3 Person Deal
Jamie Hayter/Britt Baker (also some Britt/Adam)
Fluff! (also making out! yay!!)
Jamie finds out that Britt is with another.... and she's cool with it?
Private locker rooms were probably Jamie’s favorite part about being a champion. Everyone who held a shiny golden belt got their own private room to settle down in before and after matches, and Jamie loved it. She finally got some time to herself, and she didn’t have to sit around a cramped room with 20 other girls.
Jamie also loved the private locker room because now she could spend some private time with her lovely, lovely girlfriend.
She had forgotten what life was like without her pretty little Britt Baker. She loved that woman seriously. Jamie wasn’t complete without Britt by her side, without Britt cheering her on, without Britt being there to soothe her bruises. She loved, loved Britt more than anything, more than her champion title.
So when Mr. Tony Khan told her she would get her own private locker room, Jamie knew exactly how she would use it.
By making out with Britt while straddling her lap.
Britt had her hands holding the undersides of Jamie’s thighs, while Jamie had her hands tangled in her girlfriend’s hair.
“You’re so pretty.” Jamie breathlessly said, as they pulled away for air. “God, you’re so perfect.”
“Like you aren’t?” Britt responded, a bright and shining smile on her face.
A deep blush rose on Jamie’s face, but before she could dive in for another makeout session, the door opened.
The scream and string of curses that escaped out of her were embarrassing. She covered her face and tried to get off Britt, but the dentist held on. You couldn’t blame Jamie’s shocked reaction when the guy who opened the door was Adam Cole. Jamie didn’t know what happened between him and Britt, but she assumed Britt and Adam were no longer together, because, well… Britt was with her.
“Oh, hey, baby.” Britt smiled, still holding onto Jamie’s thighs. “What’s going on?”
Why the hell was Britt calling Adam baby, and talking all civil to him, and not freaking out like Jamie?
Adam smiled at the two women. “I’m gonna assume you forgot the time because…” He tapped the silver watch on his wrist.
Britt stared at him for a second before gasping. “Oh, no! Baby!” She took her phone out of her pocket to check the time. Jamie was still reeling and the heat from her body would not go down. “Oh, I totally lost track of time. I’m so sorry. We’ll go anywhere you want tonight.”
“Okay, I’ll uh…” he laughed and Jamie thought she was going to explode. “I’ll leave you to finish up. Love you.” he leaned in and the (SUPPOSED TO BE FORMER) couple shared a sweet kiss.
“Love you too.” Britt said against his lips before he left the locker room. The door closed with a click. Britt patted her girlfriend’s ass. “Sorry about that.” She laughed. “Totally forgot I was having dinner with him. Should we continue?”
Jamie just stared at her girlfriend, or at least she thought Britt was her girlfriend. She didn’t really know what was happening right now.
“What?” Britt asked, confused at Jamie’s hanging jaw and wide eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you were still with Adam!” She slapped Britt’s arm. Jamie didn’t really know if she was angry or not… was she supposed to? Britt was still with her, but also with Adam? This was weird.
“Hey!” Britt grabbed her shoulder. “I didn’t? I thought I had.”
“No! No you did not!” She crossed her arms, frustrated.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Jamie tried not to fall for the pet name. It didn’t work. “I hope that it’s okay that me and Adam are still together.”
Jamie thought to herself for a second. “I mean… he’s okay with it, right?”
“Yeah, he’s cool. I mean, I was cool when he got with Hangman so.” Britt shrugged, and it suddenly occurred to Jamie that her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s husband were in an open relationship.
That made a lot more sense.
“Okay.” Jamie breathed and Britt smiled softly. “Yeah, I’m cool with this. As long as you still love me.”
“I love you more than anything.”
Jamie smiled. “Good… now let’s get back to where we were.”
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BABE i miss badass bau!reader!!! do you feel up to write something about her and spencer? 🫣🫣
—Spencer comforts you, even when you think you don’t need it. fem, 1.2k
You’d think that agents and staff working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit would use a little subtlety when gossiping about their coworkers. It’s in the name. You’re a profiler, after all, but you wouldn’t need to be to know that the sudden quiet that falls over the kitchenette area when you walk in is for a reason.
You’re determined to act unbothered. Only, it’s high school all over again, the whispering and the staring boring holes in the back of your head, and you’re thinking What are they saying about me? What have you done now?
Flustered, you make a cup of herbal tea and forget it on the counter by the sink. Humiliated, you rush back to your desk.
Spencer doesn’t look up as you sit. Your desks are together again for now, but who knows what whim will have Hotch separating you again. Last time it had been for ‘enabling bad behaviour’.
So what if Spencer likes to talk? He’d only think all the things he’s saying to himself. You’re speeding up the process if anything by listening. Plus, whatever the others might think, he’s interesting, smart and funny and he deserves to be listened to when he wants to tell you things.
“Hey,” you say, trying to push the humiliation brewing in your chest back to a quiet place.
“Hey,” he says. He talks to you in a way he doesn’t with the others. He’s more relaxed, less exuberantly friendly and more like a true friend.
He’s the only one in this whole office you’d ever want to sit next to every day. “Hi. What are you reading?”
Spencer folds his novel closed over his hand, an answer on his lips that stutters and fades. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look unhappy.”
It’s that unfortunate moment that Morgan decides to arrive, a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, eyeing you both where you’ve stopped your conversation, the slight light of smugness to his eyes as he says, “Doesn’t she always?”
“Around you, Morgan, yes,” you say, turning your body fully to your computer. “That would be accurate.”
Morgan laughs heartily. “You love me.”
Maybe. You certainly don’t like him. Or, you’re annoyed with him most of the time. You wonder occasionally if he and the rest of your teammates are emotionally blind, considering the way they treat Spencer. Everybody makes their funny ‘harmless’ jokes, you’ve never understood why. They’re profilers, aren’t they? Can’t they tell it hurts his feelings? And they love to tell you that Spencer’s your soft spot, he is, but he’s also a nice boy who wants to be listened to above all else, so you’re a little bitter about it. You weren’t too sweet to begin with.
Today, you aren’t in the mood. You ignore Morgan and open your emails.
“You want tea?” Spencer asks, standing from his desk.
“No.”
“You always have tea in the morning. I’ll make it. Sit tight.”
You follow Spencer’s figure as he leaves. Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you from across the divider.
“Do you ever think about taking him out?” Morgan asks.
“That’s an inappropriate question,” you say. You aren’t monotone, but you certainly don’t bustle with emotion either.
“You like him, he likes you.”
That’s exactly what Spencer needs, you think bitterly, the moody girlfriend, another thing to make him an outsider.
“You make each other happy,” Morgan continues.
“You get the same blueberry muffin every day,” you say, clicking an email attachment Hotch sent this morning distractedly, the temptation to roll your eyes at an all time high, “will you marry the baker?”
“I could. His wife might not like the idea.”
You hold in a smile. You sort of maybe do love Morgan, even when he’s prying. Better when Spencer returns and Morgan asks about the younger man’s weekend trip to Quantico’s seven floor library.
“It was awesome,” Spencer says, putting a mug down in front of your keyboard, his palm still warm from the mug taking temporary station on your shoulder. “There were more books about inmate crime than there were dictionaries. Is that okay?”
You take a sip of your tea. “It’s perfect,” you confess once you’ve swallowed. How does he know how you like it? He must steep it just as you do. Even the water level. You’d think it were the tea you’d left behind if it wasn’t in a new mug, scalding hot.
“Morgan, could you excuse us, please? For five minutes?” Spencer asks.
Your eyes widen of their own accord. Morgan makes flirty winky faces to hide his concern and meanders up the steps to Hotch’s office, pointedly looking away from the bullpen and your mess of desks.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Spencer says.
He’s wearing his glasses today, a rare sight these days, less so at the office when you’re sure there won’t be a case to go on. His hair curls at the base of his neck and flicks out under his ears, brown eyes like the flat of a mirror against the light, dark and deep. You wince when you realise you’ve been looking him over intensely, averting your eyes to the cup of tea warming your fingers.
“You know you can tell me anything,” he says.
“Sure.”
“I’d defend you. Just like you would for me.”
You drag your eyes to his. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, if you want me to go fight your corner, I will.”
“Who says I need that?”
“It’s Madge, right? The blonde woman with the pearl earrings. She and Andrea monopolise the kitchen in the morning and talk about all of us.”
You hate profilers, but you could never hate Spencer. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset that he’s worked out what perturbed you so quickly.
You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your desk chair slowly. “There’s no point arguing with them, babe, you’d end up at Human Resources by the end of the day forced to write an apology letter.”
Spencer looks like he wants to touch you again, hand heistant, fingers moving as though he’s typing curled into his palm. “I’ll stick up for you if you want me to. I don’t care if they make me write a letter.”
“Can’t argue over silence,” you say.
It’s a kind offer, and he really is so handsome. Everybody else in the office might drive you up the wall but he’s a sweetheart, through and through.
“I like when you smile. Doesn’t happen much,” he murmurs.
If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. “Thank you, Spencer. I like your smile too.”
He leans down for a hug. Again, if it were anyone else, you’d wriggle out of reach and give a speech on boundaries, but it’s him. He folds his arms behind your head and back, encouraging your face into the crook of his neck as he bends to meet you, gentle even when you don’t hug him back. “Don’t listen to anybody,” he says, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb.
“I don’t.”
“Who cares if they’re talking about us?” Spencer asks.
You touch his waist. “Not me.”
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