Hiii I was wondering if you could write a part 2 or a sequel to the fic your wrote a little ago called next of kin. I loved it so much đđđ thank u!!! <333
stepping up | S.R.
after taking custody of your younger sister, spencer steps up in his role as caretaker
part one
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: flangst
content warnings: previous murder of parents, emphasis on not having a dad, maya is bffs with jack hotchner, spencer is an empath, not proofread
word count: 1.58k
a/n: for a while i wasn't giving my requests summary's but now im getting back into that because i realize I Got Too Silly. thank you for requesting! i love you!
You jumped as your younger sister slammed the door to the garage shut behind you. Keeping her purple backpack slung over her shoulders, she trudged up the stairs and retreated into her bedroom. The six-year-old was either unaware or uncaring of the way you immediately followed her path to the stairs.
In your periphery, you saw Spencer peek his head over the back of the couch, making quick note of your troubled expression before he snapped his book shut and joined you. Hesitating, you looked up the stairs at the landing, the dim light of her lamp left a pinkish glow at the bottom of her door, but there was no noise coming from Mayaâs bedroom.
âShe didnât say anything the whole way home,â you murmured thoughtfully, placing a hand on your chin. Youâd thought sheâd be happy when you picked her up as a surprise â you and Spencer had just gotten back from a case a few hours ago. Your cousin â who usually took care of Maya when you were away â had offered to pick her up from school, but you hadnât seen her in three days and needed to see her.
Gently, Spencer placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you up the stairs with him trailing close behind. With the two of you standing outside the door, you placed your hand on the brass doorknob and let your hand sit there, listening closely as you registered the small whimpers emanating from inside your sisterâs room.
Unable to tolerate it, you wiggled at the door just to find that she had locked it from the inside, âMaya,â you said, consciously keeping your voice soft. âI know that you probably want to be left alone right now, but we need to know that youâre alright,â holding your breath, you waited, hoping that sheâd open the door on her own and you wouldnât have to go hunting for the key.
You were afraid that she was being bullied, she transferred to a new school in the middle of the year and was frequently absent in the beginning, but they didnât make a guidebook on how to ease a child into a new school following the death of both of her parents. Luckily, Maya was placed in the same classroom as Jack Hotchner, so you knew sheâd always have at least one friend around.
Just as Spencer was asking you if you wanted him to go get the room key, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened, revealing your younger sister. Her backpack had been discarded on the floor and her face was bright red, she had been crying.
Shooting yourself in the foot, you hesitated. You just stared down at your sister while she lowered her eyes, watching the floor. Despite the fact that you and Spencer had more than willingly taken her in, Maya was still an orphan. She was a six-year-old whose most prized possession was a stuffed bunny named Thumper, but she was an orphan, nonetheless.
Next to you, Spencer knelt down to the floor, meeting Maya at her height. Tentatively, he reached up and took one of her hands in his much bigger one, âWhatâs wrong, Bambi?â
Your chest ached at the nickname he had bestowed upon her, keeping your eyes focused on the both of them as Maya retreated back into her room, yanking her hand out of Spencerâs and tossing herself onto her canopy-covered bed. Sharing a concerned look, both you and Spencer made your way into the room.
Chewing on the inside of your lip, you sat at the desk across from her bed, and Spencer sat on the flower rug that she kept in front of her dresser. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you got the chance, Maya blurted, âI donât have a dad!â
Eyes widening, you seemingly choked on air as your eyes darted from where your sister was now sitting up on the bed to where Spencer stayed still, looking equally as startled as you. Jumping up from the bed, she dramatically dropped to her knees in front of her backpack, unzipping the largest pocket before producing a green folder and thrusting a paper in Spencerâs direction.
Smoothly, Spencer accepted the paper from your sister, turning it right side up in his hands before skimming the print. You wheeled the desk chair over in his direction, eyes flickering over the flyer as you realized what it was for. The school held an annual daddy-daughter dance for Valentineâs Day, and your sister had been handed a flyer.
Once you had gotten through the holiday season, you convinced yourself that you could get yourself and Maya through anything â evidently enough, that had been a mistake. This, this made you angry. The administration knew exactly what your sister had been through, and the fact that they still chose to hold this event.
Her biggest worry should be what theme she wanted her seventh birthday party to be, not being left out of a school event because she didnât have a parent to go with. You checked the time on her Hello Kitty alarm clock, knowing that the school administration would still be around until the end of the workday, you made a mental note to call them and file a complaint.
Concerned with your next steps, you hadnât even noticed that Spencer had shuffled across the floor, using his fingertips to wipe tears from her face as she looked up at him with big eyes â Bambi. âI could go with you,â Spencer offered, cupping her small cheeks in his hands as he knelt in front of her.
Frowning, Maya shook her head rapidly, âYou are not my dad,â she insisted, stepping back and away from Spencer, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, closing herself off.
Your boyfriend nodded in acknowledgment, this had led to a lot of confusion, as Spencer didnât want to take over the role of father in Spencerâs life, so Maya frequently introduced him to people as her brother. There were a lot of lengthy explanations as to who he actually was. âNo,â he responded simply, âIâm not, and I donât have any intention of trying to be your dad. You already have a dad, right?â
Stepping back toward Spencer, Maya nodded, âYes, but heâs gone.â Her arms dropped back to her sides, and your chest ached at the euphemism.
âDid you know that I didnât have my dad around when I was growing up either?â Spencer asked, speaking tenderly to your sister as he tried to navigate this situation. You stayed completely still, trying not to move lest you interrupt the negotiation process.
Mayaâs eyes widened in surprise, âReally?â Her small voice came out in a whisper like the information that she and Spencer were sharing was a secret, Maya called whispering adult talk, because that was how you and Spencer always spoke about work.
Reaching up and gingerly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, Spencer nodded almost indeterminately, âMhm, not the same way that your dadâs gone, but I know what itâs like to not be able do all of the fun dad things. If youâre alright with it, we can go together to the dance.â
âYou donât have to,â Maya whispered timidly, the standoffishness she had displayed earlier completely replaced with nerves.
Your boyfriend nodded, âI know, but I would be honored if you would let me,â he said, taking both of her hands in his. âWe donât have to go at all, but I want to make sure you know that you never have to be nervous about asking me for things.â
She pondered this for a moment before giving a sly smile, âCan I wear a pretty dress?â
âWeâll get you a new one,â Spencer assured her, looking over at you as you sighed, holding a hand over your chest while tears pricked at your eyes. âDoes that mean youâll let me take you to the Valentineâs Day dance?â
Jumping up and down excitedly, Maya beamed and threw her arms around Spencer who, in kind, hugged her tightly, rubbing a hand up and down her back, âI get to go to the dance, and I have no homework! This is the best day ever!â
Laughing lightly behind your hand, you grinned at your sister who was, after all, only six years old. âYour sister and I donât have to work until tomorrow, do you want to do something?â Spencer offered, reaching out his hand and pulling you over to the two of them, allowing Maya to tackle you to the ground in a bear hug.
âCan we go to the park?â She asked, looking up at you with wide, curious eyes.
You nodded, âAbsolutely we can, and we could go out for dinner after too if you want,â you offered, looking over at Spencer as he grabbed the dance flyer and pinned it to a corkboard in your sisterâs room.
She gasped in surprise, even though the two of you rarely told her no â one of the dangers of raising an orphan. âCan Jack come?â
Laughing lightly, you quickly realized that your trip to the park was going to become a BAU family affair while you rose to your feet, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans, âIf his dad says yes, then we can take Jack with us.â Â
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Hiii I was wondering if you could write a part 2 or a sequel to the fic your wrote a little ago called next of kin. I loved it so much đđđ thank u!!! <333
stepping up | S.R.
after taking custody of your younger sister, spencer steps up in his role as caretaker
part one
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: flangst
content warnings: previous murder of parents, emphasis on not having a dad, maya is bffs with jack hotchner, spencer is an empath, not proofread
word count: 1.58k
a/n: for a while i wasn't giving my requests summary's but now im getting back into that because i realize I Got Too Silly. thank you for requesting! i love you!
You jumped as your younger sister slammed the door to the garage shut behind you. Keeping her purple backpack slung over her shoulders, she trudged up the stairs and retreated into her bedroom. The six-year-old was either unaware or uncaring of the way you immediately followed her path to the stairs.
In your periphery, you saw Spencer peek his head over the back of the couch, making quick note of your troubled expression before he snapped his book shut and joined you. Hesitating, you looked up the stairs at the landing, the dim light of her lamp left a pinkish glow at the bottom of her door, but there was no noise coming from Mayaâs bedroom.
âShe didnât say anything the whole way home,â you murmured thoughtfully, placing a hand on your chin. Youâd thought sheâd be happy when you picked her up as a surprise â you and Spencer had just gotten back from a case a few hours ago. Your cousin â who usually took care of Maya when you were away â had offered to pick her up from school, but you hadnât seen her in three days and needed to see her.
Gently, Spencer placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you up the stairs with him trailing close behind. With the two of you standing outside the door, you placed your hand on the brass doorknob and let your hand sit there, listening closely as you registered the small whimpers emanating from inside your sisterâs room.
Unable to tolerate it, you wiggled at the door just to find that she had locked it from the inside, âMaya,â you said, consciously keeping your voice soft. âI know that you probably want to be left alone right now, but we need to know that youâre alright,â holding your breath, you waited, hoping that sheâd open the door on her own and you wouldnât have to go hunting for the key.
You were afraid that she was being bullied, she transferred to a new school in the middle of the year and was frequently absent in the beginning, but they didnât make a guidebook on how to ease a child into a new school following the death of both of her parents. Luckily, Maya was placed in the same classroom as Jack Hotchner, so you knew sheâd always have at least one friend around.
Just as Spencer was asking you if you wanted him to go get the room key, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened, revealing your younger sister. Her backpack had been discarded on the floor and her face was bright red, she had been crying.
Shooting yourself in the foot, you hesitated. You just stared down at your sister while she lowered her eyes, watching the floor. Despite the fact that you and Spencer had more than willingly taken her in, Maya was still an orphan. She was a six-year-old whose most prized possession was a stuffed bunny named Thumper, but she was an orphan, nonetheless.
Next to you, Spencer knelt down to the floor, meeting Maya at her height. Tentatively, he reached up and took one of her hands in his much bigger one, âWhatâs wrong, Bambi?â
Your chest ached at the nickname he had bestowed upon her, keeping your eyes focused on the both of them as Maya retreated back into her room, yanking her hand out of Spencerâs and tossing herself onto her canopy-covered bed. Sharing a concerned look, both you and Spencer made your way into the room.
Chewing on the inside of your lip, you sat at the desk across from her bed, and Spencer sat on the flower rug that she kept in front of her dresser. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you got the chance, Maya blurted, âI donât have a dad!â
Eyes widening, you seemingly choked on air as your eyes darted from where your sister was now sitting up on the bed to where Spencer stayed still, looking equally as startled as you. Jumping up from the bed, she dramatically dropped to her knees in front of her backpack, unzipping the largest pocket before producing a green folder and thrusting a paper in Spencerâs direction.
Smoothly, Spencer accepted the paper from your sister, turning it right side up in his hands before skimming the print. You wheeled the desk chair over in his direction, eyes flickering over the flyer as you realized what it was for. The school held an annual daddy-daughter dance for Valentineâs Day, and your sister had been handed a flyer.
Once you had gotten through the holiday season, you convinced yourself that you could get yourself and Maya through anything â evidently enough, that had been a mistake. This, this made you angry. The administration knew exactly what your sister had been through, and the fact that they still chose to hold this event.
Her biggest worry should be what theme she wanted her seventh birthday party to be, not being left out of a school event because she didnât have a parent to go with. You checked the time on her Hello Kitty alarm clock, knowing that the school administration would still be around until the end of the workday, you made a mental note to call them and file a complaint.
Concerned with your next steps, you hadnât even noticed that Spencer had shuffled across the floor, using his fingertips to wipe tears from her face as she looked up at him with big eyes â Bambi. âI could go with you,â Spencer offered, cupping her small cheeks in his hands as he knelt in front of her.
Frowning, Maya shook her head rapidly, âYou are not my dad,â she insisted, stepping back and away from Spencer, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, closing herself off.
Your boyfriend nodded in acknowledgment, this had led to a lot of confusion, as Spencer didnât want to take over the role of father in Spencerâs life, so Maya frequently introduced him to people as her brother. There were a lot of lengthy explanations as to who he actually was. âNo,â he responded simply, âIâm not, and I donât have any intention of trying to be your dad. You already have a dad, right?â
Stepping back toward Spencer, Maya nodded, âYes, but heâs gone.â Her arms dropped back to her sides, and your chest ached at the euphemism.
âDid you know that I didnât have my dad around when I was growing up either?â Spencer asked, speaking tenderly to your sister as he tried to navigate this situation. You stayed completely still, trying not to move lest you interrupt the negotiation process.
Mayaâs eyes widened in surprise, âReally?â Her small voice came out in a whisper like the information that she and Spencer were sharing was a secret, Maya called whispering adult talk, because that was how you and Spencer always spoke about work.
Reaching up and gingerly tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, Spencer nodded almost indeterminately, âMhm, not the same way that your dadâs gone, but I know what itâs like to not be able do all of the fun dad things. If youâre alright with it, we can go together to the dance.â
âYou donât have to,â Maya whispered timidly, the standoffishness she had displayed earlier completely replaced with nerves.
Your boyfriend nodded, âI know, but I would be honored if you would let me,â he said, taking both of her hands in his. âWe donât have to go at all, but I want to make sure you know that you never have to be nervous about asking me for things.â
She pondered this for a moment before giving a sly smile, âCan I wear a pretty dress?â
âWeâll get you a new one,â Spencer assured her, looking over at you as you sighed, holding a hand over your chest while tears pricked at your eyes. âDoes that mean youâll let me take you to the Valentineâs Day dance?â
Jumping up and down excitedly, Maya beamed and threw her arms around Spencer who, in kind, hugged her tightly, rubbing a hand up and down her back, âI get to go to the dance, and I have no homework! This is the best day ever!â
Laughing lightly behind your hand, you grinned at your sister who was, after all, only six years old. âYour sister and I donât have to work until tomorrow, do you want to do something?â Spencer offered, reaching out his hand and pulling you over to the two of them, allowing Maya to tackle you to the ground in a bear hug.
âCan we go to the park?â She asked, looking up at you with wide, curious eyes.
You nodded, âAbsolutely we can, and we could go out for dinner after too if you want,â you offered, looking over at Spencer as he grabbed the dance flyer and pinned it to a corkboard in your sisterâs room.
She gasped in surprise, even though the two of you rarely told her no â one of the dangers of raising an orphan. âCan Jack come?â
Laughing lightly, you quickly realized that your trip to the park was going to become a BAU family affair while you rose to your feet, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans, âIf his dad says yes, then we can take Jack with us.â Â
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next of kin | S.R.
disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: angst
content warnings: actually might be gn! but i'm too scared to say it is. death, orphan-ing, funerals, child custody issues, blood, general cm violence, like actually an abhorrent amount of death. sorry i killed your parents for the sake of my fanfiction can we still be friends?
word count: 3.33k
a/n: this is the fic that this post is about. i am in fact my own worst enemy. i hope y'all like it actually genuinely i am most definitely overthinking this. if your name is maya im sorry that sucks.
âWhat did your parents say?â Spencer asked, walking into the conference room that the local precinct had offered to you.
You had been staring blankly at your phone since you got off the call with your mother, âUh, they said thanks, but no thanks.â
The uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach as soon as you found out the team was being called to your hometown, and you had been nauseous ever since you found out the UnSubâs pattern.
Married couples with an older child who had moved out and a younger child who was still at home.
Your little sister was a surprise, you had incorrectly assumed your parents were done having kids.
Until today, you wouldnât have traded Maya for the world, but now you sat in fear of your family being targeted by a serial killer. Hotch had offered them a protective detail, but they declined. Self-righteous as they were, they told you it wouldnât feel right for them to accept help that couldnât be offered to everyone.
Clenching your jaw, you stood at the table, âIâll go by later and check in on them.â
Spencer had met your family twice by now. Last Christmas he had tagged along to meet them and celebrate with your family before the two of you spent New Yearâs with his mom. Then, while your sister was on Spring Break, they flew out to Virginia, and you and Spencer had shown your family around Quantico and the District.
Maya had loved Spencer, partially because you loved him, but mostly because of his magic tricks.
âDo you want me to go with you?â He asked, stepping up next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back.
You sighed and shook your head, âNo, not if youâre needed here.â You reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling softly, âThank you for offering, Spence.â
He nodded affirmatively, âIf you change your mind,â he offered. Gently, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before the two of you returned to the rest of the team.
The fact that your parents lived only five minutes from the police station gave you some relief, but you still felt tightly wound. Everyone had noticed. You just needed this case to be over.
The porch lights were on when you got there, and you used your house key â which you had never taken off of your keychain - to open the front door. âHey, kiddo,â your dad greeted from the couch. A peek into the kitchen showed you that your mom was wiping down the counters. It all felt so eerily normal.
It was dark by the time you had gotten there. Maya was already asleep, but you tip-toed into her room anyway and kissed her goodnight before going back downstairs. Once you had hugged both of your parents and told them you loved them, you made your way back to the police precinct.
By nearly three in the morning, there was no new information, and the team was starting to consider calling it a night until the police chief got a call.
âWe just got a call. Lady reported shouts coming from her neighborâs house at 86 Meadowbrook,â he informed you, putting his hands on his hips and looking around at the team.
None of them even spared him a returning glance, everyoneâs eyes were on you.
Blinking rapidly, you nodded assuredly, âI have to go get Maya.â You didnât even recognize your voice even as you said it. It couldnât have been your voice. That was the rasp of someone far away from you.
All of the other voices around you were muffled, you couldnât hear what people were telling you, let alone understand them.
Maya. Maya. Maya.
Brown eyes. There they were, right in front of your face. âLetâs go get her,â Spencer whispered.
You had been speaking out loud. Repeating your sisterâs name like a prayer without even realizing it.
Hotch let you go with them, but he made it abundantly clear to you â and the rest of the team â that you werenât working this case anymore.
Surrounded by reverent voices in an SUV, JJ drove while Spencer stayed in the back with you. He held your hand tightly in his.
The house was closed off with police tape. Bright yellow plastic fluttered in the wind as you watched your team and other emergency personnel enter and exit. At your insistence, Spencer went in to get Maya, it felt like it had been hours before he walked out, carrying her in his arms.
Carefully, he brought her to you, and you pulled her close to your chest, blocking her eyesight as two body bags were brought out of the house.
You didnât hear anything after that. You just let yourself be moved to wherever you needed to be, holding your kid sister as she cried for your parents.
They had to take their bodies to the hospital even though they were already gone, and you needed to be the one to confirm their identities. Spencer stayed with Maya while you were busy. She had cried herself to the point of exhaustion, you were grateful that she was sleeping, and then you felt cruel.
By sunrise, she was still asleep, and you had been set up in that same conference room from earlier. Sitting across from you was a social worker, a representative of the state. Your lips had parted in shock as you looked at her, âWhat do you mean they denied my request?â
In an attempt to be helpful, JJ worked with you to file an emergency request for custody of Maya, and the case worker had just told you that the request was denied. âThe state doesnât believe your request is valid,â she told you.
Your mouth went dry, âI donâtâŠâ you glanced over at your little sister. âOur parents were murdered last night, and they wonât let me take custody of my sister?â You asked indignantly, peering at the social worker. It wasnât her fault, somewhere in your grief-ridden brain you knew that, but you couldnât help the feeling that she was somehow your enemy.
âThey donât believe you can provide her with a stable living environment,â the social worker, Brittany, explained.
Narrowing your eyes, you responded, âA stable living environment like a foster home? Iâm her sister. Weâre family â the only family each other has left.â You stood up, excusing yourself for a moment before walking out of the precinct. Once you were outside, you promptly hurled into the bushes.
That was how he found you, to the side of the building with your hair haphazardly moved out of your face, dry heaving into the shrubbery. Gently, Spencer placed a hand on your back before starting to rub small circles on your back, âYou should eat something, love.â
You just shook your head in response, you werenât hungry. âThey wonât let me take her,â you whispered morosely, straightening up, you kept your back facing him.
âWhat?â He asked, his hand abruptly stopping its movement on your back.
Taking a deep breath and sitting on the curb, you looked up at Spencer. âThe state thinks Iâm not stable enough to take her in,â you said, resting your chin in your hands.
Your boyfriend crouched down so that he could sit next to you, âAre you going to challenge it?â
âOf course I am,â you cried. âBut what happens to her in the interim, Spence? She gets placed with whatever foster home here and I go back to Virginia? I see her when the family court resolves this in two years?â
Treading carefully, Spencer cleared his throat, âWhat are you going to do?â
Defeated, you shrugged. âI donât know. IâmâŠâ your voice trailed off. âMy parents are dead, Spencer,â you murmured softly, tears welling in your eyes.
He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, âI know, darling. I know. Iâm so sorry.â
âI donât think I can do this alone,â you whispered, leaning gently into him.
Spencer turned to kiss your temple, âItâs a good thing youâre not alone then. Iâm not going anywhere.â He waited for a moment before continuing, âGive me something to do. Give me a job to take off of your shoulders.â
In the end, you let Spencer take over funeral planning. He thanked you for trusting him before the both of you went back into the precinct.
You had just hung up with a family lawyer who had offered to take your case, letting your phone drop to the floor, you let your arms hang at your side. Someone had taken Maya to get breakfast while you spoke with the lawyer.
At the sound of the phone falling to the floor, Spencer stepped into the conference room, letting the door click shut before him. âHey, what did he say?â
Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you took in a deep breath, âUm, he said heâd be willing to take the case if I could put together a case plan to present before the judge.â
Before that phone call, you didnât know what a case plan was, you couldâve gone your whole life without knowing what a case plan was.
âI need a year-long plan for how Iâm going to prepare to have Maya in my custody, but he said a year is the best he can do,â you said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of you. âA year?â You whispered aimlessly, âIâm not waiting a fucking year to take custody of her. I have to take her home, Spence. I have to.â It wasnât your intention to snipe at him, but you felt like you couldnât help yourself.
The events of the last twelve hours threatened to take you down, but you had to stay strong for Maya. Â
Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at Spencer, âWhy is it that every time I convince myself that itâs going to be okay, I get tossed to the ground again?â You asked him.
Maybe because you werenât fully convinced. Maybe it was because it had only been seven hours. You needed to remind yourself of that.
âSheâs a ward of the state?â Spencer asked for clarification, holding you tightly.
Nodding absentmindedly, you rested your head on his shoulder as he swayed gently. âShe can stay with me until after the funeral, and after that, she has to go with the social worker.â
The sad look on Spencerâs face told you that he was running out of ideas, and you were coming to the very same conclusion. âWe could get married,â he offered.
âStop, Spence,â you said, shaking your head. You couldnât believe this was where he was going.
He shrugged helplessly, âIâm serious, Y/N. If we get married, they might think weâre stable, as a couple. They might give us custody.â
Your shoulders slumped, âI donât want to get married just to get custody of my sister.â It certainly wasnât that you didnât want to marry Spencer, just not like this.
He nodded understandingly, âI know, but Iâm just saying. If thatâs what it takes, then Iâll do it.â Placing a comforting hand on your knee, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. âDo you have any ideas?â He asked you carefully.
Looking through the blinds of the conference room, you saw the rest of the team coming back to the precinct. Setting your jaw, you nodded, âI might.â
Opening the door, you had Maya go in with Spencer while you approached your Unit Chief. âHey,â Hotch said, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. âHow are you holding up?â He pulled you away from the people, wanting to give you privacy.
This wasnât fair, they were still working on an active case. A case that was disturbingly close to you, and yet, you felt you were out of options. âI need a favor,â you blurted to him, wringing your hands. Your nervous energy made it impossible for you to stay still.
Hotch nodded, âWhat do you need?â He asked, studying your composure with the eye of a profiler.
You took a deep breath, âI was⊠I need you to call in a favor with someone. Anyone, really. The state wonât let me take custody of Maya, but I canât let her become a ward of the state. Not when Iâm right here, ready, willing, and able to take her.â
âOkay,â he responded, not even pausing to think about it.
Taken aback, you looked at him curiously, âI- thatâs it? I had groveling prepared.â
He nodded almost imperceptibly as if he was trying to tell you it wasnât necessary. âYouâve been a part of this team for years and not once have you ever asked for anything in return for everything you do for everyone else. This is the least I can do,â he told you.
You couldnât help it. Overwhelmed, you tackled Hotch in a bear hug, âThank you.â Your voice was low, âThank you so much.â
Succinctly, Hotch hugged you back before you pulled away, âIâll go make some calls.â
It was the smell.
The smell that youâd sensed countless times before on the job, the metallic tang of the blood. It shouldâve been mostly dried by now â you supposed you were more susceptible to the scent, considering it was your parentâs blood, but it put you on high alert.
Emily had brought you by so that you could pack a bag for Maya, but you found yourself stuck on the landing. To one side, there was your childhood bedroom and Mayaâs room. On the other side, there was your parentâs room.
âY/N?â Emily called your name from downstairs, âAre you alright?â
No, you wanted to say, but you bit your tongue, scanning the house you had grown up in. âThis doesnât belong here,â you told her, glancing behind you as she made her way up the staircase.
You didnât have gloves, so instead you pointed at the figurine that was resting on the bookshelves, a little bear facing in the direction of your parentâs bedroom door. âThis is in the wrong spot?â
Nodding, your eyes followed the ceramic bear as Emily picked it up with a gloved hand. âItâs mine, it should be in my room,â you informed her. Your parents never changed anything about your childhood bedroom, not since you moved out. âIt was like it was watching them,â you thought aloud.
âDo you think the UnSub did it?â She asked you gently, her voice was low but steady.
Blinking rapidly, you kept your eyes focused on the figurine, âLittle Bear,â you murmured, âThey called her Little Bear.â
Emily shook her head in confusion, dark hair swaying as her head moved. âWho was called Little Bear?â
Dropping the bag you had packed to the floor, you buried your face in your hands, âI shouldâve seen it sooner.â The victimology, it all suddenly made sense to you. âWhen I was a kid, there was a family like mine. A brother who was in his twenties when his parents had another baby, a girl. They called her Little Bear.â
Realization dawned on Emilyâs dark features, âLike this bear?â
You picked up the bag and started making your way back down the stairs. âTheir mother made those figurines. The parents died in a fire two weeks ago â they left everything to the younger sister. It was all over the news. God, I shouldâve figured it out sooner.â
âHey,â Emily said sympathetically, âYou had other things going on. None of this was your fault.â Her voice was stern, harsher than youâd ever heard her, as she pulled out her phone and called the team.
Your teammate drove, passing the police station on the way to drop you off. They left for the takedown, and you felt yourself floating into the precinct. Maya was waiting in the conference room for you, watching cartoons on someoneâs laptop.
Kneeling in front of your little sister, you tapped the space bar, pausing the video. âHey, kiddo,â you whispered, reaching over, and smoothing her hair away from her face. âHow are you feeling?â
She had cried herself to sleep earlier, and you felt like you hadnât been around enough. Maya sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, they were red, but not teary. âI miss mommy,â she told you, pouting slightly.
You nodded gently, moving to sit next to her before you pulled her into your lap. At six years old, she was all gangly limbs, just starting to grow into her own person. Just old enough to understand death, âI know, baby. I miss them too.â
âThey wouldnât lemme go home,â she continued, leaning her head on your shoulder. âI wanted Thumper,â she whined, sounding younger than she was.
Looking up at the light, you silently begged for your tears to go away. âI got him for you,â you told her, reaching into your bag and producing the small stuffed bunny that you had given her as a baby.
You savored the way her eyes lit up as she grabbed the stuffed animal from you.
âSo, you and Thumper are gonna come to stay with me in Virginia. Do you remember going there? You said you liked it?â You kept smoothing her hair back as she held her toy.
She was silent for a moment, âWill Spencer be there?â She asked quietly.
Smiling slightly, you nodded, âHe and I live together, so heâll be there with us.â Slowly, you started rocking back and forth, trying to soothe the both of you simultaneously.
âAs long as he doesnât pull money out of my ear,â she answered succinctly, shutting her eyes as she leaned up against you.
There was approximately an hour before you watched the team return to the precinct, slowly, you laid Maya down on the couch before walking out. âIt was a clean shoot,â you heard Rossi tell Morgan, and one look at the rest of them told you everything you needed to know.
The team went back to the hotel, and Spencer filled you in on the funeral arrangements he had made on your behalf. You were about to try to get some sleep when Hotch approached you and told you he needed to speak to you.
âI called a good friend of mine on your behalf, and he gave me some information. We were able to work out a plan,â he told you, sitting across from you in the hotel lobby.
You were about to tell him that a case plan wouldnât work, but he held his hand out, telling you to wait.
He nodded before he kept going, âHe was able to file an emergency request to grant you temporary custody of Maya, and it was granted.â
You felt sick to your stomach, âSheâs mine?â
âTemporarily, youâll have to take care of some formalities back in Virginia, but you have full custody of her,â he informed you. âYouâre being granted family leave, and Iâve encouraged Reid to apply for it as well,â Hotch told you, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. âI am⊠Iâm sorry that youâve had to go through this but thank you for coming to me when you needed the help.â
You nodded absentmindedly, your head still whirling with the information that you had just been given. Stumbling, you walked back to your hotel room that you were sharing with Spencer and Maya.
The funeral was planned, the custody issue was solved, all there was left to do wasâŠ
âBaby?â Spencer said softly as you swung open the door, âEveryone else took Maya to get ice cream, I figured it couldnât-â his voice broke off at your first sob.
Everything you had held in came bursting out, all of the grief and stress and exhaustion nearly knocked your legs out from underneath you.
But Spencer was there to catch you.
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i fear i will never be the same person that i was before i read this
đ§đšđ đđđźđ„đ, đŁđźđŹđ đ„đšđŻđ | đđđ«đšđ§ đĄđšđđđĄđ§đđ«
When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k
cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweetÂ
Ëâ§ê°á âź à»ê±â§Ë
You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping.Â
I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaronâs message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered.Â
Youâd mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely.Â
When Aaron finally comes home tonight, youâre going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says itâs no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadnât realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap.Â
You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasnât claimed to know when heâll be home tonight. All heâd said was to let yourself in.Â
Itâs odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. Thereâs less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but thereâs never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. Youâre excited whenever youâre invited to spend the night with them.Â
Maybe some time soon heâll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. Youâre not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someoneâs wife, but thereâs a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him.Â
You rest your hand across your eyes. Itâs silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. Youâve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but itâs certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). Heâs taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you.Â
Your phone rings a moment later.Â
You smile at the screen. Itâs nice to be in love with someone who loves you too.Â
âHey,â Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, âI didnât think youâd answer.â
âHow come?â You sit up with a little start.Â
âItâs getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.â He doesnât say anything further.Â
âAre you okay?âÂ
âI wanted to hear your voice, I think.âÂ
âWell, where are you?â You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. Heâs nice to you often, but heâs a reserved man.Â
âIâm just,â âa crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closingâ âabout to get in the car. Iâll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?âÂ
âI donât see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.âÂ
âAnd you want me to fix that?âÂ
âYou always fix my neck.âÂ
âHow have you done it?â Thereâs a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you canât hear anything beyond that.Â
âI have bad posture.âÂ
âYou have perfect posture.âÂ
âNo, itâs quite bad.â
He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isnât as stony as youâd think, and for a while he didnât have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice.Â
âYou donât have to lie to me, Aaron, itâs just like when you said my weird rash wasnât weird.âÂ
He laughs again, to your pleasure. âIt wasnât weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like youâve never seen heat rash.âÂ
âOne of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.âÂ
âWhat are you talking about? Virginiaâs far from cold. Youâre being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. Iâm never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.âÂ
âNo, donât be like that,â you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. âYouâre always such a sore loser.âÂ
âWhat did I lose?âÂ
You can tell from his tone that youâve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? heâll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly. Â
âIt hurts,â you say honestly, âplease donât be mad. I really need one.âÂ
âIâm not mad⊠Iâm going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.âÂ
âOkie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.âÂ
âIâm not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and Iâll drink it when I get there,â he says.Â
âOr I could make us both some?âÂ
âItâs much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know thatââ
You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected.Â
Cruel overpass, you think.Â
Sure heâll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things youâll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek.Â
The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later.Â
You click your phone on again. Heâll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back.Â
Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neckâ
A sudden chill.Â
The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard.Â
Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chestâ you scream, only itâs worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain.Â
You fall with a hard clout. âStay still!â comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isnât there. Youâre not on fire, youâre crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor.Â
All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth.Â
A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. Itâs like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. Itâs an accident.
Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath.Â
He flips you over. You canât slide away, thereâs nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something.Â
Your phone rings on the counter.Â
âPlease, donât,â you plead with a sob.
You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins.Â
â
Thereâs a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours.Â
Nothing, nothing, nothing.Â
Hey, hey, I think your boyfriendâs coming.
What will he make of my handiwork?
You didnât stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But youâre waking up now.
The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You arenât aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, âStop, stop.âÂ
âThereâs handsome,â the dark voice says. âIâve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think Iâll find out.âÂ
âOh,â you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? âNo,â you mumble, lips wet with something hot.Â
âHoney?â a voice asks.Â
âHoney,â you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays.Â
Honey, are you in here?
â
The window behind Aaronâs shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dadâs shoulder.Â
Aaron has his eyes closed. Theyâve been at this for a while. âShh, shh shh, buddy,â he says softly, patting the bottom of Jackâs back. Heâd sway him back and forth if his arms werenât about to fall off.Â
Jack squirms closer, no room left between them.Â
âI know itâs scary,â Aaron says.Â
Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isnât working; Jack isnât a baby that needs to be put to sleep, heâs a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jackâs back. Careful, he shifts Jackâs weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jackâs forehead.Â
âSheâs okay,â Aaron says, stroking Jackâs hair. His little forehead is clammy. âSheâs not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but⊠sheâs just resting.âÂ
Jack looks him in the eyes. âHer face.âÂ
âI know.â He nods emphatically. âItâs hard to see. Blood isnât nice. You donât have to see her again today, not if itâs too scary.âÂ
Jack lifts a hand to Aaronâs face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaronâs eye. Aaron bites back a smile.Â
âI look tired,â he says.Â
âYeah.â Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron canât describe the ache it gives him to see it.Â
âBuddy, Iâll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.âÂ
Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jackâs tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile.Â
âI couldnât see you under all those tears.âÂ
Jack does a little smile back. âYes you can.âÂ
âI couldnât! But now Iâve wiped all your face I can see you again. Youâre handsome, did we know that?âÂ
Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaronâs neck. âI donât want her to be sad, dad.âÂ
âSheâs going to be sad, because something scary happened, but itâs okay. Iâm gonna take care of her.âÂ
Aaron would offer to take him home, but they canât go home. They may not go home for a long time âthe team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the buildingâs security or Aaronâs internal system. And then escaped again without Aaronâs notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea.Â
Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you.Â
âWhat do you think, bud?â he asks, cupping Jackâs head in his hand. âDo you want to go home?âÂ
âYou said I can give her a hug.âÂ
âIf itâs too scary, we donât have to. I donât want you to get upset again.âÂ
âIâm not scared. I want to give her the hug,â he says.Â
Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. âOkay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. Sheâs where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. Sheâll be okay soon.âÂ
Aaron looks over Jackâs head down the hospital hallway. Itâs a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms thereâs complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaronâs panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He canât stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs.Â
âReady?â he murmurs. âCan you walk with me? My arms are tired.â
âYeah.âÂ
Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. Heâs so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. Heâs a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room.Â
Youâre sleeping.Â
Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isnât scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that heâs going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that youâre still breathing.Â
He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze.Â
The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. Thereâs a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown.Â
Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could⊠be someone else. Someone who doesnât have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesnât feel heroic.Â
âDo you wanna give her your cuddle?â he asks softly.Â
Jack stays sitting.Â
Heâll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that wonât hurt.Â
You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, youâre a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he canât remove. Aaronâs tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown.Â
âSheâs sleeping,â Aaron says.Â
âWhen can she come home?âÂ
âIn a few days.â He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you.Â
âWhy is she sleeping all day?âÂ
Traumatic experiences are exhausting. âI think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.âÂ
âShould we go?âÂ
Aaron shakes his head. âI think we should stay. When she wakes up again sheâll be happy to see us, because weâre not strangers.âÂ
âWeâre family,â Jack says. Heâd liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.
âWeâre her family,â Aaron agrees.Â
If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, youâd still be family to them. Youâve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give.Â
You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like youâve been indulging in a stolen nap.Â
Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly.Â
âYouâre okay,â he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, âyouâre okay, youâre okay, youâre okay,â in quick succession.Â
âHurts,â you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat.Â
He doesnât know what to do. Jack shouldnât watch this but he canât leave you alone. âItâs okay,â he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face.Â
You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms.Â
âIt hurts too much,â you say. A sob falls out of you like youâve been ripped open.Â
Aaron doesnât think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when youâve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again.Â
Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but thereâs no nurse around âhe races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, âSheâs in intense pain,â he says, grasping the desk.Â
The nurse heâs more familiar with clears her throat. âMr. Hotchner, sheâs already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldnât needââ
âPain is just as important to treat as the injury.âÂ
A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. âDo you want to overdose her?âÂ
âExcuse me?âÂ
Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and heâs no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. Heâs not gonna listen to you cry when thereâs no need.Â
He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jackâs climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively.Â
Aaron lets out a breath.Â
âItâs okay,â he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. âWâgonna take care of you.âÂ
âI know,â you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.
His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesnât make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some.Â
Aaron shouldnât have left Jack with you. Heâs been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone.Â
âIâm sorry for crying,â you say slowly. âIâm hurting, but itâs not bad. Iâm okay.âÂ
âThatâs good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
âDad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.âÂ
âI got lots of bruises, but itâs okay. Donât worry about me.â You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. âYouâre being a really brave boy, thank you.âÂ
A tear rolls down your cheek.Â
âItâs teamwork,â Jack says. âI hug you and you hug me.âÂ
âIs that what you want? You want a hug?âÂ
âI want to go home,â he says, hugging you harder.Â
You grasp his arm loosely where itâs just under your chin. âJack, can you move your arm?â you whisper.Â
Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down.Â
Aaron jolts himself back into action. âSweetheart,â he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. âAre you okay?âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying.Â
âI think it's time for Jack to go home,â he suggests gently.Â
âYeah,â you say, eyes swimming with tears.Â
âNo.â Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic.Â
âJack, buddy, please donât touch her neck,â Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow.Â
He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow.Â
Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand.Â
â
Is she breathing? Can she talk?Â
I donâtâ I donât know, I donâtâ Sheâs breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I donât know what to stop. I donât know where itâs all coming from.Â
Whereâs the worst of the blood?Â
Itâs everywhere.Â
Abdominal? Chest?Â
I canât tell. I canât tell.Â
Mr. Hotchner, you canât panic. Does she have a chest wound?
Yes. Yes, butâÂ
Is she conscious? Howâs her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions.Â
Honey, can you hear me?Â
Your name said clearly.Â
âHey, can you hear me?âÂ
âYes,â you murmur.Â
âIf you need a minute, thatâs okay.âÂ
You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriendâs when she wants to have it. Sheâs never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like youâre made of glass.Â
Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you werenât up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that sheâs reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, itâs worked to drag bad memories to the surface.Â
âMaybe we should start from the beginning.âÂ
There isnât a beginning. Thereâs just conversation. Aaronâs hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.
âOkay.âÂ
Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. Thatâs another thing they all share, good looks. âOkay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? Itâll help if you close your eyes,â she reminds you.Â
You close your eyes.Â
âWhat stuck out?âÂ
âNothing,â you murmur. âIâve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.âÂ
âNothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?âÂ
âJackâs particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.âÂ
Emilyâs voice turns to a shard of itself. âWhat did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.âÂ
âI never got that far.â
âWhat did you do?âÂ
âI filled the kettle.âÂ
âWhat kettle?âÂ
You donât understand the need for specificity, but you answer. âAaron got it for me, when he⊠he told me he loved me, and when we got home heâd bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because⊠he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.âÂ
âAlright. Okay, and what did you do after that?âÂ
âI put the kettle on the stove.â You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. âI got goosebumps.âÂ
âWhen?âÂ
âThe kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.â
âAnd thenââ
âThen he grabbed me.âÂ
âYeah,â Emily says softly.Â
You touch your nose. âI tried⊠He didnât feel like a person. He didnât feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.âÂ
âLike he was quick on his feet?âÂ
âHe was silent. I didnât hear him until I made him fall.âÂ
âHow big did he feel?âÂ
Your stomach churns. Big. Heâd felt big.Â
Whereâs the worst of the blood?
âHe said he was going to hide,â you remember.Â
âHe said that? He said âhideâ?
âYeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.âÂ
âWhen was this?âÂ
Itâs a headache. You try to remember more, because thatâs what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers.Â
âThat was at the end,â you say.Â
âAfter he stabbed you?âÂ
You wince. âYes. After.âÂ
âYouâre doing so good,â she praises, âI just want to fill in the gaps.âÂ
âI canât remember. I was unconscious.âÂ
âWhen Hotch found you?âÂ
âNo, before.â
âBefore?â she asks.Â
Youâre sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move.Â
You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?
âHe called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,â you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room.Â
âOkay, Y/N. Okay. I know youâre tired.â She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. âYou did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.âÂ
Youâre not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose.Â
âI want to see Aaron,â you confess quietly.Â
âIâll find him for you.â Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. Sheâs lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. âAre you okay? Can I get you something to eat?âÂ
So Aaronâs not keeping that to himself. âI want to see him, please.âÂ
âYeah. Okay.âÂ
This is a horrible room. Itâs not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases âcurrently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and donât know what to do. Should you look away? You hadnât realised you bled so much.Â
You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. Itâs âHotchâs turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room.Â
You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron.Â
You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood.Â
âItâs okay,â you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaronâs example. âItâs okay, itâs okay, itâs okay.â You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees.Â
Thatâs all he says when you panic. Heâll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, youâre okay.Â
Heâs much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like heâs saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear.Â
âMy headâs just hurting,â you murmur.Â
He doesnât respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. Itâs hard not to think about what happened, mostly because youâre still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But itâs your anxiety that plagues you most. Youâre in a constant state of dread.Â
You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now youâre desperate not to be hurt again.Â
âYou have to look after me,â you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say.Â
âYes, I do.âÂ
âPlease donât let me get hurt again.âÂ
Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. âLetâs sit up,â he says, standing himself. âCome on, letâs sit up. You shouldnât be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.âÂ
You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad nightâs sleep.Â
Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one anotherâs thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one. Heâs given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you.Â
He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water.Â
âHere,â he says, popping the seal of the drink. âThree sips.âÂ
You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters.Â
âIâm gonna be sick,â you say.Â
âNo, youâre not. You wonât be.â He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. âPlease, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.âÂ
âI donât want it.âÂ
âPlease.âÂ
âDid Emily tell you about my interview?âÂ
He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you arenât at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. âNo. Is there something you think I should know?âÂ
âI donât want to say it again.âÂ
âThen you donât have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.âÂ
You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. âCan I come with you?âÂ
âYouâre having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you wonât want to hear what we have to say.âÂ
You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread.Â
âIf you donât eat, you wonât get better,â he says, a touch stern.Â
âI canât eat when you wonât let me come with you.âÂ
âIâm not the only person capable of protecting you. IâŠâ He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. âCan you please eat it?âÂ
You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop.Â
Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. âThank you,â he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again.Â
Itâs sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldnât defend yourself, canât get to grips with it, and canât keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if heâs seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All youâd wanted was a sedative.Â
âIâm far from the only person capable of protecting you,â he says.Â
âYou saved me,â you say. You mean it in every sense of the world.Â
ââŠThis is my fault.âÂ
âI want to be with you,â you say honestly. âI donât feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.â The anxiety is marrow deep.Â
Aaron looks gutted. âDonât say that.â His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. âI know you're scared.âÂ
âThen why wonât you listen?â you ask weakly.Â
âIâm listening to you,â he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness youâve never ever heard before, âI need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I canât do that while heâs still out there.â His brows pinch together, agonised. âIâm sorry youâre scared. I didnât protect you. But I wonât let anything happen to you again.
âI love you. Please believe that Iâm doing whatâs best for you right now.âÂ
You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless.Â
âI love you,â he says again.Â
âI know.âÂ
âNo, I love you.âÂ
Heâs saying sorry.
âI love you,â you mumble back.Â
âHow are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?âÂ
Your eyes are heavy at his touch. âYou only looked at me a couple of hours ago.âÂ
âAlright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.âÂ
You donât answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses heâd give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesnât squeeze you, he canât without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound.Â
His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both.Â
You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours.Â
âSomeone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,â he says.Â
You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek.Â
â
Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didnât. âHe assumes heâll have another chance,â Emily surmises.Â
âThatâs cocky,â JJ mutters.Â
âItâs telling,â Aaron says. âBut he wonât.âÂ
The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you Iâm dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you Iâm dead, you ask Rossi. If he says Iâm dead, you ask Emily. You canât believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before youâre moved.Â
Iâm not gullible, youâd said, wincing at his sharp tone.Â
Itâs not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You canât let them.Â
I wonât.Â
Heâs racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes itâs a force of will.Â
Foyet didnât need much more than that.Â
He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either.Â
Your dread is taking over everything you do. Todayâs the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already heâs worried, because heâd convinced you total honesty was whatâs best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid.Â
One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.
Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but Iâm not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner.Â
Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. Iâm kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so Iâm making waffle fries.Â
He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and donât worry about the boat, heâll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you
Aaron should go home. Heâd feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves⊠He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this.Â
He canât fix this, god, his head hurts badly. Youâre covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? Youâve been brutalised. Aaron canât believe this is happening again.Â
He rubs his brow.Â
âYou okay?â Emily asks.Â
When he looks up, JJ is gone.Â
âIâm fine.âÂ
âItâs okay if youâre not.âÂ
Heâs not fine, but he knows what sheâs asking. âIâm okay enough to do this,â he says.Â
Itâs hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that heâs already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesnât usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally âyouâll touch his hair or rub his arm like she wouldâve done, and it doesnât make him miss her any more than he does, heâs not in the business of wishing you werenât yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day.Â
He canât fail you, too.Â
âIs it ever easy?â Emily asks.Â
Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. âIs what?âÂ
âBeing in love.âÂ
He thinks about it. âI must make it look hard.âÂ
She laughs softly. âSometimes, yeah.âÂ
Maybe thatâs not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks.Â
He chooses his words carefully. âLoving her is the easiest thing in the world. But⊠I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.â And that puts you in danger.Â
It doesnât feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps itâs easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and sheâs family, truly. He can tell her how intense itâs felt.Â
âWell, it doesnât seem hard for her,â Emily says.Â
He shakes his head.Â
She continues regardless, âEven during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.âÂ
But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesnât want to say at all, but instead knows with surety.Â
âShe canât eat if Iâm not home,â he says. What a thing to do to someone. âItâs my fault.âÂ
Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. âI think youâre seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and youâre so safe to her that you make it better when youâre with her. Thatâs not fault, Hotch. Just love.âÂ
He turns his attention back to the board without another word.Â
â
When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, youâre sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. Youâre laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaronâs got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jackâs favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest.Â
Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him.Â
He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks.Â
He goes home satisfied.
âDadâs home!â you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in.Â
âHoney?â Aaron calls.Â
âYeah!â You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits.Â
Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. âHey!âÂ
âHi, junior g-man, what are you doing?âÂ
âWe watched Finding Nemo,â Jack says, âand now Iâm hugging you, duh.âÂ
âDuh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âYou okay?â he asks.Â
âIâm fine.â
You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what heâs going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.
âYou got him?â you ask.Â
He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. âI got him.âÂ
âHow did you find him?âÂ
He crouches down in front of you. Heâs so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. âYouâre not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him⊠If you werenât as brave as you are, I couldnât have kept you and Jack safe.â He holds your knee. âThank you.âÂ
You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. âBrave?âÂ
âBrave.âÂ
âIâm a coward.âÂ
He shakes his head. âNo. Youâre not.âÂ
All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. Youâve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby.Â
Aaronâs brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless.Â
âYouâre hurt forever because of me,â he says quietly, you strain to hear him, âbecause of who I am, and what I choose to be.âÂ
âHow can you say that? Itâs not your fault.âÂ
âIt wouldnât have happened to you if I hadnât missed his MO the first time.âÂ
âYouâre not putting the knife in anyoneâs hand,â you argue.Â
âBut it keeps happening.âÂ
His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you havenât heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead.Â
âRemember⊠when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasnât hard, and you said it would be?âÂ
âI remember,â he says, practically mouths.Â
âI was so afraid when...â You swallow roughly. âI still am. But notâ not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, itâs worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.â Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. Iâm safe. âAnd you look after me, soâ soââÂ
You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried youâll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands.Â
âI didnât want this for you,â he says.Â
âNobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?âÂ
He breathes out heavily. âPlease⊠donât cry.âÂ
You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, âIâm okay now.âÂ
He looks at you in silence.Â
âCome and sit with me,â you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. âYour knees.âÂ
He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. âWhat about my knees?âÂ
Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jackâs blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag.Â
Youâd like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you wonât get that from him until you're better, and even then, itâs up in the air. So much has changed.Â
But not everything.Â
âI love you,â you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head.Â
He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. âKiss?â he asks quietly.Â
You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. Itâs not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when youâre both better recovered.Â
He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. âI love you.âÂ
âI love you, too.âÂ
âWas Jack good?âÂ
âJackâs always good.âÂ
âDid the nurse have anything to say about your chest?âÂ
âShe said itâs healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.âÂ
âI can get those.âÂ
âI know, I knew you would.âÂ
He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think heâll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek.Â
âDo you think that tonight, we could pretend it didnât happen?â Youâd like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. Itâs the first night in a while that youâll feel completely.Â
âYeah. I can do that.â He hugs you rather tightly. âDo you want to see your present?â he asks, relaxing his grip.Â
âMy present?âÂ
He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. âIâm worried itâll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.âÂ
In the bag, thereâs a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones youâd been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him.Â
He kisses your shoulder. âYou don't need to say that.âÂ
He doesnât add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the otherâs touch.Â
Ëâ§ê°á âź à»ê±â§Ë
thank u for reading!! itâs been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and itâs hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) â€ïž
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this is so sweet lumi <3 thank you so much đ
happy june and i love you đ«¶đ»
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they woke up snuggling thank you for coming to my ted talk
slumber party
in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid
fluff!
warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk
a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu
âOh, there is no way.â
Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you.Â
âWhat? Is itââ
You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?
But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before theyâre back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough.Â
Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.
But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.
One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.
Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bitâŠÂ abrasive, sometimes.Â
âItâs fine, Iâll justâIâll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their roomââ
Just then thereâs a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement.Â
âOh my god! You guys too?â
âWhat?â You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesnât comment.Â
âMe and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.â
You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them.Â
âWhat about Morgan and Garcia?â
Spencer snorts.
âSomething tells me Penelope wouldnât be too torn up about it if that's the case.â
âHotch and Rossi?â
The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.
âI donât even⊠I canât picture that.â
âCan we please not try to picture it?â
âGreat. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.â
âThanks,â Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. âIâll⊠I can take the floorââ
âItâs fine, Spencer. Iâm not going to make you sleep on the floor. Weâre both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? Itâll be like a slumber party.â
âIâve never had one,â he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up.Â
âThen Iâm happy to be your first,â you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, Iâll be gentle. âDo you want the shower first or can I?â
Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesnât realize heâs doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you.Â
âYou can have it first,â he says, meeting your eyes again. âJust donât do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.â
âAw. But I love doing that. Itâs my favorite part,â you tease, scooping up your bag once more.
Twenty minutes later youâre emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie.Â
âNice outfit,â Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish youâd been prepared for. Really, you wish youâd known ahead of time youâd have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. âI had no idea you felt so passionately about⊠Scooby Doo?â
âShut up right now,â you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can.Â
âWhat?â Heâs laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. âItâs a good look for you.â
Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. Thereâs really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks.Â
From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up againâa cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if heâs almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long itâll be before heâs out again. Itâs ridiculous how impatient you're gettingâand by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy.Â
âI think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.â
The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamasâtonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneckâas well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft.Â
âYou were sitting here waiting for me?â He chuckles, and honestly youâd been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly.Â
âMaybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?â
âHa-ha.â He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. âYou took the better side of the bed.â
âUh, yeah. Iâm the woman. I get to do that.â
âWell you should know that if an intruder breaks in, Iâm not fighting him off. Youâd probably have a better chance than me.â
âAnd my chances will be even better if heâs distracted with you first.â
âSo Iâm just bait?â He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait.Â
That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest.Â
âI hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.â
It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back.Â
âCall me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.â
âI just donât see how youâre even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that youâre crepuscular?â Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow.Â
âObviously nobody has told me that.â
âIt means yââ
âIâm most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?â
âI am,â he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. âIâm just⊠you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.â
You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly.Â
âIâve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.âÂ
You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you.Â
âThis is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.â
âGood thing weâre not going to sleep yet.â
Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features.Â
âWeâre not?â
âOh, my god, Spencer,â you snort. âIâm not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?â
He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table.Â
âBut itâs late. We should go to sleep.â
âAt slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally canât keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I donât make them.â
Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness.Â
âI appreciate the effort,â he says, and your eyes havenât adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, âbut unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.â
âYouâre no fun,â you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until youâre flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum.Â
Spencer doesnât respond.Â
Itâs silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesnât slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy.Â
In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.
The mattress squeaks.Â
You do it again.Â
Another squeak.Â
A second goes by, and now youâre intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can.Â
âWould you stop that?â Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but youâre already devolving into a fit of giggles. âIâm going to smother you with this pillow,â he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words.Â
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry. Iâm just not in the mood to rest.â
Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark.Â
âWhat are you in the mood for?â He asks flatly, and youâve won.Â
âTell me a secret,â you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. âSomething youâve never told anyone else.â
âI donâtââ
âShh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.â
âI donât have any secrets,â he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. âNone that youâd want to hear.â
âOh, now thatâs just not true. Youâre an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.â
Youâre only sort of kidding.Â
âIâŠÂ fascinate you?â
âCompletely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what youâre thinking about. But youâre very⊠hard to read, sometimes. I think itâs because youâre a Scorpio.â
âThe position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.â
âFine,â you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. âBut that doesnât mean you donât display the archetypal Scorpio traits. Youâre all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowableâŠâ
âSexy?â He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. Youâd hoped he would catch that one.Â
âHey,â you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. âYouâre supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I wonât let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.â
âWhen have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?â
Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile.Â
âStop flirting and answer my question, Reid.â
With the amount of times youâve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. Itâs so pitch black in the room, you canât see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when heâs tired and speaking this lowly, which youâve never heard before.
âAll the secrets Iâve never told anyone are just⊠depressing.â
Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you.Â
âNot very good slumber party material, I think,â he laughs self-consciously.Â
âYouâd be surprised.âÂ
The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than youâve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and supportâeven if it doesnât always seem that way when youâre teasing him.Â
âDo you have any secrets youâve never told anyone else?â He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you.Â
And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those heâd elected not to share only a moment ago.Â
But you donât bring those up.Â
Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. Youâve really never told anyone this, and itâs perhaps more vulnerable than youâd realized before the words were already leaving your mouth.Â
âI, haveâŠâ You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. âI have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.â
âYou do?â Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face.Â
âYes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. Heâs an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?â
âFamily annihilator from Houston?âÂ
âCorrect. Heâs in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the OâHara and Diangelo families.â
âYou have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?â
âHeâsâI mean, I wasnât expecting to share a room with someone.â
âSo heâs in your bag.â
âYes,â you seethe, âand I will not be introducing you to him. He doesnât do well with men.â
âYou are genuinely psychotic.â
You huff.
âFine. Iâm sorry I told you anything.â
Youâre about to roll over onto your other sideâbut Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently.Â
âYouâre right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.â His tone is surprisingly teasing, and youâre so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you canât muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesnât seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. âIâm sorry I donât have any secrets for you.â
The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimesâitâs like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He canât control it. He canât be anyone other than who he is. Maybe thatâs a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. Itâs not exactly a secretâanyone on the team would be able to tell as much. Youâve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that.Â
âItâs okay,â you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. âYouâll think of something. âCause, yâknowâyouâre stuck with me for at least a few more days.â
âOh, god,â he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you donât mind. Youâll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. âGoodnight.â
âSweet dreams,â you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.
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Comforting spencer đđ Maybe after the Tobias thing or something, sorry if this is too vague đ
your needs, my needs | S.R.
who? spencer reid x gn!reader
category: angst; hurt/comfort
content warnings: takes place following 3x12 "3rd life", spoilers for 2x15 "revelations", drug addiction, mentions NA and narcan
word count: 1.74k
a/n: hey anon! this is kind of too vague BUT i've had this idea marinating in my brain for so long and i just needed to find a place for it in the timeline! i hope this works for you! thank you for requesting!
Halfway down his arm, in the crook of his elbow, your boyfriend had a scar.
It was left by someone who was now dead and had been for months. The pink, new skin would eventually fade, but youâd always see it there.
The memory of Tobias Hankel would always haunt your relationship, but the two of you would manage to create new memories in the wake of everything that he had almost destroyed.
Hanging up your keys next to the front door, you note the silence of the apartment, there was no radio playing, no turning of book pages, and yet, you glanced over at the couch, seeing Spencerâs signature mismatched socks hanging over the edge of the couch.
Quietly, you set your bag down before you made your way over to the couch expecting to find Spencer asleep, but youâre surprised when deep brown eyes look back at you. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, a book tucked in the crook of his arm like he had given up on reading for the evening. âHi, love,â you whispered, making your way around the back of the couch and squatting next to him, studying his expression intently. âHow was work?â
He closed his eyes as you reached out and smoothed his hair back, âHi,â he responded. His voice was raspy like it had been a while since he used it. You had woken up in an empty bed this morning, so the BAU mustâve arrived home from Chula Vista at some point while you were at work.
Spencer didnât offer any other conversation. He didnât tell you how work was. He didnât ask you how work was. Sadly, you pressed your lips together in a thin, white line and tilted your head to the side, âWhat happened?â
âIâm tired,â he answered, averting his eyes from yours as he deflected. The avoidance was telling enough, you knew what was going through his mind. âI need to take a shower,â he admitted, his voice softening with use.
You raised your eyebrows curiously at him, despite the fact that he wouldnât look at you, âDid you want me to leave you be for a while?â You asked, letting him know that you could keep your distance, but you wouldnât leave him alone â not when he was like this.
His lips parted as he prepared to answer, âI donât want to go into the bathroom,â he admitted meekly.
A deep understanding filled your chest. The bathroom was where you first figured out his addiction. The bathroom was where you now kept Narcan in the medicine cabinet. âDid you want me to go in with you?â You asked him a new question, hoping you could somehow gently guide him to an answer.
âI just donât want to go in,â he said, voice raising in frustration before he checked himself, âI donât want to be in a bathroom.â
You steeled your expression, not wanting him to know that you caught on the way he said a bathroom instead of the bathroom that time. âAlright,â you told him, pushing up on your knees so that you could stand and head into your shared bathroom. Going into the shower, you reached in and grabbed Spencerâs shampoo and conditioner, pulling a towel from the linen closet before you walked back out, passing him on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen.
Setting everything down on the counter you went back to the bedroom, closing the door to the ensuite before calling Spencer over. You heard heavy footsteps approach the bedroom before your boyfriend showed up in the doorway, âWhat is it?â
âChange into more comfortable clothes, then I can wash your hair in the kitchen sink,â you told him insistently, taking up a tone that told him you werenât going to take no for an answer. Reaching into his side of the dresser, you pulled out a pair of flannel pajama pants while he stripped himself of his work clothes. Making sure he was moving, you followed suit, pulling off your work pants before resorting to sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
He grumbled as you herded him into the kitchen, sock-covered feet shuffling on the tile floor. Despite giving you a look when you instructed him to lie down on the counter, Spencer did so without much of a challenge. As you flipped on the tap, he settled on the laminate surface, âWhat are you doing?â He asked, frowning at you as you gently took his glasses off and placed the thick, black frames on the opposite side of the basin.
You hummed, taking the towel and tucking it underneath Spencerâs neck so the edge of the counter didnât hurt him, âI donât want to get soap and water all over your glasses.â
With furrowed brows, he looked up at you, âI wonât be able to see without my glasses,â he informed you.
âThen youâll have to use that memory of yours to remember just how good-looking I am,â you responded earnestly, refraining from victoriously throwing your hands in the air when a small smile bloomed on his face.
Sighing, he relaxed against the hard surface of the counter. Too tall to fully lay down, he kept his legs folded up at the edge. It looked awkward, but if he was comfortable, who were you to judge?
Checking the temperature of the water with your hand, you took the sprayer in your hand and quickly sprayed a bit of water on Spencerâs hair, âIs that too hot?â You asked softly, watching his face for any kind of reaction.
Spencer quickly shook his head at you, âNo, thatâs good.â His answer prompted you to continue wetting his hair, using the sprayer before setting it down and taking his shampoo in your hands.
Lathering a dollop in between your palms, you slowly started to work it into his hair, he closed his eyes as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp as you did so. You smiled softly at the way he visibly relaxed, watching the way peace overtook him as a result of the simple service of having his hair washed.
Using your hand to protect his face from soap and water, you took the handheld sprayer back in your hand and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, the suds slipping from the locks in a waterfall. Taking a moment, you elected for another round of shampoo, squirting the same amount in your palm before repeating the process.
In your periphery, you noticed Spencer fiddling with something in his hand, a flash of gold caused your heart to clench while he flipped the coin through his fingers. His six-month NA chip.
Deciding against mentioning it, you continued working your fingers through his hair, the second round of shampoo foaming up even more than the first had, leading you to rinse your hands off before going back for the sprayer. Using your hand, you made sure to get all of the remaining shampoo from his hair before gently wringing his hair dry.
Putting a small amount of conditioner on your fingers, you deftly worked the product through the ends of Spencerâs hair, âYour hairâs getting long,â you observed aloud. âDid you want to cut it or keep growing it out?â
Not opening his eyes, Spencer responded, âNot sure yet,â he mumbled, clearly still enjoying your ministrations on his hair.
Finger-combing the conditioner through his hair, you nodded to yourself, âIf you want to cut it, just let me know and I can help.â
In response, he nodded slightly while you tried to work through a small knot in his hair, âI thought I could stop him.â
Your movements faltered at the sudden change in subject, but you quickly regained your footing and continued, âYou canât save everyone.â
âI hate that,â he told you. Spencer had a lot of anger, it was never directed at you, it was directed toward the world, but that didnât mean you liked it.
Letting the conditioner sit in his hair, you rinsed the product off of your hands before turning the tap off. âDo you need to go to a meeting?â You asked him gently, reaching over to seal the caps to the shampoo and conditioner before glancing at your boyfriend.
Mentally, you recalled where you had set your keys and bag when you got home, just in case you needed to take him away, âIâll go tomorrow,â he answered.
His usual NA group met on Wednesdays, so it made sense that heâd want to go to that group. It didnât mean you wouldnât keep an eye on him tonight. âOkay,â you murmured softly, flipping the tap back on before you proceeded to rinse the conditioner from his hair, using your fingers to get all of the product from his silky brown strands.
Adjusting the temperature slightly, you focused your energy on getting the product out, settling into a comfortable silence until you felt satisfied, shutting off the water and wringing the water out as best you could with your hands.
You carefully coaxed the towel from where it rested beneath his neck, getting him to sit up while you towel-dried his hair. Pulling the cotton off of his head, you left his damp hair sticking every which way as you reached over to return his glasses to him, âDo you feel any better?â You asked, refraining from reaching up and touching him, you put your hands behind your back.
He nodded softly, settling his glasses on his face and blinking as his eyes focused. Spencer surprised you when he reached out for you, sitting up and leaving his legs dangling off of the edge of the counter, he parted his knees and pulled you so that your body was flush with the counter, wrapping his arms around you tightly. âI love you,â he mumbled into the crook of your neck.
Burying your face in his shoulder, you breathed in the all-too-familiar scent of his shampoo and conditioner and leaned into his embrace, âI love you too, Spence.â Tears pricked your eyes, and you pulled away from him before any could trickle down your cheeks. âCome sit down on the couch, Iâll brush your hair out.â
A small, content smile grew on his face, nodding at you before he pushed himself off of the counter, following your footsteps back into the living room.
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Spencerâs oldest child (either with reader or previous relationship) wanting to help out with readers baby!
âSoâŠâÂ
âSo,â Spencer echoes, hooking Amy under the arms before she can wriggle away. He props her on the counter, cloth already in hand.Â
âAbout the baby.âÂ
âWhat about the baby?â he asks, encouraging her head back gently to wipe her mouth. Sheâs covered in butter and omelette, a chive stuck to her chin.Â
âYou know how sheâs little?âÂ
âYes.â Spencer wipes her face clean very gently. Itâs not a good plan, Amy wriggles and squirms away from the warm water and it takes a long time, but Spencer canât bring himself to be rough. âSheâs really little. I know all about it.âÂ
âAnd mom is tired.âÂ
Spencer grins. âYes, mom is tired.âÂ
âCan I look after the baby? âCos Iâm big?âÂ
Spencer isnât in the habit of lying to her, perhaps to the detriment of his own easy life. âProbably not. You are getting bigger, but sheâs so little sheâs actually quite fragile. We have to be careful to hold her the right way, and to carry her gently, because sheâs not done forming. You donât have the dexterity to do this all the time. Plus, sheâs heavy.â Spencer puts the cloth aside. He leans down enough to be face to face with Amy, puckered up for a kiss.Â
Amy frowns. Spencer kisses her damp cheek.Â
âI do too have dex-trity.âÂ
âWhat do you want to do?âÂ
âI want to look after the baby.âÂ
âThen who will look after me?â Spencer asks cheekily.Â
âMom.âÂ
âOkay. Listen,â he takes her face carefully into his hand, wiping at the place where heâd kissed affectionately, âthere are ways you can help with the baby. Lots of ways! Stuff we already do, like making dinner, and stuff weâve been doing to help mom, like washing her clothes and watering her plants.âÂ
âI love mom so I water the plants, thatâs not the baby.âÂ
âI know,â he says, rubbing her cheek. âThatâs why I do it too. But I promise it helps mommy more than you realise when we do this stuff for her.âÂ
âLetâs do something else.âÂ
âLike what?âÂ
âI donât know.âÂ
Spencer opens his arms for her and she latches on like his baby sloth. He used to say it to her all the time, how she was his lazy sloth pup, always on his chest. âHow about we ask?âÂ
He carries her out of the kitchen and upstairs to find you, only youâre not where they left you in the master bedroom. Instead, you're sitting on the floor of Amyâs bedroom with the baby swaddled to your chest. âOh, hey, itâs big Reid and little Reid.â Â
âWhat Reid does that make you?â Spencer asks.Â
âIâm ambiguously sized Reid.â You look down at the baby. âAnd this is tiny Reid.âÂ
âWhat are you doing?â Amy asks.Â
âIâm cleaning up your humongous mess, angel.â
âWhat!â Amy shouts. Spencer laughs at her outburst. âMom, Iâm supposed to help you!âÂ
âSays who?âÂ
âSays me! Daddy, put me down.âÂ
Spencer obliges her and sets her down. Amy runs to you and takes the doll from your hand, to your surprise, sweeping the pile of her dolls away, mixing the ones youâd redressed with naked and ragged ones. You cover the babyâs back, sighing. Spencer knows from experience those dolls are finicky.Â
âI was just trying to help,â you say, pouting at her. âIt was a big mess, you canât do it all by yourself, youâre just my little girl.âÂ
Spencer appreciates the way you say it. Itâs good to love someone, but it feels like great luck to have fallen in love with a mom who couldnât adore her children more than you do. He wanted kids so badly, and your love for them cements a great decision. Amy doesnât feel so lucky, throwing herself against the side of her bed with a dramatic, forlorn whine.Â
You tip your head back as Spencer kneels by your side. âWhatâs wrong?â you ask.Â
He pulls the swaddle from the babyâs face to see her. Sheâs awake but quiet. Recognition lights her features when she notices his poking, giving him a gurgling smile. âNothingâs wrong,â he says to you. âAmy just wants to help today, âcos sheâs our lovely girl.â His voice turns to sweetness as the babyâs smile widens. âHello, angel. Hi, hi, hi.âÂ
âYou wanna help me?â you ask.Â
Amy pulls her face up from her messy bed sheets. âYes, please.âÂ
âWell, nobodyâs given me a hug in a while.âÂ
âI want to help with the baby!âÂ
âNobodyâs given her a cuddle today, either.âÂ
âSheâs cuddling you right now!âÂ
âSheâs just resting. What she needs is a good hug and a good kiss.â You stretch your legs out in front of you and reach back to pull at the swaddle. Spencer helps before you can stretch your shoulder in the wrong way, taking the fabric down your arms and releasing you from its confines. You cup the babyâs weight in one hand, her head the other, and slide her into your arm. âCome on, best big sister. Come and hold her for me.âÂ
Amy rushes to do as youâve said. Spencer smiles to himself and pulls the mound of dolls toward him âthereâs a lot of work to do in here, you werenât kidding about the mess.Â
You put the baby in Amyâs lap.Â
âNow,â you say, leaning into Spencerâs, arms opening expectantly, âfor me?âÂ
Spencer canât wait to abandon the doll and bend down over you. He almost pokes your kidney out with a Barbie, but heâs never been any good at resisting you when you ask for a cuddle. Itâs not your most comfortable embrace, and yet itâs as perfect as any other, his laugh lost in your shoulder, wrapping his arms behind your back.Â
âKeep an eye on the babies,â you whisper.Â
Spencer checks that Amyâs holding the baby the right way and makes you into a Reid sandwich. âShe told me she is too dexterous.âÂ
âDid you imply she wasnât?âÂ
âI said,â he relents, smiling to himself as you squeeze his waist, âthat sheâs not dexterous enough to carry the baby all day long.âÂ
âBut how do you know?âÂ
âI read a couple parenting books a few years ago, I tend to have a pretty good memory.âÂ
âDo you remember how to rub my back?â you tease, softly, still a little shy after all these years.Â
Spencer rubs your back. Amy babbles loving nonsense at the baby for a few minutes, and then complains of being bored and wanting another omelette.Â
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my internet has been down for five (5) hours !! with no estimated time on when itâll be back !!!!
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Rules on minors following?
howdy! i donât generally have an issue with minors following my blog. however, i do ask that minors do not interact anything nsfw - in the context of my blog, that would be smut!
these fics are always labeled with mdni, and my nsfw works have the tag #margot after hours - you can block this tag to make navigating my blog a safe space for you! more recently, iâve started adding this tag to nsfw reblogs as well!
i do feel like this is a small thing to ask, so if i find out or am made aware that minors are interacting with my nsfw content, they get a swift block! reminder - being âmature for your ageâ does not provide you with a pass to interact with content labeled as nsfw/nsft!
please be safe and responsible on the internet đ«¶đ»
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BABE WAKE UP INCOGNIT0SLUT IS DOING A SPENCER REID SERIES BASED ON MY FAVORITE SHAKESPEARE PLAY
Much Ado About Nothing
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Bau Reader
Genre: Romance, humor, angst
Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content in later parts
Series status: On-going
There is one rule you and Spencer agreed on: never talk about the past, especially when that one regretful night strained your friendship. But throw in nosy teammates, an obvious matchmaking scheme, and a never-ending battle of witsâthe line between friend and foe starts to blur as you find yourself questioning your true feelings.
a/n: Iâm starting a new series after a while and am so excited!! When I found out that the movie ANYONE BUT YOU was based on a William Shakespeare play, I got inspired, so I wanted to do a fun and sexy read for the summerâïž
ACT 1 - THE BEGINNING
Act 1, Scene 1: The Silent Agreement (06/06/24)
Act 1, Scene 2: The Crude Suggestion (11/06/24)
ACT 2 - THE PLAN
Act 2, Scene 1: The Suspicious Scheme (16/06/24)
Act 2, Scene 2: The Crazy Idea (21/06/24)
ACT 3 - THE DECEPTION
Act 3, Scene 1: The Fake Dating (26/06/24)
Act 3, Scene 2: The Sunny Day Out (01/07/24)
Act 3, Scene 3: The Stolen Kisses (06/07/24)
Act 3, Scene 4: The Meeting Point (11/07/24)
Act 3, Scene 5: The Rabbit Hole (16/07/24)
ACT 4 - THE TRUTH
Act 4, Scene 1: The Never-ending Lies (21/07/24)
Act 4, Scene 2: The Flashback (26/07/24)
Act 4, Scene 3: The Heartfelt Talk (31/07/24)
ACT 5 - THE END
Act 5, Scene 1: The Unexpected Surprise (05/08/24)
Act 5, Scene 2: The Happy Start (10/08/24)
*please note that the titles may change in the future
I decided there will be no taglist for this, so make sure to check my blog on each date, but I might have to apologize in advance if I donât stick to the schedule. Iâll still try my best though especially if there are feedbacks, knowing what you guys think of this series would be so nice and would keep me motivated. See you in future updatesâ !!đ«¶
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Comforting spencer đđ Maybe after the Tobias thing or something, sorry if this is too vague đ
your needs, my needs | S.R.
who? spencer reid x gn!reader
category: angst; hurt/comfort
content warnings: takes place following 3x12 "3rd life", spoilers for 2x15 "revelations", drug addiction, mentions NA and narcan
word count: 1.74k
a/n: hey anon! this is kind of too vague BUT i've had this idea marinating in my brain for so long and i just needed to find a place for it in the timeline! i hope this works for you! thank you for requesting!
Halfway down his arm, in the crook of his elbow, your boyfriend had a scar.
It was left by someone who was now dead and had been for months. The pink, new skin would eventually fade, but youâd always see it there.
The memory of Tobias Hankel would always haunt your relationship, but the two of you would manage to create new memories in the wake of everything that he had almost destroyed.
Hanging up your keys next to the front door, you note the silence of the apartment, there was no radio playing, no turning of book pages, and yet, you glanced over at the couch, seeing Spencerâs signature mismatched socks hanging over the edge of the couch.
Quietly, you set your bag down before you made your way over to the couch expecting to find Spencer asleep, but youâre surprised when deep brown eyes look back at you. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, a book tucked in the crook of his arm like he had given up on reading for the evening. âHi, love,â you whispered, making your way around the back of the couch and squatting next to him, studying his expression intently. âHow was work?â
He closed his eyes as you reached out and smoothed his hair back, âHi,â he responded. His voice was raspy like it had been a while since he used it. You had woken up in an empty bed this morning, so the BAU mustâve arrived home from Chula Vista at some point while you were at work.
Spencer didnât offer any other conversation. He didnât tell you how work was. He didnât ask you how work was. Sadly, you pressed your lips together in a thin, white line and tilted your head to the side, âWhat happened?â
âIâm tired,â he answered, averting his eyes from yours as he deflected. The avoidance was telling enough, you knew what was going through his mind. âI need to take a shower,â he admitted, his voice softening with use.
You raised your eyebrows curiously at him, despite the fact that he wouldnât look at you, âDid you want me to leave you be for a while?â You asked, letting him know that you could keep your distance, but you wouldnât leave him alone â not when he was like this.
His lips parted as he prepared to answer, âI donât want to go into the bathroom,â he admitted meekly.
A deep understanding filled your chest. The bathroom was where you first figured out his addiction. The bathroom was where you now kept Narcan in the medicine cabinet. âDid you want me to go in with you?â You asked him a new question, hoping you could somehow gently guide him to an answer.
âI just donât want to go in,â he said, voice raising in frustration before he checked himself, âI donât want to be in a bathroom.â
You steeled your expression, not wanting him to know that you caught on the way he said a bathroom instead of the bathroom that time. âAlright,â you told him, pushing up on your knees so that you could stand and head into your shared bathroom. Going into the shower, you reached in and grabbed Spencerâs shampoo and conditioner, pulling a towel from the linen closet before you walked back out, passing him on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen.
Setting everything down on the counter you went back to the bedroom, closing the door to the ensuite before calling Spencer over. You heard heavy footsteps approach the bedroom before your boyfriend showed up in the doorway, âWhat is it?â
âChange into more comfortable clothes, then I can wash your hair in the kitchen sink,â you told him insistently, taking up a tone that told him you werenât going to take no for an answer. Reaching into his side of the dresser, you pulled out a pair of flannel pajama pants while he stripped himself of his work clothes. Making sure he was moving, you followed suit, pulling off your work pants before resorting to sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
He grumbled as you herded him into the kitchen, sock-covered feet shuffling on the tile floor. Despite giving you a look when you instructed him to lie down on the counter, Spencer did so without much of a challenge. As you flipped on the tap, he settled on the laminate surface, âWhat are you doing?â He asked, frowning at you as you gently took his glasses off and placed the thick, black frames on the opposite side of the basin.
You hummed, taking the towel and tucking it underneath Spencerâs neck so the edge of the counter didnât hurt him, âI donât want to get soap and water all over your glasses.â
With furrowed brows, he looked up at you, âI wonât be able to see without my glasses,â he informed you.
âThen youâll have to use that memory of yours to remember just how good-looking I am,â you responded earnestly, refraining from victoriously throwing your hands in the air when a small smile bloomed on his face.
Sighing, he relaxed against the hard surface of the counter. Too tall to fully lay down, he kept his legs folded up at the edge. It looked awkward, but if he was comfortable, who were you to judge?
Checking the temperature of the water with your hand, you took the sprayer in your hand and quickly sprayed a bit of water on Spencerâs hair, âIs that too hot?â You asked softly, watching his face for any kind of reaction.
Spencer quickly shook his head at you, âNo, thatâs good.â His answer prompted you to continue wetting his hair, using the sprayer before setting it down and taking his shampoo in your hands.
Lathering a dollop in between your palms, you slowly started to work it into his hair, he closed his eyes as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp as you did so. You smiled softly at the way he visibly relaxed, watching the way peace overtook him as a result of the simple service of having his hair washed.
Using your hand to protect his face from soap and water, you took the handheld sprayer back in your hand and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, the suds slipping from the locks in a waterfall. Taking a moment, you elected for another round of shampoo, squirting the same amount in your palm before repeating the process.
In your periphery, you noticed Spencer fiddling with something in his hand, a flash of gold caused your heart to clench while he flipped the coin through his fingers. His six-month NA chip.
Deciding against mentioning it, you continued working your fingers through his hair, the second round of shampoo foaming up even more than the first had, leading you to rinse your hands off before going back for the sprayer. Using your hand, you made sure to get all of the remaining shampoo from his hair before gently wringing his hair dry.
Putting a small amount of conditioner on your fingers, you deftly worked the product through the ends of Spencerâs hair, âYour hairâs getting long,â you observed aloud. âDid you want to cut it or keep growing it out?â
Not opening his eyes, Spencer responded, âNot sure yet,â he mumbled, clearly still enjoying your ministrations on his hair.
Finger-combing the conditioner through his hair, you nodded to yourself, âIf you want to cut it, just let me know and I can help.â
In response, he nodded slightly while you tried to work through a small knot in his hair, âI thought I could stop him.â
Your movements faltered at the sudden change in subject, but you quickly regained your footing and continued, âYou canât save everyone.â
âI hate that,â he told you. Spencer had a lot of anger, it was never directed at you, it was directed toward the world, but that didnât mean you liked it.
Letting the conditioner sit in his hair, you rinsed the product off of your hands before turning the tap off. âDo you need to go to a meeting?â You asked him gently, reaching over to seal the caps to the shampoo and conditioner before glancing at your boyfriend.
Mentally, you recalled where you had set your keys and bag when you got home, just in case you needed to take him away, âIâll go tomorrow,â he answered.
His usual NA group met on Wednesdays, so it made sense that heâd want to go to that group. It didnât mean you wouldnât keep an eye on him tonight. âOkay,â you murmured softly, flipping the tap back on before you proceeded to rinse the conditioner from his hair, using your fingers to get all of the product from his silky brown strands.
Adjusting the temperature slightly, you focused your energy on getting the product out, settling into a comfortable silence until you felt satisfied, shutting off the water and wringing the water out as best you could with your hands.
You carefully coaxed the towel from where it rested beneath his neck, getting him to sit up while you towel-dried his hair. Pulling the cotton off of his head, you left his damp hair sticking every which way as you reached over to return his glasses to him, âDo you feel any better?â You asked, refraining from reaching up and touching him, you put your hands behind your back.
He nodded softly, settling his glasses on his face and blinking as his eyes focused. Spencer surprised you when he reached out for you, sitting up and leaving his legs dangling off of the edge of the counter, he parted his knees and pulled you so that your body was flush with the counter, wrapping his arms around you tightly. âI love you,â he mumbled into the crook of your neck.
Burying your face in his shoulder, you breathed in the all-too-familiar scent of his shampoo and conditioner and leaned into his embrace, âI love you too, Spence.â Tears pricked your eyes, and you pulled away from him before any could trickle down your cheeks. âCome sit down on the couch, Iâll brush your hair out.â
A small, content smile grew on his face, nodding at you before he pushed himself off of the counter, following your footsteps back into the living room.
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i have returned to my own place i will no longer be disassociating in my childhood bedroom
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so Iâm basic and love a good sick fic. can I request a fluffy sick fic where Spencer takes care of reader đ„°
heatmiser | S.R.
who? spencer x gn!reader
category: fluff; hurt/comfort
content warnings: germs, the flu, fever, migraine, nausea/vomit, a christmas movie, medicine (tylenol)
word count: 1.07k
a/n: i also love a good sick fic! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!
The pillows on your previously claimed side of the bed smelled like your boyfriendâs shampoo, laying on your side, you could only smell the tea tree through one nostril as you brought the blanket further up on your body, tucking the fabric beneath your chin and closing your eyes.
You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, but the whistling of your nose prevented your brain from being fully able to relax. While you were hyperfocused on your attempts to sleep, you didnât even notice Spencer coming home until the bedroom door opened, leaving a stream of light that lead straight to your face.
An embarrassing keening noise escaped your throat as you rolled over in the bed, trying to evade the warm light from the living room as you did so. âHey, love,â Spencer greeted you gently, making note of the darkness of the room, probably thinking you had a headache instead of whatever demon had decided to take over your immune system.
What you initially thought was a migraine had revealed itself as what was most likely the flu. You mumbled an incoherent greeting as you stared in the direction of the bedroom window. Yesterday, you had felt a rush of energy, prompting you to cheat a blanket up against the blinds, blocking any and all light from entering your sick cave.
You heard the door click closed and felt the mattress dip down slightly beneath you, âWhatâs wrong?â His voice was tentative, placing a hand on your blanket-laden hip and trying to figure out why you were cocooned in bed at two in the afternoon. Gingerly, Spencer reached a hand up to sweep a lock of hair off of your sticky forehead, in the process, his fingers felt just how sweltering your skin was. âOh, honey,â he whispered sympathetically, pulling the blanket down and revealing your sweat-dampened skin.
Releasing a pathetic whimper, you pawed at the fabric of the blanket. Despite the heat emanating from your body, you were freezing. âI feel like I went through a trash compactor,â you mumbled miserably, blinking at Spencer as he tried to haul you into a sitting position. âSpence, wait,â you said as he pulled your torso upright, you wavered unsteadily on top of the bed, your head felt like it weighed the same as a kettlebell.
âWait, what?â He asked quickly, taking up an oh-god-are-you-going-to-throw-up tone with you. His hand was placed on the small of your back, rubbing small circles over the fabric of your hoodie until you stopped swaying.
You frowned as you looked up at him, meeting his brown eyes, âI have germs.â
Spencerâs gaze softened as he cupped your flushed cheeks in his hands, âWhat I think you have is the flu, baby. Did you go to a doctor while I was gone?â He asked, obviously concerned over the fact that when he left for a case, you were fine, but upon his return, you were immobile in bed.
Reaching your arms up as Spencer tugged your hoodie over your head, providing you with a moment of relief as you were left in your t-shirt. âI thought Iâd just tough it out,â you muttered as your boyfriend tossed your discarded clothes in the laundry hamper.
âDoctors arenât enemies,â Spencer chided gently, smoothing your hair back for just a moment before moving the bedroom trash can to your bedside â not fully convinced that you werenât going to ralph off the edge of the bed at any given moment.
You hummed as you watched his movements, he walked into the bathroom and returned with a damp wash cloth, draping it over your head and pressing the cool fabric into your skin. âI have grown rather fond of you,â you responded absentmindedly as you closed your eyes and basked in the relief that the washcloth was providing you.
Moving his hands and trusting that the cloth would remain on your forehead, Spencer returned to the bathroom, rifling through the drawers before he came back into the bedroom with a thermometer in hand, âOpen,â he instructed, waiting for you to open your mouth before he stuck the bulb under your tongue, and you clamped your lips shut around it. âI wish you had told me you were sick,â he said, knowing full well that you couldnât respond to him with the thermometer in your mouth.
Part of you considered the idea that he said that because you couldnât respond.
When the thermometer beeped, he pulled it from your mouth, flashing the results in your face, âOne-hundred and one,â he read aloud. âHow long have you been sick?â
âThey call me Heatmiser,â you mumbled wearily, sitting up was beginning to take too much of your energy. Your fever-addled brain didnât even register that he had asked you a question.
Spencerâs brows furrowed in confusion, âWho is Heatmiser?â He asked, taking the washcloth from your forehead and looking at your flushed skin.
Your eyes narrowed, âYou donât know Heatmiser? We have to watch Heatmiser,â you told him, looking around in the bed for your laptop.
âAre you hallucinating? Do we need to go to the ER?â Spencer asked you, tone stiff and serious as he thought you were delusional with fever.
Shaking your head, your shoulders slumped forward, ââm not hallucinating, I just feel gross.â
Crouching down to the floor so you wouldnât have to look up to meet his eyes, Spencer took your clammy hand in one of yours, âI know, baby. Do you want to take a shower? It might help you feel better to rinse off and put on new clothes.â
You leaned back in bed, head falling on soft, tea tree scented pillows. âLater?â You negotiated, âBeing vertical makes my head spin.â
He nodded, pulling your blanket up and over your lap, âHave you taken anything? I really want to try to get your fever down.â
Shaking your head almost imperceptibly, you tilted your head to the side, âDidnât take anything,â you answered.
âAlright,â he said, standing back up and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, âIâll be right back with some water and Tylenol.â
Offering him a halfhearted smile, you fiddled with the soft blanket that covered your lap, âAnd then we can do Heatmiser?â You asked him hopefully, watching Spencer pass through the doorway into the kitchen.
âSure, baby, then we can do Heatmiser,â he placated, still not entirely sure what you were talking about.
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so Iâm basic and love a good sick fic. can I request a fluffy sick fic where Spencer takes care of reader đ„°
heatmiser | S.R.
who? spencer x gn!reader
category: fluff; hurt/comfort
content warnings: germs, the flu, fever, migraine, nausea/vomit, a christmas movie, medicine (tylenol)
word count: 1.07k
a/n: i also love a good sick fic! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!
The pillows on your previously claimed side of the bed smelled like your boyfriendâs shampoo, laying on your side, you could only smell the tea tree through one nostril as you brought the blanket further up on your body, tucking the fabric beneath your chin and closing your eyes.
You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, but the whistling of your nose prevented your brain from being fully able to relax. While you were hyperfocused on your attempts to sleep, you didnât even notice Spencer coming home until the bedroom door opened, leaving a stream of light that lead straight to your face.
An embarrassing keening noise escaped your throat as you rolled over in the bed, trying to evade the warm light from the living room as you did so. âHey, love,â Spencer greeted you gently, making note of the darkness of the room, probably thinking you had a headache instead of whatever demon had decided to take over your immune system.
What you initially thought was a migraine had revealed itself as what was most likely the flu. You mumbled an incoherent greeting as you stared in the direction of the bedroom window. Yesterday, you had felt a rush of energy, prompting you to cheat a blanket up against the blinds, blocking any and all light from entering your sick cave.
You heard the door click closed and felt the mattress dip down slightly beneath you, âWhatâs wrong?â His voice was tentative, placing a hand on your blanket-laden hip and trying to figure out why you were cocooned in bed at two in the afternoon. Gingerly, Spencer reached a hand up to sweep a lock of hair off of your sticky forehead, in the process, his fingers felt just how sweltering your skin was. âOh, honey,â he whispered sympathetically, pulling the blanket down and revealing your sweat-dampened skin.
Releasing a pathetic whimper, you pawed at the fabric of the blanket. Despite the heat emanating from your body, you were freezing. âI feel like I went through a trash compactor,â you mumbled miserably, blinking at Spencer as he tried to haul you into a sitting position. âSpence, wait,â you said as he pulled your torso upright, you wavered unsteadily on top of the bed, your head felt like it weighed the same as a kettlebell.
âWait, what?â He asked quickly, taking up an oh-god-are-you-going-to-throw-up tone with you. His hand was placed on the small of your back, rubbing small circles over the fabric of your hoodie until you stopped swaying.
You frowned as you looked up at him, meeting his brown eyes, âI have germs.â
Spencerâs gaze softened as he cupped your flushed cheeks in his hands, âWhat I think you have is the flu, baby. Did you go to a doctor while I was gone?â He asked, obviously concerned over the fact that when he left for a case, you were fine, but upon his return, you were immobile in bed.
Reaching your arms up as Spencer tugged your hoodie over your head, providing you with a moment of relief as you were left in your t-shirt. âI thought Iâd just tough it out,â you muttered as your boyfriend tossed your discarded clothes in the laundry hamper.
âDoctors arenât enemies,â Spencer chided gently, smoothing your hair back for just a moment before moving the bedroom trash can to your bedside â not fully convinced that you werenât going to ralph off the edge of the bed at any given moment.
You hummed as you watched his movements, he walked into the bathroom and returned with a damp wash cloth, draping it over your head and pressing the cool fabric into your skin. âI have grown rather fond of you,â you responded absentmindedly as you closed your eyes and basked in the relief that the washcloth was providing you.
Moving his hands and trusting that the cloth would remain on your forehead, Spencer returned to the bathroom, rifling through the drawers before he came back into the bedroom with a thermometer in hand, âOpen,â he instructed, waiting for you to open your mouth before he stuck the bulb under your tongue, and you clamped your lips shut around it. âI wish you had told me you were sick,â he said, knowing full well that you couldnât respond to him with the thermometer in your mouth.
Part of you considered the idea that he said that because you couldnât respond.
When the thermometer beeped, he pulled it from your mouth, flashing the results in your face, âOne-hundred and one,â he read aloud. âHow long have you been sick?â
âThey call me Heatmiser,â you mumbled wearily, sitting up was beginning to take too much of your energy. Your fever-addled brain didnât even register that he had asked you a question.
Spencerâs brows furrowed in confusion, âWho is Heatmiser?â He asked, taking the washcloth from your forehead and looking at your flushed skin.
Your eyes narrowed, âYou donât know Heatmiser? We have to watch Heatmiser,â you told him, looking around in the bed for your laptop.
âAre you hallucinating? Do we need to go to the ER?â Spencer asked you, tone stiff and serious as he thought you were delusional with fever.
Shaking your head, your shoulders slumped forward, ââm not hallucinating, I just feel gross.â
Crouching down to the floor so you wouldnât have to look up to meet his eyes, Spencer took your clammy hand in one of yours, âI know, baby. Do you want to take a shower? It might help you feel better to rinse off and put on new clothes.â
You leaned back in bed, head falling on soft, tea tree scented pillows. âLater?â You negotiated, âBeing vertical makes my head spin.â
He nodded, pulling your blanket up and over your lap, âHave you taken anything? I really want to try to get your fever down.â
Shaking your head almost imperceptibly, you tilted your head to the side, âDidnât take anything,â you answered.
âAlright,â he said, standing back up and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, âIâll be right back with some water and Tylenol.â
Offering him a halfhearted smile, you fiddled with the soft blanket that covered your lap, âAnd then we can do Heatmiser?â You asked him hopefully, watching Spencer pass through the doorway into the kitchen.
âSure, baby, then we can do Heatmiser,â he placated, still not entirely sure what you were talking about.
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idk if anyoneâs asked or if youâd be interested in this but âŠ. iâd love to see a part 3 to gemini and see how jj reacts to reader and spencerâs new thing
i LOVE your interest in a continuation of gemini but i think the storyline is pretty well resolved at the end of don't say nothing!
that being said, i also don't think it'd be too terribly interesting! i'm not like. huge on jeid jealousy storylines because i despise that plotline with every fiber of my being. (although it can be a good plot device)
i'm also just not taking requests for sequels rn! (you can find my request guidelines here)
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I love your writing!!! Was wondering how you decide what to write or like where u get ideas?
hi!! thank you so much!
this question is kind of a pandora's box tbh i have so many things that i take inspiration from
first and foremost: delusion. i am an avid day dreamer. i have a vivid imagination. i make up little scenarios in my head before i go to sleep. most of the time it's the one's that stick that i write up.
frequently i think of a line, usually character dialogue, and write it down and wait for inspiration to strike. i also get a lot of inspiration from other forms of media, usually tv shows and books and SONGS. i listen to so. much. music. music is how gemini/don't say nothing was born.
another one is when i learn about something and i want to put it into a fic in an attempt to share what i learned. i also have a friend who will send me social media posts for ideas.
and of course i get a lot of requests! using my writing power for good and encouraging the delusions of others. i have all of my requests in a spreadsheet and whenever i feel like writing and am not particularly inspired, i pluck one from there!
i hope this answered your question!
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