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pendragonsandbuckleys · 6 months

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Long Lost Papa Bear. Summary: James MacGyver – Oversight to those within the Phoenix Foundation – left his son at the mere age of ten in a pragmatic attempt at protecting him from the growing list of enemies making their way to his door. But walking out and abandoning are two different things, and when his son goes from estranged family to current employee, his methods of keeping an eye on him are only made easier. - A look into James’ time as the boss of the Phoenix Foundation, knowing full well that his own son is working beneath him. Word Count: 4,903 [Also on AO3]

When I was first recruited, I thought I could keep family and work separate and for a while, I did. But the more I worked, the more enemies I racked up and I knew one day they’d come after me like Murdoc came after you. I’d already lost your mother and I wasn’t about to risk losing you.

Your grandfather helped me keep tabs on you. I was never really gone, son. I mean, you think you ended up working for me by accident? I was always in the background, nudging you in the right direction.

— James MacGyver, Season 2 Episode 23.

FEBRUARY 2000

Teeth grinding together; a low hiss escaped past his tongue as he dabbed away the blood with a saline-soaked cotton ball. Of all the places his target had to get a hit in, of course it was right on his temple – not an easy spot to hide from an inquisitive nine-year-old.

He should be relived. A major terror attempt thwarted, the culprits locked up under high security, and – glancing at his watch – the promise of two uninterrupted days with his boy. So why was it the last thought, the thought of being close to his son, that left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach?

It amazed him how bright Angus was, always curious and eager to learn. So much like his mother—

His palms pressed into the cool ceramic of the sink; head bent low as he let out a long breath. He would have given anything for Ellen to see her son now. To see the intelligent little man he was growing into. But beautifully big-brained or not, Angus was still just a boy and he needed his father to protect him. And what better way to keep him safe than to draw the enemies away from his door.

The terrorists, the gunmen, the psychopaths intent on murder. Every day they drew nearer and eventually, whether he prepared for it or not, someone was going to infiltrate his defences and get too close to the thing he loved most in the world.

So if staying away kept his son safe, then so be it.

OCTOBER 2001

Matilda Webber was a force of nature. Fierce and determined. With only seven years on the job under her belt her reputation preceded her, accomplishing twice as much as half of his agents and he wanted her on his team.

Her assignment was simple: investigate him.

Interrogation, surveillance, snooping though information she shouldn’t be privy to using methods she had spent years honing.

Show him what all the hype was about.

Show him any flaws in his security that would need to be patched.

She was incredible, winning him over halfway through the first day, and by the end of the week he had made a firm decision: she would be his handler. She would keep him in check and help lead his team and

– when she found information on his son, his stomach dropped –

she would help him hide deeper within this organisation where even his name would not see the light of day.

MAY 2002

LOCAL TEEN CAUSES NUCLEAR MELTDOWN

…was the headline he had spent days waiting to see plastered across the front page each time he passed the newspaper stand.

Those bold black letters would never be printed of course. Regardless of his hand in the containment of the incident, his son was much too loved in that school for them to let him come into any harm over it.

Only Angus.

And Wilt, he supposed. Though he had a feeling that his son’s best friend had been an innocent – if not eager – bystander as usual. What happened to the days of Angus being satisfied with dismantling a car or stripping a DVD player for parts?

He bet the teachers were wishing they had provided something a little more stimulating for the boy genius. If they had, the giant patch of charcoaled grass might still have a football field in its place.

Then again, this was the same boy who had almost set his gym alight a few months prior with his homemade indoor lightning.

Yeah…there would have been no stopping this. He just hoped for their sake they had some good insurance in place.

For next time.

FEBRUARY 2007

His phone vibrated once against the desk as he was midway through a report. Fingers flying across the keys, he let himself finish his sentence before taking a look.

No words, just a photo.

He appreciated Harry’s lack of small talk but sometimes he did wonder if his father’s straight-to-the-point messages were born more out of annoyance than convenience. His father understood why he had to leave all those years ago, but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.

He tapped on the photo, opening it to full screen.

Dear Angus,

On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 2008…

A warm feeling he probably didn’t deserve to be having suddenly crept into his chest. Seventeen years old no less and his son had been accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the country.

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

He had dreamt of this day. His son’s excitement at reading those words aloud. His bittersweet sorrow as his son moved far away from home and into his dorm. His pride as Angus donned his graduation cap and gown after three hard years of work.

Only, in his dream, he had been there at his son’s side.

Without a word he closed the photo, returned his phone to the desk and continued with his report.

MARCH 2011

He smiled politely at the gaggle of agents as they passed him in the hallway after a meeting, recognising their faces even if some of their names escaped him. As Oversight, it was his duty to supervise the inner workings of his organisation and he’d grown very familiar with the different teams within DXS and the expertise that each operative brought to the table.

Rather basic as a code name, but conveniently self-explanatory he supposed. To oversee something.

He was aware of all active missions, all new recruits, all ongoing disputes. And though it came with a heavy sense of responsibility, he happily carried it with both hands. DXS was his pride and joy, and he was privileged to be its commander.

Which is why he felt it crucial to employ only the best.

Recruitment came from all over the country; individuals on their radar, fellow Intelligence agencies, his reach even went as far as the US military. Which is why he had been able to pull some strings to get his son paired together with a one Jack Dalton during their time in Afghanistan.

The partnership between scientists and soldiers in the field was something their organisation had been the first to introduce way back after the Second World War. Something he had thought beneficial to every team under his command. He had looked into several servicemen, but Sergeant Dalton – a former associate of Matilda Webber, no less – seemed the best counterbalance to Angus’ scientific prowess. On paper at least.

He had given them the push, but now it was up to them to form the bond that would be pivotal for their eventual enrolment into DXS.

SEPTEMBER 2016

A stolen bioweapon.

A failed mission.

A dead agent; two more injured.

Patricia Thornton’s carefully crafted team had been operating under him for a few years now. A world class computer analyst, a deadly skilled ex-Delta operative and an EOD tech come scientific genius. Far from the first mission they had ever faced, he had expected better from them during their time in Lake Como, Italy. They had been warned of the dangers of the device, the effects it could have on thousands of people if it ended up in the wrong hands.

And still, they let it slip through their grasp.

He paced his office as his eyes scanned the medical report that had worked its way up the chain to him.

DALTON, J.

Agent Dalton suffered a grade one concussion and scalp laceration following a blow to the occipital bone. Four stitches were required. No swelling of the brain identified and minimal blood loss occurred.

Minor cuts and bruises to the face and scalp also identified, not requiring treatment.

Recovery time estimated at 7 days.

Not ideal, but not the end of the world. One week, maybe five days at a push, and he’d be back in the field.

MACGYVER, A.

Agent MacGyver suffered a GSW to the upper left thorax causing approx. 1.5 litre blood loss at scene. Surgery to remove bullet and close wound was successful. Further blood loss managed effectively.

Intervention to reduce water in lungs also successful.

4 units blood transfusion in progress. Blood type: AB Negative.

Recovery time estimated at 4 weeks.

One month recovery time.

Also not ideal. But then, Angus wasn’t hired solely for his physical capability. Even while recovering at home, his brain could still be of use to them.

GSW to upper left thorax.

He let out a grunt as his hip connected with the corner of his desk, inattention to his surroundings prevalent as his eyes were drawn to that point over and over. The chest was a dangerous place for any injury with multiple vital organs and arteries at risk.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore spot, releasing a long breath through his nose as he placed the report on the desk.

Not only was the bioweapon now firmly in the wind, they had also come this close to losing one of their top assets. And all because DXS had allowed two of their agents to cross the line of professionalism.

Angus would never have lost focus and allowed the mission to fail so terribly if only they had reinforced the no-relationship-between-agents rule.

NOVEMBER 2016

Whilst most people would be spending their weekends navigating busy malls in an attempt to get their holiday shopping underway, he was fielding multiple calls from multiple divisions demanding to know what was happening in an embassy building 5.6 thousand miles from his office.

He was keeping up with it all, of course. All comms, all decisions being made, The team on the ground were more than capable of handling it but it was a delicate situation and he had to be ready to step in if needed.

He had just ended his latest call when the phone immediately chimed in his hand.

“Yes?” He greeted, no time for pleasantries.

It was a swift conversation, barely move than five words needed from his end, as the agent provided an update.

Three hours.

He felt his stomach drop.

Three hours until exfil could reach the embassy. Three hours that the boots on the ground would need to hold the fort against the Dieva Roka and their barrage of gunfire. He couldn’t lose—

They couldn’t lose this embassy. It was too important to the inner workings of international relationships between multiple territories.

He was certain that the team would come up with a sure-fire way of keeping everyone safe until backup arrived, but in the meantime, he had a few more phone calls to make.

JANUARY 2017

He had eyes and ears everywhere. He knew about the mole lurking within the US government, he knew they had been feeding information to an outside terror organisation, that they had even gone as far as ordering the deaths of innocents to keep their secret safe.

What he was ashamed to have not known was that the mole was an agent within his own establishment. Instead, the privilege of identifying them had fallen on his own son’s team no less.

Patricia Thornton had been the trusted Head of DXS for many years and the transformation into the Phoenix Foundation had seen her shift in roles to the Director of Operations. A role that, he now realised, suited her agenda perfectly.

How had he missed it? A mole so high up in their agency.

He would be running thorough checks on all of his employees over the next few days. And the new director? He knew exactly who to bring in for that role. Someone who had worked closely with him for several years. Someone he trusted exceedingly.

OCTOBER 2017

As the Head of the Phoenix Foundation, it was well within his right to delegate all missions to the various teams on the ground but where was the fun in that? He hadn’t spent all these years honing his skills as a covert operative just to sit in an office all day once he’d reached the top.

It was a juicy assignment. Reports of a cartel leader operating out of Pasadena had led to weeks of surveillance, days of planning and finally this morning, the successful detainment of said leader and seventeen members, effectively shutting down that chapter of the cartel for good.

A few hours with his operatives and those members would spill enough intel to have them taking down the entire operation. No casualties, 100% success – it felt good to end his morning on a high. And just in time for lunch at his favourite diner.

The drive back had been a breeze in the late-morning, low-level traffic and he had just navigated his car into one of many empty parking spots when his phone began to ring from where it was clipped to the dashboard. Only a select few people had his number, and they wouldn’t be calling unless it was urgent.

He wasn’t sure what to think when glanced down to see the screen lit with Director Webber’s name. As of this morning, she wasn’t scheduled to have sent her team out on any assignments. He answered the call swiftly and let her do most of the talking, grateful that she was as to-the-point as ever with her updates.

Murdoc had returned from whatever dark hole he had last crawled into.

Agent MacGyver had been kidnapped.

Agents Dalton, Cage and Bozer had followed the trail as far as possible before it had run too cold to be of any use.

As her words washed over him, leaving an uncomfortable chill in their wake, his eyes were drawn to a young boy exiting the diner with a man that he could only assume was his father. As the boy lifted his hand for his father to hold onto, he was reminded of the reason he had stayed hidden away from Angus for all of these years.

To stop this very thing from happening. To keep his family out of enemy crosshairs. He should have known that guiding Angus into the same profession would eventually have him racking up enemies of his own.

It sent a shiver down his spine; the known murderer breaking into his father’s old house. Phoenix’s previous dealings with Murdoc had been enough for them to get a clear idea of the man’s psychopathic tendencies and Angus had been in his clutches for a good few hours now if Matilda’s timeline was correct.

Why his son hadn’t secured the house more thoroughly after Murdoc’s previous infiltration was a mystery to him. He thought he’d taught his son better than that.

Dalton, Cage and Bozer were returning to the Phoenix but he trusted that their search wouldn’t end there. And as the young boy and his father disappeared down the street, Director Webber finished her update with a promise to keep him notified as the situation progressed. He ended the call with a thanks and reversed out of the parking spot, heading straight for his office. He didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

DECEMBER 2017

“Thank you, Director Webber.” He dismissed her succinctly.

Keeping his eyes locked on his computer screen, he could pretend that his Handler wasn’t lingering in his provisional, hesitating with only one foot out of his office door.

He’d been here before, the great mystery of Schrödinger’s scowl. If he didn’t look up, then maybe daggers weren’t really being glared in his direction. But if anyone was going to win a stubbornness contest…

“Was there something else, Director Webber?” He asked coolly, raising his head and accepting the harsh eye contact.

Matilda lifted her chin defiantly, glower only deepening the longer the silence lingered between them. She rolled her eyes with a huff, stepping back into the room to close the door behind her.

“He’s only six floors down, you know. If you fancied checking in on him.”

He knew. Of course he knew. Where else would his son have been taken after being exposed to a lethal nerve gas if not the Phoenix Foundation’s impressive infirmary. The high tech, state of the art medical floor of their building was often overlooked on the day-to-day basis of many agents who successfully made it through missions with barely a scratch on them. But for the more dangerous endings to otherwise fruitful assignments; the gunshot wounds, the poisonings, the injuries that would raise all the wrong questions at a normal hospital; their infirmary was fully manned and copiously stocked for anything that came through their doors.

As head of the organisation, he had access to the running log of those being treated at any one time and often liked to check that his agents were recovering well. That report had been open on his screen for two hours today, only closing once Angus’ name had appeared at the top of the list.

Matilda crossed her arms with more flourish than was strictly necessary, head tilting perfectly to the side. He was obviously taking too long to reply.

“They’ve sedated him so he wouldn’t even have to know you were there.”

Sedated. Made sense. Nerve agents could cause havoc on the body; difficulty breathing, painful muscle spasms, severe headaches, coma, death—

He’d read the report. They’d gotten Angus back to the Phoenix before his condition had turned critical, administered the atropine and pralidoxime before anything irreversible played out. Several words had stood out from the page to leave an uneasiness sitting in his chest though – respiratory distress and seizure amongst them – but considering the devastation the VX gas could have caused to the entirety of New York had it been dropped into the water supply; they had gotten off lightly.

“Jim.”

“Matilda.”

Another roll of the eyes.

“You’re not going to be able to hide away forever.” She said sadly. Though he had a feeling that was more on his son’s behalf than anything else. “For the past few months that boy has spent every waking moment he has hunting for clues that could lead him to you.”

He pushed himself up from his chair as she spoke, moving to stand by the window. It was much easier to hear her words without the scrutinous stare that accompanied them. Even as a young boy, Angus was relentless when he put his mind to something, eager to solve every problem he came across. But this was different. This wasn’t some old television set that could be ripped apart and screwed back together, this was life or death. And he had been perfecting the art of hiding a lot longer than Angus had been alive. His son was going to have to admit defeat soon enough.

“I’m staying away for—”

“—for his own protection, yes, so you keep saying. But whether you like it or not, your son is far too clever not to succeed in this.”

The sun was setting now, long shadows being cast behind trees as the evening took hold. His window was open slightly and the eventide air seeping through was cool against his skin. Angus would be kept in for a few days, at least, medical staff checking in on him regularly to ensure his symptoms were under control and improving. The recovery statistics from such poisonings were typically very good when treated in time – which it had been – so he should be back to normal, and back to work, by the end of the week.

Wordlessly, Matilda moved back to the door, taking his reluctance to answer as her cue to leave and suddenly the question he’d been dying to ask forced its way out before he could think twice. He couldn’t hide behind the impersonal technical jargon of the report, he needed to hear it from the mouth of someone who had been there, on direct comms with the team.

“Was it bad?”

He watched as her faint window reflection paused, took a breath, and turned her head just enough to speak into the room.

“Yeah Jim. It was bad.”

She left the room this time, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a sickly feeling settling in his stomach and his mind drifting downwards to six floors below. It wasn’t the first time Angus had found himself there and, in their line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

He just didn’t want to know how many more ways his son could think of to try and get himself killed.

JANUARY 2018

Okay, Angus really needed to up his security system; or better yet, move out. He knew the appeal of a safe space – especially one with an already paid off mortgage – but if multiple criminals have been able to break in and threaten your life, maybe it was time to find somewhere new.

He was halfway through his prep for a meeting when his comms completely blew up (…possibly an inappropriate turn of phrase to use under the circumstances). He had already been dealing with two failed missions, three agents stranded on foreign soil without exfil, and an agent in the hospital after being shot by a psychopath that appeared to be haunting their organisation. And now, two of his men had found themselves trapped in their own house alongside a giant bomb.

Director Webber was on the ground liaising with LAPD and the FBI, and he was happy to stay in the shadows, watching from afar while she coordinated their movements. Agents Bozer and Davies were assisting, and he was grateful for their constant communications that he was able to listen in to over the radio.

The staticky chatter filled the room with background noise while he made some calls to keep TV crews and reporters away. The last thing they needed were swarms of nosy individuals crowding the area and putting themselves in danger. That, and the mass panic that would no doubt ensue if it was revealed that there was a bomb primed to explode in the centre of Los Angeles.

His forefinger tapped impatiently against the desk. There was nothing more maddening than someone taking their time to relay information to him when there was an ongoing crisis at hand. It was a tricky situation to navigate and time was ticking. There were a lot of variables to consider when dealing with a threat situation such as this and though his team on the ground were handling the investigation of the bomb with meticulousness, he still had his part to play.

Though if he stepped back and took in the whole picture, he’d be able to see that this bomb-maker, the Ghost, had already taken the hard choice out of their hands should the worst come to the worst. Phoenix had been made aware of the threat and had, so far, been able to clear the suspected blast vicinity, keeping potentially hundreds of innocents safe. Leaving only two to be affected.

The lives of the many, outweighed the lives of the few, but it was harder to be impartial when the few included someone very important – not just to him, but to the whole world.

FEBRUARY 2018

If Director Webber were standing next to him, she would have zero reservations whatsoever about calling him a coward.

And maybe he was.

But if anything, it was her fault for putting the idea in his head. It really was easier to face someone if they didn’t know that you were there. If anything, this at least made him a better father than the man two months ago who had refused to step foot into the Phoenix infirmary for fear of…something. What exactly he hadn’t quite worked out. Being seen? Being recognised? Being forced to have an adult conversation with the son he left all those years ago?

So, now here he was, lingering in the long stretch of hallway, paying the medical staff no attention as they wandered past. He was stood close enough to Angus’ room to see in, but far enough away to keep it from being obvious why he was there.

The distance wasn’t necessary. Not anymore. Not after Angus’ list of enemies had long since outnumbered his own. But hiding was second nature to him now and it seemed not even his son could reverse the trait that had been so strongly ingrained into his very DNA.

Angus wasn’t alone in his room, accompanied only by his overwatch who, up until half an hour ago, had been pacing so restlessly he was sure the man would wear a hole into the polished floor. Now he was sitting in the single chair positioned next to the bed, hand periodically reaching up to run through his mess of hair or across the stubble of his chin.

He could remember that feeling all too well. A mission gone bad. A partner injured in the field. The long night waiting for news.

Angus was asleep in the bed, pale blue sheets pulled high up to his chest exposing a heavily bandaged shoulder. It was a successful surgery, he’d been informed. Bullet removed and skin stitched up with minimal issues. They would let him stay the night but by morning he’d be good to return home with an abundance of painkillers and the instruction to take it easy.

How was it that his son had been shot more times under his leadership than he ever had in an active war zone?

Though when he had hired Angus, he hadn’t expected a crazed admirer to quickly be included in the package. Murdoc had been popping up on his radar repeatedly since the Phoenix Foundation’s first encounter with him a year prior and his obsession with Agent MacGyver was concerning to say the least. They were lucky he had been feeling generous today, inflicting a non-fatal flesh wound with his bullet instead of anything more permanent.

And now to top it off, he’d received word that Murdoc had escaped from custody, again…

Once Angus found out, that instruction to take it easy was going to need to be a strongly worded command from Director Webber for his son to even consider following it seriously. Though he was sure the team could handle the stubborn ways of their fellow agent.

Glancing through the window, he took one final look at the pair before wordlessly slipping away to get a head start on the search.

MAY 2018

He’d been imagining this day for years.

He just didn’t know why Angus had to decide to quit on the one day he finally got the intel he had been waiting months for. Time sensitive intel too. He couldn’t waste this opportunity to take down Jonah Walsh just because Agent MacGyver had been having doubts about his place of work.

When Director Webber had called to inform him, he’d told her to send Angus his way. Two birds, one stone and all that.

The large country house had been mostly empty when he’d arrived, only one gun-wielding thug who, after a bit of a tumble, had been easily incapacitated. He was having a nice nap in the pantry now, safely out of the way.

It was a big, open house with high ceilings and polished furniture. Not exactly the backdrop he was expecting when notified of the cartel’s latest bolt hole. But honestly, he didn’t care if it was a 5-star hotel or an underground sewer, he wasn’t staying long. As soon as he cracked the safe and grabbed what was inside, he was gone.

Careful footsteps approached from behind and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Just in time.

The dial clicked beneath his fingers and as he began rotating it to the left to continue the combination, it occurred to him that he hadn’t actually considered what his first words to his son would be after fifteen years.

“Wouldn’t take another step if I were you.” He said without thinking as Angus softly trod right on the loose board he’d noticed earlier. Good enough start as any he supposed. He never could do things normally. “That weak floorboard is actually a pressure plate attached to an IED.”

“…You’re lying.” Angus replied sceptically, which was…surprising. Not the tone of voice— no, Angus was far too smart to not see through that. But the words. Zero comment, zero recognition of his father’s voice. Maybe it had been too long.

“Maybe. Take another step and we’ll see.” The dial clicked again. “What do you want.”

“Director Webber sent me here to speak with Oversight.” Angus’ voice was steady, if not a little frustrated. Unfazed by the situation he had walked into. Unprepared for what he was about to discover.

“Oh, then you got him.” He turned around to look over at the man standing behind him.

Time for the moment of truth…

Thanks for reading! 🖤

#macgyver #macgyver fic #my fic

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

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Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom

Word Count: 8.2k

I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

“He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

“Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

“How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

“I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

“Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

“I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

“N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

Until today.

“Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

“Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

“No, but I just think that-”

“Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

Right.

I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

But not to me – no, never to me.

“Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated groan.

After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

Or so I thought.

I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

“Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

“Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

“I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

“C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

“Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

“You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

“I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

“Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

Oh, fuck no.

I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

“What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

“Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

“You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

“I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

“Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

“I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

“Oh. O-Okay.”

And that was that.

It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

“D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

“S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

“Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

“Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

“You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

“Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

“Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

“I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

“Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?” “N-No, Miss.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

“B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

“Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

“I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

“Color?”

“G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

“Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

“Tolstoy.”

“Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

“O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

“You okay, baby?”

“Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

“Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

“T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

�� “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

“Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

“S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

“Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

“Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

“Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

“N-No, it’s just-”

I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

“No, it isn’t good enough?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

“P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

“Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

“W-Why did yo-”

“You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

“S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

“Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

“S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

“Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

“H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

“Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

“Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

“I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

“Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

“Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

“Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

“Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me.

“Y/N - fuck!”

Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

“C-Can you stay? Please?”

The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

“Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

“Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

“Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

“What is it, baby?”

A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?”

After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

“I have another question,” he says shyly.

“Lay it on me, baby.”

The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

“It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

“First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

“Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #sub!spencer #dom!reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #smut #dom/sub #sub spence

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jaeminlore · 3 years

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You were packing up your stuff as students filed out of the lecture hall, it was your last class of the day. As you were walking out towards the parking lot, your phone started to vibrate in your bag. It was the school.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi Y/N. It’s Mrs. Flynn. I was just calling to let you know that Jo is now waiting inside with me because she was getting cold outside,” she informed you.

“Spencer’s not there?” you questioned, looking at the time displayed on your phone.

Pickup time was fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience,” you opened your car door and set your bag down in the passenger seat, turning on the ignition.

“No worries, I have to reorganize the classroom library anyways so I was already planning on staying after.”

Once the call ended, you tried to call Spencer but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Spencer, I don’t know if you forgot but it was your day to pick up Jo. I’m getting her now,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

Minutes later, your phone rang again. Expecting Spencer’s contact to show up on screen, your brow furrowed when the name read “JJ” instead.

“Hi JJ?” you said, more of a question than a greeting.

“Y/N, Spencer has been shot. I already told Will to go back to the school to pick up Jo. You should get here if you can. He’s in surgery now but there has been no update since he went in,” JJ explained.

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m turning around now. How did this happen? He didn’t mention he was on a case?” you pulled into a random parking lot to turn around.

“Well technically, we weren’t. We had a lead on a possible local case and we went to interview a potential witness who could give us some more information. We realized too late that he was the unsub. He thought we were on to him and shot Spencer in the leg while trying to escape.”

You had silent tears running down your face.

“I’m five minutes out” is all you could muster and then you hung up the phone.

You ran into the ER doors to find the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were glad you went to Rossi’s dinner party now or else this would have been a much more awkward first meeting.

“Any updates?” you asked frantically.

“No,” Derek sighed, “But no news is good news.”

You took the empty seat in between JJ and Penelope and put your face in your hands, not wanting everyone to see your tears.

Two hours of crappy coffee and vending machine snacks as your only source of sustenance later, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors.

She had a completely neutral expression that you couldn’t read but then again you weren’t a profiler.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

All of you stood and desperately crowded around her.

“Dr. Reid is in stable condition and awake. The bullet went into his thigh but it wasn’t through and through. He will need to be on crutches for about a week or so but luckily the bullet wound is near the edge of his thigh rather than the middle, meaning recovery time will be shorter,” she explained.

There was a collective sigh of relief along with a few “thank god”s.

“Although he is awake, I don’t think it’s best if you all go in at once since he is very drowsy. He has been asking for a Y/N?” the doctor looked around at you all.

All eyes fell on you. You collected yourself, grabbing your purse and following the doctor down the hall.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” you told everyone before you disappeared past the double doors.

The doctor guided you into a room at the end of the hall. You thanked her quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement, leaving you two alone. Spencer had his eyes closed but his hospital bed was inclined so he was sitting up slightly. You briskly walked over and took the seat right beside him. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it lightly, combing his messy hair out with your fingers.

As you were softly massaging his scalp, you heard a light groan. You retracted your fingers immediately as Spencer began to open his eyes.

Once Spencer took in his surroundings, he quickly sat up completely in bed, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Jo...it was my turn to pick up,” he said frantically.

“Hey, look at me, Spence. It’s okay, she’s at JJ and Will’s. You were shot in the thigh though so you’re not going anywhere. Please lie back down,” you assured him.

He nodded his head, relaxing a bit and looking down at his hands in his lap. He seemed to be processing something in his head.

“You called me ‘Spence’,” he stated.

Shit. That was twice now. It keeps slipping.

“Sorry, I-,” you began to ramble some apology that you didn’t even know where you were going with it. Luckily, he stopped you before you could further embarrass yourself.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he spoke softly as he looked up at you, tears threatening to fall.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” he sobbed.

You swiftly pulled him into your embrace, tucking his head into your neck as you began to gently stroke his hair again.

“It’s okay, let it out. I can’t imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you're safe now, I promise,” you whispered to him.

“I was so afraid I was going to abandon you and Jo again. It hurt worse than the actual bullet,” he muttered into your neck.

You removed your hands from his hair and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.

“Spencer Reid, you did not abandon Jo in the first place so there is no ‘again’. Second of all, you would have died a hero saving lives and I would have made sure Jo knew that and she never forgot her Daddy or how much he loved her,” you spoke earnestly, never breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s eyes softened. A second later, his lips were on yours again. This time, however, you didn’t pull away. Life was too short and this was already complicated as is, what’s the harm.

You basked in the familiarity of his lips locking with yours. Once he finally pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Go out with me. A real date. No more college dorm dates with takeout,” he smiled.

“You know you didn’t have to get shot to ask me out, right?” you teased.

“I thought I needed a grand gesture,” he beamed, chucking lightly.

“Yeah, Spence, I’ll go on a date with you.”

His lips found yours once again.

“Jo, are you ready?” you called out from the kitchen, packing snacks.

“Mommy, I’m already at the door!” she exclaimed.

Jo was eager to go see her Daddy at the hospital. You would spend the day there until he was discharged and then he would live with you guys for the week. You insisted on being there to take care of him while he was healing. You didn’t want him hobbling around all alone in his apartment.

When you walked out to the front entryway, there was a stack of various toys and books that hadn’t been there when you came down the stairs.

“What is this?” you gestured to the pile, amused.

“Daddy has big boo-boo so he needs stuff to cheer him up,” she stated.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to bring all this. Plus, remember Daddy is coming home with us later today. So here’s what we will do,” you handed Jo her dinosaur backpack, “You pack all the stuff you can fit in this bag that you think Daddy needs right away and the rest of the stuff can wait.”

Jo made quick work of sorting through her massive pile, trying to decide what would make her dad the most happy.

“Daddy!” Jo excitedly screamed, running towards the bed.

“Jo!” he returned with the same sentiment.

She was unable to get up on the bed herself so you had to lift her up.

“Remember what I said, careful with Daddy or he won’t get better,” you reminded her.

“You can sit her on my good leg,” Spencer patted his right thigh where you gently set Jo down.

“We brought you loads of stuff, Daddy,” Jo chirped, looking over at you.

You revealed a box of donuts from your bag and the coffee tray you had been holding. You handed him a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles and Jo a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. The two ‘cheers’ed their donuts before biting into them.

“Jo also brought you some things to cheer you up,” you handed her her backpack.

First, she promptly pulled out a pink Disney princesses band-aid and stuck it on Spencer’s already bandaged thigh.

“You need that so it doesn’t get infected,” she repeated Spencer’s words from when she fell at Rossi’s dinner party.

“Thank you, princess. What would I do without you?” he kissed the top of her head as she rummaged around in her backpack some more.

She set up her five favorite dinosaur toys on his tray table in front of them, glancing up at him for approval.

“Perfect,” he smiled, nodding.

Next, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been colored on.

“Who’s this?” Spencer asked, looking at the three stick figures doodled on the paper.

“That’s you, that’s Mommy, and that’s me,” she pointed to each of the sketches.

“Aw, that one is definitely making the fridge,” you smiled.

Finally, Jo took out her Magic Tree House book that she was currently reading. She needed help with some of the words but either you or Spencer or the both of you would help her read it every night.

“You already finished the last one?” Spencer picked up the new book that was next in the series, examining it and smiling proudly.

“And I didn’t need help with a single word on the last chapter,” Jo beamed.

“You’re so smart,” Spencer kissed her head again, “let’s see how far we can get on this one before we can go home.”

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid x reader #spencer x reader #cm fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds

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honklore · 3 years

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

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midnightsconspiracy · 3 years

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Summary: Having a baby without telling their father was hard, what was harder was when that baby’s father was Hank Voight

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1900

Requested: Yes!!

‘Hank and the reader had a small fling 2 years ago Hank called it off but what happens when he finds out that the reader son isn’t just hers but his as well.’

A/N: It doesn't really follow the timeline of the requests 2 years, but it's along those lines anyway :):)

Masterlist

Yours and Hank's relationship had seemed perfect at first, well to you anyway. Nothing seemed as though it was out of the ordinary until the man had unexpectedly broken it off.

It had originally started when you had first met him on a case. Originally, you had attended a police scene after his unit had called for a paramedic crew, the sergeant in question having hit the offender a little too hard. Your partner was assigned to look at the perpetrator's wounds, him having come out of that scuffle worst for wear, you on the other hand were sent to look at Voight's beat-up hand. Admittedly, you were a little wary at first, having heard of his tough reputation through the firehouse. But he seemed to be kind to you anyways, and so you ignored those rumours, choosing to decide for yourself instead. And so your relationship grew from there, secretly spending most of your free nights at his place, learning to trust each other implicitly.

As time went on, the two of your learnt to love each other, both scarred from the outcome of previous relationships. Your days were filled with shy smiles from the texts you'd send to each other, and nights with the feeling of one another. Everything had seemed perfect at the time, blissfully unaware of what he was feeling. Yes, he did love you, but the insecurities and comments were eating away at him. Each day he would come into work or go out to his local gentlemen's club and receive judgments on your relationship, about how you were much younger or better looking than him. He took most of the comments to heart despite you telling him otherwise, but who was he going to believe, over 10 of his closest friends and colleagues or his girlfriend? Eventually, he chose his answer, breaking it off before you could object otherwise.

Distraught was the only word that you could use to describe yourself. You were absolutely heartbroken knowing someone you believed loved you threw it all away because of the opinions of others. Not only were you emotionally broken but also physically, feeling like absolute crap, constantly throwing your guts up and in an ever-changing mood. At first, you just blamed it on the stress you were facing, the breakup had been rough and you'd tried your best to change his mind. But it continued on day by day even after you'd accepted what had happened. Confiding in Sylvie about your problems, she seemed worried for you, urging you to go to the doctors for advice. Although you were apprehensive at first, you followed her instructions, seeking Natalie out to check you over.

You played with your hands nervously as you waited for her to come back with the results of the blood tests. At first, you just thought it was the flu, but after each symptom of yours she checked off her list, your mind knew where this was all going. And so as she confirmed what you were thinking, you froze, tears springing to your eyes not knowing what would happen to you or your baby.

That day you had made one of the most important decisions of your life, you would move back home to Virginia and raise the baby with only the help of your family. And so that's what you did, packing your things up into a moving van, putting your apartment for sale and driving to your new home. It was a little challenging at first to adjust to your new life, you missed your friends overwhelmingly having spent nearly every day of the last five years within the walls of that firehouse. But, you knew you had to move on though, probably never going back to Chicago to allow your child a better life. It had crossed your mind once or twice that maybe Hank would want to know about this, be a part of their life, but you just couldn't chance it. He had let you go over the opinions of others so what would stop him from doing similar with this child? You couldn't take that risk though, so as soon as any thought of him would appear, it would disappear soon after.

It was a struggle being a single parent, going through each trimester of your pregnancy alone. Sometimes you wished he would go through the milestones with you, the first sign of a baby bump, the first kick. And you had your family there with you too, but it was never the same as someone you loved. The worst was when you gave birth, all alone, with no one to hold your hand as you experienced the worst pain of your entire life. However, it had led to the best thing, your son, Jackson. Your life had changed overnight, now you not only lived for yourself but also your son.

As he grew up your happiness also increased, loving life just you and your child. Most of the time it was perfect laughing and playing but others you wanted Hank to be there, helping you out with the hard moments. Things with your family worsened as Jackson grew as well, things becoming rocky as they helped you less and less. And so just after you celebrated your sons third birthday, you decided maybe Chicago wasn't so bad. You could reunite with your friends, have some help with Jackson and potentially get your job back at the firehouse. So that's what you did, once again packing your stuff up and moving the both of you into a shared apartment with Sylvie, your rock in all of this.

Your life had suddenly gone back to normal overnight, picking up your career as a paramedic at 51 whilst you got a babysitter from Jackson. The only people that were aware of your presence were those at the firehouse, trying to keep your return in house so as not to raise any unwanted attention. But that had all changed as you and Brett were once again called to a police crime scene. And your prayers weren't answered as you rolled up to one led by intelligence.

As soon as you exited the ambulance you were faced with the entire team with two people needing assistance, the perpetrator and Hank. Sylvie gave you a knowing look as you grabbed the equipment, allowing you to take the bad guy. But as you walked towards the guy, Hank raised his voice, telling Sylvie he wouldn't be treated by her, wanting to talk to you instead. So you both complied, wandering over and grabbing Hank's head to assess his injuries, not wanting to even look him in the eye. You tried to wrap things up as quickly as you could, refusing to talk to him at all.

"You're back," he stated bluntly, needing to know your reasoning behind leaving in the first place. But you wouldn't give him the pleasure, fixing medical tape onto his wound, before packing up your stuff and hightailing it back into the ambulance. Although you were done with him, he definitely wasn't done with you, having heard some interesting rumours about your departure.

Finding out your new address, Hank made it his mission to see you, to explain what he was thinking. Knocking on the door of your apartment, he wished to see your face, having missed you the four years you had been gone. Just after you had moved your life to Virginia, Hank had a revelation, kicking himself for letting go of someone he loved so much. But instead of meeting your beautiful face, he found some random woman, being informed that you no longer lived there. He had been left distraught, leading to months of emotional instability, bottling it up, only to explode with anger and sadness after too long. But now as you opened the door, he smiled, glad that it was actually you this time.

"Why are you here?" You asked, wedging your body between the door and its frame, not wanting him to spot your child who was happily playing inside.

"I wanted to see you, I missed you," he confessed, wary at your suspicious behaviour.

"Missed me? You broke-"

"Mommy?" Being cut off from your angry rant, your eyes widened at the sound of your son, knowing you would have to reveal him to his father. Picking your toddler up, you tried to close the door, hoping to defuse the situation. Unlucky for you, Hank stopped the door from closing, pushing inside of your apartment.

"Mommy huh?" He questioned, confused at how you had a child.

"What's your name buddy?"

"Jackson," your son replied, blissfully unaware of who this man was and what havoc he was causing.

"And how old are you?" The cogs were turning in Hanks mind, could this child be his?

"I just turned three!" The exclamation from the child, confirmed it all, he was this boys father and you hadn't told him. Straightening up he looked you in the eyes, an angry look on his face.

"Hey, buddy why don't you play in your bedroom?" And with that, you brought your son back into his room, closing the door behind you.

"He's mine isn't he?" Hank questioned that eerily quiet voice piercing your ears. Yes, you hadn't told him, but it was to protect you and your son! Not trusting your voice you nodded your head, giving him the confirmation he needed.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" He roared, his anger overflowing, grabbing your arms to get you to look at him.

"It was to protect him, if you could easily get rid of me, what was stopping you from getting rid of him too?" You cried, knowing what you did was wrong.

"And you didn't think I could make that chose myself?" You could see the tears in the man's eyes, his voice crackling as he realised this was as much his fault as it was yours. You had made the choice but he was ultimately to blame. Bringing you into his arms, you both cried, equally regretting your decisions. Looking back up at him, your feeling flooded back, remembering how much you really loved this man. And so at that moment, you decided that Hank should be part of your boy's life, Jackson was as much his as he was yours.

So that evening was spent introducing the pair, watching as they got along like a house on fire. Hank's experience raising a child previously meant he knew how to please a child, allowing them to bond as father and son. Every time he looked at you, your original feelings intensified, understanding why you had originally thought that he would make a great father. In Hanks mind he was feeling overwhelming joy, the last few years had been so tough for him and this, this was all he could ever want. He had loved Justin with all his heart, but since he had died a black void had overtaken his heart. His grandson had briefly filled it, but that had been taken away again as they left as well. Finally, he had something that could fill this hole, a woman he loved infinitely and had made the biggest mistake of his life by letting her go. And a son, that he would hopefully watch grew up day by day, as a nice, happy family.

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madswonders · 3 years

Text

A Lesson In Romance #10: Thoughts

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Implied anxiety, Mentions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they're paired together on a case.

A/N: I know that the BAU's conference room has big-ass glass windows but just imagine that the blinds are closed for the entirety of this chapter aha. Also this chapter is a doozy... like 1k words longer than usual, so enjoy!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

---------

As Peter Gizzi once described the phenomena of love, "About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know / With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler."

In high school, your reputation always preceded you. The cynic that never had a boyfriend, much less a drunken one-night stand; a prude who waited over ten dates to have her first kiss; or the "ice queen" who kept her emotions locked up and threw away the key.

If they saw you now, you wondered if they would laugh at how you've changed; because these days, you looked like you were keeping the best secret in the world, one that threatened to burst from your lips every time you smiled.

What you didn’t know, is that you didn't need to be a profiler to see it. From the bubbling laughter and whispered conversations, to the not-so-secret longing glances. You and Spencer disappeared into your own world when you were together, and everybody knew it.

And for the first few weeks, that was enough. You found it easier than usual to ignore the thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind. That is, until you couldn't.

"... I want you and Spencer to work on the geographic profile." Hotch had announced, and you remembered the feeling of your blood running cold.

There were two reasons for this. First was the fact that this case linked twenty homicides across three years to a single unsub. If there was any case that required the two nerdiest members of the BAU to team up, this was it.

Unfortunately, that fact was closely followed by an overwhelming fear — and you wanted to preface this by saying that you were usually a woman of logic and science — but, somehow, you couldn't shake the thought that something bad was going to happen to you and Spencer, and you weren't ready for it.

Leaning against the cool conference room wall, you tapped your toes in an impatient rhythm against the carpeted floor. You were trying to recite what you learned from your PhD; that your mind was jumping to conclusions and that it was normal to be nervous. It was normal to feel this way. You were normal.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, jolting you out of your mantra.

You realised your boyfriend had been talking to you for awhile now, but clearly, you weren't listening. You shook your head apologetically.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Could you say that again?"

"I was just saying, you can start by pinning the names and locations of the victims, and I'll put up the crime scene photos... but are you sure you're okay?" He asked again, this time shooting you those puppy dog eyes that made you weak.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Let's get to work." You said firmly, grabbing the box of push pins. You felt his gaze linger on you for a second, before he began picking up his own stack of pictures.

The first hour sped by quickly as you and Spencer listed out all of the unsub’s possible motives and next victims. At the half hour mark, Hotch dropped in to check on your progress, bringing takeaway coffee and leaving with a rare smile.

At the second hour, the rest of the team returned with some new leads, and unfortunately, new bodies, but nothing that helped solidify the profile any further than what you already had.

At the fifth hour, there was no denying it. The team had hit a wall. While the rest of them were back in the field investigating more leads, you sipped on your second cup of coffee while staring at the evidence board. Spencer paced the room behind you.

"The messy dump sites. The carvings onto the victims' chests. One points to the unsub being disorganised and inexperienced, but the other is a clear, almost narcissistic ritual." The doctor thought aloud.

"Usually that means the unsub is trying to make a statement, but he killed his first ten victims before the police found out, then killed another seven and three right under their noses before going dormant. If he wanted to make a statement, why wouldn't he tip off the police or media sooner?" He grumbled.

"Are we sure it's not a taunt to the local police’s competency? Many of his first victims were found in secluded areas with limited police support." You pointed out, tapping the edge of your cup in thought.

"No, the victimology and locations are too wide spread. A taunt would present a clearer message." He said.

You turned around suddenly, causing him to halt in his steps. "Here's something completely off the wall — but what if the unsub was trying to achieve a specific pattern with his kills?" You said, gesturing with your cup.

Tap, tap-tap, tap, you created the rhythm with your finger.

"That would explain why he isn't acting like a narcissist. Maybe he's suffering a mental condition that compels him to complete a certain pattern, and subsequently, ritual with his kills. Could be rhythmical, musical, numerical..." You explained.

"Numerical. That's it!" Spencer squeaked, rushing to the board with a marker. "I thought these numbers seemed familiar earlier, that's because they make up prime numbers!"

He backed away from the board to reveal what he wrote. The numbers 2, 3, 5, 7, and 11. A lightbulb turned on in your head.

"2, 3 and 5 make up the first ten kills. 7 is the next, which he managed to complete perfectly, but something happened to the unsub at 11." Spencer voiced your thoughts.

"He might have been incarcerated, or injured. But we can't rule out the possibility that he might have moved out of town and resumed the pattern elsewhere. So either we can expect 8 more victims here, or the unsub has already moved onto the next number: 13." You quickly finished the train of thought.

"Love, you're a genius!" Spencer rushed over to pick you up by the waist, twirling you as you laughed in relief. But the relief turned to surprise when he kissed you deeply.

God, he was good at this. Even when your feet touched the ground, it felt like you were seeing stars. Though it was only when your lips parted that he had the decency to blush.

"Love?" You breathed.

Spencer's cheeks turned crimson in embarrassment, but he didn't back away. Instead, he leaned forward, bumping your foreheads together gently.

"I didn't know you had that in you, doctor." You teased.

"Well, my mother did school me in classic romance literature from a young age. Not to mention, I happen to be a genius at most things..." You could hear the smile in his voice, and you giggled.

The doctor pulled away then, an adoring smile still plastered across his face. "Are you fee—" He began, but his voice died in his throat as his gaze fixated on something behind you.

"Ooooh, am I interrupting something?" You turned around to see none other than Penelope smiling coyly from the doorway, and the two of you jumped apart.

"N-no, nothing!" Spencer blurted out.

"All fine and dandy here." You added on, blushing furiously.

The tech analyst smiled deviously. "Well, I thought I'd come and check on my two favourite lovebirds. Anything else from the case for me to chew on? Except whatever that was earlier." She teased.

"Actually, there is." You cleared your throat awkwardly, while the good doctor looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

"We need you to search up murders in neighbouring cities that match the mutilation by our unsub, then cross-reference the time frame with any new residents. We suspect he might be trying to complete a pattern, and that he may have done it somewhere other than here." You said.

"On it, future-Mrs-Genius. I will get back to you so fast that you won't even have time to get down and dirty." She half-yelled that last bit, heels clicking as she walked back to her office. Before you could even formulate a response, she was gone.

You felt your boyfriend wrap his arms around you from the back. "Now, where were we?" He whispered.

You giggled, leaning back into the doctor's chest while he rocked your bodies side to side. "Are you feeling better now?" He asked.

"Next time someone says it's not as intense in here as it is out there, I'm going to give them a stern talking to." You joked.

"You know what I mean, love." Spencer reiterated gently, the pet name falling from his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. "If you tell me about it, I can help you. You know I'm always here for you."

You sighed softly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

"It's something stupid. I-I'm fine."

He turned you around, brows furrowing in concern when a tear rolled down your cheek. "What's wrong?" He asked, wiping it away tenderly.

"I— I was worried about us working together." You admitted. "And it's not because I don't like working with you, but I just— I just couldn't—"

"Take a deep breath, love. Slowly." He held your shoulders as you breathed in and out, once, twice.

"I've been afraid this whole day — no, for awhile now — that something was going to happen to our relationship." You confessed shakily. "And it's not about our jobs — although I worry about that too — but I'm scared that one day you'll wake up and realise that I'm not worth the trouble."

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the next wave of tears.

"A-and it's only gotten worse because I've never been so h-happy with another person before. Only you've made me feel this way, and I'm t-terrified that I'll lose what we have."

There was a brief silence as Spencer pulled you close to his chest, one hand stroking your hair carefully. You could hear his heart beating fast.

"Do you remember when the team tricked us into sharing a bed?" He whispered, a hint of a smile trickling into his voice. "I think about it every single time we're about to go into the field. Because you said you'd never leave me, and now, whenever we're out there, I know I'm not alone."

He breathed in deeply, your head gently rising and falling together with his chest.

"You've given me someone to come home to, love. What we have, you'll never lose it, okay?" He whispered.

"Baby, I—" Your voice halted. Crap.

"Wait. Baby?" Spencer repeated back to you, a teasing lilt in his voice. Your face flushed, and you unwinded your arms from your boyfriend to cover your face.

"Oh god, can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

"I have an eidetic memory." He pointed out. You let out a watery laugh, knowing when you had lost.

"Alright, alright. But I do have another ide—"

Then, the conference room phone rang. It was Emily. "Hey guys, Garcia managed to narrow down the unsub and we're 10 out, but we'll need some back-up."

"Be there in 15." You replied, while Spencer shot you an amused look, Luckily, he waited for the call to end before saying the next words.

"Let's go, baby." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, already strapping on your kevlar. "That's it. You're not driving."

"Aww!"

---------

After the major breakthrough in the case — all thanks to Nerd 1 and Nerd 2, as Derek fondly called the two of you — the case managed to wrap up neatly and the BAU found themselves in a rare position. Ready to end the work day, on time.

Not that anybody was packing up to leave just yet, although you wished they would, because Penelope had decided to start enthusiastically retelling how she found the BAU's resident lovebirds in the conference room, unable to keep their hands off each other.

"Last I heard, pet names aren't a crime — and how long were you standing there anyway?" You accused, blushing.

"Firstly, they are. Criminally cute, that is!" Penelope squealed, while the rest were in fits of laughter. "And secondly, you should never underestimate my awesome ninja abilities, because I heard everything that I needed to hear."

"Do I even want to know?" Spencers winced.

"I don't think you do, pretty boy." Derek laughed, clapping the genius on the back.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can we go back to how Spencer's pet name of choice is love?" Emily gasped in laughter.

"You've got to admit it's kind of cute, Emily." JJ smiled.

"Sure. If you're courting Mr. Darcy and attending cotillions."

"C'mon, Prentiss. All that means is that our boy's got style." Derek added to laughter, while Spencer whined in protest.

The door to Hotch's office opened suddenly, both him and Rossi stepping out with expressions of urgency on their faces.

“Sorry to break up the fun, kiddos. But there's been an update to the case.” Rossi announced, following right behind Hotch to the conference room.

The laughs were wiped off everybody's faces as you traded concerned looks. As you filed into the room, Hotch had already begun speaking.

“Another body was found half an hour ago. Same MO, same random victimology, and same kind of dumpsite. And the unsub just told us where to find his copycat.”

“Wait, we never profiled a second unsub.” Derek interjected.

"It doesn't makes sense — the first unsub is a control freak. He didn't like the idea of anybody messing with his sequence. Wouldn't he have done something if he knew somebody else was copying his pattern?" You asked.

"We profiled that he wouldn't be able to deviate from his pattern. What if he had to continue, even when somebody else was committing some of the crimes for him?" Spencer countered.

“Hold on, you said the unsub gave us a location?” Emily asked.

"And a time." Rossi voiced up. “8pm tonight at The Basil. The first unsub claims that's where the copycat finds his next targets."

"How do we know if we can trust him?" Derek asked.

"We don't. But he didn't display any telltale signs of doubt when he told us, and this is the only lead we have." Hotch's frown deepened. You had a feeling he didn't like the idea of this either, but the team didn't have a choice.

"Okay, if we're doing this, he can't know we're onto him," Emily thought aloud, "and we'll need precautions in case it's a trap. That means..."

"Undercover agents... and the bait." Hotch said with finality.

“And who did you have in mind for that?” You piped up, and everyone turned their eyes to you.

“You and Reid.” He stated the obvious.

“B-b-but, I’ve never gone—"

“You’ve more than proven your abilities in the field since you joined us, and having natural chemistry will make it less suspicious to the unsub.”

You opened your mouth, but no words fell from it. Hotch was right. Of course he was right.

As if hearing your thoughts, Spencer took your hand in his and squeezed, and you felt a little calmer already. “Ok, I’ll do it.” You said determinedly, while the doctor echoed your sentiment.

Hotch nodded, beginning to assign roles to the rest of the team while you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tighter, a new mantra forming in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay.

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

Text

Fracture

Theo Hotchner breaks his arm.

A mini-fic set post ITSWM. (I know I haven’t finished posting that yet but I wrote some fluff for this universe because I needed the serotonin, and thought you might too.)

Rating: General

Words: 2.5k

It happens in slow motion. Aaron watches as Theo falls from the jungle gym, landing awkwardly on his arm as he hits the ground. There’s a beat of silence, a moment where Aaron thinks everything might be ok when runs over, and then his son starts crying hysterically as he sits up.

When he sees Theo’s arm, bent at an unnatural angle, his first thought is that Emily was going to kill him.

____________

Emily feels her phone ring in her pocket for the second time in as many minutes and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She knows it’s Aaron without looking, having rejected his initial call only a minute before with the intention of calling him back the minute she was free. He never calls her at work, knowing the pressure of her job since he had once done it himself.

He usually texts her, sends her a photo of the kids as they do something adorable or slightly mischievous. Photos of Amelia smiling widely at the camera, or Theo and Jack playing Mario Kart together, matching looks of concentration on their faces. They helped, reminding her of what was waiting for her when she got home from horrific case after horrific case, that despite everything she still had her family.

She’d never tell Aaron that they also hurt at times. Tiny reminders of what she missed out on when she was away.

The fact he was calling her twice in such quick succession could only mean something was wrong.

Emily looks at the team as they deliver the profile to the local detectives. Dave catches her eye and gives her a quick nod as she lifts her phone and tilts her head down a hallway.

She answers the phone just as it’s about to ring out. “Aaron, is everything ok?”

Aaron sighs over the phone. “It’s Theo, he’s okay I promise, but he’s broken his arm.”

For a moment she swears her heart stops in her chest, panic seeping through her body at the thought of her precious little boy being hurt. “He’s not okay if he’s got a broken bone, Aaron.”

“Sweetheart.” He says firmly, preventing her from spiralling any further. “He’s in a bit of pain but he’s ok. He’s just convinced me this means we get to have ice cream for dinner.”

She barks out a laugh that catches in her throat. “That boy will do anything for ice cream.” She pauses to take a breath, her emotions still overwhelming despite Aaron’s attempts to distract her. “What happened?”

“He fell off the jungle gym.”

She frowns at this, indignation running through her veins. “Aaron, I-”

“Yes, I know you told me he has almost fallen off of it before. I can’t exactly tell him he can’t go on it though sweetheart.”

She sighs, and feels the anger leave her just as quickly as it came. She looks over her shoulder when she hears the room full of local officers and detectives start to disperse.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Aaron asks gently.

“Yes please.” She breathes out, and waits a second as she hears Aaron talking to Theo in the background, the sound of the emergency room they were in almost drowning out their conversation.

“Hi, Mommy.” He sniffs, sounding incredibly sorry for himself. Her chest feels tight at the sound of it, at the use of the name ‘mommy’ when her 8 year old had mostly been calling her ‘mom’ lately.

“Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts.” He grumbles. “The doctor said I could get a cast in any colour.”

“Really?” She asks, voice full of fake enthusiasm. “What colour are you going for?”

“Green.” He sniffs again, a sign that he had been crying that broke her heart. “Are you coming home?”

Emily closes her eyes, and she blows out a breath. “I can’t, sweetie. I’m working, remember? I’m in Texas.”

“Okay.” The disappointment in his voice is palpable, and it takes everything in her to not start crying there and then. Thoughts of how she could leave in the middle of the case, assign someone else as agent in charge and just go home and hug her son.

And maybe smack her husband for letting Theo go on the jungle gym in the first place.

“Emily.” Dave’s voice interrupts her and she turns to look at him, holding up a finger to show she just needed another minute.

“Theo, honey, I’ve got to go okay. I love you so much. I’ll call later.”

“Love you too.”

She smiles at that, as she has done every single time since he first said it. “Can you pass me back to Dad?”

There's another shuffle on the other end of the phone, a quick curse from her husband as one of them nearly drops the phone. “Sweetheart?”

“I’ve really got to go, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, we get it.” He reassures, clearly able to hear how sad she is, how torn she is over what to do. “Theo gets it too usually, you know you’re the first thing any of us wants when we’re sick or hurt.”

Emily nods despite the fact she knows he can’t see her, and she hastily wipes away the tear the movement drops onto her cheek. “I know, you Hotchner’s really can’t cope without me.” She jokes.

“We can get by until you wrap up the case.” He replies, and she can just imagine the grin on his face, the way it would bring out his dimples. “I’ll text when we’re home okay?”

“Yeah, thank you. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

She hangs up the phone and turns back to Dave, who is standing behind her still, with concern all over his face. “Is everything okay at home?”

Emily sighs as she puts her phone back in her pocket and starts to walk back to the conference room, Dave keeping pace at her side. “Theo’s broken his arm, so Aaron took him to hospital.”

Despite how neutrally she tries to say it she clearly fails, Dave coming to a stop and putting a hand on her arm. “The poor kid. We can always manage here if you need to head back.”

She frowns at him. “I can still do my job, Dave.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I never said you couldn’t, Bella. I just know that you aren’t going to believe he’s fine until you see him for yourself.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.” She practically growls at him before walking past into the conference room.

“Yeah.” Dave says to himself. “That was definitely said in a way a person who was fine would say it.”

____________

Emily was aware that she was in a foul mood, snapping at the team as they asked questions or every time they came up against a dead end. The need to get home as quickly as possible clawing at her throat. Photos that Aaron had sent her the night before of Theo with his bright green arm cast, and a bowl of ice cream in front of him only further deepening that need.

It culminates in her shouting at Derek like she never had before, something that made him say the ‘Hotch attitude’ was finally rubbing off on her. She threatened him with victimology for the rest of his career and then stormed out, ignoring the way the locals looked at her as she did.

She finds solace in the women’s bathroom, or at least she did right up until Dave followed her in.

“You shouldn’t be here, Dave.” She says as she briefly turns to look at him, before going back to looking at her weary face in the mirror. Sleep had not come easy for her the night before, George Foyet always making his way back into her subconscious every time someone in her family was hurt.

“Neither should you, Emily.” He clears his throat, clearly ready for an argument. “Which is why I’ve booked you a flight home.”

Emily turns quickly at that, stares him down. “You did what?”

“I booked you a flight, it leaves in two hours. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

She takes a step towards him and crosses her arms across her chest. “I can’t just leave in the middle of a case. I am the Unit Chief.”

“And you’re a damn good one, but you’re also an excellent mother. And I know that you need to see your little boy more than he needs to see you.”

Emily stares at him before nodding, relenting to doing exactly what she had been wanting to do in the 30 hours it had been since Aaron had called her. “You’re right. I’ll go. But I expect updates about what's going on here.”

“As you wish.” He stands out of her way so she can get past him and leave the bathroom. “The ticket is first class by the way, so drink some free champagne and do everyone a favour and chill out.”

Emily grimaces as they walk back towards the conference room. “Have I really been that bad?”

“You owe everyone at least one drink. I think you owe Derek a month off of paperwork.”

“He wishes.” Emily scoffs.

____________

Aaron watches in amusement as Amelia climbs onto the couch next to Theo and starts to, not very gently, stroke his hair. It’s what Emily did for all of them, Aaron included, when they were sick or hurt and Theo lets his sister do it, despite it clearly being the last thing he wanted. Watching his two year old daughter mirror her mother made his heart constrict, and he wished more than ever that his wife was here.

His phone rings and he grabs it, smiling as he sees Emily’s name and picture on the screen. “Hey, how are things?”

“I’m on a plane.” She replies, a small laugh in her voice. “Dave bought me a ticket and drove me to the airport. Took me as far as security would let him to make sure I got onboard.”

Aaron couldn’t pretend he was anything other than relieved. He’d noticed the tension in his wife during the brief phone calls and text exchanges about their son’s injury. Not to mention Theo was miserable, barely putting up with his little sister's antics anymore, and getting crankier by the second.

“What time do you get in?”

“Too late for you to even think about picking me up, I’ll get a cab home.”

He wants to argue, to go get her and tell her everything is fine, but he knows that's not what she needs him to do. She would want him here, in their home, with their kids. “Okay, just text me when you land.”

“I will. Love you.”

“You too.” He says as he hangs up.

“Everything okay, Dad?” Jack’s voice comes from behind him.

Aaron turns to look at his 17 year old son. “Yeah, Emily is on her way.”

Jack smiles at him, the same smile he inherited from Haley. “Uncle Dave sent her home?” Jack laughs at Aaron’s nod. “That’s a whole day sooner than you said it would happen.”

Aaron laughs. “She must have been in a really bad mood.”

____________

When Emily gets home it’s already well past Theo’s bedtime. As soon as she is in the house she sneaks into his bedroom and her chest tightens at the sight of his bright green cast laid on a pillow next to him. Archie held tightly under Theo’s good arm. She walks over to his bed and presses a kiss to his forehead, whispering apologies for not being home earlier into his hairline.

Amelia is also asleep. Emily sits down on the edge of her bed and tucks her in a little bit tighter and runs her fingers through her daughter's increasingly unruly hair.

Jack was still up, playing video games online with his friends. She pops her head in his room and quietly says hi, aware she had accidentally embarrassed him in the past. He throws her a grateful smile and a wave and she closes the door behind her.

When she gets to her own room Aaron is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her, and immediately stands as she closes the door behind her. She’s in his arms before she can really register it, and the lump that had sat in her throat since Aaron called her about Theo dissipates almost immediately.

Emily wraps her arms tightly around him, and presses her face into his soft t-shirt. “Hey.”

Aaron presses a kiss to the top of her head and rubs a hand up and down her back. “Hey sweetheart.”

He encourages her to get ready for bed, and joins her. Their nighttime routines are easily done around each other, years of practise behind them. Once they settle into bed he immediately pulls her into his arms and rests her on his chest.

“You ok?” He asks gently, fingers running up and down her arm.

“Yes.” She swallows against the word, and it tasted like a lie. “No. I just feel like a bad mom.” She admits into his chest, the fear that had been circling around in her head for longer than the last couple of days bursting out of her. “I know I’m not.” She says as she feels him take in a breath to admonish her, and she rubs the tension from his chest with the palm of her hand. “Being their mom is my favourite thing, but when I can’t be here when my son hurts himself...it really sucks.”

Aaron hears the way her voice cracks, and the way her body shudders when she tries to hold back the tears he had no doubt she had been putting off since he called her to tell her about Theo’s accident.

“You’re okay, Em. And so is he.” Aaron kisses the top of her head. “He’ll be so happy when he wakes up to see you tomorrow, and I’ll go back to being second favourite even though I gave him ice-cream two days in a row.”

She pushes herself up by the hand on his chest, her tearstained face coming into view. “Two days in a row?”

____________

Theo is delighted to see her the next morning, all but forgetting about his broken arm as he launches himself at her. He begs her to sign his cast, to draw a picture on it for him, and she smiles when she sees the scribbles on it clearly left by Aaron helping Amelia hold the pen.

When her daughter realises she is home she squeals and demands to be held by her mother for hours.

They watch a movie together, all of them piling into the living room. Theo chooses the movie, Monsters Inc, and Aaron levels a glare at Jack when he opens his mouth to complain.

“Breaking your arm is fun.” Theo exclaims as he sits in between his parents, ready to watch his favourite movie.

Aaron and Emily exchange a look over the top of their son’s head and they both suppress a laugh.

They were all going to be fine.

#Hotchniss #hotchniss fic #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #WTB Universe #ITSWM #David Rossi being a busy body #The OG hotchniss shipper #mini fic

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steve0discusses · 3 years

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S5 Ep 15 Pt 2: Don’t Trust Anyone Who Wears a Floor Length Robe Over Their Casuals in Yugioh

Hey, it’s my birthday, so I’m gonna release this early because the rest of today I just have to work like an adult and that’s no fun.

In the first half of this episode we dunked the worlds smallest plane into a lake and so this second half of the episode involved the kids running as far away from their only responsible adults as they could.

Which like...took whole of less than a second for them to peace out and enter mortal danger.

...I’ve never been in a jungle in India but...I have seen the Jungle book many times...and there’s like tigers and stuff in there, right? and tons of monkeys that are hella mean? And freakin snakes? They sing jazz and scat? That’s some terrifying stuff.

Like these city kids have to learn at some point to fear the woods. But they just freakin don’t. And strangely, the most dangerous thing in these woods isn’t even a snake or something, but a human man just being as suspicious as possible lying prone on the ground.

(read more under the cut)

The card cultist happens to have a British accent, because this voice acting team freakin loves to pull out their British accents. It’s not as lowbrow as Valon, but it’s not as...well whatever Bakura is supposed to be. He’s a lot more tame than Bakura’s, but still very British.

I don’t know if this is because British English tends to be taught instead of American sounding English in many parts of India, but, most likely they just wanted to do an accent. And like...he’s an archeologist...and so the stereotype is there...but honestly, the decision of making this guy British gets weirder and weirder as this episode goes on, get ready for it. None of you are ready for what I assume is the very obvious plot twist of this freakin guy.

Catfish of the century, this freakin guy, I’m pretty sure.

Yugi immediately believes this completely out of place white British stranger in the Indian backwoods next to this inaccessible lake and immediately thinks “yes, my Grandfather crash landed in India EXACTLY where I’m standing right now, and now I must save him.”

Thankfully, Yami exists to gently and politely tell Yugi to hella stop.

Also, I like that Yugi has finally stopped wearing his school outfit out of school. But, he is instead wearing a jacket that is so close to his school outfit I honestly couldn’t tell until the end of this episode. It’s like...I think one shade more purple, it has white piping, and his undershirt has a center seam. It’s nice Yugi has 3 versions of the same black sleeveless undershirt, and this show cares enough to show that tiny factoid about Yugi’s closet.

So, because Yugi is a dumbass and Pharaoh has to just sit back and watch this happen so he can say “told you so” later, they follow this random cultist they found in the woods. Much like Hansel and Gretel, we snack on cake crumbs all the way to the witches house, which in this case, is an undiscovered monolith you would have easily seen from outer space.

HMMMMMMMMMM.

And so get ready for this:

Hey guys.

Remember how Alexander the great was buried in a pyramid?

Now because they’re name dropping Alexander, that’s actually kind of helpful, because Alexander the Great’s favorite damn horse in the entire world died while he was at war with India so he named a city after it. It’s believed to be in Punjab, which is in the Northern part of India

Which means we first of all, definitely crossed the tallest mountain range in the world to get here, and also means that we are like...in some really disputed territory of India right now, and it is crazy that these kids went here for a vacation completely unsupervised.

Another fun fact about Alexander is that when he died, it took 6 days for his body to decompose. At the time, they thought it was because he was a God (or in Yugioh’s case, Extremely Cursed) but nowadays historians think it’s because it took him 6 days to fully die. He just wasn’t dead yet. Had to give it a minute and the ancient Babylonians just got way too excited.

Anyway, Alexander super died in Babylon so I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in India. There is a fun spot in History where his body did get dragged to a couple different places, meaning we probably did lose the original Alexander and there’s a lot of people just guessing at where he ended up...but putting him clear up in India sure was a choice when one of his assumed burial sites was literally Egypt, which would be a more fitting location for a Pyramid and a more fitting location for this show.

Especially since Alexander was trying to invent a new race and culture...it seems a little strange he’d be buried in such a massive pyramid, but maybe he got a really, really good pyramid deal from the funeral home when he was like 28 and just figured he’d change it before the time he died at 32.

Which...now that I’m older than 32, how crazy is it that Alexander the Great died at freakin 32? You blink twice and you’re 32. Is history seriously trying to tell me this guy wasn’t like secretly 62? That maybe he just celebrated his 20th for like 20 years in a row as a royal mandate? I just feel like history is playing pranks on me with Alexander.

Anyway, our weird shady new archeologist guy is named Alex and so take that as you will.

I sure hope Alexander the Great was revived to wear khakis and bother children. Guy conquered the world once and was one of history’s Freakin Worst so he does deserve it, but also...it would explain why he thinks it’s normal to wear a Darth Maul robe over your business casual.

Anyway, lets enter the obvious trap pyramid.

Joey just wanted a nice time running around Northern India. He just wanted to eat some yummy chaat and look at some tourist destinations and maybe glance at a Bollywood star or two. But instead he’s gotta deal with spike floors because Yugi couldn’t say no to a cultist.

Also...one of those spikes clearly went through Tea’s feet, right? And she is absolutely fine? Just checking on Tea’s godlike strength and clearly it is still godlike.

Alex gives us a very long explanation of how he went upstairs and Grandpa went downstairs, and there was a door or something so Alex turned back around and Grandpa was gone.

All of those steps were probably plot relevant and I’ll probably forget all about it in 2 episodes.

The thing is Alex...literally thinks he evaporated. Literally thinks that. But how do you disprove it to this freakin guy who like...might have named a city after his horse once and thinks that’s a normal and acceptable thing to do?

and so Joey immediately leaps onto the haunted playing floor.

the way Yugi said this line was sort of hilarious to me so I may cap it. If I remember to do it (I’ve been a little busier lately, with things opening up, as you can tell because my update schedule is in the toilet.)

So, if Joey jumps in...everyone else has to, also.

And we say good bye to Alex and enter the new forest zone, which looks a LOT like the other forest we were just in.

Nice Protoss armor.

We get some hijinks from the local wildlife, which are all cards but real (but not real because we’re in a board game...don’t think about it) and the off brand Sheikah tablets have helpful monsters in them if you touch em.

This season may have been better off as a video game, being honest.

Joey has gone somewhere else, despite going onto the same game tile, and he’s too busy on a mountain range to really help anyone out. So he’s just gonna vibe up here for a bit.

Tea got up after this point and said along the lines of “k, what’s next?” Because mortal danger does not affect her and she fears nothing.

At a beach somewhere, Tea and Tristan spend some quality time together forming a new family with whatever these creatures are.

And Tea’s love of her winged angel comes full circle and now I will suffer this winged orb for the rest of this arc, pretty sure.

Please admire the number of belts on Tea. Her outfit is like max 00′s and I appreciate that. We’ve had a lot of questionable fashion on Yugioh, but they actually dressed Tea pretty on point this arc. Like I often feel like 00′s fashion is hard to define or describe, but it’s Tea right now. That’s it. She did it, it’s right there.

Yugi gets a new flagship card for this arc, and this time it’s Celtic Guardian. Hell why? I feel like his defining card changes every single arc, and they need to like focus and just give him one. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s still Dark Magician...and maybe the show forgot?

Anyway, if you just got here, this is a link to read the rest:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

I think I forgot that link in the last recap because yo it’s kind of been a while since I’ve updated, I feel. (well I had a graveyard post and those don’t count really) But, we’re back, we’re still going, slowly but surely.

#YGO #yugioh #Yu gi oh #episode recap #photo recap #S5 #Ep16 #yugi muto #yami #capsule monsters #tea gardner #tristan taylor #Joey Wheeler #Alex Brisbane #Alexander the freakin great #and a pyramid in the middle of Northern India #And lets just make it an isekai for kicks

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sarahjtv · 3 years

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BNHA Chapter 308 Spoiler Thoughts: Beat His Ass, Young Midoriya!

Chapter leaks are out! Full chapter hasn’t been revealed yet (and take what I say with a grain of salt until the official translations come out), but I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on. Nothing super heavy, but it’s an action-packed chapter that shows us how much of a badass Deku has become since he left UA and went all vigilante on us. So, let’s do this:

Before we get into the chapter, I need to mention our mangaka, Kohei Horikoshi-sensei’s comment this week. He’s basically apologizing for taking a break last week, calling himself a “small-fry”, and promising to pick himself up. Horikoshi deserved a break last week and he is by no means a “small-fry” for creating one of the best and most popular pieces of fiction in the last few years. I hope that he knows that and that he shouldn’t blame himself for taking a break.

So, the chapter picks up right where we left off! Deku and Muscular’s battle begins and Muscular recognizes Deku’s voice. He says that he’s been waiting for this moment as everyone else he’s faced have been weaklings compared to Deku. As far as we know, Deku has been the only one to even beat Muscular by himself. It took over 100% of his strength to do so, but Deku did manage to kick Muscular’s ass. It makes sense why he��d want a rematch.

I need to take a moment here to talk about how awesome Deku looks in his Vigilante costume (as I’ve decided to call it). The tattered clothing really works for him and the dark sclera around his eye adds to the effect. Again, I love that he’s finally putting the bunny hood and metal mask to use. I mean, he used them before, but not as a real part of his daily costume. He looks almost like a completely different person with them on. I’d be scared of Deku tbh.

As the fight continues, he gives the injured Yo Shindo to his GF, Tatami. Tatami can’t see Deku’s costume because of the smoke surrounding him, but she does kind of recognize his voice from somewhere. I do wonder if Tatami’s going to put the pieces together and find out that the vigilante is Izuku Midoriya. And I wonder if she’s going to get the word about his actions spreading and if that will reach our UA kids. Or the news stations will, that might happen too.

Speaking of smoke, DEKU UNLOCKED THE 6TH OFA USER’S QUIRK! The 6th user is the Tobio Kageyama-looking dude with the long collar (He’s cute btw 😳!) and his name is “En” which translated to smoke. His Quirk is Smokescreen which explains the smoke surrounding Deku at the end of the last chapter. Deku is using the Quirk too much, so he needs to calm down a bit and use each Quirk individually. There’s actually quite a bit that Deku could use with a Quirk like Smoakscreen: He could hide himself for a sneak attack, he could use it as a distraction, use it if he needs to retreat, etc. My mind immediately went to Pokémon (because of course it did) and how Team Rocket would constantly use moves like Smoakscreen and Haze to either distract Ash and Co. to confuse them or use a sneak attack, or run away from the protagonist. It’s another support-type Quirk, but it’s a damn good one if used right.

Edit: There’s a panel that shows the scale of how much Smokescreen Deku used and it’s A LOT. Like, the smoke is covering several streets and it goes to the top of some buildings. It’s hard for really anyone to see anything. Deku’s really trying to keep himself in the shadows, I suppose.

To use all his Quirks well, En suggests that Deku think of each Quirk like a support tool. So, Float is a jetpack, Black Whip is a long string of rope, Danger Sense is a radio, and Smoakscreen is a flare or some kind of smoke grenade (I don’t know the specific name). This is a really good way of thinking for Deku since he’s been using object-focused metaphors for OFA before. Remember the “Egg in The Microwave” and the “Turntable in The Microwave”? Similar to that!

Edit: Fan-scans are out. It seem like Deku is actively talking to En here as if he’s a little voice in his head guiding him on what to do. My guess is that after his coma talk with the OFA Holders, Deku can now talk to the vestiges consciously. He doesn’t need to enter a dream-like state to interact with him; it’s just a thing he can do willingly.

So, Deku uses each Quirk individually and finally ties Muscular down with Black Whip. I can’t describe it, but it’s so cool to see Deku in action here absolutely folding Muscular. He really has improved since their last fight. There’s one panel that has a close up of Deku’s masked face and he looks so damn cool! I’m so tempted to color it when the official translations come out.

Deku is asking Muscular where AFO and Shigaraki are, but Muscular doesn’t know. He also asks why Muscular is doing what he’s doing, but Muscular just responds that there is only blood and battle in his heart and he doesn’t want to live a life where he regrets not fulfilling that (his name is revealed to be Gouto Imasuji btw. Don’t know the translation behind that, but I assume it has to do with his Quirk and his violent personality). So, this confirms that Deku is actively looking for Shigaraki and AFO. He’s not just saving people left and right, but he is actively looking for the big bad on his own. I can’t see that ending well without help unfortunately. Deku’s also trying to reason with Muscular to see if there’s a different path for him similar to his fight with Gentle and LaBrava. He’s really going for the “Save People’s Hearts” route and I can understand why. That’s Deku’s character at its core. It’s why he wants to try to save Shigaraki despite everything. If there is a different path for a villain, then Deku will try to lead them to it. Unfortunately, villains like Muscular don’t always have that path.

Edit: Actually, you know what, how in the world did Deku know Muscular’s real name? Did he see it on the news somewhere? Did he do some research and manage to look it up? Does he have someone to give him intel? I mean, unless Muscular’s name was broadcast out there, his real name is some very specific information Deku got a hold of.

Finally, as he remembers Shigaraki and Kota (the small boy Deku saved back in the Forest Training Camp), Deku runs towards Muscular with full speed and finishes him with one powerful punch! Deku speeds past Muscular as we finally see his face again under the mask (Badass Deku🥵)! One Punch Man has left the chat, my dudes. For real, though, if Muscular really is defeated, it’s amazing how flawlessly Deku beat him. Deku used every Quirk well and efficiently to dodge Muscular's attacks and pin him down so he could get a clean hit in. Everything was calculated and executed perfectly. This is not the Deku we knew back in the Training Camp Arc.

Edit: Ok, it was explained that Shindo’s Vibration actually did effect Muscular’s Quirk. Then tendons in his muscles were pulled and were starting to unravel. That’s what made an opening for Deku to get a good hit in. I think it would’ve been hard for Deku to knock Muscular out with one punch if that opening wouldn’t have been made. So, Shindo wasn’t entirely useless.

And that’s it from what I can gather! Damn good action-packed chapter! A+ art and writing from Horikoshi once again! This man just keeps bringing us 🔥. I’m so glad to see Deku fight like the badass he’s meant to be. I wish it didn’t have to take a war and several near-death experiences to get here, but Shonen gotta Shonen. He knocked the lights out of Muscular, I almost feel sorry for him. He got his ass kicked by the same kid twice in less than a year. You should’ve stayed in Tartarus, my dude. Really, all prisoners should’ve stayed in Tartarus. If Deku can defeat Muscular, then none of them stand a chance against him now. I can only assume Deku’s going to go after everyone who was associated with the LOV to find Shigaraki and AFO at this point. Thankfully, we don’t have a break next week. Will En teach Deku how to play volleyball?!? I’m kidding! I do want to know what our UA kids are doing, especially Bakugo, Shoto, and Uraraka. This would be a good time to transition to them. Like, they can see Muscular’s capture on the local news, put the pieces together, and go after Deku. Or we could just keep focusing on Deku’s vigilante adventures, that works too!

Me @ Deku:

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 3 years

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Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!! 🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well.

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.”

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile.

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?”

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

#birthdayplotbunnies #bagginshield #thilbo #starterdrabbles #i've been binging a lot of 99 and blacklist #that's not terribly obvious #right?

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agentsoftie · 4 years

Text

Sleepless Nights ( S.R )

summary: Reid and Y/N aren’t the most fond of each other. So what happens when they can’t sleep, have to share a bed, and be married.

pairing: Spencer Reid and female reader

a/n: AHH okay so here it is! It’s my first au so it’s probably not the best. But big thanks to @anepiphany! Ani baby none of this would be happening without you! Thank you for you tips and making me not go insane! Also pls tell me if I slept something wrong cuz like, your girl not the best when it comes to it. Also there will def be a loophole somewhere in my case and if you find one, just let it slide because life is filled with loopholes ❤️ also this is gonna be a two parter!

warnings: mentions of a case, little angst (like the smallest amount), fluff really though

remember to like and reblog!!

You were always the type of person that got along with everyone. And by everyone you meant everyone. You were a people pleaser, always changing your personality for someone. To the security guard, you were a sports junkie, always catching the latest games. To the guy who worked at the bookshop, you were the classical girl. And to the barista, you were the girl who was always late but always paid 3 dollars extra tip. But Dr. Spencer Reid was the only exception. 6’1 and standing tall. Mr. Eidetic Memory and 187 IQ but oh God how you cared for him. You loved him, you loved him more than all the moons in the galaxy. But him? He hated you, so naturally, you hated him too. As the saying goes, if you can't beat them, join them.

“Guys we got a new case,” Garcia says.

You walked into the room and sat to the seat closest to the front where Garcia would be since she was your best friend. Ironically that was the seat farthest from Reid.

“Okay, so this is Mira Normen and her husband John Normen. They had gotten married 2 months prior to their deaths. Mira was 25 years old and she was a teacher at the local middle school. John was 26 and he ran a local pet grooming business. As you can see, but not me for obvious reasons, they were both stabbed once in their chest and then once in their thigh. Mira was shot once in the heart and once in the head and John was shot twice in the heart and twice in the throat. The M.E. found a ring stuffed into both of their throats. And not the cheap kind, I mean a year's worth of salary for one of us.”

“Okay, so this guy’s rich,” You said.

“Yeah, no shit sherlock,” Reid said.

“Guys,” Hotch said in a stern voice “Garcia do we know anything else?”

“Yes actually. They were both last spotted at an event for rich people. So like something Rossi would go to.” She said, chuckling at the last part.

“You and I both know very well that I do not go to those kinds of events. I stay at home for god sakes.” Rossi says causing you and a couple of other people to chuckle.

“Why does this case sound so familiar?” JJ asks, breaking the chuckles.

“Well there was a case exactly like this a couple of years back if my memory is correct, which it always is. We tried to solve it but we just couldn't so it ended up as a cold case.” Reid said.

“And everythings the same?” JJ asked.

“Yep, everything. Well except the city.” Reid said.

“Great, well i think we got everything. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch says while getting up.

-------

You sat alone, like always. At first everyone was concerned, like they had done something, but they then soon realized that you just liked to be alone and this was really the only time.

“Okay, so I checked if anyone had moved in the years and I have 5 names. Thomas Maddison, Stephanie June, Eliza Honeycutt, Devi Paradise, and Klaus Hiller. And only one moved to our little town and that would be Miss Eliza Honeycutt.” Garcia said.

“Can you ch-” Morgan was saying but got cut off when she said

“Already did ‘Hot Chocolate’. Miss Eliza moved a total of 3 months after the case. Looks like it was due to a messy divorce. Her and Mr. Maddison had not been going strong for the last couple of months and it looks like they decided to call quits just before you guys came to town.”

“Can you-” Morgan started to say but then was again cut off by Garcia.

“Already got you babes. The address should be sent to your tablets.” Everyone was still looking at her, “that means look at your tablets.” She says while gesturing her hands making them look down.

“We got it babygirl,” Morgan said without being interrupted.

“Great! Now, this is the time I leave and let you amazing little people do your jobs!” And with that, she was out and so were you.

-------

It was 10 pm when you got to the hotel. You weren't exhausted but you definitely were not in the mood to solve a murder or multiple in this case. You all had checked in now was your favorite time of all choosing rooms. You never bunked with anyone unless Garcia, but that's if she ever came on a case. Emily and JJ were already gone, same with Hotch and Rossi. You were about to grab the key for the single room but Morgan got it before you.

“Sorry hot stuff, I need room alone this time.”

“What!? Why!?”

“I don't need to explain myself to you Y/N,” Moran says, and just like that he was gone.

You and Reid grabbed the keys without looking at each other and walked in the elevator. You both did not make any eye contact until you got into the room. There was only one bed. You immediately called room service but they said that there were no more rooms available so you two were stuck with that one.

“Okay, which one of us is gonna sleep on the floor?” you heard Reid say.

“Excuse me,?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh stop being such a baby Reid. We both know that if you don't sleep on a bed or something remotely similar you get all grumpy and get headaches all day. And if I don't sleep on a bed or something similar I get high on caffeine and get paranoid. So for the sake of the team, we are gonna sleep on the goddamn bed together!”

He didn't know you paid attention to him like that. Sure everyone knew that he would get grumpy, but headaches? No one, not even JJ. He didn't like to tell people about them fearing of being babied around even more than he already is. Although he did know that whenever you don't get enough sleep not only do you high on caffeine, but you have nightmares. You never told anyone except Garcia of course. He’d realized that you had nightmares after a group holiday to Rossi’s beach house, he heard you talking in your sleep and there were not good things being said.

“Okay geez fine whatever. Are you gonna go shower first, or am I”

“Me obviously,” you say while getting your clothes.

The water was hot when you got in, just how you like it. You started to soak your hair in the water needing to cool down a little and prepare yourself for the days ahead of you. All you could think about was sharing the same bed with him. With the guy, you're in love with but doesn’t know. And will never know.

After 30 minutes you got out of the shower and changed. You wore a pair of shorts and a loose flowy t-shirt which you had knotted after putting it on because it was too big. After you brushed your teeth, did your skincare, and brushed your hair.

“Finally, how long does it take?” You heard Reid say while you were walking out of the bathroom. He didn't look up until you sat on the bed turning the tv on.

“It takes 40 minutes Reid, it always takes 40 minutes. But you would never know because you've never had a girl stay over,”

“Oh, you're so funny aren't you,” he says in an annoyed way.

“Yeah, I am.” You said smirking while looking up expecting to see him annoyed but instead greeted with a small smile which was then washed away quickly by the sound of his voice.

“Okay, I'm gonna go take a shower now. Don't wait up.”

“ I won't, don't worry.” You say while he goes into the bathroom. You swear you saw him smile. It may have been small but it was there.

-------

“You waited for me.” You hear while turning off the tv. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was an absolute mess, and you could tell that he had to take a shower in not the hottest water.

“Ha, yeah no. You took like 10 minutes, did you think I was gonna fall asleep in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah well, that's what happens when you take up most of the hot water.”

“I'm sorry, you should have gone in the shower first.”

“You wanted to go into the shower first!”

“Okay and? Look, can we just go to bed or something? We have a long ass day ahead of us.”

You felt the bed dip and got chills all over. He didn't seem to notice, thankfully. You were cold, but not cold enough to want to layer up. You looked over and the time and it read 11:15. You tried to sleep, but you just couldn't. So again you looked over and read 11:39, and then it was 12:06. You felt like you were going insane.

“Why are you still up?” Reid said in a raspy voice while turning over to face you.

“Huh? Oh, um, I couldn't, can't sleep.”

“Ugh, fine come here.”

“What?” Before you could say anything he had wrapped his arm around you and forced you to nuzzle up against his chest. It actually felt pretty nice. You felt like you were on top of the world and that everything was going to be okay. You put your arm on him after processing what was happening. He then pulled you in closer and when you looked up at him you realized that he was knocked out, gone like a light in one of those horror movies. And before you realized it you were out too.

-------

“Y/L/N wake up,” is all you hear. The sun was barely out yet, so naturally, you just wanted to go back asleep.

“5 more minutes”

“Fine.” Although he didn't want to say anything or admit in this case. This was the best sleep that he’d gotten in a while. At first, he thought it was because of the way he slept but he then quickly realized that it was because of you. With your legs intertwined with his, one of your arms on his chest and the other in his hand. Your hair, so messy, yet so perfect at the same time and he would give anything to fall back asleep with you. He was in love. He was in love and was falling, falling harder than ever.

“Y/N, come on it's been 10 minutes. We need to go, get up.”

“What? Oh. Wait, fuck, what time is it?” You say in your very raspy yet airy morning voice.

“6:13, now we have to get ready or we will be late.”

You didn't want to get up, you really didn't. You wanted this moment to never end, but sadly time was not on your side for this one. “We never speak of last night, got it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Its agent.”

-------

“Miss Honeycutt, hi I’m Agent Y/L/N,” You say while sitting down for the interrogation.

“Hi yeah, why am I here?”

“Oh, no one’s told you yet?’

“Well yes the people who rudely (italicize) came into my home said something but I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh okay then. You're here as a suspect for multiple murders.” Her face was in total and utter shock. “There has been a murder recently that connects to a murder that took place back a couple of years ago. You lived there when it had happened and then you moved. And now you’re here because a murder played out exactly that same way as the one that took place in the past.”

“Look, I have a valid reason for moving-”

“Divorce I know.”

“Yes, well you don’t know the reason.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“I was cheating on him, Thomas. He found out and then immediately filed for divorce.”

“Huh, is that so. Well, you kno-” You were cut off by the sound of the one and the only doctor himself.

“Y/L/N can I please speak to you.”

“Um yeah.” You walk outside of the interrogation room to face him. “What is it?”

“I don't think she did it. The way she’s reacting to all of this is way too natural to fake and she still hasn't called for a lawyer to be present. Normally in these types of situations the un-sub mostly always calls for a lawyer or anyone in that case.”

“I know, I know, I know. But she mentioned an ex-husband that could help us with this case.”

“So what you're just gonna “interrogate” her until she starts to talk about her former husband, or just talk about that and only that as a whole?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“You amaze me Y/N,” this was the first time he said your name in conversation naturally and not because he was forced to for an undercover assignment and shit. Well except for this morning but you can't decide if that was a small little fever dream or actual life so it doesn't count.

“And I you Spencer.” He noticed, oh he noticed and his heart practically burst from his chest because of the serotonin he got when you said his name. It was like every time you said his name an angel got its wings.

-------

“Hey Garcia, could you dig a little deeper on our little Thomas Maddison?” You ask her.

“Of course pumpkin. Okay so here's what I got. Thomas Maddison born May 30th leaving him to be a Gemini and you know how I feel about those. He moved from our fun little town too, well, um,-” was what she said before being cut off by Emily.

“What do you mean by ‘um’ Garcia?” She said with a puzzled expression.

“Well, ‘um’ means he disappeared from the face of Earth. Completely gone. No new dental records, no new home, I mean, not even a simple receipt. It’s like he just clicked ‘erase all’ after the divorce.”

“Is that even possible?” I ask.

“Well yes, but you have to literally become a new person for that to happen.”

“Garcia look into anything in his life that could possibly lead him to have hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Reid said.

“Okay, so it says here in one article that he owned a local jewelry store that got burned down around that time of the divorce. The local paper wrote it off as an accident but everyone thought he wanted to skip town after the divorce so he would just take all of the insurance money. Which I guess is kind of true. Um but anyway, yeah that’s really the only explanation. His parents didn't leave him that much money in the will, and he wasn't a drug dealer.”

“Okay, thanks hun! You've been of more help then you know. Call Hotch and everyone else in. I think we got the profile.” You said before ending the call.

* literally 5 or 6 minutes later *

“Okay, so the guy we’re looking for is very popular with the people. He always tries to make everything about himself. Your classic narcissist.” Hotch starts off with.

“This guy hates love though. He never brings up the topic and hates it when people bring it up. And although he hates love, he looks like the guy who could pick anyone he wanted, although he relatively picks on younger women.” JJ adds.

“Yes, and this guy is going to be a white caucasian male. Most likely in his late 20 or early 30s. And he is going to have wealth and will show it off as often as he can.” Emily says.

“Any questions” you heard Hotch ask.

“There’s an event tomorrow just like the one that Mira and John attended. Will he be there? And if so, do you think he will attack again? And if yes then what will do?” You see an officer asking.

“Well yes, we heard of that and already planned everything out. Tomorrow night Agent Y/L/N and DR.Reid will be attending the event.” Rossi said.

You were in complete shock, and frankly so was Reid. You guys never agreed to this, and as much as I love black tie events, they aren't really my cup of tea when there can possibly be a serial killer there. Not to mention the guy I fucking love more than anyone in the world would be there, with me (italicize). Like now I have to look badass and sexy (italicize) at the same time, although that wouldn't be that hard you thought to yourself.

“Guys, can Reid and I please talk to you all in private.” You give Rossi and Hotch very unobvious yet obvious death stares.

“Yeah, now please.” He says.

* again like 2 or 3 minutes later *

“Um hello, last time I never agreed to this and by the look on Reid’s face, neither did he.”

“Y/N you heard, our unsub likes younger women,” Derek says,

“Okay well then just send in Emily, or JJ, or both in that case.” You say in an angry tone.

“Oh baby, you think we're young? Were flattered but no. Sadly out of all of us, you look the youngest, and are the youngest.” JJ says while laughing along with Emily.

“And for you Reid, you out of most people should know that the murders happened between young lovers who got married. And Derek doesn’t call you pretty boy for nothing. Rossi says following JJs statement.

“We really aren't getting out of this one huh?” He asks.

“No. Now it's late so I want you all to get a good night's rest and be ready tomorrow. Reid and Y/L/N you guys can sleep in a little but you'll have to be ready by 4:30.” Hotch says. And with that, everyone goes back to their rooms.

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep; slowly, then all at once” – John Green, The Fault in our Stars

Part two coming tomorrow!

#so lets hope you like it #thanks to ani though #none of this would be happening without her #so thank you ani baby 🥺💕#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds #mira writes

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backtobackbakubabe · 3 years

Text

Leaving My Love Behind (part1)

Bakugo X Reader

Words : 2199

Masterlist

Reader hasn’t seen Bakugo in almost ten years but when her boyfriend goes missing she all but begs him to help her find him and get him back from a notorious gang leader.

You had been waiting outside this building for almost six hours now. You had been waiting for a certain blonde-haired asshole. You had to admit you were shocked that he was still working. He had never seemed like the desk job type. But after his most recent rampage he was benched until further notice. It was all over the news, which made it that much easier to find him. You’d wait out here all night if you had to. You just needed to talk to him.

Rain started to come down hard and yet you remained. Your eyelids began to droop and still you waited. Your stubbornness knew no limit… unfortunately your exhaustion did. You leaned against the telephone pole behind you and you hugged your jacket closer around you to fight the chill. Shivers wracked your body, but nothing matched the chill that shot down your spine when you heard a familiar husky voice right behind your ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

You hadn’t even realized he had left the building, let alone crept up behind you. Your tired head turned to look at him. It had been years sense you had seen him in person, and you forgot how haunting those red eyes of his where. You refused to cower in his presence, you wouldn’t let him see how scared you were. “I need your help.”

“Wh-“

“And before you can tell me to fuck off… you owe me one, and we both know it.”

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “I haven’t seen you in almost 10 years. You can’t just show up now and expect me to drop everything to help you! I don’t owe you shit.”

You almost expected him to storm off in a fit of rage, but he just crossed his arms and glared at you. Who was this new Bakugo? He still seemed permanently angry except now he seemed to be a little more… patient? No that couldn’t be right. He didn’t have a patient bone in his body. Yet here he stood, waiting to hear you out.

Your hands balled into fists, “Do I need to remind you of the sacrifices I made back in high school. Do you not remember what I did for you? Have you gotten so-“

His hand gripped your elbow tight enough to leave a bruise, “I fucking…. Remember everything. I’ll ask you one more time. What the fuck do you want?”

You pulled your arm away from him. “I need your help… My boyfriend… Kiyo… he’s gone missing.”

His palms popped, “And? Go to the police, file a report? What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

An angry tear ran down your cheek. “You think I haven’t already done that?! He’s been missing for over a month and it seems like nobody even cares!”

“Tch… how do you know he didn’t just run away? What if he was just bored or something?”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and slapped him. “How dare you? You don’t know him. He would never! He was kidnapped by gang leader who goes by Big Shadow.”

Bakugo’s eyes bulged and you now had his attention. Big Shadow? That was the guy he was investigating before he was put on desk duty. “So that’s why you’re here? Look I can’t help you. That guy is almost impossible to find and even harder to get to. I spent the past year trying to lock that ass hat up and the only thing I have to show for it are several new scars and a temporary demotion.”

You slumped to the ground, “What do you expect me to do? I can’t just give up on him?”

To your surprise he crouched down next to you. “This sucks…. I’m not good with… you know…”

“Emotion?”

“Yeah…Want to go get a drink or something?”

Your watery eyes met his he held a hand out to you, “Look I don’t like asking twice. If you want to sit here in the cold rain and die of heart break… or pneumonia. Then whatever. But I need a drink and if you want to come… I wont stop you.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and let him help you up. This really was a different man then the one you used to know.

You silently followed him to some small local bar down the street. You had never been here before, but then again you didn’t spend a lot of time on this side of town. The rent was too high and the people were too busy.

You took your seat across from him at a somewhat hidden booth in the back. Moments later a waitress came with three fireball shots and placed them in front of Bakugo. “Your usual. Do you want anything to eat this time?”

Bakugo looked at you briefly and then back to the waitress, “Yeah it’s probably going to be a long night. Bring out the appetizer platter and… I guess whatever she wants to drink. Let me guess? You still drinking vodka sprites?”

You almost laughed at the memory of the last time you drank with him as stupid high school punks. “Not for a while, but why not? For old times sake…”

So you drank, and drank some more, and ate all the weird bar food that the waitress continued to bring out. By now you were both on the brink of black out. Doing anything to not feel that empty pit in your stomach. “THAT WAS NOT ME! THAT WAS AAAAALL KIRI’S DOING!” You were going down memory lane from UA. You and Bakugo had been pretty close back then. Well that’s a lie. You hated each other at first. And you didn’t end on a good note either. But the middle… the middle had been nice.

“Oi… dumbass. Use your inside voice…”

“Ooooooh don’t tell me THE BAKUGO is telling ME to UsE mY iNsIdE vOiCe.”

Bakugo smirked, “You wanna know my secret?”

You giggled, “Oooooh secret! Yesssss!”

He moved over to your side of the booth and leaned close to you. Close enough for you to smell his cinnamon shampoo… or maybe it was just all the fireball shots. He turned his head to the side and pulled his hair back to show what looked like a hearing aid. “Tech development team made them for me when I signed with the agency. They’re mostly to protect my ears from more damage. You know because of all of the.” He motioned with his hands and made an explosion noise. “But they also help me hear a little better. Now I don’t have to yell all the time.”

You reached out to touch it, but his hand smacked it away, “Oi look but don’t touch!”

You blushed. “I guess that makes sense. I wonder why no one thought of that before. All this time.. you just couldn’t…. hear.” You started to tear up, your happy mood completely gone.

His eyes grew huge, “No, no, no, no, damnit we came here to avoid the tears. Please stop. Ugh shit!”

You leaned on him and continued to cry. “I’m so sorry Bakugo! For the way things ended between us. It’s all my fault. Just like Kiyo being kidnapped is all my fault. Everything is my fault! I’m the worst!”

He patted the top of your head awkwardly, “Uh… I don’t know what happened with yoyo or whatever but what happened with us wasn’t your fault.” His arm landed on your shoulder when you just kept crying, “And for what it’s worth I don’t think you’re the worst. I mean you’re not exactly on my list of favorite people. But there’s a lot of people worse than you. All for one, Overhaul, Dabi, Deku, murderers, rapists, did I mention Deku?”

You slapped his chest, “His name is Kiyo!”

“Noooo I’m pretty sure it’s Deku.”

You sighed, “No you idiot, my boyfriend. You called him yoyo… his name Kiyo… and he’s missing, and I’m just sitting on my ass getting drunk. I’m useless.” You slammed your fist on the table, “But you know what?! With or without your help I’m going after him!”

Bakugo’s hand mindlessly wandered to the scar hidden beneath his t-shirt, “You’re going to get yourself killed y/n. Please think about this. Have you even kept up with your training? I know you didn’t do the whole hero thing after UA… considering what happened. What are you going to do in a fight? Your quirks not really meant for combat.”

You shrugged, “I don’t care. I’m going to get him back. I’m still in shape. I still got the moves.”

Bakugo groaned, “Okay look. I’ll make you a deal. I will help you look for Keto for exactly two weeks. If we find him great, if we don’t you accept it and let the police handle it.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, “You mean it? You’ll help me?”

He winced at your sudden proximity, but you didn’t seem to notice. “Well yeah. If I don’t, I’ll probably end up seeing your picture on the news and honestly that just sounds like a fucking headache that I’m not prepared for. “

You lunged in for a hug, burying your face in his chest. He again just awkwardly patted your head. “For the love of god, please stop.”

Bakugo paid the bill and walked you out. He had planned on walking you home but when he learned how far it was he almost passed out. “Nope. Nuh uh. You can sleep on my couch. Too drunk for this. Let’s go.” When he realized you were walking too slowly for his liking he bent down and told you to hop on his back. “God you’re lighter than I remember.”

You poked his shoulder, “Well you’re nicer than I remember.”

He shrugged, “Time changes a lot of things y/n.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a while. Well he walked, your drunk ass was being carried. You were about to fall asleep when his stiffened, “Hey y/n can I ask you something?”

“Huh? Yeah whatsup?”

His grip around your legs started to tighten, “Why didn’t you use your quirk on me today? I mean you wanted me to do something I didn’t want to. What kept you from using your quirk to make me do it? All it would have taken was a flash of those eyes and a few words and I would have to do whatever you say.”

You let out a loud sigh, “Well for one. How do you know I didn’t? Maybe I’m just sneakier about it now.” He slapped your leg obviously not satisfied with that answer. “Okay chill. I didn’t! I don’t really use that park of my quirk much anymore. I save that for the bad guys. Which you might not be the nicest guy, but you’re definitely not a bad guy.”

He could tell you were fighting sleep as your breathing started to deepen. “What a pair we are. Not the worst, and not a bad guy.”

He managed to get you into his apartment and on to the couch. He got you a glass of water and a blanket. As he was leaving to head to his own room you grabbed his hand. “Hey. Why two weeks?”

If it wasn’t so dark you say he blushed, “That’s just how long my administrative leave is.” His hand ran through his hair, “Let’s just say I was not made for desk duty…” He gave you a smile which warmed your heart while somehow making you very uncomfortable. “Get some sleep y/n, we start operation get Kilo back bright and early.”

“His name is Kiyo!”

“Yeah whatever, stupid name.”

That night you dreamt of the last time you saw Bakugo. You saw your seventeen-year-old self, covered in blood. You saw a cracked reflection in a mirror with glowing purple eyes looking backing at you. You saw-

“Holy SHIT! What the hell is Y/n doing on our couch! BakuBRO! Did you know she was here?”

You groaned at the sudden yelling and bright light coming in through the window. “Kiri can you please shut the fuck up?”

“Oh yeah that’s y/n all right. Seriously Bakugo did you know she was here?”

Bakugo came over with coffee and eggs and placed them on the table in front of you. “Kiri. If we are the only two people who live here. And you didn’t know she was here, then who the fuck do you think let her in?”

Kirishima looked between the two of you, “Damn after all this time and you even made her breakfast?”

After Kiri left for work and you had finished your coffee you looked to the explosive man who was now looking very domestic in the kitchen doing dishes. “Hey, was I drunk, or did you promise to help me find Kiyo?”

Without stopping with his dishwashing, he shrugged, “Yes you were drunk… but yes I also did promise that. I gave you two weeks starting today. So, I suggest you get your ass in gear if you plan to get your money’s worth.”

#bakugo #bakugo katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bhna bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x y/n #bakugo imagine #mha #mha imagines #mha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #my hero academia

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teamhappyme · 3 years

Text

a series of promising events (3/5)

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 6.4k

a/n: part 3! thank you so much for all the love and support on the first 2 parts! hope you guys enjoy this part, because these are 2 of my favorite criminal minds episode. some themes, cases, dialogue taken directly from the show (S04 EP03, & S07 EP24).

also, if you’ve interacted with previous parts, first of all, thank you thank you. second, i have added you to the tag list. if you want to be removed, just let me know! :)

alright friends, let’s go!

here are the links to part 1 & part 2

****

June 2011

You were stupid. It always amazed you how you made it this far in your life with the amount of stupid situations you put yourself in. You kept pressure on the six inch gash running up your calf, lucky enough to tie off some of the wound by tearing off part of your pant leg. But you were still stuck in this goddamn compound, ready for the place to blow any second.

It was supposed to be a simple undercover interview and investigation. You and Spencer were among victims in an underground cult accused of child abuse. You’d been there all of two hours before the local SWAT team attempted to raid the compound, and an additional two before they found out the FBI was there.

Reid played dumb at first, trying to deny the accusations the best he could. But when they held two guns to his head, you were quick to offer up a confession.

“Get up.”

Cyrus led you to the storage room and kicked the shit out of you. You consider yourself a strong woman, you’d endured a lot of emotional trauma in your childhood, and in your time with the BAU, some scars on your body. But nothing to the extent of a narcissistic self proclaimed prophet who felt the power slipping through his fingers.

You’d counted the kicks to your abdomen; there were three. Two punches to the face, and one shove to the concrete wall resulting in a broken mirror. It was safe to say you’d earned your stripes today.

After your brief meeting with the congregation, and quickly assuring Spencer you were okay, you were locked back up in your room. Luckily, you were still mic'd up.

Your hands were bound behind your back, so you kicked up the shade with the heel of your boot.

“If you can hear me, I know you're coming. I can try to get the women and children to the tunnel, but I need to know when you’re coming.”

You repeated this like a mantra for fifteen minutes, praying that they could still hear you. “I need to know when you’re coming.”

With one more flick of the shade, the red laser from a sniper shown on your bedroom wall. “Okay, okay I see you. I need to know what time.” The light blinks three times, and you can feel your heartbeat rising. “Three a.m.?” Up and down, like nodding their head. “Understood. Reid is somewhere on the first floor with Cyrus, please find him.”

Before closing your eyes from the excruciating pain your ribs were in from talking, the laser moved again. It took you a few seconds to decipher what they were trying to tell you, but after the third trace, you could barely let out a laugh. It was a check mark.

“Thanks Hotch. A point for you.” You heard the sound of scurried footsteps running up the stairs, and you quickly put your foot down on the bed. “Someone's coming.”

It was Jane, coming in to check on your injuries again. She helped you sit up, guiding the glass of water she brought in to your mouth.

“Cyrus is planning a mass suicide.” Her eyes widened as she pulled the glass away from you. “You made that 911 call.”

“This is all my fault. None of this would be happening if I hadn't made that call.”

“You were trying to protect your daughter.”

She shook her head. “There were other girls before Jessie. He married them. And then when she came running to me for my consent, all I wanted was to take her and run. But I knew she wouldn’t leave without him.”

“This isn’t your fault.” You held one of her hands, needing her to understand this more than anything. “The FBI is coming at three a.m. I need you to gather Jessica, the kids, the other women, and get them into the basement just before three a.m.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You sighed. Because I’ve been in your position before, you thought. You’ve been the scared follower in the corner of the room, praying for someone to save you while doing nothing. Until you finally took action, and attempted to save yourself and the people you cared about.

“Because I have faith that you are a strong enough woman to do the right thing for Jessica.” She stood up, not being able to look at you before she exited the room.

Rationally, you knew there was a low chance you were getting out of here unscathed from the blast. There was no way you’d leave until everyone was out of the building, and you had found Spencer. But having your hands tied up locked in a secret room was not the easiest place to escape.

You tried not to think of the fatal end of the day. You tried not to think of the fact that you were thirty years old, three months from turning thirty one, and had yet to travel on a plane for fun. You tried not to focus on all of your shortcomings, because there were many. Instead, you focused on the fact that your team was half a mile up the hill, waiting to safely bring you out.

What felt like only ten minutes later, Jane had come back to the room, quickly motioning for you to stand up.

“You were right. They’re setting the place to blow up. I told Jessie Cyrus wanted her to gather the women and children in the basement.” She untied your hands, and you rolled your wrists a few times to get the mobility back.

“Where is the man I came in with?”

“He’s in the chapel with Cyrus. It’s two forty-five though, we gotta hurry.” She led you out of the room and down to the basement. There was an immense pounding in your head with every step you took, but you tried to push it away as you ushered the women down.

You could hear the tac team approaching, and made sure you were the first one in the basement to make sure it was safe. When you saw Derek’s face, you let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Y/n, you okay?” He grabbed a hold of your elbow, helping you down the steps.

“They’ve wired explosives.”

“Where’s Reid?”

“He’s in the chapel with Cyrus.” You placed a hand over your forehead, the pounding settling in over your right eye.

Derek rested a hand on your back, trying to lead you out of the compound. “We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

“No, not without Reid!”

A scream directed your’s and Derek’s attention to Jane, trying to stop Jessica from leaving the basement. “No!”

“Ma’am, we’ll get her for you.” I held onto her shoulders, making sure she focused on me.

“I’ll get her for you Jane. Derek, take her out.”

“L/n,” He warned, not ready to have two agents back in the line of fire.

“Take her out of this building so I can get her daughter and Reid!” You exclaimed, pushing Jane to follow Derek out. He relented, knowing he couldn’t talk you out of this.

The SWAT team led you through the basement this time, following the sound of Jessica’s footsteps. The team took out two of Cyrus’s goonies, as you yelled for them to take a left to the chapel. You were closing in, and you could hear their voices.

Cyrus had Spencer pinned against the wall, rifle to his chest, as Jessie and her daughter walked into the chapel. She got Cyrus’s attention as he kneed Reid in the gut twice with the butt of the rifle.

But before he could reach his family, your team took him and his second hand out. You raced over to the girls, trying to pull them away from the site of Cyrus’s dead body. But Jessica stayed in place, eyes trained on it.

“We gotta go, sweetheart. Cmon.”

Her eyes shifted to yours for a second before looking at her feet, the yellow detonator lying next to her shoes. She grabbed it before you had a chance to reach forward, her shaky hands trying to hold on.

“Get out of here!” You yelled out to the team, turning to make sure Spencer followed your order too. Jessie looked down at the button again as you reached for her two year old daughter, making sure she wouldn’t get hurt. “Please, don’t do this. You don’t need to follow him anymore.”

A single tear fell down her cheek, and you knew this was only going to end one way. You backed up towards the exit as she looked at you one more time.

“He’s my husband.”

After those words, you picked up the toddler and ran out of the chapel, making it halfway down the walkway before it exploded. It threw you to the ground, but you made sure it was you who collided with the pavement, grasping onto her head to make sure she didn’t crack it.

The moments after were quiet, surprisingly enough. Everyone is always stunned to silence for a few seconds after witnessing such an event. But you barely had time to sit up and let out a proper cough before you heard Hotch and Prentiss calling your name.

“I’m okay. I have the baby, we’re okay.” They knelt down next to you as you felt the cut on your forehead open up again.

“Y/n,”

“Take the baby!” I handed her over to Hotch, not wanting to look at anyone besides Spencer.

“L/n,”

“Where is Reid? Did he make it out?” You tried to look around Emily to find him, but she held your shoulders in place.

“He’s fine Y/n. He’s getting checked out by a paramedic. C’mon, you need to go to the hospital.”

“No, I need-”

“You need to listen to me.” She offered you her hand, and as the adrenaline started to wear off and the pulsing in your leg came back, you took it. “Okay.”

Emily rode with you to the hospital just in case anything happened. But you were quick to shoo her out of your exam room once you got to the hospital. You needed a minute to yourself, and you were exhausted.

The doctor’s had cleared you to travel back to Virginia on the jet tonight, which was now early morning, but wanted you to get a few more hours of rest before heading out. They stitched up the cut on your leg, and diagnosed you with a minor concussion and a few bruised ribs. Lucky, to say the least.

Even though they gave you some pain meds to help you sleep, you were barely unconscious when you heard one of the hospital chairs scratch against the tile floor. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to sit up, forgetting about your bruised ribs.

“Hey, take it easy,” You looked over to find Hotch sitting in one of the chairs, the cause of the scratching. “Are you alright?”

“Where’s Spencer?” You needed to find him and apologize for leaving him alone at the compound. “He’s in the waiting room, he’s a little bruised but he’s okay.”

You were successful in sitting up the second time, trying to get the blankets off your body. “I need to talk to him.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You have a concussion, and you're highly medicated, so sit down.”

Hotch placed a hand on your arm in an attempt to get you to lie back down, but you fought against it, pushing him and the sheets away.

He continued talking to you, trying to get you in a comfortable position and not cause any more pain to your pretty damaged body. But as he draped the sheet back over you, you began to feel suffocated by the room.

“Hotch, I need to tell him I’m sorry,” The sheets were scratching your legs, and the increased beeping on your heart monitor increased the anxiety in your already restricted chest. Wait, how was the baby? Did you get her to safety? “The baby, Jessie’s baby,” You closed your eyes, not able to finish your sentence as the pounding returned over your left eye.

“Y/n,”

“I can’t breathe Hotch. My lungs,” Your eyes started to water, your mind trying to think of a physical explanation to what was really going on. You were having a panic attack. “Fuck, I can’t-” You were hyperventilating now, your hands resting on your chest, trying to calm your breathing down.

“Look at me,” Hotch asked. But you closed your eyes to focus on something else, anything else, and you refused to open them back up. “I can’t.”

All you could see was Spencer’s face as Cyrus took you away from him. His wide eyes, full of terror for you and for him. You saw the smile on Cyrus’s face as he threw you to the floor. You saw Jessica take her daughter’s hand, ready to kill themselves just to fulfill Cyrus’s prophecy. And you saw the look in Jane’s face as they told her it was Jessica who didn’t survive. After you told her you would get her daughter out.

“I can’t,” You felt the tears escape your eyes before you registered what was happening, your shoulders starting to shake in unison.

But you felt two arms snake around your body, pulling you into a tight embrace. You tensed for a moment, acknowledging the blue and white dress shirt under your fingers as Hotch’s. Instead of saying anything, you tucked your chin on top of his shoulder, trying to find some purchase to rest your head. You focused on his breathing as he chose to stay silent, letting you settle the thoughts in your head.

And after a couple minutes, it worked. You know that the baby was taken to an ambulance to get checked out before you. You saw Spencer walk out of the chapel thirty seconds before you. And you could feel yourself breathing in this hospital bed, having successfully matched your breathing to Hotch’s.

Hotch.

At the acknowledgement of his arms secured around your middle, your heart picked up a little.

In the six years you’d spent with him as your unit chief, you’d never embraced him like this before. At Haley’s funeral you gave him a quick, respectful hug. In close calls involving the team, you’d give each other a comforting pat on the shoulder. But nothing to this extent. There wasn’t an inch of space between the two of you. You could smell his cologne without even trying, and you could feel the muscles in his shoulders soften underneath his dress shirt. You were so close to him.

Too close.

“Hotch,” You muttered out, your voice a little hoarse from the crying. His grip loosened on your waist, like he forgot what was happening and where you were.

“Don’t call me Hotch while you’re lying in a hospital bed. It’s Aaron.”

You could feel a slight tug at the corner of your lips as you pulled away from him. You’d never called him by his first name, at least never to his face. It felt intimate in a way you’d never been with him before. The name was a key to his past, opening the gate to his life outside of the BAU. Into his life as Aaron Hotchner, father, brother, soccer coach, Jack’s best friend. A life you loved to catch snippets of.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, once you were settled back against your pillows. He’d only asked you a million times since you woke up. “Why do you need to apologize to Reid?”

You let out a sigh. “Because I left him alone in that compound. I split us up, I put fifty innocent lives in danger and a child died because of it.”

“If you didn’t fess up to Cyrus, you would both be dead right now. Reid got into his good graces and helped save those fifty innocent people. As for Jessica,” He sighed. “She made up her mind. And there was nothing you could’ve said that would’ve changed it.”

You nodded before closing your eyes, trying to let the truth seep into your bones.

“You’re so much stronger than you think, y/n. You took a beating like that and still managed to assure us that you could take it. I was ready to move in once I heard him throw you to the ground.” He was picking at his fingernails and you looked over at him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit for all the shit you accomplish.”

“Thank you, Aaron.” He’d become deaf to the tenderness ever present in his voice, but he wouldn’t forget the sound of his name rolling off your tongue for as long as he lived. He didn’t know how he survived six years without hearing you say it. But it wasn’t the time or place to delve into how it made him feel. So, he settled for a smile. One that made his dimples shine.

“Y/n?” You looked over to the door, your gauky doctor standing in the doorway. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” You motioned for him to come into the room, and he slowly made his way over to your side. You made space for him on the bed, but he didn’t move to sit next to you. “Spence, it’s okay. Take a seat.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was so quiet, and you knew he felt as much guilt for letting you go as you did for leaving him. “I shouldn’t have let you go. I should’ve stopped him.”

You heard Hotch stand up from his seat, but you were only focused on Spencer. You pulled his hands down, begging him to sit down next to you. He got the hint, trying to hide the miniscule amount of tears forming in his eyes.

But you placed your arms around him instead, not wanting him to apologize over and over until you accepted. Because this wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry for leaving you. But I didn’t want you to get hurt. This wasn’t your fault. I need you to know this wasn’t your fault.” You felt him nod his head against your shoulder, and let out a breath that sounded too similar to a laugh. It only got one out of Spencer in return.

You met Hotch’s eye over Spencer’s shoulder, giving you a nod before letting the two of you have your moment.

You pulled away, both your faces dry despite the wavering voices. One small victory.

“Next time, let me take the beating.” You smiled as you tried to stand up out of the bed, having a clear head making all the difference this time around.

“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time. Now c'mon,” You pointed to your go bag and walked toward the bathroom. “Hand me that so we can get the hell out of this place.”

****

May 2012

The last thirty-six hours had been a whirlwind. You were exhausted, and the last thing you wanted to be doing was putting makeup and high heels on to go to a party. Your bed was calling you, ready for you to take refuge under the fluffy covers. But one of your best friends was getting married, and nothing was going to stop you from being there for JJ.

When she walked down the aisle in her mother’s wedding gown, she looked ethereal. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think weddings were made with the image of Jennifer Jareau looking like an angel in mind. With Spencer’s help, Henry gave his parents their wedding bands, a smile on his face as they shared their first kiss as husband and wife. And no matter how hard you and Garcia tried, you couldn’t keep the tears from flowing down your face. Weddings, like most everything, got you to cry.

Now an hour later, you were taking a rest at the round table Rossi had set up for the small occasion. His backyard was transformed with white canopies and flower petals, the small dance floor in full swing. You sat down once you reached your chair, letting out a sigh of relief. Dancing with Jack Hotchner had worn out your heel clad feet, making you regret the decision not to wear flats.

Despite the events of the last few days, everyone seemed to be happy and enjoying a night free of anxiety. It was one of the few times you’d seen Erin Strauss crack a smile around your BAU team members, and you hoped it would last a little longer once you were back in the office. It was nice to see Anderson and Kevin outside of the bullpen, getting to talk about something other than serial killers and last known whereabouts. It felt like a normal family, celebrating two people that they all loved.

Weddings always made you believe in the bigger picture. Despite all the evil in the world, the amount of love two people shared with one another would always conquer it all. And weddings like these, between two people who put their lives on the line everyday, made you believe that you could find this source of happiness, this lifetime commitment despite everything you’ve gone through. It had to give you hope.

But as you rested your sweater over your shoulders and looked out at the couples sharing a dance, you couldn’t help but notice the empty feeling in your heart.

“Hey party pooper, you tired already?” Spencer took the seat to your left, a toothy grin resting on his face. He looked incredibly handsome tonight in his black suit and bowtie, a break from his sweaters and khakis. He had blushed red as a tomato when you and Penelope complemented his look, trying to boost his confidence. And maybe embarrass him a bit. “You’re the youngest one here minus the toddlers and you’re the first one to tap out. I had my money on Rossi.”

You laughed while skimming your feet against the tips of the grass. “I’m resting up for my turn with Derek. He told me I’m not leaving this place until he sees me, and I quote, ‘cut up a rug’ with him.”

Morgan and Garcia were currently the life of the dance floor, moving in sync with one another as best friends do. Your smile always grew when you witnessed the two of them together.

“You did a good job with your groomsmen duty. Didn’t lose the rings, made sure Henry knew his job. Maybe you’ll be number one on JJ’s babysitting speed dial.”

“And surpass you? That'll be the day that animals speak.” You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips. “Glad you know your place.”

The two of you looked up to see Rossi and Strauss dancing together, and you raised your brows toward Spencer. He informed you what him and Penelope witnessed a few mornings ago, and the three of you were determined to find out what the relationship was between the wise father figure and section chief. But as long as he was happy, you really couldn’t care less.

“Has Emily found you yet?” You asked, afraid to be the first to approach the subject. After her last disappearance, it took Spencer a while to forgive her and JJ. The grieving process was hard for him, it was hard for all of you. He spent weeks at JJ’s house, guilt consuming him for not putting together the link between Lauren Reynolds and Prentiss. He blamed himself just as much as Derek did. And he missed the one person who could see through him, and crush him at poker.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And are you okay?”

“I will be.” He looked over at me, a sad smile on his face. “At least we can call her this time.”

You were happy that Spencer could look back on Emily’s ‘death’ and laugh about it with you. There was a silver lining to every situation, every experience we go through. At least, that’s what you told yourself to help you get through the hard days.

“What about you?” You looked over at him, a wrinkle between your brows.

“Hmm?”

He sighed and nudged his head to the dance floor. “You really expect me to believe you didn’t come over here to sit and sulk while watching Hotch and Beth dance the night away?”

Your eyes found their way to the couple, swaying back and forth with smiles that couldn’t help but be contagious. A smile that only you used to be able to get from Hotch. And that little reminder was all it took for your smile to fall.

Hotch had introduced you all to Beth three months ago at the triathlon. They’d been training together for a few months until Hotch got the nerve to ask her out the week before the big day, with a little push from Dave nonetheless. She was the first woman he’d seen after Haley, a little over two years since her death. You were proud of him for moving on, and you were happy that he’s enjoying his life guilt free.

Beth was a beautiful woman, both inside and out. She was an art curator who ran triathlons and went to cute coffee shops in her free time. Anyone would be crazy not to be enamored by her. She kept Aaron on his toes, pushing him when he needed to go out of his comfort zone, an easy balance between the two of them. She was amazing with Jack, camping out and making forts with the two boys in the apartment. The little boy was more than okay with the new woman in his father's life.

But with the addition of Beth in Hotch’s life, your presence wasn’t as frequent as it used to be. Friday game nights had disappeared along with Saturday dinners, replaced by date night and movies with Jack. The worried phone calls about a cold, or the rush for a babysitter were now directed to Beth. The pictures of Jack playing with legos or running in the park now came from JJ when there was a scheduled playdate with Henry. You had been placed back into your spot as coworker, SSA y/n l/n of the BAU.

“I’m happy for him.” You settled on the vague truth, because you weren’t going to make tonight about you and your bruised feelings. “She’s a wonderful woman and he deserves to be happy.”

“So do you.” Yeah, you thought, I do.

“You know when I was a little girl, I used to dream about my future. It was the only thing that kept me going when I moved from home to home.” You admitted with a shallow laugh. “When you’re little, you have no perception of time, or any obstacles life throws in your way. And I think I wanted to believe more than anything, that life outside of the system was going to be magical. No matter what advantages or disadvantages I faced, I was going to make it magical.

“When I was fifteen, I thought I would be married and have popped out a baby by the time I was thirty. I told myself I would find my husband in college, a nice boy with big ambitions that loved me right. I would have a desk job, maybe be a secretary, something that gave me some interaction with people. We’d buy a house in the suburbs somewhere with window boxes and a big backyard. We’d have three or four kids by the time I was thirty five, and they would fill the house with their giggles and tiny footsteps. My job would be flexible enough so that they wouldn’t have to spend the whole day in daycare. I was going to be the perfect mother.

“I had it all planned out,” Your voice fell off as you looked back at Spencer. “But here I am at thirty one years old. Single, childless, pining over a man I can’t have, while trying not to get blown up by psychotic serial killers everyday.”

You couldn’t help yourself, stealing another look at Hotch. It nearly broke your heart in two to see his dimple from across the lawn.

“And fifteen years later, I’m still putting other people’s happiness before my own.” You stood up, placing your sweater back on your chair. Spencer had scolded you time and time again that you were going to be destroyed if you kept up this caring charade. Hotch had even tried to warn you about your efforts early on, but you were a stubborn girl. Looking back at Spencer, you hated seeing the pity he held for you in his eyes. You never wanted to be this girl. “But I’m happy for him.”

So you put on your most convincing smile, and motioned for him to follow you to the dance floor. He was hesitant, but he knew better than to continue his interrogation after your round about explanation. This wasn’t the place to delve into your mind. And the two of you knew that.

As soon as you stepped onto the dance floor, you were calling out for Derek Morgan to show you his moves. You needed a distraction, and you needed to have some fun. He wrapped his arms around you lightly, implying that you would not be slowly swaying like the boring people surrounding you.

He led you into what felt like a quickstep, bringing you up and down your side of the floor, leading you like a professional. You couldn’t stop the laughs from spilling out of your mouth as he spun you around and twirled you right back into his chest. Skipping around the dance floor with Derek was the last thing you expected to be doing at JJ’s wedding, but you were more than happy with the outcome.

After a few songs with the next Fred Astaire, Emily dragged you over to JJ, attempting a trio sway. Garcia joined you after a moment, giggles being shared across the square of dancing women. These three ladies were the sisters you prayed for as a kid, and you were about to be one man down for the first time in six years. For real, this time.

You leaned to your left and pressed a kiss to Emily’s cheek, and she smiled. “Are you making a move on me?”

Penelope let out a laugh as you shook your head. “I’m just grateful to have had you in my life for this long.” The smirk on her face fell, and you swear there were tears in her eyes.

“Nope! I was promised there would be no crying tonight,” Garcia stopped the moment from turning into a goodbye, and you laughed. “Sorry, you’re right. It was a move.”

JJ shook her head as Emily held your eyes for another second, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to you. You gave her a nod as JJ spun you under her arm.

“Alright, even though you're hitched, you can still come to ladies night with us, right?” Penelope asking the important questions here.

You smiled as JJ nodded. “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”

After a few more chords, there was a tap on your shoulder. You looked over your shoulder, finding Hotch’s warm brown eyes already looking at you. Your feet stopped as a shy smile rested across his lips.

“Hey,”

“Hey. Sorry to break up this party, but,” He extended his hand to you. “Would you like to dance?”

You looked down to his hand, one that you held so tight after Haley’s death, and took it in your own. Yours was swallowed in his, but you didn’t mind one bit.

“Of course.” He backed up, leading the two of you away from the laughing girls.

Once you’d found your own space, he wrapped his free hand around your waist, bringing yours to rest on his shoulder. Always the gentleman, his hand made sure it was barely grazing your lower back as your heart ached for him to hold you closer.

“Dave did an amazing job with the place.” Hotch commented, trying to break the tension between you. It had never felt this awkward between the two of you, and it hurt to know how much had changed.

“I think you mean Rossi found a great party planner to transform the place.”

A light chuckle from Hotch, and you felt butterflies in your stomach as his dimples showed up. You wanted to trace a check mark on his shoulder, but stopped when you realized he had someone else that was in first place now. The same person who was dancing with his son across the floor.

“He really likes her.” You commented, nodding towards the pair. Beth twirled Jack under her arm once, twice, three times, before he broke into a fit of giggles.

“He does. He claims she’s the best Uno player alive.”

You forced a smile out, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “High praise coming from the reigning champion.” He laughed and nodded along, knowing Jack did not accept defeat so easily. She must be really special.

Being this close to Aaron felt like a dream, one that you never thought you would get to experience while you were awake. The only other time you got to enjoy his warmth was a year ago, when you’d evaded another explosion. You remembered the feeling of his arms looped around your waist, their grip holding you to his chest. Once you realized what was happening, you never wanted to leave his embrace.

But right now you weren’t close enough. And selfishly, you needed to be closer, you needed to be held like that one more time. You took a step closer to him in between your swaying, your right foot in between his. Without missing a beat, he took another step closer to bridge the gap between you, pulling your joined hands to his opposite shoulder.

“I didn’t know you knew ballroom dancing,” His voice was deeper than you ever heard, due to the miniscule distance between you. If you tilted your head to the left a few centimeters, you’d be leaning against his temple. Just the thought had your heart racing; this man was not yours.

“I don’t. But Derek Morgan is a good teacher.”

You continued to sway back and forth to the music, a ballad playing in the background as you caught Beth dancing with Rossi now. She was a walking reminder that Aaron Hotchner was in a happy, committed relationship. And no matter how close you danced with him, how perfectly his arm curled tighter and tighter around your waist, this was not yours.

All you wanted was to share your life with someone. You wanted someone to look at you the same way Will looked at JJ. You wanted someone to make you laugh so hard that you couldn’t breathe. Someone who cared for you, just as much as you cared for everyone else. You wanted, more than anything in your life, for Aaron to look at you the way you looked at him.

“Are you okay?” He must have felt your grip tighten around his shoulder, and you quickly relented.

Tears had started to form in your eyes, and you gently shook your head to keep them from falling. “Yeah, sorry.”

He pulled back the slightest bit, trying to look into your diverting eyes. You locked them on the canopied walkway, hoping they’d dry before he came into view. It wasn’t his responsibility to ease your worries.

“Y/n,” You bit the inside of your lip, moving to crack your index finger when he slowed the two of you down a little. He knew your tells better than anyone else. “You can tell me anything.”

You didn’t hesitate to meet his eyes, smiling when you saw the concern etched inside them. You knew how much he cared for you. How much he trusted you with his son, and with his own worries when he had no one to turn to. You knew that he would do anything to take away the pain you’re feeling right now. So that’s why you let your smile grow, to assure him that you were going to be okay. That he couldn’t know why you were falling apart.

So you repeated the words you made yourself believe, leaving his gaze only to find Spencer’s a few feet away.

“I’m just really happy for you, Aaron.”

It was an ambidextrous statement, one that made your head spin with the different ways to approach the situation. But before he could respond, Spencer had made his way over to the two of you, perfectly reading the stare you threw his way. You needed an out.

“I think it’s my turn with the dancing queen.”

You let go of Hotch without a second thought, never meeting his gaze again. Spencer took your hand without a fight, and led you to the far corner of the floor, away from everyone’s eyes. You felt your chest tightening as he wrapped his arms around you, knowing the tears you tried so hard to suppress would fall soon.

The two of you started swaying, and you were quick to rest your head on his shoulder in an attempt to hide the first few tears that fell. You focused on the sound of heels meeting the floor, the silverware chiming against the plates, and the occasional laugh that escaped JJ’s mouth. You tried to ground yourself to the present, not to your thoughts.

“The life that you have may not be the one you dreamed of as a kid, but it’s pretty damn special. You don’t need kids or a husband to complete you. Because the y/n l/n right here,” he poked your waist, eliciting a small smile from you, “Is the best version of any day dream.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder so that you could meet his eyes. His smile never failed to reach his eyes, causing more tears to fall as you registered the sincerity in his voice.

“I’m going to be okay, right?” Your voice was small, afraid that you would never get used to this feeling.

“I don’t know,” He said before stepping back, just enough to spin you under his arm, and pull you back just like Derek had, before gently dipping you down. You couldn’t believe the laugh that escaped your lips, the salty tears ending their path down your face for good he hoped. He brought you back up carefully, a beautiful Spencer Reid smile adorning his face. “But I’ll be with you until you are.”

****

tags: @simplyprentiss @michaelahah @ssahotchner99 @svrgicalhands @hotchtopic @unionjackpillow @philcoolson @tommhollandzxhaz @kathleenjasmine @canimarrypizzaornah @reaperwalking @inlovewithaaronhotchner @shelbymm11 @mrshotchner23 @tropicalwrites @averyhotchner @dreamy-moments @softhxtch @crazymar15 @theinsanespaceship15 @wecouldbreakthedistance @jeor @funnycuteandannoying @andherestograce @thisisntjuliana @captwilson @kennedyblair @lovelysunflowerxoxo @rcompton @iifaequeenii @iwaizumiee @mrsaaronh0tchner @abbeyannsmith-blog @becausehello @rinacriedpower

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #jules writes shit ??

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stellarboystyles · 4 years

Text

Make a Move

Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

4.2k !

She and Harry closed almost every weekend.

Why? Because there wasn’t really anyone else that was willing, so they’re always picking up slack. They were even more short staffed before Y/N came along, and given that she was the only waitress who actually gave a shit about her job, she was always the first choice whenever someone called in sick or quit unexpectedly, which, unfortunately for her, was quite often. Not that she’s complaining, because she and Harry always work the same shifts so it’s always fun. She was so kind to every customer but as soon as any of them were crossing a line she’d be the first one to tell them to back off. Harry was the best bartender on the strip, and everyone local knows it, too. Word travels fast, and his drinks speak for themselves. They make a great team. The rest of their co workers claim that the pair always get better tips, and even though they aren’t wrong, Harry and y/n like to indulge in the private joke that maybe if everyone else didn’t do their job half ass then maybe they’d get the tips that they get every night. Their boss is lucky to have both of them working for him.

But Harry was just as lucky to be working there.

That’s exactly what it was. Pure luck.

When Harry’s mum Anne told her husband that she was pregnant with him, he promised her that he was going to change and be home more often, for them. And he kept his promise, for a while. Harry was such an easy baby, easy going and hardly ever cried. However, three months later things swiftly took a turn when she quickly realised that he was going to be a colicky baby. Seeing her little baby boy in pain, screaming and inconsolable just simply broke her heart, but it just meant that he needed a little more attention. She’d quickly learned his favorite remedy was a warm bath and a comfy swaddle, followed by some cuddles and he’d be right back off to sleep. She still thinks the reason that they’re still so close now is because of that extra bonding time.

Harry’s dad had always been distant from him. He was never home, And when he was, he wanted Anne’s full attention, and when he wasn’t getting that anymore, because, you know, she was busy raising an infant by herself, he grew selfishly jealous of the child that he created. When he hit her in front of her son, that was it. She made the split decision that she didn’t want this life for Harry, or for her. She waited until he fell asleep that night, packed what she could, took her baby and left. Moved to London and never saw or heard from him again.

Harry was six years old when his mum first got sick. It started out as headaches and a fever that would come and go, but it got worse. To be specific, an autoimmune disease that was attacking her muscles and joints. It got so bad that she couldn’t even brush her hair, let alone take proper care of a six year old. Long story short, Harry learned quickly and at a young age how to take care of himself. when Harry wasn’t in school all he wanted to do was take care of her. He’d always wake up early on the weekends and make her second favorite breakfast...waffles. Her first favorite was pancakes, but he couldn’t make those, only because he knew that his mummy said the stove wasn’t safe and that he couldn’t use it by himself, because he could burn his fingers.

Three years go by and things are really tough. Anne could no longer work, so without her knowledge, Harry began to improvise. He started selling some of his toys to his friends at school during playtime. By the time almost all of his toys were gone he’d managed to gain thirty five dollars, and he was so proud of himself. But when he saw one of the medical bills totals on the kitchen counter, he knew he was going to have to try something else. Every monday his mum gave him five dollars to pay for lunch at school for the whole week. So instead of eating lunch, he kept it in his backpack with the other thirty five. His friends always shared their lunch with him so that he wouldn’t go hungry all day, and no one ever found out. Week by week the amount seemed to add up quickly. Before he knew it it was the end of the school year he had one hundred and ninety five dollars. He counted it twice just to be sure, but it didn’t matter because it still wasn’t enough.

He was sad, extremely sad and angry. Three more years go by and his mum is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He couldn’t help feeling so many things all at once. His mum was his best friend, why on earth was this happening to her, to him?

One afternoon Harry was walking home from school. It was gloomy and dreary, typical London weather. He wanted to get home faster so he could get to the hospital to see her, so he chose to make a quick shortcut down an alley to his left. As he walked he noticed a group of boys older than him, maybe fourteen or fifteen, on the side of the alley. Before he could turn around or walk past them, of course, they surrounded him. It felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

He was getting jumped.

“I-I haven’t got anything.”

One of them held his arms in a tight grasp whilst another one yanked the backpack off his shoulders, dumping the contents, including the wads of cash, onto the asphalt.

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly widened, struggling with all the strength in his body, desperately trying to get free. He couldn’t let them do this.

“No! Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything you want, but I need that money!”

“So do we.”

A fist landed against his cheek and before he knew it he was on the ground being beaten senseless.

“It’s not for me!” he tried, throwing his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself. “It’s for my mum, she’s sick.”

“Hey! How many times have I told you to quit causin’ trouble back ‘ere?!”

Harry was wide eyed as he saw a man, probably a store owner since he came around the back corner. They quickly ran off empty handed. The man’s face changed from angry to bewildered as he saw Harry’s face.

And as if on fucking cue, it started to rain. Pour, actually.

“No, no, no…”

Harry scrambles to his knees and crawls forward, trying to salvage the dampened green paper, shoving it back into his backpack.

“Are you alright?!”

That was the moment that Harry’s life changed forever.

The man, who Harry quickly learned was named Joe, did more than just clean up the young boy’s bloody face. They started talking and Harry told him everything. About his father, the piling medical bills, everything—and in that moment Joe knew he had to help him.

Every day after that, after school Harry would go to Joe’s bar and work for him. Small jobs—sweep the floor, clean the tables, things like that. He took Harry in, looked after him when his mum couldn’t and gave him advice like the father he’d never had.

The day Harry turned seventeen was the day his mum was officially in remission. Harry had been saving every single penny he’d made over the last five years, which was enough to really help out with their situation until his mum could go back to work. He was over the moon, he didn’t think he’d ever see the day that she’d be feeling like herself again.

Harry didn’t really plan on going to college because even if his mum was better, he always wanted to be able to visit and check on her. After he graduated, he moved into the apartment upstairs above the bar, and the rest is history.

And that leads us to now. Four years later at twenty one Harry is everyone’s favorite bartender, who's crushing hard on this truly one of a kind girl that walked into his life only a few months ago, and he can’t remember what life was like without her in it.

Despite how the job sounds, they both loved every second of it. Especially when they worked together. When they weren’t busy, they were constantly messing with each other, usually it was him teasing her whenever she tripped over her own feet, almost spilling a plate or glass and when she’d come back behind the bar he’d be smirking “y’not drunk are yeh?” and she’d mumble a “shut up.” making him chuckle.

But they were incredibly soft for each other, there was no way around it.

One time, Harry called in sick, and if he would’ve seen the look of disappointment mixed with sadness on her face, he might have just said fuck it and came in to work just to make her happy or at least see her smile, despite the food posioning.

That’s what she did to him. All rationale was lost, even if it was just for a moment.

When he came back, his co-workers filled him in, telling him that she was all sad and pouting through the whole shift. It made his heart ache, made him want to kiss the pout right off her lips,

because her lips were so pretty.

But it also made his heart beat a little faster.

He caught himself staring more and more as the months went by, their friendship torturing him day by day. It was truly a sick joke—being her friend but not being able to feel her soft skin under his touch, kiss her anywhere, anytime he wanted.

Was this karma? What did he do to deserve this?

He’s never been a day dreamer, until now. She’s in his head all the time and he can’t stop thinking about what his life would be like if he could just muster up enough confidence to tell her that he loves the way she pushes her hair behind her ears, or how he’s been dying to kiss her since she walked in the door on her first day.

He remembers that day like it was yesterday.

***

Harry was wiping down the bar, cell phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he listened to his boss tell him about his newest hire being a new waitress.

“Hope this one sticks.” he mumbled, a small smirk appearing on his face as he dried off the inside of one of the glasses. “M’not gettin’ paid to wait tables, Joe.”

“Oh piss off, I’m payin’ you more than that.” a laugh was shared between the two before he continued.

“She’s already been trained, but it’s her first day by herself, so be nice.”

“M’always nice. It’s those other vultures you’ve got to worry about.”

Harry wasn’t exaggerating. The other waitresses were like wild animals, they’d either attack you or try to have sex with you.

“Just look out for her, will you? Don’t want her bein’ eaten alive on her first day and then she’s too scared to come back.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, I’ll keep y’updated. Have fun on your holiday.”

“Thanks again for taking care of everything, I really appreciate it.”

“S’the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” the humor in his voice slowly faded, his tone becoming more serious.

Don’t get soft on me now.” his response to Harry’s sentiment makes him chuckle.

“Okay, okay. But m’serious, don’ know where I’d be without your help.”

When he hung up the phone, as if on fucking cue, he hears the front door open.

***

Everything about her was perfect. Her hair looked like silk, even if it was tied back while she was working with some baby hairs falling around her face. Her skin was flawless—he loves it when she doesn’t wear any makeup, like today. He found her rosy cheeks and naturally long eyelashes to be undeniably adorable.

“H?”

His head snapped up at her voice. It was sweet, like the sugar he always puts on the rim of her glass when he makes her mojitos some nights after they close up. Harry thinks he’d do anything she wanted if she asked him nicely.

“Earth to Harry.” she jokingly waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh, shit. Wasn’t even lookin’ a’ the time.” he chuckled. “Thanks, love.”

“No problem.” Her cheeks were splashed with pink, looking at her shoes before turning to walk away.

To this day, Harry doesn’t know what on earth possessed him to do this. But for some reason, three words popped into his head.

Make a move.

“Hey.” he stops her from walking away by taking her hand and pulling her towards him.

“What?” she giggles as she turns her head to look at him.

“C’mere.”

The look on his face was giving her butterflies. He blinked slowly, a small smile curved across his lips.

“Got a new drink idea, can I try it out on ya?”

She lets out a nervous giggle before nodding her head.

She felt like an idiot because she really thought that he was going to kiss her. She wanted to feel his lips on her lips, her skin. And god, did he want to kiss her. He felt like an idiot because that wasn’t really a move. He wanted to kiss her, so fucking bad but he got nervous. How couldn’t he? She was his friend, and so, so beautiful. What if she didn’t want to be more than friends? It was a scary thought, rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship, he cared about her too much to ruin that. Wouldn’t it be awkward, if things didn’t work out, or she didn’t want him in the first place, and they still had to work together? Harry just might have to crawl under a rock.

But she wore her heart on her sleeve, so she couldn’t really hide the sadness in her eyes as her gaze fell to her hands as he was mixing the contents that were going to go in the lowball glass. It pained him to see her anything but her usual bubbly, sweet self.

“S’wrong?” Harry frowned, but she shook her head.

“Nothin’. Just waiting on you, like always.”

His mouth fell open at your accusation.

“Since when?” he scoffs. “M’always waitin’ on you.”

“When?” she challenges, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “When we were goin’ t’that festival, or anytime we do somethin’ outside of work, yeh always take forever to get ready.”

Because she wanted to look super cute for you, you idiot.

“I messed up my makeup, okay? Gimme a break.”

She’s sitting on the bar stool and he’s behind the bar, leaning onto his elbows and stopping what he’s doing to look at her.

“Y’dont need tha’ stuff.”

She gives him a sheepish smile, but Harry’s not having any of it.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey.” he reaches over and puts a hand under her chin, finger brushing the skin of her jaw and his touch gives her butterflies. “Look a’ me?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, earning a smile on his pink lips.

“S’true. You’re beautiful and you don’t need it, okay?”

A soft smile graced her lips, making his small smile wider. “Okay, okay.”

“Alright, here.” he slid the glass across the bar top towards her. She takes a sip and her eyes light up, making his do the same.

“Mmm, it’s so good!” she looks up at him, eyes widening, making him laugh.

She loved his laugh.

“Know you like to start off with the fruity stuff.”

“Careful.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know how much you love those cranberry vodkas.”

“And they’re delicious. Especially mine.”

“Definitely yours.” her comment makes Harry giggle, looking at his hands and you’re positive it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks at her, flicking his head.

“C’mere, I’ll show yeh how t’make one.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?” and her excitement is so adorable he can’t help but mirror her expression with a laugh.

“Mhm, c’mon.”

She’s standing behind the bar and Harry’s standing behind her, showing her the ropes, as he called it. But when she felt his chest pressed against her back as he went through the steps, she could no longer focus on anything he was saying, which worked in his favor because he stumbled across his words quite a bit at the feeling. They were physically closer than they’ve ever been and she smelled so fucking good. He rests his head on her left shoulder, gripping the bar top in front of her.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and he finally speaks up.

“Wanna try?”

He picks up the lowball glass, bringing it up to her lips. He moves his hand, tilting the drink to meet your lips. The interaction was so intimate, and you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Good?”

His voice was deeper, sending shivers down her spinal cord. She nods and he moves beside her, (much to her disappointment) and leans one of his elbows onto the surface beside him. She turns to him, and takes the glass out of his grasp as he’s taking a sip.

“S’not nice!” he laughs as she takes a drink, giggling as he gets in her face.

“S’your turn to make me a drink now.”

One hour later and she was three drinks in, which meant that she was on the verge of drunk. She made him two replicas of the cocktail he’d helped her make just before, and he claimed that hers were just as good, but she still wasn’t too sure if he was letting her win or not. She wasn’t drunk, though.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” the smirk sliding up his lips told a different story.

“Liar!” she giggled, and she tries to walk towards him but her legs betray her as she trips over her own sneakers and falls into his chest.

“Okay, you’re drunk.” he confirms with a chuckle, catching her by her forearms helping her to stand again.

“M’not drunk, shoelace is untied.” she tries to lift up her leg to show him the definitely loose laces, but she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the wood floor, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed her hand when he did she would’ve definitely had a sore backside.

“Maybe I am drunk.” she mumbles, pouting when she hears his chuckle. “Not funny, H.”

His stomach drops when he sees that she’s looking right at him with tears threatening to spill onto her soft cheeks.

“No, m’sorry love. Didn’t mean it, okay? Promise.” He uses his thumb to brush the skin just under her eye. “Please, don’t cry.”

The rest of the tears subside at Harry’s comforting gesture. They stood like that for a while, eye contact refusing to break before she spoke up.

“Do you like me?”

Did she really just say that? Was he that drunk? He was definitely more than tipsy, but did she really just say that?! Was he dreaming? Please let this not be a dream.

His heart thumped in his chest when her fingers started playing with his.

“Now what’s not to like about you, darlin’?”

That’s sweet, but not what I asked, she thinks to herself.

She could not believe the level of bravery in her blood right now. She wasn’t even that drunk and words that she thought she would never say were spilling out.

As she was about to respond, she lets out a yawn, her previous thoughts quickly slipping her mind.

“Tired?’ he questions as he cocks his head to the side, a grin sliding up his lips.

“Mhm. Still need to walk home.” she frowns and his eyes go wide.

“Can’t let y’walk home alone-”

“I do it every other night.” she protests, clearly getting frustrated.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment alone at 3 am, sober or not, made his stomach turn. He ignores her attempt at convincing him that she’s fine, because there is no way he’s letting this happen.

“ Y’can stay with me? S’just upstairs.”

His voice was quiet and it took a moment for her to register what he’d said.

“Wait, what d’you mean upstairs?”

“There’s a flat upstairs, s’mine.”

The confusion on her face made his heart want to melt.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

She feels another yawn coming and he picks her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he’s so warm—she can’t help but nuzzle her face into his neck and he thinks he could very well pass out, but he won’t, because he’s holding her, obviously.

He sets her down onto his bed, and tells her she can pick whatever looks comfy from his dresser to wear as pj’s.

“M’gonna go get some water, okay? Be right back, love.”

She picks out a stones t-shirt and changes into that because honestly, it’s one of the first things she sees and it smells like him and she’s tired.

He comes back upstairs and she’s laying down on his dark sheets, her back to him with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He walks around to the other side and sits down next to her. She feels the bed dip, opens one eye and pouts when she sees the water bottle in his hand.

“I know love, just drink some for me? Y’know it’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”

He encourages her to sit up and he doesn’t let her lay back down until she’s had at least half, and then covers her up with his blanket before

“I’ll just be on the sofa. If y’need anything in the middle of the night let me know, alright?”

“No, stay.”

His breath hitched inside his throat. He swallowed thickly before replying.

“You want me to stay?”

She nods. “Don’t leave me.”

She wants him to stay.

“I won’t, s’alright.”

After a small freak out episode in the bathroom while he changed, he gets into bed next to you.

Harry always had trouble falling asleep, but tonight it only took a few minutes and he was softly snoring into his pillow.

The light peeking through the curtains was what slowly pulled her out of sleep.

“G’mornin’ sleepyhead.”

She couldn’t help the lazy smile across her lips, letting out a giggle as she stretched.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Do you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Can I have some waffles?”

So, he made her some waffles. Some for him too. Harry didn’t have a dining table so he insisted she stay put while he make them breakfast in bed. He watches her take her first bite and he swears that this is the moment when he truly fell in love with her.

“Mmmm.” she hums, eyes closed with a dopey, syrupy smile across her lips. “So good.”

The reaction made him quite literally crack up laughing, because those waffles were from his bloody freezer and she was acting like Harry had just ordered room service to their hotel room in Paris.

He’d take her to Paris.

“So, how’d you end up living here?” she wondered out loud, breaking Harry out of his daydream.

He proceeded to tell her everything. About his piece of shit dad, his mum getting sick, getting jumped, and how Joe took Harry in and was the father he’d never had. When he’s finished, her hand is on the back of his neck pulling him into a protective hug, lightly toying with his hair.

“I’m so sorry, H.”

Her voice is just above a whisper and it makes Harry’s eyelashes flutter.

She pulls away and they instantly find each other’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, as if to say, it’s okay.

She looks at him with doe eyes and he can’t help but reach over and pushes her hair behind one of her ears, the space in between their faces becoming smaller and smaller, until his nose brushes hers.

“Can I kiss you?”

She gives him a small nod.

He cautiously presses his lips to hers. The kiss is everything both of them have ever dreamed of and so much more. Her hand is still on the back of his neck and he’s moved to cradle her cheeks in his hands, and they fit perfectly.

Neither of you want the kiss to end, both of them breathless as Harry’s forehead is pressed against hers.

“I really, really like you, had feelings for you for a long time.” you heart flutters in your chest at his sweet words. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I really, really like you too.”

This is my baby, be nice to her. I’ve pulled many all nighters to make this as close to perfect as it can be so I hope you love it <3

Thank you to @oh-honey-styles , @for-fucks-sake-h and @andwhenshesays for putting this Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge together, I’m so glad I could be a part of it!

BIG THANKS to my babies @goldenfeelin , @bfharry and @avhrodite for truly hyping me up and being so supportive, I love you. <3

#pypfc

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