#Emily you can’t fucking do this to me

[sweetreveriee]

Just thinking about how for Luke’s parents every parents worst fear came true. Their son ran away, they haven’t had contact in months, don’t even know if he’s alive or where he is, and then one night they turn on the news and there he is, but it’s not because he’s a star. No. He is dead.

The last words that Luke and his mom said to each other were in anger. And we know that Luke’s dad wasn’t even home when he ran away as we can see him just pulling up in the driveway when Emily runs out.

Luke’s last interaction with his mom is him saying he never wants to see her again, but then up until his last days he regrets saying that and keeps looking for ways to reconnect.

But he never got to, because he died. And how did his parents find out? A news channel.

[wren-was-here]

thinking about elle greenaway. support women’s wrongs. hotch is a hypocrite. i love him but fuck him.

[tacticalgrandma]

Going straight from an Emily guest spot to a f/f ship becoming canon… critrole Knows

[morndas]

you ever just have a full panic attack because you thought a little too hard about what it would be like if someone actually wanted you

[miraclewoozi]

i don’t know if i’ve ever felt as unstable as this in my entire life.

Kinktober Day 27: Degradation Kink + Vernon

For @goblinvern

Rating: M (18+) | WC: 411

Warnings: degradation, possessive vernon, piv sex, petnames (slut, fucktoy), breeding kink lowkey

Reader Notes: referred to as a girl, has a vagina

“Look at you,” Vernon gasps as he fucks into you harshly, his cock stretching your walls and his balls smacking into your ass. “You act like such a good girl but you take it like such a slut. You love this, don’t you?”

“I love it,” you whine, nodding and squeezing around him, a rush of arousal seeping out of you at his words. 

He’s got your legs in the crooks of his arms, keeping you spread open for him so he can pound into you, and with every thrust, he can feel his cock twitching and leaking in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt. It’s glorious, mind bending, life changing, the feeling of you around him, and as he slides in and out of you, he knows he’ll never give this, you, up. 

“You’re mine now, got that? My little cockslut, my little fucktoy, mine,” he grunts, angling his hips up so he can drag the head of his cock over your g-spot as he fucks you, the pleasure making your back arch and your pussy clench. 

“Yours,” you nod again, sounding teary and almost delirious, your voice broken and your mind nearly there. 

He’s not fucking you hard enough if you can still talk, so he adds more weight behind his thrusts and grins, feeling you clamp down on him and shake as you start to get close. He’s not far behind you, already his balls are tightening up and his cock is getting even harder, and he knows that the second he cums inside you, he’ll be yours too. 

Vernon doesn’t mind the thought of that, even though this started as a casual hookup. 

He doesn’t think you mind either, not with how fast you agreed or with how you pulsed around him when he let it slip, and as he feels the bliss start to creep up on him, he accepts the fact that nothing about this is casual anymore. 

How could it be when he wants to do this forever, when he wants to talk down to you and call you loving, mean names and watch you fall apart beneath him, forever? 

And if he can’t have you forever, he needs to make the most out of right now, starting with making you break, pumping you full of his cum, and then fucking it back into you as soon as it starts to seep out. 

Kinktober Masterlist

[inkdrinkerworld]

Falling asleep on Spencer’s shoulder on the jet, snoring lightly as you finally get some sleep.

Spencer’s been waiting all case for you to sleep properly, but no amount of tea at night and magnesium rich foods helped. The only thing that did it was you wrapping the case up and going home.

Now, he can’t move his shoulder for the next three hours of the flight and finds he doesn’t mind.

Spencer spends time just watching you, taking in the way your chest moves up and down and how your cheek smushed up against his shoulder makes you look delicate and soft.

“She okay?” Derek asks, seeing Spencer’s attention on you so keenly.

“Huh?” Spencer lifts his head, almost like he’d been in a trance. “Yeah she’s okay, just exhausted.”

His hand cradles your head to his shoulder as they move through a bit of turbulence. Derek smiles, a fierce sort of older brother feeling building in his chest.

“Do you think she’ll kill me if I take a photo?” He asks, Spencer shakes his head.

“Let her sleep, Derek.” He boos but walks back to his seat sipping his coffee.

Spencer stretches for his own coffee, frowning when you stir and grab hold of his shirt. “M’right here,” he murmurs, sitting back and pressing his lips to your temple as you settle.

“Okay loverboy!” Emily coos, Spencer rolling his eyes even as he blushes. “You guys going back together? Having a quiet night in?”

Before Spencer can answer, Hotch is chiming in. “Emily,” it’s a warning but the woman lives for teasing you and Spencer.

“What? I just wanna know if she has secretly pink walls with pretty flowers.”

Spencer scoffs, like he’d ever tell them. “Yeah they’re hot pink with white ones.” His thumb strokes your cheek, brushing up against the crush of your eyelashes every so often.

It takes Emily the rest of the flight to realise Spencer was fucking with her and Spencer is comforted by the fact that you have grey walls with posters of all your favourite shows and a couple pieces of artwork, some of pretty flowers; that none of them have seen.

[luveline]

grumpy hotch x pregnant reader where he is just having an off day and the team calls reader in to deal with him and as soon she arrives in his office he just holds her and her belly as she scratches his scalp omg 🥹😭🫶🏻

You’re lounging in your husband's favourite chair with a book and an ice cold soda in your hand when your phone rings. You almost knock your tooth out pulling it up to your face without looking, wanting it to be Aaron, knowing it probably won’t be. Maternity leave can be excruciatingly boring. 

“Hello?” you ask. Your book slides down your bump. You pull it back up. 

“Hi, mom.”  

You grin to yourself. “Hi, Emily. Please tell me you’re calling because you miss me and you know I have cabin fever.” 

“I’m calling because someone misses you.” Her ire tone is unmissable and ever endearing. “I do miss you, I can’t wait for you to have your stinking baby and come back to work.” 

“That would be fun, right? We’ll get Hotch on paternity leave.” 

“It’s him I’m calling about.” 

“Is he okay?” you ask. You know if he were injured she would’ve mentioned that first. You’re not so scared of his being grumpy. 

“Moody as ever. I can’t believe I’m asking you to, but would you consider coming in for lunch? I’ll send a car, no walking, but he could really use it. He’s been biting off heads all morning.” Emily laughs down the line. “You’re the only one who can cheer him up.” 

It’s not true, but you are usually the quickest. You bid Emily goodbye with a promise to be there soon and get dressed, with no choice but to wear some maternity pants and a peplum blouse. Any excuse to see your haggard husband is one you’ll take. 

You look at your bump and you love the baby in there, but it feels weird sometimes to see yourself differently. If Aaron weren’t as nice about it as he is, you would’ve broken down by now; he’s sussed many breakdowns before they could begin, kissed fingertips and collars promising you’re just as pretty as always. And it’s reassuring, but it isn’t pretty that worries you. You’re a genuine walking beach ball right now. 

The car Emily promises is none other than Anderson himself. “He’s bullying you?” you ask him. 

He doesn’t say yes or no, but his smile is enough of a clue. You can’t get to the BAU quick enough (though you’re slower these days), pushing open the glass door with a tired sign. 

Spencer comes across you first by coincidence. “Hey!” he says, ushering you in for a hug, his cup of coffee hot behind your shoulder. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.” 

“He’s in a mood,” you say. Not without fondness. 

Spencer grimaces. “Sort of.” 

Emily attacks you from the side. “Thank god you’re here! I think he just told Morgan to go fuck himself,” she says under her breath. 

She’s just saying it to make you laugh, and it works. It’s vaguely out of character, but if you know Emily, you know she has a crass, often dirty-minded side, and it’s been a while since you’ve heard her swear. You’re still giggling when the door you’d been making your way to opens. 

Aaron emerges with an expression half bemusement and half confusion. “Honey?” 

“My love,” you say, too quiet for him to properly hear, but he can read lips just fine. 

He rushes in a very gentlemanly display down the steps to help you up them, but you’d only been going up them to see him, and you stop at the foot of them with your hand raised to his elbow. “Hey, handsome.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Just missed you, wanted to have dinner, and I figured you couldn’t say no. You know.” You touch your tummy. “Considering.” 

He peers suspiciously past your head. “Yeah?” 

You look where he’s looking, find Emily and Spencer not so subtly turned away. You laugh again, pleased when the sound makes him smile. “Come on. Take me to your office.” 

He puts a hand behind your shoulders and leads you upstairs to his office. There are papers strewn haphazard across the front of the desk, his briefcase open and muddled, his pen lost within the mess. You’re smug knowing he’d been knee deep in paperwork but abandoned it all when he heard you laughing, like he just couldn’t miss it. 

“Let me sit you down,” he says. 

“Woah, slow your roll. Why are you stressed?” 

He blinks at you. “There’s a lot to do?” 

“Sure, but why are you stressed about me? I can sit down by myself.” 

He must look at you for five whole seconds without saying a word, and the door’s not closed, there’s no answer to your question, and then he takes you into his arms for a hug. “I know you can,” he says. 

It’s admittedly hard to hug him with the bump between you. You worry you’re hurting him as your cheeks press together, crushing his shoulders under your hands. 

He usually asks first, but he knows by now that you’re two halves of the same heart, two sides of the same coin, his hand slipping between you both to nudge aside your shirt and feel your stomach. 

You close your eyes. 

“Rough day?” you ask. 

“A lot to do…” His face moves down into your neck. 

You know what he wants, moving your hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers into his hair. “I can fix it,” you say sympathetically, beginning a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp. 

“How’s that?” 

“If I go into labour right now, you get a reprieve.” 

“Honey, in the most loving sense possible, you going into labour now would not be ideal.” 

“It’s gonna happen one day, babe. And you’re gonna be just as busy then. You need to take less on or–”

“No, I know.” 

His hand slides still under your shirt to your hip, encouraging you away from him, his eyes flitting up and down your figure, checking you over. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, fingertips interested in the starchy fabric of a new suit. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, dipping down to give you a kiss. His eyes are dark, so close. “That helped. What can I get you for dinner?” 

You give a fond, pitying smile. You’re not gonna get him out of this office today, that’s for sure. “Half your sandwich, probably.” 

He kisses you again. You take it for a thank you. 

[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer��s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ��cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[illusioninfnty]

I'll Take You to Heaven

જ⁀➴ Childhood Best Friends : Day 7

feat. Josh Washington ᯓ★ A game of seven minutes in heaven has you and your best friend revealing your feelings for each other...and then some.

warnings! : NSFW 18+, takes place during prologue, dual virgins, dry humping, fingering, handjob, getting caught (kind of)

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“Ugh, c’mon, it’ll be fun!” Jess tugs at your arm, annoyed at your resistance to her suggestion—a game of seven minutes in heaven.

“There is no way in hell I’m agreeing to that,” you say. Tensions were already high in your friend group, and you didn’t want any fights happening while all of you were stuck in the Washington’s cabin for a weekend, stuck in the middle of the snowy mountains. Emily was pissed because Hannah had feelings for Mike, Chris and Ashley had feelings for each other and refused to tell the other, and you didn’t want to even think about what Jess was doing with getting close to Mike. You didn’t want to be around to witness the inevitable chaos this game would bring.

But really, you couldn’t be one to talk. You, Chris, and Josh had been inseparable since you were kids, and throughout your time of being friends with Josh you had slowly developed a crush on him. You knew you could never tell him, for fear of ruining your friendship. You valued him too much to risk that.

“You’re so booooring.” Jess rolls her eyes at you, before whispering into your ear.

“Shut up!” You yank your arm out of her grasp, heat rising to your face. “What the fuck do you know about that? That’s not why!”

Her eyes light up. “So it is true!” A smirk rises to her face, but before she can say anything else, a hand falls against your shoulder.

“Ooh, what’re we whispering about over here? Keeping secrets from dear old Joshie, are ya?”

Mortified that Josh almost heard you guys, you almost want to hug Jess for speaking first as you can’t find anything to say.

“Hey Josh. You’ll play, right?”

He grins. “You know I’m down for anything.”

“Well,” Jess turns back to you, “you need to convince her to join us. Such a party pooper.”

Josh turns to you and throws his arm around your shoulders, forcing you to lean into his side. “Aw, c’mon honey, you can’t leave me alone with these idiots.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, knowing you didn’t have it in you to deny Josh. “Let’s play this stupid game.”

Jess squeals as she grabs your arm, leading you (and Josh, who’s hand hasn’t left you) into the living room, where everyone is seated on the large carpet.

“Look who I’ve found!” Jess says in a sing-songy voice. Cheers ring out and the group opens up some space on the floor for the three of you to sit. You and Jess take a seat between Ashley and Matt, while Josh sits next to Chris, almost directly across from you.

“You’re first.” Emily says, shoving the empty glass bottle in your direction. “Since you were the last one to show.”

You didn’t have the strength in you to protest, hoping that this game will be over quickly and hopefully no fights break out. You just wanted one quiet night without any of your friends arguing with each other.

As you spin the bottle, you just pray it lands on someone who you knew you could actually deal with being alone for seven minutes, like Beth or Sam.

But as long as it didn’t land on Josh, you were okay with it.

The bottle slowly comes to a stop, and you see the neck of it facing opposite of you.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes slowly move up to see the person the bottle points towards, and you’re met with Josh’s green eyes staring right into you.

Just your fucking luck.

Jess giggles from beside you as she drags you to stand up. Josh slowly gets up across from you, strangely quiet as Chris seems to nudge him slightly.

As Josh steps his way around the group, Jess grabs you both and pulls you away. “Have fun in there, lovebirds!”

“Yeah, don’t forget to wear protection, man!” Mike calls out from behind you. You stick up your middle finger behind you and you and Josh enter the designated space for this game, a fairly spacious storage closet with only the moon providing you two with any sort of light.

As the door locks you plop down onto the floor, your head falling into your hands. You hear Josh take a seat next to you, a hand coming onto your shoulder as he rubs circles into it with his thumb.

“What’s got you down, honey? Thought we were supposed to have fun tonight.”

“It’s nothing.” You sigh, turning to your friend. “Really, I’m okay.” You wince with how fake it sounds as it leaves your lips. You hated lying to Josh, but how the hell were you supposed to tell him you’ve been in love with him for years.

“Really?” Josh raises an eyebrow. “’Cause you’ve barely spoken to me all day.”

You throw your head back, your actions of trying to make sure Josh doesn’t find out about your crush on him finally catching up to you.

“What is it then?”

His voice is firm, and you know by that tone there’s no way you can avoid the topic now.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you mutter.

“Oh yeah? Try me. We’ve known each other for years, I’m sure I’ve heard it all.”

“You haven’t heard that I’ve been in love with you since the sixth grade.”

He lets out a laugh, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Sixth grade? That’s when I had pimples and shit!”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, giving him a punch in his shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t say I had good taste, did I?”

“Even if you didn't, it sure as hell works out for me, considering I’ve liked you even longer than that.”

You grow silent at his words, taking in what he said. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless you’re fucking with me?”

“Why would I be fucking with you?” Josh stays silent and you roll your eyes. “Don’t piss me off, dude.” You go to push against him to get more space but Josh grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers with his own. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest feeling his warm palm against your own.

“Please don’t call me dude before I’m about to kiss you.”

You gasp as Josh leans in and captures your lips, closing your eyes and indulging in the sensation. The kiss feels clumsy, his lips clashing against your own in a way that exposes the lack of experience, but it's made up for with passion. Josh leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you allow yourself to fall into his embrace. Your hands come up to either side of his head, one moving to run itself through his hair as he groans into your mouth.

He pulls away just as you do to get some air. You both pant heavily, staring at each other, and a bead of saliva that connects you two breaks.

A grin breaks out across Josh’s face, and a shy smile finds its way onto yours. He rests his forehead against your own, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that for,” he murmurs.

“Trust me,” you say, “I know.”

“Four minutes!” You hear Jess from outside faintly, and you jump slightly in Josh’s hold. “There better be some action going on in there!”

“Guess we better give the people what they want.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

Your lips find his again in an instant, and this time this kiss is more desperate—more passionate. Josh’s hands run up and down your body and you moan into him, your back arching as your breasts squish themselves against his chest. You’re sitting in his lap now from how close you two are, and you start to move your hips against Josh. Josh groans into your mouth, and you take that as an opportunity to shove your tongue in there. Your tongues clash as you sloppily make out, drool escaping your lips as you clumsily figure out the best way to do it.

Josh ruts his hips up into you, keeping you still with his hands around your waist. His cock hardens against you, and the friction of his jeans rubbing into your clothed slit has you moaning into the kiss. His hands tug at your hair, and you already know that it’s going to be hard explaining the mess of it when your time is up.

You break away from the kiss as a particular loud moan leaves your lips, inside choosing to bite into Josh’s shoulder as a way to conceal your noises.

“Wait,” you say, before you and Josh go any farther. He looks up at you expectantly. “I haven’t done anything like this before,” you admit, nervous about your lack of experience.

Josh smiles, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Me neither. We can figure it out together.”

Pride washes over you at being Josh’s first, even though you know it’s not something you really have to be too happy about. But you’ve grown up with the guy, pretty much experiencing all of life together with him. It only made sense that you had each other’s firsts in this way, too.

You let yourself fall back into Josh’s embrace as one of his hands leaves your waist to reach into your sweatpants. It takes him a bit of fumbling but he eventually finds your pussy, teasing it through your soaked underwear. The squelching sounds of your wetness cause you to bury your face into the crook of his neck, embarrassed by how obvious your arousal was.

Josh chuckles at your reaction, his fingers continuing to pet you and you buck your hips into them.

“S-shut up,” you argue weakly, not wanting to see his face as he teases you.

“Didn’t say anything,” he whispers into your ear.

You figure that the only way to get Josh to stop teasing you was to beat him at his own game. Your hands reach down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and you hear a halt in breath as his fingers falter slightly in their rhythm as you stick your hand down his pants, palming at his bulge.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “feels good.”

You hum, moving your hand across his bulge as he ruts his hips against you. He leaves kisses up and down your neck, causing you to gasp and squeeze him harder, a groan tumbling from him.

“Fuck yeah, hon, keep doing that.”

You finally move your hand into his underwear, wrapping it around the full girth of his cock as you stroke him at that same pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

“Josh,” you whine, pressing your body to him as close as you can. “Gonna cum.” One of your hands digs into his backside trying to find some stability as the other continues to stroke him.

His pace quickens and broken moans escape you as you buck into him frantically, a loud moan falling from you orgasm onto his fingers.

Josh isn’t too far behind as you hear a groan from him and a warm stickiness envelopes your fingers. 

You reach around and thankfully find a roll of paper towels in the storage closet to wipe your hands with.

Josh leans up and kisses you, and you sigh into it, bartering with yourself that it’ll be the last one before you’ll begin cleaning yourself up.

“I am approaching the door.”

Chris’s voice rings out as you and Josh jump back, eyes wide as you stare at each other.

“I am about to put my hand on the doorknob.”

“Fuck,” you groan, hastily trying to fix your appearance so that you don’t look like you were two seconds away from fucking.

The door opens and Chris stands in front of you two, an unamused look across his face.

“You’re lucky I was able to convince Jess to let me do this,” Chris sighs, turning his head away for a brief moment so that you and Josh can try to make yourselves look a little bit more presentable. “Although I think I’m the unlucky one now.”

Josh turns to you, snickering. “Aww, honey. Cochise cares about us!”

“Ooh, you loooove us.” You imitate exaggerated kisses in Chris’s direction, and then give Josh a kiss on his cheek.

“Man, I’m really gonna have to be the third wheel now,” you hear him mutter to himself, although loud enough that you and Josh can still hear.

“Ashley’s still waiting for you,” you tell him, teasingly.

“Fuck you, guys,” he retorts, spinning back around and walking back towards the living room. “I’m gonna need a drink after this.”

Josh pouts mockingly as he holds your hand. “Aw man, without us? Don’t worry, we’re all gonna get drunk off our asses tonight.”

Chris shrugs. “Go crazy, I guess. I really hope you two aren’t some of those horny drunks.”

You wink at him as the three of you cross into the living room, the sounds of your friends’ voices growing louder. “Can’t promise you anything, bud.”

[g0dlyunsub]

for the night.

the flight back from a case gets delayed and the team’s forced to book rooms for the night. what a coincidence that you’re paired with spencer.

pairing :: s5!spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff, flustered spencer, this is literally just an excuse to write about spencer with crutches

word count :: 1.7k

author’s note :: one of my favorite tropes asfdfafssfsd we all know where this is going right ;)

accompanying song :: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas

“i have to admit, i am quite surprised. engine failures are extremely rare — statistically, they only occur once every 1.4 million flight hours.”

“uh-huh, very interesting.” you roll your eyes, but the smile that tempts to play on your lips is too overpowering to withhold. 

“it is!” spencer excitedly flashes you a smile. “we’re actually incredibly lucky to avoid an in-flight shutdown, which typically happens once per million flight hours-”

“reid, i think our luck might be running dry here. it’s 1 a.m., the jet’s engines are acting up, and we can’t leave portland.”

you take both of his crutches in your hands with an exasperated sigh. it’s not his fault, and you know better than to project your annoyance at him, but the disappointment of not being able to enjoy a nice, hot shower in the walls of your home has you uptight.

with an apologetic smile, you extend your shoulder to spencer; slowly, he places his hand on you, and you help him carefully descend the jet’s stairs.

the two of you are the last to join the rest of the group on the ground, and hotch sends an acknowledging nod in your direction once he sees that you’ve been assisting spencer. 

“l/n, reid, you guys okay with rooming together for the night?”

the words don’t initially register, and it’s only until spencer speaks up that you realize hotch isn’t asking – he’s confirming.

“we’re rooming in pairs?”

hotch nods, and his sidelong stare roams over spencer’s face like he’s challenging him to continue, to contest his proposal.

“emily? jj?” you pipe up this time, sending a pleading glance at both of them. they look back at you with sheepish smiles. 

“it looked like you guys were having a really good conversation back there. didn’t want to disturb you,” emily returns, slowly raising her shoulders and mouthing sorry.

spencer clears his throat and leans into your ear. “i can probably book a room at another place-”

you widen your eyes and immediately shake your head. “no, that’s not necessary, i’m completely fine with it! unless you’re… not?”

this time, spencer’s the one shaking his head fervently. “oh no, i’m entirely comfortable, perfectly content, uh- sharing a room with you.”

you display an awkward grin. “alright then, perfect.”

—

“i’ll set your bag on the table, is that okay?”

“yeah, thanks a lot.”

you heave a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you and rest spencer’s bookbag on the wooden table. spencer slowly lowers himself into a chair, and you gently lean his crutches against the walls near the door. 

you’re pleasantly surprised by the room’s decor; its soft carpet floor and mahogany picture frames hanging from the walls easily exceed your expectations for a traditional hotel room.

you’re about to make a comment commending the room’s quality when your eyes zero in on a terrifying sight.

there’s only one bed.

you do a double take, circling around the bedroom once more to check if there’s an extra mattress lying around somewhere – at this point, you really wouldn’t mind if the bed has a trundle.

“fuck me.”

“what?” 

spencer’s eyes immediately divert to you, and he stifles his reaction to your comment with a hasty cough.

you point to the bed, which prompts spencer to crane his neck to get a better view. 

“there’s only one bed.”

spencer’s eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to your face so fast you wonder if you’ve just made a grave mistake of telling him. 

he was bound to find out anyway.

“it’s okay, i’ll take-” you start, but he cuts you off short.

“the floor? not a chance.”

you press your lips together tightly and gesture to his leg. “please, take the bed. your leg… you’re injured.”

spencer looks down at the floor briefly, a light shade of pink spreading across his face. “no, we can… we can share the bed.”

you feel your cheeks grow hot at his suggestion, but a refusal fails to surface on your lips. 

moving your hands to your hips, you nod slowly. “only because you’re insisting,” you murmur.

a brief silence veils the air, and the two of you have utterly no idea what to do next — neither of you wants to be the one to crawl into bed first.

but the clock’s hour hand had just moved past the two, and you know your eyelids aren’t going to stay open for much longer.

with a weary sigh, you gesture towards the lightswitch. “do you mind if we dimmed the lights a little?”

spencer turns, almost hobbling on his leg, and flips the switch for you. the room turns dark almost instantly, but a faint light emanates from a lamp on the nightstand.

“are you, um, going to sleep soon?”

you hate to be the first one to bring it up, but you have to — you can practically feel the tiredness tempting you like a fuzzy blanket.

“uh yeah, we should sleep.” 

you watch as spencer grabs a pillow from his side of the bed and positions it near the edge of the mattress. you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he props himself onto the bed and rests his leg on top of the pillow, elevating his casted knee.

oh. as the realization hits you, you reach for your own pillow and gently place it next to his head. “here, use this.”

“that’s your pillow.” 

“i know.”

a soft chuckle sounds from his throat as spencer raises his head ever so slightly, allowing you to tuck the pillow beneath him.

“thanks,” he murmurs, and pats at the space next to him, urging you to join him on the bed.

once you’ve slipped your feet into the blanket, spencer stretches his arm to turn off the lamp and moves back to whisper a hushed good night into your ear.

you turn to say it back. “good n-”

his hand gently starts to wedge under your neck, and as he moves, strands of your hair coil around his fingers. 

he’s offering his arm as a pillow.

you lie frozen, your breath hitched in your throat, as his arm extends fully beneath you. 

“spence,” you exhale, caught off-guard by the sudden move.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about me,” he softly whispers, inclining his head towards your face.

you smile, though you doubt he can see your face in the pitch-black darkness. 

“sweet dreams,” you hum, and close your eyes to let sleep overtake you.

—

you wake up not to the sound of your alarm, not to the birds usually perched on the tree outside your window, but to the sound of spencer clearing his throat.

you think it’s a dream at first, but you can feel everything — the vibrations coming from his throat like he’s talking to you, his hands stroking a pattern on your back, his breaths tickling your hair.

you open your eyes to see spencer staring back at you with flustered cheeks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and… 

you follow his gaze and look down, only to see that your leg’s wrapped casually around his hips, anchoring him to the bed. with a panicked yelp, you immediately retract your leg and leap out of the bed, frantically apologizing to him over and over again.

“i’m so sorry about that, d-did i hurt you?”

your voice sounds scratchy from your parched throat, but how you sound right now is the least of your concerns.

spencer chuckles softly before slowly sitting up. “no, you didn’t do anything.”

you let out a relieved sigh at his response.

spencer grunts as he lifts himself up, tenderly listening to your continued apologies with a warm smile.

“by the way,” he starts, fixing his tie and reaching for his suit jacket, “we're a little late.”

“what?” you gasp, hurriedly tucking your dress shirt into your trousers, “fuck. how late?”

a pause, and then: “five minutes and twenty seconds.”

“oh my god,” you squeal as you fling your and spencer’s bag over your shoulders, “they’re probably all waiting for us.”

quickly turning the doorknob and making way for spencer’s crutches to move past the door, you rush to the elevator and hit the juddering call button.

“next time, you’re-“ you cough out as you try to catch your breath, “-you’re welcome to just push me off the bed. it’s guaranteed to wake me up instantly.”

spencer looks at you questioningly, a small grin spreading across his lips. “next time?”

you clasp a hand over your mouth. “wait no, i meant – hopefully we’ll never have to sleep in a room together ever again, but i’m saying in case-“

spencer tilts his head and lets out an amused laugh. thankfully, the elevator doors open just in time, and you’re spared the trouble of having to explain yourself further.

you bite your lips as the image of his lopsided grin lingers in the back of your mind, and the fresh regret of your words burns your face like a hot fever.

the embarrassment doesn’t end, however, as the doors open once again to reveal your team standing right outside. when the elevator’s chime echoes throughout the lobby, everyone’s heads turn to you and spencer.

you walk out with nervous steps, grimacing when hotch merely nods and announces that the plane is ready for takeoff. spencer makes his way over to derek, who tousles his hair teasingly.

“so, how’d you sleep last night?”

you freeze when rossi’s husky voice drifts into your ears.

you force out a smile. “i definitely could’ve slept better.”

“really?” he hums with a smirk, “i slept like a baby.”

“yeah, you upgraded your room, we get it, you’re rich,” you sigh, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the older agent.

once seated in your usual seat on the jet, you’re accompanied by spencer and morgan, who slump into their seats across from you.

you watch suspiciously as morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you and nudges his elbow into spencer’s sides. “so, late night, huh?”

spencer looks at you briefly, flushed cheeks failing to suppress the smile splaying across his face. 

“shut up.”

[rumplereids]

research purposes.

tags: spencer reid x reader. tech analyst!reader. mentions of 50 shades of grey. bau ladies are like gossiping wine moms. fluff & crack, bcos spencer has been thru enough already. referenced/mentioned sexual acts but nothing explicit. a/n: got inspired by aj cook implying mgg was reading 50 shades + the table read of cm where mgg’s name card was “matthew 50 shades of gray gubler” masterlist. requests are open !

The team is on the jet home from a consultation in San Francisco. Everybody’s either dozing off (Emily and Derek), eating (Rossi), or doing paperwork (Hotch, as usual). JJ is scrolling on her phone, catching up on the pictures and videos Will sent of Henry when she notices something very bizarre.

“Reid, are you reading 50 Shades of Grey?”

“Huh?” he looks up from the paragraph he was reading. Something about not making love and only fucking hard. Or whatever drivel he’s suffering for you.

“I didn’t peg you the type to be reading romance or erotica.”

“It’s for research.”

JJ quirks a brow Spencer doesn’t see. His eyes already returned to the book in his hands.

“Research? For Y/N?”

“Yep,” Spencer turns a page.

JJ continues to gape at him. She wants to press for more details, but with a shake of her head, decides she was better off not knowing the intricacies of the relationship of people she considers her siblings. No matter how baffled she is by the fact that Spencer Reid is reading 50 Shades of Grey, she doubts that she’d want to dip a toe in that rabbit hole. However, she has no qualms of bringing up this certain knowledge in the near future.

Spencer was in a rush to finish his case load for the day. It’s your day off, so he’s doing anything he can so that he can go home earlier than usual. With you out for the day, he can’t even pop into your office to bug you, talk your ear off, or have an impromptu make out session. It was so sad, really.

He’s down to his last three folders when Derek attempts to get his attention.

“Pst! Pretty boy,” Morgan whisper-yells.

“Yes?”

“How’s Y/N?”

Spencer’s a bit perplexed by the question. While it’s not unusual for Derek to worry about your well-being, he finds it a bit weird for Derek to be asking such a question at that exact moment. As far as he knows, you texted Derek 15 minutes ago about mold on the street that you insist looked like the aforementioned man. That was the last time Spencer talked to you as well.

“She’s fine. Enjoying her day off.”

There’s a big grin crawling across Derek’s face. Such a look on a man like Derek Morgan spelled trouble. He looks like he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. Spencer’s starting to get cautious.

“Anything exciting happened to you guys this weekend?” Derek asks with that shit-eating, I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin.

Spencer raises a brow.

“Not much. The usual,” Spencer flips a page in his file.

Morgan hums, “Ah, yes. The usual.”

Spencer looks up at Derek, perplexed. Having no idea what in the world Morgan is trying to get to.

“Late night?” Derek continues. Spencer shuts the folder in his hands.

“Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Spencer rolls his eyes and returns his attention to his work. Completely ignoring the chuckles coming from Morgan.

A few days later, Spencer is making his second cup of coffee at the office kitchenette, bracing himself for another round of paperwork when he hears somebody rush into the room. He turns from the counter to see you, flushed and embarrassed?

“Hey, darling—”

“Why did Penelope ask me how it’s like to have my own Christian Grey?”

“What?” Spencer puts his mug down to turn his full attention on you.

“She barged into my office, asking me what kind of BDSM we’re into!” you devolve into a sort of whisper-yell, eyes shifting as to check if there were other people around. The two of you were alone in the area.

“Why would she ask that?”

“I don’t know? Something about you researching BDSM for me?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in realization, “JJ.”

“JJ? What’s she got to do with this?”

“A week ago, on the jet home from San Francisco. I was reading 50 Shades of Grey.”

You take a pause, “You read 50 Shades? I thought you said it was complete nonsense?”

“My opinion hasn’t changed on that. But I overheard you and Garcia giggling over the movie’s actor… I wanted to see what it was all about.” He tries to be nonchalant with what he’s saying. You completely melt into a puddle.

“Oh, Spence. That is the cutest and sweetest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Spencer blushes red at the comment. All these years together, and you never fail to make him feel so lovestruck and bashful.

He clears a throat, “The BDSM in the book is so atrocious. Have you read it? Or are you only interested in the movie?”

“Just the movie,” you say with a grin.

“Their lack of communication is astounding. It’s completely far off from the BDSM we’re into.”

There’s a gasp behind you. You turn to see Garcia at the entryway of the kitchenette, one mug in hand, the other hand pressed against her chest.

“Oh , I knew it. Ya’ll nasty.”

“Penelope—” you start to speak. She cuts you off.

“I didn’t believe JJ at first when she said Spencer was reading 50 Shades for research. I mean, really, Spencer Reid and BDSM? Never thought to correlate those two things ever in my life,” Penelope rambles, and then mid-thought, she turns to you, “So you do have your own Christian Grey! That’s so sexy— I don’t think that’s the right word considering it’s Reid—” this earns a snort from the man watching amused, standing against the counter, “Have you recreated any scenes from the books?”

“Penelope!” you say, aghast.

“I mean, if Spencer’s using 50 Shades to spice up your sexy times then—”

Spencer begins to laugh. You turn to face him, in disbelief that he can laugh at your mortification.

“Trust me, Penelope,” he says, “we don’t need 50 Shades to spice up our sex lives.”

“Spencer!” You can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth right now. Penelope looks as if she’s hearing the greatest gossip scandal the world has ever produced.

“50 Shades is tame compared to us.”

“What?!” a third voice enters the conversation. Emily and JJ enter the kitchenette. Emily looked a bit confused, JJ looks just about ready to shit on you too.

You hide your face in your hands, trying to hide away from Spencer’s laughter. Emily, JJ, and Penelope start to bounce comments and choice words between the three of them. You hear words such as ‘unbelievable’, ‘kinky’, and the real kicker, ‘Dr. Reid will see you now’. You want to dig yourself into a hole.

Hands grip your hips, squeezing in silent comfort. Without removing your hands from your face, you mumble, “This is all your fault.” Spencer laughs once more, hands squeezing your hips one more time before he turns to pick up his coffee mug.

He moves to leave the kitchen, turning to you with a smug look on his face before he says, “Laters, baby.”

You refuse to acknowledge the three ladies descending on you like a pack of wolves.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna

[aubreyprc]

Par

Emily and Aaron's day keeps going from bad to worse.

And to think, when she woke up that morning her biggest fear was that the team would find out about their relationship.

-x-

Hi friends!!

This fic is a birthday gift for my bestie @aubreyprc! Thank you for continuing to be the most chaotic person I know and for being responsible for a fair number of my hangovers this year. Love you for being the maddest woman in this whole town xoxo

This fic is loosely based on a Bone's episode, and has one of your favourite tropes - a secret relationship, peril and a lot of drama- so I hope you enjoy <3

-x-

Words: 5.2k (I...got really carried away with this one)

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily secures her earrings into place as she walks into the kitchen, a smile washing across her face as the smell of coffee and toast meets her. Aaron has his back to her, focusing on her toaster so he makes sure the bread is cooked exactly to her liking, so she walks over and wraps her arms around him from behind. He sinks into her embrace, clearly having heard her coming, the way her high heels had clicked against the hardwood floor giving her away. 

“Good morning,” he says, turning to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Morning,” she replies, her hand slinking down his back as she shifts to stand next to him, taking the opportunity to stamp a kiss against his lips, “You didn’t have to make me breakfast.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her and smiles, “You say that every morning,” he says, kissing her briefly before he presses the button that releases the toast, “And like I say every morning,” he says, turning so he wraps his arms around her, his hands low on her back, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” 

She smiles, her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth as she looks up at him through her lashes. She hums as she leans in to kiss him again, “Excellent point.” 

They’d been together for almost a year, the 11 months that had passed since their first date had been the happiest of her life. Since her return from Paris, he’d been the one person who’d expected the least out of her. Everyone else seemed to want her to slip back into her old life, to be the person she’s sure died on that cold hard floor in Boston, and she’d tried. She’d tried so hard to ignore how strange everything felt, how the fear that it could all be torn away from her again was ever present, living under her skin and making her itch in a way that never seemed to shift. Aaron simply wanted her to be honest with him, to tell her when she was having a bad day, a request she now knew came from a place of understanding, their pasts now similar in a way that made her ache. 

She now liked to think, love making her softer than it ever had, that everything they’d been through had led them to this. To the relationship that she knew was it. Every first she had experienced with him also a last for her. A last first kiss, a last first night staying over, a last first I love you. She wanted everything with him. A house they could both call home. Marriage. A couple of kids who would be younger siblings for Jack. 

The only problem was no one else knew about them. 

The secrecy had been practical at first. She’d been home for just over six months when they got together, and they’d been hesitant to rock the boat, to further crack the unsteady foundation the team was slowly building under themselves at the time. Their relationship had grown around the secrecy, making it feel all the more precious because it was just theirs. Only Jack and Jessica knew and Emily knew it couldn’t last forever, that if they wanted to move forward, like she knew they both wanted to, they’d have to let the others in. 

She didn’t remember the last time that they’d spent a night apart. They most most of their time at his place, something about the homely comfort of it, Jack’s belongings strewn everywhere, made her feel safe, but they occasionally stayed at hers. Even Sergio lived at Aaron’s now, his favourite place to sleep was at the end of Jack’s bed, the little boy and the cat fast friends in a way that made her chest bloom with love. 

They’d stayed at hers last night, mostly for practical reasons. She had to go to court to be a witness for the prosecution for two separate cases that had happened to fall on the docket on the same day, so she’d needed to get clothes she usually wouldn’t wear to work. Juries seemed to warm to her a little more if she wore skirts or dresses, something about the lack of sharp edges from her usual suits that made her more likeable. It drove her crazy, and infuriated her that they were more likely to listen to her if she dressed in a certain way, but being aware of it was one of the benefits of her profession. 

It also didn’t hurt that Aaron could never tear his eyes from her legs whenever she wore a dress, his gaze skipping from her ankle to up past her knee, only to linger on the material that hid what he knew lingered beneath. 

She smiles at him as she pulls away from him and pours them a coffee each, her skin burning from where she can feel him staring at her. She turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow, her smile widening when she clears her throat and he jumps slightly, his cheeks going red when he realises he’s been caught. 

“Seen something you like?” She asks, feigning innocence as his eyes meet hers. He shakes his head and steps towards her, his hand skimming her waist as he takes one of the cups of coffee. 

“When I’m looking at you?” He says, looking her up and down again, his stomach flipping at the sight of her seemingly endless legs, on the high heels she only broke out for court and date nights, before he meets her eyes again, “Always.”

She presses her lips together to capture a laugh but she fails, shaking her head at him, “Correct answer, honey.” 

He kisses her cheek and steps away, “Come on, we need to get you fed so you can survive court.” 

Emily grumbles as she sits at the breakfast bar and he slides a plate of toast towards her, “Let’s just hope I don’t die of boredom.” 

___

He always hated it when she wasn’t in the office. 

He loved to look out of the window and see her at her desk, her presence enough to soothe any stress or tension the job could cause him on any given day. Sometimes she’d notice him looking down at her and her eyes would meet his, a sparkle in her smile that he knew was just for him and his son. Other times she’d be stuck in her work, concentrating on paperwork or teasing Derek or Spencer, flashes of who she’d been before Ian had torn through their lives peeking through. He’d loved her then and he loved her now, and he knew he’d love every version of her that would exist in their future together. 

He checks his phone, waiting for Emily to text him to say she was out of her morning session in court, and he sighs as he places it back down when he has no messages from her. He’s about to pick up his pen to continue with his paperwork when there’s a firm knock on his door, a panicked Derek pushing it open before he can tell him to come in.

“Hotch,” he breathes out, his grip on the door so tight Aaron is sure he could tear it from its hinges, “There’s been a shooting at the courthouse.” 

It takes a moment for pieces to slip into place, for him to realise the implication. The realisation forces him to his feet, his hands clasped at his side as he tries to control himself, knowing his girlfriend wouldn’t thank him for revealing their relationship this way. 

“Have we heard from Pren-”

He’s cut off by the ringing of his phone and he grabs it, relief flooding through him when he sees Emily’s name on the screen, a picture of her and Jack his contact photo for her. He answers quickly, his eyes meeting Derek’s as he speaks. 

“Emily, we just heard about the shooting,” he says, hoping Derek doesn’t pick up on the slip-up of using her first name, “What’s happening?”

Any relief Aaron feels is destroyed the moment a stranger responds instead of the woman he loves.

___

She hears him before she sees him. 

He’s loud as he demands to see her, clearly flashing his badge to get past the cordons that had been put in place. She forces a smile on her face as he comes into view, rounding the back of the ambulance she was sitting in with purpose. Her heart aches when she sees how stressed he is, barely concealed fear and panic clear in his eyes, in the tension in his shoulder. 

“Em.” 

“I’m fine, honey,” she says, reaching out and grasping his hand as he climbs into the audience, barely glancing at the paramedic who had been treating her. 

“Fine?” He exclaims, his eyebrows furrowing, “You’re in the back of an ambulance, there was someone here with a gun-”

She cups his face, cutting him off before he can spiral in a way that only she and Jack could draw out of him, “Aaron. I’m fine. I just rolled my ankle, thats all,” she says, nodding towards her now bare feet, her wrapped ankle and her heels neatly next to each other on the floor next to her, “Turns out that those stupid heels I have to wear to court aren’t the thing to dodge bullets in.” He sinks in on himself, her attempt at humour doing nothing to calm him down, and she sighs, “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.” 

“No,” he says, squeezing her hand tighter, “No you’re never stupid I was just…I was worried that’s all. Especially when I got a call from you and it wasn’t you who answered.” 

“Well,” she says, flicking her gaze to the paramedic, taking some joy out of how he looks away, clearly intimidated by her, “Well I did say I was okay to call you myself, but there are apparently protocols.” 

Aaron smiles softly, her dislike of procedure something that made him fall impossibly more in love with her every time it made itself known. His smile slips away as he thinks about what had happened here today, how he could have lost her in slightly different circumstances. 

“Do…do you think they were aiming for you?” He asks, knowing he’d trust her judgement above all else no matter how she responds. She was trained in this kind of thing well above even him, a level of skill that hadn’t ever made any sense to him until he learnt about her time at Interpol.

The way her face falls, the way she presses her lips together, is all the answer he needs. 

“Yes,” she replies, squeezing his hand, “I think they were.” 

He nods and pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly as he kisses the side of her head, “The rest of the team are back at the office trying to get to the bottom of it. It’s likely connected to one of the cases you were here for today so Garcia is looking into associates for both of the defendants,” he says, “I’m going to take you home so you can rest.”

She rolls her eyes, “Aaron-”

“We’re going back to mine,” he says, leaving no room for argument, “And then the others can update me from there.” 

She wants to argue with him, wants to insist that they go back to the office and figure out what is going on, but she can’t bring herself to. Not when he was looking at her like she could break in two, his grip on her bordering on too tight for the first time since they’d got together. 

“Okay,” she says, cupping his cheek again as she relents, “Okay, but we need to go back to mine first.” 

“Em-”

“Just to pick up some shoes,” she assures him,” her thumb running back and forth on his cheek, “I only have boots at yours, I think I’ll be regulated to sneakers for a couple of weeks.” 

He nods, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, “Okay,” he closes his eyes and swallows thickly, “I love you.” 

She smiles and moves her hand to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. She ignores how she can feel the paramedic looking at them, his curious gaze on her back. 

“I love you too,” she replies, kissing him quickly before she pulls back to look at him, “Let’s go home.” 

She lets him fuss over her. 

He hands her a pair of his socks that he keeps in his go bag so she has something on her feet, the thought of putting her heels back on enough to make her grimace. When they get back to her place he wraps his arm tightly around her waist, guiding her to the living room and helping her onto the couch. She grasps onto his jacket and pulls him down to join her, resting her head on his shoulder as she traps him in place. 

“Sit here with me for a minute,” she insists, curling around him, his arm hugged to her chest. She can feel the stiffness in his embrace, how tense he is. He was usually relaxed when it was just the two of them or when they were with Jack, an ease to his frame she hadn’t known he was capable of until she started spending time with him out of work. She presses a kiss to his shoulder, “Are you okay?” 

A laugh catches in his chest and he shakes his head, “You were the one who got hurt,” he replies, “I’m fine.” 

She hums, deciding to let it go for now. She knew him almost better than she knew herself. He needed to work things out by himself, a hangover from years of having to do so. She was the same way, and slowly but surely they were getting better at not needing to turn inwards before they each other help. 

“Have you heard from the team yet?” She asks, running her hand up and down his arm. 

He nods, “They are interviewing both Grisham and Haig,” he says, blowing out a breath, shaking his head at the mention of the men they’d once hunted that she’d been due to give evidence against today, “And their families. We are leaning more towards Haig at the moment, Grisham’s MO was always explosives, if whoever is trying to stop you wanted to make a point that’s what they’d do.” 

She nods in agreement, “Well, I don’t fancy getting blown up so is it weird I’m grateful?” 

He chuckles, his real laugh that never fails to make her heart soar, and he shakes his head at her, “I understand what you mean, so if it’s weird what does that say about us both,” he kisses her temple, “Want something to drink before we head to mine?” 

“I think there’s some Diet Coke in there,” she replies and he smiles and stands up, his hand firm on her thigh.

“There is,” he says as he walks towards her kitchen, “I got some when I did your grocery shopping last week.”

She moans in delight as she turns to look at him, her smile wide as he places his hand on the fridge door, “I knew I love you for a reas-”

She’s cut off as he pulls the fridge door open and he’s thrown backwards, the explosion that tears through her kitchen seemingly happening in slow motion as he hits the ground with force. The sprinklers almost immediately are triggered, soaking her kitchen with water as she jumps up off the couch.

“Aaron?”

He doesn’t respond, his silence only pushing her closer to him, somehow avoiding standing on any the debris that had once been her kitchen counter as she runs over to him, the pain in her ankle not even registering. She lands on her knees by his side and touches him, ignoring the shake in her hands as she turns him just enough to see his face. 

She shakes him and he doesn’t flinch, making panic fill up her chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“Aaron?”

____

She’s barely been at the hospital for an hour when the team arrive, their presence both a comfort and a curse, forcing her to transition into a concerned colleague from a concerned girlfriend. 

“Emily,” Penelope says, sitting down next to her and wrapping her arm around her shoulders, “Are you okay?”

She nods, clearing her throat as she looks at her friends, “Yeah, I was in the living room, Aaron…Hotch took the blast.” 

“What was Hotch doing at yours anyway?” Dave asks her, his hands in his pockets where he stands in front of her. 

“He dropped me home,” she says, looking up at Dave, purposely ignoring the almost smug smile on his face, “He opened the fridge to get me a drink. You know what he’s like,” she says, her focus returning to her hands, “He’s a gentleman through and through.” 

JJ nods, “That’s true enough,” she says, “We’ve shifted our focus onto Grisham because of the explosion.” 

“How’s Hotch doing? What about his hearing?” 

She blows out a breath at Spencer’s question. It had been her first concern too, something she’d mentioned to the doctors when they’d arrived by ambulance. “They said they’d test it, but he did wake up in the ER and he could hear me.” 

It felt ridiculous that one of her first thoughts if he did lose his hearing was that he’d never hear her say she loved him again, or hear the voices of their future children. It was easier to worry about that, about things that may never come to pass, instead of the fact someone could have killed him in their pursuit if killing her. 

“Family of Aaron Hotchner,” A doctor says as he enters the room, cutting off any further conversation. 

“I’m his medical proxy,” Emily answers as she stands up, aware of the team all looking at each other curiously out of the corner of her eye, “Is he okay?” 

“He’s got several cracked ribs, a broken collarbone, and a concussion. He’ll be in a lot of pain for a while, but he’s okay.”

The relief is palpable, her hand on her chest, “Can I see him?” 

The doctor nods, “Of course, I’ll have someone come find you to take you to him in a moment.” 

“Thank you so much,” she replies, blowing out a steady breath as she turns back to the team, unsurprised by the different levels of curiosity painted across their faces. 

“You’re Hotch’s proxy?” Derek asks, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“He’s mine too,” she explains, “We switched it a little while back, so if something happens Jessica and Jack wouldn’t be worried before they need to be.” The half-lie rolls off of her tongue with ease, but she doesn’t have the energy to figure out if they believe her or not. 

Thankfully she isn’t left with enough time to worry about it when a nurse walks into the room to escort her to Aaron’s room. She limps all the down the hallway, the pain in her ankle returning now her adrenaline was disappearing. She thanks the nurse as she steps into Aaron’s room, and she barely hides a gasp when she sees him.

He was covered in bruises, the worst of them peeking out from under this hospital gown and the immobiliser that was holding his arm to his chest to stabilise his collarbone. He had cuts on his face, the largest of which was above his left eyebrow, and his right cheek was bruised. 

“Surely I can’t look that bad,” he quips, and he smiles at her when their eyes meet. She sighs, unsure how they went so quickly from her making jokes about an injury to make him feel better to the other way around. She wanted nothing more than to go back to that morning, to pull him back into bed and cancel their plans for the day. He sighs and lifts his good hand as high as he can, the pain in his ribs meaning he can barely lift it from the bed, “Come here, sweetheart.” 

She walks across the room and sits on the edge of the bed and she wraps both of her hands around his, “I hate today.”

He chuckles and squeezes her hand, “It’s not exactly on my top five list either,” he says, watching how she keeps her gaze on their joint hands, “Are you okay?” 

She laughs dryly, and shakes her head as she looks up at him. She presses her lips together as tears press at the back of her eyes, “I think it was you who said ‘I’m fine it’s you who got hurt’ only a couple of hours ago.” 

He sighs, “Em…” 

She releases one of her hands from around his and wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “You got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because someone is trying to get a serial killer out of being tried for his crimes,” he says, smiling softly at her, “It’s not your fault,” 

She wishes she could believe him, that the guilt that was churning in her belly would go away, but instead, she nods and wipes another tear from her cheek, “The team are looking at Grisham in more detail because of the explosion,” she says, “And my kitchen is a mess.” 

Aaron nods, “I don’t want you by yourself tonight,” he says, already sensing her argument, “I mean it, Em. Otherwise, I’ll check myself out of here against medical advice and make sure you aren’t alone.”

He knows he’s playing dirty, that he’s using her love and concern for him against her, but it works, she relents by nodding. 

“Okay,” she says, leaning down to kiss him, “I doubt Derek would have let me go anywhere alone tonight anyway,” she pushes his hair off of his forehead, “Want me to stay until you fall asleep?” 

“Always,” he replies, trying to sit up for a kiss but failing. She smiles and leans down to kiss him, “Since your kitchen has been blown up,” he says as she pulls back, his breath skipping across her skin in a way she’d worried she’d never feel again, “Maybe you should just officially move in with me.” 

She smiles and kisses him once more before she pulls back, “We’ll talk about it once you can sit up straight by yourself, okay?” She says, even though she knows her answer could only ever be yes. 

“Okay,” he replies, leaning back against his pillow, his smile turning sleepy from all the medication in his system, “Love you.”

“You too,” she replies. She stays until he’s fallen asleep, careful when she stands up from the bed so as not to disturb him. She presses a kiss to his forehead before she steps away and leaves the room. She gives herself a moment to lean on the wall, her palm against her forehead as she blows out a breath. “Fuck this has been a long day.” She steps away from the wall as she decides to find the team, ready to leave the hospital for the evening, already mentally counting down the hours until she can come and see Aaron again.

“Agent Prentiss?”

She turns to look at a man in scrubs just to her left. There was something about his face that was familiar, but she couldn’t place it, sure he must have been one of the many nurses they’d encountered in the ER when they arrived, “Yes?”

“There’s just a few more pieces of paperwork I need you to sign.” 

She nods, letting him guide her away from the hallway, towards a more isolated part of the hospital floor. It’s only when she realises they are alone she starts to question it, her usually quick mental reflexes dulled by everything that had happened since she’d woken up that morning. 

“Where are we-”

She’s cut off as a hand goes over her mouth, and a needle goes into her neck. She tries to call out for help, but her head starts to swim and her eyes drift shut, plunging her into darkness.

___

She wakes up quickly, startled as she tries to remember falling asleep. Her arms ache and she looks up to see her hands are cuffed together and hooked over a metal bar above her head, she tries to pull at them, to loosen the shackles but she fails. She tries to push down the panic that being handcuffed stirs in her belly, and she shakes her head in an attempt to physically try and rid her brain of the comparison to when Ian had held her captive.

“You’re not going to get out of them.” 

She turns her head, the movement making her neck ache from the strain in her arms, and is only partially surprised to find the man who she now knew had been impersonating a member of hospital staff.

“You should let me go,” she says calmly, “I’m a federal agent, you’ll be in a lot of trouble for this.” 

He chuckles as he steps towards her, pulling a gun from the waistband of his pants, “You’re very confident for someone who has a gun pointed at them.”

“My team will find you,” she says, proud of herself for the steadiness of her voice, how it doesn’t shake.

He shrugs, “I think they are likely distracted by the other case you were due to talk about today,” he smirks, “The explosion was the perfect decoy.” 

It clicks in her head, why she’d found his face familiar when he approached her at the hospital. He was the brother of Haig, the man she’d spoken against as part of the prosecution’s case that morning. He’d been one of the few people sitting behind Haig in the gallery, his eyes fixed on Emily the entire time she spoke. 

“You’re Haig’s brother,” she says, and he clenches his teeth. 

“His name is Josh.” 

She nods and swallows thickly. He was unravelling in front of her, clearly not having thought any of this through beyond hurting her.

“How did you know about Grisham?” she asks and he laughs at her.

“I used to work for the DA’s office. They laid me off when my brother was arrested. When you arrested him. I still have contacts there who let me know about the other cases.”

“What’s your name?” She asks, trying to calm him down, the shake of his hand making nerves roll through her. 

“Stuart.” 

“Stuart, this isn’t going to help him,” she says, trying to reason with him, the ache in her arms and shoulders turning into pain that burned through her upper body, “This is only going to make things worse.” 

Stuart steps towards her again, his finger over the trigger, “If you don’t talk again tomorrow he won’t go down.” 

“That isn’t true,” she says, sucking in a breath as he steps even closer, the barrel of his gun against her abdomen, “Even if I’m not there, someone else will be called as an expert witness.”

“Who? He sneers, his breath smelling of whiskey and smoke as it washes over her, “Your boyfriend who almost had his face blown off?” 

The door behind them bursts open and Stuart turns, his gun raised and pointed towards it, but he doesn’t have a chance to pull the trigger. A gunshot echoes throughout the room and he falls to the ground, his gun clattering across the metal floor. Emily blows out a breath and looks up, a sound she can’t name catching in her chest as her eyes meet her boyfriend’s. 

The team was behind him, their guns raised, Derek clearly the one who had fired the shot that had taken out Stuart. 

“Aaron,” she breathes out as he walks towards her, clearly in agony with every step he takes towards her. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, one she’s sure belongs to Derek, and his arm is strapped to his chest under it, “You’re meant to be in hospital.” 

“Like I’d stay there once I found out you were missing,” he says, his eyes flicking up to her cuffed hands. 

He knows he doesn’t have the strength to raise his one good hand to unhook her arms that way, so he ducks under the cuffs and into the circle of her arms, He stands up straight and her arms shift from where she’d been hooked to over his shoulders, and he lowers them both to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” 

They speak simultaneously and then they both laugh, which pulls a wince out of Aaron. 

“How about we agree we don’t ask that question until at least the end of the day?” She says, and he nods, resting his forehead against hers as he tries to get his breath back.

“Sounds good to me,” he replies, stamping a kiss against hers.

“How did you figure it out?” She asks and a throat clears from behind them, and she suddenly remembers the team is there too. 

“We watched the CCTV the minute we realised you were missing, Bella,” Dave says, walking over and undoing her cuffs before pocketing his key again. She lets the cuffs fall free and unwraps her arms from around Aaron’s neck but she doesn’t move away, “It didn’t take too long to put together.”

“And you let him check himself out of the hospital?” She asks, her face incredulous as she purposely ignores how Aaron protests next to her. 

“Have you ever tried to argue with him, Princess?” Derek asks, his hands on his hips, “We can’t all get away with it like you do.” 

She groans as he winks knowingly at her and she looks back at her boyfriend and leans in to talk to him, “I think we’re busted.”

He smiles at her, “Sweetheart, I think we were the moment your fridge exploded in my face.” 

“Oh please,” JJ says, rolling her eyes at her friends, “We figured it out the moment Hotch ran out of the bullpen like a bat out of hell this morning when he found out about the shooting.” 

She looks up at her friends with her eyebrow raised in challenge, “Look, we’ll answer all your questions later,” she says, her hand linked with Aarons, “But can you give us a minute?” 

They all nod and Emily is grateful that they know when to push and when not to, and she smiles at Aaron when they back up enough to give them privacy. She leans in and stamps a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thank you for coming to save me,” she says, pushing some of his hair from his face, her fingers tracing over one of the cuts on his forehead. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replies, “Although if we could avoid making a habit out of it when one of my arms is out of action I’d appreciate it.” 

She laughs and presses her forehead against his, “Deal.” She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to breathe him in, the scent of him lingering under the smell of disinfectant and blood. 

“Em?”

“Yes, honey,” she says as she pulls back to look at him.

“I could really do with going back to the hospital now.” 

-x-

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[littleslaywrites]

i wanna let him unwrap me | spencer reid x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: gifts aren’t the only thing being unwrapped on christmas morning

word count: 1.3k

cw: smut, afab reader, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, creampie, cockwarming

Wrapping paper littered the apartment floor. All the presents had been unwrapped. Well, all but one. You had a surprise for Spencer in store. When he’d opened his last gift, you leaned in to kiss him, and instructed him to wait for you to get his final present from your room.

It had all started with a conversation you had with Penelope.

“I don’t know what to get him,” you said, exasperated. “I mean, I’ve gotten him a few books, but he’s read almost everything, so I got some tea and other little things, but I feel like he needs something big.”

“You can be his gift,” Penelope responds, causing you to playfully roll your eyes.

“I appreciate the flattery, but I’m really out of ideas here.”

“No really,” she says, “let him unwrap you, if you’e picking up what I’m putting down.”

“Penelope!” you laugh. 

“But really, you should consider it,” she shoots you a wink before going off to Emily’s office to deliver some files.

Despite your fake shock, the idea got into your head. You called Penelope one weekend, telling her you needed a shopping buddy for Spencer’s gift. She was over the moon that you used her suggestion, and helped you pick out the perfect lingerie to surprise Spencer with. The two of you settled on a red set with a bow, as you could take the “unwrapping” suggestion literally.

Coming out of your room, you see Spencer sitting under the tree, reading one of the books you’d given him. He doesn’t see you at first, so you say his name to get his attention. When he sees you, he freezes for a moment. No matter how many times he looks at you, it’s still like the first time you were undressed in front of him. 

“Wow,” is all he says, swallowing thickly. 

You walk over to him, bending down to kiss him. He sits still, not yet over his surprise. When he finally reaches out, it’s a light touch with his thumb on the exposed part of your breast. The touch gives both of you goosebumps, and you sink deeper into the kiss. 

You grab his jaw, pulling him impossibly closer to you. He does the same, bringing a hand to your jaw. His other hand is still grazing over the edge of your bra. His fingers get greedier, taking a whole tit in his hand and massaging it. 

You pull away from the kiss, signaling him to come up to your level. He gets up clumsily, eyes fixed on you. Once he’s up, his hands are back on you, this time going to your backside, indicating for you to jump. You do, wrapping your legs around him. As he carries you to your bedroom, he’s resisting every urge to lay you down and fuck you in the middle of the hallway. But he knows he can’t give up the vision of you in that lingerie so easily.

He lays you down on the bed, hair spreading around you to form a sort of halo; fitting, as you look even more angelic than usual. He gets on his knees in between your spread thighs, hands running up and down your legs as he studies the way your tits sit in the bra. 

Slowly, his fingers trail up to the edge of your panties, stroking the soft material. He touches you, able to feel your arousal even with a barrier. You whimper, his touches putting butterflies in your stomach. 

He pulls the material aside, running his finger through you to gather your wetness. Even the feathery touches are enough to have you bucking up, and he smiles down at you as he places a hand on your hip to hold you down. Unable to resist, he sucks at his own finger, savoring your taste. 

He goes back to working on your pussy, fingers skillfully teasing your clit. Obviously, he remembers everything that’ll have you squirming. His thumb is rubbing your clit, and it’s taking all his strength to keep you from wriggling off the bed in pleasure. 

The way you’re whining tells him that you’re close, so he puts two fingers inside you. You chase the feeling, thrusting up as much as you can, pressure from his palm on your clit. He hooks his fingers inside you, and your orgasm overtakes you, flooding the already soaked panties. 

He pulls his fingers from you, hand gently rubbing the hip he was holding you down by. He kisses you, your eyes still fluttering as you recover. 

He slowly drags your underwear off, watching the red fabric make its way down your legs. He hovers over you, stroking himself slowly. You’re breathing heavily, both from your previous orgasm and in anticipation of him filling you up.

He lines himself up with your pussy and slowly pushes his tip in, throwing his head back. He’s already whimpering, unable to move more, in danger of cumming before fully inside you. Somehow, he’s never gotten used to the way your walls draw him in. His head falls forward, brown curls hanging down over his closed eyes. You know to let him adjust. As cute as he is when he cums early, you want to savor this moment.

He eventually slides in more, until he’s about halfway inside you. You reach up for his jaw, and he kisses you while he pushes in fully. You both moan, sound muffled by each other’s mouths. He can feel your walls grabbing at his cock, ready for more.

He begins to thrust slowly, enraptured by the bouncing of your tits beneath the red bra.

“Unwrap me,” you say, and Spencer’s in danger of cumming again. He reaches one hand down, untying the bow, revealing the peaks of your hard nipples. He brushes his thumb over one before taking the bra fully off. 

He starts thrusting harder, hungry for the way your tits are rippling beneath him. You feel the tip of his cock massaging your insides, filling you up in the perfect way he always does. You truly believe the two of you were made for each other, and the way he fits inside you only supports that claim. 

Your back is arching off the bed, wanting as much of his as possible. He’s groaning with every clench of your walls. 

Nearing another orgasm, you wrap your legs around him, locking him in place and allowing him to fill you at a deeper angle. He’s rutting into you at this point, rhythm lost. Knowing he’s close, he brings a hand to your clit, stroking it. His touches bring you to your peak, and you let out a strangled moan. The squeeze around his cock brings Spencer to his own release, and you can feel his cum painting your walls as you whimper and writhe under him. He shushes you, pulling you close to him as he pulls out of you. 

You come back to earth as he peppers kisses all over you. “I take it you enjoyed your present,” you say, twirling one of his curls around your finger. He hums in response, focused on placing a kiss on every inch of your face.

“We should probably get up,” you say, giving his hair a tug. 

Spencer shakes his head. “I think it’s perfectly reasonable for us to go back to bed,” he says, holding you down in his hug. “It’s still before noon.”

You sigh, giving in to his embrace, running your hand along his back, still filled by his cock. Before you know it, he’s falling asleep on top of you. He serves as your personal weighted blanket, comforting you into your own sleep. You remember that you’ll have to thank Penelope for her idea, buried in Spencer’s arms as you close your eyes.

author's note- i'm home for the holidays!! i am back on the west coast so i'm two hours ahead of my timezone at college. i will start working on requests when my holiday event is over so keep sending them in!

[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[prentitsluvr]

She Tastes Like Heaven

Emily Prentiss x Reader Warnings: Smut, fingering, mommy kink, oral sex (r receiving) Summary: Emily calls reader into her office after everyone else has gone home Word count: 963

Your pussy throbbed as you watched Emily in her office, leaning her head back and stretching. Your eyes trailed down her neck, mind drifting to an image of you pressing your lips against the soft skin, leaving a trail of marks downwards…

“Y/N,” her voice snapped you out of your reverie. You hadn’t noticed her leaving her office. “My office. Now.”

Shit, she sounds pissed.

Sighing, you stood. It was late, and really you should’ve gone home already, and the only people still there were you, Emily and JJ, who had said she was about to leave anyway. You passed the empty desks as you walked up to Emily’s office, knocking softly on the door.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door, please.” she said, drawing the blinds. Shit, you must really be in trouble.

Closing the door, you tilted your head. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no.” she smirked, sauntering over to you. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What did you–”

“I saw you staring at me. Licking your lips. Biting them.” she murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear as she leaned in, lips brushing your ear gently. “Do you want me?”

Mouth suddenly dry, you nodded, “Yes.”

“Good.” she smiled softly, her hand trailing down your arm until it enclosed around your wrist, and she pulled you over to her desk – which conveniently was free of all the papers you’d seen there earlier that day.

Wordlessly, she pushed you so that you sat on the edge of the desk, and her hands rested either side of you as she leaned in. 

“You’re so pretty… I can’t wait to feel you squirming beneath me.” she muttered, and you let out a quiet, involuntary moan.

“Do you like that, pretty girl?” she teased, and you gripped one of her wrists, gazing into her eyes.

“Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Kiss me. Touch me. Anything.”

Now with your permission, her lips were quick to attach to yours, and her hand snaked around to the small of your back, slipping under your shirt and splaying across your skin.

Desperate for more of her touch, you broke the kiss and pulled your shirt off, tugging her closer, and you went to unbutton her shirt.

“Uh-uh.” Emily smirked, holding your wrists as she took in your pouting expression, amused. “Not yet, babygirl. Later. Right now, I wanna make you feel good.”

Letting out a soft whimper, you pulled her in for another kiss. Her hand palmed your breast, squeezing gently, making you moan into her mouth.

“Please.” you whined. “Please fuck me.”

Emily let out a soft hum of approval, and kissed down your neck as her hands reached around to unclip your bra.

“If you insist.”

Her lips wrapped around a nipple, and your head dropped back as you bit your lip, trying as hard as you could not to be loud. As she licked and sucked your nipple, her hands worked to unzip your pants and you helped her by lifting your hips so she could slide them down, along with your panties.

She groaned as she slipped a hand between your thighs, pressing her palm into you.

“Fuck…you’re so wet for me, you’re practically dripping.”

Her fingers glided through your arousal and you let out a strangled moan.

“Lie back, pretty girl. Let mommy take care of you.”

The use of the word mommy completely short wired your brain. Laying back, you opened your eyes to look at her, and she grinned up at you as she tugged on your legs gently, pulling you towards her.

“Such a pretty young thing.” she cooed as she spread your legs – and then she leaned in and her lips were wrapping around your clit and it took everything in you not to scream. Emily dragged her tongue through you, moaning and murmuring something about how good you taste.

“In-inside, please.” you begged, and she chuckled softly, flicking your clit with her tongue as she sunk two fingers into your pussy. 

“S’that what you wanted, princess?” 

“God – fuck – yes,” you moaned as she started thrusting her fingers in and out. Soft, wet noises filled the room as you bit your lip hard, and she circled your clit with her tongue.

“You gonna cum for me princess? Gonna cum for mommy?”

“So close mommy.” you whimpered, your hand reaching down to grasp her hair and pull her further into you. She let out a small groan at the noise and that was enough to push you over the edge.

“Fuck – mommy – I’m gonna–” 

Spasms shook your body as you threw your head back, arching your back and pulling her face further into your pussy as you came around her fingers, letting out a strangled moan.

“God, you taste divine.” she murmured as she cleaned up your pussy, dragging her tongue through your folds. You relaxed your grasp on her hair and she grabbed your hand, pulling you up and kissing you softly.

“I wanna take you home with me tonight, is that okay baby?” she asked, and you nodded, kissing her again.

“Please.” you bit your lip. “I need to make you cum too.”

Emily bit back a moan, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She took a breath and grabbed your clothes, helping you get them back on.

“My work is all wrapped up. Head down to my car and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” she instructs, running her fingers – not the ones that were just inside of you – through your hair, smoothing it out.

Heart racing, you kissed her again and left, hoping you didn’t look like you’d just been fucked.

You didn’t catch JJ’s small smirk from the other side of the room as she watched you hurry away.