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masterwords · 11 months

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minty fresh

Summary: (coda to 8x24 - The Replicator) Hotch & Morgan are getting ready to go to Rossi's team dinner in memory of Strauss and having a bit of a disagreement about when it would be appropriate to let the team know about them.

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: sex (not smut, just lots of casual mentions of them doing it), nudity

Notes: Just bickering and brushing their teeth, that's about as domestic as it gets. Happy Friday everyone! I'm hoping to fill a few requests over the weekend so stay tuned!

Read below the cut (because it's a pretty immediate mention of sex) or on AO3!

Derek was naked. Completely naked, pacing like a lion stalking its prey back and forth. He had three suits laid out on the bed, three shirts that could work with any of them, and an abundance of indecision lacing every move he made.

Hotch was barely dressed, clothed in a loosely draped towel around his waist and one of Derek’s t-shirts. Bare feet damp against the warm tile after two showers, two long showers. Not separate. It was just that the first shower, they were going to save time, get it done together but Derek couldn’t keep his hands to himself and Hotch couldn’t argue so they got out of the shower, stumbled to their bed and fucked as quickly and quietly as they could. Jack was napping upstairs, Clooney with him, both dead to the world. Jessica would be there soon to keep an eye on them so the two men could head out, but for the time being the house was mostly all theirs.

The second shower was thwarted by another fast, desperate attempt to make the evening not as terrible as it was going to be. After that, they jumped into the shower to clean themselves up and it very nearly devolved into another mad dash for the bed. The third time, though, Hotch had some semblance of willpower and said no.

“We’re going to be late,” he whined when Derek’s hands slicked up his sides, thumbs grazing that tender skin where his thighs curved, lips dusting feather soft and wet. Soap suds and steamy breath and a palm planted against the tile for support like he might try something acrobatic right there in the shower. “Derek…” he protested again, weaker this time.

“I can’t believe we’re finally telling the team,” Derek had replied with hot lips dusting Hotch’s pulse. “No more lies.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat and Derek tasted it, the tension in that full stop. He knew what it meant before Hotch even opened his damn traitorous mouth. “Maybe we should wait another week.”

“Man…” Derek whined this time, stepping back, no longer in the mood. Well, less in the mood. Slightly. Very slightly. “Why?”

Rebuffed, Hotch frowned. “Because Strauss just died, and the team more or less just found out about she and Rossi. The timing is awkward.”

So, they finished in silence because Derek really couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t initiate a full argument right there in the shower. He finished first and stepped out, letting Hotch shower in peace. Now, the dust had settled, somewhat. It had been ten minutes since that conversation ended whatever game of hands was happening in the shower. They hadn’t spoken, not since the hiss of the shower died out and the steam was released from the bathroom to the bedroom. Everything settled quiet and still around them. With some urgency, knowing they were running late, Hotch shaved his face and tried not to cut himself in the process.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment all afternoon?” he asked impatiently, though he supposed if Derek was giving him the silent treatment it would bode well for not telling the team they’d been lying to them for months...years if you wanted to be specific, but that was a point of contention that was currently in the off-limits-for-discussion zone. Things got too heated.

Derek sighed and wandered into the bathroom, still naked, still undecided on suit color.

“Maybe.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Derek, squeezing toothpaste onto both of their brushes because he wasn’t a complete monster, stared at Hotch through the mirror. “Look. I get that you want to wait out of respect for Rossi, but I gotta ask...if the roles were reversed, if I died which I very nearly did if you recall, you think Rossi would do the same for you? I think the hell not.”

“He might.”

“He wouldn’t and you know it.”

Hotch didn’t want to consider the fact that Derek was right, even if it would be an easy conclusion to arrive at. Rossi hadn’t ever been the best friend, he could be decent when it served him but he was more generous than he was thoughtful. It was just that with the team being faced with not only Strauss’ death but the subsequent knowledge that she and Rossi had been involved in a relationship for at least the last year right under their noses...well Rossi might not have been so thoughtful, but that wasn’t the point. He was relatively certain he wouldn’t announce a relationship at a memorial...well, somewhat certain. A little certain.

“Just because Rossi might not think twice doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

“Aaron,” Derek said, the toothbrush clicking against his teeth while he scrubbed. He spoke around a mouthful of foam, a fact that made it a little hard for Hotch to take him too seriously but he forced a studious frown and tried. As the foam accumulated in the corners of Derek’s lips, he couldn’t help the ghost of a smile as it appeared on his face. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of hearing the jokes about how I’m a dog, people asking how many hook-ups I nailed over the weekend and if I knew any of their last names. I’m a grown man, never been married, showin’ up to work lookin’ single and everyone talks. They’re out there assuming I’ve been sniffing around the clubs when I’ve actually been making pancake breakfasts and coaching Little League and chaperoning field trips and...dammit Aaron, clear my fuckin’ name already.” He was posing it as a lighthearted plea, but Hotch could see he meant it and if he was being honest, he hadn’t really considered that part of the equation.

“Do people really talk to you that way?”

“To use a Penelope-ism, oh you sweet summer child…” Derek spit the minty foam into the sink and smiled. It was a little sweet, but a little unhinged. “Of course they do. And maybe they’ll say something different or worse if they find out I’ve been sleeping with the boss but I don’t care, I just...I want to walk into Rossi’s house with you. I wanna sit beside you. I wanna hold your hand. I watched your helicopter crash, I thought you were dead and when I opened that door it took every ounce of willpower I had not to pull you out and hug you and make sure you were alright...I can’t keep doing this. Is it too much to ask that we just get to stop lying?”

Hotch, spitting his own toothpaste into the sink and running the water to rinse it down, shrugged. “I suppose not. Strauss and Rossi already proved that the Bureau doesn’t mind the fraternization quite as much as they claim to.”

“That’s the spirit!” Derek exclaimed, examining himself quickly in the mirror before turning back to Hotch with an evil grin. He was about to go for the kill shot – a compromise. Now that Hotch was in his corner, he would seek out a little wiggle room for them both. “How about this? We show up together, we don’t hold hands but we do sit together. Ease them into it.”

“You’re certain we can’t just wait one more week? Just let the proverbial dust settle a bit?”

“Uh-huh,” Derek replied, rinsing his toothbrush and approaching Hotch. He pressed his naked waist against Hotch’s towel, hooked his finger into the little twist at the front and popped it open. The towel dropped to the floor and Derek pressed closer. “I’m ready. And I know you are too. Besides, you’re about to be forced into her job and yours and I’m never going to see you again...this might be our last shot to even be in the room together.” That last shot put the nail in the coffin. Hotch nodded silently, uneasily, contemplating the impending explosion of responsibility he was about to take on. Sensing the shift, Derek reached around and grabbed a handful of Hotch’s ass, giving it a cheeky squeeze, the devil in his eyes. Hotch groaned but forgot all about the job, and just about everything else that wasn’t Derek. He had no choice. He needed this too.

“Fine. But we go easy. No big announcements, no drawing attention to it. If it comes up naturally, that’s fine but otherwise…”

“I’ll show you something that comes up naturally…” Derek whispered, his lips dusting a minty trail from Hotch’s collar bone to his pulse, up his jaw, and crash-landing in a bruising sticky toothpaste kiss. Hotch protested weakly. It was pathetic. He was completely and utterly whipped.

“We’re going to be late…” he whimpered, gasping between kisses. It was pointless. They were already headed for the bed.

“Fashionably.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #hotch x morgan #criminal minds #fanfiction

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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 years

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have always thought of all the various ways the Quant Dynamic could end up in an unfortunate / unhappy place b/c this is billions but it’s like......i would like to see them kiss

#breaking news i know #billions for 3 episodes in a row like Here's This / Take Note; Here's This / Take Note; Here's This / Take Note #like yes!!!! billions i am paying attention and taking note and waiting to see where this goes!!!!#but the answer could be ''off the rails / careening off its apparent path into disaster immediately'' b/c. that's true of any thread during #any episode billions billions moves at the speed of hell #even if this is taking a very weird counterproductive route if it's aiming for ''the joke is cringe winston and his fail unrequited crush''#then that's underwhelming....or they could be A Thing and yet then the relationship is only simply a plot device for a moment and/or #like overall a joke out of the both of them; cringe quants and their fail involvement....#suppose you could say ''uh actually they're getting along Worse than ever for mystery/no reasons but they're also fucking'' like...#idk it's billions they can jerk on the steering wheel of their own subplots at any time and you just have to accept it #could get caught up in Other Subplots' Conflicts / some external factor thwarts things for no reason like. yeah we introduced Feelings here #just to let you know this is another thing for a quant/s to be depressed about i guess? but could have a wrench in the gears come from some #internal element lol like. we don't know Everything about either character....anyways can't hope for the best but while also not supposing #this Can't eventually become an actual confirmed relationship of mutual interest; we haven't gotten there yet and it's billions #and i'm ''ready*'' to sigh over it being thwarted or whatever but they could still kiss first or something.....#(*in billions you always are bracing for disaster / things to go south but you can't Truly brace for anything the series does ever smh)#winston billions #oh it's past midnight it's march 21st. that's the winstanniversary! 2 years....#riawin

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cherry-lipbalm · 3 years

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survival of the fittest. spencer reid.

5.3k words.

masterlist

“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”

three hours earlier

Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.

Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.

When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.

"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.

"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.

"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.

"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.

"...a he?"

"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.

"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."

He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.

She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.

"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"

Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.

"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).

"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"

"Wait, why do people skip his season?"

"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."

"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.

The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.

In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.

"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.

"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.

"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.

"What happened? To your phone?"

"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.

It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.

"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.

"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.

Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.

"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock,"

"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.

"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"

"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."

Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer.

"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.

"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.

"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.

"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.

When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.

"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?

Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.

"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.

"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.

"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."

"What?"

"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"

Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?

"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.

"Great," he remarked.

"Oh, like it's my fault?"

"Well, it's not mine."

"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"

It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.

Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.

Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).

"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.

"We're not dying–"

"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"

"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.

"We could still die," she mumbled.

"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"

"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"

"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."

"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.

"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."

More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.

"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.

Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.

She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.

"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).

"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.

"Well we can't survive on this."

"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.

"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"

Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.

While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.

At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.

"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.

"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.

"How?"

"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."

"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.

Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"

She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."

Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.

"Are... are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.

"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."

"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.

"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.

She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.

"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.

He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.

They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.

She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.

Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.

Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.

"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."

"Ha! Me too."

"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.

"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."

And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).

There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.

"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.

Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.

"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."

He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again.

"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."

"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.

———

Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.

He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.

But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.

So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.

One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.

"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."

The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.

Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.

But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.

The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.

"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).

"I need to pee."

Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.

"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."

"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.

So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.

And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.

The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.

And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).

"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.

"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"

"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"

"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"

Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.

"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."

"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."

"Us included," Spencer said.

They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.

"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").

"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.

So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."

"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."

———

After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.

Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own.

"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).

"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.

They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.

"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"

"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.

"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"

Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.

He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.

"Is that a date?"

"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.

"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.

He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.

They've taken the stairs every day since.

fin.

#criminal minds #dr reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid gifset #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds oneshot

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iamknicole · 6 years

Text

Pieces

A/N: I don't know where I'm going with this but it's been on my mind and I wanted to get it out. I ran out of room on mobile buuut here it is 😧😧😧

Sunday

7:45pm

Marietta, GA

"Pick your head up, sweetheart. Your crown might slip."

"Not today, Mama."

"Well, Mercy, I just want you to hold your head up. What's so wrong with that?"

At 26, Mercy Banks had heard her fair share of sit up straights, stop slouchings and enunciates to last her a lifetime. Her mom wanted her children to be prim and proper at all times, no room for error. She got her way with two of her three children. Mercy not being one of them.

"Let her be, Elise. She just got here."

"Thank you, Daddy," Mercy said kissing her father's cheek.

"That's why she turned out the way she did, Tony. You always baby her and undermine what I say."

Tony waited for his wife to leave their living room before starting a conversation with Mercy. If he couldn't count on his other children he knew he could count on Mercy. She has been a Daddy’s girl her whole life. His oldest, Jamal, loved to he around him but he had been so busy with his career and wife he hadn't been around as much as either of them would have liked. His other daughter, Raven, on the other was exactly like his wife. Raven fell in line growing up and still with everything Elise wanted.

"How's my babygirl?"

Mercy sat across her dad's lap, laying back against him as she did when she was younger. "I'm okay, Daddy. How are you?" She asked softly.

"I'm better since you decided to come tonight. Haven't seen your egg head in two weeks," he joked.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You know why but I try to call you."

"Are you still going," Tony asked.

She nodded just as the doorbell chimed. Elise came rushing through the living room with a smile on her face. Tony sighed knowing which one of his kids was on the other side of the door since Jamal couldn't be on time to save his life.

"Don't let anything that's said or that happens tonight bother you. Okay?"

Mercy nodded as she watched her mama and Raven walk back into the room. Her husband, Anthony, right behind them. He shook hands with Tony then kissed Mercy's cheek.

"What's up, Mr. Banks. Mercy."

"Not much, youngin," Tony nodded looking to his other daughter, "You not speaking, Rae?"

"Sorry, Daddy. How are you," she asked turning in his direction.

Tony nodded then gestured to Mercy. "Your sister, Rae."

"Hello, Mercy. You look," she paused to look at your younger sister, "Comfortable."

"Thanks, Raven."

"You know your sister, Raven. She likes the bummy look," Elise laughed grasping Raven's hand.

Another doorbell chime brought the last Banks' child, Jamal, and his wife, Melanie. Tony whispered to Mercy to get the door. As she exited the room, Mercy could hear her dad saying something to Raven and her mom.

Jamal and Melanie stood on the other side, wide smiles on their faces. Melanie stepped into the house, pulling Mercy into a tight hug rocking her small body side to side. They had the relationship, Mercy wanted with Raven but she knew it would never happen.

"You look so pretty, CiCi. Look at this hair," Melanie gushed. "You used the hair mask I gave you?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Thank you again."

Jamal opened his arms up to Mercy, smiling harder when he felt Mercy holding on tightly to him. In Mercy's eyes, Jamal could do no wrong. "They started up already?" He asked.

She nodded then turned away from the door to walk them into the living room. Claiming her seat back in her father's lap, trying to tune out the conversation being had.

Thankfully for Mercy, dinner was finally over and she was closer to leaving her childhood home. The spotlight was on Raven and Anthony as they had finally decided to try for children after being married for five years. Of course, Elise snuck questions in at Mercy about her lack of husband, children and a presentable career. All of which were deflected by Melanie, Jamal and Tony.

"I need you to be dressed and presentable on Tuesday by seven, Mercy."

"For what, Mama?"

"Your sister has found you a nice young man that wants to take you on a date. Isn't that exciting," Elise gushed to her less than pleased daughter.

The frown on Mercy's face seemed embedded all evening. Jamal and Tony weren't near to thwart her mom and sister's invasion into her life. They had gone into the den to talk, leaving the women in the living room. Melanie had gone outside to take a call.

"No, it's not and I'm not going."

Raven sucked her teeth much to Elise's dismay. She hated that noise more than she hated to see her children roll their eyes and slouch. Raven pointed her finger in her sister's direction. "Oh, you're going, Mercy and you're gonna have fun. He's cute and he's successful. Don't ruin your chance."

"My chance at what? Being a trophy wife like you, Rae?"

"Now, Mercy, don't be rude to your sister. She's trying to help."

"No, you two are trying to run my life. I don't want to go so I'm not."

The three Banks women stared at each other. Mercy knew ever with all the fighting she was doing thay she would be on that date. It didn't mean she would enjoy it though.

"Are you trying to embarrass me, Mercy? Your sister graduated from college and graduate school, handled her career and was married for three years by the time she was your age," Elise sighed throwing her hands up. "Yes, Jamal was late getting married but look at what he did at your father's company. My God its as if you tuned me out your whole life."

Mercy's face and eyes burned. Even though she had tried to let the things said roll off her back like she was always told to do, it was too much. For protection, Mercy wrapped her arms around herself staring down at her feet.

"I mean yes you graduated and I'm thankful for that but you've done nothing since. No career, no husband and no kids. All my friends ask about my kids because they know that my kids have done extraordinary things," Elise exaggerated loudly. "Two of them have but then there's you, Mercy. There's nothing there but a college degree and paid off medical bills. You came from my womb, I birthed you with everything you needed and yet you still disappoint me this way."

Raven stepped back from their mom, she was uncomfortable with the way Elise spoke but she would never say anything. Making their mom happy was at the top of the list and until Mercy could get on board this would continue to happen.Tears fell from Mercy's eyes, hitting the hardwood floors beneath her.

"Now you're crying," Elise laughed, "I should be the one crying. I'm the one who's embarrassed and disappointed."

Anthony walked into the room unaware of what was going on. He grabbed for Raven's hand, gaining her attention. "You ready to go?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Mama, I'm heading out. I'll call you tomorrow."

Elise nodded, waving her away too focused on Mercy. With one look at Mercy, Raven backed out of the living room with her husband in tow. She didn't bother saying goodbye to her brother or dad for the sake of not wanting to be involved. Melanie passed them on her way back into the house.

"I'm sick of you and this pity party you're constantly throwing, Mercy. It stops today," Elise demanded.

Melanie stepped into the living room, wanting to help. "Everything okay? Sounds like you guys need a breather." Melanie said with a smile

"Everything is fine, Melanie. Just trying to talk sense into my disappointment of a child here."

Mercy didn't bother lifting her head, hugging herself much tighter. The tears flowed freely from her eyes, no need to stop what's been seen already. Elise's tone bothered Melanie, she left the room in search of Jamal and Tony.

"Lift your head up and stop that crying. I'm not going to continue talking to the top of your head."

Mercy lifted her head sucking her bottom lip in, staring directly into her mom's eyes.

"There were go, now I can stare into the eyes of my beautiful baby girl and let her know," Elise paused stepping closer, "That she is going to make me proud from here on out. She's going to stop this crying, stop the pity party, stop dressing like some bum and do what I ask of her. Understand?"

Elise wiped the tears that fell from her daughter's eyes, waiting for an answer.

Tony stood between them, his hands at his wife's shoulders. "We talked about this, Elise. Leave her alone."

Jamal called out to his baby sister, beckoning for her to come to him and his wife. Slowly, Mercy walked to him and into his arms. He held her against him, Melanie stood beside them rubbing Jamal's arm.

"Why? Because she's sensitive? That's rich," Elise scoffed. "She is too old for this, Tony. She needs to grow up, do what is expected of her."

"Just stop, Elise. We'll talk about this later." He said through his teeth.

Elise narrowed her eyes at her husband. "I have to stop or what? She'll do it again?"

"Let's walk your sister to her car, Mal. Come on."

They stood at Mercy's black jeep, none of them said a word. All Jamal could do was hug his sister as she cried softly. Wanting to give them time alone, Melanie went to wait by their car for Jamal.

"You wanna come over? Watch movies or something," Jamal asked as she stepped away from his embrace. "We can watch whatever you wanna watch. Even if it's bullshit." They laughed together. The first smile from Mercy all night.

"Funny but no. I'm gonna go home."

"Go home and do what, CiCi?" Jamal asked with his hands in his pockets.

She rolled her eyes at his question. "Write or edit some pictures, Mal. I don't know."

"Alright but call me if anything comes up."

"Anything like what?" She asked opening her car door.

"You know what. Don't play, Mercy."

With that, Jamal helped her up into the jeep watching her pull out the driveway.

Tuesday

6:50pm

Marietta, GA

As much as Mercy fought, she got dolled up and presentable for whoever Raven had sent to take her out. The only thing Raven told her was that he drives a silver Mercedes because of course that's all that mattered to her. She checked her phone for the time before she stepped out onto the porch of her town home for air while she waited.

Minutes later, a sleek luxury car pulled into her short driveway behind her jeep. She heard his door open and close but she didn't see him until he came from around her jeep. He was too busy picking small pieces of lint from his suit jacket to notice her. He stepped up onto hee porch finally looking up, looking straight into Mercy's eyes and smiled.

"You must be Mercy," he said taking her hand placing a kiss on the top.

"That's me," she nodded pulling her hand from his, "You are?"

"Semaj Brooks but everyone calls me Lucky." She nodded, watching him as he looked at her from head to toe. "You look amazing, Mercy. Your sister didn't do you any justice, I didn't expect this."

She nodded once more. "Yeah, I can imagine what she told you. Are you ready, Semaj?"

He nodded leading her off the porch.

"Please call me Lucky though. I'm Semaj at work, Lucky to everyone else."

Mercy had decided to enjoy herself but she knew this would be last time she saw him. Anyone who knew her sister and was close enough for this to happen wasn't anyone she wanted.

#pieces #ryan destiny #luke james #woody mcclain #gabrielle dennis #antoinette robertson #naomi campbell #nas #tyler lepley

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