#so hotch thinks the best thing he can do is act normal and make sure no one higher up realizes one of his agents is an addict | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unseededtoast · 2 months

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Thin Air | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you realize how much you lost when you accepted a new job, and that you may be destined to only share fleeting moments with the one who has your heart.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.6k

"Spencer, please." You beg through your moans.

"Be patient, baby."

Five years ago

The door slams shut behind you as your coat gets taken off and discarded somewhere in the apartment. Your senses are a blur, the only thing you can bother to concentrate on is exploring every inch of Spencer.

His lips connect with yours sloppily, a heated exchange that you've waited for since the day you started working at the BAU.

His lithe fingers unbutton your shirt with ease as you tangle your fingers in his hair. You gently tug, eliciting a breathy moan from him; it's music to your ears and you can't get enough.

The two of you stumble through his apartment clumsily, neither of you able to stay apart from the other long enough to normally walk to the bedroom. You follow his lead blindly until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed. Without thinking twice, you lay back, quickly followed by Spencer who is determined to kiss every square inch of your body.

The room is filled with the sounds of breathy moans from the both of you, Spencer's lips on your neck finding your sweet spot. Your eyes flutter shut as your fingers begin undoing his shirt, the two of you are still fully clothed and you're doing your best to rectify that immediately.

You feel Spencer smirk as you unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers and he shrugs it off quickly and makes quick work of your own. Your heated skin melds with his and the closer contact makes your jaw fall slack. You're convinced that if you can't feel all of him soon that you might combust.

"Spencer, please." You beg through your moans as he takes his time working his way down your body. His fingers trace every curve of you, as if he's making a detailed mental map of your body. He grabs the soft skin of your hips and tugs your pants off as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

"Shh be patient, baby." He answers, licking his lips before placing sloppy kisses on your thighs. Your fingers find their way back into his wavy hair, and his find the plumpness of your hips and pulls you closer to him.

All coherent thoughts leave your mind as you sink further and further into a bliss-filled oblivion, and all you care about is the man kneeling in front of you.

Your only regret is not acting on your feelings sooner, leaving you with only this one night with him.

-----

Spencer walks into work the next day feeling conflicted and anxious. You hadn't been beside him when he woke up this morning like he expected. Of course, he's trying to tell himself you probably just went home to get ready for work, surely you didn't want to come in wearing yesterday's clothes.

But as the hours tick by without any sign of you, his stomach starts twisting itself in knots. He checks his phone for any message from you just to find an empty lock screen. Trying to ease his nerves he sends you a quick message, asking if you're okay. And he checks his phone compulsively for any notification for the next hour.

After he sends the message he tries his best to casually ask around about if anyone has heard from you today. The others all say no, and they don't seem too concerned, they chalk it up to a hangover from last night. But you didn't have that much to drink. Spencer's mind races with worst-case scenarios but tries to stay calm. Maybe you had ditched work because you didn't want to see him, or maybe something bad happened to you.

His foot taps against the floor at lightning speed as he checks his phone one more time. No response. Something within him is telling him something is wrong. And so he moves without thinking and heads to Hotch's office. The worry must've been obvious on his face as Hotch motions for him to take a seat.

"I assume you're here because she didn't show up today." Hotch guesses correctly, and Spencer nods in confirmation. Hotch grabs a piece of paper off his desk and reads over the words once before handing the letter to Spencer. His eyes quickly read the words in seconds and by the time he's read it four times over his stomach drops.

You weren't coming back to the BAU. And you don't say why.

Spencer hurriedly pushes the paper back into Hotch's hands before excusing himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt as he rushes to get some fresh air. His mind is spinning for answers, and for the first time in a long time, he cannot find one.

-----

Present Day

You squint your eyes against the sun as you watch the front door of the house you had been tasked to stake out with your partner. Today is the deadline your supervisor had given you, and so far you had no results to show for your month-long surveillance mission. You had a sneaking suspicion the target had figured out he was being tailed and moved locations, but of course, you had nothing to back that up.

"I don't think we're going to see him in the next five minutes." Your partner sighs beside you, checking his watch. Angrily, you chew on the inside of your cheek, frustrated to have no results.

"I know he's gone somewhere else." You eventually say, turning the key to start the car so the two of you can go back and report to your supervisor.

"Yeah I know, I think so too. But we have no way of knowing where. I can't believe how slippery this guy is!" Your partner exclaims in disbelief as you begin driving back to headquarters. You huff,

"There's gotta be something there in his behavior that we just aren't seeing." You say, gripping the steering wheel tight. After all your years at the BAU you're unable to correctly profile the target. It's embarrassing and you've become all too frustrated with yourself.

The rest of the drive goes by in silence, the two of you are too wrapped up in the failure to say anything. And once you reach headquarters, the both of you take your time getting to the office, knowing that your supervisor is waiting for answers that you simply don't have.

But eventually you make your way up there. Your supervisor is waiting with crossed arms and a stern expression on her face. Your partner speaks first, admitting your shortcomings as a team. Your supervisor looks thoroughly annoyed with the results, and you know exactly what you have to do next. You just hope it doesn't come back to bite you.

"We should call in my old team. They're the best of the best, world-class profilers. I guarantee they'll be able to help us out." Your voice is confident, masking the nerves that twist your stomach.

"And you're sure of this?" Your supervisor asks with a cocked eyebrow. Nodding your head, you confirm

"I know they will." You say with finality. With a sigh, your supervisor agrees to contact them.

As you turn and walk away from your supervisor's office, you hope that you didn't just make a mistake. You had up and left your team out of nowhere, for all you know they could resent you for what you did. But, you know there's no better team on this planet than them, and this target needs to be caught before more people are killed.

-----

"Pack your bags everyone, we've been called in by the CIA to assist in one of their cases. We will be briefed on the plane, it'll be a short trip." Hotch announces as everyone gathered around the table. There's a stoic look on his face that tells Spencer the case they've been called to help on is of a serious nature.

Given thirty minutes to prepare, Spencer takes his time and makes a cup of coffee for the trip before collecting his go-bag. He always keep a bag for short trips and a bag for long trips in case something like this springs up. He learned the hard way that being underprepared is a recipe for disaster in the field.

Once the team settles in their usual spots on the plane, Hotch begins briefing everyone on the case.

"We've been called to assist in locating James Barnes, wanted for several counts of murder in five different countries. It seems he's evaded CIA efforts to tail him, they need our help in decoding his behaviors to determine where he's likely to go next. This is a top secret mission, nobody outside of this team and the CIA will know what's going on." Hotch's explanation is short and sweet. The gravity of the mission weighs heavily on Spencer as he usually works on geographic profiles. But he knows that as a team they're likely to succeed.

The trip to the CIA headquarters doesn't take long at all, and before Spencer's finished his cup of coffee, they're unloading from the plane. Somebody will take their belongings to the hotel while they immediately start on the case. Spencer's glad he made this cup of coffee, as he thinks this is bound to be an exhausting case.

He follows Derek into the briefing room they've been ushered into and takes a seat at the table, setting his cup on the sleek glass before taking a seat. And as he settles in he looks to the CIA team in charge of the mission, his eyes landing right on you.

Spencer feels like the world has stopped spinning and the blood in his veins has turned to ice. After years of not knowing where you were, here you stand in front of him alongside some of the most renowned CIA agents.

-----

You've got about fifteen minutes before the team's plane lands but you're not sure your heart will survive that long with the way it's pounding in your chest. You pace around your office to try and work off some anxiety but it doesn't seem to be working.

Nausea creeps in behind the anxiety and your stomach feels like it's been tied into a knot. A part of you thinks you might be having some sort of medical emergency. But you know it's just because you're scared.

You're scared of seeing your old team again, possibly with your replacement. You don't know if they hate you, if they think you're dead, or anything else they may have presumed from your absence. It's the not knowing that's driving you up the wall. But fifteen minutes comes and goes and before you're prepared, you're walking to the conference room.

Your partner and supervisor are already there, waiting for the team when you walk in. You take a seat next to your partner and straighten your clothes, wanting to look your best and not as disheveled as you feel.

"So you really have that much faith in these guys?" Your partner asks, snapping you out of your trance. You blink a few times, processing what he's said until you find an answer.

"I do." Short, simple, and not at all good at masking your nerves. You hear several footsteps coming down the hall and know the time has come.

Hotch is the first to walk in, followed closely by Emily, JJ, Penelope, Derek, and then Spencer. The sight of him alone is enough to send you spiraling. Your lungs burn for oxygen and your eyes beg you to blink but all you can focus on is the tall man who you've never fallen out of love with.

You watch as he takes a seat and situates himself next to Derek. And then, after he sets his coffee down, his eyes scan the room. And then they land on you.

It's as if the air has been forcefully sucked from your body, like you had just been kicked in the chest. For a brief moment it sounds like you're underwater and the edges of your vision make it seem like you're in a tunnel.

But thankfully the sound of your supervisor speaking breaks his gaze from you. You bite down hard on the skin inside your cheek, begging yourself to stay seated and composed. You're keenly aware by now that every single one of your old teammates is staring you down like they've just seen a ghost. And in a way they have, you were supposed to disappear without a trace, yet here you sit.

Your supervisor introduces the team to you and you to the team, as if you were all complete strangers. A pit in your stomach tells you that this is going to be the most complicated case you've ever worked, and a voice in the back of your mind wonders if calling the BAU was a mistake after all.

But deep down you know that it doesn't matter in the end. After all, you're going to vanish from them once again when they return home. It's the design of the job. A heartbreaking, but effective, design. One that you almost regret signing up for.

-----

After your supervisor has introduced the BAU to the case, Hotch is given permission to split up the team into their most effective specialties. Emily and JJ are tasked to stay with your partner and assist him with his leads, Penelope is assigned to work her magic with the computer, which leaves you to be assigned with Derek and Spencer.

Hotch had to have done this on purpose. But he doesn't stick around long to watch the fallout of his decision. Instead, he follows your supervisor out of the room, leaving you alone with Derek and Spencer.

The room is full of tension, one that weighs heavily on you. It's difficult for you to even look at them, much less assist them in the investigation. Why wouldn't Hotch have assigned Emily and JJ to stay with you? That surely would've worked out a lot better for everyone. But perhaps this is your bad karma catching up to you for what you did to them.

Swallowing your pride, you decide you can no longer ignore their presence. You lift your eyes from the floor and look at Derek first, not having it within you to look at Spencer. Derek looks back with an intense gaze, one that you're not sure is welcoming.

"So this is where you've been?" He questions, looking around the briefing room. You nod your head,

"Yeah, I've been here, working this mission." You tell him the truth. He hums in response, leaving the room to fall back into an uncomfortable silence.

But you can only take it for so long. Eventually, you break the silence and decide to just give them work to do and hopefully that takes up everyone's time and attention. You put a map up on a board, one that you had already been working on and you explain the markings. The suspect's theorized hiding spots, where his associates live, and where he was most recently spotted until he was lost.

Both Spencer and Derek study the map while you step to the back of the room. A part of you hopes their fresh perspective is enough to crack the case in a day. At least that way you could disappear once more and never have to face their judgmental looks again.

However, as you stand behind them, you can't help but to miss your BAU days. There were several cases where the three of you worked alongside one another just like this. Back when you were head over heels for Spencer, but kept it a secret. You miss those days, the ones you thought were inconsequential and boring, and you realize that you took it all for granted.

At the BAU you had friends who cared about you, and you for them. You had a team of the most supportive people on this Earth. And you threw it all to the side when the CIA offered you a position. You had been starstruck by being recruited that you failed to see what you truly had to give up before it was too late. Sure, you got paid more and got to work on higher profile cases, but these people here don't care about you like the BAU does. No, the people here chase their own accolades and couldn't care less about anyone else but themselves.

And perhaps, in a way, you had become that selfish as well. After all, you had only acted on your feelings for Spencer once you knew you had secured the job. You wanted to experience him before you left, and you didn't once regard his feelings about the situation. It was entirely selfish, and something you had come to deeply regret. If you could turn back time, you know you either would have acted on your feelings sooner, or not have said anything at all. Either of those outcomes would have been better than what you did to him.

-----

Hours later you find yourself in the break room for a snack. Having the BAU here meant that your regular hours had been thrown out the window, and while they're here working, you're here working as well. They have not been given permission to work this case unsupervised. And one thing you know for certain about your old team is that they work tirelessly until they find an answer.

The harsh light from the fridge burns your dry eyes, but the sound of approaching footsteps forces you to choose something. You land on an apple that had been in there for a few days, you figure it's good enough. The footsteps enter the room and you see Penelope walking in, looking like she's ready to sleep for the next three weeks straight.

She sees you and gives a polite smile, which makes your heart sink. Usually you and Penelope went on and on about anything and everything under the sun. She must have felt burned by your abrupt exit from the team as well. And you can't blame her, if the roles were reversed you know you'd feel at least a little bitter. But you can't stand the coldness from her, it makes you want to repair the relationships that were damaged. And so before you can even think things through, you speak up.

"I am sorry, I hope you know that. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone where I was going." Your voice is hoarse from working long hours. Penelope stops in her tracks and looks over to you, a softness in her eyes.

"I looked for you everywhere and I couldn't find you. I thought something had happened. I never stopped looking." She says, her voice breaking which causes your heart to feel like it's been shredded into a million little pieces.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am to have done this to you and the team. Trust me, if I could go back and do things differently, I would. But I'm glad you all are here now." You say, telling her the truth. You are glad they're here, and you figure this might be your last chance to patch things up with your old team.

"I'm glad we came too. At least we know now that you're okay." She says and picks up a granola bar. You can tell from the way she moves to the door that she doesn't want to talk much, and so you let her go.

It must be a lot for them to process, and you try to give them some space to process their feelings about everything. And before you leave for the night, you promise yourself that you're going to apologize to every single person. Whether they accept it or not isn't in your control, but you know you have to extend your sorrows, so that they know you regret how you left them.

-----

The next few days go by uneventfully. You met the team here and Derek and Spencer worked together, leaving you out of most of their conversations. Of course, you still listened in, you just weren't treated as an active participant, even though this is technically your mission. However, you can't find it within yourself to protest much.

The BAU had come up with some interesting developments, and you know you likely only have two more days at most with them. You're not sure whether you want time to speed up or slow down. As they talk about another theory, you find yourself looking at Spencer and remembering how good things between the two of you had been.

You and Spencer had bonded relatively quickly when you first started at the BAU. The two of you were the newest on the team, and everything felt seamless with him. Both of you shared an affinity for learning, and there were many times you'd drive the rest of the team crazy by talking nonstop on the flight. And of course, over the years you had formed quite the crush on Spencer. For years you kept it to yourself, up until the night before you were scheduled to leave.

But here he is now, right in front of you after all these years. He's just as tall as you remember, but he's filled out some, and his hair is longer now too. You admire the way it curls around the nape of his neck and appreciate the veins in his hands as he points to a spot on the map. His shirt sleeves have been pushed to his elbows, and you cannot deny how good he looks.

Derek breaks you out of your trance of admiration as he tells Spencer his coffee order. Neither of them ask for yours, and so you let Spencer leave without saying a word, leaving just you and Derek alone.

Derek had also been a close friend, and you know he always took things to heart. You can't imagine how badly you had hurt him by vanishing. He sits at the table, and leans back in his seat to stretch. Running a hand over your face, you know your time has come to finally talk to him. And so like Penelope, you start off with an apology.

"I hope you know I never meant to hurt you all by leaving. They wouldn't let me tell anyone." You offer, trying to minimize the damage, though you know there's nothing you can say that will truly make it all better. Derek looks over to you with an unreadable expression.

"We didn't know what happened. You just left a letter and disappeared." You hear a tinge of anger in his voice.

"I know. And I am sorry, I really am. I love all of you, and I'm sorry that I've caused so much pain." You tell him from the bottom of your heart. Derek looks away and sighs, opening and closing his mouth a few times before deciding what he wants to say.

"We're glad that you're okay, all of us were worried about you, and we couldn't find you. You should've seen Spencer, I've never seen him so upset before. But, I understand why you did it." He says, finally looking back over to you, meeting your eyes.

"Thank you for understanding." You say, thankful that at least one of them has at least a hint of forgiveness for you.

"And you know, if you ever get tired of this CIA thing, we're always here for you. Might have to convince Hotch you're not a flight risk though." He cracks a smile.

"Yeah, I wish I could come back. I was young and dumb and naive when I took this offer. Got caught up in the name and the secrecy of it all, I didn't know what I had right in front of me." You tell him, wanting to get some of your regrets off your chest. He shrugs,

"It's not a bad gig, they chose one of the best to recruit, I'll give them that." He says as the door opens and Spencer returns with the coffees.

Spencer ignores you, and the two of them pick up where they left off. And they work and work until they finally come to a consensus. They believe they know where the suspect is.

The entire team is reconvened back into the briefing room, and you're sat next to your partner, trying to avoid looking directly at anyone. You still have a lot of apologies to make, and so little time to do it. They had solved this quicker than you thought, and your heart races as you realize you may not be able to extend amends to the rest of the team in time.

Hotch delivers the profile and findings, and soon, a tactical team is sent out to retrieve the suspect. You and the rest of the BAU stay behind and watch the situation from the control room. Your heart thumps in your chest as you watch the agents break down the front door. Gunfire is exchanged and you grip the edge of the desk as you watch with wide eyes, worried about those on the front line.

But soon enough, they've got the suspect in cuffs and walk him out of the home. A sound of celebration fills the room, and you stare at the screen with a slack jaw, watching the subject you tried to track tirelessly being shoved into an armored car. Someone claps you on the back and makes you look away from the screen. Your partner smiles widely and holds his arms out for a celebratory hug.

He picks you up and spins you around before he puts you back on the ground. You smile at him as the two of you celebrate this win. After all, you two had been partnered together for a while now, and you don't know if you'll continue working with him as this mission moves into its next phase. As you turn back to watch the screen, you see Spencer leaving the room. Your smile falters and you debate whether or not you should follow him. But before you can even make a decision, Derek steps into your line of vision.

"Come out with us tonight, one last time." He smirks, and you're taken aback by the invitation. You figured the others would still be too angry with you to even want you there, but by the subtle hint of a smirk on Hotch's face, you begin to think that maybe they're not as angry as you think.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You smile, excited to spend one last night with your team.

-----

Hours later you find yourself in a crowded bar with your old team. You've elected to take a seat beside Derek, seeing as he's been the most forgiving. Penelope sits across from you, leaving one empty seat beside you. You can still feel some tension from them, but they seem to have loosened up a little.

The first round of drinks come and you start jumping into conversations here and there, and thankfully, nobody seems to mind. It almost feels like you never left, and this is just another night out after a win. However, there's one person missing that would make this night complete. But, he probably didn't want to come after finding out you were going to be here, and you don't blame him. It does make your heart sink a little though.

Round one turns to round two and three quickly, and you start feeling the effects of just a little too much tequila. While some of the others wander away for a bit, you scoot closer to JJ and Emily, taking this as your time to offer them amends. You get their attention and clear your throat, trying to put your words together in a coherent sentence.

"Before you all go, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for what I did. I miss you all more than you know, but I'm glad I got to see you again." The liquor makes your emotions feel like they're amplified, and you feel the burning of tears in your lower lash line. Emily and JJ both give you a sympathetic smile.

"We know, better than anyone here, how the CIA operates. We understand." Emily speaks for the both of them, and JJ agrees with her. Unable to keep yourself together, you envelope the two of them in a hug, knowing you're going to grieve the loss of them all over again in the morning.

After you let them go, you take a few steps backward, but run into someone.

"I am so sor-" Your words get caught in your throat as you look up and meet familiar hazel eyes. Spencer towers over you, his hand on your elbow to keep you from falling.

You don't know if it's your imagination, the liquor, or if it's real, the way he looks into your eyes. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he misses you too. But you know that surely can't be the case considering how you left him. He releases the grip he's got on your elbow and clears his throat.

"It's okay." He says, offering a flat-lined smile that seems to adorn his face quite often. And in that moment, it's almost like the rest of the bar disappears, that it's only the two of you in this room. You've got tunnel vision, only being able to focus on Spencer.

Taking in his appearance, he looks a lot better up close than he did across the room. You can see all the shades of green in his eyes, the different honey tones in his hair. You can even see the shadow of stubble that decorates his jawline. He looks just like your Spencer, just a little more grown up. Your heartrate increases and you know that if you don't take this opportunity, that you might never get it again. And so, without putting much thought into your words, you go for it.

"Spencer, can we um, can we go talk somewhere?" You ask, worried that he's going to turn you down. He licks his lips and looks around the bar and for a moment you truly think he's going to reject your offer.

"Sure." He answers instead and you nod your head in surprise.

You lead him outside of the bar, where the crisp wind cuts into you, leaving you feeling more breathless. You and Spencer walk a few feet away from the entrance and stop underneath a flickering street lamp. His features are illuminated beautifully in the soft amber glow. Unable to look at him directly as you speak, you stare at the sidewalk underneath your feet as you offer him the apology he deserves.

"Spencer, I can't even begin to tell you how much I regret what I did to you. It wasn't right, and you didn't deserve to be treated that way." Your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence. When he doesn't answer right away, you lift your gaze from the concrete to look at him, seeing him staring intensely at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrow.

"I was worried sick about you. I thought you left because of me up until a few days ago." He said and you can hear the anger that lies just beneath his words.

"I'm sorry." Is all you can say. Though you know it's insufficient, it's the only thing you can think of to say.

"And I tried to contact you so many times. You have no idea how much I've missed you." His anger turns to sadness, and you see the tip of his nose turn rosy pink, which causes your throat to constrict.

"They wouldn't let me tell anyone where I was going or when. I didn't know how restrictive this mission would be when I signed up. If I knew, I don't think I could've taken it." You admit to him.

Silence lingers between the two of you for a beat, both of you looking into the other's eyes, searching for the person they knew all those years ago. Searching for the familiarity and the comfort you had become so accustomed to, something that feels so distant and foreign now.

"But you did, and now you're gone." His voice is barely above a whisper, and you can't deny anything he's said.

"I know, and I'm sorry." You wipe your nose as you apologize again and shiver from the cold wind. Spencer's eyes look you over from head to toe before he sighs,

"Come with me." He offers his arm for you to take, which you happily do. You intertwine your arm with his, and walk down the street to wherever he's taking you.

The walk is silent and short. It's not long before the two of you walk into the hotel lobby, the one where they're staying you assume. It's a nice hotel, just a few blocks away from the bar. Spencer leads you to his room on the fifth floor and lets you into his room.

His suitcase sits on the foot of the bed, an extra pair of shoes by the door. The door clicks shut behind him and your stomach twists with nerves. Luckily the tequila helps a little with your anxiety, and you watch as Spencer takes off his shoes and moves his suitcase.

"Come over here." He invites you to sit next to him on the bed. You leave a respectful amount of space between the two of you. You're not sure why he brought you here, but you're happy he did. You've missed him so much, and you clench a hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to him.

He pushes a strand of hair behind his ear and sighs as he looks you over. Once again it makes your heart pound and your skin grow warm.

"I just need to know you didn't actually leave because of what we did. If you regret it, that's fine. I just, I need to know." He says with some desperation and you can tell he still blames himself for you leaving the team. You shake your head,

"No, Spencer. God, no. I've missed you every single day that I've been gone." You tell him, no longer able to keep yourself from reaching out. Your hand lands on his thigh, and he places his over yours and squeezes.

"Will you ever come back?" He asks, eyes wide and round, pleading. Your chest tightens, your heartstrings feel as if they're snapping. What you wouldn't give to just go back with him.

"The mission isn't over yet. I don't know when it will be, catching Barnes was only one step." You tell him, violating the terms of your clearance level. He nods, disappointed with your answer.

"It is the CIA after all, I don't know what I expected." He laughs bitterly, and in that moment you regret taking the job wholeheartedly.

"Please trust me when I say that when I can return to you, I will. I promise you, Spencer, I will find you again." You fight the tears that threaten to spill, and he raises his hand to wipe one away from the corner of your eye.

"I believe you." He whispers, and you nod, happy to know that he understands you don't want to go again.

You move your hand from his thigh up to his face, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. He leans into your touch, as if he'd been craving it since the day you left. His eyes flutter shut as he enjoys the feeling of your skin on his.

His hand moves across the covers of the bed and lands on your thigh, where his thumb strokes small circles. Spencer's touch is warm and comforting. You move closer to him, so that your legs are touching and there's not but a few inches of space between the two of you. He opens his eyes lazily and blinks a few times, his long, dark lashes complimenting his features well.

Your heart rate speeds up as his touch on you becomes firmer. You lick your lips and before you can talk yourself out of it, you pull him to you by the collar of his shirt. Your lips meet one another with a soft intensity. He cups your face and holds you close as you hang onto his shirt.

It's only when your lungs start burning do you pull away from each other. Lips glistening and swollen, everything seems to happen at once. Spencer pulls you into his lap, where his lips connect with your jaw, your head thrown back in pleasure. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his travels lower, planting kisses on your neck.

With a gentle touch, he lays you back on the bed where he runs his hands alongside your body, feeling every curve. You feel your face flush and mouth fall open as he tightly grips the soft skin of your hips. It's like he's a starved man and you're the oasis in the middle of a desert.

You pull him back to your face and connect your lips with his once more, not wanting to rush things, not this time. You savor the way he tastes and the way he caresses your body.

Your hands eventually run down his chest where they undo the buttons of his shirt, and he's quick to return the favor. His fingers undo the buttons of yours, but he seems to slow down and take his time. And once there's nothing between the two of you, he stares in awe, like you're a statue carved of marble.

"Spencer, please." You say, not being able to handle not having his hands on your body. He smiles, showing off his perfect teeth.

"Shh, be patient baby. You look so beautiful." He says before kneeling on the floor.

He kisses your ankle up to your knee, from your knee to your thigh, thigh to collarbone, before planting a passionate kiss on your lips. His hands travel to where you need him the most, and he works slowly but with care.

You're breathless under his touch and you try to commit to memory the way he feels, for you don't know if you'll ever be afforded this luxury again.

The two of you treat each other as if you're made of porcelain; gentle with your touches and kisses. You both savor each other's tender touches as you become one, looking into each other's eyes and communicating what you cannot with words.

You move in tandem with one another, as if you were made for each other. You swallow every moan that escapes his lips, wrapping your legs around him to bring him impossibly closer. In the soft light Spencer looks ethereal and you appreciate his beauty. Your hands cup his face and you know that you will never be able to find a beauty such as him. Everything about Spencer Reid is other-worldly, nothing of this Earth could even begin to compare. No light will ever shine as bright as the ones in his eyes, and no song could ever sound as good as the breathy moans he lets out in your ear. Nothing could ever feel as good as his hands on you, or the way he moves within you.

Nobody can ever compare to Spencer.

And as you spend the night with him, limbs tangled with one another's, you know nobody could possibly have your heart like he does.

But as the sun rises on the horizon, you know your time with him has come to a bitter end. With tears running down your cheeks, you kiss him on the forehead and push a piece of hair away from his face, wanting to see him just one more time.

As the first bird of the morning begins singing its song, you turn the handle of the door, sparing one last glance to Spencer, who looks ever so peaceful in bed. And only after you've committed the image to memory do you turn away and walk out of the room, vanishing into thin air once more.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #doctor spencer reid

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year

Note

Angst/Depressing/Death(?)

Penelope's Brother Reader x The gang (platonic)

Reader has been struggling with major paranoia ever since he received a letter from an anonymous source stating that his sister would be killed if he didn't work on a case by himself to save the anonymous source from a mob of crazy murderers and contains all the details about Penelope's address. This source turns out to be the unsub that the FBI are working on capturing and the "mob" is the gang. Reader doesn't realise it until its too late. He's standing in front of the gang, protecting the unsub knowing that if the unsub dies or betrayed, a bomb that is in Penelope's office will go off. He has a hard choice to make: save his sister and kill the gang, or betray the unsub and kill his sister

(You can choose how it plays out. Does the reader die? Does the bomb go off? Does Penelope get injured and reader try killing himself for it? Though I would prefer Penelope to be alive. Ain't no one killing dat baddass gal)

I tried my best with this, but I'm not sure how I feel about what I've written lol

Warnings: threats, guns, explosives, gun shot wound, explosion

Word count: 1482

The letter had sat on your keyboard when you walked to your desk in the morning. You opened it, thinking nothing of it. Until various photo of Penelope had fallen out and then you read the letter. Read the threat against your sister's life and the warnings issued out to you. That if you told anyone, he'd kill her, with strict instructions to meet him at a warehouse today at 1pm. You stuffed the letter into your pocket and looked around cautiously. The five minutes it took Penelope to come in that morning felt like an eternity.

When she did it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Penelope gives you a curious look as she begins to head to her Bat Cave, “Wait!” When Penelope looks at you, you give a grin, “Why don’t you work out here today?”

“Because all my computers are in my office?” Penelope answered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Nah, everything’s all good,” You answer with a shrug, “Oh, hey, I misplaced my hard drive, can you show me how to access the camera’s in here so I can find where I put it?”

She gives you a strange look before

“Right, now I need to go set up my office,”

“But-”

“Never mind,” She sighed, “We have a case.” You breathed a sigh of relief, she wouldn’t go in her office just yet. Maybe you could sneak in and check it before she went in. She went into the round table room whilst you waited in the bullpen, sending the team into the round table room as they walked in.

With everyone now in, you made your way into the room as Penelope began to explain the case. The case was local, no jet needed. You treat the case as normal, telling Penelope to avoid spots she usually goes to, take different routes, work from the briefing room, anything out of the ordinary in hopes it’ll keep her safe. Penelope looks at you like you’ve grown a second head but just nods.

“Sir, can I talk to you?” You furrow your eyebrows as Penelope approaches Hotch.

“Pen, everything okay?” You ask, your anxiety bleeding through your voice.

She gives you a smile and a wink, “Always baby brother,”

When she’s out of your vision, you can’t help but be anxious, you know logically she’s safe with Hotch but you can’t help the worry.

“There’s something going on with (Y/N),” Penelope sighs, “It’s like he’s paranoid,”

Hotch furrows his eyebrows, “Do you have any idea what might be bringing this on?”

Penelope shakes her head, “I have no idea.” She replies, “He’s telling me to change my routine, go to different coffee shops, use different routes, things like that.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“He says nothing’s wrong.” Hotch pauses for a moment before nodding.

“Alright, I’ll check in on him,” Hotch says, Penelope nods, thanking him before leaving the room.

When you see Penelope leaving the room, you look at your computer scene, acting like you haven’t been watching them to make sure everything was okay.

“Oh, did you manage to find your USB?” Penelope asked as she approached you.

“What? Oh! Yeah,” You give an unconvincing smile as you turned back to the screen.

When the time rolls around, you take your lunch break, making your way to the destination. Looking back on it now, you kicked yourself. It really should have been obvious. But you didn’t make the connection until you’re standing in front of the man who sent the letter, he gives you a smirk and it clicks. You realise it’s the unsub. You close your eye as you sigh deeply, your head whips round when you hear the door open and multiple footsteps. The gang that was trying to kill him, you stand in front of him, protecting him (and finding yourself in disbelief that you’re actually protecting this monster). And then to make it worse, the team filter in. And now, you’re stood in front of the unsub, two groups aiming their guns in your direction: the team, and the gang the unsub had pissed off.

"(Y/N), come on man," Derek started, "We don’t know what’s going on but just put the gun down and step out of the way."

Not taking your eyes off the gang, you shake your head, "No, no. You don't understand, I can't."

The teak watch the unsub in confusion as he slowly starts to smirk. "What don't we understand?" Hotch asks.

The unsubs breath tickles your throat as he whispers, "If you tell them, I'll set it off now."

"I-Its complicated," You try. "I can't tell you."

"Why can't you tell us?" Spencer asks.

"I-" You don't finish, not knowing what to say.

"Because I'll kill her," The unsub behind you chimes in and panic shoots through your stomach.

"Who?" Morgan asks.

"What was her name?" The unsub sighs, "Oh, that's it! Penelope Garcia."

You watch as the team go rigid, you know you're going to get a Lecture From Hell when you see Hotch's facial expression. You knew you should have told someone, you knew you should have reported it immediately. But common sense goes out the window the minute someone threatens your sister. What were you supposed to do? Just risk her life like that? No. You kept it quiet, begged her not to use her office, to stay at your place, anything and everything you could think of. You made her go to different coffeeshops, change her routine, you drove her into work. Anything you could think of.

"(Y/N), I need you to put the gun down and step away from him. Now." Hotch's voice is clear, unwavering.

You shake your head. No. You weren't going to risk her like that. If they wanted you to move, they'd have to shoot you. "I won't give you the codes to save her," The unsub taunts in your ear. "You know I'm not playing around here, (Y/N), use your brain."

"Hotch, I'm not risking it."

"(Y/N), we've profiled this guy," Morgan said, "We know he's not the type to do something like this."

"I'm not risking her, Morgan!" You snap, your eyes flicking to Morgan for a moment before turning back to the ground of men in front of you. Your finger moved a centimetre closer to the trigger as the man at the front twitched.

"Don't be stupid," Rossi chimed.

"Remember what the letter said, Agent," The Unsub mocks quietly, "You have to kill them for her to live."

You close your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. You didn't want to be here. You wanted to be at the office, making sure Penelope was as far away from her Bat Cave as possible.

When you open your eyes, the leader of the gang shifts forward slightly. You're struggling to think, hearing the team ordering you to drop the gun, the unsub whispering to kill him or let your sister be killed. Its all too much and your finger inches closer to the trigger.

Hotch makes a decision, he aims for your arm and shoots. The moment you stumble to the side from impact, the gang leader has shot the unsub. He's now on the floor next to you, blood soaking through your clothes. Your hand covering the wound you ignore the pain and scramble up.

"No, no, no, no, no," You mutter, watching as he stops breathing. "Oh god..." You look up, meeting eyes with the man that shot him. "You got her killed. You got her fucking killed!" You're stumbling forward, unaware of your actions, and Morgan's head pops into view. It takes a moment to realise he's stopping you from getting to the man, when it does, you struggle. Unfortunately, you are no match for Derek Morgan when it comes to strength and he easily pushes you back and out of the room.

Half an hour later, you're stitched up and are all heading back to the office, you know you're going to get a minimum of 3 hours of lectures but you can't bring yourself to care. Your only thoughts on Penelope.

You get there as the bomb team arrive (which you find weird because surely they should arrive faster if its an FBI building?), but you don't question it. Instead, you convince your way into the office, to make sure everything is okay. Everything has to be okay. Penelope was okay, you knew that much. You had made Derek stay with her. She'd be okay with Derek with her.

Half an hour later, you breathed a sigh of relief, they had stopped the clock. It was disarmed. You let your shoulders relax, making your way out of the room to let the team know. Hearing a click, you furrowed your eyebrows, turning around, before everything went black.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia x brother reader #penelope garcia #penelope has a brother #penelope garcia x male reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #reader #bau x male reader #bau x reader

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tobias-hankel · 1 year

Note

Hotchreid drabble- something about Spencer throwing hands against someone who takes one too many jabs at Hotch

Can be a verbal beatdown or a physical one

I'm taking Hotchreid drabble requests in honor of the Hotchreid Zine release.

For more information about our Hotchreid Zine, make sure to check out Tumblr - all proceeds go to SharedHope, a charity to combat sex trafficking.

wc: 584

cw homophobia

One thing Spencer loved about Hotch was how he was always able to keep his composure – it could also be the most frustrating thing about him.

Hotch and Spencer were stuck at the police station with one of the most intolerable and prejudice group of officers they had dealt with so far – which only got worse when they found out that Spencer and Hotch were married. Something as small as Agent Hotchner and Dr. Reid-Hotchner didn’t escape the homophobic police station.

It started with a side eye, a huff, a laugh – nothing the two couldn’t ignore but once the rest of the team left, it was open season against the two. Normally Hotch would have taken Spencer into the field, leaving another two team members that weren’t subject to the officer’s hate at the station but with Spencer’s knee acting up and him relying heavily on his cane, it was better to stay put.

Hotch was reading through files and Spencer was working on the geographic profile when they heard some men from the other side of the room. The police station wasn’t big enough to have a separate room for the agents to work, meaning there was no escape from the officers.

“I would have never guessed the Unit Chief of the BAU was a cock sucker.”

“That is probably how he got to where he is.”

“You saying the FBI is full of fudge packers like him?”

Spencer looked over at Hotch as the men talked. He could see Hotch was annoyed but wasn’t going to do anything to stop the men.

“Maybe that is why he stayed behind.”

“Only good at taking dick and nothing else.”

Spencer couldn’t take it any longer. The men weren’t just insulting the Unit Chief, but his best friend and husband. Spencer stood up, leaning on his cane – he heard a “don’t” from Hotch, but it didn’t stop him. “Will you three shut up? We are trying to catch a serial killer.”

The three moved a little closer and the one in the front spoke up, “Aww, did we disturb your coloring?”

“It’s called geographic profiling. I would explain it to you further, but you are clearly too stupid to understand it.” Spencer deadpanned.

“Stupid and alone apparently.” Spencer continued before the man could start yelling. “The tan line on your finger suggests that you were married. You were drinking from a Motel 8 travel cup earlier, so you are living out of a motel room – suggesting she left you but still took the house. Now you have nothing, so you try and feel better by attacking my husband.”

“Why you—” The officer started before lunging at Spencer. Spencer didn’t even think as he swung his cane at the officer, hitting him square in the head and causing him to fall over. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy hitting one of the men that was making fun of Hotch.

“He tried to hit me first,” Spencer said, looking back at Hotch – who looked as if he wanted to kill the man for almost hitting Spencer.

“I saw,” Hotch walked up to the one officer on the floor and the two staring in shock. “You three, come with me. Your commanding officer is going to love hearing about this.” As the two start to move to their commanding officer’s office – helping the third man up – Hotch leaned against Spencer, giving him a barely there, yet loving, kiss on the cheek.

#hotchreid #maze's drabbles #maze 5 sentence prompt #idk why I still use that tag for my drabbles when I have a drabbles tag #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #heid #drabble #married hotchreid #bamf spencer reid #I'm still taking requests but I'm doing them in random order and probably only one a day so it might take a bit to get to everyone's #ask #merpancake

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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g0ldengubler · 3 years

Text

lunchtime ~ spencer reid

A/N: THIS IS VERY UNEDITED VERY HORRIBLE WRITING! i just wanted to get this out. this is a kink i have but never really talked about it. but i hope u still enjoy! it’s very weird so if you don’t want to read it you don’t have to :)

Category: smut (NSFW18+)

CW: rough sex, riding, doggystyle, special guests listening in

Summary: spencer reid works a lot. he’s an fbi agent, he can’t help but be a workaholic! but when you guys finally get time to yourselves, what happens when it’s risky interrupted?

Word Count: 2078

✨masterlist✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

having a boyfriend who works in the FBI isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Because of his job, Dr.Spencer Reid was always either gone on a case or working on cases at home. he could be doing it in the office, but spencer was a sweet guy and made a middle ground to see his girlfriend more. he was just as passionate about her as he was with his job, calling her every night when he was away, making sure to treat her when he got back or when he was done for the day. he made sure she knew she was important to him, which wasn’t something she ever felt from a guy who was a workaholic.

today was just like every other day. spencer got to do case files at home as there was no case as of then. Y/n tried her best to take care of him while working, as a return of the favor. She made him his favorite waffles that morning and even made him a fresh cup of coffee just the way he likes it-a cup of sugar with coffee to mix. He kissed her on the forehead, convinced that he didn’t deserve her. once he was done he went straight to work. In a way, y/n pretty much worked with him as his personal Penelope Garcia, as he was an old man when it came to computers.

it was lunchtime at this point. y/n walked into his office and stood in the door frame, watching his fingers move down the page in his book as he read. his fingers made her melt, and he knew that. clouds began to form in her head as thoughts of what he could do with this fingers took hold of her. she didn’t even notice he was wanting her attention as he snapped her out of her daydreams with a snap of his fingers.

“Bubs, are you ok?” spencer asked. he was still at his desk, his finger placed at the spot he was at. you looked back at him from his finger, noticing what he was wearing and it wasn’t helping your case at all. while he was wearing his favorite maroon cardigan that he thrifted (still lux though as it was ralph lauren), he also wore a pair of grey sweatpants. clever of him for the moments he had to video chat with people.

you were quickly out of your thoughts yet again as you felt your body move without you knowing before. you walked towards him as he turned his chair to your side. you noticed he was half hard in his pants, as the imprint of himself showed through. you sat on his lap and ran your fingers through your hair, peppering kisses below his ear. he chuckled, thinking you were being cute, but you were just getting started.

“it’s lunchtime bubs.” you whispered as you softly grind against him.

spencer put his hands on your his after guiding your body to straddle him. he guides them as his lips touch yours. “good,” he said in between kisses, gently rubbing circles over your shorts in the place you wanted him most, “i’m starving.”

not only was spencer the sweetest, softest man you’ve ever met, but he was also the sexiest and dirtiest. he was rough like a wild bear but soft as a teddy bear-taking such good care of you after he ruined you to filth. no one would ever believe the things you two have done together in the past year. no one would especially believe what happened today.

as spencer’s about to slide his hand down your shorts, his phone rang. he groan softly under his breath as his right hand left your side to grab his phone. you were a little annoyed at first, but once he put the phone to his ear, an idea popped into your head.

“hey hotch...” he said. you slowly leaned down and went back to the spot below his ear, sucking and nibbling it softly.

this wasn’t something new to the both of you. it was a fun little game you’d play if either of phones rang while you were in the middle of it, seeing how long they could last at acting normal. by now, spencer had got the hang of it and made it easy for him when it was any of his coworkers. today, however, he was almost struggling.

you heard other voices on the phone as well. you could tell by how low they all sounded that it was 3 of the men on his team.

“yeah, i was um...about to have lunch.”

you decided to try and break him a little, sucking a little bit harder.

“can i call y-“ a soft moan left his lips, cutting him off his sentence. his eyes bulged out of his head as his mouth fell open. you quickly coughed in a lower tone to help him out, trying not to laugh.

“yeah, luke i’m fine,” he said, “just stubbed my toe....shut up morgan!”

you giggled softly to yourself, but not softly enough. you heard laughing from his phone and realized you were busted.

“hi boys!” you said, jokingly sounding seductive.

spencer gave you a look that said ‘are you kidding me?’ which made you giggle even more. you hear morgan on the other end say, “aww, did we interrupt your lunch?”

“yeah, you did! we were just about to get started.”

spencer placed the phone back to his ear, taking a deep breath before speaking. “look seriously can we-“

he paused, listening to whoever was talking. slowly, spencer removed the phone from his ear and covered it with his shoulder. he looked unsure of himself, as if he was trying to gather the courage to speak.

“bubs,” he said weakly, “do you um...uh..d-do you want to...have the phone on speaker?”

you thought for a moment. you were always secretly into things like this, but never told spencer because you thought he would find it weird. but seeing him look kind of into it didn’t help the puddle forming in your shorts.

“you don’t have to if you don’t want to. whatever your comfortable with!”

you thought for one more moment before taking his phone out of his hands and putting it on speaker for him, setting it down on his desk. he looks at you confused.

“let’s put on a show for your coworkers, daddy.”

“ooooo coming in with the big guns already!” said Luke.

“y/n does not play.” said Hotch.

Spencer was frozen in his tracks. he couldn’t believe the words coming out of their mouths, let alone what was going on.

“well come on then daddy, give us a show! my popcorn is getting cold.” teased morgan.

spencer rolled his eyes at morgan before his lips attacked yours. you continued your grinding on him, this time he was grinding back. you moaned through the kiss as his hands went back in your shorts, rubbing circles on your clit.

“oh wow, spencer got a girl to moan like that!” said Morgan.

“is he making you feel good, hun?” asked hotch.

“fuck yesssss!” you let out a long moan as spencer moved faster with his motions. he let out a groan and cursed under his breath. you felt his pressed under your thigh and that made you try to hold in how turned on you really were. you held on for dear life on the armrests of his chair as he leaned back a little bit.

“are you getting close, baby girl?” asked morgan.

“yes yes yes fuuuck daddy please let me cum.”

“you wanna cum for me, angel?” asked spencer.

“yes omg please i’m so fucking close!”

“cum for him, princess.” said Luke.

before you could fall down the hill like on a roller coaster, you felt incomplete as he took his fingers out. you let out a little whine, letting the guys know he didn’t let you cum.

“ooooo doctor genius over there didn’t let her cum, how sad.” teased Luke.

“what are you going to do now?” asked Hotch.

“because she’s about to get fucked and really show you how much of slut she truly is. well, MY slut at least.”

spencer took his painfully hard cock out as you moved your shorts to the side. you felt the head enter you and shortly his whole length was slammed deep inside you before you even make a sound. you let out a quiet gasp before a loud moan escaped from your throat.

he let you adjust, but only for a short moment as he quickly began pounding you, holding you from your ass. you were a moaning mess at this point, letting out more dramatic, pornographic ones for the guys.

“fuck he’s really an animal isnt he?” teased Hotch.

“you like being pounded like a dirty slut?” asked Luke.

you moaned out a yes, but it wasn’t enough for them.

“use your words, baby girl.” said Morgan.

“i love being pounded like a dirty slut!”

“tell them who’s slut you are.” spencer growled.

you held onto him from behind his head and pushed his face in between your tits. “i’m you’re slut, spencer,” you moaned, “i’m daddy’s little slut!”

“you’re such a good girl, y/n.” said Hotch.

“fuck daddy can i cum? please let me cum ive been a good girl!”

“what do you think?” spencer asked.

“cum, baby girl.” said morgan

“cum for him, princess.” said Luke.

“cum hard all over his cock, baby.” said Hotch.

you finally came all over his cock, screaming as the pleasure surged through your body. spencer helped you ride out your orgasm and let you catch your breath.

“holy shit” said Luke.

“oh we’re not done yet,” said spencer, “she deserves a reward for doing so well.”

he takes you off his cock and makes you stand up, flipping you around so you were in front of him, your ass sticking out. he quickly put his cock back inside of you and luke and morgan cheered on. he pounds you harder this time, making sure you lose your voice by the time you’re done.

“youre such a dirty slut,” spencer growled, taking a handful of your hair and pulling it, “letting me fuck you over the phone with not just my friends, my coworkers. you like putting on a show for people? you want people to know how much of a fucking slut you are for me?”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his words. the pure filth in them almost pushing you off the edge as you squeezed around his cock. even the guys grew silent.

“fuck keep doing that angel, keep squeezing daddy’s cock like tha-shit im close. you want my cum inside you?”

“oh my god yes please, i want to be full of your cum daddy!”

hearing you say those words through him over the edge as you feel him filling you up, hearing him moan your name and cursing under his breath. he stayed inside you for a bit before he caught his breath and left to go get something to clean you up with. when he comes back he looks at you sitting in front of him, watching his cum drip out of you and onto his work chair. he wasn’t even mad about it.

“you did so good, bubs.” he says, walking over and kneeling in front you before cleaning you up.

“you were amazing, baby!” you say. he comes back up and kisses you, and it was hard to break away. but somehow you did after what felt like hours and laughed at yourselves for what you just did. you then remembered they were still on the phone. spencer grabs his phone and faces it towards them.

“well? how was the show?” you asked.

“holy-“

“fuck.” luke cut morgan off.

you had left them speechless before hotch finally spoke up.

“....we will not speak of this at work.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #mgg smut #spencer reid fan fiction #derek morgan smut #aaron hotchner smut #luke alvez smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut

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spencestyles · 3 years

Text

I’d do anything

summary: spencer is in love with y/n and y/n is in an abusice relationship. will spencer be able to save y/n? love her when she needs him most?

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

warnings: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP DO NOT READ IF NOT COMFORTABLE READING THIS CONTENT, normal case violence

words: 4k+

please do not read if you are uncomfortable with the content of it abuse is a trigger. be mindful of this.

enjoy!!

SPENCER'S POV

"Guys this is my boyfriend, Owen," y/n said to the team on a night out.

For the longest time she and I have been best friends, nothing more. I have been in love with her for a while now, but I have always been too afraid to tell her. Now that she had a boyfriend, I knew I had lost my chances.

"Oh my gosh!" Penelope yelled. "It is so nice to finally meet you! y/n has told us so much about you!"

Owen smiled and gave y/n a side hug, "Hopefully all good things."

"Yes," JJ quickly said. "She makes you seem amazing. Hopefully you can live up to the expectations."

"Hopefully I do not disappoint," Owen replied.

The night continued with the team asking Owen questions. I had met Owen before and he truly was a nice guy. That was the worst part. However as the night continued, y/n acted strange and almost seemed afraid of Owen. She was acting timid, something she has never done, not even in front of an unsub.

Owen went to get y/n a drink so I decided it would be the perfect time to ask y/n, "Are you okay? You've been acting strange, is Owen hurting you?"

"What?" y/n laughed. "Spencer are you okay? Of course not. Owen and I are perfectly fine."

I sighed, "Okay, just checking. Are we still on for Dr Who tomorrow night?"

"When have I ever not showed up for Dr Who?" y/n retorted. "I will obviously come. Nothing can ever come between us and Dr Who."

Owen suddenly came up behind y/n, "Wait, you're hanging with Spencer tomorrow?" Owen asked aggressively. "I thought we were going to do something?"

y/n laughed, "I told you I can't ever hang on certain Fridays because I watch Dr Who with Spencer. I also never agreed to doing something together, I would have never forgotten a Dr Who watch party."

Owen glared at me. Obviously he was angry I was hanging out with y/n.

"I think it's time for us to leave," Owen said, grabbing y/n's arm very hard. "Say goodbye to your friends." Owen walked over to the table with y/n and put on a fake smile. As they walked out the door, I noticed y/n look back at me, tears in her eyes. Something was wrong.

The whole team was sitting at the table talking about something random when I decided to speak up, "How did you guys like Owen?"

A mix of complements were thrown by the girls, but the guys, they didn't seem too impressed. JJ, Emily, and Penelope, all went to get drinks while Rossi, Hotch, Derek, and I stayed at the table.

"What did you guys think of him?" I asked.

"I hated him," Derek said simply. "I saw the way y/n acted around him, much profilers the girls are. She's acting just like someone who has been manipulated and abused."

Hotch nodded, "I agree with Derek. I know we aren't supposed to profile team members, but the girls obviously don't see anything wrong."

"Are you guys sure?" Rossi asked. "I mean he seems very nice and maybe you all just think he is not good because you all wish y/n and Spencer were together."

The guys looked at me as I began to blush profusely, "I don't want to be with y/n that much anymore." They looked at me in disagreement. "Guys I'm serious, she has a boyfriend."

"Yeah and you don't like her," Rossi argued. "Just admit that you still have a crush on her and then if something really happens I will believe you."

"Fine," I sighed. "I still like y/n."

YOUR POV

"What the hell y/n," Owen screamed at you. "What the fuck is Dr Who night? You know I don't like him."

You choked a sob, "Owen it isn't like that. I don't like him, he's my best friend. Please don't hurt me."

"He obviously has something for you and you have something for him," He yelled.

"I d-don't lik-ke him Owen," I whispered. "I promise."

This had become your normal routine. Spencer or some other male would say something and Owen would go crazy. Especially about Spencer. Owen would yell at you and sometimes things would escalate. That unfortunately is how it went tonight.

It started with a push, then a slap. Sometimes it progressed more, but that was rare.

"We are going somewhere," Owen said.

You were being dragged out of the house, "Owen, what?"

"Well since you can't be obedient, I'm going to have to teach you somehow y/n."

And like that you were knocked out unconscious.

SPENCER'S POV

I walked into work carrying a coffee for both y/n and I. I decided to get her a coffee to apologize for last night's irrational decisions. I had come to the conclusion that Owen wasn't actually abusive, I was just jealous.

Derek and Hotch though, not so much.

"Baby girl, that guy is a grade A asshole," Derek said to Garcia. "Can you please just do one background check?"

Penelope sighed, "I can't do that Derek, I promised y/n I wouldn't look into him."

I decided to ignore the conversation and wait for y/n to come in for work. After about thirty minutes of waiting I decided to ask Hotch.

"Hey, is y/n coming in today?" I asked.

"Um, no," he said, pulling out his phone. "I got this strange text though, can you look through it."

"Yeah let me see," I said, walking over to where he set his phone down.

"Agent Hotchner, I will not be able to come into work tomorrow for the case. I have an issue with my tonsils. I am sorry." I recited. "I don't think y/n typed this, maybe we should send someone to her house and to Owen's house."

Hotch groaned, "I'll send Derek and JJ, I am hoping our next case doesn't become y/n. Please continue to look over the text and I'll have Garcia look into Owen."

I nodded and put the text onto the white board so I would be able to write on it.

"Hotch, look at this," I said, Hotch walking over to me. "First, y/n hasn't called you agent Hotchner since her first day here, she usually calls you Hotch or Aaron. Also, y/n got her tonsils removed when she was 7."

"Garcia, have you looked into Owen at all," Hotch asked.

"Yeah a little, but it's all normal," Garcia answered.

Hotch glared at her, "Not enough, do a full deep dive. I don't care what y/n told you not to do, he is hiding something and so is she."

Garcia nodded and went straight to work as Hotch's phone began to ring.

"Morgan, you're on speaker."

"Okay so y/n's apartment was spotless," Morgan said. "But it was also locked, so I don't think she went home to her apartment last night."

JJ began to add on, "Owen's apartment on the other hand, was a mess. Like it looked like there was a robbery of some form. Also, y/n's purse was there."

"Garcia what do you have on Owen?" Hotch asked.

"Owen Winters, he is 42 and from Southern California," Garcia began. "As a child CPS was contacted many times and it looks like his dad killed himself when he was 8. It looks like he has an extensive amount of charges for abuse and harassment, all from his ex-girlfriends."

"Do any of them live near?" I asked.

"Yes, boy wonder, 25 year-old Vanessa Montgomery works in a coffee shop near the white house," Penelope explained.

"What is the coffee shop?" I questioned.

"The Starbucks over on Pennsylvania Ave. near the White House," she answered. "Why?"

"I know her, she is the barista that always gets our order perfect," I replied.

"Morgan and JJ pick her up on your way back," Hotch ordered. "Owen Winters is our new unsub and y/n y/l/n is our newest victim."

I sighed as I began to prepare the questions for Vanessa. I looked over at y/n's desk and decided to start looking through it for any details.

As I walked over to the desk, I looked at the coffee on y/n's desk. I wanted to apologize for something that I was right about. Why didn't she tell me? was the only thing going through my head.

At her desk I noticed some things that I guess I hadn't seen before. On her desk she has four framed pictures. One of her, Hotch and Rossi. Another that was her and the girls. One that was of her, Derek and me, from one of the first cases we had together . The last one however, was the one I had never seen. It was a picture of y/n and me from when she took me to Colorado to ski and hike.

I smiled at the memory,

"Spencer, be careful," y/n yelled as I walked closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

I laughed, "y/n I'll be fine! Come here, let's take a picture."

"Fine! Spencer I swear if I fall, you are coming down with me."

"For you, y/n, I'd do anything."

I then began to look deeper in her desk. I felt like I was violating y/n's personal space, but this needed to be done. As I looked through her drawers, I wasn't able to find anything that could help. Until I looked in the last drawer.

In this drawer, I found papers for a restraining order that had been filed and denied. y/n was trying to get away from Owen.

"Guys, I found something," I said yelling into the conference room. The team looked at me to continue, "y/n filed a restraining order on Owen but it was denied. The date was two months ago. I was thinking back and y/n has been acting a little strange for the past five months. Owen has to have her."

"Reid, we already established Owen has her, but this ensures that he was abusive," Hotch said.

Emily sighed, "The timeline makes sense. She has been hanging out with us less and she has worn more turtlenecks in the past five months than I have seen anyone ever wear."

"Yeah," Penelope said. "y/n has ditched us for girls night for the past few months. She also got mad at me at team dinner last night when I asked why she wasn't wearing something more revealing."

"Her smiles have been fake," I added. "She smiles at us all the time to brighten our days, but they haven't been as nice, welcoming."

"Well, Reid, it looks like you were correct," Rossi said.

"What do you mean?" JJ asked.

Derek laughed, "Last night when you three went off to get drinks, Reid told us he thought Owen was acting violent with y/n and thought she was acting strange. Hotch and I immediately agreed, but Rossi didn't seem convinced. Rossi thought Reid was just jealous because he has a crush on y/n and he doesn't realize she likes him."

"Derek, not the time," I said sternly.

Emily laughed, "I can't believe you of all people couldn't see it Spencer. y/n is hopelessly in love with you and now she is dating a scumbag because she doesn't think you like her."

I sighed as I began to look over where y/n could be located, thinking about the idea of dating y/n wouldn't help us find her. We had made little progression on this, but we knew it had to be somewhere with significance to either one of them or both of them.

I decided to ask Garcia, "Garcia, have you made any progress on where y/n could be?"

"Yes 187, it looks like Owen owns a small cabin around half an hour from here," Garcia said.

"Okay let's go now," Hotch told us.

Garcia gasped, "Wait there is a live feed. I'm putting it up on the screen."

The video was horrific. y/n was tied to a chair looking almost dead. She had blood falling from above her head and looked like she had been through hell.

"Hello BAU," Owen said to the camera. "I have your dear y/n, but you wont be able to get her. y/n will never be out of my sight ever again. I will not have Dr. Spencer Reid ruin our relationship."

"It's not your fault Spence," y/n said to the camera. My heart clenched. She was in pain and I couldn't be there to help her.

"He is the one in the way of our relationship y/n," Owen yelled. "Of course it is his fault."

"Spencer isn't the issue with our relationship Owen," y/n yelled back. "You are."

Hotch started to grab his things, "She shouldn't have said that, we need to leave now. She is already in danger."

We all ran to the SUVs. I went in a car with Derek and Hotch. Derek drove and broke every traffic law imaginable, making the thirty minute car ride less than twenty. The three of us grabbed out vests and began to run to the cabin.

Suddenly, Hotch stopped me, "Spencer it isn't safe for you to be there."

"Hotch I have to go," I protested.

"Spencer, you are the reason she is there," Hotch said. "It may be Owen's fucked up mind, but you are the trigger that made him angry. y/n loves you more than him and he noticed and now we're here. Stay outside." I decided to not fight and stay outside to wait for the other team members. The other SUV pulled up quickly after us.

"Jesus Christ, that was the fastest I've ever driven," Emily complained. "Spencer what are you doing out here?"

"Morgan and Hotch already moved in, Hotch doesn't want me inside," I explained.

"I'll stay out here with you Kid," Rossi said. I nodded in thanks as I watched Emily and JJ run to the cabin. I stood staring at the cabin. Time had become slow motion. It felt like an eternity watching the movement inside.

I heard Derek yell from the cabin, "MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC!" I immediately ran into the cabin. I looked over and saw y/n in Derek's arms, barely breathing. I heard Owen yelling at me, but couldn't focus on anything besides y/n.

"y/n," I said, moving to where I was holding her head. "y/n, I need you to listen to me. I love you, I always have and I am so sorry I never told you."

"Sir, we need you to move," the medic said, trying to move y/n onto the stretcher. I began to move when I felt someone grab my hand. I looked down and noticed it was y/n. She gave my hand three squeezes. I Love You.

With y/n on her way to the hospital and Owen getting taken back to Quantico, Derek, JJ, and I all went to the hospital to keep tabs on y/n while the others closed the case.

I sat in my chair nervous out of my mind. Derek sat next to me trying to calm me down and JJ was across from me.

"Spencer, you need to calm down," Derek told me.

"I can't calm down Derek, y/n could die," I said frantically.

JJ began to laugh, "Did you know the other day y/n told Emily, Penelope, and I, that she wanted kids? Can you imagine that? y/n with kids?"

A tear trickled down my face, "She always told me she wanted two kids, one boy and one girl. y/n would be a great mother."

Derek laughed, "The thing that would make y/n such a great mother if her kids were also yours Pretty Boy. I have known since the beginning you two would have pretty kids." I laughed, but also glared at him.

"y/n y/l/n?" The doctor called. The three of us stood up and the doctor began to walk towards us, "y/n is out of surgery. It was touch and go for a while, but she is stable. There were many noticeable signs of abuse that were old, she has a broken harm and three broken fingers, all of which are old."

I let out a shaky breath, "When can I- we see her?"

"I can only let one person in at a time and I doubt she is awake," the doctor explained. JJ and Derek looked at me, signaling me to go to y/n's room. I followed the doctor to her room.

"It might be a little much to see, she may not look like herself. She is very, very fragile and has wires attached to her," the doctor said before opening the door for me. Walking into the room, the environment was tense. y/n was laying in the hospital bed with wires attached to her and much of her body was wrapped up from the surgery and from her injuries.

I went over and sat next to her bed, grabbing onto her hand, "y/n, you can't hear me but I am here. It's Spencer. I am so glad you are okay, but why didn't you tell me about Owen? I could have done something. WE could have done something. I am just so glad you are safe."

For the rest of the time, I sat there watching her sleep. Not in a creepy way, but to make sure she was safe. I was so pissed at myself for not realizing what Owen was doing earlier. I should have been able to see the warning signs. Some of them were subtle, when she wouldn't hang out with the team or was constantly checking her phone. But some of them should have been immediate red flags, the flinching in front of the unsub or how she always wore clothes to cover herself. I should have known. The team should have known.

I felt y/n's hand move and saw her shift, "Spencer?" she asked.

"y/n," I said breathlessly. "I am right here, but I need to go get a nurse. You are at the hospital, Owen hurt you."

I started standing up to leave, "Spence, no. Don't leave me."

I sighed, looking at her disheveled features, "y/n, I will be right back. You need to see a nurse."

Walking out of the room was painful, hearing her sobs in fear of being hurt again. It pained me to know I was leaving her when she needed me, again.

I walked over to her nurse, "Um y/n y/l/n has woken up, I thought you should know." The nurse said her thanks and walked with me to y/n's room. As we walked in, the sound of y/n's labored breaths became more noticeable.

"Miss y/l/n, we need you to calm down," the nurse said, running to y/n's bedside.

Immediately, I walked over to y/n and held her hand. "Sir, you need to exit the room," the nurse said, ushering me away from y/n. At that moment I didn't know what was worse, hearing y/n's cries or feeling so helpless in the situation.

Suddenly, I felt a presence next to me, "Reid, you need to leave, it's not good for you here."

Derek.

"Derek, I-I-I can't just leave," I stuttered. "I need to be there to help, she's all alone."

"Kid, you need to shower," Derek said.

"No, Derek you don't understand," I said angrily. "I can't just leave her here again. I didn't notice when she was hurt and I need to show that I care."

Derek sighed, "Reid, she knows. She's not going to hate you. No one knew that she was going through that. It's not your fault."

I was about to say something when I say y/n being moved out of her room by doctors, "What is going on?" I asked.

"Miss y/l/n is getting taken back into surgery," the doctor said. "We don't know what happened." I began to hyperventilate. I was freaking out. y/n wasn't alright. She was going to die.

As I began to sob, Derek pulled me into a hug, "She is going to be alright man. You'll get to see her again and talk to her and finally ask her on a date. Does that sound good?"

I unconvincingly nodded my head.

"No, Spencer, don't do that," he said. "Don't doubt the doctors and think about the statistics, y/n is not a statistic."

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

"There you go," Derek smirked. "Now, go take a shower at your house so y/n wont shy away at your scent. Also, maybe get her some flowers. She likes-"

"Pink roses," I interrupted, laughing. "Pink roses are the most difficult flowers to find."

Derek laughed, "At least try to find them."

"For her," I began. "I'd do anything."

After that, I ran to the SUV to head to Quantico and get my car. The car ride felt like forever and I wasn't excited for the possibility of seeing Owen. Thankfully, I didn't see Owen between the time of dropping off the SUV and going to the parking lot to get my car. The car ride to my apartment was short, thank God. I decided to take a quick shower, just wanting to freshen up. I got dressed in my home clothes, which were in fact different from my work clothes, contrary to the belief of most of my team members.

I made it to the flower shop that was down the street from my apartment. I was usually able to find at least one pink rose here, but it was typically very difficult.

"Hello," the shop owner said. "We are close to closing Spencer. Do you need anything in specific?"

"Pink roses," I stated.

The owner laughed, "I'll have to check the back, but don't get your hopes up."

I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, but I couldn't help myself. y/n loves pink roses and I love y/n.

The owner came back, "You my kind sir, are in good luck. We had one bouquet left of pink roses in the back."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I said, pulling out my money. The owner nodded as I ran out the door to my car.

Speeding to the hospital, I made it to the waiting room. In the waiting room, I couldn't find the team. They were all there, but they weren't in the waiting room. I decided to go to y/n's room and see if they were near there.

Walking to y/n's room, I heard laughter. I looked into the room and saw the team in there along with y/n, smiling. I knocked on the door and slowly opened it.

"Spence," y/n smiled. "I missed you."

"Well I should get going," JJ began. "I need to go see my boys."

The rest of the team followed with their excuses for leaving y/n and I alone.

"H-hi y/n," I stuttered. "I brought you flowers, h-how are you?"

"I am as good as I can be," y/n laughed, obviously compensating the pain. "Thank you for the flowers Spence, I can't believe you could find them at this hour. You have always told me-"

"10 AM is the best time to buy pink roses," I interrupted. "Sorry."

"It's okay Spence, how are you?" She asked.

"Not that great," I said honestly. "Why didn't you tell us y/n?"

y/n sighed, "It was hard Spencer. I already barely had time alone with you guys and I didn't want to ruin it. Owen was also very scary- a mad man. I felt hopeless Spence, I didn't know what to do. I mean I've seen situations like this all the time in cases, but when it was actually happening I felt like there was nothing to do."

I held on to y/n's hand, giving it small kisses while she continued to talk me through her feelings, "and Spencer, I don't want to be alone tonight. Do you think you could stay?"

"Of course y/n," I answered.

"Thanks Spence, you're the best," she said. We continued to sit in a comfortable silence, watching the new episode of Dr Who on the small television in the corner of the room when y/n spoke up again, "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?" I asked, hoping she didn't mean my love confession.

y/n looked at me, knowing I was avoiding the topic, "When you said you love me Spencer. Did you mean it?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I love you too," She said.

I smiled, "Maybe once you're better Icantakeyoutodinner?"

"Spencer say it slower and I'll answer," y/n laughed. "I couldn't understand you."

"Once you're better maybe I can take you out to dinner?" I asked.

"Of course," y/n said. "But no Indian, if we are going on a date I want to go out somewhere. I want to feel pretty."

"To me, you are the most beautiful girl in the world," I said.

y/n blushed profusely, "I still can't believe you found those pink roses! I bet you had to look all over."

"I did, but for you, I'd do anything."

#spencer reid #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader

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sierraraeck · 3 years

Text

The Better Kisser

BAU x Bi!Fem!Reader

Emily x Bi!Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After finding out that you haven’t had very many kissing experiences, the team realizes you’re the perfect candidate to judge who the best kisser on the team is.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: As you may have guessed, lots of kissing.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my head that I just needed to write. This is technically an AU where the members of the team are Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, Penelope, Derek, Emily, JJ, Luke, and Tara. Everyone is single.

It was true. You hadn’t kissed very many people. You decided long ago that it wasn’t really in the cards for you, dating and kissing and relationships, that is, so yeah. You weren’t what one would call an ‘experienced kisser.’ Your friends had teased you for it, but you’d always shrugged it off. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

You’d never thought it’d be something to be grateful for either, until tonight.

It’d been a long, hard case, and everyone was dying to get out of the stupid office, and away from those stupid files, so that you could all finally relax, maybe even have some fun. You’d only been with the team for about three months, and it was like an entire whirlwind throwing you this way and that. You also hadn’t gotten to know the team too well either, considering how busy you all constantly were. Your first week on the job, they went out for drinks after a case, but you were so exhausted that you left after the first round.

There hadn’t been time, or energy, since then for the team to spend quality, relaxed time together. That’s why tonight was extra exciting.

“You’re telling me that throughout all of highschool, all of college, you haven’t kissed more than two people?” Derek asked incredulously. You couldn’t fully remember how you’d all gotten onto the subject, except that you had. You were sitting on Garcia’s squishy couch, littered with colorful pillows and all sorts of stuffed animals. Garcia had decided that instead of going out to a bar, you were all going to go over to her place, minus Hotch and Rossi who tapped out early.

You shrugged. “Nope. I had one boyfriend and one drunk kiss, both of which were bad experiences for me. I’ve kind of avoided all of that since then.” You explained, “Plus, when would I have time for that? Between my college studies and getting into the FBI, then BAU, I didn’t really have free time.”

“I mean, sure, I guess,” Derek continued, “but come one. There had to be guys falling at your feet!”

You laughed. “Not all of us have that kind of draw, Derek.” He nudged you, and you nudged him back with a wink.

He was right, though. You were stunning. Even when you just put your hair up and wore sweatpants, there was just something about you. You would probably look good in a trash bag. But men were not just falling at your feet. Even if they were, you wouldn’t notice, putting all of your energy into chasing your dreams instead. You thought that was a very reasonable, and responsible, thing of you to do.

Plus, you’d done the whole boyfriend thing, and weren’t really interested in trying it again. Well, not as interested as you were in trying the whole girlfriend thing. And your first day on the job, a certain badass brunette caught your eye, and was even the first one to make you really feel like part of the team. You were finding it harder and harder to resist her pull.

“Yeah Derek,” JJ chimed in, drawing your attention back to the conversation, “Not all of us can rack up eight phone numbers and five make out sessions in one night.”

“What can I say?” Derek beamed, pride shining in his eyes. “I’m a great kisser.” Emily snorted. When Derek glared at her, she pressed her lips together and looked down. “What?”

“Nothing,” Emily sang, shaking her head with an air of mischief.

“No seriously, what?”

“It’s just that if you read girls half as well as you claim to, you might wonder if that’s always the case.” Derek’s jaw hung open, and Emily smirked at him with unabashed confidence. You stared at her and her piercing eyes, and you couldn’t help but admire how sexy she was when she was confident, smug even.

“Wow, you’re gonna go there?” Derek asked, feigning hurt disbelief, “And how would you know that?”

Again, Emily shrugged and nonchalantly stated, “Because I know how women act when they kiss me. And trust me. They’re actually enjoying themselves.”

Some ‘ooh’s radiated throughout the room, and based on the look Penelope had plastered to her face, things were about to get good.

You watched in amusement as Derek sat up a little straighter, “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.” Emily’s brows shot up.

“Alright, you’re on,” Derek nodded, determination radiating off of him.

“Well, I don’t know how strong either of your games are,” Luke spoke up, glancing quickly over at Spencer who was just observing the whole encounter, “but I think I could take on both of you.”

“No you could not,” Tara sneered from beside him.

“And you could?” Luke challenged.

Setting her glass down, Tara replied, “Yes.”

You giggled at the thought of the four of them having a kiss-off, just imagining how utterly chaotic that would be due to all of their extraordinarily competitive natures.

“Oh my god, this is going to be so fun!” Penelope squealed. “Now we just have to figure out who’s going to judge!”

“We can’t really use one of us because some people might be biased or recognize the kisser,” Emily casually stated. It took a moment for you to realize what she’d just admitted to. Who on the team has kissed before? But before you could really start thinking about it, you noticed that everyone’s gaze had slowly turned to you.

“What is happening right now?” you questioned, looked between them.

The five of them exchanged excited, knowing looks before training their attention back on you. Then you got it. “Are you serious?”

“You’re the only one who hasn’t kissed one of us!” Derek explained, as if it were obvious.

“You mean…” you trailed off, but again couldn’t complete the thought before someone interrupted.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Penelope promised. “And you seem like you’d be a very neutral judge.”

“Not to mention,” Tara added, “You’re a pretty blank slate since you haven’t really kissed anyone.”

“Don’t worry though, we’ll show you a good time,” Derek assured with a wink.

Heads nodded. You were a bit worried that there would be some hurt feelings by the end of this, but they were all adults, and the appeal to kiss all of them, along with their eager faces, became enough to convince you to say yes.

“Yes!” Derek exclaimed. He looked pointedly at Emily, “It is so on.”

She just rolled her eyes. “Pen, do you have a blindfold?”

“A what?” you asked.

“Well we can’t have you getting biased on us. This has to be strictly about kissing.” Hearing her explain it with such reason hampered your growing nerves a bit. Like you’d said, you hadn’t kissed very many people and you were worried how much better they were going to be at it than you.

You reminded yourself that this was more about them than you, and tried to use that to calm yourself down. You were about to be kissed by some of the most attractive people you’d met. This was definitely not a bad place to be.

While Penelope rummaged through her belongings to get a makeshift blindfold, Luke convinced Spencer to join and JJ decided to participate.

Pretty soon, they had you seated in a chair, another one across from you, waiting for whoever was going to go first, while Emily explained some ground rules. “We are going to go in rounds. We will each kiss her and then after every round, Y/N will eliminate one of us based on the number in the round we kissed her so she doesn’t know who it is. No touching. You can’t use your hands in any way, this has to purely be about the kiss. And kiss however you normally would, no matter what that means for you.”

“No hands?” Spencer questioned. You were still surprised that he’d agreed to join, let alone ask a question like that. Luke gave him an odd look from behind while Emily confirmed the rule.

“Your hands might give away who you are, and again, this is just about the kiss.”

“Alright, alright, let’s just get started,” Derek complained, as Penelope tied the blindfold behind your head.

Now that you couldn’t see, you relied on your hearing to figure out what was happening. You heard some shuffling and disgruntled whispering, then you heard the chair across from you slide across the floor toward you. You waited anxiously as the person leaned in and pressed their lips to yours.

Their lips were plush and soft, but the kiss seemed a little too forced. It was a bit excited and you could feel their smile as they started pulling away. It was a pretty good kiss, definitely better than your previous two, despite the fact that it only lasted a few seconds. You couldn’t help but try and guess who it was, thinking it was either Penelope or Tara.

The next person who sat down completely blew the person before them out of the water. It was a much longer kiss and the person even swiped their tongue across your bottom lip for entry. You weren’t really thinking as you gave them access, the heat in your body starting to rise. You just hoped that your face wasn’t giving any of that heat away, so you were almost grateful that the person pulled away.

There was a bout of silence, which made you feel a little awkward, but soon enough, you heard the cushion squish down across from you. Their knee knocked yours, as you assumed they crossed their legs. Being a profiler, you were very used to picking up on body language with your eyes, making it kind of fun to try and pick up those same behavioral cues with all of your other senses. This person, you could tell, was very hesitant. You couldn’t say you were surprised when the person really only pecked you on the lips.

Number four in the line up started out pretty good, but you felt them start shaking or something halfway through. You quickly realized that they were laughing and you pulled back. You couldn’t help but smile when you asked, “Why are you laughing?”

Up until then, they had laughed pretty silently, but once you called them out, they just full out chuckled. “I’m sorry!” Tara unapologetically said through more laughs. “I couldn’t help it. I blame Luke.”

You laughed with her as you playfully shook your head. “You were doing so well up until then!”

“I know!” she agreed.

“I guess this means you’re out?” you half questioned.

Tara gave an over dramatic sigh, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she stated, “I guess so.” As she walked away, Luke gave a small ‘ow,’ and you assumed she’d hit him. You wondered what about this was Luke’s fault? Had he said something to her?

Either way, someone took her spot across from you. They wasted no time leaning in and putting their lips on yours. The kiss started out slow and gentle, like they were easing you into it. But gradually, as you both became more used to the other, it picked up pace, your mouths starting to move in sync. It felt like all of their energy was focused on you and exploring your mouth with their tongue. It was by far the most passionate kiss you’d experienced, and you tried to hide the pout from your face as they pulled back, chasing their lips for only a second before remembering there was an audience, and a competition.

Person number six was … good. You couldn’t really describe it. They used, what now seemed to you to be, a medium amount of tongue, for a medium amount of time. It was a good kiss, you weren’t saying it wasn’t, it just didn’t have any quirk or something unique that stood out. It was just … good. You knew Tara was out, so you tried to guess who that person could be. You thought maybe JJ, or possibly Luke, but you couldn’t be sure.

The final person who kissed you was intense. They had plump, captivating lips, but the way they kissed verged on overwhelming. They were also a little sloppy in their movements, and it was like you could tell they weren’t fully invested. Distracted, maybe? Again, not bad, but nothing like some of the other kissers.

The air was hot and heavy as Emily spoke up. “Okay, we’ve all gone. You know Tara is out, she was number four, so who else from this round would you eliminate?”

You pretended to think about it, even though it actually wasn’t that hard to pick. “I think it was person number three.” The person who just sort of pecked me, you thought, but didn’t say.

The players were now down to five, and they went in the same order as they had before, minus person number three, who you guessed was Spencer, and Tara.

This round made you even more confused about who was who than the round before. The excited one you guessed was either Luke or Penelope, the intimate one you thought was Derek, the passionate one you thought was either Luke or Emily, the average one you thought was JJ, and the sloppy, intense one you had no idea about.

By the end of that round, you eliminated person number one, the overly excited, verging on too hard kisser.

The next round was a no brainer. The intimate kisser, Derek you thought, upped his game. He kissed you for longer, used a bit more tongue, but was still somehow gentle. If you thought he’d upped his game, you weren’t prepared for person number two. They also upped their game, keeping your mouths molded together for longer than before, something you were more than happy about. You couldn’t quite place exactly what it was about their kiss, maybe that it seemed so perfectly balanced, incorporated the perfect amount of everything, or something else, but they were absolutely magnetic. It sent electric waves through your body, making you feel a little tingly. You felt sort of bad for the average kisser, most likely JJ, because they had to follow that up. And finally the sloppy kisser, who you still couldn’t place. They didn’t up their game at all. If anything, they felt more distracted by the minute, and pulled away earlier than the rest.

“Person number four,” you stated when Tara asked who was getting eliminated.

It was now down to three; the intimate kisser, you predicted Derek, the passionate kisser, either Luke or Emily, and the average kisser, probably JJ.

There was some shuffling, a faint whispering, a small ‘ow,’ and then Tara spoke up again. “Now that there are only three left, as long as you are okay with it, they want to use their hands.”

You tried to downplay the excitement you were feeling with this new rule, but you were sure their trained ears could hear it in the way you said, “Yes, that’s good with me.”

The seat across from you suddenly became occupied, but before anything could happen, Tara quickly jumped in. “Wait. Y/N, you can’t use your hands.” When you pouted a little, she explained, “Well if you did, you’d definitely know who is who, so…”

You sighed, but agreed, waiting in anticipation for the person across from you to touch you.

It started soft, their long fingers brushing over your cheeks as they leaned in. Soon enough, though, the entirety of their hands were firmly cupping your face and pulling you ridiculously close, close enough to feel some of their body heat. It was intimate, and again made you feel like the most important person to whoever those lips and hands belonged to. You rubbed your thumb into your palm, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch them, but you knew you couldn’t. Your sole focus was on them, them on you, and you had to say it was one of the best kisses of the night.

That person made you feel like the most important person in the world, but the next person kissed you like you were the only person in the world. They started out by tucking your hair behind your ear, then slowly sliding their fingers back into the loose strands. As they started to kiss you, they moved their other hand behind your head, cradling the back of your neck. The person before them had captured your focus, but this person erased any thoughts your mind was capable of forming. You couldn’t think about anything other than the way their tongue moved against yours, and the shiver they sent down your spine as one of their hands traveled the length of it, coming to rest just above your hip, strong, confident fingers pulling you closer. It was a moment you never wanted to end, and one that left you in a cold shock when it eventually did.

You almost didn’t even want the last person to kiss you because of how you knew it would never come close to what you’d just experienced, but a competition was a competition. The third person kissed you similarly to how they’d done before, good but nothing special, their hands resting comfortably on your hips.

When it was all over, you asked, “Can I take off the blindfold now? I know who the winner is.”

“Sure, but announce who first,” Tara suggested.

“Okay,” you agreed. “The third person got third, the first person got second, and the second person was the winner. Can I take the blindfold off now?” you asked again. You were eager to find out who was who. When you didn’t get an immediate response warning you not to, you stood up and quickly ripped it off to quite the amusing sight. Spencer looked as bright as a cherry, Penelope looked shocked but proud, Tara was smirking, Luke’s eyes were the size of beach balls, JJ looked indifferent, Emily was smirking, and Derek looked like he’d just been shot. “So are you going to tell me who was who?”

Without answering, Emily took two large strides toward you and placed her lips back on yours. One of her hands slid back into your hair while the other rested above your waist, and you smiled into the kiss. Of course it was you, you thought. When she pulled away, you were both smiling like idiots, and she gave you a single eyebrow raise as you both turned to look at Derek.

“I got third?” he asked, still in a state of bewilderment.

“What?” you asked, just as shocked as he was. “I thought you got second.”

Emily snorted. “You thought Spencer was Derek?”

What?! You spun to face Spencer, the person you were sure got out the first round, and he was still blushing like he’d been out in the sun for far too long. “You took second?” He nodded nervously. You beamed at him, causing him to return a shy smile, then look down at his fiddling hands. “You’re a really good kisser,” you complimented.

Derek repeated, “I took third? Emily, I guess I kinda get,” she rolled her eyes at that, “but Pretty Boy?”

You shrugged, and Luke jumped in, though not nearly as harsh as Derek had been. “Yeah, I took fourth, but Spencer got second?”

You offered him a cheeky smile, remembering how distracted he felt while kissing you, and the not-so-subtle glances he constantly made at Spencer all the time. You took the opportunity to encourage whatever was going on there. “He did. Like I said, he’s a good kisser. Very intimate, like I was the only one on his mind. You should try kissing him sometime. Might help you feel less distracted.” You winked and Spencer looked like he wanted to evaporate. Luke, on the other hand, was just staring at Spencer, and you could see the gears spinning in his head. He finally mumbled a ‘what the hell’ before pulling Spencer to him by the back of his neck. Spencer seemed immediately surprised, but recovered quite quickly, no hesitation to his movements after the initial shock. They kissed each other probably exactly how they’d just kissed you, Spencer’s hands cupping Luke’s face, Luke’s hands resting on the back of Spencer’s neck and lower back. Although, you’d have to say that Luke looked a bit more focused than he’d been with you. You laughed while some of the other members hooted. This was something that’d been a long time coming.

When they pulled away, Luke nodded. “Y/N, I definitely agree with you.”

Spencer smiled, and playfully nudged Luke as he said, “Y/N, I also agree with you.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, but he was smiling the brightest he had in a while.

Derek was still a mess, not enjoying the moment as much as he usually would’ve, and asked, “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured, “You’re a good kisser, but there’s just nothing too special about it. It’s kinda just…”

Emily and Derek looked at you expectantly before Emily got it. “Wait. Are you calling him average?”

She looked way too excited for the occasion, but she was right. He was just kinda average. You nonchalantly admitted, “I guess.”

Derek let his hands fall to his sides with a slap, his mouth still hanging open. Emily’s lips curled up into a sly smile as she placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Not everyone can be as good as me.” He shrugged her hand off his shoulder, and she held out her hand. Derek reached into his back pocket producing his wallet, and grudgingly slapped a crumpled $20 into her open palm. You gawked at them, not realizing that they’d placed a bet on their skills.

Emily returned to your side, closer than she’d really ever stood to you before, and gave you a smile that seemed on the shyer side for her, biting her lip as she peered at you through her lashes. You mirrored her shy smile, pressing your lips together as heat quickly spread to your cheeks. You turned back to the rest of the conversation that demanded your attention, people wanting to know why you eliminated them. But you couldn’t help glancing over at Emily every now and then, and couldn’t hide your joy when you saw that she was gazing back.

Who knows? Maybe that night was going to be the start of two great relationships in the BAU.

@90spumkin

716 notes · View notes

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Love Birds

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Some meddling from the BAU helps Reader and Spencer come to their senses. Category: FLUFF Warnings: None really, just brief mentions of sex, some kissing, implied smut, mutual pining, and the word ‘damn’ at the end I guess? Word Count: 3.2k

Full Request: “...a blurb? Where the sexual tension between reader and spencer is very high and everybody is like ‘get a room’ so when they finally do it spencer tells penelope and reader tell emily so the next day penelope gives him those strawberries in chocolate that say ‘best dick ever’ and emily gives reader a cake that say ‘i finally get sex’ and reader and spencer are so embarrassed” —Anonymous

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: Gotta love some good, ol’ fashioned BAU meddling, am I right? 😂 I took the prompt and made it just a little different, but I hope it’s still okay! Hopefully the overall vibe is still what you imagined 🥰

***

Everyone was watching them. Truthfully, it was a wonder they hadn't noticed by now, but that was most likely to be expected from two people who were obviously in love with each other and still hadn't done anything about it yet.

Three years now. That's how long it had been since Y/N joined the team, and from the first day, she and Spencer were glued at the hip. She was the only one who actively listened to and laughed at his long, obscure jokes, and as their friendship blossomed, he stared following her around like a lovesick puppy. It was sickly-sweet, truth be told.

And the longer it went on, the longer they danced around the inevitable, the more fed-up the BAU got.

Currently, Spencer and Y/N were reading a book together. Like, they were actually reading together, sitting side by side while they took turns reading aloud. They did it every day when they came into work, and when they finished one book, the other person would pick the next one.

"I want to say it's annoying, but it's actually kind of sweet," JJ pointed out, peering through the blinds in Hotch's office, where they all gathered to spy on their friends.

"Yeah, but they've been doing it for almost two years," Emily stated. "You'd think that by now they'd have at least kissed..."

"Maybe they have and they just... haven't said anything?"

Penelope piped in this time, shaking her head. "No, Y/N would have told me, she tells me everything. And I mean everything."

"Well, what about Reid? Has he said anything to you?" JJ asked, turning to Derek.

He sighed. "No. But you know how he is, if he could avoid telling me anything at all about his love life, he would. And he has."

"Well, maybe you should say something to him," Emily suggested.

"You know he'll just shut me down and deny it."

"Then Garcia should do it."

She thought about it for a second before turning to Derek. "I am excellent at getting information out of people."

Suddenly the door opened, and everyone turned around to see Hotch entering his office, stopping for a second to take them all in before closing the door behind him.

"Sir, we can explain—" Penelope started.

Hotch held up a hand and made his way to his desk. "You're spying on them, aren't you?"

A quiet chorus of mumbled 'yes' and 'yes, sir's sounded through the room before he actually sat down with the most miniscule of smiles.

"I'd say to make sure you all leave one at a time so they don't catch on, but something tells me they wouldn't notice anyway."

***

A few hours later, the team made their way to the jet in little groups.

Firstly, Penelope pulled Spencer away into her office for a 'special meeting' that he was only slightly concerned about. But when she finally closed the door, he found it was nothing like what he expected to hear.

The first words out of her mouth were, "When are you going to tell her?"

"I'm... I'm sorry?"

Her face scrunched as she pointed a finger at him. "Don't play dumb with me, 187, I may not be a profiler, but I know love when I see it. You and Y/N are perfect for each other, and you guys are literally driving us mad with the sexual tension."

"I—Garcia, we're just friends, I... I don't..."

"Look, you've got a plane to catch, so I'm not gonna keep you any longer, but everyone can see it, Reid. You two? You're practically soulmates."

He really didn't know what to say after that. So he wordlessly turned and made his way to the jet alone, thinking the entire way there about what Penelope had said.

Soulmates? Love? Sexual tension?

Of course he'd always thought Y/N was pretty. And there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was the one person on the team he knew he could come to when he had something he was excited to share, because she was always down to hear him talk. And... he never really realized it until now, but it always warmed the deepest parts of his soul when he saw how her eyes lit up at the chance to hear him talk—to just listen to what he had to say.

He thought back to every time they read together, how her leg always brushed against his and how it always seemed to comfort him. How her voice when she read aloud always seemed to put him in a trance, like a lullaby. She was his warm place, his safety net...

But... that was totally normal for friendships, right? More often than not, platonic friendships carried that warm familiarity that also came with romantic ones. It wasn't uncommon.

Still, it set off an explosion of fireworks in Spencer's stomach to just think about sitting next to her on the jet.

Meanwhile, everyone else was there, going through some files on the case when Emily sat down in front of Y/N and cleared her throat.

"What's up?" Y/N asked politely with a small smile.

"Nothing, it just... I saw you and, uh... Dr. Reid looked pretty comfy this morning."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, uh... Were we reading too loud? We've been trying to keep it quieter because we figured it was a bit unconventional—"

"No, no," Emily laughed, thinking to herself how absolutely perfect they were for each other. "I mean... You were really close... Like maybe you're... into him."

"O—oh... Well, I—I don't... Um..."

With another laugh, Emily reached her hand out to reassure her. "I'm not trying to put you on the spot, Y/N, it's just that we've all... noticed how close you guys have gotten over the years and it looked like maybe you two..."

"Oh! Oh, no, uh... We—we're not together or anything, I... He's my best friend. That's all."

By the redness that colored Y/N's cheeks, Emily wasn't buying it one bit. Yet, she indulged her, nodding and patting the little table in front of her before getting up to move to a different section. "If you say so."

She walked away, leaving Y/N with a newfound... tension within her that she couldn't really shake. And it only amplified when Spencer walked onto the jet and took his usual seat next to her.

They greeted each other with small waves, but something felt off. And when his hand brushed up against her leg on accident, she felt a light buzz course through her veins, like some type of switch had been flipped.

It's only because of what Emily said, Y/N thought. She just got in my head, that's all this is.

But the longer the day went on, after landing in Idaho and setting up at the precinct, the buzz only amplified. Every time he said her name, she felt it kick up, and likewise, whenever she said his, he felt the thrum of his chest get heavier.

Everyone could tell, too, though they seemed rather amused by it all. While Y/N and Spencer were out at the ME's office, Emily, JJ, and Derek sat at the table in their temporary office and talked it over.

"I actually feel kinda bad," JJ said. "I mean... It seems like they're just being awkward around each other now..."

"That's not a bad thing... It just means they're finally starting to come to their senses," Emily countered with a wave of her hand. "They'll be fine."

Derek scoffed with a smile. "Yeah, I give it 'til the end of the case. Without work to distract themselves from each other, there's no way they won't say something."

Sure enough, the topics of conversation walked through the door just then, immediately putting distance between themselves on opposite sides of the table. And before anyone could say anything else, Spencer jumped the gun, going into detail on what they discovered about the case.

***

"We won't be heading home until tomorrow morning, so I booked us all rooms at the hotel on main street. I'll give you your keys when we get there. Good work, everyone, get some rest."

Hotch disappeared into the night, leaving the rest of the team to pack up a few things in their office before following him.

Y/N chatted happily with JJ, but deep inside she was nervous. Because everyone had been acting strange all day, pairing her and Spencer up every chance they got, and it was impossible to miss all the fake 'I wasn't looking at you guys' stares into space that they all constantly adorned.

Not to mention the fact that ever since Emily even brought it up to her, Spencer also seemed nervous around her. Their whole dynamic had been thrown off, and now she could barely look at him without immediately looking away and wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Now that the thought has been planted in her head, it's all she can think about, and it's very distracting. And knowing how... interested her friends seem to be in her predicament, the biggest fear she has at the moment is that she and Spencer will be rooming together.

As they got into separate cars and headed to the hotel, she fiddled with her thumbs, picking at the chipped nail polish and hoping that she'll get to rest easy.

And as Hotch handed out room keys in the lobby, she felt her heartbeat pick up, Emily and JJ sharing a key and Derek walking off with his own.

And then he said the one thing she was afraid of, and it almost froze her completely.

"I was only able to get two rooms with double beds, so you guys will have to share, if that's alright."

At that point Y/N would have rather shared a bed with Rossi, because that would have been less awkward. But she and Spencer both nodded, he took the key, and they both silently made their way to the room, keeping their heads low.

Even as they finally stepped into the room the air felt fragile, like one wrong move could break it and send them into space, where there wasn't enough breathable oxygen to keep them alive. And much like in the office today, they kept their distance on opposite sides of the room, separated by the bed.

It was Spencer who broke the silence first.

"I can take the floor if you want..."

The small, sweet way he said it almost made her heart shatter. "O—oh no, you don't have to. That would be silly."

"Are you sure? Because I can—"

"No, it's okay, really. I don't mind."

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, before Y/N's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she turned around to answer the call.

As she walked into the bathroom, answering, "Hi, Mom," before shutting the door, Spencer let out a long breath and rubbed his eyes, wondering how he was going to get through the night. He also wondered if Penelope had talked to Y/N as well, because this awkwardness they were experiencing was most certainly double-sided. And if that was the case, did that mean... she was in love with him, too? Firstly, was he even sure he was in love with her in the first place?

Maybe a little, he decided, thinking back to practically every single moment they've ever spent together. And as he quickly changed into pajamas and situated himself in bed, he thought about what it would be like to kiss her. Is that something he would want to do? Could he see himself kissing her over and over again for the rest of his life?

He had his answer when she walked out of the bathroom, wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair out of its ponytail and cascading down her shoulders as she plopped her phone down on the chair in the corner of the room and walked to the bed.

He tried to look away, but he couldn't. And he was thankful in a way for this newfound uneasy air between them, because she refused to look at him, and it gave him all the clearance he needed to follow her trail around the room.

But when she finally settled into bed, and as he felt her weight dip beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap. He was afraid the close proximity would give him away.

She cracked open a book and read in silence for a few seconds before she turned to him. "Did... Is this distracting? I can stop and we can just go to sleep if you're tired..."

"Oh, n—no, it's not distracting. You're fine. I was, um... I was going to grab a book of my own anyway."

He swung his leg over to get out of bed, but Y/N stopped him. "Well, um... I, uh... I know we're already in the middle of a different book, but if you wanted to, we could, um... read this one together? I—I think you'd like it, it's about the—"

"Sure. I—I'd um... I'd like that. Whatever it's about, I'm sure I'll like it. Y—you know, since you said it was good. You have good taste, so I t—trust your judgement."

He was just rambling now, and hearing Y/N laugh a little, he internally berated himself for letting it get awkward again.

Nevertheless, she opened up the covers to get underneath, and slowly scooted closer to him. Once their knees touched, they both jumped a little, but Spencer cleared his throat and Y/N busied herself by trying to find the first page, neither of them commenting on the obvious shock of butterflies that shot through both of their insides at the tiniest contact.

"Do you mind if I start?" she asked softly, turning her head slightly to the side so she could see him. He nodded, giving her the go ahead, and she turned to the page, focusing on the words in front of her.

Unsurprisingly, it was easy for them to get into a familiar groove. They took turns reading each few pages, and stopped in between to discuss things they'd read. It also wasn't surprising to find that they gradually got closer, their arms and legs now completely touching side by side and their faces dangerously close as they leaned down to read.

Spencer had just finished reading a chapter, reaching out to turn the page, and Y/N seemed to have the same thought, because her hand collided with his in a way that left no room for subtlety, or drawback to avoid that it even happened. Their pinkies interlocked, and Y/N found herself entranced by the curves and peaks of his hand. How each of his fingers slightly twitched at the contact, and how prominent the veins in his forearm were.

Her heartbeat picked up, and his did, too, as he focused on how tightly her pinkie was curling around his own, desperate not to let go.

"Y/N," he whispered. It wasn't a question, nor a warning, but it rolled off his tongue softly as if it was the sweetest word he'd ever had the pleasure to say. It was just one little word, her first name, conveyed with such adoration and obvious pining that he was afraid he'd scared her away.

But she held his pinkie tight, the book resting open beneath them on their adjoined knees, and then looked over at him.

And her eyes held the same weight as her name on his lips.

It was unclear of who moved first, but it happened so fast that surely it didn't matter. In a flash, their lips were joining in soft desperation, and rather than locking pinkies, Y/N shifted her hand to weave all their fingers together. The squeeze he gave her hand made her sigh against his mouth, and it was all the most relieving thing in the world.

After she pulled away, he chased her face for a second, not wanting it to end. But his eyes flew open and when he saw her staring back at him, her lips slightly puffed and her eyes almost hungry, he knew he didn't have to worry about the moment ending any time soon.

The book was long forgotten right then, tossed across the room somewhere as their clothes soon followed.

***

"So, how do you think the love birds got along last night?" Emily asked to no one in particular as the group gathered in the lobby.

Derek snickered. "If they came to their senses, I'm sure they got along just fine."

Everyone laughed at that, just as said love birds made their way to the lobby.

"Sleep well?" JJ asked, obviously trying not to smirk.

"Mhm," they both mumbled in response.

They were going to leave it alone, but that's when Rossi showed up, peering over in Spencer's direction. Then he pointed briefly to his neck. "You got a little something there, genius."

Everyone clapped excitedly, Emily letting out a low whistle and Derek rounding it off with a loud and proud, "Atta boy!"

The redness on both Y/N and Spencer's faces didn't clear up the entire way home.

And after the text that Emily sent out to Penelope, it was looking like it might get even worse.

***

"Welcome home, my beautiful family! Come on, I have something special for everyone in the round-table room."

Penelope led the way, Y/N and Spencer bringing up the rear.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she whispered. "I really didn't even notice I'd made a mark, I—"

"It's okay," he reassured her. "I... I guess they kinda knew we'd get to that point eventually anyway."

"Yeah... I just wish it wouldn't have happened so soon, you know? We're never gonna live this down."

She wasn't expecting him to lace his fingers with hers, and the action made her smile.

They'd fallen a bit behind, so when they finally caught up to everyone in the room, it was terrifying to see them all with knowing, mischievous smiles. And before Y/N could explain, Spencer started speaking.

"Okay, okay, yes. Y/N and I... finally... got together last night. But you can't make it weird, and I'm not going to let you make it weird, because—"

"Ohh, it's a little late for that, boy wonder," Garcia said, giggly and holding out a cake box.

Spencer and Y/N looked at each other briefly before taking a look, immediately gasping and going red.

It was a small cake, shaped like a heart with a red trim of frosting around it. And right in the middle, in pretty red cursive, were the words, "We finally had sex!"

"Penelope!" Y/N whined and shoved her face into Spencer's chest, the heat radiating off her face like a space heater on high blast.

The howling laughter that erupted from everyone else in the room was something neither of them would forget.

But even through the curtain of embarrassment, Y/N and Spencer both knew that beyond it awaited a very promising relationship, especially with friends who supported them. Even if that support manifested in rather... enthusiastic ways.

And, despite the initial embarrassment of it all, the cake tasted pretty damn good.

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here.

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #fluff #cm #delicate songfic #because i can't NOT think of taylor swift when i write

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strawberryspence · 3 years

Text

Delilah’s Buttercups

Fluff | Spencer Reid x FEM! Reader

Summary: A new flower shop brings together two idiots obsessed with buttercups. A prequel and a sequel for A chance for more Buttercups, tied together with a pretty bow.

Word Count: 3k.

Warnings: allusions to depression, reader is feeling really down, some case talk based on The Uncanny Valley (S5E12), some cursing, again a lot of FLOWER talk.

Writers Note: Ahhh! The love for A chance for more Buttercups were overwhelming! I loved writing this and the full credit for the idea goes to @grufflepuff-writes-stuff @grufflepuff! This took me a day and a half. I have a few more ideas for this universe and I'll happily write it when I am free! Thank you and enjoy, my loves 💛

Y/N was not having the best day. Given that her day hasn’t even started yet but she already feels tired. She wants the bed to swallow her whole. She looks over her shoulder and peeks at the clock one her bedside table: 8:30.

She should be at work in 30 minutes. But here she is, still in bed, hiding from all the horrors the job offers her. Being a profiler wasn’t her dream, her dream was to help people in one way or another. So when Aaron Hotchner, who was there to observe with the BAU, comes up to her after a criminology class offering her an interview after she argues with the professor about how he got the Unsub’s signature wrong, she took it. She wasn’t even in that class but her friend dragged her into it because Derek Morgan is just so hot.

Her life hasn’t been the same since. Taking cases and helping people granted her dream. The dream that is slowly, but surely is sipping the life out of her. She loves the job but in the end of the day the horrors and nightmares follow her home.

A ring from her phone pulls her from her thought.

“Hey, Honey Pie!” Penelope’s cheery voice welcomes her. “Hey, Pen! What’s up?” You try to match her cheery voice, on normal days you’d be able to, but today you were just exhausted.

“Are you coming in? Like are you near? I am presenting a case this morning so get your go bag ready.” You bite back a sigh. “Oh... Okay. I am on my way.” It was quiet for a second.

“Hey... You okay, sweet pea?” This brings a smile on your face. Penelope Garcia is a sure fire way to make anyone smile.

“Yes, yes, I am okay. I’ll see you later!” You turn of your phone and sit up on your bed. You watch as the time slowly ticks and your eyes trail to the table in the corner full of pictures. The newest one was a polaroid of you and Spencer on Halloween. The memory brings a smile on your face.

The job brings you a lot of things, but most of all, it brought you Spencer Reid. You jump out of bed with the thought of him. You get ready as fast as you can. You usually walk to work, enjoying the quiet time. But today, you would have to take a cab to make it on time.

You didn’t make it on time. You weren’t able to buy the coffee you usually bring for Spencer. You weren’t even able to put make up on. You were 10 minutes late when you’ve arrived on the round table everyone looking up when you come in.

“Sorry, I am late.” Hotch nods at you and gestures for you to sit. You take a sit beside Spencer, he looks at you with this look that is asking if you’re okay and you give him a smile to reassure him. Penelope starts talking about the case as you skim over the file. The team goes over theories as to why the unsub may be dressing the women like mannequins.

“It could be a woman.” You finally say, making everyone look at you. “Why do you think that?” Hotch asks, looking over at you.

“No offence, but with the detail of the dress, the hair style, the make up, I don’t think a man can do this.” You shrug and look over Spencer who was looking at you intently.

“Y/L/N, has a point. Okay, Garcia start the search and wheels up in 15.” Hotch commands as the team streams out the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer stops you from walking out the door and it immediately makes you smile. God, why were you acting like a high school student around him?

“I am okay. I am sorry I didn’t get to buy you our usual coffees this morning... I-I woke up late.” Spencer gives you this frog looking smile, and for a minute you thought your heart was going to burst.

“It’s okay. I bought you coffee.”

“Y-you bought me coffee?”

“Yeah. Well, you always buy me one and Garcia told me this morning that y-you sounded tired... So, I bought you one...” Spencer would laugh at himself if you weren’t in front of him, he didn’t just buy you one. He literally ran to the coffee shop as soon as Penelope told him that you sounded sad.

“You’re the best, Buttercup. Thank you.” You smile at him, a smile so sweet and adorable, the shaking of his knees from the running is forgotten.

The case ended. Life goes on. You chant to yourself but your heart clenches more as you think of Samantha, the unsub who was making dolls from people. There was no malice, no ill intent but just a woman in a lot of pain. Your heart hurts for the victims and for Samantha.

“Hey, I am walking home, do you want to walk together?” You look at Spencer who was smiling kindly at you as you two walk out of the building.

“Uh... I... kinda want some time alone. It’s nothing against you, Buttercup. I... I just need to clear my mind.” Spencer nods. “I understand, call me if you need anything.” He stops, his lips twitch as if he was contemplating something.

“Spence?” You ask looking at him. But instead of answering he pulls you into a bear hug. Spencer has hugged you a few times before, but not like this. He’s hug was tight, like he was reassuring you that everything was going to be okay. It was almost enough to take away all your worries.

“Thank you, Buttercup.” He smiles as he pulls away. “Bye Y/N.” He waves as he walks away and you start you’re journey home. It was 8 in the evening, and some stores are still well lit.

You’ve walked this route a thousand times since you moved in your apartment but a new shop stops you in your tracks. You squint a little as the bright pastel colours of the sign shine so brightly.

Delilah’s Florals

It must have opened while you were away. There were flower carts outside and something was pushing you to go inside. You push the door open and a small bell chimes as you walk inside.

“Hello! Welcome to Delilah’s Florals!” A woman, just as bright as the sign outside, smiles at you.

“Hey. Uh... I am just looking around.” You smile and she smiles back at you.

“Sure! If you need any help just call out!” She says as she goes back to wrapping flowers.

You look around to the dozen different kinds of flowers in the cooler. There are daisies, sunflowers, roses... That’s basically all Y/N can name. But, a small yellow flower on the corner shelf catches your eye.

“Uh... Excuse me?” The woman behind the counter looks at her and walks towards her. “What... kind of flower is that one...?” The woman smiles as she sees what you were pointing at.

“Oh! Those are buttercups.” You don’t even try to fight the smile growing on your face. Spencer Reid, you really are something else, in person or in flowers.

“Do you want to get those?” You smile and nod.

“Yeah. I’ll get a bouquet of it and... can you add some of those...” You point out on some of those white small flowers.

“Okay, those are baby’s breathe!” You both walk back to her counter as she wraps it.

“Do you.. do you know what buttercups symbolize?” You ask the lady and she smiles brightly at you.

“Oh! Yes, of course! They symbolize joy, youth and happiness.” Your heart beats against your chest. God, you almost giggle on how much the flowers meaning fits Spencer. It was only flowers but you're smiling like a crazy person.

The lady sees the smile, “Its nice to see you smile! When you first walked in you kinda looked sad. I am happy that the buttercups made you smile. They’re really underrated.”

“Oh...” You blush a little. “I was just having a hard day and I saw your shop. I’ve walked this route so many times, but this is the first time I’ve seen your shop so I walked in. The buttercups... remind me of someone.”

“Well, I am happy you did walk in and that the buttercups are making you smile.”

“Thank you...” You look at her waiting for her to finish your sentence with her name.

“Oh! Oh! I am Delilah! Like Delilah's Florals, Delilah!” Delilah offers you her hand to shake and take it. “So you are Delilah! I am Y/N.” You both laugh and say your goodbyes after you paid for the flowers.

Coming home, you put the buttercups on a vase and set it down on the table in her bedroom beside the polaroid of her and Spencer.

She smiles at the buttercups. Life is not linear. But with new friends, flowers and dream jobs, maybe everything will be okay.

For the next few months you go out of your way every Monday morning to buy buttercups from Delilah. You bring her coffee every Monday in exchange for some extra baby’s breathe. Delilah has now become a close friend. Delilah lives above the flower shop with her girlfriend, Mia and their cat, meow. Yeah... That was her name.

“Good Morning, my dearest Y/N. I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Your nose scrunches as you come in her store, holding a tray of coffee for her and Mia.

“What bad news?” You give her the cups and she smiles a thank you at you.

“Remember when I told you it was really hard to get deliveries of buttercups every week and each week you were usually the only one who buys them?” You nod slowly as you sip your tea.

“Well... My delivery comes in tomorrow and this guy bought all of my stock last week...” Your face falls. The buttercups on your vase in your room has petals falling from it now.

“What?” You cried, visibly upset. The buttercups was one of the things that you look forward to see the moment you wake up (and well, the person who reminds you of them).

“I am sorry, Y/N. But I made you this!” Delilah shows you a big bouquet of sunflowers with baby’s breathe. The small white flowers slowly being your second favourite flowers.

“Delilah... this is a lot...” You were shocked at how big it is.

“Well!” She stomps a bit and pouts. “Cause you told me the buttercups really make you happy! But I don’t have any left! Because of this guy, okay listen? This guy has bought one bouquet of buttercup ever since last Monday! And he comes in everyday so nervous and frustrated asking for another bouquet of buttercups!” Delilah sprouts out with the story and her hands were moving fast to gesture how tall he was and how his hair was like uncombed.

“Okay, Lilah. Calm down. It’s okay! I’ll take the sunflowers. How much are they?” You laugh at how distraught she looks over some flowers. She shakes her head, “Noooo! Its free! Please just take it, babes!” Delilah almost cries.

"And you know what! Take this as an opportunity! Maybe if you wake up and not see buttercups, you'll finally confess your feelings to Mr. Dr. 3 PHDS!"

"Delilah! Stop it with the nicknames." You exclaim blushing even more. You've told her stories about Spencer but have always only kept calling him Buttercup and not telling her his name. She giggles knowing her tactic worked, "Okay, I'll stop, but just take the sunflowers, okay?"

“Okay, okay, I’ll bring you more coffee tomorrow... If I am in town... okay? I’ll text you.” Delilah smiles and nods, “Its a deal!”

You wave goodbye to your friend and she smiles brightly as she shouts behind you, “I’ll leave buttercups for you next week I promise!”

It hasn’t been an hour when the tall guy walks in on Delilah’s Floral. The sound of the bell chimes and Delilah immediately says, “Welcome to Delilah’s Floral!”

She looks up and sees the same guy who walks in at exactly 8:20 looking for buttercups.

“Oh Hi!” Delilah warmly greets him. He may be the one who sells out Y/N’s precious buttercups but he’s still a customer and he called in on Sunday to buy the rest of the remaining buttercups, which broke her heart that she can’t give it to her friend.

“I... ordered the buttercups...” Delilah laughs at how awkwardly sweet this man is.

“Oh, I know. There are only two people who buys buttercups in this shop.” She laughs as she walks in the back where she hid it, because she didn’t want Y/N to see it.

“Here you go. Buttercups with daisies on it.” Delilah hands him the the flowers and he smile fondly at the bunch.

“Hey, can I ask a question?” The guy looks at her as Delilah rings up his flowers. He nods at her.

“What’s with the flowers? You’ve bought one everyday since last week and its always buttercups.”

“Well...” She sees the guy hesitate. “I like this girl... A lot...” A tinge of pink shades his cheeks. “And I’ve been wanting to confess my feelings for a long time and the buttercups were the perfect way to go... But I just can’t seem to do it... Hence... the multiple bouquets.” Delilah doesn’t stop herself from awwww-ing. She loves love.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Delilah asks.

“Oh... my name is Spencer.” Delilah smiles. “Well, I am Delilah, Spencer.” Spencer smiles at her.

“Listen, you’ve gotten this girl a bouquet of flower every morning for the past week. Any lady that has a guy waking up in the morning wanting to try to confess to her, again and again, is considered lucky.”

“Really?” He asks in a soft voice and Delilah smiles.

“Yeah! My friend really loves this buttercups and it gives her a reason to smile every time she wakes up and sees it. I wasn’t able to give her this because you got to it first so you better not waste it!”

“Really?” He asks again and Delilah nods.

“Yeah! So go get your girl, Spencer! She’ll love it! Good luck!” Spencer smiles, he pays for the flowers and waves goodbye to his new friend.

Y/N doesn’t come back to Delilah’s shop until the next week. The week after Spencer and her finally go out on their first date.

“OH MY GOD!” Delilah immediately screams at her.

“Lilah, what the fuck is happening?!” You ask as you put the coffee tray down, nearly dropping it because you were startled.

“No! What’s happening with you?! You have the “I am in love” glow! You look beautiful!” Delilah sees the blush on your face.

“Babes, what are you talking about?” You stop yourself from giggling. Delilah was really good in this kind of things, she could be a profiler if she wanted to. “You look happier and you’re glowing a lot. Did you finally tell, Doctor Puppy Eyes your feelings?!" You roll your eyes, here we go with the nicknames again.

“Stop it!” You try to calm her down but more giggles bubble from her.

 “Okay, okay! But I have good news! I left buttercups for you!” Your face twitch and Delilah sees this. “Uhh.. That’s why I am here... I still have fresh ones at home...” You smile as you think of the buttercups and carnations sitting on your vase.

Delilah feigns shock, “Are you cheating with me with a new florist!?”

“No!” You immediately answer. Delilah huffs, “Then what...?” You scratch your head. “I am... dating... Mr. PHDs and he bought me this bouquet of buttercups.” Delilah gasps and squeals so high, the dogs on the pet store next door could have thought she was barking.

“Ohhhhh! I love it! I am not mad anymore! I am so happy you’re not cheating on me with a new florist!” You laugh. “I just came by to give you coffee, babes.”

“Tell me about it! Hows the date? Did you confess? Or did he? Oh my god! I need all the details!”

The bell on Delilah’s door chimes, before Y/N can even answer and even before she can look to who comes in, Delilah welcomes the new customer with a cheery voice. “Spencer! Welcome back!”

“Spencer?” You look back and there he was. You squint your eyes at him to make sure you were seeing things right, “Spence?”

“Y/N?” His eyes were wide, not sure as to why you were in his usual flower shop. Delilah looks back at Y/N and then to Spencer then back to Y/N again. “OH MY GOD!” She squeals once again and you can only whisper a dear god. “Y/N! Is he Dr. Handsome but more handsome with glasses!? Spencer, is she the girl!?”

"Lilah! The nicknames!" You hiss at her and Spencer bites down a smile. Dr. Handsome but more handsome with glasses. Okay maybe he'll throw out his contacts.

“You’ve been buying your buttercups from here?” You laugh as Spencer waddles to the counter.

“Yes. I liked it here because it was quiet in the morning. You know her?” Spencer asks you as he looks at Delilah who is watching them intently and looks like she would burst any second now. “Yeah... She’s my friend... and florist.” Delilah squeals again.

“Lilah!” Y/N whispers in hopes to calm her down and Spencer just keeps getting redder by the minute. “Okay, I am sorry. I need to calm down.” She breathes in and she visibly becomes calmer.

“Okay, so you’ve been buying buttercups for her.” Delilah states as she looks at Spencer and he nods. “And she’s been buying the buttercups because it reminds you of him.” It was your turn to nod and turn bright pink.

“Awwwww! You guys! That’s so cute! Its like my buttercups brought you together.” Y/N rolls her eyes. “No, babes. The Bureau brought us together.” Delilah giggles again.

“Well, Y/N was here to drop off my weekly coffee. How about you, Dr. Spencer?” Spencer lowers his head, scratching the nape of his neck.

“I—I was going to pick up some... purple lilac... for Y/N...” You bite down a smile but you fail. He was blushing and when you thought Spencer Reid can’t get any cuter, he does.

“Okay, Dr. Spencer, let me get you some purple lilac. Anything else with that?” Delilah acts as professional as she can but she’s bursting on the seams.  

“Please add some peonies.” He says as he plays with his hands. Delilah arranges the flowers with a bright smile and it grows bigger when she sees Spencer reach out for your hand.

“Here you go. Purple Lilac symbolizes new love and Peonies symbolizes luck and love.” She says smiling with meaning as she hands the flowers to Spencer.

“Thank you, Delilah.” He says and looks at you. “I was going to pick you up this morning before work and give you this. But here you are.” Spencer smiles at you as he offers you the flowers.

A blush creeps up on your cheek, “Thank you, buttercup. Its beautiful.” You tell him and kiss his cheeks lightly. They look back at Delilah who looks like she’s going to faint any minute now.

“Thank you, Lilah, for bringing us together with buttercups.” You say in a sweet voice and Delilah’s smile grows bigger from what you said, if that was even possible.

“For my favourite customers, it’s nothing.”

“I’ll see you on Sunday? For Brunch with Mia?” You ask and she nods. “See you then!” You both say your goodbyes, walk towards the door and Spencer snakes his arms on your waist to pull you closer.

“Bye, favourite florist!” You call out, teasing her, before opening the door. It immediately backs fire tho when Delilah squeals one last time.

“Does this mean I get to do the flowers in your wedding?!”

“DELILAH!”

You were embarrassed that day, but when the right time came Delilah did do the flowers in your wedding and it was as beautiful as spring.

(For Part One: Click me!)

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

The Right Chapter 5 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader

This is a big one babes!! Hold on tight!!

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

Contains: canon-typical discussion of violence, soft aaron hotchner supremacy

wordcount: 1.8k

You barely saw Aaron on Sunday, despite being in his house the whole day-- Jack was practically buzzing with excitement the moment you came through the door, pulling you down to his height and wrapping his arms around your neck to squeeze you in a hug.

“Hey, little man, I’ve missed you!” You said enthusiastically, returning his hug.

“I missed you too. And so did Daddy. He said you were sick so I drew you a feel better card,” he told you, dragging you over to the coffee table and brandishing the piece of computer paper he’d folded in two to form a card.

“I love it so much Jack! I feel better already. Let’s put this on the fridge, yeah?” You said, standing up and shooting Aaron a smile as you crossed the kitchen.

“Can we play legos now?”

“Buddy, give her a second. She just got here.” Aaron tried to calm Jack down, but you waved him off.

“Just let me put my stuff away, and I’ll meet you in your room, okay?’ You told Jack, who scurried off towards his bedroom.

Aaron must have found some other way to entertain himself, because you and Jack spent the whole morning together, only taking a break after lunch when it was time for Jack’s nap. He insisted that you put him down, and after three readings of Curious George, he was finally asleep. When you turned to leave, you saw Aaron sitting in the door jam watching you.

“He was so excited this morning you would have thought it was Christmas,” He remarks as you meet him in the doorway.

“He’s a good kid.” You whisper, slipping out into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind the two of you.

“I’m lucky.” He agrees with you.

“Come on, Hotchner, it’s not all luck.” You tease him good naturedly as the two of you move back to the kitchen. He saw you headed for the sink, full of dishes from lunch, and sped up to get in front of you.

“Ah, ah ah. It’s naptime.” He told you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around.

Before you could stop yourself, you stomped your foot, not entirely unlike a child who needed a nap. “Hotch, come on!”

“We’re probably getting called on something tomorrow, and sleep will be hard to come by, and you’ll wish you’d listened to me.” He tells you.

“You’re acting like you aren’t going to bench me, regardless of whether or not we get called on a case.” You accused of him, and he at least had the good grace to try and look sheepish. “I’m not tired. Can we just watch a movie or something?” You offered a compromise, and he nodded, leading you to the couch.

You plopped onto the couch and picked up the remote as Aaron crossed the room to grab a throw blanket for the two of you to share. He spread the blanket across the couch and sat down, and you tucked your feet underneath you, unintentionally leaning in closer to him as you flicked the TV to a movie channel. Aaron stretched his legs out in front of him, extending one arm across the end of the sofa and the other arm around the back of it, conveniently making more space for you. As Hotch had suspected, it wasn’t long before your eyelids started to get heavy.

“The dishes…” you mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll take care of them.” He whispered, leaning in closer so you could hear him.

“Later. It’s naptime,” you reminded him, your head resting against his chest in sleep. His arm came to rest across your shoulders and down your side, drawing you into him. He inhaled deeply, trying not to overthink.

You’re her superior. His brain screamed. She loves Jack, not you. She loves Jack, but that doesn’t mean she wants to raise him. You’re too old, too cranky, too much baggage. This isn’t what you think it is. As much as he wanted to make himself believe all of that, as much as he wanted to accept that even if he knew he would go through hell and back for you, he could never have you, all he could focus on in that moment was the steady puffs of breath coming from your nose and landing on his chest. He realized, with a start, that it felt like walking into the wrong classroom your senior year of high school and locking eyes with the woman you knew you were going to marry.

Aaron’s prediction had been correct-- Monday morning had found you jetting off to Kentucky, for the murder of three county paramedics-- by the time your plane had landed, another body had dropped. A firefighter. You all climbed into SUVs from the airstrip-- Hotch and Rossi off to examine the bodies, Morgan, JJ and Prentiss to the most recent crime scene, and you and Reid to the police station to the police station to work on the geographic profile. Normally you’d be off with Hotch and Rossi, and examining a body wasn’t technically field work, but you went with Reid with minimal pouting, knowing you were lucky that Hotch had let you leave Quantico at all.

You decided to let Reid drive, and you were fiddling with the radio when he spoke for the first time.

“I keep… thinking about what there is to say to you, to communicate how much we’re all here for you, how much we all love you and we all want what’s best for you, and it feels like everything just falls short. I have an IQ of 187 and I still can’t find the words, but I can’t say nothing. I was scared for you. I’m proud of you, and if you need anything I just want you to know I’m here. I might not have the right words but I promise to listen, and to make sure you feel heard.” The words stumble out of Spencer awkwardly, but still strike you with their sincerity. You sniffle a little before responding.

“I know, Reid. I know how much you all care for me. I’ve never doubted that for a second. Thank you.” You tell him, your voice thick with emotion.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am.” You tell him with a confident nod. “Or, at least, I’m getting there. I did the hard part. I got out.”

A few hours later, you were at the police station with Reid, narrowing the geographic profile and spitballing with victimology, when one of the local officers poked his head into your makeshift office-space.

“Another body dropped. The town librarian.”

“Two in one day?” You asked.

“He’s spree killing now. He’s devolving.” Reid supplemented.

“Do you think it was random? He was killing first responders. The librarian doesn’t fit.”

“Could be,” Reid agreed.

“Have you called the rest of our team?” You asked the officer.

“Not yet.”

“We’ll call.” You told him, and he nodded. You pulled out your phone and dialed Hotch as Reid crossed the room to call JJ.

“Hotchner,” he said into the phone.

“Hey, it’s me. Another body just dropped.”

“He’s devolving.” Aaron sighed

“It was the local librarian.”

“But he was killing--” He started, but you could hear the words he was going to say before he even thought them.

“First responders, I know.”

Aaron let out a deep sigh. “If I take Reid off of babysitting duty, are you going to behave?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, but I reserve the right to bitch about it when this is over.”

“Noted. Tell him to meet us at the next scene, please?” He asks of you.

“Will do. Stay safe out there.”

“You too.” Hotch said before hanging up.

You sent Reid off to meet up with Hotch, and sat back down in front of your case files and notes, determined to find something written between the lines. After a tortuously slow thirty minutes, a thought occurs to you. You step into the police bullpen and get the attention of one of the officers.

“Hey. Does this town contract out its EMS services?”

“No,” the officer tells you. “They’re all employed by the town. They’re paid with a mix of taxpayer and grant dollars.”

“So they’re government employees?”

“Yeah.” The officer confirms, and you pull your cell phone out of your pocket, heading out a side door to get a little bit of air and some better reception to call Garcia.

“What’s new bugaboo?” Garcia asks as she picks up the phone, and you can’t help but smile. The sunshine felt warm on your face as you paced the empty back lot of the police station.

“Hey, Garcia. Is there any way to track if anyone in town has some sort of anti-government bias?”

“I can look for fringe political groups-- if the unsub is a member, that might help, but it would take me days to just search through every resident’s social media.”

“That’s okay, start there. Look for white men between 23 and 45. If I think of anything else that might weed it out I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, kitten. Are we talking strict anarchists here, or should I be looking at groups like--”

Garcia continued, but you couldn’t hear her over the sound of a gun cocking and the sensation of cold metal at the back of your head. You gasped.

“Sweetie? Did you think of something?”

“It’s time to put the phone down.” A voice said from behind you. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

“Who was that? Are you okay?” Garcia asked.

“Go on,” the voice said. “Hang up the phone. Don’t be dumb.”

You hung up the phone without saying another word to Garcia. The man dragged his gun down your spine, resting it against the middle of your back. “To think, I came here thinking I might kill a couple of cops, and I ended up with an FBI agent. Talk about an upgrade.” You tried to subtly reach for your gun, but it was useless. He strikes you in the head with the barrel of his gun before you can react. “Come on, sweet thing. I told you not to play dumb with me.”

“You really think you can kill an FBI agent outside of a fully staffed police station without getting caught? And you’re going to call me dumb?” You asked, hoping that he couldn’t hear the fear laced in your voice.

“Who said anything about not getting caught?” He chuckled. “We all die eventually. Might as well make it worth my while.”

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee @hotforhotchner11 @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @zheezs14

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Animals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,766 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Insecure reader, Crushes, Some very public secret touching, Fingering, Pool sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader in a red skimpy bikini at one of rossi’s pool parties trying to get hotch to loosen up….what happens when she gets a little too close when they’re swimming in the pool?" I uh 🥵 Link to A03 or read below! Going to Rossi’s for dinner as a team has to be one of your favorite things in life. There is always good food, good drink, teasing and grinning and laughter; you all get to decompress, destress, enjoy each other’s company as people and not because someone’s life depends on it.

You get to see Hotch as a person, too, and that’s kind of the best part. He’s the one who needs to relax and unwind more than anyone, so when he’s there with you all, casually dressed, softer, and quick to smile, it’s no wonder you… feel things.

You’re not an animal. You can feel things without acting on those feelings; you are more than your instincts. So what if you get butterflies in your stomach when he offers to pour you more wine? So what if your breathing picks up when he’s so close you can feel his breath on your neck? So what if you end these nights at home, alone in your bed, wishing he was beside you, inside you? He’s still off limits.

Your body’s reactions to him are normal, chemical, biological, and pointless, because he could be standing half naked in front of you and you would still be able to control yourself. You are a brain that happens to be in a body, not a body that happens to have a brain.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when Rossi invites everyone over, not for dinner, but an evening pool party.

A pool party. Fuck.

You are one hundred percent apprehensive, but for two different reasons. One is that you are a little self-conscious, and you prefer jeans and t-shirts over any other clothing; wearing a swimsuit in front of your coworkers seems extremely daunting. The other reason is that seeing Hotch in his swimsuit might actually be more terrifying, because you talk a big game about being able to control yourself, but if presented with his hot body, dripping wet, maybe his hair slicked back, a drop of water on his nose...

You take a deep breath, blow it out slowly. You’re just going to tell them you feel sick and can’t make it. Probably no one will care anyway.

You’re just gathering your things to leave work for the weekend, preparing to smile sadly and tell your lie, when Hotch appears at your side, his bag slung over his shoulder. He’s leaving work on time for once; it’s a freaking miracle.

“You’re coming to Rossi’s, right?” he asks softly, and you get those goddamn butterflies. You smile, not sadly.

“Yeah, definitely. I need to go home and get my swimsuit, though. I think I have one... somewhere.” It’s been a while since you had a vacation; wherever it is, you hope it still fits. He swallows, nods.

“Right, of course. I’ll see you there, then.” He brushes a hand carefully over your shoulder and passes you, heads for the door. You take another deep breath.

You are not an animal.

Right?

You arrive at Rossi’s house last, because you spent so long looking in the mirror, trying to convince yourself to just accept the way the swimsuit fits.

The only one you could find was from college, a little red string bikini, and since your body is obviously different now, it’s a little too small. You’re mostly covered, though, except for your ass, and no one is going to be paying much attention anyway. These people are like your brothers and sisters—or in Rossi’s case, your fun uncle—with the exception of Hotch, but you know he’s not going to be looking.

You walk into the backyard in your coverup, a cute black and white tunic, and everyone is swimming but JJ and Hotch. JJ is standing off to the side, phone at her ear, and Hotch is sitting on a lounge chair, not lounging at all. His spine looks rigid, but you can’t imagine why.

“Beer, my dear?” Rossi calls, holding up his own Corona. “Over by Hotch.” You smile and head toward him, bending to reach into the cooler for a drink; he looks a little more comfortable when he sees you, and says hello. You reply, then lift the bottom of your tunic to try to twist off the bottle cap, to no avail.

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for your bottle, and he wraps his t-shirt around it, pops it open and hands it back.

“Thanks.” You take a long sip, your head tilted back; after all the self-scrutiny, you feel like you earned this one. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“I will; didn’t feel like it yet,” he says, looking up at you, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Only you would come to a pool party and not swim, Hotch. Live a little.” You take another long sip, if you can call it that—the bottle is half empty already—and then set it down on the table, pull your tunic over your head. Might as well undress where fewer people are paying attention. “Come on,” you say, reaching out a hand. “I will if you will.”

He looks you over like he thinks you’re crazy or something, staring at you for a long moment, and then nods, lets you pull him up to standing. He tugs his shirt off too, and you do your best not to stare, because he is even hotter than you’d imagined, his chest broad and strong, arms strong too, and there’s a trail of hair disappearing beneath his swim trunks that you would like to explore with your mouth. You take a calming breath, turn to head for the edge of the pool, and he follows behind you; Derek looks up and whistles, and you feel yourself flush hot.

“Okay, Baywatch,” he calls with a grin, “come toward me again, but this time run in slow motion.” You roll your eyes and remind yourself not to try to cover up. If he sees you nervous, it’s just going to get that much worse.

“Shut up. It’s the only one I had,” you reply, and you look back at Hotch, who’s just standing there behind you and not saying anything. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to the pool, or something; no way a big bad FBI guy is scared of water, right?

You get in the pool, and it feels blissfully good on this 80+ degree day, even though the sun is down; you dunk your head just to get it over with, before someone does it for you, and when you come up, you hum happily and rub your wet hair back out of your face.

You look at Hotch, who is sitting on the edge with his feet in the pool. It’s a total cop out, and you swim over to him and carefully put your hands on his legs beneath the water. He looks down at you seriously and doesn’t move.

“Come on, all the way in. For me.” He wets his lips, and you’re about 80% sure he’s going to ignore you, so you just let go of his legs and back away; he absolutely surprises you by dropping into the water with a splash. He goes under, pops up and shakes his wet hair, droplets clinging to his shoulders. You laugh out loud and give him a shove, glad, again, that you’d chosen to submerge yourself already.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, voice dry, but with a playful smile, and you nod and smile as well. Yes, you’re happy, maybe a little happier than you should be: you can feel that your nipples are hard beneath the thin material of the bikini top. Your stupid body is sending signals, and you’re entering the danger zone, your brain and body fighting for dominance; your stupid body may be winning.

Do not engage, your brain repeats when you look at wet Hotch, a sight to behold, all big and drippy and firm; your body whispers in your ear like the devil on your shoulder, just go for it—he will feel really good—what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yes,” is all you say, moving closer to him even though there’s a warning bell going off in your brain. Do not engage!! “All I wanted was for you to loosen up a little, to relax.” You’re less than a foot from him, and no one is paying either of you any attention, busy playing with an inflatable beach ball or singing along to the radio or drifting around on a lounge float. You two might as well be the only people in the world, or at least that’s how it feels.

“I’m… loose,” he says, his voice low and rough, and something about it makes you feel less inhibited, like maybe it’s not just you who wants this; your hand brushes his waist, and then his hand brushes your hip, and then you lean closer and your leg brushes…

Very loose indeed, if loose equals horny, because that’s definitely not a gun in his trunks and he’s definitely happy to see you.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but you don’t feel sorry. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and you brush him more purposefully this time: your thigh against his bulging cock.

Do not engage!!

“Don’t be,” he replies eventually, and then it’s your hand moving of its own accord, palming him, big and hard. He closes his eyes, wets his lips. You want to bite his throat, to lick it, to get your hand down his shorts and feel him; you’re about to do that, your fingers slipping past the elastic, his breath hitching, and then the beach ball smacks down in the water right beside the two of you and you jump apart, startled.

“Sorry!” Emily calls, and Hotch bats the ball back over to them, and then you just look at each other. Was that a close call you never mention again, or…?

Now or never, your body says. He was about to let you put your hand in his pants. Try it again.

You are not an animal.

You try it again.

This time, you make it past the waistband, and you wrap your fingers around his dick. It’s thick, and hot, and smooth, and he reaches out a hand to grip your waist hard, his eyes boring into yours. You wet your lips, move your fingers to the head, rub it, and then you stroke him three times just to see what he looks like when you do.

He’s gorgeous, unsurprisingly, his eyes lidded and his chest heaving, and you rub him softly one more time and then withdraw your hand; apparently you’re cool with groping your boss in the same pool as the rest of your coworkers, but an actual orgasm is where you draw the line.

You are also breathing heavy, so turned on you’re almost shaking with need, and then Hotch reaches down and slides his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, rubs the pads of two fingers along your slit. It takes everything you have not to moan at his touch, especially when he dips lower, prods at your opening where you are already slick. He takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s fighting for strength too, which makes you feel a little better.

At least you’re both animals, now.

He pulls back only to get his hand on your ass, to squeeze it so hard your body shifts forward. You look up at him, and he looks down at you, and everything that needs to be said is said with your eyes.

You drift apart a little bit, but you still feel the ghost of his touch and maybe always will.

You float around, and talk a little; you get out to finish your beer, to grab you both another, and now that you know he’s into you, you maybe make climbing out look a little sexy. When you ease back in, hand him his bottle, he makes eye contact while he wraps his lips around it and takes a long drink.

Eventually, the others interact with the two of you, and it feels so strange to pretend that you and Hotch didn’t just fucking fondle each other fifteen feet away. It also feels really dirty, and that only serves to make you wetter. The glances he’s shooting you don’t help that situation much, either.

Garcia and Emily are the first to leave, and then Reid, until the only ones left are the two of you, Derek, and JJ. JJ says goodbye, heads out, and then Derek gets ready to leave. Rossi says he’ll walk him out, that he’s going to turn in, but that you and Hotch are welcome to stay as long as you like, and to just please lock the front door when you go.

“Couldn’t get you to get in, now can’t get you to get out,” Derek teases Hotch; you preen a little, because you know you’re the cause of both, and when Derek and Rossi leave, the air becomes thick with tension again. You open your mouth but don’t know what to say.

It’s Hotch who actually speaks first.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a very long time,” he murmurs, and you move closer to him, get your hands on his waist again. “You are so fucking beautiful, all the time, but in that bikini… were you just trying to tempt me?” he asks, a sincere question, and you shake your head.

“It’s really the only one I own. I got it in college, so it’s a little small now,” you explain, and he chuckles, soft and low.

“Well then, I guess I’m glad you don’t swim much, because you’re absolutely breathtaking. I was having a very hard time keeping my hands off of you, so I’m glad that you… initiated.” He puts his hands on your ass, pulls you closer, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck.

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember, you’re so fucking perfect.” You bring a hand to his wet hair and guide him down for a deep, steamy kiss, rubbing against his hard-on and moaning softly, since you can, now. “I want you, Hotch.”

“I need you,” he says, and that’s so much hotter; you reach between you to push down his shorts, taking him in your hand and stroking him again while he holds you up, and then you ease your bottoms to the side and guide him inside you, moaning and tipping your head back when he presses in. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, and you cling to him, kiss him harder, and move in his arms.

“Oh, god, Hotch,” you breathe against his lips, working your hips against his thrusts. “You feel so good, so big and hard and good.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and pumps up into you roughly, like he’s getting close already.

God, this is amazing, pure fucking, the outcome of being up to your eyeballs in sexual tension—you’re connecting the dots now, seeing how some things you thought were innocent between the two of you were absolutely not—and when he comes he pounds hard inside you, and you dig your nails into his neck and bounce on him until he groans and slides out, sensitive.

“Oh, wow,” he exhales, and then he turns so you’re up against the wall of the pool and lets you go, holding out his hands so you know to stay there. You stretch your arms out on either side of you, breathing hard, and he leans in, moves your top out of the way and sucks on a nipple, then reaches down and pushes your bottoms aside again, presses his fingers deep and fucks you with them.

“Hotch, oh, fuck.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, nips at your breast, and then lifts his mouth off and begs you to come until you do, practically strangling his fingers as you clench tight around him.

He pulls his hand away after getting you through it, fixes your suit and then his, and then pulls you back into his arms and kisses you for a long time, full of yearning and passion and satisfaction. You sigh against his mouth, touch his face, and offer for him to spend the night at your place.

He does, and you have sex on the kitchen counter, and in your bed, and then on the floor the next morning.

You animals. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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literaila · 3 years

Text

hopeless reality

BAU team x reader

request: Hii! I’m in serious need of some angsty sshhiiiit and I love your writing... Could you maybe write some platonic BAU x reader where the reader is the youngest, idk she can be like 20 or something, and a case goes TERRIBLY wrong and she’s injure dying and everyone’s like but she can’t die, she was supposed to outlive us all!

warnings: kinda sad, panicked everyone, hotch basically abandons all of them, some spoliers past season 6, no concrete ending..

a/n: I’VE NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS ITS SO DIFFERENT

“I can do it.”

Those words weren't surprising for any of them.

As the youngest, Y/N was always looking for new ways to prove herself to all of them. She was used to the staring, and the scoffs people made when they saw her next to the all mighty prestigious BAU team. She was used to people looking at her and wondering if they had picked someone up off of the highway, or if she was a murder just riding along with them. She was used to being undermined and underestimated by everyone.

Age was a tricky little thing people didn't seem to look past.

But it wasn't as if she put up with it. When the local police officers were making side remarks about her right behind her back, she didn't keep her mouth shut. Didn't stand there and listen to them expect nothing of her.

And she enjoyed the looks on their faces when they realized she was listening. She liked the stammered apologies that came out of their mouths while she stared them down.

She wasn't one to bite her tongue.

And she had something to prove, to herself and to all of her teammates. She had to show them that she was valuable, that her age didn't affect how much she could do, how much she was willing to do.

And so, it was expected when she offered herself up like a doll for sale.

It's what happens during every case.

This time though, all of her teammates nodded along with her. It was a man closer to her age, only a couple of years older, and she was the most likely to lure him. The most likely to trap him in the prison of being caught.

“Okay, Y/L/N will go in, Morgan and Rossi follow her in as backup, blend into the crowd.” Everyone awaited Hotch's formal orders, ready to finally be done with the case that had taken them days to solve. “You three need to remember, he's going to be on the lookout for us, he's definitely seen the news by now.”

The three of them nodded, Y/N already antsy on her feet as she waited to leave. Definitely the most willing to catch him out of anybody else in the room.

She nodded at the rest of the team, smiling at Garcia’s “See you soon Neptune! Be careful.” from the phone on the table. She grabbed her bag, filled with clothes that would help her fit into the bar scene, and her vest. Just in case.

She started to walk out the door, trailing after Morgan and Rossi as they got ready to leave when Hotch called her back into the room.

Everyone else had already left, and her nerves were telling her to continue walking and get to her job, but out of anyone else there, she was used to being pulled back behind.

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“You shouldn't hesitate to call in Derek or Dave, this unsub isn't going to stick around if he suspects something. You know that?”

It took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes at his protective instincts, instead going for a smile, hoping to ease whatever paternal nerves he could be feeling.

“Course, Hotchner. I know what to do.”

She nodded at him, choosing not to stay any longer than she had to, saving herself from his double-checking, and reassuring.

She waved with one of her hands walking out the door.

Wearing a dress and both a bulletproof vest was extremely uncomfortable. Especially when it was supposed to be discreet.

Y/N sat in the middle of the bar, sipping on a fake drink, throwing smiles to anybody who seemed to look at her, waiting for the one person she needed looks from to approach her.

She knew what to expect, an alpha male, expecting her to fall under his wing and go with him home- which of course would be when he would torture and murder her like he did all those other girls -and she wasn't going to let herself slip up when he was so close.

A couple of guys had come up to her already, asking her if she was new around if she needed some help getting home, if she was lost in a bar like this one. All things that she tried not to show disgust at, smiling and telling them she was expecting someone.

Though, when she saw him, she knew he would be different.

He was carrying himself differently. Smirking at everyone else, unlike a normal too confident male would. It was more threatening, like he expected everyone in the room to do whatever he said, whenever he said.

An alpha male.

Y/N could tell in almost an instant that this was her guy, and that it was time to put on a show.

It was an easy catch. The bait pulled him perfectly.

And she played the part just as expected.

Laughing at everything he said, smiling at him whenever she got the opportunity, drinking the drink she knew he was planning to spike soon.

It was a rehearsed part, one she was exceptional at.

But, when he started pushing her, begging her to come home with him, promising her that he would make it worth her while, she didn't know what to do.

With the last girls, he had waited longer, drugged them before he even dared to take them home, stayed at the bar with them so that they would be more comfortable with him.

But it had only been twenty minutes, only a short minute since he had first looked at her.

He was devolving too fast.

Y/N smiled, trying not to let the sudden nerves she felt show in her eyes, trying to keep herself comfortable sitting so close to him.

She looked over to Derek, who was sitting across the bar, pretending to drink while he listened to their conversation. He was looking back at her, giving her a look that she knew was asking if she was okay, if she knew what to do. He was worried too.

She took a quiet deep breath in.

“I haven't finished my drink yet,” she said, playing dumb, trying to act like she was innocent enough, trying to test him.

“I have plenty of drinks back at my place.”

She giggled, playing with the bracelet on her wrist, looking back over to Derek.

“It's so early in the night…” She whispered, flaunting her confidence, playing off her “drunkenness” as best as she could while still smiling at him.

But she could tell that he was getting impatient, and wasn't willing to wait anymore.

“What game are you playing?”

And she could hear his real voice. Not the man that went to strange bars to pick up women, but the man who murdered them as soon as he took them home. The man who was planning to murder her.

She looked over to Derek once more, once too much.

The unsub was looking with her, glaring eyes meeting Derek’s, and the reaction was written out in front of all of them.

He had seen Derek on TV. Seen him with the FBI.

He turned back around, his hand slipping to his pocket.

“You’re with them huh?” He was whispering, but his voice was demanding, furious.

And the giggle that came out Y/N wasn't fake this time, just nervous.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, her feet tapping on the barstool, her body getting ready to run, trying to smile.

“The FBI.”

He spat the words in her face. The smile falling from her lips.

The hand moving to point at her.

What was it she wondered?

What was pain?

“Physical pain inspires the worst kind of helplessness.”

Ambulances were surprisingly loud.

Louder than you’d assume.

They were threatening, and dangerous, and did nothing to help give you hope.

Derek didn't get scared. He didn't need hope to keep him upright, he wasn't threatened by any of the ambulances that he had seen before, he didn't find them too loud.

But he was supposed to be protecting her.

They all knew, going into the bar, before the bar, that it was dangerous. They all knew that there was a strong possibility that she could get hurt. But she was cautious, and she was brave. So he didn't worry. He didn't think he had to worry. Even with an unsub who was known for lashing out, for making big decisions with no thought. Hotch had told Derek, all of them, that this would be harder than normal, that they needed to be more watchful, more careful.

She’d been laughing with them in the car on the way over. Telling them that if either Derek or Rossi got in the way of her job, she’d disown them as her friends. She’d laughed and joked with them, not an ounce of fear in her eyes, no anxiety resting upon her body.

But he saw that look in her eyes.

That strange scared look.

It was unfamiliar, an anomaly to him. He’d never seen her eyes like that.

She was the youngest, the most daring, the person who offered to do anything that no one else wanted to.

She laughed when one of them said they were too tired to go out for drinks, offered to watch both Hotch and JJ kids when they were busy. She moved between them like she was mending with them, and she was everyone's best friend.

She took too many risks, moved too fast, thought too hard. She did everything on a whim, but it was impossible to stop her. Impossible to fade her from the scene. Impossible for anything to scare her like it would any person.

He’d never had to worry about her before.

She’d made it clear that she could take care of herself, that she was strong, that just because she was the youngest and most inexperienced, it didn't mean she couldn't do what any one of them could.

She was so strong.

And he’d never seen that look in her eyes before.

Desperation, trepidation. Two things that had never filled his body like in that moment.

He could see the unsub moving, he could see her worried eyes, her panicked posture. He saw everyone else around them, moving normally, none of them quite as scared as she was. He saw Rossi looking over at him from the bar.

And he saw the gun in the unsubs hands.

He wished he had been paying attention more, watching her, checking to make sure she seemed just fine. He wished he had watched the unsub, checked to make sure he couldn't see any weapons on him. He wished that he could’ve done it all over again, asked her to step back, to let him catch the guy.

And he wished he could’ve been fast enough.

The unsub had pulled out the gun, had stared at her with his threatening eyes, and she moved back, tried to get away but, she wasn't fast enough, and the unsub was too quick.

Derek had watched her stumble backward. He watched the pain light in her eyes and the panic fade out.

She used to tease him about watching everything.

“We aren't at work, you don't have to profile everyone in the room, Derek.”

Then she’d pass him a drink. Tell him that it was supposed to be fun, that they all needed a little more fun in their lives.

But now, all Derek needed was to get her eyes out of his head.

Her eyes were so desperate and panicked and worried for everyone, for everything. Her eyes were usually so brave and so curious.

He needed to get them out of his head, he needed this moment to be over.

He needed to not be sitting in the back of an ambulance with her.

It was surprisingly loud.

And scary.

He’d never been scared like this before.

Rossi wasn't worried.

He wasn't. Really.

He knew her, knew how fast her body would spring back, rejuvenate itself. He knew that she was strong, that she could stand any amount of pain, that when he saw her next she would be smiling, and she’d ask him if this meant they could have a party.

He knew she’d be fine.

He wasn't allowed to go in the ambulance with Y/N and Derek. The paramedics assured both him and Derek that only one could go, and Rossi could see the time slipping past them. He could see the clock ticking and he knew that they had to speed things up.

So, he’d pushed Derek into the ambulance.

He wasn't worried, so why would he go with her?

Besides, Derek was scared. He was shut down and focused so much on her, Rossi thought that Derek would have fought him for the place in the ambulance.

He thought about all the people he’d seen get hurt while working this job. Thought about all the times one of them made a mistake, or someone wasn't quick enough. Most of the time, they were fine. Not many people got hurt on the job.

There was always a couple weeks of leave, a couple weeks to get themselves back together, but they always came back.

He hadn't seen too many people die.

So he wasn't worried. The odds were that she would live. The odds were that she would be completely fine by the time he got to the hospital.

Because she was strong. She was healthy, had a young body, and more energy than she needed in the first place.

Rossi thought it might be good for her to slow down. This might be a good experience for someone like her. Someone who takes too many risks, goes out on a whim, and doesn't slow down even when she has the chance.

This might help her become a better agent. Someone more careful.

He wasn't worried.

She’d be fine.

Really.

JJ got the news first.

Back at the police department, while they were clearing up. She knew that Derek, Hotch, and Rossi all knew. She knew that the unsub had clued into who Y/N was, she knew that Derek and Rossi hadn't been enough to protect her. She knew that Y/N was on her way to the hospital, that she’d been shot in the field.

They didn't tell her where. Or how she was doing.

JJ had been here before. She had been in the situation of not knowing, of constant anxiety, of the questions that just bang back and forth in your head until you can get your answers.

She knew how that felt.

She looked over to Spencer and Emily, both of them clueless to what was going on, to their friend being brought to the hospital.

“Have you got the unsub detained?” She whispered, leaving the room, trying to gather all of the facts before she made assumptions.

“Yes. He's on his way to the police station now.”

“And no one else was hurt?”

“No.”

JJ nodded to herself, feeling relieved at the news.

The questions were in her head, spinning around. She knew that she wouldn't have any of them answered any time soon. Not until they could get into the hospital and see her.

“And JJ?”

Hotch’s voice was the same as always. Demanding.

“Yes?”

“I need you to tell Spencer and Emily.”

“Hotch-”

“I’ve got to go.”

And then she was left. With her news. And her questions.

And her confusion.

Of how this could ever have happened.

Hotch wasn't allowed to have a reaction. He wasn't allowed to think about it.

He was working. He had to do his job.

Members of his team had been shot before.

They all knew the risk there was in going in. They all knew how disguises couldn't hide everything. And they all knew that people got hurt doing the job.

It wasn't surprising. Wasn't anything new.

But she had reassured him. She had told him she knew what she was doing, she knew what she was doing.

He had believed her.

He could hear his voice in her head, telling all of them that she would do it. Like she always did. Like every other time, she got the chance.

She never took a step back, never looked at the situation before offering to go.

It was reckless and stupid.

No one ever said a thing. When she offered to be the bait, all of them accepted it, expected it. They all knew that she would be the first to jump at the chance to go out in the field. They all knew that she was smart and strong, and she knew what she was doing.

None of them ever said no. It was so hard to say no to her.

But she had reassured him, Hotch had double-checked this time, just to make sure she would be safe. He put two experienced agents as her back up, two people that he trusted and knew would protect her.

“I can do it.”

She could do it.

She’d been shot.

And he felt like blaming himself, felt like being angry, furious at her for offering to go, for reassuring him and lying, and he felt like being angry at himself for letting him go, for not properly preparing her.

But he didn't have time to ponder those thoughts.

He didn't have the time.

He couldn't have a reaction.

He had a job to do.

He was working.

He wouldn't think of it.

Emily probably knew better than anyone else.

She was probably most familiar with pain. With hurt.

She knew how this would affect her, she knew how she would feel. She knew how it would change her even after she was healed. She knew how the scar would never leave her body, and that she would wince every time she saw it.

No matter how much Emily wished she wouldn't understand, she did.

She knew what would happen to Y/N.

If she lived that is. If she was strong enough, if the bullet wasn't stronger than her. If she wasn't too late, if the doctors could save her. If she would stay alive.

And she would be there this time.

If she died. If the world was cruel enough to take her away.

She would have to be with her friends, she wasn't allowed to run away again. She wasn't allowed to go across the world and break alone, she wasn't allowed to turn her back like she had before. Even if she wanted to. Even if running away seemed like the only thing she could do. She would stand by them, and learn what it felt like to have your friend die.

But she wouldn't come back.

That was probably the hardest thought.

If Y/N died, she wouldn't have the opportunity to come back. She wouldn't have the months to heal, the job across the world, she would have the pain of knowing that her friends thought she was dead, but she also wouldn't have any pain.

She’d be dead. Gone. Forever.

And Emily knew what that meant.

It almost killed her to know that.

When she watched Spencer freeze as JJ told both of them, when she saw the worry in JJ’s eyes, she knew that the only thing she could do was be there for all of them. For her, if she could. And for them, if she had to.

It was a scary thing to know your friend was hurt. To know that while everything else in the world stayed the same, several hearts were breaking with the knowledge of the pain their friend was in. It was crazy to think that not everyone's world changed.

It was selfish of her to be thinking of herself, to be avoiding the memories and the thought that came with Y/N being dead. It was selfish to assume she was. It was selfish that she wasn't doing anything to help her friends, to help herself. It was terrible of her not to hope, not allow herself to feel some relief.

But she had to protect herself.

Expect the worse, welcome the best.

Emily was scared. She was scared for Y/N, scared to be there this time, scared to have to hold everyone together like she couldn't before. Scared for the worse to be the reality. For her friend to really be gone.

She could hear her laugh in her head. She knew that it wouldn't leave. It wouldn't go away until Emily could hear it again.

Pain.

She was so familiar with. She was so used to.

Pain.

Emily probably knew that better than anyone else.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

That's all Spencer knew.

He didn't know what was going to happen, if she would live, if she would die, if she was okay, if she wasn't. He didn't know what they would do without her, what would happen if she really did die, if the youngest died before any of the oldest could.

He didn't know how everyone would feel, how he would feel if she died.

He didn't know what any of them would do without her laughter, without her pushing for them to have fun when work was over, without her running around the office, making everything seem bright when it was nothing but dim.

He didn't know what would happen. What was happening?

But he knew

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

He knew that if he could see her, if he had more information about what had happened, he could figure out the probability that she would live. He knew that if he had been there, he would know how to feel, what was going to happen.

But they were sitting in the hospital waiting room. They couldn't see her yet.

Derek hadn't said a word. Emily was sitting next to Spencer. JJ was walking around, checking on all of them instead of herself, being as selfless as she could while they were all stuck in a state of panic.

Rossi was talking to the nurse again.

There still wasn't any news.

None of them were sure how she could’ve been hurt, with her vest, and her self defense techniques. None of them were sure how hurt she could be.

But

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

Spencer held onto that.

She wouldn't be one of the hundred. She wouldn't.

He thought of the sleepovers Y/N, Garcia, and he had. Like children. He thought of how both of them spent the entire night picking on him, trying to make him laugh. He thought of how she always convinced the two of them to come over, told them that it was movie night even if it was a completely random day.

He hated the thought of not doing that anymore.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

She was the youngest. Everyone teased her about it. They all expected her to live for a hundred years, far longer than any of them could. She was the youngest and the brightest and the bravest. She wasn't supposed to die before any of them could.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

When she had offered to be the bait, Spencer hadn't felt worried. He didn't even think of her getting hurt, only felt relieved that this case would finally be over, that they could all go home. He didn't worry at all.

But he should have.

Because she always did this, she always offered, and no one ever turned her down. The odds were that she should’ve gotten hurt long before this.

Odds were that she was extremely lucky.

Except for now.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

Spencer didn't know what would happen. He didn't know if she would live, if she would die. He didn't know what would happen. He barely knew anything at all.

But Derek wasn't talking, Emily was silent, JJ was avoiding the topic, and Rossi had asked the nurse for an update eight times in the last thirty minutes.

He didn't know.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

She wouldn't be one of the hundred.

She couldn't.

Before JJ had told her, Penelope knew something was off.

No one had called her to update on if they had got him or not. Her phone had been completely silent.

That was off.

She called her Neptune.

It was one of the planets that couldn't be seen from Earth.

She’d always asked where the nickname had come from.

Penelope had called her that because Y/N was unreachable to her. She held so much, all this brightness, and you could barely even tell from the surface.

It was a nickname that seemed to fit her more than anything else.

And she couldn't help but think of it as soon as she got the call.

Neptune. Her best friend.

She didn't understand much about profilers, but she knew that Y/N was different from all of her other friends. She didn't know if it was because she was younger, and less experienced, or if she just carried something different to her.

But it was a smart decision to be her best friend, to depend on her.

They’d spent nights together, laughing, creating insanity with every sentence, every hour that ticked past on the clock. They’d spent time laughing, and crying, learning everything they could about each other.

‘Best friend’ was a loose term, one that didn't extend far enough for their relationship.

And Penelope had known something was wrong, as soon as no one had called her.

The first thought was that the unsub had gotten away, that he was going somewhere else and they still had to catch him.

But she knew that wasn't true, because they hadn't called her to help.

And then she thought that maybe he had been difficult, that maybe it was taking all of the team to help deal with him.

But, that didn't seem quite right.

And then she thought of all the other times something like this had happened, when she hadn't gotten a phone call, and there was nothing but silence for a couple of hours.

And all she could think of, was the day Emily almost died.

And then the bullet Spencer had taken to the leg.

And then the stabbing Hotch had been through.

For Penelope, after those thoughts, she didn't have any choice but to find out where they were.

So, she hacked their phones.

It wasn't completely rational, but Penelope had never proved to do things that were rational before. And she was far too protective to not do anything.

JJ’s phone showed up at the police department they were working from. So did Emily and Spencers. Hotch was somewhere across town. Rossi was still at the bar, and Derek was at the nearby Emergency Room.

By the time she had gotten to Y/N, she knew something was wrong.

One of them was hurt.

When she finally got the phone call, she had already pulled some of her hair out, stalked the news, tried to hack into the hospital's patient list- which she couldn't because not all of it was digital -and bitten off almost all of her nails.

JJ had told her, just like JJ always did, informing all of them the best she could.

And they didn't know enough.

Penelope had no idea how her best friend was, and even though she’d asked over and over, what had happened, JJ didn't have any answers for her.

It was a stupid situation.

Penelope hoped she wasn't hurt. That the bullet hadn't gotten anywhere near anything important, that she would live just as Penelope had years ago.

If she had lived, so could Y/N.

She was young and strong and she had been wearing a vest, and there was nothing wrong with her, if they didn't know anything it was good. It was good that no one had told them anything.

That meant she wasn't dead yet.

And that's all Penelope had to hold onto.

She called her Neptune. Because she was unreachable.

She would be fine.

Her eyes. They looked so scared. Derek was so scared.

She would be fine. Rossi knew.

JJ didn't know how this could have happened.

He wouldn't think of it. He was working.

Emily knew better than anyone else.

38,000 people in America die of gunshot wounds each year.

An average of 100 a day.

She called her Neptune.

She was the youngest out of all of them.

She had to be okay.

my masterlist here.

#derek morgan x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x reader #penelope garica x reader #aaron hotch x reader #jennifer jareau x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons

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spencersmagic · 3 years

Text

greet me with goodbye - part 7 of 505.

masterlist // 505 series // taglist

summary: the last minutes in their relationship were always going to hurt. they just didn’t know it would hurt this much

couple: fem reader x spencer reid

category: pure angst.

warnings: no happy ending YET. i will be posting the second part, where there will be a happy ending, but for now its sad. mentions of insecurity and self-doubt, relationships falling apart, love deteriorating in a way that you could only describe in detail if you've seen two divorces in your lifetime and have had plenty of time to question whether love is rotten because its love or if it rots because of carelessness. i, as a self-preserving genius, choose nº2.

words: 2.1k

time to read: 12 minutes.

this fic describes love deteriorating in a way that you could only describe in detail if you've seen two divorces in your lifetime and have had plenty of time to question whether love is rotten because its love or if it rots because of carelessness. i, as a self-preserving genius, choose nº2.

i do want to say, though, that any type of feelings or thoughts are best when expressed. tell him that what he did to you was wrong. tell her that her behaviour hurt you. tell them you've fallen for them. subtext gets us nowhere.

***

Their relationship had become clumsy.

But not in the sweet way. The way they spoke to each other didn’t resemble the first steps a foal takes. Their arms weren’t learning their way around their world anymore. They weren’t studying how each other’s heartbeat sounded at their touch, their words, in the form of a whisper that promised the world. They weren’t clumsily hugging each other, turning into a tight embrace once their arms found their place.

It was more of a carelessness. The feeling that they were constantly avoiding a conversation, that dark matter between their hearts that only seemed to grow. Like two magnets similarly charged, they would always leave a sacred space between each other, only coming into close proximity of each other when absolutely necessary. Still, she still noticed him pulling away.

Or at least that’s what Y/N felt.

Her heart had always been filled with fear: fear of the unknown, of being too loud, of being too present, too absent, too much. And when she felt him pulling away, she felt her heart being pulled apart. But, what else could she do? She’d given him everything. She’d given so much of herself to him, in hopes of being enough. The idea that Spencer was pulling away because of something she’d done, made Y/N sick to the stomach.

Because, day after day, night after night, she would wake up and he would be gone. And he would be asleep by the time she came back from work, not to mention the avoidance she was shown by the resident genius in the bullpen.

Y/N wasn’t going to be the type of person that forces herself onto someone that doesn’t want anything to do with her. She is a lot of things; strong, caring, independent, intelligent and, above all, observing. If he wants to greet her with goodbye, if he wants to show her disregard in the form of over-the-shoulder, rushed, tiny hello’s and dismissive gestures, she’s not going to act any other way.

He treated her like she was poison. She had given him nothing but honey and kindness, but he treated her like all she had to offer him was ulcers and dry mouth.

Sleepless nights holding each other slowly became restless nights hugging themselves in hopes of finding comfort in their own embrace.

He started staying up on the couch. She acted like it was a mistake, like she knew he didn’t mean to fall asleep so far away from her. He was grateful for this.

Because every time their hands would brush up against each other, she would feel the same spark she’s been feeling for the past two years. And he would feel anxiety creep up from his toes, spreading all over his limbs and heart.

He didn’t like the feeling. He especially didn’t like where it came from.

So, he minimized the amount of physical proximity they had together, until it escalated to taking turns on the couch, pairing up with anybody else during cases, and handing information that was pertinent to the case through Penelope.

It’s better this way, he reminded himself through every breathing moment, it’s better this way.

Spencer had made the following calculations.

If he distances himself from her enough to be convincing, The Woman would either think that Spencer loves her, thus leaving the love of his life alone, to live in peace. Perhaps she would find someone who wouldn’t put her in danger as much as Spencer did. Perhaps he would make her smile in the way he hadn’t been able to in the past three weeks. No matter how heartbreaking the thought was, he knew for a fact that his heart would be crushed forever if Y/N spent the last moments of her life at the unfortunate end of the barrel of a shaking gun in the hands of The Woman, as she had introduced herself.

The first option, though more appealing, is still not enough to keep her safe. He needed to make sure that, at the end of the day, she would be able to come home, and he wouldn’t have the aching feeling inside of his chest where something like that could happen again.

Y/N was known to sleep through anything. She’d slept through 76% of their flights, making her the highest ranked among the team, as Spencer had calculated once after having one too many drinks. She had fallen asleep in bars when their friends had dragged them out for drinks. She had fallen asleep in bullpens, cars and helicopters.

It wasn’t a surprise that she could sleep through a call between Spencer and The Woman, as she had a sniper pointer aimed at her chest through the window.

The call, which he didn’t even want to think about, had started everything. It had started his sleepless nights; it had started his paranoia and fear of being seen with her. It had created a distance between the two of them that could only be mended once The Woman was apprehended, or dead.

Spencer preferred the last.

He had never felt such anger. Spencer wasn’t the type to hate, but when she saw the way The Woman had been smirking at him, hands firm but careless, as she grasped her weapon from the house balcony diagonal to them, he could only think the darkest thoughts. Terrible ideas came to mind, of torture and endless pain, where she was at the other end.

She had asked him how she looked. She had even posed for him as he sobbed quietly. He could only dream of exactly how good she’d look surrounded by the prettiest flowers, in a casket.

He wanted to hurt her. In ways he’d never dreamt of hurting anybody before.

From that moment on, he had been texted from an unknown caller. She had been making requests. Spencer, won’t you buy me a beautiful dress? Spencer, it’s our anniversary, I expect a gift. And the latest. Spencer, buy me flowers, won’t you? I’ve had a terrible day.

So he had gone out. Done all these things she wanted, out of pure fear. Because every time he closed his eyes, he would see the red dot around Y/N’s chest. He would see the way her soft breath made her chest rise and fall as she slept a dreamless sleep. And it paralyzed him.

Spencer had been feeling observed for the past three weeks. Every time she called, her language always indicated that she was somewhere close, watching: a comment about how handsome he looked, how sad Y/N looked traveling alone in the metro, how much his shirt complimented his eyes. So, how could he even think about talking to Hotch, or Prentiss, or anybody else about what was going on? She seemed to creep up in every corner he would turn, every store he would walk into. Every breathing minute had her voice stamped on it.

Spencer walked into their apartment. It felt like a chill rushing onto him, like a ghost walking through him. Perhaps he had, once again, forgotten to call their HVAC repairman. He had been doing that for a while now, as Y/N would note: forgotten to make an effort for her, to fight for her.

Maybe, just maybe, it was the change in scenery. The warmth that usually rushed onto both of them, in the form of hugs and physical care, the smell of freshly baked cookies, or candles, or incense, or anything that said I care about this space, and I care about you.

But that was long gone. Forgotten.

He had expected Y/N to be sleeping. Or at least, pretending to sleep. But as he walked in, he saw her cooking. She was cooking Rossi’s pasta, a dish they had all been taught one day when Rossi invited them for “family bonding time”.

Only she wasn’t cooking. Upon further inspection Spencer realized that she was leaning over the sink. Hyperventilating.

He wanted to rush to her side. To hug her and tell her that everything would be alright. That soon, he would give her everything. He would be there next to her every night, loving her, showing her just how much she’s worth in his eyes. But he can’t do such thing. Not when She could be close, watching.

“Y/N? What is wrong?” he kept his voice as monotonous as possible, and it broke her heart further. It destroyed the last hope it held. Selfishly, naïvely, even, she thought that he would rush to her side, to hug her, tell her he’s sorry for what he’s done. Hell, even to explain just why he was treating her like she was nothing but an inconvenience.

“I can’t do this anymore, Spencer. You know I can’t. It’s not who I am” she whispered between soft sobs.

All he wanted to do was tell her how much he loved her. That he never wanted to hurt her. He wanted to explain the situation at hand, that he’s cooking up a plan and that, once The Woman disappears, they can go back to normal. But he stood there, emotionless. Like he was looking right past her.

She grabbed her coat, put on her boots and rushed out. Not another word was wasted in the rotten relationship that they had wanted to let flourish in that apartment.

He watched her leave before everything settled. Like dust - like tiny particles that had accumulated due to the carelessness, lack of trying.

When they started their relationship, Spencer had gone out of his way to make her feel loved.

He knew how much she had worked to get to where she is in terms of self-confidence and love. He knew just how hard it had been for her, because Spencer had been there every step of the way. He had loved her through every moment where she couldn’t love herself. He had introduced her to the world of affirmations, and how important it is for her to remind herself every single morning that she’s worthy of love, that she is allowed to take up space and that she’s beautiful.

After their first fight, which was instigated by the feeling she constantly had of not feeling enough, resulting in some harmful words said and some feelings left unexpressed, he made sure she knew just how much he loved her. He told her my love, I will love you until my heart stops beating. And, if, for any reason, I change my mind, which I know wont happen, I will immediately tell you. Until then, I will love you as much as you need. But you need to remind yourself, too.

As she walked out of the doorway, she affirmed once again.

Spencer is my boyfriend, he loves me, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. She added, he’s right behind me. He’s following me out because he cares about us, and wants to fight for what we have.

But as she turned around, he was gone.

And she was left only with the constant reminder that the embrace of the coat she had picked out could never replace the feeling of his arms around her, soothing her.

After what felt like forever, but was probably sometime around two hours, she decided to walk back to their shared apartment.

She had cried, called Penelope to tell her what happened, lied down on the grass looking up at the stars in that park they went on a picnic to during one of their first dates. She had screamed in anger, and kicked the ground, and cried over an ant she had stepped on accidentally.

She had made decisions. Decisions to go back, to leave him, make a bag with all of her belonging, the things that she had picked out to nourish an environment and relationship that was bound to fail. And she would leave.

But, as Y/N walked back, she found the front door open, the apartment trashed in a way that screamed threat, and a promise in the form of a note.

I know where you are. If you come looking for him, I will kill you both.

ºººººººººº

if you liked it, please consider liking and reblogging, or sending me an message.

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @username2002 @eoupe @galaxydefenderjulia @spencerreid-mgg @spenxerslut @urie-bowie-mercury @onyourfingertips @big-galaxy-chaos @fiftyshadesofspencerreid @tbuhgs @jswessie187

tags not working: @idontwantyourcookiesthanks

i love you all. stay happy, healthy and safe. 🤍🫂

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poguesofthebau · 3 years

Text

paranoia

summary: meeting dylan einstein, a genius forensic scientist from indianapolis, musters up some unknown insecurities about your relationship with reid. however, morgan-- and reid, once he figures it out-- isn’t willing to let you think that way. warnings: mentions of bombings (as pertaining to the case)

word count: 3k pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: set in season 10, episode 14, this one was requested by @koc-help! as per usual, it took me forever to write, so i hope you can forgive me for that and enjoy what i came up with!!

bombing cases were stressful. it always seemed harder for you; figuring out a motive, pushing down the overwhelming sympathy for the victims, convincing yourself that all of your team members were safe. because of your unshakable paranoia in the wake of those cases, you were already on edge by the time the team was boarding the jet to indianapolis. and, of course, spencer caught on to the way you were feeling almost immediately.

with the limited information the team had at that point, conversation about the case was reasonably brief. the file was reviewed and discussed, and hotch delegated a role for everyone to take when the jet landed. when the conversation came to a lull, you slid out of your seat, tossing the manilla folder onto the leather before moving to the back of the jet to make a cup of coffee. jj and derek’s voices were audible as they continued to spitball off of each other, masking the sound of spencer approaching where you stood. “hey,” he called to you as he neared. having been enveloped in the chatter your other friends were creating, you jumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. when you looked up at him, his eyebrows were raised in concern at your reaction, immediately making you recoil into yourself. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathed, pulling the coffee pot out of its place to pour the liquid into your empty cup. “i’m fine.”

“that’s not very convincing, you know.” you turned to face him then, sighing and internally shaking the dread away. “what is it?”

“i’m not a huge fan of bombings,” you said sarcastically. spencer scoffed a laugh at that, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as you continued with a bit more seriousness. “just a little worried. it’s nothing, spence.”

“i’m not used to seeing you worried in this way. are you sure you’re okay? i mean, do you want to talk about it?”

the soft-spoken concern in spencer’s tone along with the expression he was looking at you with warmed your heart. if there was one thing that could take your mind off of a murderous bomber, it was spencer. your eyes flickered over to the rest of the team, making sure no one was paying any attention to you and your boyfriend huddled up in the back of the jet, before you leaned up and pressed your mouth to spencer’s. the kiss was quick, but it was also just the reassurance that you both needed. “i promise, i’ll tell you if i need to talk. for now, i just want to get this son of a bitch and go back home.”

being present for the disarming of the second bomb only worsened your initial paranoia. the thought of an explosive device made you anxious enough; having to stand your ground and comfort an intended victim while a bomb was armed less than a foot from you was a whole new feeling. you trusted morgan to clip a wire without killing you, but the adrenaline in the heat of the moment was hard to shake. it had been a few hours since the scene had unfolded, but you still felt like your heart could possibly jump out of your chest at any moment the morning after the disarming. despite the underlying terror running through your veins, you were critically analyzing everything going on around you. your focus was completely dedicated to the case unfolding around you, because the sooner you cracked it, the sooner your thinly veiled fear would dissipate.

you were digging around in the bed of the pickup truck while einstein, the local forensic scientist, examined the bomb itself. out of your peripherals you saw reid and morgan approaching, but the bulk of your energy was going into analyzing the scene as best you could. your boyfriend’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds as he neared, immediately gauging the nerves you were trying so hard to conceal. reid made a mental note to address that as soon as he could get you alone, but fought the urge to do so right then. spencer knew you well enough to know that, no matter how freaked out you currently were, your mind was concentrating on the scene before you, and anything else would simply be considered a distraction. he swallowed down the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of not being able to help you before tuning in to the comment einstein began to make. “he really went for a bigger boom this time.”

the short conversation that ensued between the two following that comment was something that shouldn’t have bothered you. you knew it meant nothing; reid wasn’t the only genius in the world who memorized excerpts from anarchy cookbooks or mathematical theories. just because some young, brilliant, beautiful girl knew the same book as spencer didn’t mean you had anything to worry about.

nonetheless, you became very worried about it.

you strolled around to the passenger side of the truck, sliding into the empty seat with a quizzical look on your face. “you know, it’s a wonder that he even realized he triggered the bomb.”

opening the driver’s side door as he spoke, reid slid into the truck next to you. “maybe he heard something when he stepped on the pedal.”

“and knew not to move? i mean, what’s this guy got, an ex-paramilitary background we don’t know about?”

the back and forth continued a few more times, and within a minute you and reid had developed the idea that allen archer, the bomb’s target, could potentially be your unsub. upon this conclusion, einstein spoke up again. “that’s what you guys do. you just talk a lot.” her voice was joking as the words left her lips, and a bright smile graced her face as she spoke. regardless of the playful tone you immediately identified, the words triggered something in you.

“well, there’s also a lot of kicking down doors involved,” morgan interjected from outside the passenger door, shaking you out of your internally-mortified state. you watched as einstein announced her departure then, mustering up a measly close-lipped smile in return to the courteous and friendly glance she offered you before leaving.

as she walked away, her words repeated in your mind. it was so simple for her to summarize; you just talk a lot. a woman so young and so intelligent had just condensed your entire career into a five-word sentence so simple that you couldn’t even disagree. was that truly all you were capable of? talking? bouncing ideas off of your coworkers’ ideas and hoping you’d end up catching the killer that way?

you spent the rest of the day arguing with yourself. in all honesty, your own inner monologue was starting to get on your nerves. despite your most sincere attempts to focus on the case in front of you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that einstein was right. and maybe she was-- maybe your job was nothing compared to hers, and maybe she was a better match for spencer than you could ever dream of being.

this new uncertainty of your career and relationship definitely didn’t help to settle your previously established fear of being blown up at any given moment.

given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time until someone on your team noticed how uneasy you were steadily growing. they knew you. you were y/n-- sometimes stubborn, oftentimes overprotective, and always capable. sure, you had off days at work, just like everyone else. you weren’t always the one to solve the case, but you were always present and attentive, engaged in the investigation with your mind and body. however, right now, your mind was in two places at once. for that reason, you weren’t surprised in the slightest when morgan approached you at the station.

as you walked toward the conference room to find hotch, you were stopped by the familiar voice calling out. “hey, hold on little lady.”

“what’s up, morgan?”

morgan shook his head at that, a knowing look crossing his features as he began to speak. “nuh-uh. what up with you, y/l/n?” you threw him a falsely quizzical look, trying (and failing) to get him off your back by playing dumb. sadly for you, morgan was too good of a profiler and friend to fall for it. “don’t play with me, girl. i know cases like this always get to you a little, but i also know how badass you are. normally you would’ve bounced back from our brush with death by now, so what’s the problem?”

you squinted at him as your face morphed into dismay. of course you couldn’t fool morgan. your mind flickered to penelope, suddenly relating to one of her more commonly made complaints: damn profilers. “my first problem is that you might know me a little too well.” derek scoffed at that, waiting for you to continue. “my second problem? well, my second problem might be that i’m not smart enough, or maybe that spencer is too good for me, or maybe that our job is too easy, or maybe--”

“woah, woah, woah. slow your roll, little missy. ‘spencer is too good for me?’ where’s that coming from?” you blinked slowly in response, not quite willing to give up any more information than you already had. “fine-- i’ll figure it out myself. let’s see: you’ve been acting weird since we got this case, but that’s not what this is about. i’ve seen you on bombing cases before, and this ain’t that. so... oh, i know. is this about a forensic scientist, maybe? maybe one who has the same name as a very smart, very famous--”

“okay, morgan. i get it. you’re a great profiler, and you know my thoughts better than i do. that doesn’t really change the way i’m feeling right now.” your tone was a little sharp, but the look in your eyes was a mixture of sadness and contempt. “and, in case you needed me to put it simply, i’m feeling like shit.”

a look of pity overtook morgan for a moment. he knew what you were going through. sure, he wasn’t dating a genius with an iq of 187, but he knew how it felt to doubt yourself, and especially how it felt to feel belittled for your work. “y/n,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching a little to get on eye-level with you. “don’t do that to yourself, kid. don’t forget how hard what we do is, and how important it is. you save lives every day. no matter how you do it, or how much brainpower it takes, there are people all around this world who are alive because of your work. whether they admit it or not, everyone has respect for that. especially our resident pretty boy.”

“i know, morgan,” you sighed. his hands slid from your shoulders as you finally gave in, looking him straight in the eye as you spoke. “sometimes it just feels like he deserves better.”

“just because it feels that way doesn’t mean it’s true. and i can promise you, reid has never felt that way. not about you.” after giving a comforting pat on the arm to go along with his final words, morgan was walking away.

damn profilers, you thought again. why are we always right?

before you got the chance to speak with reid, the team was off again. instead of splitting up this time, you were simply spreading out; hotch and rossi were scouring the crowd of civilians and news crews at the staged ceremony for allen archer, and the rest of you were divided into two suvs with morgan and kate in one and you, jj, and spencer in the other. your talk with morgan had lifted your spirits a bit, but there was still a tightness in the air as you sat beside your seemingly clueless boyfriend.

unbeknownst to you, spencer wasn’t all that clueless. not only had he caught on to your behavior long before anyone else on the team, but he’d also spotted you and morgan’s secretive moment from across the police station. (and, yes, morgan may have whispered “check on your girl” to spencer when you weren’t paying attention. he just wanted to help.) so, while you thought he was in the dark about your current insecurities, reid was very much aware of what was going on in your head. as much as he hated it, though, he was hesitant to acknowledge it with jj in the backseat and the rest of the team on comms. so, like the considerate boyfriend he was, he waited.

it wasn’t until you got back to the police station that spencer got the chance to catch you alone. everyone else was busy preparing to leave for the jet, the bustle of having solved yet another case causing an uplifting distraction for the team. while your friends were distracted, spencer grabbed you by the hand and pulled you into a nearby empty conference room. the surprise on your face was evident when he looked at you, and he couldn’t help but smile. you laughed nervously at his expression, not completely sure what he had taken you aside for. “hi, spence. you okay?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same thing,” he admitted. “except, i already asked you that once during this case, and you weren’t very willing to share, so i was going to approach it in a more insistent way.” although you were amused by this mysterious behavior of his, you were still confused about what exactly spencer was implying that he knew. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice that you were upset?”

“no,” you said unconvincingly.

“y/n, why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation in his voice almost shattered your heart. the whole time that you’d been in your own head, spencer had been in his. all because you were scared to talk to the one person you trusted more than anyone in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, taking a step toward him. spencer’s right hand slid around your waist once you got close enough, and your forehead dropped onto his chest as you sighed. when you looked back up to him, spencer was already anticipating eye contact. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything. i just didn’t want to worry you, or to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong, because it’s not your fault, i just-- i don’t ever want to feel like i’m holding you back.”

“holding me back from what? you could never hold me back.”

“i could, though! you’re this amazingly brilliant genius, and there are so many people out there who are so much smarter than me, and i--”

“is that what this is about? you think you’re not smart?” you felt his hand tense from its place on your lower back, his disbelief clear in his voice.

“no, no-- i mean, i know i’m smart enough. but sometimes when we have cases like this we meet some really, really smart people, and i can’t help but wonder if you would be better off with someone on your intellectual level. someone like einstein.”

“y/n,” spencer seemed stunned at this revelation, and you realized then that morgan had been right. the idea of you not being enough had never crossed spencer’s mind. “you are the person that i’m better off with. you. i don’t-- i’ve never even thought of anyone else as a possibility since i met you. there isn’t anyone else. i mean, before i knew you, i wasn’t even sure that i believed in love at all. the only reason that i know it’s real now is because of you. i can’t think of any statistics of mathematical theories or scientific discoveries to explain or defend it, but i have always known that there isn’t anything for me aside from you. i mean that. no matter how smart anyone else is, or how cool anyone else is, or how compatible anyone else’s intellect is with mine. i love you, y/n.”

and, just like that, your fears were gone. your inner monologue went silent, and the serenity that spencer’s words brought you washed over your entire body. spencer’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer into him. his free hand moved to the side of your face, brushing back your hair as he waited for you to reply. the anticipation on his face sent another rush of absolute love through you, and you quickly closed the gap between you. as your mouth met his, your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, slowly wrapping around until they were laced together behind his head. for what could’ve been an hour, you stood there, melting into spencer as his words of reassurance replaced the chants of uncertainty that had filled your head hours prior. you were forced to pull back from him eventually, but even then your hands remained around his neck and the distance between your faces was minimal as you reopened your eyes. “i love you.”

a knock on the door suddenly interrupted the moment, causing you to release each other as a third party entered the room: morgan. “hey, lovebirds,” he grinned. “nice to see that you’re back to normal. it’s time to head home.” you smiled knowingly at the man, lacing your fingers through reid’s as you followed morgan out of the room. grabbing your belongings on the way out, the three of you headed toward your designated suv, where jj was waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. “so, you finally confessed, huh?”

“of course i did,” you laughed. “no secrets in this relationship.”

“yeah, and i would’ve figured it out eventually anyway.” at spencer’s interjection, it was morgan’s turn to laugh.

“oh, yeah, 187?”

“he is a genius, you know,” you added smugly.

“well, apparently so am i, because i figured it out before he did. oh, and by the way, pretty girl, i told you.” and with that, morgan was jogging off (in a fit of giggles) to the suv, hopping in the passenger seat before you had a chance to jokingly scold him.

damn profilers.

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