#This was a year before everything went to hell for BaU

[kami-scribbles]

A joyous occasion in the Afton Household

[writersblockedx]

A Rekindled Kind of Love

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer and Y/n hadn't talked since the Summer before college and then he sees her name as the only survivor in their latest serial killer case. Warning - violence, drinking Words - 3.6K

A/n - It's be a while! I've had a surge of inspiration lately since becoming a little obsessed with character ai lol and thought to write this one into a little one-shot.

masterlist

Spencer was lying if he ever called any day at the BAU normal. Between serial killers, sadists, and everything else in between, the boy had a blurred definition of normal. So, he expected anything - or so he thought. When he entered the meeting room that morning, he hadn't expected the name of Y/N Y/L/N to pop up.

"We've got three victims and, weirdly, one survivor." Garcia started to explain, clicking through the victim's dead bodies, the woman squirming at just a glance of the photos. "Whoever this sicko is, he's going after journalists. His latest victim, Y/n Y/l/n, was actually able to get away before he had a chance to kill her."

Spencer stopped. His gaze snapped up as Garcia clicked once more and he caught sight of the girl he once knew. Only now was she older, and her expression was stern. The unsub had left her features tainted, early bruises and several cuts littering over her. "She's pretty distraught says doctors, but she's alive and well."

He couldn't stop staring at her, memories of high school, of that last summer, of their blissfully ignorant friendship fueling his feelings. This was not normal. None of what he felt was normal - not for him away. "He stabs them?" Emily observed, all of the team had yet to clock onto the haze Spencer had suddenly found himself in.

Garcia hummed, "Yep, as many times as it takes before they...you know...die."

"He's aggressive, he's got no remorse for these victims," JJ spoke, glancing between her file at the screen in front of her.

"Not only are they all journalists, but they're female journalists too." Rossi added. "There's got to be some reason for that too."

Hotch nodded, "Either way, we should take Y/n into our care. She's the first to get away, I doubt he's happy about that-"

The shaggy-haired boy couldn't seem to take it. The way Y/n had gotten herself mixed in like she was any other victim, like she wasn't once the most important person in Spencer's life. "Excuse me," The boy stood abruptly, not giving any reasoning to the team before he practically ran out, gasping for breath.

The team were left with nothing. Their expressions moulding into ones of confusion, and puzzlement, "What's up with him?" Morgan was the first to question. But it was only met with the same uncertain expressions and a shrug from Hotch.

Morgan took it upon himself to stand, following Spencer out into the adjacent hallway where Spencer was panic pacing. A hand swooped through his hair as his thoughts raced. "Hey, kid, slow down," Morgan soothed. He hadn't realised the arrival of Derek until he spoke. Spencer turned, swallowing the lump which had since grown in his throat. "The hells going on with you?"

He took a breath. He evened his lungs and took a moment before confiding, "I- erm- I know her, Y/n Y/l/n, the survivor." He explained and that was enough for Morgan to understand. "Well, I suppose I knew her, we lost contact when we went to college, but we had been friends."

Morgan gazed back into the meeting room, "Reid, it's okay. She's okay, you know? She survived."

His head shook, "It doesn't matter. You heard Hotch, she's still a target." She wasn't safe and that fact was only nagging at Spencer.

"Alright, alright, how about I talk to Hotch? We'll go to the hospital, you make sure she's okay yourself?" Reid had barely agreed before Morgan walked back into that meeting room.

Of course, he wanted to make sure she was okay. But that also meant seeing her, after all these years. Spencer didn't know what had changed - if anything had. And he didn't know which option was scarier. Either way, he soon found himself at the hospital, waiting at the reception desk as a doctor went to find her.

His feet were tapping, his nerves obvious to Morgan. "Reid, calm down, she's gonna be alright," He said, but no words from Morgan or a doctor was going to help. He needed to see her.

"It's not just that I'm worried about." What if everything had changed? What if nothing had? What if-

He turned and found his eyes on her. She still had that same look. That same smile, the same soft gaze, the same ease about her that Spencer craved. But this was the very moment he feared.

She wandered up to him, quickening her pace as much as she was able to considering her state. "Spencer," She said his name like a sigh of relief. Before he realised it, her arms were wrapped around his neck, melting into his touch as if no time had passed.

"Hi," He breathed into her ear; she was safe. The hug didn't last long enough. How could it? They had 12 years of missed hugs.

"I can't believe you're here, the doctor said a profiler and then said it was Doctor Reid and I-" She trailed on, "I don't know why I was so surprised. Of course, you made it big."

Spencer shrugged, "I wouldn't call this big." The boy became sheepish, almost flushed and Derek Morgan had certainly taken notice. "I'm sorry I stopped calling and I should have-"

"Oh, Spence, save it," She chuckled lightly, "I could have picked up that phone just as well as you had. I just wish we could have met under different circumstances."

He nodded, "Yeah, well about that," Spencer turned to bring Derek into the conversation, "This is Agent Morgan, he's erm gonna help."

Morgan sent his usual cheeky smirk as he did with any pretty lady, "It's good to meet you, sweetheart. Glad to hear you're feeling better too."

Spencer hadn't expected anything less from the man. "Look, I don't know if the doctor explained it to you, but we're under the belief that this unsub may still be targeting you."

"Unsub?" She reiterated.

"The killer that went after you." Morgan answered, "Unknown subject, unsub for short."

"We erm- we have to take you in, make sure you're safe kind of thing," Spencer explained, fidgeting with his fingers as she glanced between them and the girl in front of her.

Her pupils grew worrisome, "You think I'm still in danger?"

Spencer hated that word. Even the thought of Y/n in danger made his spine shiver. "You're the first to get away, we erm- we don't think he'll be very happy about it. He could lash out, many unsubs, new unsubs especially, a victim getting away could be like a double stressor, he could be on a rampage, he could be doing nothing but think about getting to you." He realised he was rambling and his words were only worrying the girl more, "Sorry, I just, I want to make sure you're safe."

But Y/n understood, "It's alright, Spence. I'll go grab my things."

With that, a rush filled the girl as she turned her back on the two agents, wandering back into the hospital room she had come from. Spencer's eyes hadn't left from where her figure was once standing. This was personal for him - even if he hadn't seen the girl for years now. "She's not just someone from high school, is she?" Morgan realised as he observed Spencer.

He turned to him as if he had just left the trail of thoughts in his mind, "Hm?" He turned back to look at Morgan.

His response had only made Morgan smile, "Y/n, she seems more to you than that."

"It was..." The boy thought back to it, to that Summer, he didn't know how else to describe it, what they had, her. "Complicated."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

12 Years Prior, Las Vegas

Y/n always had something Spener didn't: Popularity. Well, in a way. Spencer was cast away from many of his peers. A social reject. While, Y/n was a social butterfly of sorts. She took to a crowd with ease. The type of girl that could make friends with anyone.

The boy had certainly hit the jackpot when he was assigned to tutor her. Over the course of several sessions, they had bonded over literature, future college plans and, surprisingly, Y/n's distaste to certain 'jocks' - as the social hierarchy liked to describe them as.

She was the only reason Spencer turned up to the end of year house party. Crowds weren't his thing, drinking neither. But she...she was worth it.

"Spencer!" The girl gleamed as he wandered into the house. 

He didn't belong at all. His shoulders were stiff, his glasses at the edge of his nose. But, despite such, Y/n still took him into a longing hug. "H- Hi." He greeted, his eyes flickering all over the place. From the demolished kitchen to the living room where drunken teens were dancing on top of couches and coffee tables.

Her brow raised, "Come on, we'll get you a drink." Her hand slipped into his, bringing the boy back to his attention: her. "You do drink right?" She checked as she guided him towards said demolished kitchen.

"Erm, not a heavy drinker but, sure I can have one."

"You sure?" She spoke ever so softly, "You know you don't have to."

"Just one." He offered her a smile.

She grasped a few bottles: vodka, rum, tequila. "Pick your poison."

Spencer had simply shrugged, a chuckle at the tip of his tongue, "I'll have whatever you're having."

"Rum it is!"

She poured the two the same drink - almost half liquor, half mixer. Spencer coughed when he swallowed, causing the girl to giggle, "Too much?"

But Spencer simply shook his head, "Just perfect," He almost joked as he leaned onto the kitchen counter next to the girl, "I almost didn't come," He admitted.

"I don't blame you," He gazed down at her answer, his expression urging her to add some context. "Ashley James puked up after two drinks, Kacy and Liam broke up, now Liam's making out with Polly. It's just...a mess." Her eyes rolled. "But then again, what was I expecting?"

Spencer smiled at her. She was good at knowing like everything. While he was filled with facts and statistics, Y/n knew everything about everyone. Within one look, she knew your secrets. Maybe that's why she was so good with people. "We can go somewhere else if you want?" He suggested.

His question brought along an idea for the girl. With her free hand, she took Spencer's and led him out into the back garden. Whoever lived here was almost rich. Well, rich enough for a pool and a pretty big outdoor area. "Come on," Y/n urged him as she pulled the boy towards the edge of the pool.

She slipped her shoes off, sitting down and letting her legs dangle into the fresh water. Spencer watched her for a moment before joining her, the two sipping on their drinks. "Better?" She asked him.

He nodded, "Much."

"At least we've got Summer now, no more being forced to see them assholes." She joked.

Spencer's brows narrowed in thought, "You mean the assholes that you were friends with until you met me?"

"Well you got me there, Spence." She shrugged, "Social survival, that's what I call it. It's not as if there won't be similar people in college. I mean, fucking sororities, semi-pro football leagues, frats?"

"I'm sure you'll fit in amazingly at Princeton." His smile seemed to falter at his own words.

She gazed at the boy who seemed captivated by the slowly swaying water below them, "We'll still call you know, text, just cause we're in different places, doesn't mean anything, Spencer." Y/n attempted to comfort him.

"That's what everyone says but, I don't know." He shook his head, ignoring a thought.

But she noticed it; she noticed everything, "But what?"

He huffed and stared over at her, his eyes pooling in admiration. "You're one of the best things to have happened to me in a long time you know," He offered her a smile, "I couldn't even imagine losing you."

The girl bit her lip. Something was on her mind and Spencer had noticed. He too noticed everything about her. But he didn't ask. Partly, because he didn't have the chance to. Her eyes flickered to his lips. Then to his eyes. And before Spencer could realise, she had leant in, her lips at his. Without even realising, she had changed everything for the boy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Spencer accompanied the woman towards a private, interview room. He would offer support and comfort but at the same time, he had a job to do. A part of that was questioning. She was the only person to know this unsub. As difficult as it would be for her, he would have to ask them questions.

"Hey," Emily spoke as he entered the room, two coffees in hand: one for Spencer and one for Y/n. "Coffee orders are here," She smiled as she placed them at the table between the two. "I'm Emily, Reid says you're an old friend."

Her eyes flickered to the man before she shook Emily's hand, "Something like that yeah."

"Well, we're here if you need anything, alright?" She said, "You're in good hands here, especially with our Doctor Reid."

With that, Emily left to join the rest of the team who were busy compiling a profile. Which left her and Spencer. This was the part he wasn't looking forward to. "I've erm, I've got to ask you some questions, it'll help us understand this unsub, help us find him." He explained. When she nodded, the boy continued, "I'm going to ask you to close your eyes, alright? And then I'm just going to go through the night you were attacked. Is that okay?"

She swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat, "Yeah," She muttered.

Y/n followed the instructions and let her eyelids close before Spencer started the exercise, "Okay, just go back to that night. You were on 9th Street, correct?"

"Yes."

"It was getting late, but it was summer, think about the air, was it still warm? What sort of things could hear, anything?"

She thought back to it. Y/n had just finished her work week, she was walking home from the Subway. "There's a group of girls on the other side of the road, they're giggling. Drunk, I assume."

"That's good, that's really good." Spencer praised, "Then when did you realise something was off?"

Her brows furrowed and she thought about it, the pit in her stomach growing, "Someone- someone was yelling. A man. I thought he was like bible bashing so I wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying."

"Think." Spencer jumped in, "Listen to him, pick any words, any phrases that stick out to you."

And she did so. Her mind ran through the memory, "Something, something about an agenda, the- the snowflake agenda? It's ruining America it's-" She cut herself off as the memory reached the worst part. "That's when he grabbed me." Her voice quickened, her breaths soon becoming uneven. "He had a knife to my neck- he pulled me to an ally. I- Spencer."

Her hand reached out over the table instinctively, "It's okay," He too had become panicked just seeing her's. "I'm here, it's over, you can open your eyes."

When she finally did, she took one breath. A sigh of relief that she was okay. And then, a single tear dropped from her eyeline. Spencer couldn't take it. He stood and she followed suit, "Come here," He spoke before taking her into a tight hug. "You're safe, I promise." 

She pulled away just slightly but never dared to break touch, "The only reason I got away was because I had pepper spray in my bag," She explained. 

Spencer thought on that and then an idea came to mind. "Come with me," The boy took a hold of her hand, guiding the girl through the bullpen towards the meeting room where the rest of the team had been.

The round table was scattered with files and papers. Garcia typed away at her laptop while the rest were debriefing. At the entrance of the pair, they glanced up. 

Before they could ask any questions, Spencer started rambling, never daring to let go of Y/n's hand. "The unsub was protesting on the street, he's some kind of right-wing enthusiast. He was going on about the left-wing 'agenda', about how it's ruining America." He explained. "Not only that, but Y/n used pepper spray on him."

Like that, they had something, "He would have had to go to the hospital?" JJ thought.

"Or at least bought some kind of medical supplies."

"Yeah, saline wipes or there's a nasal spray that helps the pain." Spencer went on to explain.

From there, Hotch turned to Garcia, "Cross check avid right-wing protesters in the D.C. areas, men with low criminal offences, things like hate crime. Then look at anyone whose been admitted for treatment of pepper spray or has bought any medical supplies to treat it."

Like that, the aggressive typing ensued. The team were all waiting, Y/n still at Spencer's side, anxious for the name of her attacker to be revealed. "I've got it, Tony Jones."

When Hotch stood from his chair, the rest of the team started to follow. "Send us the address, Garcia."

"Already done it, Sir."

Each of the team members stood, one by one walking passed Y/n. That was apart from Garcia who was still glued to her laptop, sending the address to the rest of the team. Spencer was about to turn when Y/n reached for the boy's hand once again. Her eyes filled with nothing but worry. "Do you have to go?"

Her question had made his heart ache. His eyes flickered to Garcia who was already glancing at the two, "I- I probably should but, but Garcia will stay with you." He offered.

Y/n looked back at the extravagant woman who was smiling, "Of course, I've got loads of things I can show you in my office!" She gleamed.

Y/n returned the smile before turning back to Spencer, "You'll be careful, right?"

The boy nodded, "Of course," He replied before taking her in his arms once again. But this time, when he pulled away ever so slightly, it was to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

And like that, a soft smile, a goodbye, was passed between the two before Spencer turned away to join the rest of the team. She stared out the door of the conference room until Spencer slipped away. From there, she turned, a weak smile given to Garcia as she came to join her at the round table.

The other woman had watched the interaction and, while she wasn't a profiler, she wasn't oblivious to the world of loving. "He really cares about you, doesn't he?" She asked. Though, Garcia already knew the answer.

"I care about him just as much," Even after all this time, a piece of her heart still belonged to Spencer Reid - it always would.

"You're not just an old friend, are you?"

Y/n swallowed, glimmers of that high school Summer filling her brain. "It was, complicated." She described. "We erm, only really had a Summer as..." How could she describe it? "More than friends, I guess. And then we were both shipped off to college. And I mean, we lost contact. As a lot of people do." And 12 years later here she was.

Garcia offered her a smile, "You still love him, don't you?"

The girl giggled but gave a nod, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Well, if my time with Doctor Reid has taught me anything, the way he is with you, I mean it's like no other." Her hand brushed at her shoulder gently, "I don't think your feeling is one-sided."

That would stick in her head for the next hour. While Spencer and the rest of the team were arresting Tony Jones, Garcia was giving the girl a tour of her office. Everything wonderful and weird. And while she tried her best to pay attention, her mind kept being dragged over to Spencer. If he was safe, if he was coming back...if, once again, everything had changed.

She knew one thing: she would make sure they didn't lose contact this time around.

When the boy finally returned, he practically rushed through the BAU to find her. She was at Garcia's side as they exited her office, "Y/n," He called.

The girl's head snapped to him, her pace quickening as she came to reach him, "Did you?"

He nodded, "He's at the station, don't worry." He assured.

"Oh, good, yeah," She spoke before a sigh fell from her lips. "So, I mean, what happens now? Do I just go home?" The idea of such, while stupid to think so, was almost disappointing. Going home meant she wasn't in Spencer's company any longer. And that wasn't something she wasn't to lose just yet.

But Spencer's reaction was a similar one, "I can walk you home, if you want of course."

Her smile grew, "I'd like that."

"I'll just erm," He gestured to his FBI vest, "I'll only be a second."

And so she watched him leave for barely a minute, coming back in his shirt. He took her hand, led her into the lift and pressed for the ground floor. A moment of silence. A moment of thought. One of which was urgring Y/n on.

She glanced over at the boy, "You know I always think everything happens for a reason." Her nerves suddenly flooded her body as she realised what she was about to admit, "And as much as getting jumped was not fun, I'm glad it brought me back to you, Spencer."

Y/n turned to face him, barely any space between them, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Spence."

With that, Y/n made the leap. She closed that gap, their lips meeting every so soft, ever so longing. Like they had both been waiting for this moment for 12 years. And when they pulled away, her hands cupping his face and his placed at her waist, it was like they were 18 again. "Promise we'll keep in contact now?" He almost joked.

And she chuckled, "Promise."

[st4rgzer]

can you do Spencer x fem reader where she doesn't work for the bau but they have been together for like a year and live together and she's really sad that Spencer is gone all the time and always leaves and cancel dates bc of work and it makes her feel unwanted. She tells him this and he gets annoyed and calls her clingy bc he's stressed and then feels so bad and requests a week off work and spends it all with her doing whatever she wants!

CLINGY. (spencer reid)

summary: reader is having a hard time getting the attention and care she needs from her partner, spencer reid.

genre: angst + fluff

cw!: drinking, swearing, feelings of unwontedness

a/n: i went down a slightly different route but i still hope you like it!! tysm for requesting!🫶🏼

you were practically brimming with excitement as you shimmied into a mauve colored silk maxi dress that hugged your figure perfectly. you had your makeup done hours prior and you bought this dress with all the joy in the world. you were giggling in anticipation as the clock ticked closer to 9pm, the hour you and spence had settled on after a week of him canceling and postponing your date. this was a special one. you bought him a beautiful chess set, very valuable. he had had his eyes fixed on it for months, and you bought it for him as a special gift in hopes that he would ease up on you after a few little arguments you had been having over his work. it was just a little rough patch and this date would surely fix everything up back to normal.

time passed as you waited with a glass of wine in your hand for him to get home. the clock struck 11:30 and you started to get worried, he hadn’t answered any of your calls or replied to your texts.

the sound of rattling keys followed by the twist of the doorknob made you jump up. as the door opened, it revealed a very disheveled looking spencer reid, he was in no form ready for a formal dinner.

“spencer” you walked towards him, a prominent look of worry on your face

“what the hell happened? i had to cancel our reservation- i thought you were in trouble! i tried calling you but you gave no signs of life, i was worried sick!” his hands anxiously pushed his hair out of his face as you went on and on.

“can you just- just shut up! okay? stop talking. god you’re suffocating me you are so clingy!” he spoke with annoyance dripping from his words. your mouth fell slightly agape as you processed his words. clingy. he called you clingy, and he told you to shut up. you felt like a fool. the chess set wrapped neatly in purple paper and tied with a black bow that was placed on the kitchen counter, the lipstick stain on the wine glass. you felt like your whole world just fell apart. everything you did was stupid and you felt like a fool, and maybe you were clingy, but you thought that with spencer, you didn’t have to worry about being too much.

you didn’t say a word before turning on your heel and stepping out, running to the bathroom as tears threatened to drop. he tried to reach for you but you were already gone.

he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, cursing to himself. he wasn’t mad at you, he wasn’t annoyed with you, he could never be annoyed at you. you were everything and more to him and he vowed to himself to never take you for granted, but that was exactly what he had done. and he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth.

he knew it was too early and the wound was too fresh to apologize yet, but it killed him to not go running after you and just hold you against him. his heart ached and broke even more when he saw the gift on the counter. he already knew what it was, of course you bought the chess set he had only mentioned once but yet, you remembered.

his head dropped between his arms as he shut his eyes tightly. his frustration was seeping through him, the anger wasn’t aimed at you, it was aimed at him. he spoke without thinking and wasn’t able to control his own emotions, thus making you feel unwanted, a feeling spencer never thought he would invoke in you.

meanwhile, you sat in the bathtub, knees tucked in and pressed against your chest. you squeezed your eyes tightly as tears fell loosely and at a rapid pace. quiet sobs could be heard in the silent room, leaving room for only your thoughts, a perfect recipe for you to spiral.

three knocks interrupted your crying. you looked up and sniffled, wiping your cheeks with your arm before talking

“what do you want” your voice was broken and fraile, hesitant to your annoyed tone.

“can i come in? please?” his voice was soft and gentle, his tone familiar and welcoming. very different from the harsh reid that presented himself to you earlier.

he could hear you sniffle as you hesitated to respond.

“sure…” your voice was uncertain, but it was enough for him to open up the door softly and enter. he sighed at the sight of you curled up in the bathtub. his eyes wide and puppy like, a look of remorse and lament on his face.

he waveringly stepped closer to you, getting into the tub with you. you shifted and let him maneuver you onto him, back pressed against his chest as he held you tightly. you turned your head and looked up at him with red eyes and mascara running down your cheeks, yet he still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the whole world. he tucked loose strands of your hair behind your ear and stroked your head softly, eyes scanning your features before he found a way to articulate his words.

he cleared his throat before talking, “im sorry. i know you probably hate me right now, and i deserve every bit of anger you have towards me, but i want you to know that im sorry. i never meant those words, hell, i shouldn’t have even opened my damn mouth. im stupid for taking your love for granted, because you deserve so much more than what i’ve been giving you recently. but it isn’t because of you, if im mad at anyone its at myself. i love you more than life itself and you should never settle for 2am phonecalls and postponed dates. that being said, you know that its been because of my work and i cant do anything about that, but i can do something else. i told hotch whats been going on over the phone and he agreed to giving me 3 weeks off of work, i know it’s not much but i promise i’ll spend every minute making everything up to you.”

your bottom lip quivered at his heartfelt apology, and you broke down in tears at his overwhelming care for you. you felt stupid for ever doubting him.

“i love you” you said as your head dropped to his chest, his hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“thank you for the chess set, i love it, and i love you even more” he smiled down at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head

“you’re welcome, i love you too” you sniffled, tiredly speaking as your eyes fluttered shut.

he caressed your hair and felt your heartbeat slow down, followed by quiet snores. he laughed quietly. he sat up slowly and managed to pick you up bridal style without waking you up. he propped you onto the bed and changed you into one of his sleep shirts, the ones you liked. he got into bed with you and covered the both of you with the blanket. you moved in your sleep, missing spencers warmth, curling up to his side. spencers arm came behind you and wrapped around you waist, letting you nestle further into his side. he pressed a kiss onto your forhead before clicking the lamp light off and eventually, falling asleep as-well.

taglist: @ilovesadiesink @sp3ncelle @lvtilzs @sunshine-on-marz

[elusivedew]

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.” 

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 

“I could never lie to you.” 

“You literally just did.” 

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 

“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 

“God, you're so mean to me.” 

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 

“What do you think of this?” 

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 

“My mom loved that one.” 

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 

“Oh my god.” 

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 

You nod in understanding, you do know. 

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?” 

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 

“Yes?” 

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 

“I think you know what you want.” 

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 

“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 

And you're scared. 

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 

Slow and stead. 

“I'm listening.” 

You lick your lips. 

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 

He nods.

“Well, I lied.” 

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now. 

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.” 

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.��� 

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

[enderlovez]

Big Secret

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 2100+

Summary: You've tried to hard to keep your daughter a secret from Spencer after her father left, but what happens when this secret finally comes to light?

Content Warning: fear of abandonment, abandonment of pregnant woman, reader gets anxiety

A/N This was requested, and I'm not to sure how I did here. There'll probably be a bunch of mistakes because I'm really tired right now.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The first time Spencer asks if something's wrong, you almost laugh. Not because you find it funny in any sense of the world, but because there is something wrong, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him.

He's studying you with those piercing eyes, like he can read every thought you've ever had. His brow is furrowed in that way that makes him look younger than he is, and for a split second, you wonder if he really can hear your thoughts.

"You've been a little off lately," he says, the concerns in his voice too subtle for most people to notice, but you hear it. "Is... everything okay?"

You smile, forcing the curve of your lips to stay steady. "Everything's fine, Spence. Just a lot on my mind, you know?"

It's the truth. Sort of. Work is, as always, chaotic as hell. But there's something gnawing at you, something you can't make yourself say out loud.

Spencer doesn't push, but you know he's watching, waiting for you to say more on your own. That's the thing about him—he's patient, a quality you greatly admire. But when he wants something, he tends to get it.

You've had a few drinks together after work, spent quiet hours in coffee shops, talking about cases, about books, about life. You think you're starting to let yourself like him.

You think he might be starting to like you, too, even though the lines between friendship and... something more are still blurry, and you haven't yet figures out how to cross them without making a mess.

Then, of course, there is the little secret of your daughter—the very secret that keeps you up at night, wondering if you've already ruined whatever future could happen.

"Is everything really fine?" Spencer asks again, his voice a little softer now, like he's trying to coax the truth out of me without making it feel like an interrogation. It feels like one anyway.

You nod quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. Really. Just... personal stuff."

He watches you for a beat longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but also not going to press for more. Spencer isn't like that. He respects boundaries. He respects you, in a way that makes your chest tighten every time he looks at you, like you're something he can lose if he doesn't handle you with enough care.

And maybe that's it. Maybe you're afraid of him seeing the part of you that isn't as easy to love, the part that you're still learning to love yourself.

Maybe that's why you've kept Isla a secret, but you've never mentioned her in passing conversations, or even when he asks about your life outside the job.

You want him to see you as someone who can go out for a drink after a case without having to worry about a three-year-old waiting for her mother to come home.

But that's not you. You've got Isla. You've got your little girl, and one day, Spencer's going to have to know, as terrifying as that thought is to you.

You're not ashamed of your daughter, you could never be ashamed of your little girl.

But the last man who found out about her—her own father—ran for the hills before she was even born. The thought of Spencer doing the same, of him walking away the second he finds out about Isla, has been eating away at you from the first time you went out together.

You tell yourself it's not about him being a bad guy, because he's not. Spencer's kind and thoughtful and he doesn't seem like the type of man to judge.

But it's not like you can help the fear, that he might not want a woman with a child, especially one as young as Isla. She's the center of your world, she will always come first, and you can't risk losing Spencer for the same reason you lost Isla's father.

"Are you sure?" Spencer's voice cuts through your thoughts, soft and insistent. He's still looking at you, like he's waiting for the truth to slip from your lips, like he knows it'll happen eventually. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it a little difficult to breathe. His words, so simple, so caring, somehow makes the weight on your shoulders heavier.

What would it feel like to tell him?

To let him in, to share this huge part of yourself with someone who could very well walk out of your life when he finds out?

It's easier to just nod and pretend everything's fine. It's easier to lie, to keep him at arms length, than risk him seeing who you really are—a mother, sure, but also someone who's terrified of being left again.

But Spencer doesn't deserve that. You know he doesn't deserve that, to keep wondering what's going on inside your head when he's done nothing but be there for you, day after day.

"I..." You hesitate, your breath catching in your chest. "There's something I should tell you, but it's really... it's going to complicate things."

Spencer doesn't say anything right away. He just watches you, and for a brief moment, the distance between you feels impossible to manage. You take a step forward, closing that space as best you can.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready to," he says finally, his voice so gentle that it almost breaks you. "You never have to feel obligated to tell me anything, I just want you to know I'm here if you wanna talk."

And right then, something shifts.

You're not entire sure what, but something deep inside wonders if maybe—just maybe—it might be time to tell him about the life you've tried to hard to keep hidden. About your precious little girl, and about her father who she's never known, and about the fears that keep you awake at night.

About the little girl who's waiting for you at home, her smile the only thing that keeps you going when everything else is so shaky.

"I have a daughter," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She's three. Her name's Isla."

He blinks, processing, before his expression softens. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you with (gorgeous) eyes of his that feel almost like they can see right into your soul.

You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. You're expecting him to step away from you, to give some polite excuse and walk out the door.

But instead, he surprises you. "I'd really like to meet her, if that's something you'd be okay with."

You blink at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. "You... you would? You want to meet Isla?"

Spencer smiles, just a little, but it's blindingly bright in your eyes. "Of course, I want to meet the little girl who obviously means so much to you."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You stand outside your apartment door, fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag, suddenly feeling like you're about to do something you can't undo.

Which, you are, but that doesn't stop your heart from thumping uncomfortably, or your stomach from fluttering with anxiety.

Spencer's standing beside you, his eyes scanning the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks calm, maybe even a little curious, but you can tell he's waiting for you to make the first move, to invite him inside where everything will change.

It helps knowing that, if you happen to change your mind, he'll leave the second you ask him to.

The familiar hum of the building's old pipes is the only sound between you. You're about to let Spencer see Isla. You're about to let him into this part of your life you've kept so carefully hidden. And it is terrifying.

It's one thing to share a drink or talk about drinks. It's an entirely different thing to show another person the most vulnerable part of yourself.

The next door over swings open, and your neighbor, Maria, steps out. She looks up from her phone when she spots you, waving with the hand that's holding Isla's favorite stuffed bunny—she probably left it there at some point.

"Hey, just finished feeding her a few minutes ago," Maria says with a smile, but there's a hint of urgency in her voice as she checks her watch. "I was just 'boutta call you, gotta head out. You good here?"

You nod, forcing a smile as you take Isla's stuffed animal from Maria. "Yeah, thanks. She's been good today?"

"She's always good, she's a sweetheart," Maria says before turning on her heel, heading towards the stairs with quick steps. She glances back at you once to make sure you're alright before she's gone.

You watch her go, your breath catching in your throat as you unlock the door.

Every part of you is screaming that this isn't a good idea, that you're making a huge mistake by letting Spencer in, but you push those thoughts away as best you can, forcing yourself to step inside and gently pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Come on in," you say, trying to sound casual, but the words sound all wrong in your own ears, and they surely sound the same to Spencer.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before stepping through the doorway. The second his foot crosses the threshold, something in the air shifts, though neither of you can name what it is.

Isla's small shoes are lined up neatly by the door beside yours, and you can hear her humming softly from the living room. It's the sound of home.

Some of the anxiety fades away. It's more strange than anything to have Spencer here, where it's all real and in front of him.

You move towards the living room, trying to steady your breath. There, sitting on the floor with a coloring book spread out in front of her and a variety of markers and pencils at her side, is Isla.

Her hair's a bit messy, the way it always gets after a nap, but her wide eyes light up the moment she notices you.

"Mommy!" Isla calls, her little face breathing into a grin as she scrambles to her feet. She's barely two and a half feet tall, one of her little hands clutching her stuffed bunny tightly, the other wrapped around your legs.

You plop down on the sofa and ruffle her hair affectionately, a soft smile gracing your lips.

And then, she sees Spencer.

For a moment, Isla just stares at him, wide-eyed and quiet. Spencer's already crouched down, his hands resting gently on his knees, not moving, simply waiting for her to decide if she'll approach him or not.

You hold your breath, watching the moment unfold in real time—you've never had to share this part of your life with anyone. You've never had to share her with another person. And for a brief moment, you're more worried about how she'll react.

And then, like she's made up her mind, Isla takes a few tentative steps toward Spencer. She looks up at him, her face a picture of innocent curiosity, and before either of you can say anything, she reaches out, quickly offering him her stuffed bunny.

Oh, thank God.

Spencer looks at the bunny, then back at her, his expression softening. "Thank you," he says, his voice gentle, as it's as if a part of you clicks into place. Like he's not only accepted you, but now, he's accepting Isla, too.

He's accepting your baby, and you feel like you're going to cry.

She smiles up at him, and for a second, it feels like everything's going to be okay. He doesn't look at her like she's an obstacle, or like he doesn't know what to do.

He looks at her the way he always looks at you—with patience, and something else that you have a hard time naming.

Isla giggles, her small hand still holding the bunny, as then she shyly crawls into your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Spencer chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he sits down beside you, observing the interaction. You rub your hand up and down Isla's back and press a firm kiss to the top of her head.

After another quiet moment, Isla crawls off you again, sitting back on the floor in front of her coloring book.

"So, uh, do you like coloring?" Spencer asks, his voice carefully light, as he looks over at Isla, who's now holding a crayon like it's the most important thing in the world.

She nods solemnly, but then grins up at him. "I like pink," she says, matter-of-factly, and then she goes back to her drawing.

Spencer's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Pink's a great color," he agrees, and you can't help but smile.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request a BAU Team/maybe a little Spencer x Male x assassin

Who now works for the BAU, they are really good at stealth and undercover as if it's breathing air, they want a semblance of normalcy using the skills they were taught for good, but they can't hide, they can't run forever their past will haunt them come for them when they least expect it. (Note: reader has scars/ reader has a crush on Spencer but is afraid of how he would react if Spencer knew the real them) Prompt: to hell and back

This request is over a year old surely, im so sorry!

This a rare one folks, it's over 1k words lol. I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: blood, injuries, scars, stabbing, reader stabs someone, use of the word paranoid/paranoia, a few curse words, reader doesn't even get their dinner :(

They only ever saw you with long sleeves. They knew a rough outline of your previous life, no details. You signed a contract to keep the details of your previous life quiet. Only Strauss knew. You had worked as an assassin for the government for five long years, training rigorously before that for two. When leaving that life, you were given a new identity, (Y/N) (L/N). 

It had taken it’s toll, sometimes your knees creaked, your wrist seized up, sometimes old wounds hurt. But ultimately, when needed, you moved silently. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to hide forever, that eventually your past would catch up to you. And so, you were hesitant to try to get close with your team. You liked them (perhaps liked one member a little too much), and you knew they liked you. But you knew first hand that traitors could come from within.

You weren’t sure when, exactly, you developed a ‘crush’ (which was a word you refused to admit outloud) on Spencer. But soon enough the sight of him was enough for butterflies to swarm your stomach and your breath to hitch. You had never regretted your previous decision to take your original line of work, until those butterflies appeared. You knew it would never happen. That you and him could never be a thing. Because he was pure, and you were… tainted. You had done unimaginable things that would make any sane person run in the opposite direction. 

Not only would he run for hills if he found out what you had done, but then there were the scars. You had been injured more than once during your line of duty. They weren’t exactly something you were fond of. So, you wore long sleeves, trousers. Never short sleeves, never shorts. Not even outside of work when you were out and about. The only time you ever did was when you were at home.

It is possible to say that, over the years at the BAU, the paranoia lessened. You were no longer convinced that every unfamiliar agent was someone from your past looking for revenge. That was your biggest mistake. 

You had seen a new face around the bullpen, you had been with the BAU three years now, without incident. And you knew that new recruits had been hired recently. So, you thought nothing of it.

A few weeks went by without incident, just proving that everything was fine. You were just being paranoid. 

Until one night, you realised it wasn’t paranoia. You were walking back from the chinese takeout around the corner from your apartment when you were pulled back and down an alleyway. He managed to stab you before you got hold of the knife, twisting his grip and stabbing him. You glared at him, twisting the knife before removing it. You repeated the motion once more before throwing the knife into the dumpster just to your right and shoving the ‘agent’ to the ground. 

Food forgotten, you took a breath. You couldn’t go back to your apartment, it was clear they knew where you lived, they had been following you for some time. You ground your teeth, increasing the pressure you placed on your stab wound. Spencer. He lived close by. And with the thought, you set off. 

It took you about ten minutes of staggering in the rain and scared looks for strangers before you reached his block. You stumbled up the stairs, pausing when you reached Spencer’s door and knocked loudly. 

Please be in, please be in. 

The door swung open.

“What the fuck?” Spencer asked, staring at you wide eyed.

You clutched your hand against your stomach tighter, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” And with that, collapsed. 

You came to a few minutes later, now sprawled out on Spencer’s couch. “You need to go to the hospital.” Spencer said, pressing a handful of gauze against your wound. 

You shake your head, forcing yourself to sit up against your elbows. “No.” You choked out, wincing again. 

“(Y/N), you’ve been stabbed-”

“I’m fine.” You muttered, “No hospitals.” 

He watched you for a few seconds. “I’m calling Hotch.” He said, dialling before you could argue. 

You groaned, forcing yourself to sit up properly. “Spence-” You’re not quite sure when you started calling him Spence. It just came naturally after a while.

The entirety of the team was there within ten minutes. When Spencer opened the door, they immediately sensed something was wrong. 

“(Y/N)’s been stabbed.” He rushes the words out and immediately heads back to the couch. Only to find you forcing yourself upright.

You needed to leave. They were going to find out, everything was going to be revealed. Not only would that break the contract you signed for Strauss, but it would put them in danger. It would put Spencer in danger. 

“You need to lay back down.” Hotch said as Spencer helped (forced) you back down.

“I’m fine.” You grumbled. 

“We need to cut the shirt away, we need to make sure there’s no other injuries and it’s soaked through.” Rossi chimed, handing a pair of scissors to Spencer. 

“No, Spencer-”

Morgan gently pushed you back down. “Will you just let us help you?” 

You sighed, feeling the cold air bite at your skin as your shirt was cut away. The team collectively gasped at your scars, the red of your blood only emphasising the white of the scars that covered your body. 

You distantly heard Prentiss on the phone with 911. This wasn’t exactly going to plan. You turned to look at Hotch, “You need to tell Strauss.” You said firmly. “Strauss needs to know- ow.” You gave a soft hiss as Morgan took over holding the gauze to the wound.

“I need- I need a second.” Spencer mumbled, standing up and making his way to the bathroom. Presumably to wash his hands. At least, that’s what you would do. Ah shit, there was going to be blood everywhere.

“Did I get blood on the couch?” You asked, craning your neck and attempting to twist your body to check.

“Can you just sit still?” Morgan huffed. 

JJ watches Spencer leave with a concerned gaze before following him into the bathroom. “Spence, you need to breathe. He’s going to be okay.” JJ said softly, giving him a small smile. Spencer nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“You’re right.” Spencer said, raking a hand over his face. “At the very least he’s stubborn.”

“Exactly.” She said, “He’s going to be okay.”

“He’s covered in scars, JJ.” Spencer whispered quietly. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” She said, “Let’s worry about that later, okay? Let’s focus on helping him now. Everything else can wait.”

“I like him.”

“I know Spence.”

“I really like him.”

"I know you do." JJ smiled, squeezing his arm slightly. "Come on, let's go check on him - make sure Morgan's not trying to kill him."

Spencer gave a quiet laugh, following JJ back to the lounge.

"Will you just sit still?" Morgan huffed.

"You're so bossy." You muttered under your breath, blinking slowly.

"You're literally bleeding, shut up and accept the help." Morgan resorted. You huffed in response, but stopped trying to get up, once again.

"Paramedics are one minute out." Prentiss updated after thanking the dispatcher.

You blinked, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, accompanied by the familiar blood-loss tiredness. You shifted your eyes, focusing on Spencer as the world around you blurred before going dark.

[starvu]

My Heart Won't Start Anymore || s. reid

where you were always, always there for spencer, but after what happened with maeve you couldn't handle it anymore, you felt betrayed

pairing: spencer reid x bau member!gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst/hurt

content warnings: mention of spencer's addiction, mention of his being shot in the knee, reader was once shot in the stomach, mentions of blood, fairly graphic description of maeve's death, maeve wasn't spencer's girlfriend, but they had feelings, that's for sure, bitter ending (inspired by "you're losing me" ts)

word count: 9,1k

a/n: i described the whole line from s2 to s8 here, i didn't even know i could write that much lol. and i haven't written that much yet, it was a bit of a weird concept and i couldn't put everything into words, but I wanted to write it so much (i suck at dialogue, sorry). i spent like nine hours today only in notes app and writing this, im kinda insane. i won't be posting any more work this year, so i hope your new year will be happy 😽

~

You would never have thought it would end like this. No, no... no. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

No.

You were always each other's support, comfort, comfort. When you joined the BAU, you were just a young girl, full of ambition and hope, joyful and smiling with sprinkles in your eyes, but also a lost girl. Lost in a new environment and new circumstances.

No need to mention that you were a people pleaser who only wanted to be noticed... right?

Of course, you were prepared for such a job, but damn, you didn't expect this. What they learned in training and at the academy was nothing compared to what you had been working on since day one. Theory was just a sliver of practice, yes, it was brutal, but in real work, the same theory seemed like a sugar-coated story with sprinkles. It didn't connect in any way.

But Spencer wanted to help you. He really, genuinely wanted to help you. He wasn't that much older, well, no, you were the same age, actually. He wasn't overly effusive or outgoing, but he wanted you to settle in, and you appreciated that. He was awkward, very awkward, more interested in facts than people, and not really good at social interactions, and your good attitude made him a little intimidated when he first saw you and you eagerly greeted him, introducing yourself.

He wasn't sure what you would find nice and was afraid of imposing, so he did little things like bring you fresh coffee from that not-so-great coffee machine, sometimes gave you little tips about team members, sometimes helped you when your casework was limited to sifting through tedious piles of files tied with string, the letters already shimmering before your eyes and blurring into black spots.

That's why when he went through his own hell, held captive by Tobias Hankel and drugged, you felt the need to help him. You couldn't explain it, but... no, you could actually explain it. You always wanted to help everyone and spread your smile. A smile that didn't fit the job, a smile that was the opposite of the brutality you saw in the job, and only that smile allowed you to keep your sanity.

Hey, do you know that you'll even lose your spark and the twinkle in your eyes?

You felt plain, simple, and human sympathy for him. His addiction problem was one of those ignored ones. You all swept it under the rug, almost like the whole team suddenly had blinkers on and lived in a conspiracy of silence, even if you didn't state it out loud. That just hadn't happened in the history of this team, even if you had noticed Spencer's daily highs. There was nothing wrong with the young genius's mind, after all. More or less.

You hadn't known him very long, but you knew it had little to do with his everyday behavior. Even if you only knew him for a few months before, he couldn't act like this and you noticed that everyone outside the team noticed his behavior as well, which Hotch could always justify because 'Dr. Reid isn't at his best right now'.

Funny how reputation and lack of complications from the people above were more important than Reid's well-being.

Funny how Reid's well-being has become more important to you than your own.

You acted somewhat on your own, you tried to help Spencer, even if he rejected help, he was elusive. He closed himself off, he practically dismissed his problem on his own. And maybe you were a little intrusive, yes, you were aware of it, but how else were you supposed to act in such a situation?

And surprisingly, you succeeded. He didn't look kindly on your actions, but he stopped dismissing you coldly. Your actions were happening behind the team's back, you didn't want to expose yourself as a newbie to something that wouldn't be approved of. If this whole situation is going on behind the backs of the people at the top, why couldn't you go behind the backs of the team?

You took care of him, at least as much as he allowed you. You didn't want to overdo it, but you tried. You didn't force him to do anything, but you still tried everything that could replace the dilaudid, you spent more time with him than was appropriate just to distract him from needing another dose. and when he stopped taking the drug, you were there to help him through the withdrawal symptoms, although withdrawal was the hardest. You were understanding and respected him despite everything, even if it was a difficult and overwhelming experience. You could say that it left a mark on you, however you wouldn't admit it. You just piled on the stress and nerves. It wasn't easy by any means, but you didn't have the heart to leave him.

You never had the heart to leave him.

Or at least that's what you thought.

Anyway, you were there for him.

~

He also felt a spark of sympathy for you when you cared so much for him, because you didn't let up or ignore the problem. He finally felt a little different, other than a drugged-up piece of trash. Someone really wanted to be with him, to suffer especially for him and at some point with him.

You knew that a spark of understanding was being born between you over the years. A spark of something warm, like friendship. Your friendship was close, there was something special and magical about it. He trusted you. He trusted you and opened up to you, he felt exposed to his emotions but he didn't feel bad about it. It wasn't often that he felt this way about anyone, you were important to him.

Sometimes Penelope joked that you were glued together, because wherever Spencer was, you were too, within a radius of a few meters and no further. If you think about it, the sweet, sweet technical analyst wasn't wrong at all, in fact, she was right. Likewise, Derek, who would laugh and sometimes tease you about your glued hips, you dismissed it as bullshit.

You were sitting in her darkened computer lab, your seat was a little lower, so you rested your head on the desk. The quiet hum of computers came from the computer lab. You didn't have much work, so you sat together and talked about things that helped you forget about the hardships and darkness of work for a while. You matched each other with your rather cheerful personalities. You were sipping from plastic cups through colorful straws some overly sweet tea that Penelope had brought earlier. You weren't even sure what kind of tea it was, some brewed herbs with a lavender aftertaste. In any case, it was tasty.

You laughed. "Pen no. There's no match here..."

She stared at you with clear disappointment and determination, she interrupted you suddenly. "Listen, it's in the stars. I beg you, can't you feel it?"

You shook your head slightly. "Penelope. I really love you and appreciate you, but this is a bunch of bullshit. What kind of match in the stars? Just because you, as a fetus, decided to be born on this day and not another, doesn't mean you have a fantastic love match with anyone." You took a sip of tea, but you were still staring at the blonde analyst.

"I'm not just talking about the stars here. It's the whole match, similar vibes, agreement and..." She continued to justify herself when Spencer suddenly entered the computer room with two warm coffees.

"Garcia, there's extra foam and vanilla syrup for you." He put the coffee on the desk. "Here." He looked at you. "They didn't have any almond milk, so I got lactose-free." He put down the second coffee and looked at you apologetically. "Is it okay?"

You just nodded slightly with a warm smile. "Yes, thank you."

Garcia watched your interaction, then took a sip of coffee, she finished her tea earlier. "It's still warm!" She interrupted enthusiastically, and Spencer nodded with her lips pressed into a line, a sign of confirmation.

After a moment he was gone from the computer room, leaving he made his awkward gesture waving at you with his hand, or rather sticking it out motionlessly, and you followed him with your eyes to the door.

On Penelope's face there was an incomprehensible, slightly too wide smile, she looked at you with excitement. "Oh God, it's look of love! Real look of love!"

You sighed. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." She continued to chatter happily, not straying from this topic even for a moment.

Penelope believed in the emotional tension between you, personality matching, and other such endearing things that you didn't quite believe in. You hated breaking the worldview of your favorite glitter and pink analyst.

~

When Spencer was shot in the knee and temporarily annihilated, you also tried to help him, although you were more likely to scold him then. What kind of brainless person wanted to ignore all doctor's orders just to fly with the rest of the team to the crime scenes. Second opinion? More like mindless, idiotic and stupid chatter. You wanted to hit him in the back of the head every time he tried to figure out how to avoid being grounded any longer, and even his doctorate couldn’t convince you to implement gentler measures. You didn't have the strength to fight him and you wanted to shoot him in the knee again, but it was out of concern, as strange as it might sound.

But despite his thoughtlessness, you were there for him then too.

~

You could say that you spent a lot of time together, often aimlessly, you could sit up all night and talk nonsense and in the end Spencer would let you drink coffee from his mug, and after difficult cases he was the one who tried to comfort you, your radiance and optimism could not be eternal and unwavering, and you baked his favorite cookies with brown sugar and sea salt. It was as if his worries suddenly disappeared, he spoke freely about whatever interested him without being suddenly silenced or dismissed, and strangest of all, even his aversion to germs was then a secondary matter.

You didn't see anything special about it, unlike anyone else around you. Yeah, you were a bit blinded by each other and sometimes the rest of the team felt like they were just getting in the way when they were around you. They felt like they were intruding on your little moments, your exchanges of glances and incomprehensible gestures.

They all felt that something happening, except you two.

And did it bother anyone? It was fine as it was.

Four years just flew by and you changed, not for the worse, change doesn't have to be bad... or something. You couldn't have peace. Day by day you felt more and more strange, not like usual, definitely not like usual, something was wrong, why were you suddenly stressed by his presence, and why did your nerves almost always get the better of you? You didn't show it, but this feeling started to annoy you. And you were a bit excluded, because there was one thought you didn't even consider, it didn't get into your tangle of thoughts, it just didn't. Or maybe it got into the center of your thoughts, and you cleverly avoided it with full awareness? Either way, when one day at work you were staring at him with your chin resting on your hand, probably looking at him from every possible and potential angle, a sudden realization finally hit you.

Oh.

oh.

It was a little different from friendship. Okay, maybe it was very different from friendship. You missed him faster than you thought, you almost felt anxious when he wasn't around and and you felt those nerves when he appeared next to you and you wanted his unwavering attention and you tried to justify it in every way, as friendship, friendly concern, natural nervous reaction towards loved ones, friendly... blah, blah, blah.

You felt attached to Spencer Reid and infatuated with him. To the same Specter who supported you from the beginning, he remembered what your favorite coffee was, he remembered the little details that made you you, showed you care in the same way you showed him care, he wasn't tired of you usually being full of energy and a little too emotional and were your precious friends. You couldn't say you expected it, but you couldn't say you didn't either.

You were in trouble.

Technically, you didn't have to tell him, but on the other hand you had a hard time keeping your mouth shut. You had to work up the courage to tell him. For God's sake, for half a year you'd felt like throwing up just thinking about that conversation. This could be good, or you could have ruined everything. You couldn't be sure he felt the same way, maybe he was just nice (and the fact that your stomach was tingling and your throat was dry and you just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it until you couldn't breathe was a side effect). Too nice. Being nice was never a bad thing, but it made you unable to fully read his intentions.

With shame in your mind, you admitted to yourself that you were observing him much more closely than usual, to investigate his behavior, no matter how stupid it seemed. This case really made an idiot out of you.

One night you were staring at the ceiling in your not too big bedroom and exchanging meaningless conversations, as he carefully ran his long fingers through your hair and occasionally glanced at you. There was a lamp on the nightstand, which gave off a rather shady, flickering light. You should have replaced that bulb. The rest of the light coming into the bedroom was the moonlight, carefully trying to get in through the window, thanks to the open curtains and blinds. The bright moonlight was more shy, though.

You finally, with heavy heart decided to talk to him about it.

This wasn't a good idea, trust me.

You tried to play it cool, even as you swallowed hard and your shaking hands were hidden only by the dim light of your bedroom.

"Umm... Spence." The usual certainty suddenly disappeared from your voice. “You know, there’s this thing.”

He immediately turned his head towards you, now in addition to his unwavering attention you had his gaze as well. "Did something serious happen?" He wasn't the best at talking about emotions, but, as befits a profiler, he read them well.

"Not really. I mean, yes, but no." You swallowed hard. "Depends."

He didn't want to rush you, force you to talk or annoy you. "Okay, no rush." Despite that, he felt a growing curiosity and a bit of stress. You rarely took that tone.

Suddenly you felt his hand no longer in your hair. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently in his, assuring you that everything was okay. The gesture, combined with your nerves, made you feel like you might as well cry. It was a gesture that you had considered nice and didn’t object to, but now it was confusing you even more.

It was now or never.

“I think I love you. No, it's not 'I think', I’m convince. Yeah, I'm convince."

Pretty nice, but you won't be the only one saying it.

He didn’t answer right away, only because he always had the feeling he’d ruin everything the moment he started talking about feelings. But he squeezed your hand tighter and didn’t take his eyes off you, his hazel, puppy eyes fixed on you. His voice lacked confidence, he hesitated for a moment, he asked quietly. "Can I?" You nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After a moment, you felt his lips on yours. It was soft, tender and sweet. You had waited so long for this, and his absolute gentleness and feelings melted your heart without the slightest problem. You felt like you were the only people in the world, especially since everything around you was quiet and calm that night, practically intimate without the actual intimacy. Life just happened and you were somewhere in between, not in a rush. You always had to be rushing somewhere after all.

The conclusion from his actions was one. He felt the same way. You thanked all the gods and heavens for that. You didn't even want to think about the disaster that would happen if he didn't reciprocate your feelings and you had to keep working together, not to mention the tragic ending of your friendship. But at that moment, besides your still shaking hands, something else was hiding in the darkness - a smile on your face.

Maybe everything wasn't supposed to be so bad.

Oh sweet child, what a stupid impression.

~

It wasn't until you became a couple that you realized how little had changed in your relationship. You weren't sure if it was just too romantic before or too platonic now, but it was pretty much the same thing, with the added bonus of showing affection. Your relationship was built on all these little things and there was never a moment when your heart stopped feeling warm. You were really, really happy with the way things were.

For a short moment you regained some of the sparkle in your eyes, take advantage of it.

If Derek had talked about having your hips glued together before, it was hard to say what it could be called now. It wasn't that you were blabbing about your relationship left and right, in fact the fact that your relationship had even happened had stayed between you for a few weeks. You spent a few evenings off from work wondering what to do with the new label of this relationship. Telling Hotch was one option, and keeping it a secret and hiding it in every way possible was another. Both had their pros and cons, because in theory, a relationship between agents wasn't necessarily indicated, so it was more reasonable to admit it than to have him find out later on his own. Hiding it was also reasonable, considering the nature of your work, the dangerous nature, the possibility that someone might use it someday. Well, you didn't come up with a solution right away.

The fact that Spencer would bring you coffee every morning, or the exchange of small smiles, and the fact that you would sit on the edge of his desk while you talked wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It had happened even before there was anything like a relationship between you.

After a few weeks, you decided and went to Hotch to sort it out and not expose yourselves to any unpleasantness related to your new relationship - a relationship between two agents. Potential risk? Hard to say. But maybe it was better to explain it to him honestly, like adults. After all, it was inadvisable, but not forbidden either.

Spencer squeezed your hand in comfort and leaned towards you. "It'll be okay." The warmth of his hand helped a little and brought you back to earth.

"I take you for granted. And you better be right." You turned to face him for a moment. That sounded like one of your joking threats to Spencer. It wasn't the least bit funny to you at the time.

You entered Hotch's office first, with Spencer right behind you. He was on the phone, but quickly put it away. You took a breath. When his gaze landed on you, you still wanted to turn around, run away, hide and hide. But it was too late. You turned your head slightly towards Spencer. And then you wandered with your gaze wherever you could.

To your surprise, the conversation with Hotch was so... ordinary. You felt quite surprised by this turn of events. None of your theories had panned out. Besides, they had no chance of panning out, it was impossible. You loved to imagine a million versions of a single event in your head, and mostly the worst versions. It clashed with your optimism.

Or maybe that optimism was fading anyway.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye through the window of Hotch's office that Derek, with an expression of obvious defeat written on his face, was giving Penelope a twenty dollar bill as soon as they noticed you two. Penelope had just won a bet of sorts and you felt disbelief, but at the same time a smile was also trying to creep up on your lips. You squeezed Spencer's hand imperceptibly tighter. For a moment you were distracted and focused on Morgan and Garcia. You didn't bring it up, it was just a little stupidity between them, one of many

Your relationship wasn't a big obstacle as long as it didn't affect the team's work, your cooperation in the field, or involve showing romantic feelings at work. 'And no intimate contact!' He even emphasized that a few times, but in an even more professional way. Not that you had any plans and you were an adult, so you shouldn't have been nervous, yet your cheeks and nose suddenly became more rosy. It ended with a few signatures and sending you out of the office with nothing. Overall he said that as long as you are happy, it's good. He went back to talking on the phone and reporting, which were more important to him at the time than such problems with agents.

You and Spencer were there for each other.

~

Everything seemed pretty fine until the headache and sleep problems came. And after it another headache and another headache. Sleep problems were nothing new, they happened every once in a while, but then they became more frequent. You thought it was temporary, caused by stress and fatigue, maybe not drinking enough water and being slightly dehydrated, but it only got worse. Often and routinely. The medication didn't help much, and the tests, head and brain scans showed nothing.

Spencer was almost going crazy thinking that this was early schizophrenia, some stage of the disease and he would end up like his own mother, which was his biggest nightmare. The knowledge that in a dozen or so years he might not remember anything, only have flashes of what he knew, become useless. He wanted to use his full potential. He was supposed to be a genius, to come up with something that would help slow down the progression of his mother's disease, not a useless piece of crap whose life would slip through his fingers because of the cavities in his head.

It had nothing to do with schizophrenia at the end of the day, but it was problematic enough. They were migraines, strong and painful migraines. They didn't seem dangerous in a long run, were not comparable in terms of potential danger to anything related to the disorder he suspected, however they were difficult for Spencer and he was clearly suffering, the sight that broke your heart.

You didn't want to see him like this, you wanted to do everything to make him feel better. You weren't an expert in medicine, but you used the comforting methods you knew to make him feel at least a little better, a little more mundane than the medical ones. You stayed at his apartment a lot more often, slept there a lot more often, to be completely sure about his pain, to help him through sleepless nights, to provide him with some peace. At one point, you practically lived there. Despite your sincere efforts, compresses, warm teas, kisses on the head and careful massaging of his temples, it wasn't enough, maybe it just helped slightly. You really tried and he knew it too, sometimes he even thought and mentioned, that he didn't deserve you.

You wanted to find someone who knew about these kinds of conditions. You knew that Spencer had more contacts and connections because he was in the scientific community, so he could do more, he could take care of himself, but you wanted to do something too. You spent your nights just to find a doctor, a scientist, anyone. This situation wasn't good for you either. Almost every time you worried about Spencer, it took its toll on you. The nerves and helplessness became overwhelming. You yourself experienced headaches, but you just clenched your teeth. It was from exhaustion and you wouldn't admit it. Spencer thought you didn't have to do it, to sacrifice and worry so much, he always reminded you of that.

You were there for him, nothing new.

Wait, sweetheart.

You know you weren't the only one anymore? Really, no one told you?

You were about to give up, thinking that there was no point in searching any longer. More frustration than concern flowed through you. Mostly frustration with yourself. But you found it. You had it. You found a geneticist who could help. You felt enlightened and filled with hope. You hadn't felt this kind of hope in a long time.

There she was.

Dr. Maeve Donovan

You felt convinced, you had a feeling she would be the solution to Spencer's problems. He had no doubts when you suggested that Maeve look at the scans. You sent them by email, but you didn't go into why that was the right way for her. It wasn't your business after all. She had reviewed Spencer's MRI scans of brain, partly to help, partly out of pure scientific interest, he was a brilliant mind after all. Unlike other doctors, she saw the solution in these headaches and sleeping problems. After a few weeks of analysis, she wrote everything down, including recommendations and a prescription for some medications that you knew a little about because of how immersed you were in the whole topic of migraines, insomnia, and even paranoid schizophrenia, despite everything, Spencer knew more about these meds.

~

Months passed. I guess. You were losing count. Something was wrong and you knew it. Not with Spencer, he was slowly getting better and was in less and less pain, he didn't wake up at night as often and he wasn't in more pain during the day. You were relieved to see your beloved getting better, the meds were working, and he was regaining his nerdy drive and commitment to everything. It was a precious sight you had been waiting for.

So you should have been happy, it was wiser not to dig anything up. You didn't have a habit of behaving like that. Since Soencer was acting strange at least, you had to find out what was going on and why he wasn't telling you. He always trusted you, he told you everything, and if he didn't say something, he still mentioned the situation. Now he was avoiding anything that could be related to his behavior. He was nervous, as if stressed, sometimes he would suddenly disappear at Sundays and come back after a few minutes without a word. Later he was a bit concerned, but he tried to get back to reality. And later he would even sneak out during work, when you were with the team in the field. Sometimes you'd see notes and a pen left around his apartment, like he was writing letters. You never tried to read them, but you felt a pang in your heart.

Your intuition wasn't some great mechanism, but it wasn't stupid either. You saw him get even more worked up one afternoon. That was when Maeve told him she loved him. But you were so blissfully unaware that you were in that position. Spencer wasn't a cheater, that much was for sure. He froze for a moment after hearing those words, but he didn't answer her. He thought about what to do with this new awareness, he thought a lot.

When, during one of the cases, after Spencer had a quick conversation with Blake, she gave him a ride somewhere, you felt like something was happening completely behind your back. At least Alex already knew what was going on after she confronted him near the telephone booth. And so she promised him she wouldn't tell anyone, so you remained in unconsciousness. Unconsciousness that was no longer blissful.

And then you saw a book wrapped carefully in ribbon in Spencer's apartment, even if Spencer wasn't particularly artistic. You didn't look in there. You didn't know if it would calm down or if you'd find out something you didn't want to know. He didn't even noticed you'd noticed the book, he was behaving the same way as last time. A little nervous, but pretending to be normal. You were also a profiler, he couldn't hide it from you, even if you didn't make a habit of profiling your loved ones, it didn't agree with your morals. Well, you made plenty of exceptions for Spencer, so why should this be any different?

You loved this living room 'cause of the light. As you stood by the bookshelf, staring at the spines of old, yellowed books whose arrangement you already knew by heart, Spencer came up behind you, a slightly sheepish smile on his face. You knew that look on his face. You often cut his hair because he wasn't very comfortable with having a barber do it. He didn't like the feeling of a stranger messing with his hair, it wasn't pleasant in any way, even if most of society disagreed.

“Umm… I’m starting to think I look weird.” He began uncertainly, referring to his hair. “It’s a little too long, I think.”

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze darting between his face and his hair, you smiled. You had thought about proposing a haircut to him a few days ago, but in the end you didn't. The request seemed rather sudden. Finally, you reached out and touched his hair, and he leaned slightly into your touch. He found it a pleasant experience.

"I don't know, I like it. It's not too long yet." You admitted as you focused on his hair and kept running your fingers through it, trying to style it.

"You think so?"

You didn't know why he was so determined about it, or why he cared so much at that time. As if there were already too many strange things happening that you couldn't explain, another one was just happening.

"Yeah, it's fine. Trust me, Spence."

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. This kiss was warm and sincere, as always, but it had a slightly different tone than what he usually gave, more... apologizing? What the hell did he have to apologize for?

You didn't bring up the subject of hair again. You didn't know, but Alex had told him that his hair was fine the way it was and it wouldn't affect what Maeve thought. It would be funny if you were the one who cut his hair to meet her. And your eyes kept returning to the white cover and the ribbon - The narrative of John Smith

You thought you were stupid, that you were really just making up a story to yourself because you were too bored, that it was just your stupid overthinking and nothing was happening, you were drawing too many conclusions and adding a story to everything. You thought you were crazy, that something was wrong with you. You should have been happy that Spencer was no longer suffering and in pain, not making up events that you had no idea about.

What if you were right?

~

While at work one day that seemed as normal as any other, except for the constant doubts in the back of your mind, you saw Spencer briskly walk to Hotch's office without a word. He was there longer than you expected, which certainly didn't comfort you. And then you were all in the bullpen, around Spencer, whose voice was breaking.

"... He thinks he'll get away with this and he might." He stared at the floor and didn't look up. "I have a wealth of knowledge I should be applying to this case. Behavioral patterns of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies, victim survival odds. But right now I can't focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, which makes me the dumbest person in the room." All eyes were fixed on him, it was an unexpected situation. "So... please help me. Help me find her."

Sometimes you felt small glances at you. You clenched your hand on the edge of the desk. You weren't even mad. You felt your stomach drop. Maeve, same Maeve. How could all this be happening so close to you and you were so stupid? You didn't say anything, just like everyone else. The difference was that the others were taken aback, surprised, but you were just numb.

After a moment, Hotch spoke up, even his tone of voice was a little different than usual. "We don't know if we have a case. So we'll be working on personal time. Does anybody want to leave?"

Silence.

You swallowed hard, but did nothing. You didn't leave, you stood there, leaning against the desk. It seemed impossible. This was all a bad dream. If nothing happened, then you weren't betrayed, right? Still, your heart ached. Your heart ached for another reason. You couldn't even feel angry because you were more concerned with his trembling, cracking voice. What the hell was wrong with you. What was even worse was that Spencer didn't have the courage to look at you. His gaze wandered, staring at the floor, his gaze meeting everything and everyone but you.

"Good. Let's get to work."

Soon, you were sitting at the same round table as always. All of their letters in front of you. The same written pages that you had seen in Spencer's apartment, but that you had never touched. You hadn't spoken to him since his confession and plea for help. You should have occupied yourself with the fact that this was about the life of an innocent woman, approached it professionally, but you couldn't. Looking at these letters, holding them in your hands and reading them, you pressed your lips into a line. You didn't share your thoughts or observations. In fact, you didn't have any, because all the letters merged into one, and you weren't able to think deeper.

Spencer was clearly taking it, looking worse than he had during any stressful case, worse than he had during any other stressful event. And you wanted to help him, or take him aside and talk to him. But he didn't seem to have a clear head to talk. What were you supposed to do anyway? Comfort him? You were the first loved one, it wasn't fair to you. Who said feelings were fair? Were you supposed to yell at him? In his condition, it wouldn't do any good anyway, and you'd only say too many words because of how you felt now.

He was angry, he didn't behave rationally, he stretched all possible theories. You had never seen Spencer like this, so emotional.

And you thought he was emotional when you were shot in the stomach during one of the cases five, maybe four years ago.

You remember his panic, your hot, scarlet blood on his hands, the pressure of his hand on your stomach where the bullet was and the tears in his eyes. And you smiled slightly at him, you don't know why, but you weren't even scared. You didn't feel any pain, because of the adrenaline in your body. You lost so much blood at the same time that you started to feel blissful, maybe that's why you weren't afraid. He acted like a hothead, and you thought there was no need to panic.

He sat in the hospital all night, right under the operating room, when you were being operated on. For several days he sat in the hospital almost constantly, slept on those uncomfortable chairs and showed you the greatest care. He was the first person you saw after waking up. The team and the nurses practically had to drag him away from the room and the hospital.

He brought you everything that could help you recover faster and smuggled in some snacks when you made pretty eyes, although according to the regulations he shouldn't do that. He explained that he wasn't doing it because it was your whim, but because after losing so much blood you should eat chocolate to normalize. You knew that wasn't his intention, but you appreciated the clever excuse.

It doesn't change the fact that you lost a part of yourself back then.

But his behavior back then was nothing like what he was now. A nervous wreck. He wanted to do everything in his power to save Maeve. How could you have known they were in touch? You thought that after the meds were prescribed, it was over. But no, she had sent him a letter praising his article on psychology. You tried to work on it, like everyone else, you really did, but you felt like shit. Maybe she was what he had always been looking for? They were interested in similar things, had similar topics and knowledge in different areas. Maybe you were just too stupid for the long term, didn't have that much to offer.

Weren't you his love by any chance?

Anyway, you didn't even talk. You didn't bring yourself to talk, you didn't look at him. The team's hard work had paid off, even if the atmosphere was tense and heavy. You were supposed to find Maeve, find out where Diane was holding her. Diane had already killed Bobby, Donovan's ex-fiancé. After her efforts, Garcia discovered where both women could be. Hotch absolutely forbade Spencer from showing up at the scene, but Spencer clearly protested. He wanted to pretend to Diane what he felt for Maeve - love.

After those words, you really felt like nothing.

You no longer showed him the same sweet support you always did, you couldn't, but by not giving up on your help you also made it clear that you wouldn't just abandon him. Despite the lack of contact between you, you devoted your nights to this matter, you slept worse than usual and drank more coffee. Don't kid yourself, you didn't really sleep because you were thinking about your relationship. Was it real or was it your imagination? You weren't working, you were consumed by thoughts and you were losing all of yourself in it.

So you were there for him, well, more for his cause, but for him.

~

Outskirts of town. Spencer entered the old, abandoned building first. None of you thought it was a good idea, but you didn't stop him. You felt the pain in this whole situation, and you were even more afraid of something happening to him. Well, it was because you loved him. You didn't know if he loved you the same anymore. You couldn't even think about 'no'. You were exhausted for the past few days.

You waited there impatiently, not knowing what was going on inside. At least you didn't see that fake kiss between Diane and Spencer. You knew it would be wiser to step in there, so that's what you did. They tried to keep you at a distance, to the side, so you wouldn't do anything stupid under the influence of emotions. Spencer tried to negotiate with Diane, who was holding a terrified Maeve, while with her other hand she was holding a gun to her own temple. You kept your cool, just like Spencer, but you could see his nervousness.

"He's the one thing you can never take from us." You heard Maeve's last, quiet words, and then a noise.

A bang, a screech in your ears, and a large, spreading stain of blood on the floor. Both women lying on the cold floor, their hair in dark blood, and a gun nearby. You looked at Spencer, who was rooted to the ground, with tears in his eyes. He quickly approached the lying, still warm Maeve. The bullet flew through the head of one and stopped in the head of the other. There was nothing left to save from the shot brain. Spencer's beloved was currently bleeding out in his arms, his hands were completely covered in sticky blood, and tears were running down his cheeks, staining her pale skin and face, from which the life had gone.

Everyone was in shock, no one made a move or said anything. Tears welled up in your own eyes. Partly because of how Spencer felt, how tragic his condition was, partly because you only just realized what was happening. He was crying hard over the body of another woman, whispering quiet words to her, hoping she would hear them, even though it was a foolish hope. He was too stunned to do anything at that point, so you walked up to them, her blood was also on your hands, you thought you could still save her yourself, even though there was no chance of that.

~

He helped her parents bury her. He was there until the end... in fact, he was there even longer. Everyone else had gone, and he was left at the grave. No, he wasn't there alone. He was there with you. You helped him in everything. You loved him and watched him bury and mourn his beloved woman. He hadn't slept in many nights, his eyes were red and his face was drawn and sunken, and he had probably lost weight. He didn't remember much of the ceremony, he was numb and had been on sedatives for several days.

Days passed, and attempts to contact Spencer were in vain, he wasn't at work, he didn't answer his phone. You went to the staircase of his apartment, to the tenement house where he lived. You'd sometimes pass JJ or Blake going up or down the same stairs. You knew the stairs by heart by now, and every time you went on the second floor up them it only got worse. Penelope left more baskets of food and necessary things by his door. Eventually they disappeared, he had to take them when no one was there, he had to survive somehow, not leaving the apartment.

You couldn't handle it, but you tried not to show it. Despite that, the rest seemed to notice your suffering. They certainly did, knowing how close you were. Suddenly you felt betrayed, rejected. What the fuck was that? You were always there for him, always, you loved him, he seemed to love you sincerely too. And in the end, he suffered because of the loss of another woman. How did she achieve this so quickly? You wanted to be understanding, but you didn't know how. You had the right to hate him, but you didn't do that either. You were left empty.

Without optimism, without a spark in the eyes, without what you started with.

You knocked on his door again, even though you had a feeling it wouldn't make much difference. Your voice was loud enough to be heard, but tired.

"You know Spencer, it's me again." You started uncertainly, having to think about every word so as not to say something stupid. It was a delicate situation. After a moment, you continued. "I just want to know how you're holding up." You leaned toward the dark, wooden door with a small plaque with the number 23.

You heard faint movements and rustling on the other side of the door, but no response. You sighed quietly. "Maybe you don't want to talk to anyone. Okay, I'm not forcing you. I think I look a little stupid talking to the door, though."

Suddenly you heard the sound of the lock turning in the door. The door opened slowly, as if he was wondering if he wanted to open it. Finally you saw him in the doorway, dressed in a thick sweater, deep in mourning. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair uncombed. The curtains in the apartment were drawn, and it was a general mess, which you could only see because of what you could see behind him, in the back of the apartment. "Hey." He was barely holding on.

You wanted to help him, to be there for him again, but you no longer felt entitled to do so. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you into the apartment. You immediately opened one of the windows, not much, just enough so that the fresh air would make him feel better. You repeated your previous question. You were standing close to him, but at a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" You asked in a soft voice with your typical concern.

"Not so well." He answered shortly, he didn't have the strength to talk.

You didn't push. Hell, you couldn't even talk to him. It was almost like you were standing there with a stranger, not with the man, you loved so much. The light you loved so much was gone from this room. It was almost completely dark. The air was thick with lose and indecision.

He walked over to you, more tears flowing from his eyes. Suddenly you were his support again. He hadn't really cried in days, he just didn't have the strength anymore. Seeing you made him realize everything he had done. He clung to you like you were his last lifeline, he clung to no one else but you. You heard his sobbing and some quiet words, you didn't even understand what they were, there were tears in your eyes too, but you didn't hug him like you usually did.

On the corner of the table, the same book was lying again, this time without the brown ribbon. You were lucky you didn't see the dedication inside. It would have destroyed you even more. Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.

He cried on your shoulder, and you pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart. Why did he even feel entitled to this, why did he keep leaning on you? You felt like screaming. You really wanted to scold him, but it probably wasn't appropriate at the time.

Again you were there for him, it was always you at the end of the day.

~

The atmosphere at work was tense, heavy. Everyone seemed to be behaving normally, but it wasn't like usual. No one talked to you about the incident anymore, except maybe Penelope, who as always tried to talk to you, to make you feel a little relieved, brought you those herbal, sweet teas with syrups that you loved. She didn't delve into the subject, so as not to drag out your own pain, she skirted the subject all the time. Basically, everyone was tiptoeing around you, which irritated you. Damn, you didn't want any forced pity.

A few weeks passed, Spencer went back to work, but you didn't talk more than necessary and everyone noticed the changes between you. You became colder, distant. After all, your relationship wasn't supposed to affect the team's work. But was it even a relationship anymore?

You bit your nails, picked at the cuticles around your nails, scratched off the polish. You clenched your fists, dug your nails into your palms, leaving indentations in the shape of half moons on the palms of your hands. Every morning you looked at him with a storm in your eyes, and he didn't notice the signals you were sending him.

You had to talk to him, there was no other way. He had avoided you during Maeve's case and the funeral, and after that you had only had this one, harmless conversation because you didn't want to overwhelm him with more things right away. But now you were the one who was overwhelmed. You cared about his well-being, but not your own. It had always been like that, you were mainly concerned about him, even if it was ultimately overwhelming for you.

Was it worth it? Because I don't think so.

Having a free moment, you approached him and approached him. You wondered if you should do it or just back off, but your tongue got the better of you and the words came out. "We should talk."

He immediately turned to you. He knew this conversation would come, but somehow he wasn't ready for it. But he also knew how much worry and pain he had caused you, he couldn't put it off forever and keep running away. Grief wasn't an excuse. "Fine."

You found a spot in the hallway, a little more private, far enough away so you wouldn't be conspicuous through the glass doors. No one in the bullpen needed to hear your conversation or see what you did. You didn't promise predictability.

You could see he wanted to start calmly, like it always was between you, but you started abruptly first. "Spencer, what was that all about?"

He wasn't looking at you again, suddenly the floor seemed much more interesting. "What does that mean?"

"Don't suddenly act stupid, you're not stupid and unintelligent. What was wrong with our relationship?" You play brave, tough. You play because you don't feel that way.

He looked up, his lips pressed into a line. “Nothing. Everything was fine.” His answers were distant.

You shook your head slightly. “Spencer, talk to me, I don’t want any half-spells. You know what, I would expect this from anyone, anyone, but you."

He let you down, he let you down and that hurt him the most. He wasn't what you deserved. "I'm sorry." You could feel the shame in his voice but you didn't want shame or an apology because there was nothing left to save.

"I don't want your sorry. I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. I didn't expect anything in return, not even though I got your feelings in return, I'm not saying I didn't, I won't lie. But how did you replace me so easily?" And your bravery quickly crumbled, and tears appeared in your eyes, you blinked a few times.

Silence.

"Do something, say something! You won't lose anything anyway." You were starting to get angry. This was the first time you had been angry at him like this and you had allowed yourself to be angry. "Because what else can you lose?" Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut and not said that. It sucks, it happens.

He swallowed hard. "You. I could lose you." He knew those words wouldn't do much now, but he tried anyway.

"Oh, you're just now thinking about this? And where, excuse me, were you earlier?! Sorry I forgot, in a phone booth. And you didn't see my gray face, how sick we've become, and if you noticed, you wouldn't admit it." You didn't mince your words, you deserved to be genuinely mad.

"I..."

You should have let him talk, you should have, but you didn't. "No, listen to me! You acted like the biggest, selfish asshole and I don't know what you were thinking!" He had never seen you so upset with him, but he didn't interrupt. "What did you miss, what did I miss?"

He deserved those words, he knew he deserved them. He didn't even try to argue, he accepted the harsh words. It hurt him more when he heard your question. "No, no, you didn't lack anything. It's my fault and I'm really sorry. You were so good and sweet to me, it's all my fault." He didn't want to lose you too, but he worked for it.

"You can't change anything, beating yourself up now won't change anything... Spence." You hesitated to address him that way at all. You weren't as loud as you had been a few seconds ago, but I guess he preferred it that way. It was easier for him to accept your anger and the hurling of insults than the disappointment in your voice. And that was exactly what was in your voice - disappointment.

He looked almost like a beaten puppy. "I know, I realize that." He thought for a moment; he wasn't in the habit of swearing. "I screwed up."

"Yes, and I don't deny it. I really thought you'd be honest. I wish I had known from the beginning, maybe it would have been easier." You had tears in your eyes, but you couldn't be stupid enough to cry. "I thought it was honest. My own pain was such an imposition."

He reached out and ran his hand through the hair on top of your head. He didn't want to scare you, to do something you wouldn't like, he held his hand there for a moment. "It wasn't an imposition, don't think like that. And you shouldn't have known this from the start, in fact I shouldn't have done it at the first."

You wanted to ask what Maeve had that you didn't, but you didn't even have the courage. You pulled his hand away from your hair. "Those are nice words, but we both know you can't take back your actions, which said something completely different." You bit the inside of your cheek until you finally spoke again. "You're losing me."

He didn't blame you for rejecting his hand, he understood that perfectly well, you had every right to avoid him, but he still felt a pang. He shook his head slightly. "No, don't say that, please."

"But it's over, Spence. You kind of decided that yourself. I'm really sorry she's gone, but helping with a case like hers is one thing, and love is another. I know you and I saw, well... that." You didn't want to bring up the brutal murder directly. "That's what love looked like."

For a moment you stood in silence, he couldn't deny it and you didn't know what to say. Without a word you turned around and started walking down the hallway towards the glass doors, a few tears in your eyes balanced between your lash line and the corners of your eyes.

Spencer lost something again, but you were no longer there for him.

See? I told you so.

You know what they all say, you don't know what you got until it's gone.

[allieslittlewritings]

*not my gif <3

Comfort

Aaron Hotchner x Teen!Reid!Reader

Summary: Hotch comforts Spencer's daughter when she's worried about her dad

Set in: Season 14 Episode 1 "300"

Warnings: Reader is worried about Spencer, mentions of a parent hypothetically dying, hints of self-deprecation

A/n: what i'd give to see Hotch in the later seasons :(

When you were little and your dad was in danger, the team kept it from you as long as they could.

The older you got, the more difficult it was for them to lie or stretch the truth.

By now you were too old for them to not tell you.

They spared you the details of the actual situation.

You just knew Spencer was abducted, and, therefore, there was a chance he wasn't coming back alive.

You wondered if this was it.

If this would finally be the time your dad didn't make it out on the other side of a life threatening situation.

You waited at the BAU and sat by your dad's desk, wondering if that desk would belong to someone else in a few months, maybe years.

Hotch exited his office and slowly walked towards you.

He saw the emotionless expression on your face and his heart sank.

"Hey," He said softly.

You didn't reply.

He walked closer to you and leaned against your dad's desk.

"You can talk to me, you know that right?" He said.

The feeling of guilt had started to build up in his throat.

Maybe if he'd been more careful, or more observant, this wouldn't have happened.

You waited a minute before speaking. "You know, even with everything he's been through there's still this weird thing in my head that convinces me he'll be okay."

"He might." Sugar coating things wouldn't help you right now.

"But he might not." You finally looked at him with glassy eyes.

A quiet, bitter chuckle left your lips.

Not becuase anything was humorous, you simply couldn't believe this was happening again.

"I don't know what I'd do without him, Hotch." Your voice shook as you spoke.

"You're not supposed to," Hotch said. "I know that does little to comfort you. I wish there was something I could say to make it better but there isn't."

"This shouldn't happen to people. And I don't mean me, I mean... hasn't he been through enough? Even if he survives, physically. One person can only handle so much."

"Your dad is strong, and he has you to remind him why he has to keep going."

"What if I'm not enough to make life feel worth it to him?" You asked, your voice cracking.

"Enough?" He asked, shocked. "Y/N, on every bad day I've seen your dad have, when he gets to go home and see you, I can see the weight on his shoulders ease. You've been enough for him to keep going since the day you were born. Hell, even before you were born."

You didn't bother fighting against the sobs begging to be released anymore.

"Come here," Hotch said softly, opening his arms.

You gave in and let him hold you while you sobbed.

He wasn't a very touchy person usually, but he felt differently about that when it came to certain people, and you were one of them.

Hotch swore to himself then that if your dad didn't make it back, he would always be there for you.

You would never be alone as long as he was around.

★

You sat in Aaron's office after that.

He didn't go with the others when they went to hopefully bring Spencer back, choosing to stay with you instead.

You sat on the couch in his office, a book you had only read three pages of open in front of you.

Hotch saw your eyes start to falter.

"You should get some rest, Y/N."

"No, I need to be awake when they get back." You insisted.

"I'll wake you up," Hotch assured you.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

You lay down on the couch and eventually fell asleep. Aaron went to get you a blanket and carefully covered you with it.

★

"Y/N." Hotch shook you awake. "Your dad's almost here."

You quickly sat up, "He's okay?"

"Yeah. He's in the elevator now, he'll be up in a minute."

Relieved tears welled up in your eyes.

"Thank you," You whispered, leaning forward to hug him.

"For what?"

"Being here." You said quietly. "And whatever you did that helped get him back."

Hotch tightened his hold on you, "I'll always be here, Y/N."

fin. ♡

[problemchildtm]

Heartbreak

Derek Morgan x Reader

A/n: I'm no writer but I wanted to give it a try. I've also never really been in love so take the love analogies with a grain of rice. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: angst/fluff, mentions of grief and death, hardly proofread, I think that's it but let me know if I'm missing something

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

“You will never know true happiness until you have truly loved, and you will never understand what pain really is until you have lost it.” —Unknown

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what heartbreak felt like. Heartbreak and the BAU went together like the mood and the tides. He’s seen the effects firsthand. The anger, the depression, and everything else in between. Day after day, week after week he watches heartbreak and it never gets better.  

He can still remember his first experience with the phenomenon. He was hit the day his dad died. People always describe the feeling being as simple as its name. A physical crack in the chest cavity that contains the heart. In his case, it was more like the entire muscle being forcefully ripped out. The pain was immeasurable and all-encompassing. Every inch of his body ached to the point of exhaustion. Absolutely nothing could compare.  

Heartbreak is sourced in different ways: Breakups, deaths, rejections just to name a few. Derek never wanted to go through heartbreak in any capacity, so he’s cruised. There were no serious relationships or commitments outside the BAU, just to play it safe. Heartbreak can’t reach those who build extensive layers of armor around the vessel.

Everything was going well until he met you.

It was impossible for him to shut you out. Derek’s frequented the same gym for years. They had everything he needed and the change of scenery from the FBI was nice. He’s had the same routine for years yet the process abruptly stopped the second he laid eyes on you, sitting behind the front desk with the warmest smile he’s ever seen. From there he was a goner.

The occasional run-in turned into movie marathons on a rare off day before completely blossoming into a full-fledged romance. Derek’s never been one to believe in love at first sight. Hell, he hardly believed in love, so it was utterly confusing when the metaphorical hole in his heart started to swell at the thought of you. No matter what he did his mind always returned to you. The way you spoke to him, the way you cared for him after a rough case, the way you smelled, his thoughts were completely filled by you. 

The days were longer, the nights were kinder, and the job was more bearable. Soon, the constant fear and anxiety that plagued him evolved into comfort. He no longer feared heartbreak. He didn’t wonder who would be the next person to destroy his happiness because he knew you would never even dream of it. You who held him after a nightmare. You who always understood his schedule. You who distracted him from the horrors of his profession. You who loved him, you who he fell in love with. Suddenly, warmth flooded his chest accompanied by a staggering realization. Love isn’t a concept you convince yourself is there out of fear of being alone. It’s not just a word. And it’s not some other-worldly experience that takes over a life. Love is feeling at ease with someone. Love is being able to rely on someone without worrying about ulterior motives. Love is what he felt for you. 

Derek Morgan was positive he knew what love felt like and he felt it day after day by your side. 

[reidsluvva]

oblivion.

sypnosis. - spencer is saddened by y/n’s recent date. pairing. - spencer reid x fem!bau!reader content/warnings. - angst, bit of drinking, unrequited love but not rly, tons of miscommunication, elle’s story is very different, spencer has headaches even before s6 but timeline is just overall wonky, spencer is stupid

y/n’s phone lit up on the table, signaling a notification.

“hey y/n! who’s “alex”?” emily asked in a teasing tone. y/n buried her face in her hands as she let out a chuckle.

“emily it isn’t polite to look at other people’s phones! besides, it’s just a guy whom i went out with last week.” y/n said, her tone gradually becoming softer and quieter. the bau on the other hand, already kind of tipsy, started cheering.

their loud yells quickly filled the room. y/n has been in the bau for 4 years, but in the time they’ve known her she had always turned down every guy who ever asked her out, so this was quite exciting and unusual. derek was teasing her about being secretive, emily was talking about how she’s offended y/n didn’t tell her, jj and penelope were very impatiently asking for details, and hotch and rossi were just laughing. the only one who didn’t even say a word was spencer. he was sitting across from y.n. he just looked unfocused and disoriented, which was quite unusual. when emily glanced at him concerningly he just gave her a short smile.

after y/n told them some details (it really wasn’t much, they met at a park and he had a very pretty dog whom y/n complimented, thus they started chatting and eventually went out to a restaurant together) the room got a bit quieter, and gradually they shifted onto other topics. though spencer still wasn’t saying a word. he made eye contact w y/n, and as she was about to ask if everything is okay, spencer just got up and started going towards the door.

“hey hey what’s wrong?” penelope chimed towards him.

“nothing, i’m just dizzy so i’m going to get some fresh air.” he nodded, and shortly afterward left the room.

“i’m gonna check up on him, i have meds.” y/n said as she walked towards the door. the others just nodded, y/n has helped spencer with headaches before so this wasn’t out of the usual. but y/n felt incredibly anxious. she noticed the shift in spencer’s body language once the topic became her date. and she was confused.

she found spencer sitting on a bench in front of the house.

“hey, i got u algopyrin in case your head hurts? maybe it also helps with the dizziness.” she said as she sat down next to him, leaving about 6 inches between them. much to her shock, spencer didn’t react, instead he just shuffled away from her. she opened her eyes wide and stood up, facing him, full of concern.

“okay what’s wrong spencer?” she crossed her arms, signaling her shift in attitude. he just turned his head to the side. “oh come on, please talk to me!” she said, now sounding more desperate.

“why did you go out with him?” he mumbled.

“what?” she furrowed her brows. she wanted confirmation that she heard him correctly.

“why did you go out with him?” he said, now louder and facing y/n. he was looking at her like she’d just stabbed him in the back.

“why shouldn’t i have gone out with him? i’m confused.” she said, now lowering her arms to the side, a million thoughts racing in her head. does he know something about alex? or does spencer not want her to go out with others because he likes her? no, no, logically that couldn’t be the case.

“be-because y/n, you just shouldn’t. you should know better.” he huffed.

“what the hell are you talking about spencer?” she said, her tone now a bit louder.

“what did he do better? was he better looking? i know i have flaws, i know i’m weird, but-”

“what?” she practically yelled. “reid are you saying you wanted to go out with me?”

“yes, y/n, obviously! for a very very long time, and i think i’ve been very clear.”

“oh cut the crap spencer. i have been waiting on you for four years. you can’t suddenly decide u want me as soon as i get with someone else. four years spen-”

“no you haven’t, what?” his voice was like a whisper. he was genuinely confused but to her he just seemed cocky.

“you can’t be serious. i waited on u for FOUR years, and you know what you did? after two years of me hopelessly admiring you, which i am sure as a profiler you did not fucking miss, not that i was so subtle about it, you decide to have a little makeout sesh with some random actress you literally met like a few days prior. you know how invaluable i felt? and how just utterly stupid i felt? and then you go and ignore me for a month, refusing to even stand next to me. was that you being ‘very clear’? i felt so, so dumb, because for a while i really did think you liked me, spencer. and then for another two years all i listened to was elle talking my ear off about how much she liked you. i listened to her gush about every special interaction of yours, your plane rides where she would sleep on your shoulder. and me being the idiot i am, i still couldn’t let go of you. like a stupid little girl wanting to live in a fantasy.”

at this point she noticed her words were somewhat nonsensical, but by now solely her emotions fueled her. her voice was wobbly and her eyes became red. she felt way too sober for someone who’s just had three glasses of red wine.

“and then, she tells you how she feels, which i, as stupid as i am encouraged her to do, because why on earth wouldn’t you wanna go out with elle goddamn greenaway? she’s practically perfect! then you pull up with your little speech about how dating in the bau isn’t allowed, and then i realized- i am stupid. why would spencer reid want anything to do with me? we are colleagues, that’s it. we aren’t even allowed to date, even if you wanted to. you contacted me maybe twice outside of work since lila- so i can help with your headaches. that’s it. how exactly was that you signaling your feelings? this had always been purely a work relationship and i’ve grown to accept that. especially when elle left. i did not want us to end up like that so i finally, after four years, moved on with my life and now you decide to get all butthurt on me because i went out with a guy? after ruining myself over you for four years? you never even remotely said anything! am i supposed to pause my life waiting for you forever? oh you are such a piece of shit!”

her sadness turned to anger during the end of her speech. spencer was shocked.

“no, no, no, i didn’t know. i’ve always liked u y/n. i’m sorry. we could make it work. i could transfer if the bau doesn’t allow us to. please. it wasn’t like that with lila. it’s always been you about you.” her heart ached at his words.

“don’t do this to me spencer, please. and please for the sake of our jobs forget this ever happened.” she said as she made eye contact with emily standing in the doorway. “i’m gonna go home, go back to the others.” she said as she tossed the algopyrin to him and walked away.

spencer was left dumbfounded. he just sat there, staring at her walking away, before flinching at a sound next to him.

“what did you expect?” the woman next to him sighed. he stayed silent.

-------

HI :') my first piece. idk if i'll ever post again but yuh this was personal fr

[specialagentlokitty]

Daryl x reader - our past lives bleed into the preset

Part 2:

You turned to Rick and Michonne.

“Can we get these guys showered, some new clothes and some food?”

They nodded, and you turned to the BAU team, giving them a small smile.

“Follow us.”

You trailed behind Rick and Michonne, Carol, Daryl and AJ not that far behind you and the BAU behind them.

You stopped outside your house, and gestured to it and the house next to it.

“You guys can split up, use these two to shower and all, Michonne is going to find some spare clothes for everybody and Rick is going to get some food brought the church.”

“Can we talk?” Emily asked.

You turned around, looking at them all.

“Yeah, afterwards we can.”

“Hey (Y/N)? Jesus is asking for you, something about some plans for Hilltop he wants to run over? He’s on the radio.” Rosita said.

You turned to her, nodding your head.

“Yeah I know what plans he’s on about. Can somebody take Negan his lunch?”

“I’ll do it.” Aaron said.

You held your arms around to Carol and she handed you AJ, and you placed him on the ground next to you.

Crouching down, you smiled at him.

“Where do you want to go buddy?”

“Can I stay with Daryl?”

You nodded, letting him wonder off to hold Daryl’s hand, and you walked over to your husband.

“I’ll come find you after.”

“Be at the church.”

You nodded, and you jogged after Rosita to deal with what you needed to handle.

You were gone for maybe an hour or so, having other stuff to do as well and you finally made your way over to the church where everybody else was stood.

Making your way inside, you walked over to Rick.

“Can we trust them?” He whispered.

“Yeah, I trusted them with my life before all of this.”

“Do you still trust them?” Michonne asked.

You glanced over at the group who were anxiously watching you, then turned back to your friends.

“Yes.”

They nodded their heads, and you all walked over.

Daryl had passed AJ to Carol so she could put him to bed, and you both sat next to each other watching as Rick and Michonne interrogated the group.

It lasted maybe half an hour until JJ finally spoke up.

“Would we be able to speak to (Y/N)?” She asked.

“Fine, but we stay.” Daryl said.

“That’s fine, we just wanted to talk.” She smiled.

They all turned their attention to you, surrounded by the council, and you sat down on the bench as you looked at them.

“How did you make it?” You asked.

“We were all at a family event at the park when the notification came through on our phones, Derek was with his family and you were in a different state. Before cell reception went, we’d managed to organise a meet point with Derek and his family, but nobody could get through to you.” Reid explained.

“Yeah, I was visiting my brother, everything went to hell pretty quickly. Rick was shot just before all of this, we thought he died, turned out he didn’t.”

You gestured to Rick who was sat next to you, and then turned your attention back to the ground.

“Been with them since.”

“You’ve been here the whole time?” Hotch asked.

You shook your head.

“No, but the real question is how did you guys make it this far.”

“When we realised what was happening a lot of people panic, there was supposed to be a safe one in Atlanta, but we couldn’t get there, we set up a safe place at the FBI headquarters, stayed there for a while but we had to get out the city eventually.”

You nodded your head.

“We found a small farmhouse for a while, but it was overrun after about a year, then we just kept moving until we came across some people who took us back to the place your brother found us.” JJ said.

You nodded again, resting your arms on your knees.

You studied them all carefully, and you could tell they haven’t had much interaction with the walkers, or other people for that matter.

Most people had scars, or were covered in dirt and blood when you found them, but these guys were only a little dirty, not a single scar across them.

“We don’t have any spare houses right now, you guys can hide out here, we should have some new houses up by the end of the month. Get some rest.”

With that, you stood up and walked back to your house, dropping yourself on to the couch.

Daryl walked in not long after, sitting on the table as he looked at you resting your head on Carol’s shoulder.

“Don’t take a profiler to see he wants to speak to you.” He mumbled.

You sighed.

“I know, I just… I don’t know what to say to him…”

Daryl scoffed a little.

“Shouldn’t be that hard.”

With that he got up and you groaned in annoyance.

You know Daryl wasn’t actually angry with you, you knew he always had doubts about him being the right person for you.

After all you were a member of the FBI, in a stable relationship, expecting your partners son, and he didn’t even have a job before all this started.

“What do I do Carol?”

“You’ll have to speak to him at some point.”

You groaned again and sat up, pushing yourself up from the couch.

“I’ll go talk to Daryl first.”

Making your way to the bedroom, you got changed and crawled under the covers, placing your hand on the side of his face.

Daryl looked at you, and he closed his eyes again.

“I’m going to be honest with him, I need him to know that what we had before all of this we can’t have that again…”

This made him open his eyes again.

“Why? I thought you wanted to find him and he with him.”

You sighed.

“I did yeah, at first. Then time went on, I realised the likelihood of him or any of them being alive was smaller each day. Then I had AJ, then you were every step of the way. I fell in love with you.”

You leant forward, brushing your lips against his before pulling away.

“I love you, and I married you.”

Daryl opened his eyes again.

“Say it again.”

You smiled brightly, brushing your knuckles against his cheek.

“I love you Daryl..” you whispered.

You leant forward to kiss him again, and he wrapped an arm over your waist, placing his hand on your back as he leant forward.

He pulled away, resting his forehead on yours.

“I love you so much…”

He laughed a little.

“Go to sleep.”

“Come on Daryl, say it!” You whined slightly.

“No.”

“Daryl!”

You huffed a little bit, and went to move, and he tightened his hold around you, pulling you back into his chest.

You placed your hands on his, turning around to tuck your head under his chin, closing your eyes.

You slept until the early morning light filtered through the curtains, and you got up to find Daryl getting ready for the day.

He was sat on the bed, and you sat behind him, resting your head on his back, running a finger along the scars on his skin.

“Where you going?”

“AJ wants to go help build houses.”

You laughed a little bit.

“Course he does. Are you taking him?”

Daryl hummed a little bit, and you let him leant back against your chest.

“Alright, I’ll come find you guys soon.”

He turned his head so he could kiss you before getting up, grabbing his shirt as he pulled it on then grabbed his jacket.

You got ready for the day and made your way outside, heading over to the gate to speak to Eugine.

“We got some movement nearby, I count only a couple walkers.”

You nodded your head, placing a hand on the hilt of your sword.

“Go find Aaron or Gabriel, we’ll go out and clear them. Check the traps while we’re out there.”

He jogged away and you stood there waiting, listening to the sounds of the walkers outside the gate.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned around, looking as Rossi, Garcia and Reid came over.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Are you going out? Is that safe?” Garcia frowned.

“We got some walkers outside the gate, gonna clear them.”

“You aren’t going to just let them pass?” Rossi asked.

You shook your head.

“We’ve got people and coming most days, we need the gate cleared, and if we leave them they could pile up and we don’t need that again.”

“Again?” Reid asked.

“A while back we had a massive horde pile up, they knocked down the wall and got in, we lost a lot of good people that day.”

You gestured for them to follow you, and you showed them the names on the wall.

“Everybody we lost.”

“That’s a lot of names…” Garica whispered.

“Yeah..”

You turned back to the gate, finding Aaron and Gabriel there waiting for you.

“Look, I’ll be back soon. There’s a lookout spot by the gate, Eugine will show you it.”

You jogged away, leaving the safety of the community to deal with the walkers nearby.

You had to dispose of the bodies as well which took some time, but eventually you made your way back inside.

Putting your sword away, you made your way to the far side of the community.

Everybody was there, either helping or just watching as the houses were being built, and you dropped yourself between JJ and Emily.

“Mama!”

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your neck and AJ climb on to your back, and you smiled softly while Garcia, Reid, Emily, JJ looked at you in shock.

“Hey sweetheart, come here.”

You held your arm out and he sat in your lap.

“I want you to meet some friends of mine, from the old world. This is Emily, JJ, Spence, and Garcia.”

He waved at them all, moving to sit in the middle of everybody.

“Hi! I’m AJ!”

AJ rummaged through his pocket, pulling out a photo, and he looked at it, looking between them all.

“Mama tells me about you!” He beamed.

“Aw he’s so cute! I just wanna hug him!” Garcia gushed.

At the mention of a hug AJ looked at you excitedly and you nodded, letting him shove the photo back into his pocket to get up and run and Garcia.

She laughed loudly, holding him tightly.

“How old is he?” Reid asked.

“Honestly we’ve lost track of time now, but he’ll be 5 in the winter. He loves to celebrate his birthday when the first snow of the year falls.”

“He’s so cute, it’s amazing you’ve gotten through all of this with him.” Emily smiled.

“We’ve seen a few kids around, I can’t believe there’s so many. How do you guys keep them safe?” JJ asked.

“Everyone in the communities look out for each other, we protect each other. We teach them everything they need to know so they’re not scared. Teach them how to fight.”

They nodded their heads, and you could see Garica looking at your face.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

You sighed softly, bringing a hand up to touch your eye, the bandage around it, looking at the ground.

“I was stabbed, a long time ago.”

You explained the story to them of the saviours, the person who had stabbed you, what happened to the saviours and about your eye.

You did leave some things out, some things they didn’t need to know and it wasn’t your story to tell.

While you were talking AJ was moving from person to person, sitting with them all.

You finally finished talking, and Garcia was the first to come crushing you in a hug.

“That’s horrible! I can’t believe you went through all of that…” she whispered.

You smiled, placing a hand on her back.

“It’s alright, we always come out on top.”

The other three hugged you as well, and AJ happily joined the hug.

Everybody pulled away, and you sighed a little bit, looking out the house where Rossi, Hotch and Derek were helping with the building.

“Sorry guys, I need to speak to Hotch.”

You got up, and held your hand out for AJ who held it and followed you as you walked over.

“Hey Hotch, can we talk?”

He stopped what he was doing and nodded, stepping away so he could follow you to the side, and you stood just to the side.

“Is everything okay? Are you okay?” Hotch asked.

He went to reach up, and you placed your hand on his, lowering it back to the side.

You never missed the sad look on his face when you did this, and you had to look away, looking at AJ who was playing on the grass.

“I uh.. do you remember when I said I had something to tell you after I got back from my trip?”

He nodded his head.

“Yes, you said it had to be in person.”

You smiled a little.

“Yeah, it was a good thing. Hell, the best thing to ever happen really.”

You saw him furrow his brows a little bit.

“You have a right to know that AJ is your son Aaron, his name is Aaron Junior, I named him after you shortly after I gave birth because I didn’t want to forget you. He knows about you, he knows about everybody from the BAU.”

Hotch’s eyes widened a little bit.

“He’s.. he’s mine..?”

“Yeah… I don’t think it’s clicked yet to him as to who you are. But he’s yours, and I told him all about you, everything I could remember.”

“We.. you and I… we had a son…? Jack has a brother…”

Hotch rushed forward to hug you tightly, and you pat his back a few times before you moved away.

You smiled, walking over to AJ and you gestured for Hotch to crouch down next to you, and he did.

“Hey sweetheart?”

AJ looked up, setting his tennis ball on the ground.

“Do you remember when I was telling you about who your dad was?”

He nodded his head.

“I like the stories about my dad. Are you going to tell another?”

“How about you ask your dad for some stories? This is Aaron, he’s your dad buddy, and he’s really excited to meet you.”

AJ stared at Hotch, and then he got up to hug him, and Hotch held him tightly.

You smiled softly, and stood up, walking over to the BAU who were watching the scene, Jacks aunt brining him to run over to his dad and brother.

“I can’t believe you two had a baby!” Garcia squealed.

“We all knew it was a matter of time. Congratulations.” Rossi smiled.

They all congratulated you, and you smiled at them all.

“So, does this mean you and boss man will pick it back up? Carry on?” Derek asked.

You sighed a little bit, shaking your head.

“I’ll admit I was devastated when I thought I’d lost you all, I never wanted to move on, but it’s been so long since then.”

They all looked at you.

“You found somebody.” Emily noted.

You nodded, smiling a little bit.

“Yeah… he’s a pain in my ass, he’s stubborn as fuck, and rude at the best of times. But god he’s amazing though, he cares, and he always looks out for us, when food was scarce he would always make sure we were fed first. He wasn’t used to relationships so it took a while to get used to. Then when I was recovering with my eye, he spent weeks looking after AJ.”

“The guy from the other day?” JJ asked.

“Oh! The one with the one with the jacket?” Garcia grinned.

You laughed a little, nodding your head.

You looked around trying to find Daryl, and finally you did.

He was walking over with Carol who was holding a tub of biscuits, and he took one of the biscuits.

“Hey kid.”

AJ and Jack looked up, and Daryl grabbed another biscuit, giving them to the boys.

While AJ grinned and latched on to Daryl, Jack looked at his dad a little unsure.

“Get off you animal! Eat ya food!”

AJ laughed a little bit as Daryl tried to walk away.

Walking over, you swept AJ into your arms and he giggled as he ate his biscuit, and you went to walk away.

Daryl grabbed you by the back of the shirt and pulled you back.

“Hey, you forgettin’ somethin’?”

You titled your head back to look at him, and he stared into your eyes.

You turned around, leaning up to kiss his cheek before you went to walk away again.

“No dumbass.”

Daryl grabbed you again, and this time he took your hand and handed you a biscuit.

You laughed a little, and this time he let you go, trailing behind you as you walked back over to everybody.

Hotch was holding Jack, and he looked between you and Daryl.

“Guys, this is my husband. Daryl.”

“Husband?!” JJ, Garcia and Derek yelled.

“You got a problem with that? Let’s go.” Daryl snapped.

You placed a hand on his chest.

“We’ve been married for about a year now, he’s a bit of a hot head but you’ll get used to that.”

Daryl mumbled something from behind you and you looked at him, turning your attention back to your team.

“You need to tell us everything.” Emily grinned.

You laughed a little bit, nodding your head in agreement, and you got ready to follow them.

“No. Doctors office.” Daryl said.

“Oh shit yeah, I need my bandage changed. I’ll come find you guys after.”

You turned around and followed Daryl, shoulder brushing against his, and you beamed a little as you looked up at him.

He glanced down at you.

“Were you jealous?”

“Shut up…”

You laughed a little bit.

You did enjoy winding him up, it was fun, but you would never take it too far.

Daryl glanced behind him, seeing Hotch just watching the pair of you leave, and he slipped his arm around you waist to pull you into his side just to let Hotch know that you were taken.

You were married to him, and he wasn’t about to let someone take away the best thing in his life

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #58: Percy Jackson x Criminal Minds

While perusing the PJO tag for the first time in ages, I stumbled across yet another crossover I never would have thought of trying - and which, naturally, hasn't escaped my head. It managed to mash together the worlds of PJO and Criminal Minds... and so, naturally, I thought: if I were going to write this crossover, what would I do?

aka the Unknown Demigod fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until MoA. There Percy plays off the judo throw in New Rome to avoid starting a war with the Greeks, but after they're alone on the Argo Percy tells Annabeth that he doesn't appreciate 1) being blamed for his disappearance, as if Hera had asked him if he wanted to lose his memories and half a year of his life, and 2) being physically attacked by his girlfriend outside of weapons practice.

Naturally, Annabeth doesn't take this well and doubles down on her position, and the two fight like cats and dogs throughout MoA and HoO. By the time they reach Akhlys, Percy is hardly inclined to listen to Annabeth at all, and so doesn't stop poison-bending.

It's not obvious at the time, but not stopping fully unlocks Percy's divine powers. He's now immortal, like Chiron, but not a god. It's also rather the final straw for Annabeth and Percy's relationship.

Because he doesn't immediately realize he's immortal, Percy goes on with normal human things like high school and college - attending both at Camp Jupiter, which is better equipped to handle demigods than the average mortal school. It's only after he starts grad school at nearby Stanford University and gets a lot of comments on how young he looks does anyone start realizing what's happened.

Fast forward to about 15 years after HOO, when Percy has joined the BAU - because even immortals have to pay the bills somehow.

In my head I picture this to be S8/S9 of CM, largely because I enjoyed Alex Blake's character and think she'd be a good outsider POV for the story I want to tell, but dealer's choice.

Percy proves to be the BAU cryptid. His primary and secondary school records say unsub in the making... then he double majors in marine biology and classics in college (because everyone who survives four years in the legion or slays a particular number of monsters gets a classics degree when they graduate by default). Then he goes on to get a doctorate in psychology from Stanford... and swim twice for Team USA in the Olympics. He once went on vacation in the Keys and found the wreck of a lost Spanish galleon free diving. He's polite and mild mannered and goes nowhere without at least three knives on his person and a week's worth of survival gear. When he's tired, his reports sometimes slip into Ancient Greek or Latin. He may be a Hellenist and speaks of Hell as a place that he's been.

Percy is, in short, unfathomable to his profiler colleagues. They like him, but every new thing they learn about him only complicates the profile they're definitely not putting together.

He's been in the BAU for about 18 months before they receive reports of a serial killer's dumping ground in the Oakland Hills, not more than a mile from Camp Jupiter. The victims are all in their late teens and signs indicate all were killed in a ritualistic way. Most of those the investigators can identify are runaways.

Once the BAU is on site, Reid determines that someone is trying to recreate an obscure Ancient Roman sacrifice.

More importantly, Percy realizes that, yes, these are definitely the bodies of Roman demigods - and not one of them was killed by a monster before they could get to camp. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a secret entrance to camp not 100' away from the oldest body.

It's this last point that causes Percy to lead his team to Camp Jupiter. This is a revelation in itself and should answer many of the team's questions about Percy but give them twice as many new ones.

It should also be perfect timing, as they arrive just as praetors Frank and Hazel were thinking of reaching out to Percy, as he's the only real investigator either camp has. They're not aware of most of the murders, as it's not unusual for one or two demigods every year to be killed after leaving the safety of camp, but the last three victims went missing in the last three months under odd circumstances.

(One was a granddaughter of Apollo who'd talked about wanting to join the Hunters of Artemis, and when she disappeared everyone assumed that's what she did, only for the Hunters to visit later claiming she never showed. The most recent was a daughter of Bacchus who hated the regimented life of the legion and wanted to transfer to Camp Half-Blood where things were a little more their speed. Most the others were legacies or the children of minor gods.)

They set up shop in Percy's house - in part because CJ has no police force beyond the legion, which houses their main suspects - in part because Percy's house is built like a Roman temple on the edge of the temple district and no one would dare sneak into it.

(The demigods have been actively treating immortal Percy as a god, because if deification worked for Nero, they can make it work for Percy. And a deified!Percy could only be good for them.)

In the end it comes out a grandchild of Hecate/Trivia was sacrificing other demigods to their ancestor in hopes of obtaining more power - they should be just powerful enough to disguise their actions with the Mist but not much more, and intensely jealous their ancestor handed already-powerful Hazel more power during the Giant War.

Bonuses include: 1) Thalia and the Hunters showing up to help, as do Nico and Will. This should be an intensely confusing family reunion to watch from the outside given that two are immortal. Extra bonus points if the BAU recognize Nico from some wildly successful paranormal investigative channel on YouTube and are shocked to find out all the ghosts are real; 2) Will calling Percy "mom", on account of the fact he's been dating Apollo for the last five years now - Apollo's longest relationship ever - though Percy refuses to consider marriage or children until fifty years have passed; and 3) One of the BAU being tangentially involved with the mythological world already - Hotch had a relationship with a disguised Justice before meeting Hailey and their child is at Camp Jupiter? Reid has just recently met a disguised Athena at a conference and is now worried he'll arrive home to a baby on the doorstep?

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you chose to do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[masterwords]

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

the hope of all we might have been

Summary: Peter Lewis is dead, and Hotch is released from Witness Protection into the wilds of Chicago. What's he gonna do? Well, he's heard that Derek has moved back to Chicago...maybe there's a chance at a new beginning waiting for him.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Um...none? I can't think of anything. It's pure fluff.

** THE CHICAGO TIMES COLLECTION MASTERLIST **

Notes: Part One of the Chicago series, a foundation for the whole thing. A new life for these sweet, soft old men. (It's on AO3 too, if you prefer to head on over there.)

**

“Peter Lewis is dead.”

Those four words should have felt more comforting than they were. They should have filled him with relief, knowing that he could have his life back. He could walk confidently back into his suits and into his office.

Except, now faced with those words, he found he wasn't that naive. He could have his name back, and he could have his freedom back, but that life was forever dead to him.

A month or two and maybe it would have been possible, but a lot happens in a year and that was no longer his department, no longer his team. And maybe he didn't want it anymore, maybe that was the real truth of it. Maybe the last year was hell, was torture, was nightly arguments with Jack about missing family and ruined lives, I hate yous and I'm sorry's spread thick and sour over everything they touched. Maybe it was hell, but they'd seen their way through it, and were emerging on the other side.

Not unchanged. His heart no longer beat for the BAU. If he went back, Jack would surely never forgive him.

But they had Chicago. Of all the places on the map they were offered, Chicago called to him with her endless towering gray structures, a bone kingdom to wander through and hide within. No one stood out here, no one was looking here. He liked it. The anonymity was ripe and comforting. More than that, the opportunity to knock on a familiar door after all this time, to be right near someone who could look into his face and recognize him for who he really was...that was the hope he'd held onto. Some days it was firm, others like water through his fingers.

“Did you hear me, Hotch?”

“Yes, I'm sorry,” he muttered, dragging himself back to Emily's voice on the other end of the line. He'd gone somewhere else. “I heard you. Peter Lewis is dead. How did it happen?”

“Oh, don't you dare start questioning ethics here, mister. It was justified, I've already signed off on the reports. You're missing the important point here with your pigheadedness...you're free, Hotch. No more hiding. You can do whatever you want. So...speaking of...do you want your job back?”

He blinked owlishly and watched as the room turned to taffy, the walls stretching tall and thin and long and wiggly. Quickly he sat, fell with a plop onto his too hard couch in his display room decorated apartment and tried to find words. Any words.

“Hotch?” She was getting impatient. He could be incredibly frustrating, but this was a new low even for him.

“I'm sorry. I - “

“Okay, you don't have to make a decision now. You can think about it for a few days. I know this must be a shock, you need some time.”

“No. I've given it plenty of thought. Time is not something I've lacked recently. I won't be returning to the BAU.”

“Okay that's fair. But what about the Bureau? There's a spot for a Section Chief, you'd be working with Andi Swann's unit. I know you and she are good friends.”

“My time with the Bureau...” he paused, licking his dry lips. It was a thought he'd had many times over, rehearsed, knew inside and out. But saying it outloud and thinking it were two very different things. “I'm retiring from the Bureau, effective immediately.”

Emily nodded, biting her lip. This wasn't entirely unexpected, but it did hurt to hear it. She couldn't prepare herself for this reality. Classic Emily, using her favorite tactic for self-preservation: avoidance. How many times would it take before she learned it didn't actually save her anything? “I was really hoping you wouldn't say that...but I get it.”

“There's no place for me there anymore. And things with Jack are strained, at best...I suspect he might never forgive me if I went back after this.”

She nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. Sure.” She was hurt, offended a little if she was being honest with herself. The office felt a lot less lively now, surrounded by his books that she would have to pack up. All this time she'd refused to put down any roots, to change a thing. His nameplate was still in the top drawer, his photos of Haley and Jack neatly stashed...everything else as it was. She came in every day and sat beneath his law volumes and his binders, kept his handwriting all over the files, she lived in his shadow because this was his space. No roots for her, she was just a placeholder. And now that lie was exposed. A lie she should have accepted months ago. “So, what will you do? Who even are you without serial killers to catch and victims to save?” She tried to laugh, a forced little squeaking sound that came out more like a gag. She choked on her shame.

To his credit, he ignored it. “I'm lecturing at Northwestern Law currently. They've offered me a position, but with the stipulations of protective custody being what they are, I couldn't very well accept. I may ask them if that offer still stands.” Thinking aloud more than anything. His mind still hadn't really caught up to his mouth, to the way he'd officially told Emily he wouldn't be back. That Unit Chief was no longer his title, hadn't been for long enough that he felt entirely separate from it.

“Isn't that where Morgan went to school?”

The smile, just barely ticking up at the corners of his mouth, was involuntary. “It is. I walk by a trophy case every morning with a photo of him on the football team. Isn't that funny? The world is so big, yet so incredibly small.”

“Will you see him? Before you come back to Virginia I mean?”

He paused, quietly contemplating that assumption...would he move back? He supposed he had to make a choice about that as well. Jessica would expect it, certainly. And he did miss her. He'd walked away from Jessica and Roy, away from his mother, away from Sean.

He'd continued dumping money into Sean's account while he served his sentence, untraceable funds. Cash from his pocket to a US Marshal who handed it off a number of times until it entered Jessica's bank account, after which it was divided among she and Sean. Every month, when that deposit was made, the two of them could at least be comforted that somewhere he was alive. Still alive.

Of course if Lewis really wanted to, he could have found a way to trace them...but he didn't seem to be that motivated. Or clever. He hadn't counted on Hotch leaving the BAU behind, cutting all ties. By his calculations, Hotch should have dug in harder, turned to hunting him exclusively, the way he had Foyet. He anticipated having the full attention of Hotch and the BAU turned to him and when that hadn't happened...he was more than a little distraught. Did Hotch feel guilty that the BAU found themselves targeted on his behalf? Certainly. Many times over he would hear news through official channels, the Marshals, letting him know and each time he was more and more convinced that he had done the right thing but also that he should be there to stop innocent people being attacked.

The problem was, he understood why Foyet targeted him. It made sense. But this? Peter Lewis didn't make sense to him. Nothing he did made sense. Hotch didn't fit his profile. It didn't matter anyway...Lewis thought he could be Hotch's focus in the same way Foyet could, but he failed to consider Jack. When Foyet attacked, he had hardly seen Jack. He was nothing more than an absent father with nothing to lose. Now he was a full-time father with everything to lose. Playing the same game with a different man would yield different results.

Anyway, the cash was the best option and his only way of communicating with the people he loved. Lewis could have watched their accounts, hacked the banks, figured out who was making the deposits, track them all the way back to the Marshals and Chicago...but he didn't. He tried to lure Hotch out in other ways and now he was dead. That part didn't sit well with him.

“I'm not sure if we'll be returning to Virginia. I'll keep you posted.” There were some things, very important things, that he needed to do first. Things he promised he would do if protective custody ended while he was still in The Windy City. He was not in the habit of breaking promises.

- - - - -

“Agent Hotchner!” Fran exclaimed in her breathy smiling voice, opening the door wide to him. “It's so nice to see you!”

“Aaron,” he corrected with a smile. “It's just Aaron now.”

“Oh, right, silly me...Derek told me about your situation...but I assume that since you're here on my stoop, your situation has improved?”

She ushered him inside, nearly tugging him out of his pea coat and hanging it up in the hallway. He nodded, rubbing his sweatered arms briskly in the warmth of her home. He'd almost forgotten how inviting and warm she kept this place...he'd almost forgotten a lot of things, it seemed.

“It has. Jack and I were released this morning, the man who was threatening us has been...dispatched.” He couldn't use the uglier words with her. Silly, considering her son was an FBI Agent and former police officer, and she'd been married to a police officer. She knew all of the ugly words. But he could save her having to hear them now. “I had heard that Derek and Savannah moved to Chicago and was wondering whether you might have some way for me to contact them?”

He could have just asked Emily or called Penelope. He could have gone any number of ways, but the first thing he promised himself upon release was a friendly face. Not a phone call, a face. Fran's face. She'd always been a beacon.

“OTZ! OTZ!” A small, chirpy voice followed by the thunder of little feet slapping on hard wood floors snapped him to attention. He furrowed his brow, stared in confusion as a toddler came rushing straight at his knees. “OTZ!”

Fran laughed. “He's saying Hotch. He knows you.”

For a moment, he was so stunned he couldn't breathe. His lungs were pure fire. How Hank knew who he was by sight hadn't even registered through the immense pressure that came with simply knowing this was Hank. This walking, talking little human who he had last seen when he was brand new. “This can't be Hank...” he muttered, closing his eyes, picturing his large hand in that bassinet, Hank's tiny hand wrapped around his finger.

“He's growing so fast.”

Speechless, he stared down at the little boy who was wrapped around his knees. How could this much time have passed? Sure, he'd seen the way time had darkened Jack's hair and eyes, until the parts of him that resembled Haley were fewer...until he looked like a Hotchner. Time did that, but so slowly it felt like a crawl. “Hank?”

“ANK! ANK!” he squealed, backing up. “OTZ!” He pointed at Hotch and grinned, clapping. “OTZ HEEEE!”

“Yeah, baby, Hotch is here...” Fran cooed, lifting him into her arms. “Your daddy is gonna be so surprised. But aren't you supposed to be napping, mister?” Hank pressed his face into her shoulder and hid there for a moment. “Naughty naughty.”

“ANK SEEP.”

“Yes. Hank sleep or daddy is gonna be madddddddddd at Grandma.” She turned to Hotch with an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back. Please, have a seat. I'll get you some coffee.”

She didn't need to be gone long, but Hank never stopped babbling. At least he was planning to stay in bed for the time being, she lamented. He was a good boy, easy to put down for naps, not easy to keep there.

“Is your son excited?” she asked, handing him a mug of coffee. He breathed it in deep.

“He doesn't know yet. I didn't want to disrupt his day at school, so I'll tell him after basketball tonight.”

“Will he be excited to go home?”

Hotch, for the second time that day, contemplated his answer. “I haven't decided what we'll do. I'm on contract through the end of the year at Northwestern, and I'd like for him to finish the year where he's at.” That answer came out of nowhere. Apparently somewhere on his walk from his apartment to Fran's house he'd come to some sort of temporary decision, though he hadn't realized it until now. Some clarity was beginning to descend on him. “Jack likes his school; he likes this city.”

Fran's face lit up. “Derek will be glad to hear that. He should be here in about an hour to pick Hank up, would you stay for supper?”

“Jack has basketball practice until 6,” he started, not really sure how that factored into his answer. “I'll need to be home by then or he'll worry. We've developed a fairly rigid schedule this last year.”

To absolutely no one's surprise, Hank didn't stay in his bed. The excitement of someone new in his surroundings, someone from what Hotch could only infer were some sort of fables told about him...well that was simply too much to sleep through. “OTZ!” He came toddling out in nothing but a diaper, rubbing his sleepy eyes, holding a book to his chest. “Otz yeed?”

Hotch frowned, glancing at Fran confused. “Does he want me to read to him?”

“A dad knows...” she whispered with a soft smile. “That's his favorite book. It's called The Gruffalo, and you'd better do the voices. He's very particular.”

The book was an easy read, but there were a lot of voices and he had to dig deep, drawing on the days that Jack used to beg to be read to. One story after another, Jack sometimes wanted to drag bedtime all the way to sunrise if you'd let him. Hotch's voice went high in places, scraping and breaking as he became the mouse, and then dug low and deep when he became the Gruffalo. Hank was enthralled.

None of them noticed Derek standing in the entryway to the room behind them, his arms folded over his chest, silently taking in the view. “You do a better Gruffalo than I do,” he said when the book was closed. “But your snake could use a little work.”

Hank, with all his might, leaped off of Hotch's lap using his legs as a jumping off point. A younger man might not even flinch, but he was acutely aware in that moment how much those bony little hands and feet hurt when they dug into his thighs. Still, he turned and took a full look at Derek standing there in athletic shorts and what looked like a worn-out high school p.e. t-shirt and couldn't help smiling. “It's nice to see you too.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek, with his son now in his arms, entered the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to be.

“Peter Lewis is,” he began, but Derek nodded dismissively, not wanting him to say more in front of the kid. Hotch could appreciate that.

“Yeah, Penelope called me to let me know. So you're out of custody then? No more government babysitters?”

“We are. I haven't had an opportunity to tell Jack yet.”

“And you uh...you just...”

“Came here? Yes. I started walking to clear my head and ended up here. I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” Derek asked, breathless before letting Hank down. The little boy waddled off toward the toys in the corner, content now that his dad was home. Now that he'd heard his story and wasn't in trouble for not napping. Slowly, Hotch pushed up off of the couch, his knees creaking and groaning after being seated for so long. He extended his hand for a shake, quick and formal, but Derek wasn't having any of that...with both hands, he tapped Hotch's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. A huge hug, wrapping him up tight, and Hotch couldn't help but hug back. He circled his arms around Derek's waist and tightened his grip. “I'm so damn happy to see you. I was worried sick. No one would tell me anything. I thought I saw you once...but what could I do about it?”

Standing and wiping the tears from her eyes with the tip of her shawl, Fran cleared her throat. “I'm going to go put on more coffee and start supper. Leave you boys alone...I think you have some catching up to do.”

Catching up. Hotch just wanted to look at Derek. He was ripped backward through the fabric of time to the memory of those first few weeks after Derek left the BAU, those days that seemed so long and so slow. He couldn't remember a time without him being there. Good days, bad days, always there.

Until he wasn't. “I missed you,” Hotch admitted quietly. Like it was a sacred secret, like Derek didn't know it already. “I was happy for you, when you made the decision to leave. To be with your family. And I knew that it would be difficult to adjust after working together so long, but it never occurred to me just how much I would miss you.”

Derek laughed at the admission and how inadvertently sweet it was, if not a little silly given the situation. “Of course you missed me. Why didn't you just call me ya dork?”

Hotch couldn't seem to fathom an answer to that question. Such a simple thought that had never really occurred to him. But Derek understood, even still. They'd always understood one another plainly with few words. It was more or less a miracle that Hotch is even here now, except that Derek could see something had changed in him. There was a lightness now that he hadn't seen in years, a burden that seemed to have been lifted.

“I've decided not to return to the BAU.”

“No?”

“That part of my life has reached its conclusion. I can't do that anymore. I've been lecturing at Northwestern Law, it's a good fit. I'll stick around until the end of the school year and make decisions as it gets closer.”

“Are you saying you might stay here in Chicago?”

“It's on the table.”

Derek beamed, he couldn't hide it and saw no reason to try. This was a new life they were both living. “That's great news.”

Hotch, realizing suddenly how long he'd been hogging the conversation, abruptly changed course.

“I've been so rude, enough about me, how are you? How is Savannah? And fatherhood?”

Derek didn't hesitate. He didn't feel inclined to beat around any bushes, not today. Not now. “Savannah and I split. It's all good though. Funny, we got into it over my job over and over...it took so many tries before I could meet her parents, you know? But we made it, we did it, and then her job is the nail in the coffin, man. She was given the opportunity to go into the field with Doctors Without Borders, and we were like okay, cool, we'll try it. She grew up dreaming about it, I can't say no to her dream even if it's bad timing.”

Hotch nodded, thinking briefly about Beth and New York first, then Hong Kong. He knew all too well about timing and letting something you love go.

“Anyway,” Derek continued, “to absolutely no one's surprise, she fell in love with it. After a lot of debate about what was best for Hank, we decided it was probably best if we split so there wasn't so much to discuss or figure out, not so much pressure. Don't give me that look, man, it's all good. We go visit her every couple of weeks wherever she is, Hank's a world class traveler. We talk to her every day. It's really good. I love the shit outta that woman.”

Hotch hadn't taken a breath it at least thirty seconds, trying to parse the information given with what he knew about Derek and his ability to put a positive spin on any situation. He was searching for the lie in his smile.

“Seriously, Hotch. It's good. We're goin' down to Brazil on Thursday for a few days to see her. She's finishing up a 6-month assignment there, then she'll be here for about two weeks, and it looks like she's off to Uganda for a few weeks before she gets her next long-term assignment. We're not sure if we'll be able to go visit her while she's there, her job is going to be working with patients with Ebola.”

“Does that worry you?”

“A little, not gonna lie. But she's a hell of a doctor, and it's a really solid program. They don't mess around.”

Fran poked her head into the room during a momentary lull to ask Hotch, once again, if he'd like to stay for supper.

“Yes! Of course, another time. Derek, will you be staying?”

“I would love to,” he started, smiling, “but I really should be getting home. Jack will be back soon. Another time I hope.”

“I uh...well I was gonna offer to give Hotch a ride home. If he wants. You good with that moms?”

“Go, go. I suppose I'll just invite the neighbors over. Someone has to want to have dinner with me.”

- - - - -

It went a little too easily from a short car ride through the streets, Derek shocked to find how close they'd been this whole time, to Derek and Hank setting up camp in Hotch's apartment so they could continue catching up. The place was small and tidy, not really very decorated but there were a few paintings of boats hanging around and at least that reminded him of Hotch in some small way while the rest of the place looked cold and lifeless. Boats.

Hank rushed around the place with Derek hot on his heels, pulling dangerous things out of his hands, sliding furniture to quickly cover up outlets and ultimately trying to carry on a conversation while stopping his child from constant suicide attempts. “I'm sorry,” Hotch said quietly, trying to help where he could while making dinner. “I suppose it's been a long time since my home has been baby proof. I'd forgotten.”

“No worries. Maybe we can have dinner at my place next time though...”

Next time. Hotch smiled at that and nodded. Before he had a chance to formulate an adequate response around the thunder of his heartbeat in his throat, Jack's key was in the lock. Tap tap tap, they key turned, then another click click sound. Their little secret code. It wasn't necessary, probably, but Jack had been pretty scared at first and Hotch was willing to do whatever it took to ease his mind. Besides, it had become something kind of fun, a highlight in the doldrums of their days when they could act like secret undercover spies entering their lair.

“That's cute,” Derek said, noticing right away. “Remember when we went undercover in Texas?”

“How could I forget?”

Jack was inside before they could extrapolate, before they wandered down memory lane. This was a dangerous peace here between them, without the looming BAU rules and regulations, without wives and jobs and all of the other reasons they'd used to tamp down this strange electricity between them.

“Dad?” Jack asked, confused as he dropped his backpack on the ground just inside the doorway. There was a hook on the wall for it, but that more or less remained empty. Hotch had long since given up enforcing that one, it had only caused trouble and he was very much of the mind lately that the less friction he needlessly caused, the better. There were more important things to dig in on, like keeping Jack's identity a secret while he was trying to live as normal a life as he could. “What's going on? Do we have to leave again?”

Derek, not one to shy away, walked straight up to Jack and wrapped him in a hug. Something he was sure, at one point, might never happen again. The boy seemed to have grown a full foot since he'd last seen him and god did he ever look like Hotch all of a sudden. His features were far too serious for a boy his age.

“No, buddy. We're out. Peter Lewis is dead.”

“Really? He's really dead? We can go home?”

Hotch nodded soberly. “I figure we'll finish the school year here and make some plans. Does that sound alright?”

Without answering the question, Jack kicked out of his shoes and a look of pure excitement flashed over his features. “Can I call my friends and tell them my real name?!”

“Sure buddy. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour.”

Dinner went late, all of them enjoying the company a little too much as it dragged from afternoon to evening. Dessert was punctuated with Hank's wide yawns and sleepy eyes while Jack worked on his homework in his bedroom, albeit a little distractedly while he called every one of his friends to explain to them his situation. By morning the kid would be a legend in the hallways. Hotch would have preferred a little more discretion, but at Jack's age that was a lot to ask.

“I've kept you too long,” Hotch said, staring at the incredible little toddler in Derek's lap. The reminder that time hadn't stopped. A beautiful and tragic understanding. “This is the first time I've actually talked with anyone but Jack in nearly a year, I've been greedy. You need to get Hank to bed.”

“No, man, I'm...I don't wanna go. You workin at the college tomorrow?”

“I have a full day of lectures.”

“Can I pick you up for lunch? I'm working at the high school, my schedule's not too rough these days...”

That was all it took to set regular lunch dates. Every day that passed made it harder for him to consider that leaving Chicago was an option.

The week that Derek and Hank were traveling made it abundantly clear just how badly Hotch wanted Derek in his life with something akin to permanence. He'd forced himself to live without him once out of respect for duty, but that wasn't an issue anymore. He simply wanted this.

They resumed lunch dates immediately upon Derek's arrival back home. He had stories to tell, some funny and some sad, some too incredible to be believed. "You should come with us next time," Derek said before he really considered what he meant by an offer like that. He couldn't take it back, and didn't want to, but it came with some heavy realization that he was getting in pretty deep here already.

"Yeah," Hotch replied without any fanfare. "It might be nice to get out for a while. It has been too long since I've traveled for anything other than work."

Some days Hotch packed them lunches, leftovers from dinner the night before or simple sandwiches like schoolboys. Spring had begun to take root, tiny little green buds opening to flowers and leaves, the sky turning blue, clouds spun like cotton candy and everything felt new.

Even Hotch. Derek would show up at the university in his P.E clothes, a little sweaty, ready for a walk through the campus or winding through the endless streets before heading back. Hotch hadn't bothered to clock his miles; he knew very well that the effort Derek was putting in to get there and back every day was more than him simply showing up at the door to his classroom. It was the reason he insisted on making lunch, it was the least he could do.

At the Ohio Street Beach, a favorite spot on the warmer days, Hotch felt a buzzing in his chest like a beehive overflowing with honeyed sweetness. He stopped, his feet sinking into the grainy sand, and grabbed Derek by the hand, pulling him close. Around them the city swirled, children screamed and played in the sand and splashed in the water while mothers and fathers called out to them to be careful, not to go too far. There was eye contact, charged and heavy, as they stood in the shadow of the lifeguard post and before he even realized what he was doing, Hotch was leaning forward ready to kiss Derek. Right there in public. Absolutely certain it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. His body craved that closeness, felt wrong and naked without it.

Their lips met briefly, and Hotch closed his eyes, letting instinct lead where his head couldn't fathom. When Derek broke the kiss, sucked in a small breath, he couldn't bear to open his eyes, afraid he'd done something very very wrong. The apology danced on the tip of his tongue.

“I can't do this,” Derek whispered against Hotch's lips. “I can't get attached if you're gonna pack up and move back to Virginia.” Hotch felt his chest constrict, his breathing shallow and pained. “I know I'm already in too deep, but I can still...”

He was being so vulnerable that speaking above a whisper would surely destroy it all. Hotch didn't say anything, just stood there frozen in the moment, waiting. “We're doing pretty good since Savannah left, you know? We're good, Hank and I, but we can't...I can't get attached to this and say goodbye. And I really can't do another long-distance thing, man. It's hard enough with her and the travel that comes with it...”

“Derek,” Hotch whispered, smirking, fully understanding the panic in Derek's voice. He took a deep breath and finally struck up the bravery to open his eyes, to meet Derek's frenzied stare. “Could you stop talking for a moment?”

Derek laughed nervously and nodded, his turn to hold frozen in the moment. Waiting for the answer he hadn't dared to let himself hope for. Not at his age, not at this point in his life. “Jack and I decided to stay. We like Chicago, and it isn't much of a flight to visit Virginia. We're looking for a new apartment right now.”

He found, before another word was spoken, that Derek was plunging into a kiss with all his might. No more waiting, no more timid steps or whispers. Hotch and Jack were staying, and he could have this.

“You asshole," Derek whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "You could have told me sooner."

"And miss this moment of panic?"

"Jerk." Derek grinned and kissed him again, softer this time. He found himself unable to stop. "I've got plenty of room in my house,” Derek said between kisses, gasping for breath when all he wanted was to dive back in. “Move in with me and Hank.”

[my-mummy-dust]

omg hi babe!! 🫶🫣 so how about the reader is hurt but they're losing sm blood and hotch/rossi (👀) is screaming out for help but no one is coming. so he's forced to lay there with the reader, feeling the blood pool out and your body slowly depleting. desperately trying to help you but he can't. he's trying so hard not to blame himself. and the reader is trying to console him but his voice cracks, his tears spilling out. you're slipping through his fingers and he can't do anything but watch

ending is up to you, but i hope this was okay 🤍🤍 sorry this is my first time asking for something like this i hope it was okay 😩

This ask. I love it so much.

Slipping through the cracks.

Rossi x reader. Warnings: mentions of suicide, swearing, gun violence, criminal minds stuff, blood, angst Word count: 2.6k

●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・

You had always wanted to be a doctor. At least when you were a kid. All the way from kindergarten to middle school, any time someone would ask the timeless question “what do you want to be when you grow up?” You’d always respond with some profession in the medical field. In highschool, you got introduced to psychology, then profiling for the BAU. From your many years of obsessing over the medical field, and all it has to offer, you’ve accumulated some medical knowledge.

Enough to know you were losing a lot of blood, a lot of blood very quickly.

—————

The uncomfortably loud sound of a gunshot left your ears ringing. You winced and covered your ears, without the grim knowledge that the pain you felt then was nothing compared to what you would feel later. A sharp pain was felt in your thigh, but that left as quickly as it came and was replaced with a hell-like burning. Looking down you saw your pant leg oozing? For a second you were confused, the adreleline at its high when it hit you. You had been shot. The last thing you saw was the unsub taking off in the direction of the SUVs. He was going to commit suicide by police officers. Leaving you by yourself.

You fell to the ground, hitting your head and seeing stars for a second, the wind knocked out of your lungs upon impact. Rossi noticed you falling and ran over, just as shaken up as you seemed to be.

‘Oh god, y/n are you ok? You’ve been shot. Im calling the paramedics”

“Did you get the unsub? I went to shoot him but he got me before i could shoot-“

“What the hell were you thinking?! Aaron strictly told you not to run in after the unsub”

“Im sorry i-“

You were a little taken aback by him cutting you off and scolding you after you had been shot. You and rossi were the first to arrive where the scene. When you were told it was in the middle of nowhere, you didnt think it could be this desolate. It was a warehouse, surrounded by thick forest, with noting but a 1-way dirt road that stretched on for miles. there was no service, no nothing.

Rossi cursed under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket, being painful reminded of the fact that there wasnt any service.

‘The calls aren’t going through, everyone is where we parked, maybe 2 miles away? What were you thinking when you chased after the unsub? You knew he was going to commit suicide by officers. You’re the one that made the damn profile!”

He raised his voice once again. Then he saw your pant leg oozing with blood.

“Shit, y/n, he messed you up. You’re gonna need to raise your leg so i can look for an exit wound. Can you do that?”

Your heart was racing in your ears. You nodded and bended your knee, resting your foot flat on the ground; crying out in pain when a searing pain tore through your leg, then the entirety of your body. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself down as much as you could, knowing in situations like these panic would make everything 10 times worse for both you and rossi.

He got on his knees next to you and looked on the underside of your leg.

‘There’s no exit wound, the bullet is still in there’

You shook your head, starting to feel a little panicky as the truth of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. There was no cell service. He couldn’t phone for help. It was just you and him. The team didnt know where the two of you were. You were in an old warehouse in the middle of the woods. you bleeding out on the ground.

‘Y/n are you ok? You’re getting a little pale”

You were not in fact ok. Nowhere even close to ok. Not even on the same plane of existence as the word ‘ok’. You could feel yourself breaking out into a sweat. Your breathing picks up, getting heavier.

“Try- try calling again”

You flapped your hand in his direction, trying to dismiss his attention from you and onto the fact that no one was coming to help. You swallowed hard as he once again reached for his phone, and after a few seconds, shook his head and put it back in his pocket.

‘I need to try and stop the bleeding’

He said as he took his FBI vest off, setting it next to him so he could move around better. Scooting closer to your leg he rested one of his hands firmly on the wound, pressing hard.

You yelled out a slew of curse words, flinching away from him. He reached under your leg with his other hand, holding you firmly in place.

“Y/n. You have to hold still or the bleeding wont stop”

Waves of pain and panic kept continuously washing over you, leaving you with very little time to resurface and breathe.

———-

Rossi’s look of concern only deepened as he pressed harder on your leg. You cried out, wincing away from his grip only to be pulled back into place firmly. Every now and then he’d lift the hand covering the bullet wound, only to be met with another stream of blood pouring down your pant leg.

“You blood isn’t clotting. Why isn’t it clotting?”

He was starting to panic now. There was a steady pool of blood growing under your leg and all over the cold concrete; creating a puddle that was getting onto his pants too. He tried as hard as he could not to notice it. Not to notice the fact that you were losing quite a bit of blood. Neither of you were sure how much time had passed since you had initially been shot. All you knew was that there was still no paramedics, and that the rest of your team was nowhere to be found.

‘David?”

Your voice was quiet, but scared. He looked down at you, his brows knitted together. He was trying to hide his fear, but you could see right through him.

“Im cold.”

You knew that wasn’t a good sign. You knew that meant you’d lost quite a bit of blood. Your lifeblood. You thought back to one of your middle school field trips. One that you would alway remember like it was yesterday.

You and your middle school class went on a trip to a hospital. Not just any old, boring hospital. It was the first in your town to have a fully functioning level 1 trauma center.

You felt dizzy, nauseous. You didn’t know you were panting until you herd rossi telling you to breathe, and that you were going to be ok. That you were going to get through this, that he was sure the paramedics were on their way. Your eyes would close, you would fall into the abyss that was death, then be pulled back into the light by rossi almost yelling at you to wake back up.

‘Talk to me y/n”

“About what?”

You panted, your world was spinning.

“What are you thinking about?”

The middle school field trip.

“It was the first hospital in my area…to have a level 1…..Trauma center…”

Your voice was cracking, fading away with your consciousness.

“Okay, tell me about it? Did you dad work there?”

Rossi was confused, but he knew he needed to engage you. Took keep you talking. To keep you alive.

“No”

You corrected him, took a shaky breath and continued, trying to keep your jumbled, confused thoughts in order.

“Middle school…field trip……one of my favorites..”

Rossi nodded, urging you to continue.

“Ive always wanted…to be a doctor…from kinder to middle school…..we got a tour of the trauma center….”

“What was your favorite part of the field trip?”

You were starting to get confused. You closed your eyes, giving in to how heavy they felt.

‘No, y/n, wake up. You have to tell me about the field trip you went on. I want to hear about it”

His voice was so firm, so strong. But you could hear it wavering. Your eyes fluttered open, looking into Rossi’s.

“They taught us about trauma…..told us what they did to help…the patients….they gave us an example case…an old one that one of the doctors….remembered….a gunshot wound….to the femoral artery….”

“Okay, what about it?”

“I remember being a little scared..that it would happen to me on day…..the doctors told me it would be okay…that I’d never have to worry about being shot…”

rossi diverted his gaze form your face, checking the still blessing wound, applying more pressure. Tears were still falling from your eyes. You didn’t know you were crying until you felt one fall down the side of your face, to mix with the pool of blood you were laying in.

‘Rossi?”

‘Yes?”

“Am i going to die?”

The words cut through his very being like a knife. His world stopped with yours, and for a brief second, he thought he was going to die too. He sniffled, a tear finally falling from his burning eyes.

“No. No you’re not going to die. You’re going to make it out of here, and it’s all going to be okay. You’re going to make it out of this alive and walk into work tomorrow like nothing happened.’

He didn’t know what he ways saying anymore. He was falling apart just as quickly as you were. As you had been.

“Please dont cry”

You pleaded softly. Seeing his hurt hurt you even more- if that was possible. And if it wasn’t, it was now.

“You’re not going to die y/n. I wont let you.”

His voice was cracking and breaking. He tried to keep it firm, trying to be the tough one but his façade fell, revealing his shattered, hurting state.

“Because i love you”

4 words. Four simple words. It always amazes you how much weight words can carry, epically in situations like this.

“I wanted to tell you before we left for this case…I chickened out”

You remembered that. You were at your desk, working on some papers, making sure you had everything before the BAU left for the case. Once you had everything you hit up the coffee machine one last time. You were waiting for your coffee to finish brewing when Rossi walked over. You remember the fluttering feeling in your stomach, as you smiled at him, asking him what was up. He told you he had something to say, and you waited for him to speak. But he never did. You remembered his expression change from nervous to dismissive. He shook his head and with a quick ‘never mind’ and apology, he quickly walked back to his office, leaving you confused and actually quite sad.

You never wanted to admit it, but you had a think for him. You had for a while.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. I love you y/n’

“How long?”

“Since the day your coffee spilled on my shirt”

You could feel embarrassment welling up in your chest. Rossi went quiet for a second. Perking up.

“Do you hear that y/n? Sirens. I told you they would come for us”

He tried to smile, to seem exited; but he knew you were slipping through the cracks. He could feel you slowly losing yourself, your life, your blood. He didn’t know if you were going to make it or not.

Moving both of his hands from your bullet wound, he extended his legs and scooted closer towards you, gently scooping you up, and laying you on his lap. You winced, crying out in pain as he moved you, feeling his hands leaving the bullet wound and the sickening warmth of the blood peaking out of your wound once more.

“I know, i know it hurts, just breathe y/n. It’ll be ok they’re coming for us. It’ll be ok….just hold on a little longer for me, please”

He voice cracked at the last part. He wiped tears from his eyes with his sleeve; blood completely covering both of his hands.

Deep, dark blood covered everything. You were both sitting in your blood, his hands covered in it.

“What can i do to keep you awake? I’ll do anything”

He was desperate, he tried to wipe your blood off his hands on his shirt. He smoothed your hair, caressing your face. You were starting to get cold to the touch, clammy. Too much like the victims he’d touch and examine at crime scenes. That made it all the more real for him. He started blaming himself. For what, he didn’t know.

“Talk…to me”

He nodded.

“Okay, i can do that. Talk about what?”

He breathing was getting quicker, cursing the medical team for going so slow.

“About the first time we met”

he tried to ignore how pitiful your voice was. Tried to ignore the tears he kept wiping away from both of your faces. He held you close and started talking while playing with your hair.

“I removed the day I walked back into the BAU like it was yesterday. I had met the rest of the team, except for you. You were with Garcia, i think.”

You looked into his eyes, and he looked into yours. A sweet moment if you weren’t moments away from bleeding out in his arms.

“You walked into the hallway the same time I turned the corner. You had a mug full of coffee and ran face first into my chest, piling your coffee all over my new shirt. I stumbled back and saw how red and flustered you, and believe it or not, i wasn’t even mad. It was like the moment i saw you all my anger vanished.”

You would’ve been embarrassed, and blushing at the thought of it but you couldn’t think. You were going numb. You couldn’t feel your leg anymore, you were cold, confused, scared. The only things that kept you on earth were his eyes and the sound of his voice. Your mouth was dearest dry, every time you swallowed it felt like sandpaper.

‘I’m sorry…’

You herd yourself say. It came out as a whisper.

“No, no angel dont apologize. I got the shirt dry cleaned that evening. I’ve loved you ever since that morning.”

You smiled faintly at the pet name. He didn’t even know he used it u til he saw your small smile. Your vision blurred, and it sounded like someone had stuffed cotton into your ears. Your breathing was hitched and shallow. You closed your eyes one last time as the paramedics arrived on scene.

————

The ambulance ride didn’t feel real. Nothing after the paramedics got there felt real. For Rossi, it felt all too real. A nightmare come true. You were in and out, remembering the bright light and the paramedics asking you questions you couldn’t answer. Where you were, what your name is, the date.

The one thing that pierced you down to your very soul was the one time you looked at rossi durning the ambulance ride. You saw how panicked he was, how broken and scared he was. He was holding your hand the whole time, refusing to let go. You remember the warmth of his hand against your cold, clammy skin.

Your world faded to black as the ambulance arrived on scene. The last thing you saw was rossi over you, mouthing ‘i love you’; tears falling down his face as the paramedics quickly rolled the stretcher out of the ambulance. You were gone before the stretcher had completely left the ambulance. The moment his hand left yours, you closed your eyes. Your final thought being; ‘I love you too, David’. Oh how you wish you could’ve said it.

●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・

A/n: wow. That was something else. If you want a part 2 lmk and I’ll definitely do it! I hope I got the request right!

[hotchshands]

Chapter 1 | First Day of Class

Masterlist | Taglist | Other Chapters

Summary: The first day of class is upon you and first up is Professor Hotchner's lecture, Intro to Profiling. You've been anxiously waiting for this day to arrive, having picked out your outfit and prepared yourself for his lecture weeks in advance.

Word Count: 2.3k

Contains: professor!hotch x student!reader

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of Teacher’s Pet, a Professor!Hotch AU (Yes, I changed the title for the second time). Oh, and imagine readers wearing the outfit above. Last thing to keep in mind, the university is totally made up, but the mechanics are modeled after my uni.

The start of the new semester rolled around quickly, signaling the end of summer and the start of yet another academic year. You weren’t looking forward to the start of the semester until you reviewed your course schedule and saw his name, Aaron Hotchner. The name alone brought back memories of why you registered for the class in the first place.

Fall registration rolled around sometime in March. You had put it off for a while, but you needed to sign up for a university lecture, as your school required every student to take two before graduation. Luckily you were able to take one relevant to your major, so all you needed was one more.

As you scrolled through the course catalog, you were doomed to be unlucky. Everything was completely out of your field of study, and none were remotely interesting, though there was one that sounded like it could be. Intro to Profiling? Hmm.

You click on the course to read more. As you read the course description, the class seemed to be more and more like something you should register for. The lecture meets on Mondays and has discussion sections on Wednesdays at 10 am. The course would be taught by Aaron Hotchner and some TAs would lead the discussion sections.

Aaron Hotchner? Because you weren’t a criminology major, you’d never heard the name before, so you decided to do some research. You did this every semester: Look up the professors and see if there were any major red flags before signing up for their courses. As you Googled Aaron Hotchner, all you saw were articles upon articles about his achievements at the Behavioral Analysis Unit or BAU. Most are about the cases he has worked on, and others about his leadership as the Unit Chief of the BAU.

Clearly, the man was well-educated in the field of profiling, not that it really mattered to you. Now for the ultimate final test: RateMyProfessor. You go on the site and type in his name. Thankfully, several results popped up. Most were from Georgetown University in DC, but a few were from your small private school.

The reviews varied, but they all had one commonality: the man was strict. “Insanely strict,” one reviewer put it. That same reviewer went on to complain that he "failed them." You started to become hesitate. As you continued scrolling through the reviews, more and more said things like “Don't take his class” and “He refuses to give A’s.”

As a person who craved academic validation in the form of a 4.0 GPA, straight As, and high praise from your professors, your brain was screaming RUN. However, a small voice in the back of your head told you to continue your research, so you did.

You read through some of the more nicer reviews. “He's strict as hell, but put in the effort, and you'll get a B.” another reviewer said. Another wrote, “Forced to take this horrible class, but my God, does the professor put the hot in Hotchner!” Your eyes widen at that. Secretly, you always wanted to witness the hot professor trope in action; maybe this was your chance.

You go back to Google and look for images of the man. Since he had been in the press quite a bit, it wasn't hard to find several photos of him in action. Some of the photos were from press conferences, others were taken from the scene. You study each picture you come across like it was a painting. You take in the lines on his face, the browns of his eyes and hair, and the mole on the right of his nose. Right then, your mind was made up; you were taking his class.

As you were preparing for the start of the fall semester, you huffed at all the clothes in your closet—or, according to you, the lack thereof. Hours later, you decide on a more preppy look. You choose a pale blue button-up, a plaid skirt, and a navy blue blazer for your outfit on Monday. The look felt like a cliche, the teacher's pet kind of cliche, but you wanted to impress Professor Hotchner, so you pushed the doubts aside.

The weekend could not have gone by any slower. By the time Monday came, you were antsy. You woke up later than you would have liked, at 8:30, giving you less than an hour to get ready if you wanted to be early for class. One thing you did not want to do was show up late on the first day, especially to Professor Hotchner's lecture. Another commonality those RateMyProfessor reviews had was that Professor Hotchner hated lateness.

You rushed out of bed, brewed yourself a cup of coffee, and got dressed. By the time you were dressed and ready to go, it was nine o'clock. Crap! You didn't have time to make breakfast, so you left the house, stopped in your favorite local cafe, and grabbed a quick bite and another cup of coffee. You were by no means a morning person, so caffeine was a must for a 10 am class, especially one you feared would kick your ass. He had better be worth it, you thought, as you made your way to the classroom listed on your schedule.

The campus was quiet in the mornings, so thankfully, you didn't have to deal with crowds of students. You searched the halls of classrooms before coming across room 213. The door was closed, making you think you were late, but when you glanced at your watch, it was 9:46. You sighed and slowly opened the door into the classroom. Your heart was pounding as you entered the room, which was empty except for one man. You gulp as you look around.

“You're early,” a deep voice spoke.

You look at the man standing in front of the class. He was facing the chalkboard, so you couldn't see his face, but you knew who he was. After he finished writing on the board, he turned around and faced you. “Well, I didn't want to be late on the first day, so...” your voice trailed off as you took in the man now facing you. He looks down at a sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. “What's your name?” he asks while looking at the sheet of paper.

“Y/N,” you answer.

“Y/N, Y/N... Ah, found you,” he mutters, assumely marking you present for class. The sound of your name falling from his tongue mesmerized you. His voice was deep and commanding, and you didn't know if it turned you on or terrified you. He looks up at you again, taking in your frozen state. “Well, uh, find a seat. We'll start at exactly ten o'clock,” he said, returning to work.

You walk toward the middle of the classroom, not wanting to sit in the front or back. Once you sit down, you take out your note-taking materials and wait as students begin to fill the empty seats.

As soon as the clock struck 10, Professor Hotchner began class.

“As many of you already know, the next fifteen weeks will be your introduction to the study of profiling. I will be your instructor on Mondays for the lecture portion of the class. On Wednesdays, my TAs will lead you in discussion. We'll get to introductions in a moment,” Professor Hotchner pauses, picking up a thick stack of papers before handing them off to one of the TAs, who begins distributing the papers to the students.

“The syllabus for the semester is going around. I expect you all to keep up with this, and should any of this change, I will let you know via email. Now, does everyone have a syllabus?” the professor scans the room before continuing. “Good. Let’s get started. My name is Aaron Hotchner. I’ve been a profiler for almost twenty years now and am the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit over at Quanco. My TAs are my colleagues who help me profile all sorts of cases from kidnapping to serial crime.”

Professor Hotchner goes on to talk about his work at the FBI. You dazed off into space shortly after. Rather than pay attention to what was being said, you paid attention to who was speaking. That one review was right. He was hot and completely your type—no one would ever know this because you knew admitting to liking older men would elicit judgemental looks of disgust. Although you were well aware of your preference, you couldn't help but feel like it was a fucked-up fantasy that would never come true. Regardless, it couldn't hurt to dream a little.

“I will expect a level of professionalism from you all and will require your undivided attention during class. If I catch you glancing at your phone, that will be the last time you will have it out during class. You may get away with stuff like that in your other classes, but not in this one. Do I make myself clear?” He pauses, remaining authoritative. The class nods as if this was the moment in the horror movie when the victims knew they were going to die.

“I also expect you to arrive to class on time as we start promptly at ten and end at eleven thirty. If you are late, you will receive dedications in your final grade. Attendance accounts for twenty percent. Remember that,” Professor Hotchner scanned the room, ensuring everyone understood his expectations. His eyes stopped toward the middle of the classroom where you were sitting before turning his gaze to the desk before him.

Man, he sure has high expectations. Do people really fail for being late? I was never one for lateness, but sometimes it's inevitable. I looked around the classroom. Everyone looked terrified, as if they were going to pee their pants. One or two students looked up to the challenge, eager to learn from him—makes sense considering he's the best profiler out there.

Professor Hotchner's firm voice continues, “For your midterm, you will present a profile. For your final, you will write a ten-page essay, which we will discuss in further detail later in the semester. Just note that if you pay attention in class, study hard, and take notes, you'll pass. You may not pass with an A, but I'll admit this class isn't an easy one, so simply passing is quite that accomplishment.” His eyes once again seem to gravitate toward you, and this time, they linger.

“I can already tell whose going to pass and who isn't, but I hope I'm wrong, and you'll all pass. So, prove me wrong,” Professor Hotchner chuckles as he prepares to go over the syllabus.

“How?” you ask before you even realize it. Once you realized you spoke, your eyes widened, and there you were, a deer in the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall.

A hint of a smirk appears on Professor Hotchner's face. You were eager to learn, and he liked that. “Body language reveals so much. I can learn a lot about someone just by observing them,” he spoke professionally.

You ponder his words before speaking, “So you can profile us based on our body language?”

Professor Hotchner's smirk fades and his expression becomes more serious. “No, not exactly,” he answers, his tone firm and serious. “Profiling is about using observations and knowledge to get a sense of a person's behavior. Body language is part of it, but a lot more work goes into it.”

You nod and go back to remaining silent.

Professor Hotchner finishes the class by going over the syllabus in great detail and answering questions, “Alright, that's it for today. I will see you all next week.” Students quickly begin leaving the lecture hall, and the TAs follow, leaving you and the professor alone in the big, empty classroom.

“I appreciate your questions in class today. I hope you'll continue asking questions throughout the semester. Don't be too intimidated by the content. I know it's a lot, but I can tell you're one of the brighter students in the class,” Professor Hotchner said as you exited the row you were sitting in.

You smiled at that. It was nice to hear a professor praise you for once. “Thanks, I didn't mean to interrupt you or anything—” you began before he cut you off.

“Nonsense. You didn't interrupt me.”

You pause at that. For someone so strict, you seemed nice, almost welcoming. “Well, uh, thanks away. I'll see you next week,” you said, turning to exit the room.

“Wait! I uh couldn't help but notice you don't seem like a criminology major, so why take this class?” the professor ejects, looking you over.

You face him, surprised that he knew without actually knowing you. “How did you figure that out?” you said.

He chuckles, looking down at his shoes. “Well, you're dressed like a schoolgirl. Your demeanor is curious yet kind, and you looked at me the entire class rather than at the syllabus or your classmates. Criminology students tend to be professional and overly confident and see their peers as competition. They show up to class right on time, not early, dressed like they already work at the FBI, and pay most attention to those around them.”

You were stunned. How did he observe all this in only 90 minutes? Was he really paying attention to you?

“So what's your major?” Professor Hotchner repeats his earlier question.

“Literature,” you answer.

He smirks, “That makes sense. It suits you. Hopefully, you'll find my class just as suitable.”

You smile, “I hope so, too. Goodbye, Professor.” You exit the class, taking one look back at him before closing the door behind you. He is going to be the death of me, you thought as you walked down the hall, anxious for it to be Monday again.

Taglist: @zaddyhotch @none-of-your-bullshit @snapessecretdiary @uselessnewt @presidentdangdang @lalaehlaa @de-duchess @targaryenswhxre @chicagotrio101 @barbeddreams @adrienneleclerc

[radiant-reid]

Three

A/n: I didn't include 13x01 even though it happens right after, just because i wanted this more focused on the characters than the plot so that's why it's not here.

request (simplified): spencer and reader had started dating before everything went down and when he is taken to prison she finds out she's pregnant. The only person that knows is Emily and she doesn't want to tell spencer because it would just cause him pain to be locked inside. By the time he gets out, she already has a bump but he assumes she moved on with someone else. Once it is over she asks him to talk, he tries to tell her he understands and that he is happy for her so that's when she's like "spence, it's yours".

Summary: Three wishes, three requests, three things to say, and three people

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst then fluff)

Content Warning: pregnancy, prison arc, maeve arc

Word Count: 3.1k

Masterlist Navigation

From the moment Y/n found out that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico, her life had been Hell.

There was irrational anger initially, wondering why he hadn't told her about the times he left the country on his personal passport while they were spending nights together in her apartment. Then sadness that he didn't trust her enough despite their regular morning coffee dates.

And then fear.

And with fear: helplessness.

Because despite the love she had for him making her feel like her whole world was complete, it became increasingly apparent that there was nothing she could do to help him.

She can barely stand looking at him- for her own self-preservation- when he comes into the BAU after a lengthy legal battle with the Mexican police, and calling in potentially every favor they're owed.

It was the most stressed Y/n has been in her entire life, and she knows she has to do something to alleviate it. Unfortunately, halving the problem means sharing the problem, and she finds herself walking up the steps to Emily's office as soon as she's in instead of being by Spencer's side.

"Y/n, hi." Emily ushers her in, walking away from her desk and sitting on the couch. The look on Y/n's face tells Emily she needs a friend, not a boss. "I've been meaning to ask how you are."

Y/n picks up on the careful phrasing. Emily's not teasing them for the relationship she suspects exists. She's worried about her friend and not wanting to push her too far.

Y/n doesn't know how to say it. Emily has been his friend for almost a decade, through a faked death, reunion, and years spent apart.

So she blurts it out. "We're in a relationship, and I'm pregnant."

Emily can't control the surprise in her facial expression, eyebrows raising and jaw-dropping. She had really only considered Y/n would tell her they were dating, that she was scared for Spencer's well-being because he was more than a friend, not that she was scared of his well-being because he's a soon-to-be father.

Emily reaches out to touch her hand, squeezing it softly to comfort her. "Does he know?" She asks, even though she thinks she knows the answer.

Spencer would have mentioned it. There was nothing more he wanted than to be a father. They had discussed it after Henry was born, when he turned 30, during JJ's wedding, when she saw the team after Morgan left, and when she came back after Hotch left.

"No." Y/n answers, lightly crying. She wasn't sure if it was the pregnancy hormones or the fact her baby daddy was in prison.

"It will be okay," Emily assures her, wrapping Y/n in a hug. "I promise, we will get him out of there."

They both know she can't make that promise.

They both don't comment on it.

"I, uh- h-he said he needed to go to Houston for his mom." Y/n starts telling the story between tears and resultant hiccups. "And he called me that night, but I didn't pick up." That was something she'd been feeling guilty about, knowing that if she answered, they would have gotten one last conversation together. "So he left me a voicemail saying he'd be home the next day. I was busy putting a surprise box together for him. It's got the cutest onesie that says 'hi, daddy.'" Emily smiles with her, and it's only then that she realizes she's also crying. "I actually went a little overboard, so you all have carefully selected onesies waiting for you." She's smiling a little, trying to readjust her focus onto something happier. It's quickly spoilt. "And then we were back here."

"I'm so sorry," Emily says, hugging her again. "And I'm really happy for you, Y/n. You're going to be the best mom ever."

That makes Y/n chuckle slightly. "Don't let JJ hear you say that."

She shrugs with her own grin. "She'll get over it." She jokes. "Seriously, whatever you need, I am here for you. Anytime."

"You couldn't break my baby daddy out of jail, could you?" Y/n jokes so she doesn't break down again. Spencer told her she had a problem with that, but she's slipped back into old habits because that's what helps.

"We'll get him out," Emily assures her again. "And sweet baby L/n or Reid or L/n-Reid or Reid-L/n will have a very present dad."

"I hope he or she will have a very present godmother, too," Y/n says, confusing Emily. "Hopefully one who doesn't fake her death again..."

Emily understands that, and her surprise is happy that time. "It would be an honor. Also, I did attend an Ivy and Spencer didn't."

That makes her laugh through her tears again. "That was on my pros list." She jokes.

"You have to stay with me, though." Emily insists. She can't stomach the thought of her friend being alone, sad and pregnant. "Or I can stay with you."

Seeing her apartment has been difficult for Y/n. Every single inch of it reminds her of Spencer. "Yours." She requests. "And thank you. I appreciate it."

"Of course." Emily nods before her face changes to a more concerned expression. "What do you think about telling him?"

That question had been on her mind for a while. "How is he, Em? Honestly."

She picks at her fingernail and it's the response Y/n was desperately not hoping for. "He's not good." It's not a lie, but it is a drastic understatement.

"He can't know." She decides, and Emily breathes a silent sigh of relief at not having to talk her out of the decision to tell him. "But what about them?" She questions, nodding to the door.

"That doesn't have to be right now," Emily assures her. "Whenever you're ready."

Y/n tries to slow her rapidly beating heart and shallow breathing. Talking about it had not helped at all. "Okay." She says calmly. "Let's get to working getting him out of there."

~

They get to work every day, trying to get Spencer out while working their usual caseload. Y/n doesn't notice much of a difference in being pregnant besides all the stressing and then the stressing about stressing and what that's doing to the baby on top of it. And the increased fatigue. She wishes she had Spencer there every moment, and imagining his reaction is the only thing that helps her keep going.

When she starts showing, she has to tell everyone else, so Emily calls them into the briefing room.

"Is this about Spencer?" JJ asks, the concern on her face mirroring everyone else's when Emily and Y/n walk in.

"Sort of," Emily says, only confusing them more.

Y/n speaks softly as she breaks the news. "I'm pregnant, it's Spencer's, and he cannot know."

Their faces all change to unreadable expressions aside from Penelope who's trying to control her excitement. It's difficult to know if the right thing to do is to hug and congratulate her like they would have done in normal circumstances since Spencer's in jail, and it's clearly not an ideal situation.

"Congratulations," JJ says first, noticing Y/n's increasingly alarmed expression. She's also always known Spencer wanted to be a dad, and she gets up to hug her friend tightly.

Everyone follows after that, having a moment of delight in amongst the chaos of Spencer's arrest. They don't even bother to let money change hands on their bets if they were a couple. Rossi won, though, and he doesn't need the money.

Things get messier the longer Spencer is in prison. They all know he's struggling, and they all try and avoid telling Y/n, but she knows every time Emily steps out of the room to take a phone call that something has happened. And it's never something good.

After three long months of torture, Spencer's out. His final challenge is saving his mom and then getting the girl, but after all that he's been through, it doesn't seem insurmountable.

He hugs JJ, Luke, and Penelope at the prison, holding them for extra long to readjust to the feeling. He's too grateful to be out to be wishing Y/n was there. Every single freedom, he's going to be appreciative of.

Then there's the drive back to the BAU, a drive he's taken many, many times before. Penelope's as happy as she can be, all things considered, and chatty, telling him about all that he's missed. He knew how much he underestimated being able to call her up and hear something witty made his day better, so seeing her in person is incredible.

One key person she's leaving out is Y/n.

He's had a lot of time to think in prison. It's basically all he does, and when he's not thinking about how to survive or trying to remember the events of the motel room, he's thinking about her.

They weren't labeled when he went to Mexico. Somehow he had a way of falling in love without labels, but this time it wasn't going to end with her dead on a warehouse floor.

He's hoping his luck will come in threes when he wishes for his mom's safe return and for Y/n to be interested in him. She was before, she'd told him a million times, but he knows his whole world has changed, so all he can do is pray that they still sync.

"How is she?" Spencer asks when Penelope finishes complaining about how annoying Luke has been. He and JJ share a look in response to Luke's fond expression.

"She's..." Penelope's never been good at keeping secrets, but she would never cross the line with this. Not when it's not trivial gossip about the third-floor white-collar crime team. "You need to talk with her." She settles on an answer, approved by JJ and Luke's nods.

The pit of dread hits his stomach. It doesn't ever sound good when someone wants to talk. It's even worse when that person is your former or possibly still girlfriend.

It's when he sees her in the board room that he knows what Penelope means.

Y/n's pregnant.

Obviously pregnant.

And his heart plummets as fast as his stomach does.

Spencer's mouth goes dry in the search for something to say to her. There's nothing he can articulate as much as he wants to scream that he's in love with her. He cannot afford the time to ask her about it, and he cannot afford the heartbreak of learning she's already moved on, having someone else's baby.

He has been wishing he could go back in time for a while, but nothing like seeing her bump makes him furious he hasn't built a time machine. She's everything he ever wanted, and he longs to be everything she wants.

Then Cat is having his baby, and that is something he never expected to say, but the obsessive psychopath is taunting him with comments about his baby. He wants her to shut up, so he can close his eyes, touch her, and pretend it's his baby with Y/n. His paternal desire has never waved until he realizes he can't love the baby inside her, even if it is his when Y/n's also bringing a baby into the world.

Maybe she'll let him be an uncle, best case scenario a godfather. Still, that means he'll permanently have to be part of the guy who gets to live his dream life. He'll watch them raise the sweetest baby, babysit so they can go out on date nights, and maybe watch them get married. Every one of those thoughts jeprodizes the happiness he thought he could get back.

And he can't blame her for it. Who wants to wait for a convict? Maybe, he decides, she thought he was guilty, and even though he got released, there's no coming back from that.

He's forced to push it down and ignore all those dark feelings until this nightmare is over, which feels improbable. When his mom is recovered safely, he can finally breathe a sigh of relief at some of his problems being solved.

He stays with her until she falls asleep, guilt-ridden and assuring her she's safe. When she is asleep, there's a nagging urge in his brain to leave and go see Y/n. He just wants to congratulate her as a friend. Or that's what he tells himself. And it's most of the reason, but he wants to scout her boyfriend to make sure he's good enough for her.

"Hi." She says, opening the door and stepping to the side. "I was going to call you tomorrow. Well, technically today."

She's had the burning urge to touch him since she saw him but she resists, not knowing where they stand.

Spencer's not used to having his watch on his wrist, so he checks it. "Oh, it's late, I'm sorry. I can go." He offers, and it's more so he can avoid the discussion rather than her comfort.

Y/n shakes her head, sitting down on the couch. He notices how similar everything looks, like she's still the only one that lives there.

He looks awkward just standing there, next to the massive elephant they're ignoring, so she directs him next to her. "Sit, Spence, please."

Spencer wants to pace, it's become his way to relieve stress without anything to distract him, but he does what she says, wanting to please her as much as possible.

"How are you?" She asks, although it's a stupid question. Not only because he's clearly not well, but because he's going to tell her he's fine.

"I'm not mad at you," Spencer tells her, no longer able to suppress his thoughts. He's been running over what to say, but when he starts talking, any perfected speech is torn to shreds. She gives him a skeptical look, like she's questioning why he could be upset, and he feels even more like an idiot for assuming he's still allowed to feel things for her. "I came to say congratulations. I want you to be happy, and I'm so thrilled that you're having a baby. I understand why you couldn't be with me. It would have been selfish for me to ask you to wait. I'm glad you moved on, and being in your life, as a friend is all I can ask for." He stops before he runs out of breath which also helps him not say something stupid.

Y/n's still looking at him like he's an idiot, and she is kind of wondering if he is one, but her face changes when she understands the connections in his thoughts.

Two things stick in her head; Spencer doesn't think the baby is his, and he believes she could love someone else. Both are wildly untrue.

"Can you wait here?" She asks, her heart rate quickening a little now that she has to tell him what she thought was obvious.

Spencer nods apprehensively, anticipating her next move as bringing out her boyfriend to meet him. To his surprise, she comes out with a lilac box, shallower than a shoe box but with a bigger cross-sectional area.

She hands it to him with shaky hands, but the most significant indicator of her nervousness is how she's biting her bottom lip. It worries Spencer. Everything stresses him anyway, but over the past few months, when people are nervous, it means something alarming has happened.

So he tears his eyes away from her to open it cautiously. He could not have been more surprised by the content; a tiny onesie, miniature Converse, a giraffe toy, a positive pregnancy test, and an ultrasound picture.

"This is for you." She tells him.

He looks up at her, and she's crying, and he's crying, and it's a mess, but it is perfect.

"I'm going to be a dad?" He confirms, sobbing.

"You're going to be the best dad." She corrects, trying to wipe up her tears as his fingers trace over the words on the onesie delicately. "Spencer, I could never love anyone the way I love you, and I cannot imagine having a baby with anyone else."

"I thought you were with someone else." He admits bashfully.

She shakes her head, reaching out for his hand. She's missed touching him, feeling his soft skin in hers. "I'm in love with you." She reminds him, knowing he's going to need to hear it more than once.

"I'm in love with you, too," Spencer says, cupping her cheeks and gently kissing her. The kiss is slow and full of the longing they've had for months. He pulls back with the widest smile he's had for months. "Anything you need, Y/n, I'll do it. Are you eating? Vitamins? Water? Ultrasounds?"

Y/n giggles at how quickly he's moved to dad mode. "There's only three things I want." She tells him, earning a nod from a dedicated Spencer. "Firstly, no more impromptu trips to Mexico." She says it like a joke because they both know he'd never do that again. "And I want to live with you. I really don't want our baby to grow up in two different houses and I want you to see him or her every day."

"Yes." He agrees before divulging into rambling, excited words trying to keep up with how he's feeling. "My mom is going back to Las Vegas, so we can m we can live in my apartment or yours. Actually, we should just get a house. A proper house near good schools with a yard. I'll find some, but I really don't care where we live, as long as we're together."

"Slow down." She says, squeezing his hand. "We'll figure it all out." She assures him.

He nods, letting the best type of chaos continue in his head. "There's one more thing." He realizes.

"There is." She agrees, moving his hand until it touches her bump. "Feel our baby."

Spencer's crying again as he gets off the couch and kneels in front of her, pushing up her top and gently holding the developing bump. "Hi, sweet baby." He says softly. "I love you so much, your mom is a superhero, and I cannot wait to meet you." Those are the three most important things he can think to say.

It's impossible for Y/n not to cry when Spencer is so Spencer, and all the hormones inside her don't help. He gets up before leaning down to cup her cheeks and lead her into a kiss.

"You've made me the happiest I've ever been in my life." He tells her sincerely.

"Well, I kind of intend on doing that for a little while longer, if that's okay." She offers.

Spencer acts like he's considering it before landing on his answer. "Yeah, okay."

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