#Criminal minds imagine

[minswriting]

CLOSET RENDEZVOUS- S.R x Reader

About: You wear a form fitting skirt to work and Spencer can’t help but run off to the janitor’s closet to get off. You follow him and sexy fun time ensues.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, masturbation, perv!spencer, unprotected sex, p in v, semi-public sex, use of “good boy”, porn no plot

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: border made by @esote-rika !! please support your creators by commenting and reblogging! thank you to @gold-onthe-inside for proofreading for me!!!

Spencer was someone who prided himself on his intelligence. It’s the one thing no one could ever take from him. Not his bullies, parents, friends, or a lack thereof, and he certainly didn’t think you’d take it either. That was until you came into his life.

The day you stepped into the bullpen on the seventh floor, dressed in a professional pantsuit that fit you wonderfully, looking nervous about your first day, Spencer knew he was a goner. You are the embodiment of beauty, the goddess that blessed him with your presence while he was nothing more than a mere mortal, gawking at your existence. And that day, Spencer couldn’t think of anything other than you.

It was wrong, of course, to be attracted to you. You were a member of the team, have been for three years now, and are a wonderful friend to everyone. With the way you are highly skilled and your deduction skills are something to be admired. And how you are so loving and caring to those around you, especially after something really bad goes down. Spencer knew he shouldn’t harbor feelings for you, that they cloud his judgment, but he just can’t help it.

Especially when you look so pretty in everything you wear and everything you do. You never failed to have Spencer hard in a heartbeat. It was rather pathetic, really. The way you’d just walk into the room and Spencer’s already got a raging hardon. And when he thinks he’s finally alright, he'll get a whiff of your perfume, and he’s hard again. The amount of times he’s jerked himself off to you over the past three years was ridiculous. He should be disgusted with himself and yet, he continues to do it.

When you had come into work wearing that stupid form-fitting skirt, Spencer knew he was immediately done for. The way the black material hugged your figure had blood rushing straight to his cock, his IQ of one-eighty-seven dropping down to sixty. The black pencil skirt, going down to your knees, hugged your butt so beautifully that Spencer could imagine how it looked underneath it.

“Hi, Spencer,” You greeted, smiling brightly as you walked towards his desk.

Spencer blinked a few times as his brain tried to process what had just been said to him. “Uh-,” Spencer tried to conjure up words but nothing came to his brain as he looked at you. “Hi,” his voice cracked as he said the small word.

The way you beamed at him, always smiling so brightly whenever you walked into the room, Spencer really shouldn’t feel such a way towards it. You’re his coworker and someone he’d consider a good friend. But ultimately, he was just a man with urges and his biggest urge was trying not to pin you against his desk and take you right then and there in front of everyone. He knew it was his biology, the hormones and all. Perhaps he should think more logically about it, to not allow such feelings to control his thinking. And yet, you had that pathetic effect on him.

“Spence?” You said, furrowing your eyebrows and tilting your head as you looked at the genius, pulling Spencer out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” He said, blinking a few times as he looked up at you. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked how you’re doing.” You said, eyebrows softening. “Are you alright? You seem so out of it today.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding his head. He was perfectly fine until you came in but it’s not like he could say that to you. “I’m fine,” He said, pressing his lips into an awkward smile. “Just tired. I didn’t get much rest last night.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, nodding your head. “Would you like me to grab you a coffee?” You asked softly.

God, you were perfect. Always so kind and caring, ensuring everyone is doing good. He cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Uh-yes, please, if that’s alright,” He said, eye lowering to the file on his desk. Right, the file. He was supposed to be doing paperwork right now to help with the case you guys had just finished.

And yet, all Spencer could think about was how much he wanted to bury his cock inside of your pussy.

As soon as you walked away from Spencer’s desk and to the coffee area, Spencer stood up and beelined to an empty janitor’s closet, walking in and closing the door behind him. His cock was aching, to say the least. The way you looked in that tight pencil skirt had Spencer’s brain reeling. The usual relatively-composed doctor was reduced to nothing more than a horny, pathetic man. His thoughts were consumed by images of you. Oh, how desperately he wanted to fuck your cunt from behind, seeing the way your ass bounced as his hips collided with your skin.

Spencer hurriedly unzipped his pants, pulling them down just enough to let his cock breathe. He was already so hard and his tip was red, leaking with precum. He was incapable of helping the small whimper that escaped his lips as he gripped his cock, eyes fluttering shut as he began to tease his tip, spreading around his precum. The image of you on your knees in front of him flashed in his mind and he wondered what it would feel like to have your lips wrapped around his cock. Your mouth was likely so warm and would feel so good around him. God, he craved you so badly.

Just as Spencer was about to properly stroke himself, the door opened. Spencer jumped, eyes widening as he immediately moved to cover himself as he looked at the door. There you were, closing the door behind yourself, as you looked at Spencer. To say he was mortified was an understatement. You had just caught him red-handed, about to jerk himself off.

“So this is why you’ve been acting weird today, huh?” You spoke quietly, ensuring no one could hear the conversation if they ended up walking past.

Spencer didn’t speak as he looked like a deer in headlights, unable to formulate words to try and get out of this. He expected you to berate him, to be disgusted with him, and to stomp out of the room to immediately go tell Hotch about what you had seen. Instead, what you did was smirk at Spencer and take one step closer to him so that you were almost pressed against him in the tiny closet.

“I notice the way you look at me, Spence,” you murmured. “The way your gaze is always looking at my tits or fixated on my ass.” You placed your hand on his chest, causing Spencer’s breath to hitch. “Do I turn you on, Spencer?”

Spencer didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he swallowed, nodding his head.

“Use your words,” you commanded softly.

“Y-yes,” Spencer whispered, his breath shaky.

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Good boy,” you murmured, causing Spencer to let out a soft whimper as a shiver went down his spine and straight to his cock. His hands were still covering his cock as you brought your hand down to his, pulling them away from his length. “Do you want me to help you?” You breathed out as you looked at Spencer’s cock. He was hung, that was for sure.

“H-how?” And so, Spencer’s dream of a lifetime became a reality when you lifted your skirt and bent over for him, placing your hands on the wall to hold yourself up. “Are you sure?” He asked, suddenly breathless.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” You replied softly. “Please, Spence.”

That was all he needed to pull your panties aside and drag his cock along your folds. He ran the tip along your slit, gathering your wetness. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lips as he did so. You were soaked and he hadn’t even done anything to elicit such a reaction from you. Spencer lined himself up to your entrance, slowly easing himself in carefully.

You had to stop yourself from moaning, putting a hand over your lips as Spencer pushed his cock inside of you. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Spencer whispered, staying still as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“So big,” you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut. After a few moments, you clenched around Spencer’s cock, signaling he could start moving.

And so, he did. Spencer pulled his cock out, his eyes fixated on your pussy as he thrusted back in. It took everything in him not to whine at the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock. You were so wet, tight, and warm. It felt like absolute perfection wrapped around him and Spencer knew that regardless of what happened after this, nothing would ever compare to the beauty that was you and your pussy.

Spencer didn’t bother to take his time with it, regardless of how much he desperately wanted to. The two of you were still at work, in a government building, nonetheless, and jobs to focus on. He moved his hips fast, his thrusts messy and desperate but neither of you minded as it was still very pleasurable.

“Oh my god,” you whispered against your hand, moving your hips in sync with Spencer’s as you met his thrusts. The closet was filled with the sounds of your pussy squelching around Spencer’s cock and the subtle sound of skin slapping. You hoped no one walked by otherwise, they’d definitely be able to hear what was going on behind the door.

The hand that was on your mouth moved to your clit as you rubbed circles, bringing yourself closer to the edge. With Spencer’s cock thrusting inside of you, grazing that special spot of yours, you could feel the heat building inside of you. And with the way Spencer’s hips stuttered with each thrust, you knew he was getting close too.

It wasn’t long before you came with a gasp, thighs shaking as you tried your best to hold yourself up with your one hand. Spencer wrapped an arm around your waist, supporting you a bit as he chased his own high and with a whimper, he began cumming inside of you, filling you up with his cum.

And when you were both finished, he pulled out, carefully placing your panties back and rolling down your skirt, making sure you were back to your nice and pristine self. The two of you were breathing heavily, mind reeling from what had just occurred. You stood up, turning to look at Spencer as he tucked himself back into his pants.

“Come to my apartment tonight,” you said, smirking at Spencer. “Perhaps I’ll let you try other things with my body.”

To say Spencer was surprised would be an understatement but it was certainly not unwelcome. And with a small nod of his head and a hoarse “S-sounds good,” it was a plan.

“It’s a date then,” you exclaimed, winking at the genius before opening the door and closing it behind you, walking back to your desk and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts once more.

You were going to be the death of him.

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[parfaitblogs]

astronomy ❀ s. reid x reader

in which nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst tags: s10 spencer reid. maeve as a plot point. argument yay. spencer says some mean things (#needthat). all around unhappiness. stars and light and the sun. lack of communication. reader my avoidant attachment queen. i’m holding your hand throughout 🫂 word count: 2.7k a/n: a late happy mercury retrograde. sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth for a hot minute. here's how my brains been feeling. i don't really know what this is. it was written amidst a dissociative episode. hopefully future me figures it out.

"your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." (fyodor dostoevsky) 

A melodic hum of air whirs in this apartment. Keeping dust particles from settling on too many surfaces, swirling around your heads. Tiny, and unseen, but there. You familiarise yourself with the thought of them being there. They tickle your skin when you sit down in the armchair nobody ever really resides in now, and you find comfort in knowing there is more that exists invisibly than just your own feelings. 

He does not say anything to you as you tuck your feet beneath yourself, and it hurts, but a large part of you doesn't want him to anyways. He will only say things that will liquidise your brain into thinking he cares more than he does, and you have had too long of a day to act like he is not using bare palms to crush your heart. Too heavy of a week to let him bypass your walls once again. 

A foreign voice tells the air you need to talk, and you distantly recognise it as your own. You had rehearsed the very sentence in your car a thousand times. Once it got past your lips, this would all become easier to discuss. 

It isn't. 

You're focussed on the steam that lifts from a cup of coffee he had probably made seconds before you knocked on his door. An impromptu visit he did not ask you for, but you hope he understands your awful guest manners once this is all over. 

"Talk about what?" he answers the question you don't even remember asking, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him tense when a shuddering breath leaves your lips. 

You wonder if he's shocked when you tell him you want to end things. 

It's storming outside. The rain pelting against the window mirrors your heavy heart, but you aren't too naive to believe it is storming in your name. Though, there are few pleasures in life you still enjoy these days, and perhaps pretending the universe is centring around you for just this one night isn't selfish. 

"You want to end things," he repeats your words back to you. They don't sound right. Like a language Earth's never discovered. Two weeks ago you wouldn't have ever dreamed uttering these words. 

Two weeks ago, you were incandescent. Light bounced off your skin, the rays of sunlight creating a halo around you that would leave anyone breathless. Spencer Reid would never be an outlier in that demographic. 

You'd sat in a very similar position to how you are now, but your head was in the space between his jawline and his shoulder, and your hands were woven within his. Thumbs stroked the skin, and he'd bitten back a comment about how soft you felt. 

Unfinished — but definitely touched — Thai food sat atop the coffee table in front of your bodies, and the tenth Doctor Who episode in a row was playing on the television. He'd discovered your weakness for his widened eyes and hands-on coercion, and used and abused the power ever since. 

He stared down at you, and you could feel him without the need to look up. You should've. Perhaps, if you'd crawled out of the comfort being physically entwined with Spencer Reid on his living room couch provided, you would've noticed that beneath his intense gaze on the sunlight encircling your body, he was thinking about the dead. 

You didn't, though. You had laughed as he quoted lines as they were said of the episode he'd no doubt seen a thousand times, shoving his shoulder and calling him a nerd with the stupidest grin on your face, and the sweetest flutter of your heart. 

He said, "Nerd is a noun to describe someone who is an expert in one particular thing. I am an expert in a lot more than one."

And you replied, "Oh, of course. My mistake. What else are you an expert in, Spencer?"

Your skin would tingle, because he'd take the invitation for what it was, and his lips would brush against your ear as he whispered, "You, for starters."

And you'd get whiplash from how easy he was to go from the biggest dork on the planet to the very reason you researched early onset heart attacks. 

One week ago, you were cracking. 

Instead of the halo glow that settled around your body, it'd fractured. Sticks of light throwing out in every direction, but still reflecting back the hope you had for this crumbling relationship. 

Knives pelted into your edges with every new piece of information you learnt. 

A book you'd never paid mind to, now opened on the front page, a dedication to his name, accompanied by another name you'd only heard in passing whispers. The written down addresses of the nearest pay phones from his apartment, a phone number circled three times in the corner of the page. Written down for no reason. You knew he didn't need it, really. The slow withdrawals of telling you about his life the further into it he gets. Not mentioning more about a past relationship than that it'd ended tragically. 

The more dots you connected, the closer your personal implosion neared. 

You'd apologised to him, saying you didn't want him to relive anything that would return his mind somewhere darker than you can ever fathom. 

"I have you, now. I can't ever get there again even if I tried to," he said. You stupidly took his words with full intent, head reeling and heart racing all over again. 

You smiled, and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and content. He kissed you back with more force than you had left in you, and you'd gone down like a sinking ship. Falling back against his couch cushions, fingers entwined in his hair. 

Each new day was another loss to cut. Four days ago, it was his hands refusing to touch you intimately. Even when you'd moved them for him, pleading him with your own body. Three days ago, it was his honesty. You'd grown desperate. 

Questioning if he was okay and receiving a wordless hum in response. If he wanted to order food, and getting a disgruntled non-answer. Sitting with a foot between your two bodies this time, albeit with your feet in his lap, so maybe you were just as close as you were last week by principle. Finally, seeing if he actually wanted you there, with him, and him taking more than one second to give you his, 

"Yes. Obviously."

You lack energy when you are trying so desperately to stay alive, so you did not question why he had to think about his answer, unsure if you needed him to tell you, regardless. His mind was increasingly becoming preoccupied with the girl behind his book dedication. Behind the payphone addresses, and the thrice times circled phone number. He was disintegrating before your eyes, and your relationship was slipping through the cracks. 

"Why?" he asks you, and you're forced to stop reliving every single moment that brought you here. You will again tomorrow, anyways. The day after that, too. You will probably live through the end of this relationship a thousand times before you begin to heal. A thousand, to mirror every single shard of your heart lain out before him. 

Your voice hurts to use when you reply. "Because you don't love me, Spencer."

You're grateful he doesn't scramble to disprove your claims. You're sure it would hurt even more to hear him force a lie. 

He does, however, look confused. By you. Not your words, though. You know they register fully because the confusion doesn't come until you meet his eyes, and he really takes you in. For the first time since you met him, you see the truth behind his gaze. A disgusting reality that he is not staring at you with love, or even a hint of recognition. 

No, to him, you are a stranger. Somebody he does not know, sitting in his unused armchair across the living room, telling him words you don't really want to be saying. You don't get that luxury of choice, though. 

"Your silence is answer enough," you murmur, and you force your limbs to react to your brain's signals, feet pressed firmly on the floor as you stand. 

"Hey, wait," he stops you from moving without even a lick of firmness. You grow sick, knowing he will always have some subconscious hold on you that you'll never not respond to. "Why do you say that? Have I done something to make you feel that way?"

Yes, you want to scream. Yes, you have, and I'm begging you to tell me I'm wrong and that you do love me. Instead, you're jumping through hoops to turn this into an unnecessary conversation. 

However, "I'm just becoming... aware. Of certain things. That would mean us ending things is the best thing to do," is what you do say. 

"Like what?" he quips.

"Things."

Air blows out his nose, frustratedly. "That's not an answer."

Light bulbs burn out when the filament — the three wires in its centre — breaks down, and ceases to produce electricity. Burning out after an average of a thousand hours per lightbulb, because nothing can live forever. Nothing can live forever, for the sun will eventually burn out. Not in this lifetime, and definitely not in the next five, or ten, or twenty. The hydrogen will eventually deplete, and it will die the way fifty-two stars die each century. Nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

"What does it matter, Spencer?" you whisper. A pathetic tone for response, but you think you'll choke on anything louder. 

"You matter," he argues. Words are bullets, and he seems to have perfect aim. 

"Not to you, I don't," you stumble over your feet as you try to head towards his door. You've said what you needed to say. You've ended things. You can go, and this can all be over. 

"Yes, you do," he's standing too. He got closer to you at some point. You don't really remember. 

"You don't even know me!"

You're crying, you think. Staring at him, and he's blurry, which must mean your eyes are full of water. Ridiculous, because he is very clearly not. Too emotional for this conversation to drag out any longer, and yet he has the power to keep you constrained to it like a prison as long as he keeps talking. 

"You're shutting me out as a form of defence for something," he says. The words are calm, but he's taken on a higher pitch in his voice, which tells you this is affecting him. Or maybe he's pretending. "I don't know what. You won't tell me. That's your prerogative, I guess."

"You don't love me," you repeat the words from earlier with less conviction. You believe them less, yes, but still trust your instincts enough for them to hurt. 

"I don't understand why you think that," he replies, a hand dragging down his face. "I don't. All the knowledge in the world, and I cannot think of any logical reason behind you believing that."

"Who's Maeve?"

The silence that follows is deafening. His head snaps up and his hands fall limp by his sides, your vision clearing in an instant. You know, deep down, who Maeve is. The tragic ending to an even more tragic relationship has her name printed all over it.

"That's why you think I don't love you." It isn't a question, and he almost sounds like he's ridiculing you for coming to such a conclusion. 

Your panic rises. "I saw the book, and the addresses, and the—"

"—Maeve is dead!" Your heart sinks, as, for the first time in your life, you see Spencer Reid exhibit anger. No, not anger. He is not angry. Not with you, at least. He's hurt. "I am never going to get over her because she is dead. I watched a bullet go into her head. I mourned her, and I told myself I would never let myself get that close to somebody again. Yet, here you stand."

You stay silent. You don't know if he's finished speaking. If he is, he doesn't let you know. He doesn't prompt you for a response. He continues before you even start to think of something to say back.

"I didn't plan on letting you into my life like this. When I met you, you were not supposed to be this important to me. Is that why you think I don't love you? Because you saw me and got attached at first sight, and had to work for me to give you attention?"  Your chest aches. "Was it because I distanced myself from you for weeks in the beginning? Every coffee date, more spread out than the last. Not letting you into my space until you were my girlfriend? No sex for months?"

"You're angry," you state the obvious, and his eyebrows shoot up. A deprecating laugh leaves his lips. Not to deprecate himself, though. No, you. 

"You somehow played a role in getting me out of the self-loathing pit I fell into after Maeve died, and now you're telling me I don't love you—Yes, I'm angry! We were fine two weeks ago. I loved you the same way I did two weeks ago as I do right now. I'm frustrated, because I don't understand how you can possibly believe my feelings for you have changed so drastically!"

"The books are new. And the addresses. And the phone number," you say, almost desperately.  

"No. They're not. I have had that copy of that book for two years. Those addresses have been printed in there for longer. Everything you are finding are results of you noticing more about my apartment, which happens when you are in a space often enough. You will pick up on things you didn't notice the first time you were here. Or the second. Or maybe even the tenth. I have not hidden the fact that I had a girlfriend two years ago from you. Just how it ended." You don't have any energy to fight back, despite how badly you want to. You suppose, deep down, you know you deserve this. His bulleted words and cold voice. Even his sarcasm, as he drawls, "I hope you can forgive me for not making you privy to my ex-girlfriend's death."

"Spencer," you take a step forward, and he stiffens, so you halt. 

Now, you feel stupid. Scrutinised under his gaze, knowing how ridiculous he probably now views you as. Starting an argument over something you should've just asked him about. Driving yourself crazy, letting every single element still fuelling your mind run dry, when you could've just said something. 

"Is this going to be a one time thing?" he asks you, carefully levelling his voice. To hide how he really feels, or to make you feel worse, you don't know. "Or should I live in fear of you jumping to conclusions every time something from my past gets brought up?" 

It isn't a nice assumption to make, but it's fair. You give him that. Still, your gut twists uncomfortably, each organ stuttering in their role of keeping you alive for only a second. Just enough for you to feel sick, and stumble backwards. 

"I... I don't know," you provide him with honesty. "I'm sorry," you add, quietly. A poor attempt at making this situation any better. A bandaid over a bullet hole. 

"I know," and you're sure he does. There's bound to be regret painted on your face, mixing wonderfully with fear of where this relationship is going to go now. 

You don't even want to ask him, but you're sure if he doesn't force you to, you'll start throwing up at his feet. "Do you want me to go?" 

A shuddering breath is his response. You take it for what it is, and nod your head with the most sincere smile you can conjure up. You barely have anything to collect before you leave. Just your ruined mind, and new astronomical statistics.

Fifty-two star deaths this century just became fifty-three.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[kiwriteswords]

Yours, Mine, but Never Ours [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 6.6k|| AN: This is inspired by the gifset of Hotch + his wedding ring last week. I really mulled over the idea of Hotch, his trauma, and likely idea of marriage. I had originally--and really went back and forth on this--planned out a sad ending for this, but I couldn't do that to you all. Tags/Warnings: female reader, established relationship, jack hotchner, mentions of Haley hotchner, fear of commitment, marriage issues, spoilers to seasons 3-5, Derek and Rossi giving Hotch shit for his personal issues, talks of marriage, talks of death, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, reader couldn't give two damns about marriage, but hotch is old fashioned and conflicted, happy ending Summary: For someone as traditional as Aaron Hotchner, the topic of marriage shouldn't be one he shied away from. But given his past? Nothing scares him more.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the warmth of soapy water lapping at his wrists.

Golden evening sunlight spilled softly through the half-open blinds, casting gentle stripes of light across the countertop and illuminating the porcelain dishes he methodically rinsed.

Behind him, at the kitchen island, Jack sat with homework spread around him, colored pencils scattered like confetti across the marble surface.

Aaron listened quietly to the gentle rhythm of pencil scratches and Jack's occasional murmurs as he read aloud softly.

"Dad?" Jack’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the dishwasher.

"Yeah, buddy?" Hotch replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack looked thoughtful, head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression—

One he'd inherited from Aaron himself.

"Are you going to marry her?"

The casual innocence of the question hit Aaron like a splash of cold water. 

He paused mid-motion, water dripping from the plate suspended above the sink, eyes fixed on the steady drip-drip-drip into the basin below.

"Marry who, Jack?" He managed a neutral tone, heart suddenly heavier in his chest.

Hotch expected your name to come from Jack, but it still continued to catch him off guard. Jack’s eyes sparkled, entirely oblivious to his father's sudden tension.

Aaron slowly set the plate down, turning off the faucet, and dried his hands carefully with a navy towel. He took a deliberate breath, calming the racing pulse beneath his carefully composed expression.

“Jack…” he hesitated slightly, keeping his tone even.

"Yeah!" Jack interrupted eagerly, nodding vigorously. "I really like her. I think she’d be a good wife for you. And she makes pancakes better than anyone."

Aaron felt the corners of his lips twitch, betraying the smile fighting to emerge at Jack’s earnestness. 

You had become such an integral part of their lives that he hadn’t fully realized how deeply Jack had attached himself to you. Or perhaps, he admitted quietly to himself, how deeply he himself had become attached.

"Well," he began, stepping slowly toward the island, where Jack sat expectantly. Aaron leaned forward slightly, meeting his son's bright eyes. "Sometimes, marriage is… it’s complicated."

Jack tilted his head curiously, brows knitting deeper. "Why?"

Aaron swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of the persistent ache that seemed permanently woven into the fabric of his heart—

A remnant of old wounds never fully healed.

"Because…when you marry someone, you promise to always keep them safe, to always be there. And sometimes…" He paused, gently ruffling Jack’s soft brown hair, searching for the right words. "Sometimes life makes it hard to keep that promise."

Jack’s expression softened, becoming thoughtful and mature beyond his years. "Like with mom?"

Aaron's heart clenched painfully at the simple acknowledgment, but he forced a gentle nod. "Yeah, buddy. Like with mom."

Jack considered this silently, carefully rolling a blue pencil between his small fingers. Finally, he looked back up at his father with steady, serious eyes. "But we still love mom. And I think you can still love someone else too. Like you love mom, but different."

Aaron’s breath caught sharply in his chest. He stared down at his son, astounded by the profound wisdom carried in such innocent words. Jack gave him a shy smile, small but deeply reassuring.

Aaron reached out gently, placing a steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder. He knew he owed his son honesty—

At least as much as he could comfortably offer.

"You know," he finally said, voice soft, vulnerable, and undeniably sincere, "I really care about her."

"Good." Jack nodded firmly, returning to his homework with newfound decisiveness. "Because we both like having her around."

Aaron straightened, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Through the window, twilight began to deepen, colors bleeding into shades of lavender and deep blue, shadows stretching quietly across their small, familiar kitchen.

As the quiet settled once more, Aaron found himself thinking about you, about Jack’s words, and about the soft warmth he'd started associating with your presence. It terrified him, the depth of this feeling—

How easily and completely you’d settled into every corner of his life and heart.

Jack resumed his homework as if nothing monumental had just transpired, the gentle scratching of his pencil filling the contemplative silence. Aaron watched him briefly, a soft, affectionate ache filling his chest, before turning slowly back toward the sink.

In the quiet simplicity of the moment, he knew one thing clearly:

His son was right. You had quietly, undeniably woven yourself into their lives.

And now, Aaron had to figure out what to do about it.

The thought took root quietly, like an errant seed drifting into fertile soil, taking hold in the darkness and growing tangled and stubborn as it bloomed.

Marriage.

Aaron hadn’t intended for it to become something he thought about, but Jack’s innocent question echoed relentlessly in his mind—

At work, in meetings, late at night when he tried to find rest. It threaded through his thoughts when he watched you reading quietly on the couch, when he saw you laughing with Jack in the backyard, and even now, as he stood in the bullpen at the BAU, staring blankly through the window of his office, watching you across the bullpen.

You were speaking animatedly to Garcia, laughing at something she’d whispered. Your hand fluttered briefly to your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear—

A gesture so natural. 

So ordinary, yet lately, every little detail seemed steeped in meaning.

He wondered how he’d gotten here—

How you'd become someone he couldn’t imagine living without. 

The idea itself was quietly terrifying. After Haley’s death, after the brutal way that chapter of his life ended, Aaron had silently vowed to himself that he'd never step back into that vulnerability again. He’d convinced himself that emotional isolation was simpler, safer—

Far less painful.

But you were a soft disruption to his hardened rules, somehow slipping quietly through every defensive barrier he’d erected around his heart. 

Now, as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling and filled with warmth, he realized with stark clarity that he wanted to spend his life with you. But at the very same moment, something deep and raw within him recoiled, filled with dread at the risk that kind of love presented.

He thought of Haley—

The first time they'd met, their wedding day, the promises whispered softly in candlelight, promises of forever that had ended abruptly. 

Violently. 

Marriage meant vulnerability. It meant offering his heart, wholly and without reserve, knowing how easily it could be ripped away.

“You good, Hotch?”

Dave’s voice broke him sharply from his thoughts. Aaron startled slightly, turning to find Rossi leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, observing him with careful eyes.

“Fine,” Aaron answered quickly—

Too quickly, he realized.

Rossi raised a brow, stepping slowly inside the office, nudging the door closed behind him. “You’ve never been good at lying to me, Aaron.”

Hotch sighed softly, rubbing his forehead. “Just...thinking.”

“Must be some pretty heavy thoughts,” Rossi observed, following Aaron’s gaze out toward you. Understanding crossed his face. “Ah.”

“It’s nothing,” Aaron deflected quietly, knowing it was useless even as he spoke the words.

Rossi moved further into the room, settling against the edge of the desk. 

Aaron shot him a quiet look, momentarily surprised. Rossi simply offered a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Aaron,” Rossi said gently. “I’ve seen that look before—the one where the past and the future start to blur together.”

Aaron hesitated, the tension in his jaw visible, emotions pressing beneath a carefully maintained surface. “Jack…Jack asked me if I would marry her,” He sighed, “It was just an innocent question. But—” He broke off, feeling foolish.

“But you’re terrified,” Rossi finished quietly.

Aaron’s eyes flickered back out the window. You had moved, crossing back toward your own desk, unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

He felt selfish, torn between longing and fear, aching for the simplicity of your touch, your warmth, yet paralyzed by the haunting memories of what could happen—what had happened once before.

“Marriage almost destroyed me once,” Aaron admitted quietly, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the office. “Not just divorce—but the guilt, the danger, losing Haley the way I did. Losing everything. Jack almost losing both of us…almost losing Jack. I swore I’d never put anyone else through that. Especially someone I—”

“Someone you love,” Rossi interjected gently.

Aaron drew a sharp breath, giving a stiff nod. “Someone I love.”

Rossi pushed gently, cautiously. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Aaron shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving you as you settled at your desk, pen dancing lightly across paper. He took in every detail—the way your hair fell against your cheek, the graceful slope of your shoulders, the familiar tilt of your head—and suddenly felt the unbearable heaviness of what he stood to lose.

“It isn’t fair to her,” Aaron murmured, voice thickening. “She deserves certainty. Not my fears.”

Rossi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Aaron, don’t underestimate her. You’re afraid because you’ve lived the worst-case scenario—but you’ve also survived it. You’re allowed to be happy again.”

Aaron was quiet for a long moment, absorbing Rossi’s words, feeling them settle somewhere deep and aching within him.

“I don’t know if I can put her at risk like that. I don’t know if I could survive losing someone else,” he admitted softly. “But God help me—I can’t imagine letting her go either.”

Rossi’s expression softened knowingly, compassionately. “Then don’t.”

Aaron let the simple truth of it sink in, a quiet ache lodged in his chest. His eyes returned to you again, watching as you tucked your hair behind your ear once more, your smile gentle, unburdened.

I can’t lose you, he thought desperately, even as fear tightened around him, relentless and choking.

And he knew—painfully, inevitably—that sooner or later, he’d have to face the possibility of opening that conversation, sharing those fears, or risk losing you anyway.

But for now, he stood quietly in the shadow of his past, trapped between memories of what had been lost and the quiet, terrifying beauty of what could still be found.

hat night, the darkness in the bedroom felt heavier, thicker somehow—each silence pulsing with uncertainty. Aaron lay on his back, eyes tracing the shadowy patterns along the ceiling as he felt your soft breathing beside him. His chest tightened with anxiety, as though every quiet breath was slowly stealing oxygen from his lungs.

He’d always been skilled with words—careful, purposeful—but tonight, they tangled uselessly on his tongue, caught by an invisible weight that felt impossibly heavy.

“Aaron?” Your voice broke through the quiet, gentle and sleepy, as your fingers brushed softly along his chest. “You’re tense.”

His breath stuttered briefly in his throat. Of course, you’d noticed. 

You always did.

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough with the edge of nerves.

You shifted beside him, the bed softly creaking beneath your movements. Aaron felt his heart quicken as you propped yourself up slightly, your eyes studying him thoughtfully in the dim glow of moonlight.

“Something’s been bothering you,” you whispered knowingly. Your fingertips drew small, comforting circles against his chest. “You want to talk about it?”

For a long, hesitant moment, he almost didn’t. Aaron feared the weight of what he was about to say—

The risk of shattering everything he’d grown to love.

Yet the tenderness in your touch, the gentle patience radiating from your expression, urged him onward. You deserved honesty, even if he was afraid of what came next.

Slowly, cautiously, he met your gaze. “Marriage,” he said quietly, voice tight and guarded.

Your fingers paused, hovering briefly. Aaron’s heart pounded painfully as silence settled heavily between you. He braced himself for you to pull away, for hurt or disappointment to cloud your eyes. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you got up and left—

He knew what it sounded like, the fear in his voice. 

How could he expect you to stay if he couldn’t offer more?

But instead, your lips curved softly upward, surprising him. A quiet chuckle escaped you, gentle and warm. “Is that what’s been haunting you all week?”

Aaron frowned in confusion, blinking slowly. “You...knew?”

“I had a feeling something’s been bothering you,” you whispered, your eyes gentle, affectionate, reassuring. You shifted closer, your cheek resting against his shoulder, hand gently moving once more over his chest. “Aaron, listen. I understand why marriage scares you. You don’t have to apologize for it.”

He exhaled softly, relief mingling uneasily with confusion. “Y-You don’t mind?” he murmured uncertainly.

You shook your head gently against him, voice quiet yet firm. “Aaron, marriage—it’s just paperwork to me. A certificate. A legality.” You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “As a former prosecutor, you should understand paperwork doesn’t always mean much.”

A small laugh escaped him—

Surprising.

Genuine. 

Breaking some of the tension that had been suffocating him for days. 

His chest loosened, though the shadow in his mind lingered. “Still,” he continued softly, “most people expect it at some point. A wedding, a ring—something.”

You squeezed him gently, your voice clear and steady in the quiet night. “If I ever married anyone, Aaron, I’d want it to be you. But I’d never ask that of you. I know what you’ve been through. What we have—this—means more to me than vows and rings and certificates ever could.”

Aaron felt something powerful surge through him—gratitude, relief, warmth—and yet something else lingered, stubbornly unresolved. 

He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you close as you settled gently against him. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, meaning it more deeply than words could express.

You hummed contentedly, drifting gently toward sleep again, wrapped safely in his arms. But as your breathing evened out, Aaron lay wide awake, staring once again at the ceiling, haunted by the visions your words conjured in his mind.

He imagined a life for you—

A real one.

Complete with celebrations and milestones, the kind that were marked by gold bands, carefully spoken promises, laughter, joy, perhaps even children of your own. The thought pierced him deeply—

A life you might never have because of his past, because of his pain, because of him.

He wondered if he was stopping you from the quiet life you deserved. 

The one with a husband who wouldn’t bring danger home constantly. He cringed, thinking of another man’s hands getting to hold him at the end of the night, but this ordinary man could give you so much more than Aaron was comfortable even thinking about. 

Guilt wrapped tightly around his heart, squeezing with a terrible, relentless force. He imagined resentment clouding your eyes someday, silent regrets staining quiet evenings, things left unspoken but deeply felt. The selfishness of it stung sharply.

As you slept softly beside him, trusting him, loving him unconditionally, Aaron silently grappled with the invisible weight pressing heavily against his chest.

He knew you'd meant what you'd said tonight—

He had no doubts about your sincerity. Yet it still haunted him, the fear that one day you’d look at him and realize you deserved more than he could ever offer.

And as he lay awake, your body curled softly, trustingly, in his arms, Aaron realized with an aching certainty:

He'd give anything to make sure you never regretted choosing him—even if it meant confronting every fear he'd ever had.

The weeks turned quietly into months, each day deepening the gentle rhythm between you, Aaron, and Jack. The comfort of routine wrapped around you both, steady and reassuring, but beneath that comfortable surface, Aaron felt himself growing restless—

An anxiety simmering just under the warmth, quiet but ever-present.

It was the milestones that haunted him most.

Like the afternoon Penelope burst into the bullpen, glittering ring catching every light, tears of joy streaming down her face as the team quickly crowded around her.

“I said yes!” she had cried joyfully, throwing her arms around Morgan, who laughed heartily and lifted her off the ground. The bullpen buzzed with congratulations, laughter, and plans for celebrations.

Aaron had watched quietly from the side, heart tightening painfully at your gentle smile and the sincere warmth in your eyes. You squeezed Penelope’s hand, genuinely thrilled for your friend, your voice filled with affection. But as Aaron stood slightly apart, his fingers clenched in quiet frustration, imagining you missing out on that kind of joy—

Of celebrations that revolved around promises he’d silently denied you.

The guilt lingered long after the excitement faded.

Or when the two of you attended a gala for the FBI, and he watched, heart heavy, as you introduced him to a former colleague of yours.

“This is Aaron Hotchner,” you’d said proudly, gently squeezing his arm. “My boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. 

Aaron had almost flinched at the word—

Not because he didn’t cherish it but because it felt so inadequate. 

He noticed the subtle reaction in your colleague’s eyes, the quick glance down at your hand, perhaps checking for a ring. He hated the way you quietly shifted your stance, almost defensively, as though expecting judgment.

Later that evening, in the darkness of the car ride home, Aaron felt you quietly watching him, reading the subtle tension in his jaw.

“Aaron,” you whispered gently, fingertips brushing his thigh, “you know none of that matters to me.”

But he hadn’t entirely believed you, even though he desperately wanted to.

Then there was the playdate at Jack’s friend’s house—

A moment, Aaron hadn’t anticipated hurting him so deeply.

“So, your wife mentioned Jack doesn’t like strawberries?” The other parent had asked casually, unloading snacks from grocery bags.

Aaron’s hesitation had been brief but painfully obvious. “Ah, actually…she’s not my wife,” he’d explained awkwardly. “My girlfriend. She’s—we live together.”

“Oh,” the parent said softly, embarrassment flashing over their face. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

Aaron had waved it away, pretending not to see the confusion, pretending not to notice the way the word ‘girlfriend’ seemed suddenly juvenile or inadequate.

He spent the rest of the afternoon tense, discomfort spreading through his chest, lingering even hours later as he walked into the kitchen and found you preparing dinner. 

Your gentle, easy smile pierced his heart.

“Hey,” you greeted softly. “Did Jack have fun?”

“Yes,” Aaron murmured, stepping behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist. 

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling the familiar warmth of your scent, his chest aching quietly.

You’d tilted your head gently back against him, feeling the tension in his embrace. “Everything okay?”

He’d wanted desperately to say yes—

To protect you from his burdens. 

But the words came out strained. “They thought you were my wife.”

Your shoulders stiffened slightly, then relaxed just as quickly. You’d turned in his arms, your expression patient and understanding. “Aaron, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just—I hate the idea of people misunderstanding your role in my life.”

You’d cupped his cheek gently, your thumb brushing soothingly over his skin. “I’m not worried about what they think, Aaron. I know exactly what I mean to you.”

He wanted so deeply to believe you, but even as you smiled reassuringly, he couldn’t shake the fear—

The persistent ache that whispered to him late at night, taunting him with visions of what you might eventually grow to resent.

And in the quiet darkness of his own mind, Aaron found himself caught between two impossible fears: losing you, or selfishly keeping you and robbing you of something you might one day desperately want.

He felt trapped—

Holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable day, you’d finally realize he couldn’t give you enough.

Penelope’s surprise bridal shower had transformed Rossi’s elegant backyard patio into something that looked like an enchanted garden, glowing softly beneath strands of golden fairy lights. Laughter and warm conversation carried gently through the cool evening air, mixing seamlessly with the low hum of soft music.

Aaron leaned back quietly in his chair, his eyes trailing across the table to you. Warm light flickered from small candles, catching softly in your hair and reflecting in your eyes, bright with laughter. You were seated beside Penelope, your hands resting gracefully atop the white linen tablecloth as you listened, fully engrossed in the conversation.

He knew he should have felt completely at ease surrounded by his team—his friends—but the unease he’d been carrying for weeks now seemed even heavier tonight.

“So, Garcia,” Emily called out teasingly, swirling her wine gently in her glass, a playful smile on her lips. “Did you choose the ring, or did you let your man surprise you?”

Penelope grinned brightly, eyes glittering with excitement. She extended her hand dramatically across the table, showcasing the ring proudly. “He surprised me, and he nailed it.”

JJ reached across the table, taking Penelope’s hand gently to admire the sparkling diamond more closely. “It’s gorgeous, Pen. He did amazing.”

Aaron watched quietly, his chest tightening uncomfortably as Emily’s gaze suddenly shifted toward you. “Alright, your turn,” Emily teased gently, nudging your elbow playfully. “What about you—what’s your dream ring?”

He saw your expression soften, eyes brightening as you leaned in closer, not a hint of discomfort or awkwardness visible. Aaron’s heart stalled briefly, his grip tightening subconsciously around the cool glass in his hand.

“Well,” you began softly, entirely casual, oblivious to the fact that your words were slowly twisting something inside of Aaron, “I’ve never really thought about it much, but probably something vintage-inspired. I’d want something delicate. Not too flashy.”

Aaron swallowed hard, feeling suddenly and irrationally nervous, as though everyone at the table might turn toward him at any second, reading plainly the conflict on his face. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, carefully raising his glass to his lips to hide his discomfort.

You continued, laughing softly, warmth in your voice, “Maybe something with a sapphire, even. I’ve never really been a diamond girl anyway.”

He caught Morgan’s eyes across the table in that moment—

Dark, knowing, and filled with playful seriousness. Morgan raised an eyebrow subtly, tilting his chin slightly toward Aaron as if to say, Are you taking notes? You better be.

Aaron looked away quickly, the weight of expectation and guilt pressing harder against his chest. He found himself staring into his wine glass, the deep red liquid gently swirling against the sides, feeling profoundly exposed. 

He felt selfish for holding back something that felt so normal, so easy to discuss for you and the others.

You glanced over at him just then, eyes warm, oblivious to the storm brewing quietly in his chest. Your smile was gentle, reassuring—

Always comforting. 

And yet, it only deepened the tightness in his chest, reinforcing his quiet dread.

Morgan cleared his throat quietly, leaning casually closer to Aaron, his voice pitched low enough that only the two of them could hear. “You good, Hotch?”

Aaron forced a careful nod, but Morgan wasn’t easily fooled. His friend’s expression softened knowingly, quietly supportive.

“Look,” Morgan said gently, glancing discreetly toward you, where you continued chatting warmly with JJ, “you know you’ve got something special. Don’t overthink it, man. She seems pretty clear about what matters most.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes still locked on you, heart aching deeply. He knew Morgan was right, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps you deserved more than he could offer—more than he’d ever be brave enough to give.

And as laughter and excited conversation continued to fill the air around him, Aaron quietly watched you, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t someday come to regret holding you back from the life you truly deserved.

The ride home was unbearably quiet.

Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened beneath the pale illumination of passing streetlights. The silence in the car hung heavy, like an oppressive storm cloud, stifling any attempts at casual conversation. He felt trapped in his own head, frustration gnawing relentlessly at him.

Beside him, your posture was rigid, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared unseeingly out the passenger window. Every second of silence made Aaron’s chest feel tighter, every shallow breath adding fuel to the simmering frustration that refused to be contained.

Finally, you broke first.

“Are you seriously going to do this again?” Your voice was sharp, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. Your eyes flashed toward him in the dim light of the dashboard, wounded yet defiant.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, eyes locked forward, voice controlled and low. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, please,” you snapped bitterly. “You’re tense, Aaron. You’ve been tense all night. Is it because of the damn ring conversation? Again?”

His eyes narrowed, fingers clenching tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t say a word about that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted sharply. “You’ve been stuck in your own head for months now. Every time someone mentions marriage, or engagements, or God forbid a ring, you completely shut down. Do you honestly think I don’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, frustration flaring dangerously in his chest. “You said yourself you’d want a ring. Vintage. Something delicate. Sapphires, wasn’t it?”

Your laugh was harsh, humorless. “Yeah, I did say that—because they asked. You’re making a huge deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Aaron’s voice rose sharply, surprising even himself. His eyes darkened, flickering with something raw and painful. “You don’t get it. You deserve all of that. You deserve someone who can give you exactly that, and I’m the one keeping it from you.”

“I told you,” you shot back, voice thickening with frustration and hurt, “I don’t care about a ring or a piece of paper or—”

“You say that now!” Aaron snapped, his words harsh and unyielding. “But what about later? What about ten years down the line when you resent me for not giving you the things you deserve, the life you pictured for yourself?”

Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, anger sparking dangerously. “Are you kidding me right now? Aaron, I could die tomorrow. We could get into a crash right here, right now, and you really think I’d be worried about not being your wife? That some paperwork or a damn ring would make a difference in how I feel about you?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened further, breath ragged with emotion. “It’s not about the paperwork! It’s about making promises that I’ve already broken once. It’s about knowing the second I give you that, I could lose everything again. I don’t want that—I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think marriage changes that?” you challenged fiercely, voice shaking slightly. “I see myself old with you, Aaron. You. And that vision isn’t any stronger or weaker because we signed something or because I wear your ring.”

His voice cracked painfully. “You say that, but you don’t know—”

“No,” you interrupted harshly, hurt blazing in your eyes. “You’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Because you think wanting marriage again means risking it all again. Maybe you’re afraid because deep down, you actually want that with me.”

Aaron’s grip on the wheel was nearly painful, his voice dangerously quiet, trembling with barely-contained fury. “Enough.”

But you didn’t listen. You leaned closer, your voice fierce, challenging. “Is that it, Aaron? Is that what scares you? Because at the end of the day, you do want it—”

“Yes!” Aaron suddenly roared, slamming a hand against the wheel in frustration, the words erupting from somewhere deep and raw within him. The car filled with stunned silence, broken only by his heavy, ragged breathing.

His heart was pounding painfully, eyes filled with conflict, pain, and longing as he finally looked over at you, emotion raw and unguarded. “Yes,” he repeated, softer now, voice broken. “I want it. I want you. I want to call you my wife. I want it all, every damn thing that terrifies me, because I want to know that you’re mine—really mine.”

You stared back at him, eyes wide and glistening with tears, your anger replaced instantly by shock, empathy, and a deep, aching tenderness.

“I know it’s old fashioned--I’m old fashioned. But you don’t think that every day I think about wanting to buy you a ridiculously expensive ring? Or sign my entire life over to you? Because you already have it. Paper or not--my life is yours. I want you to have it. Take it.” Aaron exhaled heavily, voice unsteady with vulnerability. “But God, it scares me. It scares me more than losing you, because the moment we make it real—I could lose everything. Again.”

You reached out, your hand shaking slightly, gently resting on his tense arm. Your touch felt like an anchor amidst his storm, steadying him.

“Aaron,” you whispered softly, voice thick with emotion, “you're not going to lose me. Not because we marry or because we don't. I chose you, and I choose you every single day. Nothing changes that.”

He let out a ragged breath, feeling a quiet release in your words, but the fear still remained, tangled stubbornly within his heart.

And even as he pulled the car slowly into your driveway, the silence between you softening, Aaron knew he’d laid his fears bare, his heart open—

Completely vulnerable. 

The words had been said, and now, nothing could ever quite be the same again.

Not much was said--or done--after that conversation. A few goodnights to Jack, the quiet domesticity of getting ready for bed unfolded, but little words were said between the two of you that night. 

Exhaustion weighed far heavier on Aaron’s shoulders and he felt as if he had revealed so much--partly worried too much to you. He didn’t want to push it…push you. 

Aaron woke suddenly, sharply, his breath catching painfully in his throat as his eyes snapped open to the cold emptiness beside him. The sheets on your side of the bed were wrinkled but cool, evidence of your absence already lingering heavily in the room.

A wave of raw panic surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, twisting his stomach into painful knots. Aaron’s heart began to pound fiercely, hammering in his chest as he quickly sat up, scanning the bedroom for any trace of you. But the silence around him was oppressive, mocking, thick with dread.

He called your name hoarsely. 

No response. 

His mind flooded suddenly with memories—

Painful, vivid recollections of another empty bed, another empty room years before, and the heartbreaking absence Haley had left.

He was too late then, too stubborn, too closed-off. He’d pushed Haley away, and now—he’d pushed you away too.

Aaron felt completely unraveled, breath shallow, panic rising painfully in his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, fighting the pressure building behind them.

He’d finally done it. He’d pushed too hard, said too much, and now you were gone.

Gone because he couldn’t bend. Couldn’t compromise. Couldn’t allow himself to trust you fully, even after you’d given him everything. He’d selfishly forced you to carry his fears, his grief, his trauma—

And now he was alone.

He had no idea how long he sat there, paralyzed, heart painfully clenched, completely lost in the dark spiral of his thoughts until—

The quiet sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled him sharply from his despair.

Aaron froze, heart hammering with sudden hope. 

Or maybe fear. 

He couldn’t be sure.

A moment later, your footsteps echoed gently up the stairs, followed by the soft rustle of bags and a familiar, comforting scent of coffee drifting into the room. Aaron rose unsteadily, his pulse erratic, relief blooming tentatively beneath layers of anxiety and pain.

You stepped through the doorway, arms full—one hand gripping a bag from your favorite bagel shop, the other balancing a cardboard tray of coffees. When your eyes met his, you paused, startled by his clearly shaken appearance.

“Hey,” you said gently, surprise softening your expression, your voice filled with cautious warmth. “I wanted to surprise you with makeup bagels and coffee. Figured we both needed it.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He simply crossed the room in a heartbeat, bridging the painful gap between you, and pulled you fiercely into his arms.

You gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity behind his embrace, but your body quickly relaxed against him, sensing something deeper, more vulnerable in the way his arms clung desperately around you.

“Aaron?” you whispered, uncertainly at first, then tenderly as you felt him tremble slightly against you. “Hey, I’m right here.”

He tightened his hold, burying his face against your shoulder, his voice rough and barely audible. “I thought you left.”

You set the bags carefully aside on the nearby dresser and gently cupped his face in your palms, forcing him to look at you. The emotion in his eyes nearly undid you—

Painful vulnerability, haunted by old ghosts, old fears.

“Aaron, listen to me,” you said softly, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, I’m here. I didn’t leave you.”

He shook his head slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment, unable to fully trust his voice. When he opened them again, his expression was raw and achingly sincere.

“You could have,” he whispered brokenly. “You could have left, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I was—I’ve been so unfair to you.”

You shook your head gently, your eyes filled with quiet strength and compassion. “Aaron, I need you to understand something—I chose you, knowing exactly who you are. Knowing your past, your fears, your stubbornness—all of it. And I’d choose you a thousand times over.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes glistening with unshed tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words sank deeply into him. Still holding his face tenderly in your hands, you pressed your forehead gently against his.

“I’m begging you,” you murmured softly, voice steady and filled with gentle pleading, “Please start believing me.”

Aaron nodded slowly, trying desperately to internalize every word. His heart was still trembling, still afraid, but your unwavering warmth anchored him back into reality.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, the words thick with emotion. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Good,” you breathed softly, thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Because I love you far too much to let you keep fighting these ghosts alone.”

His lips curved faintly; finally, the relief washed over him in waves. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. He silently vowed to himself, again and again, that he would learn to trust—to accept the gift of your promise without fear.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to fully believe that the quiet future you’d promised him was real. That maybe, this time, the ghosts could finally rest.

Weeks turned quietly into months, the heaviness that had once shadowed every quiet moment slowly lifting, replaced instead by a gentle warmth—

A sense of ease Aaron hadn't felt in years. The ghosts still lingered, but they were softer now, quieter, fading slowly into the background noise of a life filled instead with laughter, steady reassurance, and you.

The team’s latest case had brought you all to Las Vegas. After the successful resolution, Hotch had surprised everyone by suggesting you all take an extra day before returning to Quantico. It was unusual—perhaps even out of character—but the team had been thrilled, quickly dispersing into the bright lights and bustling energy of the city.

After briefly checking in with Reid—who eagerly took off to visit his mother—the rest of the team scattered into various plans. It left Aaron alone with you, wandering the city, a soft and easy silence settling between you as you navigated colorful streets bathed in neon and laughter.

As the afternoon sun warmed your skin, you glanced up at Aaron, catching the thoughtful expression lingering on his face. “You’re quiet,” you murmured gently, sliding your hand into his, fingers interlocking effortlessly. “Everything okay?”

Aaron smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just... thinking.”

You raised a playful eyebrow, gently nudging his side. “You’re always thinking.”

Aaron’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing gently over yours. His voice softened thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. But today, I’m thinking about something specific.”

Your eyes met his curiously, noticing the quiet intensity and subtle apprehension in his gaze. “And what’s that?”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, his voice quiet and measured. “I’ve been wondering if you’d be open to something.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, curiosity and anticipation sparking warmly through your chest. You nodded gently, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m listening.”

Aaron slowed his steps, gently pulling you aside, away from the bustling crowd, into the quiet shade of a small alcove near an ornate fountain. He reached carefully into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, his movements steady but cautious.

Your breath hitched softly in your throat as you watched him slowly open the box, revealing a delicate, vintage-inspired sapphire ring—

Exactly the kind you’d described that night at Penelope’s bridal shower. Your heart swelled warmly, emotion rising suddenly and powerfully within you.

Aaron’s eyes held yours steadily, soft yet vulnerable. “I know I’ve made things complicated. That I’ve let my fears dictate how I approached all of this.” He swallowed quietly, his thumb running gently over the small box. “But despite all that fear, all that worry—I’m old-fashioned. I want to marry you. Not because you expect it, but because I do. I want to do right by you. I want to promise myself to you openly.”

He hesitated slightly, voice quieter, gentler. “So, I was thinking��� maybe we should just elope? Here. Today. Just us. No fuss, no expectations—just you and me.”

Emotion tightened your throat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy as you gazed back at him, your voice warm and steady. “Aaron, of course. Of course I’ll marry you—today, tomorrow, whenever you want. I don’t need the ceremony or fuss. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

He exhaled softly, tension visibly leaving his shoulders, relief flooding his expression as he gently slipped the delicate sapphire ring onto your finger. “Are you sure?”

You laughed gently, pulling him into a warm, reassuring embrace, your voice filled with love, confidence, and sincerity. “Aaron, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are it for me—always have been, always will be. Nothing else matters.”

Aaron’s arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against your chest. 

In that moment, beneath the shimmering Vegas sunlight, surrounded by the gentle sounds of laughter and splashing fountains, Aaron felt a deep, profound sense of peace.

All the lingering fear, the hesitation, the self-sabotage—

They vanished instantly as your reassuring words echoed gently in his ears, resonating deep within his heart.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, smiling warmly against your skin as he whispered, “Then, let’s go get married?”

And just like that—

Quietly, easily, and perfectly.

You both stepped forward together, leaving behind fears and ghosts alike, moving instead toward the joyful certainty of forever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[moonlight-joy]

Guard Dog

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Hotch refused to get a dog—until you and Spencer convinced him. But instead of a pet, he got Max, a trained protection dog.

Pairing: Reader/Aaron Hotchner

Aaron Hotchner was protective by nature. It came with the job, the years of chasing down criminals, of seeing the worst humanity had to offer.

It was why he always double-checked the locks at night, why he insisted on knowing your schedule, and why he always kept a gun within reach.

And it was also why, despite your repeated requests, he refused to let you get a dog.

“But, Aaron,” you whined one evening, curling into his side on the couch. “I’ve always wanted one.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But dogs are a big responsibility.”

“I can be responsible.”

Aaron chuckled, rubbing slow circles on your back. “I never said you couldn’t. But I worry about leaving you alone with one. They take time to train, and what if something happens?”

You sighed dramatically. “That’s the point! If I get the right dog, they can protect me.”

Aaron shook his head. “That’s my job.”

You pouted but didn’t argue. You knew his protective streak ran deep, but that didn’t mean you weren’t determined to wear him down.

So, like any loving, strategic partner…

You turned to Spencer Reid for help.

It happened at the BAU during lunch.

Spencer was sitting across from Aaron, rattling off statistics about dog breeds while the rest of the team listened in utter amusement.

“Actually, studies show that trained protection dogs can significantly decrease home invasions,” Spencer said matter-of-factly, taking a bite of his salad. “German Shepherds and Belgian Malinois, in particular, are highly intelligent and have been used in law enforcement and military work for years. Their presence alone can be a deterrent.”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temples. “Spencer—”

“Oh! And did you know that dogs can actually reduce anxiety and lower stress levels?” Spencer continued. “Research suggests they improve cardiovascular health and can even detect illnesses before symptoms appear.”

Derek snickered. “Come on, Hotch. If even the good doctor is backing this up, maybe it’s time to cave.”

Aaron shot Morgan a glare before glancing at Spencer. “So, you’re saying… a trained protection dog would be beneficial?”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

Emily leaned back, smirking. “I can’t believe you didn’t see this coming, Hotch. Y/N is way too smart to fight this battle alone.”

JJ chuckled. “You know she’s got you backed into a corner, right?”

Aaron sighed again, looking like a man who knew he was losing a battle.

By the time he got home that night, you already knew Spencer had done his job.

You had been expecting Aaron to cave eventually.

You had not, however, expected to walk into your house and see a gorgeous, alert-looking German Shepherd sitting obediently at Aaron’s feet.

You squealed.

“OH MY GOD, YOU GOT ME A DOG?!”

The dog’s ears perked up at your excitement, and Aaron shot you a look. “He’s not just any dog,” he corrected. “This is Max. He’s been trained in personal protection, and I’m making sure he learns to guard you properly.”

You blinked, stunned. “Wait… so he’s not just a pet?”

Aaron gave you a small smirk. “No, sweetheart. He’s your bodyguard.”

Your heart melted. “Aaron…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I still worry. But if I can’t always be here, I want someone watching over you. Someone I can trust.”

Your chest tightened with emotion. You knelt down, running your fingers through Max’s thick fur. “You’re gonna take good care of me, aren’t you, buddy?”

Max licked your hand in response.

Aaron crouched beside you, his hand resting on your back. “He’s already bonded with you,” he observed, watching the way Max’s body language shifted—protective, attentive, loyal.

You turned to Aaron with misty eyes. “I love him. And I love you.”

Aaron pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Then he smirked. “Even if I know I just gave you another reason to gang up on me with Spencer.”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

It wasn’t long before Max had his first test.

One night, Aaron had been called out of town for a case, leaving you home alone.

Normally, you felt safe enough—Aaron had security measures in place, cameras, reinforced locks. But that night, something felt off.

It started with a strange scraping sound outside. Then, the sound of footsteps near the porch.

Your heart clenched.

And then—Max reacted.

He sprang up from his spot near the door, ears sharp, body tense.

A low, menacing growl rumbled from his chest.

The sound alone sent shivers down your spine.

You peeked through the window just in time to see a shadow retreating from the porch.

Whoever it was had changed their mind.

Max didn’t stop growling until the figure was completely gone. Then, he trotted back to you, still alert, still on guard.

You sank to your knees, wrapping your arms around him. “Good boy,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. “Such a good boy.”

The next morning, Aaron called you first thing.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said lightly. “Some creep tried hanging around last night, but Max handled it.”

Aaron went silent.

Then, in a voice full of approval, he said, “Good.”

There was a smirk in his tone when he added, “I guess you were right about getting a dog.”

You grinned. “You know, I really love hearing you say that.”

Aaron chuckled, warmth evident in his voice. “Don’t get used to it.”

The next week, you brought Max to the BAU for a visit.

Garcia squealed. “OH MY GOD, HE’S PERFECT.”

Morgan whistled. “Damn, Hotch. You got Y/N a guard dog.”

Spencer nodded, looking pleased. “He’s a good choice. German Shepherds bond intensely with their owners.”

Hotch crossed his arms. “That was the point.”

Emily grinned. “So what you’re telling us is that you caved.”

Hotch sighed. “I wouldn’t call it—”

“YOU TOTALLY CAVED!” Garcia cackled.

JJ nudged you, whispering, “So, who’s more protective? Aaron or Max?”

You smirked, glancing at your husband. “I think Aaron’s still got him beat.”

Aaron just rolled his eyes, but when he looked at you, there was nothing but warmth.

Because Max was just another way of loving you—of keeping you safe, even when Aaron couldn’t be there himself.

And that?

That was something the team would never let him live down.

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[blairenqs]

୨୧ HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT ✧ SPENCER REID

───── IN WHICH 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆, 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 !

𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖿!𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟣.𝟥𝖪 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ ���𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

IT WAS A RAINY EARLY MORNING, the worst kind of morning when you had an early briefing at the bau.

you sat at the round conference table, cold hands collecting warmth from the steaming hot cup of coffee.

across the table, jj and garcia were deep in conversation about some celebrity drama you could care less about in the moment, quite literally just wanting to be swallowed by your fluffy blankets.

their voices were a comforting background as you waited for your brain to catch up with the rest of you.

it was too early—so painfully early, and you were already debating a second cup of coffee when morgan walked in.

and there it was—that familiar gleam in his eye that immediately set off warning bells. he looked far too happy for this hour of the day, and that smirk plastered on his face had trouble written all over it.

he made his way to the rounded table and clapped his hands once, the sharp sound startling you as it echoed through the room and drew everyone’s attention. —READ MORE!

“alright guys,” he said, leaning forward against the table with an exaggerated flair that always meant he had a story to tell. “you’re not gonna believe what i just found out.”

garcia’s eyes lit up instantly, and she immediately turned towards him like a cat spotting a mouse. “ooh, morning gossip? don’t leave me hanging now!”

jj leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised in curiosity. even rossi looked intrigued, though he didn’t say anything, opting in to sip his coffee with an amused expression instead.

morgan’s eyes landed on you briefly, and for a second, his grin faltered. “uh… sorry kid,” he said with a shrug, almost like he genuinely meant it.

you frowned at his words, instantly suspicious. “sorry for what… what did you do?” morgan put a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “why do you always assume i did something?”

“because you always do,” you said dryly with a sigh, placing your now luke-warm cup down. emily chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “she’s got a point, derek.”

“okay, okay, fair,” he armpits, holding his hands up in mock surrender—then, his smirk returned as he leaned in closer. “but i’m telling you, i didn’t do anything this time. i just… observed something very interesting.”

garcia gasped dramatically, leaning forward with her hands up under her chin. “spill it already, or so help me—i’ll hack into your google account and leak your search history.”

morgan chuckled, clearly enjoying the anticipation. “alright—fine. here’s the deal, i was walking past reid earlier—”

“oh god,” you whispered with a groan, already dreading where this was going. “—and i just happened to glance over his shoulder while he was texting.”

“derek!” emily scolded, although there was no real offence behind her words.

“what? it’s not like i meant to!” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “but listen—this is where it gets good.”

rossi raised an eyebrow. “get on with it then, geez.”

morgan looked around the table, clearly enjoying the suspense he was building. “the contact name was ‘my love.’” garcia gasped so loudly you nearly flinched out of your seat. “oh my god!”

“and—” morgan continued, raising his voice to be heard over her exclamation, “—he wrote, ‘i love you.’ i saw it plain as day before he closed the app.”

jj’s eyes went wide as she turned to look at you, sympathy practically oozing from her expression. “oh no,” she whispered, her tone soft and full of concern.

you blinked, confused by the sudden emotional shift in energy of the room. “what? why are you guys looking at me like that?”

jj reached out like she wanted to engulf you in a hug. “sweetheart, i’m so sorry. we didn’t know he was… seeing someone.”

“what?” you said, your voice practically a shriek.

garcia scooted her seat closer to you, her face full of maternal concern. “it’s okay honey,” she said reassuringly. “we know how you feel about reid. and honestly? i don’t blame you, it makes sense. he’s sweet and smart, and who wouldn’t fall for that? but—” she gave your hand a little squeeze. “you deserve someone who’s going to feel the same way about you.”

your brain felt like it had been electrocuted. “wait—pen—no, you’ve got it all wrong. i don’t—”

“it’s okay to admit it,” emily interrupted, her voice empathizing. “we’ve all seen the way you look at him. there’s no shame in having feelings for someone.”

“i—what—no!” you stammered, your face growing hotter by the second. “you guys are completely off base!”

“denial is a river in egypt,” garcia said with an upside-down grin, nodding like she just dropped some profound wisdom.

morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “hey—no judgment here. it’s tough when your crush is dating someone else. but you’ll bounce back, you’re strong.”

your mouth opened and closed, trying to form a response that would shut this entire conversation down without spilling the truth—because the truth was, spencer wasn’t dating someone else. he was dating you.

he had been for months.

you barely had time to gather your scrambled thoughts before the door to the conference room swung open, and in walked spencer, the man of the hour—coffee in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

he looked as endearingly disheveled as ever, looking the same as you left him in the morning—his tie slightly crooked, his hair falling into his eyes—and your heart did the stupid fluttery thing it always did when he was around.

“morning,” he greeted, his voice soft as he glanced around the room. then, his gaze landed on you, you who looked as if you had just seen a ghost, and his brow furrowed slightly. “what’s going on?”

everyone froze—their eyes darting to you.

“nothing!” garcia shrieked, far too loudly.

“yeah, nothing alright,” morgan repeated, though his smirk said otherwise.

spencer tilted his head—clearly unconvinced, but before he could push again, the door opened, and hotch strode in with his usual workaholic presence.

“let’s get started,” hotch said, not sparing a glance to the lingering awkwardness that seems to be in the air today.

the briefing began, thankfully putting an end to the antagonizing conversation. but throughout the meeting—you could feel spencer’s eyes on you, his gaze filled with a quiet concern.

when the briefing ended, the team quickly separated to gather their essentials for the flight. you hung back, pretending to check something in your bag, but really just waiting for the room to empty. as the last of them walked out, spencer approached..

“you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with the familiar worried tone.

you barely had time to answer before his arms slipped around you, pulling you into a hug. it was gentle and comforting, but when you relaxed against his embrace, his grip tightened, his warmth seeping into you.

you laughed softly, resting your forehead against his chest. “spence, someone might walk in.”

“i don’t care,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your hair. “you seemed tense earlier. did something happen?”

you hesitated, not sure how to even explain the bizarre situation— so instead, you tilted your head up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

his eyes widened in surprise, but they softened almost immediately. “what was that for, love?” he asked, his voice warm with curiosity.

“i’ll tell you about it at home,” you said quietly, brushing a hand over his tie to straighten it. he sighed but didn’t let go, his forehead resting against yours. “you promise?”

“i promise,” you whispered with one last kiss to his nose, smiling up at him.

he finally loosened his hold reluctantly, letting you pull away, though his hands lingered on your waist.

his sheepish smile was so full of affection it made your chest ache in the best way possible. as you grabbed your bag and headed towards the door, he followed close behind, his hand brushing against yours as you walked.

whatever misunderstanding the team had, it could wait. for now, you and spencer had each other, and you suppose you can handle the ‘broken heart’ allegations for a little while longer.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. tysm for 200 followers !! 🥹🫶 i’m so grateful oh m gee <3 i’m currently on spring break and i have no social life whatsoever & i was in the trenches of depression but this made my whole month. THANK YOUU ! spencer brainrotting my way thru life 🕺

𓂃ㅤ 𝓉𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ୨୧ @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @lcvealwayss @viennasolace ♡ thank you so much for joining !

[criminallyvenomous]

#1 Dad - Spencer Reid X Reader

•Plot - In which you decide to tell Spencer your good news during a holiday gift exchange with the team.

•Warnings - Just a purely fluff drabble

•Word Count - 419

“Secret Santas, the time is here!” Penelope floated through the conference room, dressed as an ever so chic Mrs. Claus in pink and glitter. She walked around the table handing everyone a candy cane.

“Now, we’ll see who actually likes us.” Derek joked. He wouldn’t admit to it in front of everyone, but he loves moments like this with the team.

“Alright, who’s got me?” Emily asked, already impatient.

The team took turns revealing who had gotten whose name from the hat as they exchanged gifts. JJ had Emily and Emily had Derek. Derek had Penelope, who had Rossi. Rossi had Hotch, who in turn had JJ. The price range was under $25, which a few (Penelope and Rossi) went over, but most were glad to not overdo it with panache.

“You’re kidding me.” Derek chuckled when it became clear to everyone that you and Spencer had each other.

“Did you bribe Penelope, Y/N?” Emily joked.

“Absolutely not! I take my duties very seriously, it was pure luck.” Penelope chimed in.

“You go first, love.” Spencer handed you a badly wrapped box.

“Genius can’t figure out how to wrap a gift?” Derek mumbled a little too loud, making Emily and Rossi laugh lightly before being shushed by Garcia.

You took the gift from Spencer, unwrapping it to reveal a poster of your favorite movie.

“It’s for our poster wall, I noticed you were missing it.” He smiled. He knew you so well.

“Thank you, Spence.” You leaned over and kissed him on cheek. “I love it.”

You reached below the table to pick up Spencer’s gift, it was a small box for a small gift, but you knew the impact it would have.

“Thank you.” He said as you handed him the gift. He unwrapped it and opened the box, pulling a mug out of it.

It read ‘#1 Dad’.

“Y/N.” He said, looking at you. He set the mug down and grabbed your hands with his own.

“I’m pregnant.” You smiled, relieved to finally share the news. Especially with your family, the team here.

“Oh! My! God!” Penelope was shrieking, practically jumping with excitement.

The group spouted off congratulations, but you were focused on Spencer as a tear fell from his eye. He had barely moved, frozen with shock.

“You okay?” You whispered. He pulled you to up onto your feet as he stood, enveloping you into the tightest hug you think he’s ever given you.

“Never been better.” He kissed the top of your head.

[sbahsreidlvee]

Calm down agent …….

“This is calm, and its “Dr …

Damn straight …..

[softtdaisy]

congrats again on 2k!!! you deserve it so much <33 ur events so cool too :DD how abouttttt... kaleidoscope by chappell roan + reid maybe :P

summary. you always knew spencer was your best friend, your soulmate. but one day you realized that your feelings might be bigger than that.

words count. 2 232

song. kaleidoscope by chappell roan

a/n. oh robin thank you for being such a sweetheart and a great supporter all the time, ily so much I swear!! and this song is so pretty I wanted to write so many different stories, I hope you will love this one 🫶

PARTICIPATE IN MY 2K CELEBRATION

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Spencer Reid had been your best friend ever since you could remember. 

It was like the life before him didn’t exist. Like your days could only make sense with him in it.

And lucky for you, Spencer loved to remind you he was a part of your life every single day.

You moved into his building, the apartment right in front of his, on a random Tuesday.

“Do you need help?” he finally asked you after holding the corridor’s door open for you for the second time in a row. Spencer noticed that you were the only one running back and forth with boxes. 

You stopped in your movement to consider his offer. And had a little laugh looking at him. “Listen, beautiful, I would love to, but you look like you’re going somewhere.” You replied, pointing to his book bag and his clearly going-out outfit. “But I appreciate your offer. And you can make up for it later.” 

You saw Spencer blush before walking to your apartment to put the box down. If you were convinced he would be gone when you returned, you were kindly surprised to see he was still here holding the door. 

“Can I offer you your first dinner here?” he proposed, this time following you outside. You accepted, with the feeling that it might just be a nice offer and he didn’t really mean it.

But when he came back from the BAU that night, Spencer directly went to your place and landed down with bags from the Chinese restaurant in the street.

That was how your friendship started. With a Chinese dinner on your rug because your sofa hadn’t arrived yet. But a night full of laughs and good talks. You learned about the boy from Vegas working for the FBI. He learned about you, your home, and your family.

It gave you the feeling that you had met your soulmate.

“You’re my favorite person, Spencer Reid,” you told him the night he accepted to sleep at your place. The storm outside caused a blackout in town, and you didn’t feel safe being alone. This was childish, maybe, in a way. And you knew people that would have laughed at you for this. 

But not Spencer. He stayed and spent hours telling you about his favorite subjects. And he didn’t hesitate to accept your offer to let him sleep in your bed with you. Feeling comfortable enough to do it.

The smile he gave to you when he heard you was so precious you wished you could picture it and frame it to keep it forever with you. “I think you’re mine too,” he replied, surprised himself by how true this was.

From all the people he had met and the friends he had made in the team, you ended up being his favorite person. Because everything was easy.

And things stayed easy for a long time. 

You couldn’t actually point out the moment things had changed. Was it so progressive that you couldn’t notice the evolution until it had settled permanently in your life? Or was it so sudden that you couldn’t see it coming and just accepted the consequences? You had no idea. Not then, not now.

All you knew was that one day, Spencer’s hand on your thigh didn’t feel the same. Sure, you still felt the security of his long fingers on your skin, giving you the impression that nothing bad could happen as long as he was here. But it was accompanied by new thoughts, a voice in your head telling you how good it felt to be touched by him. Or how easily his fingers could slip inside your tights. 

Soon his hugs started to last longer. Just like the phone calls he would give you when he was away. Or like the brief moments spent in the corridor, a few minutes stolen in each other’s days when you couldn’t do more than that. Maybe it was your imagination, but you got the feeling that Spencer wanted to stay. Or maybe it was really just your imagination, and you were the only one begging every day for another minute with him.

And some of your moments together became more intimate, something you didn’t notice until after they happened.

The weekly date that started to look like a real date. 

The way Spencer would start to talk about you with others, on the phone or in front of you if you met someone he knew on the street.

Or, the weirdest of them all, how you and Spencer shared a bed more and more occasionally. Everything was a good excuse to stay together. Like you didn’t have a few steps to cross to go back home.

And then, the evening happened. 

After being away for days because of a case, Spencer went directly to your place to make up for the missing time. A habit that grew over the past years and that you both cherished. There was something so precious in the way he didn’t even go to his place, to the place on the other side of the corridor, to put down his bag and jacket. He went to you first.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling when you saw him at your front door. Looking exhausted, sure, but so delighted to be here too. And the way his arms immediately went up to greet you and hug you tightly made you feel so loved. But was it the love you wanted?

“You know I have met like three people with your name this week?” he told you once he let you go. 

Of course this was the type of information Spencer needed to share first and foremost. “I hope I’m still your favorite.”

Spencer turned around to face you, looking amused and falsely confused. “The opposite wasn’t an option.” To add to it, he walked to kiss your forehead. And this felt good. So good.

And the rest of the evening was a glimpse of what a couple was supposed to have. Something you already had, somehow. Without being a thing. You weren’t a thing. 

Eating en tête-à-tête, sharing about your day. Watching a movie on your sofa, with one of Spencer's arms lying around your shoulder. Every now and then, he would caress your skin slowly, almost unconsciously, like it was the most natural thing to do.

Maybe it didn’t help that you ended up watching a romcom.

Or maybe it did, eventually. You weren’t so sure how to feel about it.

You stayed a few seconds looking at Spencer’s face. How his pupils were following the images on the screen. How he was biting his lip, probably without noticing it. How one strand of hair was falling on his forehead, some hair even caressing his eyelashes. How his nose was adding the cutest shadow on his face. 

“I think I love you,” you whispered. 

You watched as his brow furrowed almost in slow motion. And how his head started moving before his eyes. And then his eyes landed on you. “I…I love you too, you know.” This wasn’t a simple thing to say for him. The word love had become a synonym of leave for him.

And so he didn’t tell you much. But you didn’t need to hear it, most of the time. Because you knew he did. Of course Spencer loved you. He proved it to you multiple times in the past already. You weren’t going to contradict him on it. And you didn’t.

You just waited until the weight of your words hit him. And when it did, the surprise grew on his face. “Oh,” he simply said.

Oh.

Oh.

That was all you got from Spencer. No answer. Not even a word. A letter, at best.

He turned his head away and focused on the screen again. His arm and hand stayed on you, but the touch was like a feather now. He stayed silent until the end of the movie. Something unusual for him. But you didn’t question it. 

Too focused on collecting the pieces of your broken heart. 

“I should go.” Spencer said the moment the credits started rolling. But he said it in a low voice, so low that you wondered if he wasn’t talking to himself. Consider the best solution to get out of here, out of this situation. And well, leaving was indeed the best one. And avoiding what happened seemed like a good addition.

One thing that was always permanent between you was the kiss Spencer would leave on your forehead before leaving you. He would never miss it. Even when he left while you were asleep, you could feel it in your dream. And tonight was another proof.

Right when you thought he would go straight to your door, Spencer leaned to put his lips on your forehead. You closed your eyes to appreciate it. Fearing this might be the last time you experienced it. You got the feeling it lasted longer. Maybe this was something else you imagined to interpret it as you wished. Or maybe it was Spencer’s way to say goodbye.

It haunted you the whole night. It was your first thought when you woke up, wondering if last night was the last time. 

And so you were quite surprised to see Spencer in the middle of your living room. Two coffees in hand. Ones that he bought at your favorite place, you recognized the packaging immediately. 

Both because he knew you loved this one particularly, for the taste and the memory of having it with Spencer. He also bought it because he knew he wasn’t great at making coffee perfectly. 

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him… too many things. But you were cut off. “You meant it?” he asked.

You recognized that tone in his voice. The one he used when he talked about things that hadn’t been said about him and he didn’t know how to deal with them. Bad ones, like his dad criticizing him, being interrupted by a mean officer, or different reasons why someone decided to end things with him. But also the nice ones, those he had a hard time believing. 

There was something about the way Spencer had a hard time believing he was someone outside of his own world, someone people had thoughts and opinions on and how to deal with them.

“Do you…do you truly love me? Like, love me?” 

Spencer had been thinking about this all night too. About how this made total sense but was absolute nonsense at the same time. 

You’ve been his anchor. You were there; you’ve always been there. And it was reassuring to him to know that no matter what happened in his life, you would always be next door. 

But he never considered that this might be the logical next step in your relationship.

You took a step towards him. You feared he might run away, but he didn’t move. Not a single movement. “I do. I’m sorry,” you grimaced. “I couldn’t keep it to myself; it wouldn’t have been fair to hide it.”

You kept moving. And Spencer never stopped watching you. When you were close enough to put a hand on his arm, you felt like you entered his bubble. He wasn’t pushing you away. Not yet, at least.

“You don’t have to say it back; you don’t have to feel it back, Spence, ok? I’ll respect your choice and your feelings.” You grabbed your coffee, the one in his right hand, only to put it on the closest piece of furniture. You wanted to hold hishand. To have contact, you both needed to feel each other.

You took a breath, trying to sound more confident than you truly were. Because deep down, you were scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of losing what you had because your heart chose to see him as more than a friend.

“And if you see me just as a friend, I'll accept it.” You whispered, like it was a secret between the two of you. A promise. “Because I'd rather have you as my best friend than not have you at all.” 

You could read on his face all the emotions he was going through. Trying to accept, to come to terms with all you said. And what hit him was that you loved him so much that you were ready to put away your feelings, to fight back against them, only to keep him.  And what hit him was that he was ready to do the same for you.

“Ok,” he replied with a short smile. “I think I need some time, but…ok,” and you nodded at his answer.

Your eyes followed him as he went to sit on your sofa with his coffee in hands. And soon, he started to talk about a book he wanted to buy.

And for a second, you just appreciated it. The view of Spencer Reid, in your place, the sun making his hair look brighter, shining on him like the angel he was in your life. No matter your feelings or his, the ending was the same. Spencer was the most important person in your life and the one you loved the most.

Being each other's soulmate could have a lot of different meanings. And as long as Spencer was here, you were happy about it.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[colourfulbisexualities]

SUGAR AND SPICE ; aaron hotchner x female sugar baby reader

you’ve always had expensive tastes, and aaron hotchner has always been more than willing to indulge you, but only if you earn it. tonight, teasing him all day has its consequences, and you find yourself completely at his mercy, lost in the way he touches, fills, and ruins you.

Aaron has always been a man of control, someone who demands respect the moment he walks into a room. He’s powerful, untouchable, except when it comes to you. With you, he softens, in his own way. Maybe that’s why he spoils you the way he does, draping you in the finest things money can buy.

It started as an arrangement: your dad’s best friend offering to take care of you after watching you struggle through college, watching you date boys who didn’t deserve you. It didn’t take long for things to shift, for those lingering looks to turn into stolen touches, for him to claim you as his in every way that mattered.

Now, you live for these moments. The nights where he calls you to his penthouse after a long day, when he lets you crawl into his lap and whine about how much you missed him. You’ve been teasing him all day, sending him photos of you in nothing but the lace lingerie he bought you last week.

His favourite set: deep red, barely-there lace that barely covers anything at all. And from the moment you walked in tonight, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his dark eyes raked over you like he was barely holding himself back.

He sits on the edge of the bed now, legs spread, watching you with that unreadable expression, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up. Between his fingers, he twirls the delicate bracelet you’ve been eyeing for weeks—white gold, expensive, exactly your taste.

"You want it, don’t you?" His voice is smooth, knowing. He already has his answer.

You nod, biting your lip, playing innocent, but you both know the truth. You’re soaked, thighs pressed together, your body already reacting to just the way he looks at you. He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"And what do we say when we want something, sweetheart?"

You shift closer, crawling onto the bed, your hands resting on his thighs as you blink up at him. You know exactly how he likes it when you beg.

"Please, Daddy." Your voice is breathy, desperate.

Aaron hums in approval, letting his fingers trail along your jaw before tilting your chin up. His touch is firm, commanding, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

"That’s my good girl," he murmurs. "Then earn it."

He leans back slightly, unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate movements, like he wants to make you suffer for teasing him all day. The leather slides through the loops with a sharp, sinful sound that makes your stomach clench. When he pops the button of his slacks, the outline of his cock is thick and heavy against his boxer briefs, already hard for you.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, at the way his cock strains against the fabric of his boxer briefs. Thick, heavy, already hard for you. You can see the outline of him clearly: the broad, flushed head, the way his length twitches slightly when you reach for him.

Aaron watches you with dark, expectant eyes, his lips pressed together in that firm, unreadable expression, but you know better. You know he’s holding back, waiting to see just how desperate you are.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his slacks, dragging them down his thighs, then do the same with his boxers, your nails grazing against his skin just to tease him. And fuck he’s gorgeous.

His cock springs free, long and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. The veins along his shaft are prominent, pulsing slightly as he exhales a slow breath. He’s so big, so perfect, and you shudder at the thought of having him in your mouth, your throat.

"Open," he commands, his voice low, rough.

You obey instantly, parting your lips as you lower yourself between his spread legs. Your tongue darts out, dragging along the length of his cock, slow and teasing. You feel him tense under your hands, his thighs flexing beneath your palms as you kitten-lick the head, swirling your tongue around the slit, tasting the saltiness of his precum.

"You like teasing, don’t you?" His voice is strained, but still in control.

You hum around him, the vibrations making him hiss through his teeth. But before he can grab your hair and force you to take him deeper, you do it on your own—sinking down, inch by inch, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his head falling back for just a moment before he looks down at you again, watching your lips stretch around him.

You bob your head slowly, setting a steady pace, your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what you can’t take in, your spit making it messy, filthy. You know he likes it this way - loves when you make a mess of him, loves when you let your mascara smudge as you take him even deeper, letting him feel the tight squeeze of your throat.

His fingers tangle in your hair, guiding you, controlling you the way he always does. His grip tightens when you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, your nails digging into his thighs as he starts thrusting up into your mouth. His pace quickens, his breathing ragged, his control slipping.

"You’re so fucking good at this, sweetheart," he groans, his hips jerking slightly. "Always so eager for my cock, aren’t you?"

You moan around him, and that’s what sends him over the edge. His grip tightens, his body going rigid as he comes with a deep, guttural groan. Hot, thick spurts of cum coat your tongue, and you swallow it down greedily, not wasting a drop.

Aaron watches you with hooded eyes as you pull off of him, licking the corner of your lips. You bat your lashes up at him, already knowing what he’s going to say before the words even leave his mouth.

"Good girl," he praises, dragging his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. "Now, let’s see if you’ve earned that bracelet."

You giggle, licking the last traces of him off your lips as you push at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress. Aaron lets you, watching you with that dark, hooded gaze, like he’s daring you to take what you want.

His tie is still loose, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the firm muscles of his chest. He looks wrecked but still so in control, still the powerful man who always has you melting in his hands. But right now, you want to be the one in charge.

Crawling on top of him, you straddle his waist, your hands smoothing over his chest as you press soft kisses along his neck. You grind against him slowly, deliberately, letting the soaked lace of your panties drag along his cock. He groans at the feeling, his hands immediately gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, his voice rough, strained. "Look at you, making a mess on me already."

You whimper, rolling your hips again, the friction sending shivers down your spine. He’s still so hard, thick and heavy beneath you, and you need him. You need him stretching you open, filling you up the way only he can.

"Daddy, I want you," you whisper against his jaw, biting down just enough to make him exhale sharply. "I need you inside me."

His grip tightens, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. "Then take me, sweetheart. Show me how much you want it."

Heart pounding, you sit up, reaching between your bodies to slide your panties to the side. You’re soaked, your slick coating the insides of your thighs, dripping onto his cock as you line him up with your entrance. He twitches against you, his hands moving to spread you open, his thumbs pressing into your hips as he watches, waiting.

You sink down slowly, your mouth falling open at the stretch, at the way he fills you so perfectly, splitting you open inch by inch. He’s so thick, so deep, and the burn only makes it better. Your walls flutter around him as you take him to the hilt, fully seated on his cock, your thighs shaking as you adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

"Jesus, baby," he groans, his head tilting back against the pillows, his jaw tight. "So fucking tight. Always so tight for me."

You whimper, rolling your hips, grinding against him, needing more. The pressure is intoxicating, the way his cock presses against that perfect spot inside you, making you clench around him. His hands move up, palming your tits through the lace of your bra before tugging at the cups, exposing your nipples to the cool air.

"Ride me, sweetheart," he commands, voice thick with lust. "Make yourself come on my cock."

You don’t need to be told twice. Bracing yourself against his chest, you lift your hips, dragging yourself up before sinking back down, setting a slow, torturous rhythm. His cock drags along your walls, hitting all the right spots, making you gasp. The friction is perfect, the way he fills you so deep making your toes curl.

"Fuck, Daddy," you moan, tossing your head back, your nails digging into his chest.

Aaron growls, gripping your hips, guiding you as you ride him. His own hips start to move, thrusting up into you, meeting every roll of your body with deep, punishing strokes.

The sound of skin slapping fills the room, mixed with your breathy moans and his rough groans. His eyes are locked onto you, watching the way you take him, the way your tits bounce with every movement.

"Look at you," he rasps, thrusting up harder, making you cry out. "Fucking yourself on my cock like a desperate little slut. You love this, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, barely able to form words, too lost in the pleasure, the way he stretches you so perfectly, the way the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every deep thrust. The coil in your stomach tightens, pleasure coiling through you like fire, your thighs trembling as you chase your release.

"Daddy, I’m gonnafuck, I’m gonna come," you sob, grinding down, desperate for more.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his grip tightening as he fucks up into you even harder. "Show Daddy how good you feel."

With a broken cry, you shatter, your orgasm ripping through you in waves so intense that your vision blurs. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking his cock as you tremble in his arms. The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, leaving you breathless.

Aaron groans, his control snapping as he grips your hips and slams you down onto him one last time. His cock throbs inside you, and then he’s coming, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you, filling you up. He curses under his breath, his fingers bruising your skin as he holds you there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every pulse of his release.

Your body is still trembling, thighs slick with both of your releases, but Aaron isn’t done with you yet. You can feel it in the way he grips your hips, in the way his cock still twitches inside you, still hard, still needy.

"You think we’re finished, baby?" His voice is low, rough, dripping with amusement. "That pretty little cunt of yours is still squeezing me."

A whimper escapes your lips as he flips you onto your stomach, his strong hands pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down beneath him. He’s bigger, stronger, completely in control, and fuck, you love it.

"On your knees. Ass up."

You obey without hesitation, arching your back as you push yourself onto all fours. Your breath hitches as he spreads you open, his thumbs pressing into the curve of your ass, exposing your messy, swollen pussy still dripping with his cum.

"Look at this," he groans, rubbing his cock along your slit, smearing his release over your folds. "So fucking wet. So full of me."

You whimper, pushing back against him, desperate for more. But he doesn’t give you what you want right away. Instead, his palm suddenly cracks against your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"Daddy!" you yelp, jolting forward, but his grip is unforgiving, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"That’s for being a needy little tease all day," he growls, spanking you again, harder this time. Your skin burns, the pain melting into pleasure, making your walls flutter around nothing. "You think you can send me those pictures and not pay for it?"

"I—I wanted your attention," you admit breathlessly, pressing your face into the pillows, rocking your hips back in silent desperation.

Aaron chuckles darkly. "Oh, sweetheart, you have my fucking attention."

Without warning, he thrusts into you in one deep, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. A broken moan rips from your throat as he stretches you open all over again, the fullness almost too much after already being fucked senseless. He doesn’t give you time to adjust—he just starts pounding into you, ruthless and unrelenting.

The sound of skin slapping fills the room, mixed with your muffled moans and his ragged breathing. His cock is so deep, dragging against your walls with every brutal thrust, hitting your cervix in a way that’s both painful and delicious. You’re shaking, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fucks you like he owns you. Because he does.

"Daddy—fuck, Daddy!" you sob, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

Aaron growls at the sound, his hand snaking up to your mouth, two fingers pressing against your lips. "Open."

You obey instantly, parting your lips, letting him shove his fingers into your mouth, gagging you slightly. Your moans turn into muffled whimpers as he presses down on your tongue, making you drool around him.

"So fucking noisy," he mutters, tightening his grip on your jaw. "All you ever do is beg for my cock, isn’t that right?"

You nod frantically, eyes rolling back as he fucks into you even harder, his pace brutal, unforgiving. The pressure is unbearable, overwhelming, that coil in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. Every thrust makes your clit drag against the sheets, the friction making it even more intense.

Aaron pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then grips the back of your neck, forcing your face down into the mattress. "Come for me," he growls. "Make a mess all over my cock."

You don’t stand a chance. The orgasm crashes into you with devastating force, your entire body locking up as you clench around him, convulsing with pleasure so intense it borders on painful. You sob his name, your cries muffled by the sheets, your thighs shaking violently as you gush around him.

"Fuck, that’s it," Aaron groans, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he slams into you one last time. His cock throbs deep inside you before he spills inside you again, filling you to the brim with his hot, sticky release. He doesn’t pull out right away, just grinds his hips against you, letting you feel every last drop, making sure it stays inside.

For a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of your ragged breathing, the both of you completely wrecked. Then, Aaron leans down, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the back of your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, "You’ve definitely earned that bracelet, sweetheart."

[spicyschemmenti]

EMILY PRENTISS ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ MASTERLIST

ONE SHOTS

NOT SO INNOCENT - MDNI : synopsis: you surprise emily by taking care of her after a long day at work

JUST US TWO - MDNI : synopsis: you wake up before emily for a change and decide to give her a helping hand in waking up

VIRTUAL OBSESSION - MDNI : synopsis: you and emily don’t do labels. no titles, no expectations, just casual, intense, no-strings-attached encounters that leave you both craving more. late one night, after a long day, she facetimes you from a hotel room across the country wanting to watch you unravel through the screen

[minswriting]

Just the thought of loser gooner spencer..

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | edging, masturbation, cam girl reader

spencer reid was a highly intelligent person, spending his days working cases and using his high IQ to help catch serial killers. it was rare he ever had time to himself, time to unwind. and when he did, he usually spent his time reading, learning, studying something insignificant, and last of all, jerking off.

today was one of those rare days off and with all of the stress he had wound up throughout the last few weeks, he needed a day to let it all out. especially, when all he thought about the last few days was his favorite cam girl, you.

you had posted a video earlier in the week, a three hour long video of yourself riding your dildo and spencer was itching to watch it. it was practically all he could think about at any given point in time since he had seen the notification. he knew he was pathetic, especially when it came to you.

spencer sat at his desk in his bedroom, laptop open to your onlyfans page as he got out his lube and tissues. if he’s gonna goon, he’s gonna do it right. he pressed play on your video before grabbing his lube, squeezing a reasonable amount into his hand before smearing it on his cock.

you looked gorgeous in the video, all naked and sprawled out, dildo already inside of you as you fucked yourself nice and slow. spencer’s mouth practically watered at the sight, seeing your glistening pussy through the screen. he knew he shouldn’t be obsessed with some random woman on the internet and yet, he just couldn’t help it. not when you were the most prettiest woman he’d ever set eyes on.

spencer began stroking himself nice and slow, following your rhythm as he did so. your soft moans came through the speakers, sending sparks down spencer’s spine. god, you were so fucking hot. anytime you stopped fucking yourself, spencer stopped moving his hand. and whenever you started back up, he’d start back up.

there was one moment when you were fucking yourself with your dildo so hard and fast that spencer assumed you’d allow yourself the luxury of cumming. but when you suddenly stopped, whining at yourself from the lack of movement, spencer was absolutely enamored with your self control. he had been so close too but he instantly stopped the moment you did.

by the time spencer got to the last 30 minutes of the video, his cock was so angry and red, almost purple as it begged him for release. he’d been whining and moaning, matching every single movement of yours in this fake little fantasy as he imagined fucking you for hours, denying both of your orgasm for so long.

and when you did finally allow yourself the pleasure of cumming, spencer was enthralled. the way your body convulsed, the loud moans escaping your lips, and the way you squirted around that dildo as you came made spencer wish he were the one you were cumming on. and when he came, he came with such a loud moan, borderline cry, that he was sure his neighbors knew he was doing. he painted himself with his cum, rope upon rope hitting his stomach and chest. when he was finished, he sat back in the chair, breathing heavily as he felt his mind clear and shoulders visibly deflate as the stress left his body.

if he could spend everyday edging himself to you, he would. but he knew he couldn’t.

and the following week, when you posted a one hour video of you overstimulating yourself, spencer was more than ready to fuck himself until he was dry.

[fanfics4all]

Shadows of the Past

Request: Yes / No This is based off of @haileygarciasunshine prompt list that I found here!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 894

Warnings: Mentions previous abuse

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Spencer’s POV*

The clock on my nightstand glowed dimly, casting a soft light across the bedroom. It was the first real break the team had gotten in months, and for once, Y/N and I were home- no jet, no late-night paperwork, no gruesome crime scenes waiting for us in the morning. Just us. But even in the stillness of our apartment, something felt… off. I stirred, blinking against the darkness, before realizing what had woken me. Y/N. 

She was beside me, tangled in the sheets, her body tense. Her breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps, and barely audible whispers escaped her lips. I could see her fingers clenching at the fabric of the blanket, her face twisted in distress. 

Nightmares. Again. 

I sat up, immediately reaching for her. She hadn’t told me they had come back, but I had noticed the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she’d zone out sometimes as if lost in something far away. I should have asked. Should have pressed more. But I wanted to respect her space, to let her tell me when she was ready. Now, though, I couldn’t just let her suffer. 

“Y/N.” I mumbled, gently brushing my fingers over her arm. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” She twitched but didn’t wake. Her breathing became more erratic, her whimpers turning into a soft, choked sound that made my stomach tighten. 

“Hey, hey.” I whispered again, this time cupping her cheek lightly, my thumb brushing over her skin. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe. Wake up, Angel.” 

Her body jolted, and with a sharp gasp, her eyes flew open. They were wide, wild with fear as she sat up abruptly, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. She looked around, disoriented, before her gaze finally landed on me. 

“Spence…” She breathed, her voice trembling. I immediately wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest, feeling the way she was shaking. 

“It’s okay.” I whispered into her hair, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. 

“You’re safe. I’ve got you.” 

She clung to me, her fingers gripping my shirt as if I might disappear. I tightened my hold on her, heart aching at the realization of just how much she had been holding in. I knew where her nightmares stemmed from. I knew about the ex who had hurt her, and had taken pieces of her that she was still trying to reclaim. I had thought- hoped- that those wounds had begun to heal. But our last case must have torn them open again, and she hadn’t told me. 

After a moment, she exhaled shakily against my chest. “I- I thought they were gone…” She admitted, barely above a whisper. “But that case, it-it brought everything back.” 

I pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face in the dim light. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, her expression one of exhaustion and quiet pain. I gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her cheek. 

“Why didn’t you tell me the nightmares are back?” I asked softly. “You know I never minded helping you through them.” 

She looked away, her lips pressing together as if she was trying to hold back the words she didn’t want to say. 

“I didn’t want to worry you…” She finally admitted. “You already do so much, Spence. You’re always taking care of me, always making sure I’m okay. And I just… I didn’t want to add to that. Not when you already deal with so much.” 

My heart ached at her words, and I shook my head. “Y/N…” I murmured, tilting her chin up so she would look at me. 

“Taking care of you isn’t a burden. I love you. I want to be there for you, no matter what.” 

She swallowed hard, her hands still gripping my shirt like a lifeline. 

“I just… I thought I was past it.” She whispered. “I thought I was getting better, and then this case- it felt like I was right back where I started.” 

I sighed softly, brushing my thumb over the back of her hand. 

“Healing isn’t linear.” I reminded her. “Sometimes, things resurface, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re back at the beginning. It just means you need time. And I’ll be here for as long as you need me.” 

She exhaled shakily, nodding against my chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She admitted. 

I pressed another kiss to her forehead. “And you’ll never have to find out.” 

We just sat there, wrapped up in each other, the only sound in the room was her slow breaths and the steady beat of my heart against her ear. Finally, I shifted, tugging the blanket back over both of us. 

“Come here.” I murmured, easing her back down into the bed. She curled into me without hesitation, her body fitting perfectly against mine. 

“Try to get some rest.” I whispered. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” 

She nodded, her fingers curling gently into my shirt. “Stay close?” 

“Always.” 

I held her a little tighter, feeling the tension slowly leave her body as sleep began to reclaim her. And even as I lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, I silently vowed to help her through this, however long it took.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1  @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @reidssmile @currentfangirl-futuremedexamines @mggstyles @satans-0-spawn @emofairygay @thesoftestwarlock @liz-owl @dracoswhvre​

[theseventhdimension]

An Extrovert's Guide to Introvert Adoption

Pairing: Spencer Reid + Male! Reader (Platonic/ Familial)

Word count: 2.2k+

DNI: Fem Aligned

Author's Note: Dear reader, you're old in this, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel ancient, but here we are, staring down the cold, harsh reality of the "middle-aged" status.

Spencer’s doing it on purpose.

I swear.

(P.S. Don’t worry, I’ll be the one driving Spencer to bingo nights when he’s a hundred. I’ll be there with my arthritis medication and a collection of “I told you so"s.

Just make sure we’re both wearing comfy shoes :D)

The first time you saw the kid, he was fighting a losing battle with the ID scanner.

It was early, too early, and you were slouched in your chair, booted feet propped up on your desk, contemplating whether it was socially acceptable to take a nap in the bullpen. The morning briefing was still a ways off, and there was nothing pressing to do except exist in this particular moment of pure, unfiltered boredom.

That’s when you spotted him.

Fresh-faced, all long limbs and nerves, standing by the security door like he was squaring up for a duel. He held up his ID badge, swiped it, and?

..nothing.

He frowned, adjusted his grip, and tried again.

..Still nothing.

For a solid thirty seconds, you watched as he waged war against a piece of technology that had no business being this difficult. There was a certain… persistence to it? Swipe. Pause. Swipe again. Like sheer force of will would change the scanner’s mind.

You let it go on longer than you should have, mostly because it was entertaining, but eventually, pity won out.

“You gotta hold it still, kid.” your voice chimes out, deep with age and a smirk easily detected in your tone.

Spencer Reid startled, blinking at you through wire-rimmed glasses like you’d just materialized out of thin air, before looking at you like you’d just revealed the secrets of the universe. He tried again, this time pressing the badge against the scanner with exaggerated slowness. A beep, and the door unlocked.

“…Oh,” he said. His expression shifted through about three different emotions before settling on something close to reluctant gratitude. “Thanks..”

“You always this smooth?” you asked, smirking.

Spencer frowned, clearly missing the joke. “Not really. But actually, the average person takes three tries to properly align their ID badge with a scanner—”

You barked out a laugh. “Jesus, kid. I like you already.”

————

The thing about Spencer Reid is that he grows on you fast.

Maybe it’s the way he rattles off facts like a walking encyclopedia, or how he’s completely incapable of reading a room, but you take to him like a duck to water. He’s young.. too young for a job like this, too young for the darkness it drags along.

But he tries. He wants to help. And maybe that’s why you take to him so quickly.

At first, he’s hesitant around you, stiff and overly polite in a way that screams uncertainty. You’re rough around the edges, tattoos, leather jacket, the whole biker aesthetic, and you figure he probably doesn’t know what to make of you. But you’ve got patience, and besides, winning people over is something of a skill of yours.

It starts small.

You make sure he eats on long cases, tossing granola bars at him when he forgets. You listen—actually listen—when he spirals into a hyperfixation, whether it’s obscure mathematics or a book he just finished.

You start calling him “kid,” and after the first dozen times, he stops correcting you.

Somewhere along the way, without either of you meaning to, you become his person.

And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, you realize—

You’d ..practically adopted him.

One day, you’re just a coworker, a teammate—maybe even.. a friend, if you stretch the definition a little. The next, you’re watching his six in the field, making sure he remembers to grab his jacket before stepping into the freezing cold, and scowling at anyone who looks at him sideways.

It’s not a conscious decision. You don’t wake up one morning and think, "Yeah, I think I’ll unofficially adopt the awkward genius today!!!" It just ..happens?

Like when you notice he’s shivering at a crime scene because, of course, he didn’t think to bring gloves. You don’t say anything, just pull yours off and shove them at him. He hesitates for half a second before taking them with a quiet, “Thanks.”

Or when he gets so wrapped up in a theory that he forgets to drink the coffee you set down next to him until it’s gone cold. You start ordering two at a time—one for him to ignore, one to swap in when he finally remembers it exists.

Then there’s the first time you see him completely shut down after a case. It’s late, and the team is scattered across the jet, exhaustion weighing on all of you. Reid is curled into the corner of his seat, eyes fixed on the wall, but he’s not seeing anything.

You’ve seen this before. Seen it in people who’ve spent too much time in the dark, who’ve looked monsters in the eye for so long they start to feel like they might be one too. But he’s too young for this. Too young to be carrying ghosts in his bones.

So you nudge his foot with yours, not hard, just enough to get his attention. When he looks up, you nod toward the deck of cards in your lap. “Magic trick?”

He blinks. Hesitates. Then, slowly, a bit of light comes back into his eyes.

“…Okay.”

That’s the thing about Spencer. He never says it—never outright acknowledges that you’ve become something of a constant for him. But in the little things, the quiet moments, you know.

Like how he never forgets to bring an extra granola bar now, tossing it to you with a half-smirk and a muttered, “Since you’re so concerned about my eating habits.”

Or how, when you took a hit in the field and brushed it off as nothing, he’d spent the next three days hovering, arms crossed, a frown deep enough to carve itself into his face.

Or the time you got back late from a case, dead on your feet, and he’d wordlessly dropped a book on your desk the next morning with a sticky note: Thought you’d like this one.

You pick it up, flipping through the first few pages, and shake your head with a grin. Damn kid.

Without meaning to, without either of you saying a word about it, Spencer Reid has become yours. your kid, almost.

————

The case is brutal.

A father, a son, and the kind of horror no kid should ever have to endure. The unsub is caught, but the damage is already done, and it sits heavy on Spencer’s shoulders. You see it in the way he avoids eye contact, how his fingers twitch like they’re turning invisible pages of a book only he can see.

“Spence.” Your voice is softer than usual as you approach his desk. “Walk with me.”

He hesitates, but follows. You take him outside, past the office and the noise, to where the air is cool and quiet. He doesn’t speak, just stares out into the night like he’s somewhere else.

“My dad left when I was ten.” His voice is small. “I—It’s not the same, I know. But I keep thinking… what if I had been older? What if I could’ve stopped him?”

You exhale, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah. I get that.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes searching. “Do you?”

You nod. “I used to think I had to hold everything together, too. That if I tried hard enough, people wouldn’t leave.” You let out a slow breath. “But it doesn’t work like that, kid. You can’t carry that weight on your own.”

He swallows, and for a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, finally, he nods.

You don’t say anything, just clap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

You stay like that for a while, both of you leaning against the wall, the quiet settling between you like an unspoken understanding. The air is crisp, cool against your skin, but Spencer doesn’t seem to notice. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his slacks, fingers still twitching, still caught in the endless loop of thoughts that won’t let him go.

“You know,” you say after a moment, shifting your weight, “there’s this thing my old man used to say. He was.. kind of an ass, honestly." You huff out, smirk and pain prevalent on your face. "But every once in a while, he had a point.”

Spencer glances at you, wary but listening.

You tilt your head back, looking up at the city lights.

“He used to say that some people are just made for carrying other people’s ghosts. That they don’t ask for it, don’t want it, but they can’t help it. They see the wreckage and think, 'Maybe if I pick up the pieces, no one else has to'.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but his hands still.

You glance at him. “You do that, you know. You carry people. Their pain, their losses. But what happens when it gets too heavy?”

His throat works around a swallow. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you better figure it out.” Your voice is softer than your words, but it makes him flinch anyway. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face before continuing.

“Look, kid, I know how your brain works. I know you’re going to go home and replay this case in your head a thousand times, looking for a different outcome. But there isn’t one. You did your job. You caught the guy.”

Spencer exhales, a shaky thing that barely passes as a breath. “It’s not enough.”

“No,” you admit. “It never is.”

The words hang between you, thick with the weight of every case before this one, every crime you’ve been too late to stop. But eventually, the world keeps spinning, and you keep moving forward, because that’s all there is.

“You’re not alone in this, you know.” You give his shoulder another squeeze, grounding, steady. “We carry it together.”

Spencer doesn’t respond right away, but you don’t need him to. The way his shoulders drop just slightly, the way his hands go still, it’s enough.

After a moment, he huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “I suppose that’s an empirical statement.”

You snort. “Jesus, Reid.”

A pause. Then-

“…Thanks.” It’s quiet, almost lost to the night, but you hear it.

You nod. “Anytime, kid.”

And somehow, even with the weight of the world pressing down on both of you, it feels just.. a little bit lighter.

(Extra :p)

“I am not that old!”

JJ stifles a laugh, and even Hotch looks amused as you scowl at the massive ‘OVER THE HILL’ birthday banner draped across your desk.

Spencer, ever the instigator, tilts his head with that all-too-innocent look he always gets right before he says something that will definitely annoy you. “Technically speaking, the term ‘middle-aged’ applies to individuals between the ages of—”

“Kid.” You point a finger at him, narrowing your eyes. “Choose your next words very carefully.”

He grins—an actual, genuine grin—and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “I mean, statistically speaking, the average lifespan for someone in your… uh, demographic would put you—”

“Spencer, I swear to God, if you finish that sentence, I will put you in a chokehold before you can even say ‘ageism.’”

The grin only grows, and JJ has to cover her mouth to hide her laughter. Hotch just shakes his head, arms crossed as he watches the exchange like he’s fully aware that Spencer’s days of life-threatening innocence are numbered.

You start clearing away the ridiculous amount of decorations that have seemingly exploded across your desk—balloons, streamers, and a cake that could feed a small army. You throw a glance at the clock. “I swear to God, if one more person sings Happy Birthday to me today…”

Spencer pipes up, “You’re still getting older. It’s an unavoidable—”

“Kid!” you bark, and this time, he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying, statistically speaking, your risk of developing certain age-related ailments increases—”

“STOP. PLEASE.” You cover your ears, stumbling backward as if the mere mention of your so-called “middle-aged” status is physically painful.

JJ can't hold it in anymore. She bursts into full-on laughter, barely able to breathe as she clutches her sides. “He’s just messing with you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, swiping a streamer off your shoulder and tossing it in the trash. “But when he’s a hundred, I’m gonna have to start taking him to bingo nights.”

Hotch, now cracking a smile, finally speaks up, “It’s probably for the best. You’ll need someone to keep track of your forgetfulness when you start getting really old.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” You flip Hotch off without even looking at him, shaking your head as you finish clearing the decorations. “I hate you all.”

Spencer, still gleaming with that infuriatingly innocent look, leans in, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You do know that birthdays actually—”

“Do not say it,” you warn him, your tone sharp, but with a smile that betrays your amusement.

“—mark the passage of time, and—”

“I swear to God,” you threaten, pretending to lunge at him, but Spencer only laughs harder, his voice light and unrepentant.

As the rest of the team laughs along, you finally let yourself relax, taking in the absurdity of it all. You’ve spent your life dealing with killers, criminals, and chaos—and now, here you are, losing a battle to a bunch of stupid birthday decorations. You can’t help but shake your head, grinning despite yourself.

[kiwriteswords]

POV: You're Aaron Hotchner's Secretary

[cherrywaves333]

hi!! this is my first ever tumbr post, i'm super excited and super nervous for how it's gonna be received since i've been a fly on the wall in s o o o o many communities for years. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings/tags: abuse, drugs/alcohol, the normal cm stuff, hospitals, emetophobia at the end (very slight mentions of vomiting), reader is a stripper, use of y/n, slight age gap if you squint, black!reader, spencer is a bit of a perv if you squint.

“oh, fuck,” she thought as she looked at the team’s destination. 

she read the name over two or three times on the jet, Charlie’s Devils. it was the same unclever name of the same dingy strip joint she used to work at to pay her way through college and the academy. she bit her lip in silence as the team went over the case. she didn’t flip any further than the first page so as to not potentially see any of her old friends in a state she couldn’t unsee. 

Spencer was the first to notice her uncharacteristic silence. he was going to question her about it, but he didn’t want to mention her unease in front of everyone. he knew what it was like to be the youngest and newest on the team and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt she had to defend her spot on the team. but, he did observe her and the cogs turning in her brain as she stared at the picture of the epicenter of the murders. it looked as though she wasn’t breathing, she was so still. then, she spoke.

“okay, i feel like i’ve been here long enough that i can trust you all and i know i’ve proven myself more than capable and professional on this team,” she began to ramble before stopping herself to breathe, “i used to work here.” 

the team fell silent, especially Spencer who was now left in her old position. he stiffened up, his breath caught in his throat at the thought. he had tried his best not to imagine her in any light other than his best friend as he knew they could never happen. he knew he was too old for her. JJ was the first to crack a smile, followed by Emily who couldn’t help but laugh. 

“but you can’t walk in heels!” Emily laughed a little harder. 

“shut up! i so can!” y/n defended herself, ears hot with embarrassment but also relief. 

“no, you can’t. you look like a deer!” Morgan added on. 

Hotch observed y/n for a minute and her gaze shifted to his, causing her to shrink into her seat a little further. everyone fell quiet, both hoping that Hotch wasn’t mad at her and that they hadn’t embarrassed her. 

“do you want to sit this case out?” Hotch questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“no! actually, i thought i could be more helpful,” she reasoned, hoping he wouldn’t take her off the case, “none of them know i joined the FBI except my cousin, i could be an informant, i could go undercover, wherever you need me.” 

“we’ll see how it goes when we touch down. for now, i want you as far away from the club as possible. stay in the police station. Prentiss, Morgan, go to the club and ask questions. Reid, L/N, stay at the precinct, go over the files and work on the profile. Rossi, go down to the morgue and see the MD. JJ will come with me to talk to the victims' families.” 

everyone closed their case files and waited on the flight to Los Angeles. y/n had moved over to the couch by herself and busied herself with music and a book, but she had been on the same page for the last 5 minutes. not that spencer was counting or anything. he moved to sit next to her to make sure she was alright with working this case. 

“you okay, y/n?” he asked, softly.

she didn’t answer for a moment before answering with a question of her own, “who were the victims?” 

as spencer went down the list of 5 victims from the same club, she didn’t recognize any of them, they were all new girls. she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she felt guilty for the relief that she felt, but she needed to know that none of them were her girls in order to work the case. 

“i don’t know any of them,” she breathed out. 

he felt his heart throb with sympathy for her as she was willing to work her friends’ case earlier, knowing what she would have to see. she gave spencer a small smile before speaking again. 

“you don’t see me any different?” 

spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “of course not, being an exotic dancer isn’t anything to be ashamed of.” 

she laughed a little at the title, “this club is not nice enough for us to be called exotic dancers.” 

once they arrived at the precinct, spencer and y/n immediately got to work setting up the profile. she thought back to everything she knew about this club, overthinking and overanalyzing every aspect, every dynamic. 

“were these girls working the streets as well as the club?” she asked, looking at their outfits. 

“there’s nothing in their files, why do you ask?” spencer looked up in confusion.

“the girls who just work the club show up in warm ups, sweatsuits, pajamas, hair and makeup not done, and they leave that way. the girls who work the street get cute before coming,” she explained, pointing to each girl looking done up. 

“i’ll let everyone know we might be working with potential street workers,” spencer nodded at her observation.

she bit her finger as she stared at the board, unmoving as she analyzed every single detail. the method of murder on each victim was strangulation. each victim had alcohol and drugs in their system, namely MDMA and high levels of THC. most of the girls at the club partook in a party drug every once in a while, especially during an off day. y/n tried to stay away from harder drugs, sticking to weed during her college years and only dabbling outside of that for two years. each victim was in their early 20’s, but they were all different physiologically. none of them were the same race or body type. one girl was 5’8 while another was only 4’11. 

hours later, the team met up to discuss the details of the case. the killings were sporadic, there was no pattern to the space in between killings. the victims all worked in the same club, but other than that there were no obvious links. there was no DNA left at the crime scenes. Rossi had found that the bodies were scrubbed clean before they were dumped.

y/n couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, this whole case felt familiar to her. she kept shaking it off as being the club she used to work at and the feeling that this could’ve been her or her friends. she knew deep down that wasn’t it. 

“L/N, i want you to go down to the club tomorrow. dress casual, show face, let people know you’re back in town,” Hotch stated casually. 

all eyes fell on her and spencer was the first to speak, “are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“i’ll do it,” she nodded at Hotch, “am i going undercover?” 

“if we don’t catch this guy by day after tomorrow, you’ll be going undercover that night,” Hotch confirmed. 

she nodded before excusing herself to get some water with spencer hot on her tail. 

“kid’s got it bad for her,” morgan nodded. 

“he’s just looking out for her,” JJ shot down the idea, “it’s sweet seeing spence stepping up.” 

“20 bucks says they start dating before the end of the month,” emily wagered after Hotch left the room.

“you’re on,” morgan took the deal. 

“100 bucks says they start dating before the end of the case,” rossi remarked before leaving the room as well. 

“you don’t have to go undercover if you don’t want to. none of us will think any less of you,” spencer started as soon as they were alone. 

“i can handle a sting, spencer,” she chuckled, a little sarcastically. 

“are you sure? you’ve been anxious all day,” he shot back.

“are you seriously profiling me?” she scoffed, “you know what, i think you do think less of me. i’m not a child, spencer, i can handle my job.” 

she stormed out of the office, pausing to ask Hotch if she was good to leave. she left the precinct to go get into character for her upcoming operation. 

the next day, she walked into the club, donning a new nail set and done up hair. her outfit was much less than anything she would ever wear to work, trading her usual blouse and jeans for a mini skirt and a cute top. as soon as she opened the doors, she was taken back 4 years to the last time she was here. 

“y/n? is that you, baby?” she heard a familiar voice call to her. 

“did ya miss me?” she let her personality shine through her voice with a huge smile on her face. 

Laticia wrapped her arms around the girl, squeezing her tightly and whispering, “i told that fine ass man yesterday that you needed to be here with us until they catch the bastard that’s killing my girls.” 

“let’s go to the back,” y/n nodded with a smile. 

“look who’s back!” Laticia announced to the girls, “just in time to get me in this corset. let’s go, show’s in 2 hours!” 

she got dragged to Laticia’s private room before any of the girls could even get up and swarm her. she took in the room that used to be theirs. the two vanity mirrors, one decorated and one abandoned with a lone vase of orchids atop it. the pink carpet with questionable crunchy parts. the posters on the walls. Laticia took her sweatshirt off and slipped on the corset. 

“lace me up while we talk,” she said, playing music over her speakers loudly so no one could hear them. 

“what’s new here?” y/n said in detective mode. 

“King’s running shit now,” she whispered, “he’s got almost every girl in his grip, time’s are real bad over here.” 

y/n fell quiet at the mention of her ex, “are you working for him? is sadie?”

“no, no. but, you have to stop him, y/n/n. i feel like he’s at the center of all this, i know it.” 

“i know, we can’t link him to anything, though, tish. there’s nothing i can do.” 

she got her laced in and Laticia wiped her face, letting y/n speak again, “i can convince my boss to let me go undercover and work here again.”

“king wants you back, he never let you breaking up with him and leaving the club go. he’s gonna come after you,” Laticia shook her head at the suggestion. 

“and my team will take him down, babe, i got this,” she hugged her cousin and walked out to be swarmed by the old girls welcoming her back. 

after a bit of convincing, she was allowed to get on the pole the next night. she sat in the dressing room, putting makeup on by herself. she had told the team it was best she showed up just as she would when she worked here before. 

“heard you were back,” a voice said from the doorway.

her blood ran cold as she looked up through the mirror, “what do you want, king?” 

“so it’s king now? what happened to auggie?” he questioned, condescendingly. 

“you choked me,” she stated, coldly, going back to her eyeliner. 

“you know i didn’t mean it, baby,” he dropped down to her side, “i missed you, you left in the middle of the night.” 

“you choked me,” she repeated, finishing her second wing. 

the two sat in silence for a beat before he grabbed her thigh and looked up at her, “smoke with me. just like old times.”

she tensed, knowing refusal would make her look suspicious but she couldn’t smoke because of her job. she looked at him, trying to look as sad as she could. his grip tightened the longer she hesitated. 

“i don’t smoke weed anymore,” she tried to shake him off. 

she sat and stared at him and he pulled something out of his pocket, “or do you think you need something stronger to take the edge off?” 

she shook her head and he nodded, “then smoke with me.” 

she sighed and gave in, feeling his grip getting tighter and tighter, “fine, but let go.” 

she didn’t have a wire, nobody was going to knock on her door. they had cameras set up all over the club and people undercover set up around the perimeter with Spencer, Morgan and Prentiss inside the club as patrons. there was nobody except one of the girls who could interrupt this interaction and keep it casual. 

he lit the end of the joint, releasing his grip on her. she relaxed ever so slightly being free from his grip, but still shaky about smoking. she inhaled the weed, body fully tensed as she thought about her career going down the drain. she felt herself getting higher the longer he kept her in the room, her tolerance dropping significantly in the 5 years since her last hit.

“let me put your glitter on you,” he whispered to her. 

she complied, trying to keep him happy and maintain the personality he knew of her, “don’t mess it up.” 

he pulled her robe off of her as soon as she stood up. the air was so thick she couldn’t breathe, she knew in her heart that he had killed those girls as soon as he spoke to her. he grabbed the glitter gel and rubbed it over every inch of exposed skin. she looked modest given the circumstances; cheeky high waisted champagne bottoms paired with a matching glittery bra with chains hanging off of the bottom. she donned rhinestone fishnets, a wine red garter, and high stilettos. she lost her balance when he gripped her hips to glitter up her stomach. 

“you’ve stayed in shape,” he flirted.

“wish i could say the same for you,” she shot down. 

he let the comment slide, finishing up her glitter and looking her over, “you walking around like this all night?” 

“the robe is a part of the set, don’t you remember, king?” she taunted him with his street name. 

she sauntered out of the room, head in a fog from the weed. she walked up to behind the main stage, waiting for Laticia, now candy, to finish her routine. she watched from the velvet curtain as her cousin picked up the money from the stage and strutted towards y/n. 

“you got this, cinny,” she smiled at the girl, squeezing her arm. 

Prentiss was sitting at the bar, sipping a rum n coke all coke. she watched the stage intently, using her peripherals to scout out potential criminals. 

“how yall doing tonight?” she heard the owner of the club announce over the microphone, much to the disdain of the patrons, “i know you came here to see these beautiful girls dance, but i want to welcome back a very special guest to our regs of years. our girl cinnamon will be taking the stage for the first time in 4 years.” 

y/n shook out all her nerves and told herself to remember her pole routine, trusting that she can work the stage just fine. she put on her stage face and sauntered on stage on beat as wine pon you started playing. she flipped her hair to the side as she got to the front of the stage, curled hair framing her face beautifully. 

i ain’t got my eyes on you

she bent over slowly before quickly squatting down, ass to the audience. Spencer stiffened in his seat.

ain't been hypnotized by you yet

she slowly stood up, pushing out her ass. spencer tried to picture the girl in the navy blue cardigan, speed running a puzzle with him on the jet. 

ain't in here tryna find my dude

he could see the body glitter on her chest as she rolled her body. 

i take it you just like the way i wine pon you

her hips whined their way down to the floor on beat. his hand gripped his glass tighter as his loose button down seemed to strangle him. 

she worked the stage, and spencer little to her knowledge. her mind was in such a fog, she knew she was working on muscle memory and personality alone. no logic to her movements, no calculation between her position and king. she felt all her training leave her brain, becoming a vessel to the mission, returning entirely to the club in that moment. she felt hunted. 

after some polework, she noticed king’s attention slip away from her onto a girl serving drinks and she was desperate to get it back. she climbed off the stage, sitting on his lap and lip syncing the lyrics to him, “be like a museum, got you lookin’ but you can’t touch.” 

she climbed off of him and dropped to her knees, maintaining eye contact with him. spencer’s eyes tracked her every move like a hawk, both in shock and intrigue at the provocative nature that she had hidden so well. he tried to figure out if any part of this was her or if it was all for the case. before she stood, she tossed her head back, making a pornographic face as she locked eyes with spencer across the club. she could see something in his gaze, a hunger she was unfamiliar with. 

she sauntered back to the stage from the club floor to finish her routine. from then on, she was juggling spencer and king’s attention, doing everything to keep the gaze on her. her every move was to make sure the light hit the detailing on her bra, the glitter on her skin was popping, that they could see her every curve. she made sure her lines were clean and that she was drawing them deeper and deeper into her. 

when her set was over, she returned to her dressing room. she had hoped deep down that spencer would come in to talk to her about the moment of eye contact they had shared. she hoped he would come in and tell her that she wasn’t delusional and that there was something there. but she knew they were working a case, she knew he wasn’t coming. 

her door opened and in came king, “why’d you leave the club again?” 

she turned around and giggled, “i had better opportunities.” 

he grabbed her hips, “like what?”

she giggled even more, leaning back against him, “college.”

“why don’t we get outta here and you can tell me all about it?” he leaned down to her face, pressing their noses together. 

she smiled, even though his grip was tightening and it was hurting her, “okay, king.” 

he draped his arm across her waist, keeping his hand on her hip. he guided her out of her dressing room after she slipped on her long robe and her sweats. she was tying it closed as she walked through the club, catching the attention of spencer and morgan. 

“i can’t change first, baby?” she asked, stumbling to keep up with him in her heels. 

“i like you like this,” he stated, not looking in her direction. 

“i look like a hooker,” she grumbled as she covered up.

he ignored her, squeezing her closer to him to keep her from wandering away. spencer had half the mind to start following them out because of his aggression toward his friend, but he waited for her signal. it also seemed like they were going out to his car, which was in his usual spot right next to the team’s stakeout van in the alley. 

the rest of the team waited in the van, watching as y/n stumbled to the car. they couldn’t tell if she was actually under the influence or if she was struggling to keep up with the man’s pace because of her shoes. they watched as she climbed into his tinted car and waited for any sign of a struggle or signal to move in. 

y/n anxiously shook her leg in the passenger’s seat, feeling any high she had going slipping away from her with the intensity of the situation. she was sitting in the car where dozens of women had likely been abused or killed, she couldn’t breathe. king climbed into the driver’s seat a second later and just watched the girl. 

“you good?” he questioned. 

she couldn’t get anything out, thinking about the last time she was in this car, “i’m fine.” 

“nah, you’re tense,” he tried, pushing her buttons.

she shook her head and tried her hardest to relax, but she was angry at him. she was mad for herself, she was mad for the other girls, she was boiling over with hatred. she couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking he had all this power over not just her but women in general. she was so wrapped in her hatred, she didn’t see it. 

“come on, baby,” he held a powdery tablet in the shape of a playboy bunny. 

“what?” she questioned, knocked out of her gaze. 

“it’s e, baby, you used to do it all the time, remember?” he held out the suspiciously printed drug.

she tried to shake her head, but realized he wasn’t asking her. the moment she got in the car, she was in his domain, under his influence, at his beck and call. she couldn’t say no. 

so, she took it. and the next 15 minutes were a blur. 

“get off me!” she screamed, kicking at him and the driver’s side window as he knocked her head back against the passenger’s door. 

he was trying to force her into the backseat as she kicked and screamed, clawing at his neck and face. she managed to flip them, so they were fighting in the driver’s seat and her butt slammed on the horn multiple times. the team took this as her signal and moved in as he threw her into the backseat. they fought as the window broke all over them and the door flung open. 

he was pulled off of her as she crawled out of the other door. spencer was waiting on her side of the car and she immediately backed into him. 

“i need to go get my stomach pumped,” she gasped, putting all her body weight against him as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit. 

~

spencer had waited in the emergency waiting area, his leg anxiously shaking as he waited for the girl to wake up. he thought over the situation and couldn’t believe she would be so careless with her life. what if he had laced the drugs? did she even know what she took? he couldn’t fathom how she ended up in that position and why he didn’t push back against her going undercover harder.

“she’s awake,” garcia informed the team as she waited in the room with her. 

spencer stood up first, “can i go see her?” 

the team decided to let spencer go up first while garcia let them know how she was doing. 

y/n looked over at the lanky man in her doorway and a smile graced her cracked, chapped lips. she looked almost gray, but spencer could see her heart was beating strong and her lungs were full of air on the monitor, giving him comfort. she was a little embarrassed, her teeth were covered in charcoal and she had very clearly just vomited. 

“hi,” her voice raspy from throwing up. 

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” he said awkwardly, not moving from his spot. 

“me too,” she giggled, trying to make a joke. she grabbed her water taking a sip, “i’m sorry i scared you.” 

“what were you thinking?” he sat down, next to her. 

“it was me or someone else, at least the team was there for me,” she shrugged.

“no, taking the drugs. you could’ve died, you don’t know what he put in that,” he pushed, starting to get annoyed by her lack of care. 

“i had to do something, spence. i wasn’t getting out of that car without taking something with him.” 

spencer twiddle his fingers before tossing his hands, obviously getting frustrated, “that’s not the point!” 

“why are you so upset?” she furrowed her eyebrows, expecting this from hotch but not spencer. 

“because i just realized i like you and then you almost die!” spencer snapped at the girl, word vomiting his thoughts. 

the room falls quiet, minus the beeping of the monitors connected to y/n. she looked at spencer with tight lips, deciding to lighten the mood once again. 

“can you say that again when i don’t have a black smile and bruises?”