ʚK1UB.

Simon gets angry the day he finds out his missus has been craving him at night, sleeping damp and aching. And she won’t wake him just because he’s tired and already asleep.

—____, you’re damp— he groans as he touches her ass to cuddle closer. He was already asleep, but the feeling of her clothes so wet was enough to have him fully awake now.

—not important...

—How wouldn’t it be? You’ll get an infection like this...

He groans before sliding down her panties and positioning himself over her.

—How long has this been going on?— she looks away shyly.

—Two weeks or less...— she mumbles.

Simon sighs, more concerned than annoyed, his hand resting on her hip.

—You should’ve told me…— he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to her skin before sliding inside her. Not that he needed to prep her when she was practically dripping, her hips already shifting against him in quiet need.

She whines softly.

—Why didn’t you wake me, bird?— he groans as he slides deeper.

—You looked tired, Si... didn’t want to be a burden— she whimpers as he keeps moving.

—How would this be a burden, dove? I bloody love being inside you...— she hums in contentment as he moves slowly into her. —Wake me next time you feel needy. I’m never too tired to make love to you.

She barely manages to nod before Simon speeds up.

.𖥔 ┈ .・

Ever since then, ____ would no longer deny her own needs. Now, almost every day, she would wake Simon in the middle of the night to have him inside her.

—Si...— she barely mumbled his name, already shifting against him. He guided her on top of him almost instinctively. Moving under her with a sleepy expression, hands on her hips, holding her like it’s second nature to fuck half-asleep.

At this point, it had become a routine.

When she was too sleepy or tired to move anymore, he would make her lean beneath him so he could finish the work. He would lovingly pepper kisses all over her face, brushing the damp hair off her forehead. He always smiled at the sight of her sleepy, contented expression. So cute and vulnerable under him.

So trusting of the rough soldier he was.

Once she had her release, Simon would carry her to the bathroom so she could pee and get cleaned with the wet towels he had to buy more frequently these past weeks. Then Simon would slide clean, dry panties onto her.

Once back in bed, she would curl up against him, finally tired and satisfied, falling asleep in Simon’s embrace.

He would chuckle softly at how innocent she seemed after waking him up just minutes before to have him inside her.

He adored her just like that though.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

I was honestly a bit nervous about the whole insomnia/sleepy intimacy part, so reading this makes me feel so relieved and happy 🫂

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

He would get mad because she didn't mentioned it days ago when he got a single phone call to home.

Noticed something was odd just from her voice but thought she was holding tears as usual. Not to worry him.

Well, now he was fuckin' worried.

—I'm okay Si, it's just a silly fever.

—…could be a fricking scratch and my heart would still die with you— he mumbled in a grunt while putting some of his big-ass socks into her cold feet.— Thought we promised not to hide a shit to each other

—Yeah but this was nothing…— she weakly reached his chin to make him look up.. — this is nothing sweetboy…

Simon sighs before pecking her now covered toes. Giving a long loving kiss at her knee while sweetly lookin' up at her.

—I know u think I'm a big tough bastard… but i hate to see you in pain too…

____ draws a small smile.

—You are too sweet when I'm vulnerable. It seems… maybe I should get sick more often..

—Not fun— he hisses before settling next to her on bed. Tenderly caressing away the wet hairs off her forehead.—…called Price to stay a week.

She hums in both contentment and ache as he caressed her warm reddish face.

He coos sweet little nothings.

About how she didn't have to worry anymore…that he was there and wouldn't leave until she was healthy and happy.

That he loves her and will take care of the most valuable soul in HIS world…

And after so many sleepless nights, ____ finally found the security and care she had been craving.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

I wrote this while desiring to be yn while shivering like a chihuahua T_T. Being sick makes me so emotional guys.

Ghost is not what the captain would call a gentle man. Everything about him carries weight. His presence, his stare, his skills, his callsign, his reputation. But most of all, his voice. Price has heard Ghost in all sorts of situations, from enemy interrogations to dropping some of the most driest sarcasm to ever grace his comms.

Ghost's voice, like the rest of him, is rough. Like the sound comes from mortar-blasted boulders grinding against each other in his chest and not vocal chords. When Ghost speaks, everything sounds like an ultimatum.

But that's what happens in the military. Show him a man surrounded by other soldiers that doesn't develop some obnoxiously loud, deep vocal affect and Price will eat his hat.

Which is why, when you, the new medic transfer on base, are tasked with administering this year's flu jabs he notices it almost immediately.

"Sleeve up, please, Lieutenant," you tell him. Ghost is sat in the little plastic chair in front of you with his arm fully exposed before you finish.

"Busy day, yeah?" Price nearly chokes when Ghost asks you that.

It wasn't just the fact that he was making conversation, but it was the sound of him. If Price wasn't looking directly at him when he said it, he would have thought there was someone hidden behind his Lt.

But no. It was him, speaking without prompt to you in a tone of voice that Price didn't even think the man was physically capable of.

The boulders in his chest are silent. His voice having moved from them up to some higher register. Like the years of chain smoking and yelling over weapons fire is an inconvenience for once. Ghost even clears his throat when you turn away from him for a moment. Subdued. Soft.

Ghost. Soft. Hell has frozen over.

"It always is," you reply oblivious to the anomaly in front of you, a little smile on your face as you swipe Ghost's bicep with a little disinfectant wipe.

Price watches how Ghost never takes his eyes off of you as you do your work with the same fascination as watching a dog wearing pants walk on its hind legs.

It quickly becomes apparent that this is not an isolated case.

One morning some time later has Ghost walking with him to his office going over upcoming itineraries. Both of them have their minds on the looming, still unconfirmed, deployment. When you turn the corner into the hallway with a stack of files in your hand, Price swears he sees the lights brighten a little bit just from how Ghost perks up.

"Mornin', ma'am." And all of the sudden his hardened veteran, skull mask wearing, second in command is gone and replaced by two meters of tender puppy-dog eyes and velvety voice. He's pretty sure if Ghost had a tail it'd be wagging.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. How many times do I have to tell you you don't have to call me that?"

"At least one more," Ghost all but purrs.

Price feels like he's witnessing something that should be behind an age verification.

You roll your eyes and pat his shoulder as you pass, disappearing down the hallway without a glance behind you. If you did, you would've seen how Ghost's head turned to watch you go.

The other time occurred when you weren't even around to hear it.

It was classified as a training incident only because of its proximity to the grounds. Very little surprises Price anymore, so he didn't bat an eye when he saw a soldier drive up in a humvee, get out, and then just dumbly watch the vehicle creep backwards, gaining speed until it crashed into a nearby prefab.

The car was fine, of course, but those inside the prefab when it made contact weren't so lucky, especially anyone in the falling radius of the shelves and full crates held inside. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one got flattened.

The soldier responsible was getting torn a new one while someone else called for medical support, just to make sure no one was dying or anything. The worst Price could see from here was some bumps and bruises, someone holding a hand to their bleeding head.

"What is it now?" Price asked as he stepped up beside Ghost who lingered from a distance.

"Bloody idiot kept it in neutral, not park," Ghost tells him, arms crossed. "Didn't use the—" The moment you pop into view, medic bag in tow, Ghost's voice shifts like a switch had been flipped and all of the sudden that rolling thunder tone is gone like it was never there to begin with, "—parking brake. Hopefully it won't be a mistake made twice."

Price registers the words in his subconscious, but most of his attention is still on the fact that you had Ghost switching up mid sentence. And you weren't even within earshot. Just the fact that you were in his eyesight had Ghost lowering his voice, lightening his pitch.

He watches you flit around, grabbing the bleeding person and setting them down to start cleaning them up. All of his attention on you. Price is pretty sure that an ant wouldn't be able to crawl within 50 feet of you without Ghost knowing.

Part of Price wants to nip this in the bud, take Ghost aside and tell him to drop it. All of them know what being in this task force means. Having a distraction like this has a higher chance of being a hindrance than a benefit. If there ever comes a time where any of the 141 are in a situation where his sacrifice is non-negotiable, there cannot be hesitation. All of them know this.

But when the captain looks over at Ghost, he doesn't think about sacrifice. He doesn't see a muzzled war dog whose leash is held in Price's firm grip.

For the first time in a long time, Price recalls a young man with dark brown eyes that had seen too much too young, hair so blond it’s almost white, and the strongest sense of loyalty he's ever seen in a fellow soldier.