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crushmeeren · 14 days ago

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ᝰ KATSUKI’S NSFW ALPHABET .ᐟ

̽ ⋆ ﹒♡﹒ GOD…. The epilogue is KILLIN ME!!!!! I had to write the brain rot out of my brain.

‣ ‣ cw ; spanking, choking, lil’ bit of degradation — vanilla otherwise.

master list ‣ ‣ @i-the-fluffo

ᝰ A ‣ ‣ AFTERCARE { ༝༝ what’s katsuki like after sex? ༝༝ }

Often, sex ends with you becoming dead to the world, falling asleep in record time because Katsuki’s fucked out all your stress. Fortunately, or somewhat unfortunately for you, Katsuki is unable to leave things unclean. He downright refuses to relax.

So even when you’ve started to doze off, harsh panting turning steady and mellow, Katsuki runs his fingers through your hair, presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and demands you “get the hell up pillow princess, we aren’t sleepin’ in this fuckin’ mess.”

On the rare occasion he’s able to convince you to join him in the shower, he’ll ask if you want him to wash your hair. Sometimes, if you aren’t itching to be back in bed, you’ll say yes.

Katsuki also has a habit of positioning you so the spray of hot water will hit your back. Strong arms will wind around your shoulders, hugging you close to his chest, and every inch of you will keep warm.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ B ‣ ‣ BODY PART { ༝༝ katsuki’s favorite ༝༝ }

I can’t seem to shake the idea that Katsuki is an ass man.

He finds reasons for his hands to be on your ass no matter what. Cooking? He’s behind you, grabbing a handful and squeezing. At the gym? He’s spotting you while you do squats, smacking you every time you finish a set. When you have to get up from the couch after the fourth episode you’ve binged because you need to pee? Yeah, he’s there too. “Helping” you by shoving a hand up the back of your shorts to palm the curve of your ass and lever you up.

Don’t even get me started about the hand prints he leaves during sex.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ C ‣ ‣ CUM { ༝༝ where katsuki likes to cum ༝༝ }

Katsuki loves when the tight heat of your pussy locks onto his cock and refuses to free him, sucking him in like it’s begging to be stuffed full. It destroys his determination to pull out every time.

If he’s not burying himself inside you, he’s keeping a steady pace until his balls draw up tight, until his stomach clenches in warning, before he slips free, pumping his cock and covering your ass with glossy threads.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ E ‣ ‣ EXPERIENCE { ༝༝ how much does katsuki have? ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s dipped his toe into the water a few times, so to speak. No, he’s not one to sleep around, but you met him in his mid to late twenties. He’s had time to venture out and explore, as most people in that phase of their life do.

How else do you think he got toe curling pussy eating skills?

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ F ‣ ‣ FAVORITE POSITION { ༝༝ katsuki’s favorite ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s under a spell fucking you from behind. The first snap of his hips jiggles your ass and it leaves him slackjawed, fingers digging into your squishy hips to use as leverage while he yanks you back to meet each heavy thrust thereafter.

The curve of your spine, the clench of the muscles in your upper back, and the fact that the side profile of your fucked out expression is on display when it’s not shoved into the sheets all fill him with pride. It soothes the hidden primal urge in his brain.

To Katsuki, it’s a victory high when he pushes all the right buttons to shred your voice and shake your thighs while your ass is in the air.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ H ‣ ‣ HAIR { ༝༝ does katsuki shave or care? ༝༝ }

Katsuki does shave. Not bald, because it’s odd to him when there’s no hair. A small nestle of blonde curls is all that remains above the base of his cock. Sometimes, when you sneak your hand past the waistband of his briefs, and your fingers tease through the coarse hair, his brain starts to buzz.

In the case of whether or not he cares if you shave, his opinion can be summarized down to this — he does not give a single shit. He cares more that you do what’s comfortable for you rather than what you think he wants.

Whether your pussy looks like a hairless cat or a lions mane, you’ll scream his name.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ I ‣ ‣ INTIMACY { ༝༝ is katsuki romantic? ༝༝ }

Sometimes.

There are times when you need Katsuki to fuck you silly. To push into you so hard it bruises your hips, hands braced on the wall above your head to keep yourself from a concussion.

Other times, his fingers will search for yours and tangle together, ending with them pinned to the mattress. Katsuki’s face will bury itself into your throat, warm breath fanning your neck until it’s damp as his hips flex with the effort of making love to you. The tip of his cock slides across your g-spot and your back arches, tits pressing into his chest. Katsuki’s moan splinters, and he’ll chant “I love you, love you so fuckin’ much,” until your knuckles turn white.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ J ‣ ‣ JERKING OFF { ༝༝ does katsuki jerk off? ༝༝ }

Once, maybe twice a week, in the shower, he’ll curl his fingers around his cock. You’re the star of his show, whether you’re there in reality or not.

Eyes closed, Katsuki will brace a hand on the wall and remember the time you jerked him off in the shower. The memory of hot water on his chest, your soapy tits pressed against his back, and how he met each drag of your hand with a roll of his hips. It’s one of his favorites.

Usually he tries to avoid a mess, so he doesn’t touch himself in bed often. But when he does, he stares at the collection of filthy pictures you’ve sent him. Maybe a video of you sucking his cock, if you felt generous enough to allow him to record one.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ K ‣ ‣ KINK { ༝༝ katsuki’s kinks ༝༝ }

Spanking you, admiring your skin as it swells and burns hot to the touch, always sends heat sinking through Katsuki’s belly and straight to his cock. He wouldn’t do it if you didn’t squirm and cry out, pressing your ass into him to silently ask for more.

Along with spanking, Katsuki will flatten you to the mattress, haul a leg over his shoulder, and latch his fingers around your throat. The feel of your pussy fluttering, reacting as soon as he restricts your air flow, shoots adrenaline down his spine.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ L ‣ ‣ LOCATION { ༝༝ where katsuki likes to fuck ༝༝ }

Your bed is preferred. It’s big, comfortable, affording you the privacy Katsuki demands. He’d chew off his own arm before another person witnesses you unravel for him.

Other than that, he leaves the decision to you. As long as there’s some sort of solitude, and it’s not icky, Katsuki’s more or less fine with it.

You’ll get an earful if he isn’t.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ O ‣ ‣ ORAL { ༝༝ katsuki’s thoughts on oral ༝༝ }

Straddling his face, so slick that he laps at your pussy like an ice cream cone, tongue sliding over your tender clit again and again — that’s what curls pleasure low in Katsuki’s pelvis. Giving him the surreal sensation that he could cum from the slightest brush of his fingers.

When it’s reversed, and you’re the one with the aching jaw and swollen lips, Katsuki’s calloused palm will cup your jaw, thumb running along the bone underneath your eye, and his hips will thrust slowly to meet the fluid motion of your bobbing head. Eventually, Katsuki’s patience will run out, and you’ll be in his lap before he cums.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ Q ‣ ‣ QUICKIES { ༝༝ katsuki and quickies ༝༝ }

Katsuki prefers savoring the moment, so quickies aren’t his favorite. He will though, if you’re both pent up and it’s all the time you have.

It’s not a quickie by definition, but Katsuki enjoys waking you up in the middle of the night, squeezing between your legs and slipping his dick into your sleep soft body to seal you as one. Clinging to him with heavy limbs, moaning in his ear about how good he feels, he brings you both over the edge in no time.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ S ‣ ‣ STAMINA { ༝༝ what’s katsuki’s stamina like? ༝༝ }

Katsuki’s ego would bruise if his stamina was anything less than stellar. To be fair, he’s trained long days and even longer nights to achieve it. Repeatedly working himself to the bone for even an ounce of progress.

But, you make him weak. Katsuki’s man enough to admit there are times when his pleasure wells up so hot, so fast, that the iron grip on his control slips. He can’t help but suck in a sharp breath between his teeth, snap his hips forward and finish inside you.

The saving grace is that he can go multiple rounds without begging for too much of his stamina.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

ᝰ T ‣ ‣ TEASE { ༝༝ does katsuki like to tease you? ༝༝ }

Teasing you until you’re flustered, until your expression is cracked with pleasure, it’s an achievement in Katsuki’s mind. In between the slick rejoining of your hips, when he can catch his breath, he’ll open his mouth and mutter with a rich, low tone “So fuckin’ needy for my cock, yeah? Can’t even go a day without it, you spoiled rotten princess.”

You love to hear Katsuki belongs to you, only you, and he uses that to his advantage to turn you to mush. When he eats you out, he moans, pulling back to stare at you with heavy lidded eyes, teasing you with “You love that I’m a fuckin’ slut for your pussy, don’t you?” The words sink into your skin, a flash of heat slicing through your belly, and the nod of your head is jerky. A few more swipes of his tongue and you’re cumming.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #mha headcanons #my hero smut #my hero x reader

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kimstills · 6 months ago

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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fan fiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic #maddie writes

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femoso-seben · 10 months ago

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Stupid idea that I thought up half asleep

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who got you pregnant when you two were teens (17)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who got yelled at by your father for getting you pregnant and band him from seeing you again

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who immediately went through all stages of panic. Got his ass beat by his father, before getting his shit together and start providing

Baby Daddy Ghost! And you were force to married

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who sent his first paycheck to you without even saying a word

Baby Daddy Ghost! And you fought because you two were scared

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who was there in the delivery room and was too stunned to speak and just nod along to what the nurses said, stared at his baby daughter until the nurses took the baby so she can lay on your skin.

Baby Daddy Ghost! who didn't let you drop out of school because he knew you had a bright future.

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who went into Butchary so you could go to college (your parents were more opening and caring and help baby sit your daughter unlike his)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who come back from work and cradle his daughter and sleep with her.

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who went into the military for his own purpose which you agree he should go into. (did college through the military)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who spend that summer saving Tommy and be more of a family man

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who divorce tokep you safe after his family was slaughter and move you into a rural place in England and keep a low profile when visiting you and his daughter. (remember he’s consider dead, visit at night and don't really leave the house to continue to deception your a widow)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who spends all his time off with your young daughter on his off time, (sends most of his money to you even if you have a good job he want to provide and your money can be use as fun money.)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who becomes more authoritative figure once she becomes a teenager and has to vet every man or woman she dated.

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who only tells the task force once they saw his personal phone’s lock screen (photo of his daughter on her birthday changes it yearly) brought her around and turns out she's a volleyball player (got some of simon’s height)

Baby Daddy Ghost! Who gets a little sentimental seeing his daughter playing volleyball in the national youth lead

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #headcanon #cod headcanons

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dearnovella · 1 year ago

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About GRLZ HIGH

GRLZ HIGH was a six member K-pop girl group that debuted under MISSMUSE Entertainment (now known as Storybook Entertainment) on the 21st of July 2014.

──

Warnings: Bullying, abuse, blackmail, scamming, hate messages, and cyberbullying.

──

The members consisted of;

Kim YUNA Dasom - 24* - Lead Vocal, Leader

Lee BinBin Bitna - 22 - Main Rapper, Lead Dancer

Kim Cherri Myung-Hee - 22 - Lead Rapper

Hwang MIA Da-Eun - 21 - Lead Dancer, Sub Vocal

Bae Haneul So-Hee - 20 - Main Dancer

Park Sena Byeol - 20 - Visual, Main Vocal

*Ages above are age at debut.

──

GRLZ HIGH tried multiple different concepts during their career, such as hip hop or cute concepts, but they were best known for their sexy-cute songs. The girls were not a household name by any means, but they were able to gain a modest fanbanse. This was largely due to MME spending the biggest portion of their funds on the group, even to the point where the CEO allegedly sold her private car to increase the budget of the ‘Heart Attack’ music video. However, GRLZ HIGH's successes were few and far between, and it was very difficult for them to secure any tv spots, let alone wins, as they were from an unknown company. Due to their lack of funds, the girls had to share a dingy two bedroom apartment with their manager and, along with the pressure of their struggling idol careers, this put a strain on the groups relationships.

Unbeknownst to the public, there was division within the group. YUNA, Cherri, BinBin and MIA were on one side, and Haneul and Sena were on the other. According to the other four, Haneul and Sena were unfairly favoured, both by fans and the company, for their visuals despite them being ‘the most untalented/laziest members’. Although there was no real proof of this, it sparked jealousy amongst the four causing them to treat the other two very poorly. Haneul and Sena were practically ran out of the group on the 12th of December 2015 when the bullying and mental abuse became too much to handle, resulting in the termination of their contracts. The two girls were blackmailed to keep silent using explicit personal images and evidence of them breaking company rules (leaving hotels, smoking, etc), but also the neglectful staff members, such as their manager who chose to ignore the obvious signs, meant that the higher ups were unaware of any bullying.

The group continued as 4 members after their departure, but there were a lot of rumours and confusion created in response to the sudden news. A controversial kpop news channel named ‘Seo-Yeon Holmes’ even made a YouTube video named ‘How to Catch a Bully’ which featured clips of several different kpop groups- one of which being GRLZ HIGH- and ultimately claimed that the videos were proof of bullying within the selected groups. This video blew up, and although some people defended the girls, claiming that the accusations were baseless and defamatory, GRLZ HIGH began to attract negative attention. The members were infuriated by this, and sent Haneul and Sena hate, both anonymously and directly, for trying to ‘sabotage’ the group.

Even when the accusations came out, MISSMUSE staff were generally very caring and supportive towards the members. YUNA decided to take advantage of this and ask for multiple ‘loans’ from managers and stylists. Obviously she never paid them back, since she was living of off an allowance, and it was eventually brought to the higher ups of the company. YUNA was silently put on hiatus, as an attempt to not stir up any more negative press. It wasn't until an ex-staff member spoke up online that the information was brought to the public. The news of the scamming once again threw GRLZ HIGH into the spotlight, but for all of the wrong reasons. MME originally planned to try continue GRLZ HIGH as three, but an anonymous source soon came out with allegations, and this time, real proof, of bullying and abuse towards ex-members Haneul and Sena. This source would later reveal themselves as Sena, a month after the groups disbandment.

GRLZ HIGH was forced to disband on the 10th of February 2017 due to all of the negative attention they had gained in the media. They had amassed a total of 0 music show wins by the end of their career. YUNA was soon prosecuted for not repaying staff members over USD$700 in loans. However, due to harassment laws not being strongly enforced, and bullying cases being extremely hard to win, Haneul and Sena did not press charges against the four members. After the scandal came out and was ‘resolved’ none of the girls tried to redebut in the industry, and all are now living quiet lives. Despite this, photos of Sena and Haneul hanging out together on their private Instagrams have been leaked, along with photos of Yuna and Mia separately. Cherri and BinBin have not been seen on any social media platforms after the incident.

──

DISCOGRAPHY (Title Tracks):

Why Did You Come To My Home? (July 2014)

Like It! (Nov 2014)

Crush (April 2015)

Heart Attack (October 2015)

LAST LOVE (August 2016)

#back from the dead. ── profile.#kpop oc #fake kpop group #fictional idol community #fictional idol group #novellagg #fake kpop girl group

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ddejavvu · 2 months ago

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I can't get the thought of marking Hotch up with lipstick marks out of my head. Like imagine leaving a trail of kisses down from his neck to his dick. And if the lipstick is starting to fade, he'd reapply it for her so she could continue marking him

Hotch is typically more-than-professional during round table sessions, the grim atmosphere of the room setting the tone for his no-nonsense behavior. However, he can't stop himself from itching at a persistent stinging against his collarbone- probably something to do with the mark you'd sucked into his skin only hours earlier.

it's such an intense sensation that he slips a hand beneath his collar to itch it skin-on-skin, something probably unprofessional considering his environment, but one of those base human things that must be done even if it shouldn't be. A few wandering eyes note his movements, observant but neutral as a profiler should be.

It isn't until he withdraws his hand, fingers stained a crimson red, that anyone reacts.

JJ shifts in her seat, eyes blowing wide as Prentiss leans forwards, "Hotch, is that blood?"

Aaron's already grasped the edge of his manila folder with his lipstick-stained fingers, turning the yellow paper a sinful shade. He frowns, glancing down at his pristinely pressed suit, but there's nothing red against his chest.

"Your hand," Reid urges, his brows knitted in concern, but it's Derek- of course - who recognizes the red for what it really is.

"Hold on," He laughs incredulously, a great gust of air that comes out like a bark, "Hold on, hold on, hold on, that came off'a your chest?"

Caught red-handed, Hotch composes himself, which is a very stark difference to the way that his team dissolves into teasing giggles. Penelope has clapped a hand over her mouth, perhaps the only way she can hold herself back from opening it.

"Settle down." Hotch attempts, but Rossi undermines him with an exasperated groan. Once the oldest of the team proves unreachable Hotch knows he's lost the room, and sits in stony silence while he waits for his coworkers to finish getting their fill.

"My man." Morgan declares, clapping Hotch on the shoulder with a strong hand he's lucky not to lose, "She got you in the doorway this morning, didn't she?"

"We're talking about dead teenagers, here." Hotch reminds them, raising a brow as Emily, Penelope, and JJ collapse into girlish giggles, "Can we please focus on the case?"

"This is on you, Hotch." Rossi levels him with what's supposed to be an unimpressed glare, and what really comes off as a smirk, "It's not their fault you come to work with lipstick under your clothes."

"I have to ask Y/N for that shade," Penelope gushes, but at Hotch's warning glare she grabs her remote and retakes her place beside the viewing screen, "But-! But our trusty boss is right, there are lives on the line here. So- um, incriminating lipstick stains pushed to the back of the mind, we'll start up again on our case."

Hotch's shoulders relax as the team sinks back into careful contemplation of the case details. He thinks he's escaped scrutiny altogether thanks to the shocking violence of this particular unsub, but it's three days later when he hears about the lipstick stains again.

Surprisingly, it's Reid that comes to torture him, and the slick comment comes when Hotch is forced into sharing a motel room with him. Communal bathrooms are in the middle of the complex, but it's easier to change in their rooms. He unbuckles his belt facing the corner of the small room, giving Reid space to change himself, and giving both of them as much privacy as possible.

"Careful, Hotch," Reid calls, voice misleadingly kind-hearted which lures Aaron into a sense of security, "There's a gap in the curtains behind where you're standing. You wouldn't want any onlookers to see any more lipstick Y/N left behind."

Hotch decides that Reid is worse than Morgan. Morgan is expected to be crass, so it's not a shock when it's delivered. Reid, however, is one to watch out for.

"Reid," Hotch responds, hearing Spencer's breathy laughter already bubbling from his throat, "I'm sticking you on desk duty for a month when we get back."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut

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cxrrodedcoffin · 5 months ago

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Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

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pathologicalreid · 5 months ago

Text

for the fear of falling apart | part two

returning to Everett Lynch's case, you try to redefine normalcy with Spencer and JJ, but Grace Lynch has other plans for you

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst, hurt/comfort content warnings: gun violence, spoilers/references to: 9x6 "in the blood", 9x14 "200", 9x23 "angels", 9x24 "demons", 13x22 "believer", 14x1 "300", 14x15 "truth or dare". rewrite of 15x1 "under the skin", 15x2 "awakenings". a lot of dialogue is pulled directly from the show. hospitals/medical information. diana's alzheimers. marriage talk. roslyn's suicide. the parentification of jennifer jareau. mommy AND daddy issues. fear of drowning. word count: 7.48k a/n: it's two days late, but it's three times longer than part one. welcome to the abyss of my brain. it's scary in here.

Your name was being called. First, it felt far away, slowly coming closer and closer, lifting you to the surface as if you were being pulled. The sound was muffled until you broke through the barrier, a female voice clearly called your name, prompting your eyes to fly open, and there you were, sitting up on Penelope’s velvet couch, cocooned in a crocheted blanket with what was sure to be a remarkable bedhead.

Lifting your hand and placing it over your racing heart, you looked up at Penelope, the blue streak that you had redone for her last night prominent against her blonde hair. “Hey,” you said, widening your eyes and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders.

She crooked a brow at you suspiciously. For someone who wasn’t a profiler, she did have a knack for reading people, but you supposed it came with the territory. “My darling girl, you are always more than welcome to sleep on my couch, it’s a wonderful couch, I have spent my fair share of nights sleeping on it,” she rambled, sitting down next to you and taking your hands in hers. “You’re hiding,” she told you softly, “What are you hiding from?”

Penelope reached out to you, sweeping a messy strand of hair behind your ear as her big, brown eyes looked at you sympathetically. The gesture and the way she was speaking to you nearly approached being sisterly. At the idea of developing a supplemental sororal relationship with the technical analyst, you pulled away from her. You shook your head, “I’m not hiding,” you told her simply, leaving her with a half-truth as you stood up and began folding the blanket that had kept you warm overnight.

Nodding incredulously, she looked up at you, “If your Luddite boyfriend is blowing up my phone, then something has to be going on.” Her tone was urgent, but she stayed seated, giving you an advantage.

“Nothing’s wrong, Pen,” you reassured her, shaking your head and shrugging simultaneously.

Her face filled with doubt, glancing over at your cellphone as it buzzed on the coffee table, Spencer’s contact flashing on the touchscreen as you ignored the call. “Why didn’t you tell him you were staying with me last night?”

Pressing your lips in a thin white line, you briefly considered coming clean. You envisioned the truth coming out of you in puddles, everything you had been holding close to your chest for the last month pouring out like alphabet soup, but Penelope didn’t deserve that burden. “I just forgot,” you told her, watching the screen go dark.

Spencer was a worrier by the influence of his environment. Adamantly against getting a new phone, he couldn’t see your location at any given moment. His first course of action was usually calling your sister before resorting to Penelope, who not only has your location on her phone but also has access to your location in the bureau database. It wasn’t a fault of his, members of the BAU did have a tendency to disappear in the dead of the night.

She urged you to call him back as her phone started going off, her shoulders slumping forward, a tell-tale sign that the BAU was being pulled in on a case. If you were lucky, you would be able to slip through the cracks, claiming to put all of your focus into the case so that you didn’t need to have an in-depth conversation with your boyfriend. Or your sister, for that matter.

“Where are we headed?” You asked, rolling up your sleeves and crossing your arms in front of your stomach.

Penelope frowned at the tiny screen in front of her, “Baltimore,” she said hesitantly, “Uh, we gotta go. I’ll drive? You can call Spencer on the way,” she suggested before bolting into the bathroom.

You ended up avoiding the call to Spencer yet again, claiming you’d see him at the office anyway, and instead opening yourself up to a barrage of questions.

Was there cheating? Are you pregnant? Were you pregnant? Did he propose? Did you say no? Did you say yes?

The two of you parted as she went to prepare files and you waltzed into the bullpen, clocking the vase of flowers on your desk immediately. They, of course, weren’t just flowers, but a carefully calculated decision made to try and get into your good graces. This was the fifth vase that had been delivered in the last month.

First, there were honeysuckles, a symbol of devoted affection. Red carnations told you that his heart ached for you. A bouquet of daisies because he truly loved you. Last week, white lilies were left on your desk, a symbol of pure love.

Now, a bunch of apple blossoms sat on your desk, telling you that he preferred you before anyone else. How poignant.

Your eyes burned as you looked around the bullpen, hoping he was around so you could return the flowers to him, but the only people you saw were Emily and Rossi, sequestered in her office in the middle of what seemed to be a tense discussion. Choosing to ignore the flowers, you walked over to your desk, tucking your go-bag underneath and starting to power up your computer.

“Hey, Y/N?” Emily called from her office, “Can you head to the file room and pull everything from the Lynch case?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before closing the door again.

Concerned, you turned around and started making your way to the file room. If Everett Lynch was back, that would explain the worried look on Penelope’s face when the case came in. Even more, that would explain why Emily and Rossi were hidden in her office. Every member of the team wanted to see Lynch locked up for what he’s done, but for Dave it was personal.

Opening the file room, you pulled open the drawer of active cases from the past three months, starting to strip the drawer of anything even remotely related to Everett Lynch. The revelation that Grace was his daughter took everyone by surprise, but Spencer still felt responsible for Luke getting knifed. You should talk to him about it, you thought to yourself, if he didn’t talk about it, he’d just continue to internalize it.

“I need to talk to you,” a voice said suddenly from behind you, jolting you away from your train of thought. Spinning on your heel, you looked at Spencer.

Alarmed, you huffed, “You scared me,” you informed him, clutching the files close to your chest as you studied his stature. He looked fine, his hair was a bit of a mess, but he was wearing the red cardigan that you had gotten him for Christmas last year. You didn’t even want to begin to consider the implications of his outfit choice.

He furrowed his brows at you, “I scared you? You disappeared last night without a word, and I scared you?” There wasn’t even a hint of anger in his voice, instead, his words dripped in sweet melancholy, and you couldn’t look away from him.

You thought about your sister, snatched from the nation’s capital in the middle of the night as vengeance for her work with the CIA. Spencer and Penelope, both taken from what should have been a secure FBI building by a cult that bore a decade-long grudge against the BAU. You had frightened him, probably tripping his overactive mind into believing you were destined to meet a similar fate – dying in a warehouse somewhere. Blinking absently, you shook your head at him, “I’m sorry,” you told him, and you meant it.

“You’re punishing me,” he accused, crossing his arms in front of his chest before quickly dropping them, being hypervigilant about his body language.

Skimming your tongue over the backs of your teeth nervously, you hesitantly met his gaze. He seemed to be convinced that you were punishing him for the events that had taken place last month, but you were inclined to believe that you were punishing yourself, he was caught in your crossfire. “It’s not a punishment, Spence,” you whispered, watching how his brown eyes shone under the fluorescent lights.

His shoulders dropped, disappointment plain on his face, “I missed you at the baby shower,” he confessed.

“Sprinkle,” you corrected.

“Semantics,” he retorted, and it almost brought a smile to your face.

You looked down at the files in your arms, not even realizing that you had been white-knuckling the classified information, “I was there,” you disputed. “I saw you. I brought the gift and put both of our names on it. What more could I have done?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a tilted look, “Standing together in the group photo would’ve been nice.”

In response, you straightened up your back, “Ah, you were too busy standing with my sister,” you quipped, bringing the conversation back to the root of the conflict.

“Will you come home tonight? Stay with me?” Your heart clenched at his question.

Hesitantly, you nodded, “I’ll be there,” you assured him, securing the last of the files before sneaking around him, skillfully avoiding the remainder of your team as you made your way to the roundtable room.

“I’m worried about Dave,” you whispered, looking at the other end of the couch at your boyfriend, the two of you dressed in pajamas, your old Georgetown sweatshirt frayed at the cuffs, but it remained your favorite.

The orange print of his Caltech t-shirt was peeling up on the edges, sometimes, at night, you’d pick at the emblem – it drove Spencer crazy, especially when he woke up in a pile of picked vinyl. His mug was carefully resting in his hands as the two of you had a nighttime cup of tea, something you used to do when you had just started dating, and that you decided to try to bring back – chamomile for you, lavender for him. “I talked to him tonight,” he told you, turning to face you, “He’s.. he’ll be fine. He has Krystall.”

And I have you, you thought to yourself, lifting your mug to your lips and taking a sip. Sometimes you felt special for getting this side of Spencer, the ratty college t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that he wore while lounging on the worn leather couch.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” He asked when you didn’t respond, leaning forward and setting his mug on the coffee table.

Shaking your head, you followed suit, setting your mug on a coaster next to his before crawling closer to him on the couch, taking him by surprise. “Not yet,” you whispered, sitting down next to him, relieved when he responded by putting an arm around you. “I’m not mad at you,” you told him, “I just needed time.”

His arm was warm and familiar over your shoulders, having the same effect as a weighted blanket, calming you down with a simple touch. “To think,” he said, “you keep saying that. Are you… do you need more time?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, “I don’t think so, but I’m,” you faltered, frowning, “I’m having a hard time talking to my sister.” It wasn’t a secret that there had been some sort of falling out between the Jareau sisters, but the reasoning behind the rift remained a mystery to most people.

“I am too,” he admitted, skimming his fingertips up and down your arm. “I keep recalling everything that happened, and I don’t fully understand how everything got so messed up.

Raising your eyebrows, you remained in the crook of his arm, “People say a lot of things with a gun to their head.”

What you hadn’t considered was that following her admission, your sister would avoid Spencer. When you decided to avoid both of them, you had no idea what you were taking from him. “What would your truth have been?”

“I’m afraid that everything surrounding me is destined to fall apart,” you admitted. “I was brought into my family in an attempt to rescue my parents’ marriage, but it didn’t work.” Your sister slit her wrists open when you were only four years old, but somehow your father had put her death on your shoulders. JJ left home as soon as she could, leaving you at twelve years old with your grief-stricken mother, who had spent the last several decades waiting for the day her daughters would all be reunited.

Spencer was quiet for a while before responding to you, “We should go to bed.”

He was probably right, the team was expected to be in early tomorrow morning. After leaving well past dark, the last thing you wanted to think about was going back in before the sun had a chance to rise. “Wait,” you said, “What’s your truth?”

Briefly, his eyes flickered, looking down the length of your body, “My truth is that I’m tired, we should go to sleep,” he told you, herding you toward your shared bedroom.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, walking through the bedroom and into the ensuite, grabbing your toothbrush off the counter.

Nodding, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll be there.”

Maybe you should’ve taken it as a sign that you were unphased by the revelation of a crazy doctor with a fetish for skinning people. The world had strange ways of telling you that you needed to take a step back, for every sign you had been given, you took a step forward. That was how you ended up in the backseat of an SUV with your sister at the wheel and Spencer in the passenger seat.

Everett Lynch had invaded the BAU’s territory, coming in like an infestation in the district, and he was trying to break his daughter Grace out of jail. You heard through the phone that they were scrambling tactics, using the walkie-talkies in the U.S. Attorney building to prevent their own capture.

The car came to a screeching halt, and the three of you piled out, “There’s no time,” your sister said, looking around, “We’ll cover this one,” she informed Spencer, looking back at you as you adjusted the strap of your Kevlar.

“I’ll take the garage on Piedmont and 10th,” Spencer responded dutifully, nodding at the both of you before turning around and running to the parking garage two blocks over.

You and your sister started to make your way into the larger of the two parking garages, both of you pulling your firearms and pointing them down, keeping yourselves aware of your surroundings. There was movement in front of you, two bodies moving toward a white van with federal plates – the Lynch’s. “Everett Lynch,” you called out, “Drop your weapon and put your hands up, now!”

The man in front of you – the so-called Chameleon – scoffed in disbelief, “Take it easy. There’s no reason to gun down a daddy in front of his little girl, right?” You kept your Glock aimed at him, watching intently as he carefully set his gun on the ground. Sirens started going off in your head, a premonition of things to come.

“Alright,” JJ shouted, “Kick it over. Grace, you too. Drop your backpack and let me see your hands. Come on, now!”

Putting her hands up, Grace let her backpack fall to the ground in a heap of fabric, you kept your gun trained on them as JJ lunged to the side, reaching over to pick up Everett’s gun from the ground. “Grace!” You shouted, watching the girl bring her hands down as she reached for something, “Put your hands back up!”

It was a split-second decision, but you watched as Grace lifted that gun in her hands, and you jumped. You knocked your sister over as three shots rang through the air, the first one grazed her arm. The next two lodged themselves in your side as the two of you fell to the ground, your body rolling along the ground as the father-daughter duo loaded themselves in the van before driving off.

JJ grabbed her weapon and shot after them, hoping to blow out one of their tires or at the very least slow them down, but with only one good arm, her aim was off. She scrambled to her feet, “Come on, Y/N,” she huffed, not checking behind her before running out of the parking garage.

You wanted nothing more than to follow her. Being angry wasn’t worth it anymore, you couldn’t freeze out your older sister anymore. You tried to breathe, you tried to call after her, but when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was blood.

For your entire life, you had followed her. When asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you’d tell them you wanted to be like your big sister. You wanted to follow her, but you couldn’t move.

You followed her from East Allegheny to Washington D.C. You had followed her into this very parking garage. Now, all you could think about was following Roslyn, bleeding out on the cold hard floor, alone.

“Y/N, what’s your location?” Spencer’s voice rang through your radio.

You had never been shot before. You had always thought it would be cold to be shot, but instead, your whole body felt like it had been set on fire.

“Y/N, do you copy?”

The wetness of the blood should have made it cold.

“Y/N?”

Your fire was slowly fading, the blaze that had gone up so quickly began to ebb as you stopped feeling anything at all. The tapping of shoes echoed through the parking garage as you lay on the cement.

“No,” that all too familiar voice said, “Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now,” Spencer called into the radio, he was out of breath as he looked down at you.

He studied your appearance, clocking the entry wounds on your side and moving his fingers in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. An odd, choked noise escaped your throat as the pressure on your side stoked the fire.

Spencer’s fingers trembled even as he maintained pressure on your side, “I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He took a deep breath, “here, turn- turn your head,” he instructed gently, using his free hand to coax your face to the side. You choked and came to the horrifying realization that he was trying to stop you from aspirating on your own blood. “Get it all out, baby,” he cajoled as blood spurted from your mouth, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

That would have to be enough. It wasn’t enough for you to hope anymore. You had spent so long with the Anger and Resentment from your Pandora’s Box that you completely failed to notice how Hope had slipped through the cracks, lost in a sea of emotions.

“Do you hear that? That’s the ambulance,” he told you, an unspoken plea in his voice.

But you couldn’t hear the sirens, pretty soon, you couldn’t hear anything at all.

The EMTs had all kinds of things to say, none of them were even remotely comforting. The bullets had entered through the thin opening of your Kevlar, a sort of Achilles heel where you couldn’t be protected. He should have double-checked, he should have paused to adjust the straps before running to the other parking garage.

He watched the doctors shock you in the emergency room, looking on in horror as your heart stopped beating. “Are you her husband?” One of the nurses had asked.

Spencer’s mouth had gone completely dry, “I’m- almost,” he answered, earning a sympathetic look from the nurse as she proceeded to ask him questions about next of kin and extraordinary measures. One of the bullets had pierced your lungs, causing catastrophic bleeding.

The nurse guided him to a surgical waiting room, but no one came out to him with updates, leaving him to sit. Someone brought his go-bag by, letting him change into clothes that weren’t blood-soaked.

He sat in a pile of limbs on the hospital’s couch, picking at the crusted blood that he hadn’t quite managed to wash off, and he wondered if he could ask one of the nurses for a surgical scrub brush, wondering if that would get the last flecks of blood from the ridges of his fingernails.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, rushing through the hallway, Will trailing close behind her.

Her arm was wrapped with gauze, probably stitched up before someone told her what had happened to her little sister. “Hey,” Spencer said, standing up as they approached, wiping his clammy hands on his slacks.

JJ held her hands out, “What have you heard? Anything?”

“It’s gonna be a while,” he said, repeating the only words that he had been told. They had taken you to the OR an hour ago, and all they had to do was wait it out.

The clinical white walls of the hospital were enough to make Spencer stir crazy, when Will offered to get him a cup of coffee, he was almost aggressive in his rejection. The sunlight reflected off the drywall as your surgery continued to test his patience.

Eventually, your mother called JJ back, and your sister walked away in order to explain the situation under the guise of privacy, leaving Spencer alone. “Dr. Reid?” Someone said, maintaining the reverent tones of the hospital that were beginning to make him want to pull his hair out.

“Yes,” he said, standing up in front of the nurse.

The nurse gave him a gentle smile, and he braced himself for the worst. “Ms. Jareau is out of surgery,” she informed him.

You had been in there for nearly six hours. “She…” he faltered, “Can I see her?” He asked, looking past the nurse as if he could see all the way into your recovery room from where he stood.

Nodding, the nurse continued to smile at him, “I can take you to her now if you’d like. She’s still under sedation,” she advised, gesturing for Spencer to follow her through the winding hallways of the hospital.

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked, checking to make sure he had his phone in his pocket so he could text JJ if he needed to.

The nurse’s smile tightened, “We won’t be able to know if she’s sustained any neurological damage until she wakes up.”

He frowned slightly, bracing himself for an answer that he wouldn’t like, “Could she hear me if I talk to her?” He asked, stopping in his tracks as the nurse stopped outside of a room – your room.

“It’s unlikely,” the nurse answered.

That made sense to him, there weren’t any studies that could prove that people could hear external stimuli while comatose. At least, there wasn’t enough for the medical community to reach a consensus. “Thank you,” Spencer said, nodding at the nurse as she turned away, letting him know that the doctor would be by to talk to him soon.

Your skin was pallid, a sickly sheen covering your skin as tubes and wires worked together to monitor you and keep your body going. Spencer set your patient bag in the corner of the room before dragging a chair over to your bedside, cringing at the sound the chair made against the linoleum before taking a seat next to you.

The steady beeping of your heart monitor quickly became the only thing preventing him from falling apart entirely. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, keeping his voice down so that no one else would hear him. “I keep going over it in my head and I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were missing sooner,” he spoke to your silent body, chest rising and falling with even breaths. “I’m so sorry,” he echoed, “You should’ve… you should’ve been my priority. Before Grace. Before Lynch. Before any of it.”

He inhaled shakily, glancing over at your vital monitor, taking comfort in the consistency of the numbers, “I should’ve put you first and now I- I can’t take it back,” he said, eyes burning with emotion. “I know things between the two of us have been kind of weird lately… ever since the pawn shop, I mean. I just,” he paused for a moment, giving himself grace, “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if she meant it and if she did, what does that mean? When you didn’t bring it up after the wedding I didn’t either because I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

Somewhere along the way, the two of you had gotten lost. In the midst of not talking about the pawn shop, you had stopped talking altogether. “Now, all of a sudden, none of it even matters. All that matters is that I need you to wake up because I need to have more time with you,” he sniffled, the first hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he whispered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, thinking of all of those nights the two of you had stayed up talking about the future. Your dream wedding. Your children’s names. He needed it. More of it. More of you.

Mindful of you, he laid his arms on the armrest of your hospital bed, lowering his head and watching the consistent rise and fall of your chest, listening to the whistling of your nostrils as he waited for the doctor to come.

The doctor seemed confident that you would wake up, it was just a question of when. He sent JJ, who had gone home to change into fresh clothing, an update once the doctor left.

Every once in a while, your nose would twitch or your finger would tap on the hospital bedding, and he would allow himself to get his hopes up. It never lasted long, once the fluke ended, he went back to thinking about the situation realistically. You were still having blood transfused, there was a tube in your chest depositing fluids into a bag at your bedside, and even if you did wake up, there was a long road to recovery with an injury like this.

He was terrified that you’d wake up alone and in excruciating pain, so he refused to move, having any paperwork brought directly to him in your room. Nearly every fifteen minutes, he smoothed out the blanket that rested on top of you, careful when putting his hands near your body, even though you couldn’t tell whether or not your blanket was wrinkled. Spencer thought of it as tucking you in, keeping you safe, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too little too late.

You didn’t make it to the beach as often as you’d like. Spencer hated the beach, and you weren’t interested in swimming in the ocean so much as you wanted to go and people-watch. Families on vacation. Marriage proposals.

The first time you had ever gone to the ocean, you were three years old. JJ and Roslyn hadn’t been in years, but it was all new to you. JJ wanted to bring you to the water, and Roslyn hadn’t even wanted to go on the trip. The water hadn’t scared you then, the endless abyss of blue had seemed more inviting than anything you had ever seen before.

Now, you lay on the sand, all of it cold beneath your skin, the rest of the beach seemingly abandoned. Try as you might, you couldn’t move anything. You wanted to lift your arm to brush hair out of your face. You wanted to sit up. You wanted to go home.

You couldn’t even see the water from where you lay, you opened your mouth, hoping to call for help, but were surprised when the only thing that came out of your mouth was a dark, black sludge. It spurted from your mouth as it ran down your cheeks, staining the white sand of the beach beneath you. You were drowning on dry land, and there was nothing you could do.

Nothing but open your eyes.

The ominous white sky of the beach turned into white walls, as you fluttered your eyes open, the ocean made way for you, parting so that you could return to yourself. Laid in a hospital bed, trying to remember how to breathe, and meeting Spencer’s stare.

“Hi love,” he whispered, gently placing one hand on top of yours, drawing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, careful not to knock your pulse oximeter off.

Your brows pinched together as you looked over at him, he looked tired, waiting for you to say something. Your chest felt tight as you looked at him, hundreds of thoughts bubbling to the surface, but only one bubble popped, “I had a nightmare.”

Spencer nodded slowly, messy curls falling over his forehead, “It’s okay, angel. You’re awake now. It can’t hurt you.”

It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you.

You watched as Spencer reached over and pushed the call button on your bed. Each moment you spent awake became increasingly painful, signified by the slow rise of your heart rate, the pain only exacerbated when your breathing quickened. Alarm grew, “Shh, hey,” Spencer consoled you, reaching his hand out and smoothing your hair back, looking to the door and hoping someone would come in and help you.

They did, pushing pain medications through your IV and watching your heart rate stabilize before giving you something to help you calm down. Spencer probably knew what they all were, making mental notes to keep track of everything as he kept his hand in yours. Your pain level dwindled from a nine to a six, leveling out in the middle ground.

You settled back into the pillows, cringing as a nurse moved your bed so that you were sitting up slightly, nodding softly at the things that she told you about rest. She checked your vitals, before leaving the two of you alone, silence swirling around the two of you as you constructed a bubble to keep yourselves warm.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he whispered, looking over at you, a distressed look in his eyes.

Moving at a turtle’s pace, you shook your head, “You saved my life.”

It’s okay. I’ve got you, he had told you in the parking garage, and he did. He still had you, even now. If they had let him, Spencer might’ve waited for you outside the operating room, just to be in the vicinity of you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you murmured, eyes opening and closing slowly. Your eyelids felt sticky like there was still tape residue on them from your operation, but you didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare agitate any wound on your body. “Is JJ okay?” You asked, your voice tight. Checking in on your sister took all of your strength.

Spencer kept his hand in yours, moving his free hand to wipe at tears that had spilled over your lower lashline. “She’s fine, just a graze,” he reassured you, “I’ll call her when you go back to sleep.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if you were allowed to have any water, “I missed you,” you breathed, fighting to keep your eyes open. “I wanna talk to you,” you sniffled.

“You should sleep, my sweet girl,” he answered, not wanting you to get into a hefty conversation in your condition. “We have all the time in the world to talk when you wake up.”

Except you didn’t. You had thought there was time for you to be angry, but then you had been shot. As much as you hated the idea of being someone who had a near-death experience and suddenly let bygones be bygones, alienating those close to you seemed exhausting. You took a deep breath, thankful for the nasal cannula on your face, “I’ve been so distant,” you admitted.

Spencer hesitated, not sure if you needed to get into this while so vulnerable, “I don’t know if she meant it,” he breathed.

“I don’t need to know,” you told him, surprising yourself as much as him with your admission. “JJ is… She’s one of the most important people in my life, but so are you. Maybe even more so.”

He frowned, “You can’t possibly mean that.”

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, “JJ’s my sister, we share the same family, but I chose you, Spence. I will continue to do so,” you told him, deciding against adding until the day that I die. Watching him as he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, “Oh,” you sighed, “please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Waving off your concern, he wiped at his eyes before taking one of your hands in both of his, “I love you so much, but I don’t want you to forget your anger.”

“Huh?” You hummed groggily.

“You’ve been mad for months,” he whispered, the strokes of his thumb on the back of your hand putting you to sleep. “It doesn’t need to fade away in the blink of an eye.”

You let your eyes slip shut once again, “I’ll still give you a hard time.”

He laughed slightly at that, “Good.”

“Spence?” You breathed.

“Yeah, baby?”

Humming, you settled back into the bed, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make our tea date tonight.”

When you woke up again, a familiar blonde was sitting at the foot of your bed, hunched in a plastic hospital chair while Spencer remained at your bedside, hands still intertwined, but sweaty now. “Jennifer,” he said, getting the attention of your sister.

She jumped up from the chair and sat on the edge of your bed, in your periphery, you saw Spencer retreat, ambling into the hallway to talk to Emily. Letting him go, you turned your attention to your sister, “Hey, Jayg,” you greeted, words coming easier now than they did before, the swelling of your throat had gone down.

Her finely chiseled eyebrows pinched together on her face, “I thought you were right behind me,” she admitted miserably, looking at your torso.

“It’s alright now, though,” you tried to reassure her. You had lost half of your blood volume, much of it on the parking garage floor, but you were here now, that had to mean something.

She shook her head in abject self-disappointment, “I should have protected you,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she fought back tears.

You were too tired to fight emotions, water falling from your tear ducts as the two of you tried to mend what had previously been torn apart. “You don’t need to protect me,” you insisted. The decision to take the hit had been entirely your own, driven by a need to protect her.

“I always have though,” she reminded you, “When Roz died, dad left, and mom checked out, I took care of you.”

When you were a child, you thought that having your pre-teen sister do everything for you was the way things worked. It didn’t last long, things unraveled from there, but you always had JJ. “I’m all grown up now,” you reminded her. You didn’t need her protection in your early thirties in the same way you needed them as a child.

JJ took a shaky breath, cupping your cheek with her hand affectionately, the way a mother would to their child, “You’re always going to be my little sister.”

You looked at her, seven years your senior, and you sighed, “Do you know why I did it?” You asked her, studying the sad look in her eyes.

She smoothed your hair back, grabbed a cup of water from your bedside, and brought the straw to your lips, “Why, Ducky?”

The childhood nickname chimed in your ears, one of the only things that you retained from your eldest sister. You smiled at her, “Your boys.” The answer came easily to you, “You have Will and your tiny people, and I just thought… I couldn’t let you leave them.”

“But I almost lost you,” she countered, it wasn’t aggressive, it was almost like she was trying to make you see the value in your own life. The people in your life didn’t make you valuable, you had value as an individual.

Shrugging, you looked at her sympathetically, “Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, “You’re stuck with me.”

She gave you a sisterly, knowing look, “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You concurred, “Yeah, because you’re just that stuck with me.” You insisted, watching as Spencer answered a phone call in the hallway. “Did you call them?” You asked her, giving her a quick glance as you craned your neck to keep an eye on your boyfriend.

“Mom’s on a flight in tomorrow morning, but dad hasn’t responded to my voicemail,” she informed you, she didn’t look surprised, and you didn’t feel it.

Where your father was concerned, some things were better left unsaid, but you wouldn’t necessarily mind if he never responded to your sister’s calls. There was no reason to drag him and his new wife from their cushy life in Florida. Spencer reentered the room as JJ’s phone started ringing – Will – and the two of them traded off, amicably splitting time with you.

Greeting him with a content smile on your face, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hairline, “I have to go,” he told you reluctantly.

You tried not to let any disappointment show on your face, “Why? What’s wrong?” You asked, studying his face for any sign of what his phone call had been about.

“That was Brookfield on the phone,” Spencer said, checking all of the monitors that surrounded you.

The grim look on his face made sense to you. Moving his mother into Brookfield had been the right choice for everyone, but her condition was never going to get better. Last time he had gone to visit, Diana hadn’t even recognized him, and you spent the rest of the day holding him, letting him know it was alright. “You have to go,” you echoed his earlier sentiment, nodding reassuringly.

He hesitated to leave you, sitting on the edge of your bed that had been previously occupied by your sister, “But you- you’re…”

You shook your head in dismissal, “Sometimes everything happens all at once, but you have to go.” If Brookfield was telling him to get down there, then he needed to go.

The next several hours passed slowly, Emily gave you an update on the case – the reader’s digest version, avoiding any gnarly details in an attempt to protect you. Will brought you and JJ dinner, eating the meal with them and your nephews, you were grateful to not have to eat the hospital cafeteria food. Slowly, the day came to an end, you sent JJ home when visiting hours ended, letting her know that you didn’t need to be protected while you were in a hospital.

You fell asleep not long after one of your nurses lowered the volume on your vital monitor, the dark peace of the hospital lulling you into a sense of safety. There hadn’t been word from Spencer, and you worried about him and his mother.

A tapping sound dragged you from what was thankfully a dreamless sleep, you recognized the sound of the footsteps, those shoes made a similar sound on the hardwood floor of your apartment, “You’re noisy when you wear your fancy shoes,” you mumbled drowsily, opening your tired eyes and tilting your head in the direction of the sound.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, “Go back to sleep,” he told you gently, slowly making his way around your hospital bed and to the fold-out chair next to your bed.

You hummed, following him with your eyes as they adjusted in the dark, “No, you woke me up. Now you have to talk to me,” you told him, reaching over to switch on a lamp, cringing at the way the light burned your eyes.

Unprompted, he inspected your vital monitor before reaching out to adjust your nasal cannula, “Where’s JJ?” He asked, cupping your cheek affectionately before taking his seat.

Reaching out for your cup of water, you smiled to yourself when Spencer moved it closer to you, “I made her go home. Our mom will be here in the morning, and she’ll need all the rest she can get.” There was also the fact that Michael had been freaked out by seeing you in a hospital, so he needed some extra love from his parents tonight. “Wait,” you said, “How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over.”

“I might have told a small lie about you needing security,” he admitted sheepishly, but beneath it, he was smug. You didn’t fault him on it, you probably wanted him here just as much as he wanted to be here, if not more.

Smiling in the dim lamplight, you inclined your head toward him, “Did you misrepresent the bureau?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’d do it again if it meant I get to spend the night with you.” Helping you put your water cup back on your tray, Spencer took your hand in his, “How are you doing?”

You were exhausted, not in the sense that you wanted to sleep, although that probably couldn’t hurt, but in the sense that your entire body ached. There was a pinch in your side that wouldn’t ease up, and you didn’t feel comfortable with asking for more pain medication. Part of you was afraid that in the process of being shot, you developed a fear of drowning. You almost died today. Huge strides had been made in an attempt to repair your relationship with Spencer and with your sister. None of these thoughts escaped your lips, you just looked at him sympathetically, “How’s your mom?”

All he gave you was a tight smile, squeezing your hand tightly, “She’s ah… she’s alright,” he told you, your chest tightening at the emotion in his voice. “They’re calling it an awakening,” he continued, sounding unsure of himself.

“Terminal lucidity,” you breathed, a term you had only read about briefly when Diana was first diagnosed. The two of you had made many cross-country calls, trading information while Spencer stayed with her in Las Vegas.

He nodded, “Yeah… they don’t know how long it…”

How long she had left. How long she would remain lucid. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he answered quickly, too quickly for your liking.

You wiggled your fingers in his hand, getting his attention, “I want you to go back tomorrow,” you ordered him. It wasn’t something you were willing to budge on, insisting that he go back to Brookfield tomorrow to spend more time with his mother.

“She asked about you,” he admitted, leaning back in the chair, keeping your hands intertwined, “She wondered why we never got married. I told her it was never the right time. Do you know what she said to that?”

Watching intently as he shared the story with you, you shook your head, “What did she say?”

He chuckled lightly, “She said that might’ve been the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard me say.”

You smiled as he recounted the story for you, mimicking the hand gestures that you were sure his mother had used. “Obviously she’s never seen your Dirty Harry impression,” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at the memory.

“The right time will never come if we keep waiting around for it,” he told you, reciting the words of wisdom that his mother had imparted upon him.

Your breathing hitched in the dark of the night, “Spence?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” You asked him hesitantly, wondering if that was what he was getting at.

Spencer shook his head, “Not tonight, angel.” He looked around the hospital room, cards and balloons and flowers had made their way in through the afternoon and evening. Penelope had even brought your apple blossoms from your desk. His flower language seemed so inconsequential now. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Will you tell me a story?” You whispered, settling yourself back into the flat hospital pillows, resigning yourself to the end of the marriage conversation.

He hummed, dimming the lamplight, “Which one?” There were a few stories that he had memorized specifically for you. When work or life or nightmares got to be too much, he would recall them for you.

“Can we do Portrait of a Lady again?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling impishly.

He rolled his eyes sardonically, “Your love for Henry James should be studied in a lab.”

You waved him off, “Okay, and? It’s story time.”