as you came hard.

Ohyul didn’t even flinch.

He kept his mouth on you, drinking you in with a groan so deep it bordered on animalistic—tongue lapping up every last drop until you were twitching and oversensitive beneath him. Only then did he finally pull back, lips glistening, chin dripping as he smirked up at you through hooded eyes.

"Messy," he mumbled, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth like it was the sweetest damn thing he’d ever tasted. He leaned in close enough for you to feel his next words against your swollen clit, "Let’s do it again."

"Ohyul, wait—"

"Hm?" he hummed, raising an eyebrow. His gaze raking over your body, taking in the sight of you wrecked and panting before him. "Changed your mind, already?"

"Cock."

"Thought you'd say that..." he muttered, chuckling under his breath, he didn't even bother fully undressing—just shoved his pants down enough to free his cock, gripping the base and giving it a slow stroke right in front of your face. "Since you asked so nicely."

"Just your mouth, or do you want more than that?" he growled. The question was only half-serious—he was so damn hard just looking at you, he'd give you anything you asked for.

"In my pussy..." you pant, looking up at him. The belt binding your hands together digging into your skin.

"Fuck—" His free hand slid down to grip your thigh and wrench it over his hip. He didn’t even bother lining himself up properly—just dragged the head of his cock through your slick once, twice, before shoving in to the hilt with a single ruthless thrust.

A ragged groan ripped out of him as he bottomed out, forehead dropping against yours. "So fucking wet," he gritted out, hips already rolling in shallow, punishing circles. "And all for me?"

"Yes baby–" You moaned, spreading your legs wider so that he could take it to his advantage and fill you fully.

Ohyul’s breath came in rough, uneven bursts as he drove into you with a rhythm that bordered on feral—each snap of his hips punctuated by the slap of skin and the choked-off noises you couldn’t seem to stop making. His fingers dug into your hip hard enough to bruise, the other hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back and expose your throat as he leaned down to bite at your collarbone.

"Say it," he demanded against sweat-slick skin, voice shredded with desperation. "Tell me whose pussy this is."

"Fuck– it's yours!" You moaned loudly, legs shaking as he bit your neck.

"Damn right." He snarled the words against your skin before sealing his mouth over yours in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue—swallowing every gasp, every broken moan as he fucked you stupid. His hips pistoned into you with brutal precision, the angle just right to have you seeing stars with every thrust.

He only broke the kiss to growl against your lips, "Fill you up so good, baby."

You opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out like a whore. The scene alone made him haul your legs over his shoulders in one brutal motion, driving into you so deep your vision whited out for a second—before spitting straight onto your tongue with a ragged groan.

"Disgusting," he panted, thumb hooking the corner of your mouth to drag it wider as he fucked into you harder, faster. "You take it so well—you stupid slut. Just opening your mouth, wanting me to spit on you." His other hand slid down to rub tight circles on your clit, pushing you toward another ruinous climax as he growled, "Come with me."

You gladly swallowed his spit, "More..." you mumbled, smiling as the tip pounded—kissing your cervix wetly with every thrust.

He let out a fuck-filthy laugh, dragging his thumb from your lips to smear more spit down your chin.

"Greedy girl," he rasped, hips never stuttering in their brutal pace—each thrust punching the air from your lungs. "You want more?" His fingers tangled in your hair again, wrenching your head back as he leaned down to lick a hot stripe up the column of your throat before biting hard enough to bruise.

Then—just like you wanted—he gathered another mouthful of spit and let it drip directly onto your tongue, watching with satisfaction as you swallowed it like the good girl you were. "Take every fucking drop I give you."

The scene looked straight out of a porno. And you were enjoying it. He was bathing in it.

"Look at you, smiling all over my dick, huh?" He grins, slapping you across the cheek, just enough to make you look stupid. Your combined moans and skin-on-skin sounds lewd enough that it was the only thing that rang in both of your ears.

"Fuck, look at you," he panted, voice wrecked as his hand slid from your hair to grip your throat—not squeezing, just holding. Just reminding you who owned every gasp spilling from your lips. "Made for this—made to take my cock like a goddamn dream."

His hips stuttered, pace turning erratic as he felt his own climax coil tight in his gut. He leaned down until his lips brushed yours, sharing your air as he growled, "Cum with me."

You squirted for the second time, drenching your bodies and the bedsheets. Biting down your drunken smile as the orgasm hit hard again.

With a feral groan, he buried himself to the hilt and pumped his release into you in hot, ragged pulses—each one wringing another broken sound from both of you. Cock throbbing inside your pussy you could feel it give you one last delicious stretch as it pumped his sweet cum inside you.

His fingers tightened on your throat just enough to feel your racing pulse as he rode out the aftershocks, forehead pressed to yours like an anchor. When he finally pulled back, cock still twitching inside you.

⤷ ゛ohyul ˎˊ˗

humiliation! ˎˊ˗ he likes it when you call him out on things that makes him flush pink and pretty. call him anything; perv, pathetic, good boy, it’s got him creaming in his pants. LOVES when you grip his hair and force him to look at the sticky mess he’s making whilst your stroking his cock until he’s cumming all over himself and your pretty hands. making him lick your hand clean as you call him filthy for doing so, only for his cock to twitch up again in interest.

dacryphilia!ˎˊ˗ at first he felt guilty when you started blubbering on his cock, the overwhelming sensation and pleasure all too much for you. but now it gets him riled up, watching you cry on his cock only. his own stomach flutters seeing you sob so pitifully. your beautiful face streaked with tears as he licks them off you, pounding into you harder as he shushes you softly, not wanting to cum just yet.

praise!ˎˊ˗ he js loves you sm and always wants to make sure you know how good you’re doing for him, your small pussy sucking in his cock greedily. he leaves kisses all over your body, singing praises into your ear about how perfect you are and that your pussy was made for him. return the favour and it has his brain turn into mush, snapping his hips into you quicker as his cock throbs inside you, already close to cumming.

dirty talk!ˎˊ˗ loves when you talk straight filth into his ears. he gets off on it. no shame. you could be in a public space and you’d lean over to whisper the most outrageous things. it leaves him frozen for a second but then he’s squirming in his seat, head hung down to hide the flush on his cheeks as his hardening cock starts to strain against his jeans. and then he’s rushing you home, throwing you onto the bed and demands you to say it again. blood rushing to his cock as he fills out your nasty fantasies you were whispering to him before, wanting to see if you’re all bark and no bite. there’s no tapping out now!

overstimulation!ˎˊ˗ when he’s sinking his cock back into your filled pussy he says he can’t help it. he just loves the feeling of your sticky filled cunt squeezing around his now painful cock but he can’t stop. he’s panting into your neck and spilling out apologies as you whine for him to slow down because you’re so sensitive. he’s holding your shaking legs down as he’s adamant on making you cum and squirt again on his cock.

⤷ ゛ryul ˎˊ˗

creampies!ˎˊ˗ he’s the type to spread your sticky folds w his fingers to watch his cum dribble out of your stretched pussy. he curses under his breath watching your sticky pussy clenching around nothing, trying to keep his seed in. he’s scooping the mess up with his fingers immediately to push it back inside you, not wanting you to waste a single drop.

choking!ˎˊ˗ his hand is always somehow creeping up your neck to wrap it around firmly on your throat, not applying that much pressure but just enough so you can feel it. he can feel your wet cunt clench around him as he does it, loving that dizzy feeling you get. he gets off knowing how much you trust him to not hurt you. he feels this buzz that he’s in control and you let him be. and when he squeezes ever so lightly around your throat you gasp and that glint in your eyes brighten as get lost in the dizzy feeling, your orgasm hitting you much harder and it's got him groaning and needing more.

roleplay!ˎˊ˗ …you’ve gotta hear me out on this, have you seen him at fansigns?? bros always dressing up and low-key think he’d be into that. give him a police uniform and some cuffs and he’d be on it. professor and student. doctor and patient. at first you’d laugh at him and say no which made him pout in a corner but of course he respected your decision. but one time he actually convinced you to try it with him. the first was as a policeman and that’s when you realised how sexy this man is in a uniform and giving strict orders. it actually didn’t take much more convincing after that. if you were both in a goofy mood there would be times where either of you would laugh and break character but it was always fun AND you’d have the most mind blowing orgasms through these fantasies. deffo would try to fuck you in one of his naruto cosplays he stole from one of the fansign events and idk how that would go down lmao

hair pulling!ˎˊ˗ he’s got the perfect hair for this and it goes both ways. he’s wrapping his hand around your silky hair for leverage whilst he fucks you doggy on the bed. and when you’re being bratty he’s tugging harshly at your scalp, pulling your head back so your throat is bared at him, enjoying your soft pleas for some mercy before shoving you face down into the pillow to shut you up. and when he’s eating you out he loves when you’re tugging at his hair to get him off you, too sensitive and impatient. or you’re gripping his hair to shove his face impossibly closer to your dripping pussy, groaning against your sticky core as you use him for your pleasure.

size!ˎˊ˗ the way his body engulfs yours underneath him has him reeling. you’re clutching weakly at his broad shoulders with your small hands as he pounds into you. he luvs watching how your pretty cunt swallows his cock so eagerly, a bulge imprinted onto your stomach that has him groaning. he’s splaying his large hand over your stomach and presses down on it muttering “can you feel me in there sweetheart? can’t believe your tiny pussy is swallowing my cock so well.” he’s obsessed with the way he can fold your legs up and over and fucks you so deep in the mating press and you can’t do anything except take it.

Wooyoung grinned as he moved closer to you. He leaned down, caging you in. "And miss practice? The boys are counting on me for this comeback, you know."

"But I'll miss you." Your lips curve into a heartbreaking pout. "I could think of so many fun things we could do! Like cuddling... watching movies... or maybe something more thrilling?"

He raised an eyebrow as he smirked, "Thrilling? Like what exactly?"

You leaned in, lowering your voice, "I could show you just how much I miss you." Your fingers traced along the waistband of his sweatpants. "Just five more minutes... can I make that worth your while?"

Wooyoung chuckled, tilting his head, "You're really trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"Just picture how much better practice would be if I fueled you instead of just breakfast. Doesn't that sound much more enticing?" You challenged him. Your fingers were gliding over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath your touch.

As he leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingled with yours. "As tempting as that sounds," he paused, scanning your face. "I have the boys waiting for me-"

You interrupted him with a short kiss, seducing him to stay a little longer. "You know I can do a lot in five minutes," you smirked.

"You really think you can distract me like this?" he responded immediately.

"Let me show you," you whispered, pulling him into a soft kiss. At first, it was slow and sweet, but the moment you flicked your tongue against his, it ignited something deep inside him.

He instantly cups your face and deepens the kiss with urgency. You melt against his sudden touch, feeling the heat radiate between your bodies.

As your mouths moved together, you felt Wooyoung's hands gently move from your face to your waist, pulling you closer to him, fingers trailing along the curves of your body, sending shivers racing down your spine. For a moment, you pulled away just enough to gaze up at him.

"So... five more minutes?" you coaxed, a playful smile lighting your eyes.

"God, you're impossible," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he kissed you again with an intensity that made your heart race. "What kind of spell did you work on me?"

"I'm just giving you an offer you can't refuse," you shrugged as your fingers tangled in his hair.

He laughed softly against your lips, his breath was warm. "You're definitely a troublemaker, you know that? I don't know how you always find ways to distract me."

"But it's working, isn't it?" You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head with a playful grin.

"Okay, fine. Just today. But I'm seriously going to regret this later," he breathed with a mix of laughter and surrender.

You smirked, knowing you successfully lured him. "You won't regret it, trust me."

As he kissed you once more, the heat in the room intensified, and joy bubbled in your chest at the thought of his devotion to you over everything else. One way or another, those fleeting five minutes stretched into something that took more than five minutes, which made him forget about his practice schedule.

Ele sequer se esforça em tentar esconder o maldito sorriso presunçoso. Tá com o corpo relaxado, um braço escorado atrás da cabeça enquanto com a outra mão acaricia sua coxa. Você, por outro lado, tá montada em cima dele, rebolando em cima do pau que se abriga bem no seu interior. mas sequer se encontra satisfeita, bem longe disso na verdade.

— Amor, vai... para com isso, me fode de verdade. — Resmunga impaciente, o biquinho nos lábios é de pura irritação. Kyrell parece nem ao menos fazer esforço pra socar a pica, e você tá tão cansadinha dos minutos em que ficou quicando em cima dele sem qualquer ajuda. Odeia quando ele decide te pirraçar, justo quando você tá tão à mercê do tesão.

— E não é isso que eu tô fazendo, gatinha? Olha aqui, não vê meu pau saindo e entrando da sua bucetinha linda? — Finge uma expressão de desentendido enquanto segue metendo lentinho, sem pressa ou força, esbanjando paciência.

— PORRA, KYRELL! — Perde a paciência com o showzinho sonso dele. Quando firma o apoio das mãos nos ombros do mesmo no intuito de sair de cima, é pega de surpresa com a velocidade em que ele te deita na cama, te prendendo debaixo dele, impossibilitando que você escape.

— Quem é Kyrell? Meu nome pra você é amor! — Distribui beijos do seu rostinho até seu pescoço. A risadinha travessa dele contrasta com a carranca impaciente em sua feição. — Quer tomar pau então, é? Pede só mais uma vezinha então, vai... bem bonitinha. — Te instiga, espaça suas perninhas o suficiente para que consiga se posicionar melhor e se debruça sobre você enquanto apoia um braço ao lado da sua cabeça. Pincela a cabecinha do pau por toda sua fenda, do clítoris até a entradinha, só esperando sua deixa.

— Hmm… me fode, amor. mete em mim, por favor. — Se rende outra vez, roçando a boquinha na dele enquanto choraminga as palavras.

E assim ele faz, adentra o canalzinho baboso mas sequer para pra se aconchegar ali, pega impulso ao sair quase completamente pra fora e soca de volta pra dentro com força. Segue fazendo assim quando embala o ritmo, assiste seu corpinho solavancar com o atrito enquanto você morde a boquinha e crava as unhas nos braços dele.

— Era só fazer isso pra conseguir te deixar quieta então? — Zomba, a respiração entrecortada numa risadinha quando te vê se contorcer debaixo dele. Leva a mão livre pra torturar o biquinho de um dos seios enquanto segue a te comer com vontade. — Agora vai levar pica até cansar, viu?

Gostou? Dá uma forcinha aí! Uma curtida, um reblog ou um comentário são mais do que suficientes para eu saber que você se agradou com meu conteúdo :)

The first time someone pointed it out, you genuinely thought they were exaggerating.

It happened on a Tuesday morning nearly two months after Spencer had packed the last cardboard box from his apartment, hugged everyone in the bullpen goodbye, and boarded a plane bound for another state, where a university campus had somehow convinced the FBI’s most brilliant profiler that there could be a life waiting for him beyond crime scenes and police tape. These days, he divided his time between lecturing graduate students on criminal psychology, filling whiteboards with impossibly neat equations and behavioral models, disappearing into research projects that excited him enough to make him forget meals, and continuing to accumulate books at a rate that suggested every bookstore within a fifty-mile radius had already learned his name. It suited him.

For the first time since you’d known him, Spencer Reid wasn’t simply surviving his life, he was building one.

His departure from the FBI had left an absence that everyone felt. The BAU had weathered enough changes over the years to understand that nothing stayed the same forever. People retired. Others transferred. Some left because the job demanded too much, while others simply reached a chapter where they wanted something different. The team adapted because it always had to. Cases never stopped arriving simply because hearts needed more time to catch up.

Life continued, because it always did.

But Spencer’s goodbye had never felt like one born from defeat. He hadn’t left because the darkness had finally swallowed him whole or because the Bureau had broken whatever remained of his spirit. He had left because he’d finally chosen something that belonged entirely to him. Students asking about cognitive biases, memory retention, and offender typologies instead of detectives calling about another body. Chalk dust clinging absentmindedly to the sleeves of his cardigans rather than dried blood staining the cuffs of his dress shirts. Weekends where the only mystery he intended to solve was deciding which novel to read first. There wasn’t a single selfish thing about that decision, and you loved him too much to wish otherwise. If anything, watching him discover a version of happiness that didn’t require surviving constant tragedy made your chest ache with pride.

The distance, however, proved considerably more difficult to romanticize.

Your own transfer paperwork had become trapped somewhere inside the endless machinery of FBI administration, buried beneath signatures, approvals, and enough bureaucratic delays to make even Emily sigh whenever you asked for an update. So, until everything was finalized, your marriage existed in fragments stitched together across state lines. Calendars hanging on both of your refrigerators carried matching circles around the weekends one of you would catch a flight. He called every morning while walking across campus, usually with coffee balanced precariously in one hand and a leather satchel slipping off his shoulder because he still refused to admit it was too heavy. You called every evening on your drive home from Quantico, sometimes talking for an hour, sometimes sitting together in comfortable silence while each of you finished ordinary little tasks like folding laundry, making dinner, watering plants, grading papers in Spencer’s case, reviewing reports in yours.

There were no grand declarations about how unbearable the separation felt.

Instead, it lived inside tiny habits your body hadn’t yet unlearned. You still woke some mornings reaching instinctively across the mattress before your fingertips brushed only cool sheets instead of the familiar warmth of Spencer’s shoulder. You still found yourself setting two mugs beside the coffee machine before quietly returning one to the cabinet with an amused shake of your head. Grocery shopping became an exercise in catching yourself before placing his favorite cereal into your cart out of pure instinct. Every Thursday evening your suitcase practically packed itself, and every Sunday night the apartment seemed to exhale after he left, settling into a silence that never quite felt natural anymore. You missed him with an ache so constant it had stopped feeling dramatic altogether. Missing Spencer had simply become another ordinary part of loving him.

The strange thing was that, somehow, everyone else noticed too.

Not because you walked around looking heartbroken. You didn’t. You never cried at your desk, never stared wistfully out the bullpen windows. If anything, you seemed happier than you had in years. There was a softness to you now, an ease that came from knowing exactly where your future was headed, even if it required a little patience to reach it. Your wedding ring caught the light whenever you shuffled paperwork between meetings. Sometimes, during particularly long briefings, your thumb absentmindedly traced over the gold band without you even realizing it. Every now and then your phone would vibrate with a text from Spencer and your entire expression would brighten in that quiet way reserved only for people hopelessly in love.

The part none of you noticed at first was how naturally your husband had woven himself into the way you experienced the world.

Luke was the first to say anything.

The morning briefing had ended only a few minutes earlier, leaving the bullpen to dissolve back into its familiar rhythm. Emily disappeared into her office before anyone had the chance to stop her, already answering a call from the director. Tara perched herself on the corner of a desk, one ankle crossed over the other as she absentmindedly skimmed through preliminary forensic reports. JJ stood near the map wall discussing flight schedules with one of the newer profilers, a young agent who knew Spencer Reid only through stories everyone told with the sort of reverence usually reserved for urban legends. It felt like any other Tuesday.

Luke returned from the coffee shop a moment later, nudging the bullpen door open with his shoulder while balancing one of those cardboard drink carriers against his hip. A paper bag filled with pastries dangled from his free hand. He set everything down in the middle of the nearest desk before calling out, “I grabbed everyone something,” earning a scattered chorus of grateful thank-yous without anyone looking up from their work. One by one, he handed out drinks he’d somehow memorized without writing a single order down. Black for Emily. Something aggressively sweet for Garcia. Plain for Tara. JJ’s usual. Yours came last.

“I guessed vanilla,” he said, offering the warm paper cup with a small shrug.

You accepted it with a grateful smile. “You guessed right.”

The cup was still almost too hot to hold, warming your palms through the cardboard sleeve as you carefully peeled back the plastic lid. A cloud of fragrant steam curled into the air, carrying the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans mixed with warm spices. You blew gently across the surface before taking a cautious sip, letting the flavor settle for only a second.

“Oh…”

Luke noticed the change instantly.

“What?”

You glanced back down into the cup as though the answer might still be floating somewhere inside it.

“The cinnamon.”

He frowned.

“What about it?”

You let out a quiet little laugh, shaking your head.

“Nothing.”

You took another sip, slower this time, smiling to yourself.

“It’s just…”

A tiny shrug lifted your shoulders.

“Spencer would’ve loved this place.”

Luke blinked.

“What?”

“The cinnamon tastes different.”

“Different?”

“Mhm.” You nodded absentmindedly, still studying the coffee like it had unlocked a memory. “He always says you can tell how a coffee shop stores its spices because cinnamon changes flavor depending on humidity and oxidation. Apparently most places keep it too close to heat sources, so it loses a lot of its natural oils.”

Luke simply stared.

“That’s…”

He searched for the right word.

“…that’s an incredibly specific thing to know.”

“I know.” You smiled into your coffee, unable to help yourself. “I asked him once how he figured that out.”

“And?”

“He spent twenty-three minutes explaining spice preservation techniques throughout different civilizations.”

Luke’s eyebrows climbed even higher.

“Did you understand any of it?”

“Not really.”

A quiet laugh slipped past your lips as you cradled the paper cup between both hands, letting the comforting warmth sink into your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the thin curls of steam rising from the coffee, but your thoughts had already drifted somewhere hundreds of miles away. The memory arrived so effortlessly that it felt less like remembering and more like stepping back into the moment itself. You could practically hear him, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter while absentmindedly stirring sugar into his coffee long after it had dissolved, enthusiastically explaining the chemical composition of cinnamon as though he’d personally uncovered the information after years of archaeological research.

“He was excited,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Your smile deepened without permission.

“And when Spencer gets excited…” Another small laugh escaped you as you shook your head fondly. “He starts talking with his hands so much that half the time he accidentally knocks into whatever’s closest to him.” You looked down into your coffee, tracing absentminded circles around the rim of the lid with your thumb. “He always thinks he’s talking too much.” Your expression softened even further, the corners of your eyes crinkling with quiet affection. “He isn’t, though. At least…not to me.”

Luke simply stared at you.

For a long moment, he forgot entirely about the coffee cooling in his own hand.

He’d expected you to say Spencer knew a lot about coffee. Maybe that he’d read an article once. Possibly that he’d recommended the café.

Instead, somehow, an offhand comment about cinnamon had turned into a story about the way your husband smiled, the way he gestured while he spoke, the way he apologized for taking up space in conversations, and the way you loved every second of listening to him anyway.

Luke slowly turned toward Tara and ask, “did she just answer my coffee with her husband?”

Tara didn’t even lift her eyes from the forensic report resting across her desk.

“Yes.”

Luke looked back at you, still smiling absentmindedly into your coffee as though nothing unusual had happened, before turning toward Tara again.

“Did you hear all of that?”

“I did.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

The only response was the quiet rustle of paper as Tara calmly flipped another page. She underlined something in the margin, took an unhurried sip of her coffee, and only then allowed the faintest hint of amusement to tug at the corner of her mouth.

“It gets worse.”

Luke frowned.

“It gets—”

She finally looked at him, her expression carrying the quiet patience of someone who had witnessed the exact same sequence of events so many times that she could practically predict them down to the minute.

“Give it until lunch.”

“What?” He said, pointing a finger at her with an amused grin. “You’re making this into a bigger thing than it is.”

Tara didn’t even bother looking up.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

Luke rolled his eyes, still smiling to himself as he settled into his chair. There was no way Tara was right. Sure, you’d mentioned Spencer over coffee, but that hardly counted as evidence of anything unusual. Married people did that all the time. JJ talked about Will. Rossi occasionally mentioned Krystall with that soft smile he always got whenever her name came up. It was normal. Perfectly normal. Tara was simply exaggerating because she’d worked beside you longer than he had.

Barely twenty minutes passed before Emily’s office door opened again.

The conversation with Washington had clearly done little for her mood.

She emerged rubbing the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses, a thick folder tucked beneath one arm while several loose pages threatened to slide onto the floor with every step.

“I swear,” she muttered to no one in particular, dropping the folder onto her desk with a dull thud, “if anyone knows a decent Italian restaurant near Georgetown, I’ll owe you my firstborn.”

The bullpen barely reacted.

Garcia yelled something unintelligible from behind her office door that sounded suspiciously like, “Only if there’s tiramisu!”

Without even lifting your eyes completely from the report you were reading, you answered as naturally as if Emily had asked what time it was.

“Oh.”

You smiled.

“Spencer took me to this tiny family-owned place for our anniversary last year.”

Emily stopped moving.

“The owner makes all of the pasta fresh every morning,” you continued warmly, already smiling at the memory. “Spencer spent almost half the meal talking to him because he wanted to know why northern Italian flour behaves differently from southern varieties. Apparently the protein content changes the elasticity of the dough, which—”

Emily closed her eyes.

“There it is.”

You stopped midsentence.

“…There what is?”

She opened one eye.

“The Spencer Reference.”

You frowned.

“The…what?”

Emily folded her arms across her chest, the corners of her mouth already threatening to betray her growing amusement.

“You’ve mentioned your husband four times today.”

Your eyebrows immediately pulled together.

“I have not.”

“You have.”

“No…”

“I promise you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Before Emily could continue, Luke slowly pushed himself away from his desk and, without saying a word, he lifted one finger into the air.

“Coffee.”

A second finger joined it.

“Humidity.”

A third.

“Your anniversary.”

Then, with theatrical precision, he raised a fourth.

“The flour.”

Silence settled over the bullpen.

Your gaze moved slowly from Luke to Emily before landing on Tara, who had quietly hidden the beginning of a smile behind the rim of her coffee cup. A small crease appeared between your brows as you looked back at the others, genuine confusion written plainly across your face.

“Those all reminded me of him.”

Emily immediately pointed in your direction as though she’d just presented the final piece of evidence in a courtroom.

“Exactly.”

You blinked.

“I wasn’t trying to bring him up.”

You lowered your eyes to the coffee warming your hands, watching another ribbon of steam disappear into the lights above the bullpen. You wanted to tell them it wasn’t intentional, that you weren’t consciously steering every conversation toward your husband, but the more you thought about it, the less convincing that argument became. They weren’t wrong. Every answer you had given that morning had begun with Spencer.

For the first time since they’d started teasing you, you wondered if maybe they had a point.

***

The team started recognizing the pattern long before you did.

It happened so often that, eventually, nobody reacted anymore when an ordinary conversation somehow found its way back to Spencer. They simply waited. Someone would mention coffee, books, trains, birds, crossword puzzles, museums, or the weather, and there would be a brief moment of anticipation before your husband’s name inevitably entered the conversation. It wasn’t forced, nor was it something you seemed conscious of. You simply loved him so thoroughly that pieces of him lived in everything you saw. Every experience reminded you of one you’d shared with him, every topic unlocked a memory, every passing comment became another opportunity to tell a story that, somehow, always started with, “Spencer once told me…”.

The team had stopped wondering if it would happen. They’d moved on to predicting when.

It eventually turned into a game...but they never told you.

Luke had started it.

The first few times had been accidental, just a quiet observation shared with Emily after noticing that a five-minute discussion about coffee had somehow become an explanation of Spencer’s preferred brewing method. Then another conversation about classical music had ended with you describing the first concert the two of you had attended together. By the end of the week, Luke was convinced it wasn’t coincidence but a measurable phenomenon. Emily, amused enough to indulge him, had begun participating. Garcia, naturally, had become far too enthusiastic about the whole thing.

So when travel arrangements came up during a morning briefing and Tara casually suggested taking a train instead of another connecting flight, Luke didn’t even bother pretending to pay attention to the logistics. He simply glanced at the watch around his wrist and murmured, quietly enough that only Emily and Garcia could hear, “Three.”

Emily had to bite the inside of her cheek and Garcia immediately looked away before she laughed.

Tara frowned. “Three what?”

All three of them looked at you.

You continued studying the itinerary for another couple of seconds before something seemed to click behind your eyes.

“Oh! Spencer actually explained why train travel is statistically one of the safest forms of transportation despite people feeling less secure on them than airplanes because—”

Luke pointed triumphantly across the conference table.

“There it is.”

Emily laughed into her coffee.

“Not even three seconds.”

“What?” You asked, looking between them.

“Nothing,” Luke answered with suspicious innocence.

Emily simply shook her head.

“You’ll see eventually.”

You never did.

A few days later, Garcia swept into the bullpen carrying a paper bag that smelled so overwhelmingly of fresh bread and toasted sesame seeds that nearly everyone looked up from their paperwork. She placed it dramatically on her desk before announcing to absolutely no one in particular that she’d discovered the greatest bagel shop in Washington and that every single person present was morally obligated to experience them at least once in their lifetime.

Luke, who happened to be passing by with a case file tucked beneath one arm, looked from Garcia to you.

Then, almost solemnly, checked his watch.

“Two.”

Emily immediately lowered her head to hide a smile.

You looked up from your report and ask, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Luke replied.

Garcia, already in on the joke, offered you a bagel with an expression that was bordering on mischievous. But you just thanked her, took one, complimented the smell, and returned to your paperwork.

Luke sighed dramatically.

“False alarm.”

“I told you,” Emily whispered. “Bagels aren’t specific enough.”

Later that afternoon, the bullpen had settled into the comfortable quiet that always followed lunch. Phones rang intermittently, keyboards clicked beneath busy fingers, and the low hum of conversations drifted through the room without anyone needing to raise their voice. Garcia suddenly emerged from her office with theatrical determination, stretching her arms over her head before announcing to the room that she had reached a life-changing conclusion.

“I’ve been criminally deprived of culture.”

No one looked up.

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Emily said and kept typing.

“I won’t,” Garcia declared. “I’ve decided I’m spending this entire weekend visiting museums. Art museums. Science museums. History museums. Tiny museums that no one has ever heard of. I need enrichment.”

Luke slowly closed the file in his hands and without saying anything, he looked at his watch.

“One.”

Emily pressed her lips together so tightly they nearly disappeared.

“Why are you timing her?” Tara asked and glanced between them in complete confusion.

“I’m not timing Garcia.”

“Then who are you timing?”

Before Luke could answer, your face lit up.

“Oh! Spencer absolutely loved the Natural History Museum in Chicago because they had this incredible exhibit on early forensic anthropology. He spent almost forty minutes talking—”

“I knew it!” Luke threw both hands into the air in triumph before you could finish. “I absolutely knew it!”

Your sentence stopped halfway through.

“…What?”

Emily finally gave up trying to remain composed and pinched the bridge of her nose, laughing openly now.

“You did it again.” She said.

“Did what?” You asked, already frowning.

“The Spencer thing.”

“What Spencer thing?”

“The fact that literally every conversation somehow circles back to your husband.” Emily pointed at you with her pen.

“I was talking about museums.”

“No,” Emily corrected gently. “You were talking about Spencer at a museum.”

You paused.

“…I was.”

“Sweetie, you’re so in love it’s honestly unbelievable.” Garcia said and smiled so fondly it almost hurt.

“I don’t talk about him that much.” You said.

Four people looked at you and no one said a word.

The silence itself was the answer.

Your eyes drifted toward the ceiling as you replayed the conversation in your head, your cheeks growing warmer with every passing second.

“…Okay.”

“It isn’t a bad thing.” Emily laughed. “You’ve somehow turned Reid into an invisible member of every conversation we have.”

“The funny part is that he isn’t even here.” Garcia said and rested her chin in her hands, smiling at you over the top of her monitors.

You smiled despite yourself, looking down at the wedding ring glinting softly beneath the fluorescent lights.

“…He kind of is.”

For a moment, nobody teased you because they all knew exactly what you meant.

Spencer wasn’t in the bullpen.

He wasn’t even in Virginia.

And yet, somehow, every ordinary conversation still managed to leave room for him, as naturally and effortlessly as if he’d been standing beside you the entire time.

Maybe, just maybe, they had a point.

***

All of it reached its peak several weeks later at one of Rossi’s famous Sunday dinners.

The house was warm with the familiar smells of garlic, rosemary, fresh bread, and whatever secret ingredient Rossi refused to admit he added to his tomato sauce. Conversations drifted lazily between the dining room and kitchen while glasses of wine caught the golden glow of the lights above the table. Emily was arguing with Tara about baseball statistics she clearly hadn’t cared enough to verify, Garcia was enthusiastically showing Luke photographs of a foster kitten she insisted she absolutely wasn’t adopting despite everyone knowing she already had a name picked out, and JJ was helping Rossi clear dessert plates while telling him about Henry’s latest school science project. You sat quietly among all of it, smiling more than speaking.

Then your phone vibrated softly against the wooden table.

Without thinking, you reached for it.

Spencer: I can’t call right now, I’m sorry. Enjoy the dinner. I love you.

A smile immediately softened your face. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you locked the screen again, already imagining him buried beneath paperwork somewhere, probably apologizing to himself for not being able to steal five minutes to call you. It was such a Spencer thing to do, and somehow that made you miss him even more.

When you finally looked up again, the entire table was quiet.

Everyone was watching you.

You blinked, glancing between them.

“…What?”

Rossi slowly folded his linen napkin, taking his time like he was carefully choosing the right words.

“You know, I’ve lived long enough to know a great many kinds of love,” he began, his voice carrying the calm warmth that always seemed to follow him. “I’ve known couples who barely survived their first year together and couples who spent fifty years never losing the habit of reaching for each other’s hand. I’ve watched people fall in love in impossible circumstances, rebuild marriages after unimaginable grief, raise children, lose people they loved, forgive mistakes, and still choose the same person every morning.”

His expression softened as he looked at you. “I’ve seen extraordinary marriages, like mine.” His eyes briefly moved toward Krystall before returning to you. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who carries their spouse into every room they walk into.”

You frowned slightly, unsure what he meant.

“You don’t even realize you’re doing it,” Rossi continued with a small smile.

Your fingers immediately found your wedding ring, rolling the familiar gold band beneath your thumb without even noticing you had started.

Rossi noticed.

“Half the conversations we have somehow end with ‘Spencer said this,’ or ‘Spencer read that article,’ or ‘Spencer would love this recipe,’ or ‘Spencer once explained why that happens.’”

A quiet laugh moved around the table.

You looked down at your ring, smiling softly. “I guess…I miss him.”

“We know,” Emily said gently, squeezing your hand. “The funny part is that you make the rest of us miss him too.”

You looked up at her, laughing quietly at the truth of it.

And then the front door opened.

At first, nobody reacted.

Your brows furrowed as you glanced toward the hallway.

“Did someone forget something?” you asked, beginning to stand.

But no one answered.

Instead, everyone at the table suddenly looked suspiciously pleased with themselves. Garcia was trying not to smile, Luke looked down into his wineglass, Emily suddenly found the tablecloth fascinating, and JJ covered her mouth to hide her reaction.

You looked between them. “…Guys?”

Then you heard footsteps across the hardwood floor.

Something in your chest shifted before your mind could understand why.

You turned toward the hallway, and there he was.

Spencer stood beneath the warm light of the entryway, one hand resting on the doorknob and the other holding his worn leather satchel. His tie had been loosened after the drive, his curls slightly messy, and exhaustion was written all over his face after what had clearly been a long week. But the moment his eyes met yours, all of it disappeared behind the small, familiar smile that belonged only to you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

You simply stared at him, because your brain refused to believe what your eyes were seeing.

“…Spencer?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking nervous despite having walked into rooms full of dangerous criminals without hesitation.

“Hi.”

That was all it took.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, already moving toward him before you could even think. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

The second you reached him, your arms wrapped around him, and the force of your hug made him laugh softly. His satchel slipped from his shoulder and landed forgotten beside the door as he held you tightly, like he had been waiting all week just for this moment.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured against your hair, his arms tightening when he felt you trembling slightly.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, smiling through the emotion you couldn’t hide, and kissed him in front of everyone without caring that the entire team was watching.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, wrapping an arm around Krystall and smiling at the two of you like he was watching the ending of a movie he already knew he loved.