#crept morgan

[gf2bellamy]

i have a silly request for spencer x reader where it’s clear reader likes him and they go to a trip somewhere far and cold and the bau needs to double like in season 5 and morgan is similarly like no i don’t want to share with reid and reader just excitingly stands up like i’ll take reid then!!! hahahahah

sharing — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of working on a case, reader has a nightmare, mention of an unsub who fixated on reader once, a/n: hiii !! love this idea <3 i mixed like 3 requests together so i hope that's fine <3

You tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, shifting on the worn-out lobby couch as Hotch finished debriefing the team on tomorrow’s case.

Just as he was about to dismiss everyone, Hotch hesitated, then delivered the news.

“We have to double up. There aren’t enough rooms.”

It didn’t even take Morgan two seconds before he blurted out, “I’m not sleeping with Reid.”

The rest of the team grinned, some chuckling under their breath, while Spencer—poor, oblivious Spencer—just blinked, looking mildly offended.

You bit back a small smile at his expression, the way his brows furrowed just slightly, like he was mentally calculating why Morgan would say that. Before anyone else could volunteer (or more likely, protest), you spoke up.

“I’ll share a room with Spencer,” you offered, perhaps a little too quickly.

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to you, then to Spencer, who blinked at you like you’d just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“You… want to share a room with me?” he asked, voice tinged with genuine surprise.

Heat crept up your neck. Oh no. Had you been too obvious? It wasn’t exactly a secret among the team that you had a soft spot for Spencer—well, a secret to everyone except Spencer himself. The man could profile a serial killer in seconds but remained blissfully unaware when someone was flirting with him.

Under the weight of the team’s knowing glances, you swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“Uh, yeah?” you said, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Spencer opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “It’s—yes. That’s fine. More than fine.”

Morgan snorted. “Damn, Reid, try not to sound too excited.”

Spencer shot him a glare, but you caught the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks.

Hotch, mercifully, cut in before things could get more awkward. “Alright, it’s settled. Keys are at the front desk. We meet back here at 7am.”

As the team dispersed, you grabbed your bag and moved toward the stairs, hyper-aware of Spencer falling into step beside you. The narrow hallway seemed to shrink around you, as you finally arrived at your door.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Spencer murmured, voice low, almost hesitant.

You glanced at him as he fumbled with the key, the old lock stubbornly resisting. “Do what?”

He let out a quiet huff, adjusting his grip on the key. “Volunteer just because Morgan didn’t want to share a room.”

The implication in his words—that he thought you’d only stepped in out of pity—made your chest tighten. You watched as he wrestled with the door, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I didn’t volunteer because of Morgan,” you said softly.

The key finally turned with a reluctant click, but Spencer didn’t push the door open. Instead, he paused, his fingers still resting against the handle as he turned to look at you.

“Then why?”His voice was quiet, curious,

You held his gaze, willing yourself not to overthink it. “I volunteered because I like spending time with you, Spencer.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips slightly parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard you right. Then, slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” he said, voice softer now. “Thank you. I… I like spending time with you too.”

The sincerity in his words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you had to fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. Instead, you smiled and reached past him to push the door open, trying—and failing—to ignore the way your heart was fluttering wildly in your chest.

The room was exactly what you expected from a budget Alaskan motel—dimly lit with two queen beds that had seen better decades. But the blankets looked soft, and a small chocolate mint sat on each pillow, a token gesture from the management. You stepped inside, toeing off your shoes with a tired sigh.

"Comfy," you mumbled sarcastically, poking at the mattress before flopping onto it with a dramatic exhale. The springs creaked in protest, but you didn’t care. After hours of travel and a grueling case briefing, even this lumpy bed felt like heaven.

Spencer hovered near the doorway, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder, watching you with an amused tilt to his lips.

"You wanna use the bathroom first?" you asked, already burrowing deeper into the pillows, your eyes drifting shut.

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Yeah. It doesn’t seem like you’re getting up for a while now," he observed, his voice warm with fondness.

"Mhm," you hummed in agreement, a lazy smile curling at your lips. You cracked one eye open just in time to catch the way Spencer’s gaze lingered on you. He gave you one last small smile before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

The second he was alone, Spencer braced his hands against the edge of the sink and let out a slow, shaky breath. His reflection stared back at him —wide-eyed, flushed, utterly overwhelmed.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to survive this night.

I mean, hello—he was sharing a room with you.

You. The one who laughed at his rambling facts even when no one else did. The one who always remembered how he took his coffee. The one who had somehow, without him even realizing it, become the axis his world tilted around.

And now you were lying right there, just a few feet away, looking unfairly soft and sleepy and perfect.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He could not afford to overthink this. Not when the alternative—letting himself imagine what it would be like to crawl into that bed beside you, to pull you close and press his lips to the curve of your shoulder—was so dangerously tempting.

He splashed cold water on his face, willing his heartbeat to slow.

Just get through the night, he told himself.

Spencer went through the motions mechanically—brushing his teeth, washing his face, changing into his sleep clothes—all while his mind raced a mile a minute.

When he finally emerged, the door creaked softly, revealing you still sprawled across the bed, though now with your bag half-unpacked beside you. A sweatshirt was draped over the chair, your toiletries neatly lined up on the nightstand. You’d clearly tried to make yourself at home in the brief time he’d been gone, but the way you curled into the pillows, one arm tucked under your head, suggested you hadn’t moved much.

“Are you done?” you mumbled, cracking one eye open to peer at him. Your voice was thick with sleep, but the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket betrayed your nerves.

The entire time he’d been in the bathroom, you’d been silently battling your own heartbeat, cursing yourself for volunteering to room with him.

What were you thinking? Sharing a room with Spencer Reid—the man who made your stomach flip with just a glance, the man whose mere presence turned you into a flustered mess. And now you were trapped in this tiny motel room, with nothing but a few feet of space and your own racing thoughts between you.

Spencer hovered awkwardly near the bathroom door, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat when his voice came out too quiet. “Yeah, it’s all yours.”

You pushed yourself up with a small groan, rolling your shoulders as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, grabbing your toiletry bag and shuffling past him.

The brush of your arm against his sent a jolt through both of you, and for a split second, Spencer’s breath hitched. His eyes flickered down to yours, lingering just a beat too long before he quickly stepped aside, giving you space.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and you let out a shaky exhale, pressing your palms against the cool porcelain of the sink.

Get it together.

Outside, Spencer stood frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door before dragging a hand down his face.

This was going to be a long night.

Twenty minutes later, both of you were settled in bed. Spencer propped up against the headboard with a book in hand, you curled on your side texting Garcia who was flooding your phone with increasingly ridiculous messages.

[Garcia 11:37 PM]: "So. Two beds or did someone 'accidentally' get assigned a single??"

[Garcia 11:37 PM]: five winking emojis

[Garcia 11:38 PM]: "I need details sweetcheeks. Is our boy in glasses wearing pajamas? Are they adorably mismatched? Does he have bedhead yet?"

You muffled a laugh into your pillow, typing back a scolding reply even as your cheeks warmed. The soft sound caught Spencer's attention - he glanced over the top of his book, watching the way your nose scrunched with suppressed laughter. Something warm and fond settled in his chest at the sight, and he had to consciously school his expression before returning to his reading.

Eventually, your phone slipped from your fingers as sleep claimed you. "Night, Spencer," you murmured, already half-lost to dreams.

"Goodnight," he whispered back, smiling at the way you immediately burrowed deeper into the blankets. He should have turned off his light then, but found himself watching the steady rise and fall of your shoulders instead, the way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks.

It took three tries to actually refocus on his book.

As the night went on, Spencer's own eyelids grew heavy. He was just considering sleep when a small, distressed noise broke the quiet. His head snapped up, sleepiness forgotten.

You'd turned onto your side facing him, fingers clutching the sheets with white-knuckled intensity. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at your temples, your breathing coming too fast. Spencer watched, his chest tightening as your fingers twisted deeper into the sheets, knuckles blanching white.

He wasn’t sure what to do.

The logical part of his brain—the part that could recite statistics on sleep disturbances and the neurological response to nightmares—knew that waking someone abruptly wasn’t ideal.

But the other part, the part that ached at the sight of you in distress, overruled it completely.

Spencer set his book aside with careful silence and stood, crossing the small space between the beds in two strides. “Hey,” he murmured, hesitating only a second before placing a tentative hand on your shoulder.

You barely stirred.

His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the curve of your arm. “Hey, wake up,” he urged, voice low but firm.

Your eyes flew open, blinking up at him in the dim lamplight. For a moment, you just stared, disoriented, your breath still unsteady. Spencer had shifted to sit on the edge of your bed without realizing it, his free hand already moving in slow, soothing circles against your shoulder.

“Hi,” he whispered. “You okay?”

You swallowed, pushing your hair back from your face with a shaky hand. “Did I have a nightmare?” you asked, voice rough with sleep—and something like embarrassment.

Spencer nodded, his thumb still tracing absent, comforting patterns on your skin. He couldn’t seem to stop touching you, as if the contact alone could chase away whatever shadows lingered behind your eyelids.

“Do you get them often?” he asked carefully.

You exhaled, slowly sitting up. His hand slipped from your shoulder—only to settle, almost instinctively, on your knee. His thumb resumed its gentle circles, as if his body refused to break contact entirely.

“Yeah,” you admitted, avoiding his eyes. “Ever since that case in Texas.”

Texas.

The word landed like a stone in his stomach. He remembered. An unsub who had fixated on you, his gaze predatory, obsessive.

Nothing had happened but the way he had looked at you, the way his voice had curled around your name during interrogation… Spencer’s jaw clenched.

He hadn’t realized it still haunted you.

"He's locked up," Spencer blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. Then, like floodgates opening, the rest came pouring forth: "Seventy-three years with no chance of parole. The appeals were all denied last month. He's in ADX Florence now—maximum security, complete isolation. His cell is monitored twenty-four seven and—"

You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep slowly clearing as his ramble continued. And then it hit you—the way he recited the details with pinpoint accuracy, the way his fingers flexed against your knee.

Spencer had been keeping tabs on him.

Not just casually. Not just in passing.

Obsessively.

The realization sent a strange warmth curling through your chest. You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his wrist, stilling his nervous ramble.

"You’ve been checking up on him," you said softly. Not a question. A fact.

Spencer froze. His lips parted, then pressed into a thin line, as if debating whether to deny it. But then his shoulders slumped, and he exhaled, long and slow.

"Yes," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb resumed its absent circles on your knee, but his gaze dropped, suddenly fascinated by the frayed edge of the motel blanket. "I—I needed to be sure. That he was still there. That he couldn’t—"

That he couldn’t get to you again.

You squeezed his wrist, and when he finally looked up, you offered him a small, tired smile. "Thank you," you murmured.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, because the tension was too much and the night was too long, you nudged his leg.

"You’re not sleeping on that lumpy bed over there," you said, nodding toward his untouched mattress. "There’s room here."

Spencer’s eyes widened. "I—are you sure?"

You rolled your eyes, shifting to make space. "Just don’t hog the blankets, Spencer."

He hesitated, then—slowly, carefully—stretched out beside you, his body a warm, solid line against yours. The bed was small enough that your shoulders brushed, and when you turned your head, you could see the faint flush creeping up his neck.

"I'm sorry you have them," Spencer mumbled suddenly, staring resolutely at the ceiling as you shifted onto your side to face him.

"The nightmares," he clarified when you didn't respond immediately, finally turning his head to meet your gaze.

"It's fine," you said, your voice thick with sleep but carrying that familiar dismissive tone he knew all too well. "They'll go away eventually."

Spencer studied you in the dim light, noting the way your fingers twisted in the sheets again, the slight tension in your jaw despite your casual words. He hated this. Hated that you suffered through this alone night after night.

Before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out:

"Did you know physical contact during sleep can reduce nightmare frequency by up to 32%?" His fingers twitched against the mattress, itching to reach out but hesitating. "The pressure stimulates oxytocin production which lowers cortisol levels and—"

He cut himself off when he realized he was rambling, but the damage was done. You were staring at him now, eyebrows slightly raised, that tired smile turning into something more genuine—more amused.

"Are you suggesting we cuddle, Dr. Reid?" you teased, your voice laced with sleepy humor.

Spencer's flush deepened, spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. "I—that is—statistically speaking—"

You didn't let him finish. With a quiet huff of laughter, you closed the small distance between you, tucking yourself against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer froze, his breath catching as your warmth seeped into him.

"Like this?" you murmured, already sounding more relaxed.

It took Spencer several heartbeats to remember how to move, but eventually his arm came up to wrap around you, his hand settling tentatively against your back. "...Yes," he managed, his voice oddly thick. "Exactly like this."

The moment the words left his mouth, your fingers began absently tracing patterns against his chest—slow, wandering lines that burned through the thin fabric of his sweater. Spencer's breath hitched audibly, his entire body going rigid beneath your touch.

"Sorry," you murmured immediately, starting to pull away. "I didn't—"

"No!" The word came out too loud, too desperate. Spencer cleared his throat, his arm tightening reflexively around you to keep you from retreating. "I mean... it's. It's fine. More than fine. Actually, studies show that—that light physical contact can lower heart rate and—"

You pressed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing his ramble. In the dim light, you could see the way his pupils had blown wide, the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat.

"Spencer," you whispered, your own heart racing. "Breathe."

He exhaled shakily, his lips brushing against your fingertip before you slowly lowered your hand. For a long moment, you simply stared at each other—both painfully aware of every point of contact, every shared breath.

Then, with deliberate slowness, you returned your hand to his chest, resuming your idle tracing. This time, when Spencer's breath caught, you didn't apologize.

And when his fingers began tentatively carding through your hair in response—his touch feather-light and trembling—you couldn't suppress the small, contented sigh that escaped you.

Somewhere in the back of your sleep-fogged mind, a thought surfaced:

This might be even better than actual sleep.

[darkmatilda]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're going through a tough time after being forced to kill someone for the first time, and spencer decides to talk to you about it. the problem is, he approaches it in the most wrong way possible—driving you to fury.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, argument (omg you have no idea how much i love writing fight scenes), mention that the reader shot an unsub during the case, reader copes by working a lot

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝��: 3.1k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

Spencer reached for his coat, but before he could throw it over his shoulders and head for the exit, someone’s hand tapped him playfully on the arm.

“Hey, man,” Morgan greeted him.

Well, greeted might not have been the most accurate term. After all, they’d spent almost the entire day together, working on a case that fortunately ended successfully, and now, on this early Friday evening, they were both heading for the door in pretty good spirits. So, it would’ve been more fitting to say he stopped him. He stopped him with a slight grin on his face and his hands casually placed in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He stopped him because, most likely, he had something to ask— a question, or a suggestion, a request, or an offer, maybe even all of the above in one.

To clarify, it wasn’t like Morgan only started a conversation when he wanted something. Of course not, they were friends after all. It was just that his posture in that particular moment suggested he was about to speak to him with some specific intent.

Spencer shook his head. After spending the entire day deeply focused on analyzing every tiny detail of the case and interrogating people, his mind was working on such efficient gears that he couldn’t shake himself out of that state.

“Hi,” he replied simply, tossing his purple scarf around his neck.

"Any plans for the evening? Got anything interesting planned?"

"Actually, yes," Spencer replied, unable to hide the hint of excitement that crept into his voice. Derek raised his eyebrows, showing interest as he waited for what Spencer was about to say. He adjusted his scarf, tucking the loose end under his coat. "I’m planning to watch an online conference I missed on the use of iPS cells in treating neurodegenerative diseases."

His friend simply nodded, accepting the answer. Some might have thought it was a joke, but Derek had long since gotten used to it.

"Being friends with you, Reid, I constantly have to remind myself that we all have different definitions of the word interesting," he muttered, without malice or sarcasm in his voice. Slowly, they both headed toward the elevator, waiting for it to stop at their floor. "Have fun, then. But if you happen to be in the mood for something else, join us. Just a regular night out at the bar, nothing fancy, but at least with good company." 

Normally, he wouldn’t have given the offer a second thought. I mean, he might have considered it for a fraction of a second, then immediately rejected it, simply because he’d prefer to spend the evening doing something else. However, for some reason, Morgan’s words stayed with him for much longer than just a fraction of a second.

“In good company,” he repeated, before he could bite his tongue. The elevator doors opened in front of them, and they both stepped inside. “You mean our team?”

“Yeah. As I said, nothing fancy.”

“I know, it’s just... no one else? Like Will, Kevin, other friends...?”

Morgan’s eyes widened, just like his mouth, which curved into an amused grin. He pointed a finger at him.

“I know what you're getting at.”

Spencer exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just asked.”

“Sure. Oh, come on, Reid. Be a big boy and just ask directly.”

“I don’t have anything to ask directly, and, furthermore, I have no idea what you’re even talking about—”

“Dear Derek,” Morgan started, putting in embarrassingly little effort to mimic Spencer’s voice, which made him sound more like Penelope after inhaling a helium balloon. “Would you be so kind as to tell me if your dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend will be joining you guys as well? Because if so, I might change my mind.”

His mouth opened when something came out of it that he would never have said, and it wasn’t even his original intention! He just wanted to start a conversation and learn more about his friends' plans, that’s all. Whether Morgan’s dazzlingly beautiful and slightly sassy lab friend was going to be there or not didn’t interest him at all. And it definitely wouldn’t change his mind.

After the initial shock, which only caused Derek even more amusement, he let out an exaggerated snort. His friend always liked to make up things and suggest that he was head over heels for every attractive woman who crossed his path, just to embarrass him. Spencer seriously hated it and had no idea how to correct him, didn’t even think it was possible.

So, he just rolled his eyes, as if deeply exhausted by how irritating his conversation partner was.

“If you think I’d skip the conference for her, you’re deeply mistaken,” he stated briefly, in a defensive tone.

Morgan stared at him silently for a moment, piercingly. For all the mysteries of the universe, why was this elevator moving so slowly...

“Well, let’s say I believe you,” he began slowly. “But in any case, that’s not a choice for you tonight. Because she won’t be there. She was still in the lab when I went to invite her, and there was no sign she was planning to leave early. Again.”

The last word again was said with a slight sigh. Spencer felt his shoulders stiffen slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked at Derek in confusion.

“Still in the lab at this hour? She?”

The impression he always had of her was that she maintained almost perfect balance at work between her duties, rest, and fun. She did her job excellently but never arrived early or stayed later than required. Well, the only exception was when they were working on something truly urgent, but Spencer didn’t know anything about a situation like that. 

“I mean, she didn’t want to go out with us recently either,” Morgan explained. “Which is worrying when it comes to her. You know, Reid, maybe you could talk to her.”

He glanced over his shoulder, as if someone named Reid were standing behind him. There wasn’t. But the request seemed almost ridiculous to Spencer.

“Why me?” he asked “I’d like to remind you that she’s your friend. And you’re the one who’s worried about her.”

“And you’re not?”

“I—” Spencer stopped, because the whole conversation and its course didn’t make much sense in his head.

Before he could respond or find a way to dodge answering a question he honestly couldn’t answer, Morgan beat him to it.

“I just thought you might reach her somehow, because I couldn’t. And if not, maybe at least you’ll annoy her enough that she’ll leave the lab on her own, not wanting to spend another second there with you. As they say, no way is the right way, but the result…” 

The elevator finally stopped. Morgan was the first to step out, giving Spencer a nod as a farewell.

“I don’t think anyone says that,” Spencer mumbled, still not moving from his spot.

“Have a good evening, Reid.”

He didn’t know what drove him, but the thought of the conference he’d been so eager to watch seemed to have vanished. Or maybe it was still there, but not strong enough to stop him from pressing the elevator button with the intention of heading to the lab, not knowing yet what he was even doing. 

*

She was there when he stopped right in the doorway, but bent over a microscope and some scattered papers, she didn’t even notice his arrival.

That, however, gave him the chance to look at her.

Well, when Spencer decided to come here, he expected her to look…noticeably worse.

Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Morgan, he had a pretty good idea of what might’ve caused her sudden withdrawal from social life, along with the way she’d started taking on more and more work. Those were fairly common ways in which trauma quietly echoed through someone’s life.

Though, if he asked her, she probably wouldn’t even call it trauma. She likely felt she had no right to feel bad about killing a man who had planned to do something far, far worse. She knew she had done the right thing— which was exactly why her own emotional response, the guilt that didn’t quite make sense, probably created a whirlwind of confusion in her mind.

At least, that was the assumption he’d built in his head back in the elevator—before he saw her. Once he did, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because, as he had just observed, she looked… exactly the same.

Spencer didn’t know what he had expected—maybe dark circles under her eyes, a tired face, messier hair, clothes that didn’t quite match. Something that would clash with who she usually was, some outward sign that something inside her wasn’t right.

But he found nothing like that.

“Admiring the view?” she asked, without even lifting her head or pausing what she was doing.

Because of the strange tone in her voice, he wasn’t sure for a second what she’d actually said. It was stripped of its usual bite, its usual rhythm. Not weak, not quiet—just…drained of something.

“You’re still here?” he stepped closer to her workstation, positioning himself across from her, though still keeping a fair amount of distance—one that only shrank when she leaned forward over whatever she was working on.

She didn’t rush to respond, but it wasn’t like she was deliberately delaying either.

“As you can see,” she replied.

He often claimed to absolutely hate the fact that she always had to have a sharp—really sharp—comeback ready for everything he said, but in that moment, he would’ve loved to hear one from her.

“You’re being nice, and it’s… concerning.”

“I’m being nice?”

“For you, yeah. I expected something more like, Well, if you still have to ask even though I’m sitting right in front of you, maybe invest in some glasses, because clearly your eyesight isn’t doing great. And then you’d add something like…”

“Wow,” she scoffed. “You really think highly of me.”

“That was pretty passive-aggressive.”

“Which, as we all know, is usually your territory, so don’t be a hypocrite and call me out on it. Do you want something? Need something?” She straightened up in her seat, resting her elbows on the desk and finally fixing her gaze on him—barely blinking. “Because I really don’t have time right now to argue with you over basically nothing. So if it’s nothing important, just do me a favor and leave.”

For a moment, they locked eyes in silence—she was clearly waiting for a response or a move, like him walking out. But when he didn’t budge, she only let out an irritated sigh and returned to her work, apparently deciding to just ignore his presence.

Reid cleared his throat, clearly not intending to grant her that wish.

“That’s a lot,” he noted, glancing at what she was working on. “And you’re planning to do it all by yourself? I mean, you have your team too. Why aren’t they…”

“Because I sent them home,” she cut in. “And besides—my team, not your business.”

“You sent them home,” he repeated, keeping his voice even, not letting it sound even slightly annoyed. And that calmness, in turn, seemed to irritate her. But that was the truth. He wasn’t annoyed with her—not since he started to suspect what might be behind her behavior. In fact, it felt like the angrier she got with him, the more honest she was willing to be. And he really hoped he was right about that. He really didn’t want to end up with something acidic thrown in his face.

He pushed the image out of his mind and kept going, following his theory.

“...right when there’s this much work. What’s the logic in that?”

She rolled her eyes, like it should’ve been obvious.

“The logic is that sometimes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Or maybe the logic is that taking all this work on yourself is the perfect excuse to isolate without having to explain it to anyone.”

He felt the weight of his words hit like a quiet bomb—its blast radius making her go completely still for a moment. Her whole body froze. Just for a second—a very short one.

Spencer had to pull in a breath before he could keep going.

“Because no one really questions it when you just say you don’t have time. Or maybe it’s an excuse for yourself, too—because the more work you pile on, the less time, and eventually the less energy, you have left to think about…”

“Stop.” She cut him off sharply, pulling her hand off the desk.

He still caught the way it clenched into a fist.

“Oh, so I’m wrong?” he asked, not really waiting for her answer.

Still, he eased up a little, softened his tone—figuring he’d already pushed her far enough.

“Listen, I get what this is about. Morgan told me today you’ve been acting a little off—or, well, not like you. Not going out with the others…”

“Wow, God forbid a woman wants to spend her time doing something other than parties and nights out…”

“We both know this isn't about what you suddenly decided you wanted to do,” he sighed, unable to suppress the frustration that caused another crack in his calm exterior. This time, though, he didn’t give himself a moment to breathe before continuing. “It’s about what happened, the unsub you shot, and that you weren’t ready for how much it would affect you…”

“What are you trying to achieve here, Reid?” she asked, suddenly rising from her seat. Her arms crossed over her body, not in a casual posture, but almost in a defensive, distancing gesture. The question wasn’t laced with a scoff, only a subtle irritation, which, however, still made it sound like the calmest thing she’d said to him all day. “You came here to what? To push me until, for some of your sick satisfaction I admit yes, fuck yes, it was hard for me, shooting someone in the head? Fine, I said it! So, now what?” She spread both arms wide, a questioning gesture.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, even began shaking his head, wanting to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to pressure her. But then, he realized—well, he was. But not to make her feel bad, or, as she’d said, for some sick satisfaction. He just needed her to admit it to herself. And it seemed like that’s exactly what happened, because suddenly, she fell silent too, her gaze dropping. He noticed the irregular rhythm of her breath rising and falling.

“Do you really...do you really think I’m doing this for my sick satisfaction?” he asked incredulously, watching closely as she shrugged at his question. “Did it ever occur to you that I might, I don’t know, want to help you?”

“Oh, look, here comes the savior,” she scoffed, suddenly bursting into sarcastic laughter, gently shaking her head from side to side. “Well, you’ve really nailed it, haven’t you? So empathetic and understanding…”

“If I were trying to be empathetic and understanding, you wouldn’t even look at me, still buried in those papers, pretending like you don’t care what I’m talking about,” Reid pointed out, forcing himself to fully believe in the rightness of what he had done. Because when he saw her reaction, some doubts crossed his mind. Had he really approached this in the worst possible way? He exhaled, shaking off the thought. “Or you’d laugh at me, because that’s what you usually do. So stop pretending like I’ve hurt you so badly, because we both know that’s not true.”

She must have realized the truth in his words, as she only pressed her lips tighter instead of immediately firing back with a response. Spencer only then realized that the lab was completely silent. Before, he had felt like he was in the middle of a crowded office, where hundreds of voices were shouting over each other, and around them, there was a tense, almost buzzing atmosphere.

"Actually, yes. I think you're doing this for your sick satisfaction," she admitted after a prolonged moment of silence. Very quietly, and very sharply. As if it had been brewing inside her for a long time and was now finally spilling out with its sharpness.

Spencer couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, wanting to say that he already explained it, and there was no point in continuing this line of discussion. She, however, felt differently.

"Isn't that what your job is all about, huh, Mr. Profiler? You all get off on these psychological games. Bursting into someone's head when they don't want you there, trying to psychoanalyze them when they never asked for it," she began, listing off the points with a vacant stare locked onto him. Her expression remained the same—cold, unchanging. Only by the last few words did her voice slightly tremble, something she immediately swallowed down. "You can play those games with serial killers, fine, you might even be of use to all of us in doing so. But don't think for a second that I'm going to let you try anything like that with me."

After her last words settled, she held their gaze for a moment before breaking it with a certain dignity, beginning to gather all her papers into a tight stack, which she then grasped firmly. Spencer watched her movements, his words lingering, but he remained silent.

Why had he even come here? Was he fooling himself into thinking he could help her? Or had he known from the beginning that she didn’t need his help, but showed up anyway, driven by some kind of guilt because it was in his defense that she shot that man? Maybe, at first, there had been some concern. But now, he felt none of that.

Lost in his thoughts for a moment, he only then realized she was looking at him expectantly.

“It would be nice if you left,” she said, nodding toward the exit. “I need to lock up the lab.”

Spencer had always considered heightened politeness to be a form of ultimate anger. The kind that strikes directly at the shield it’s aimed at, double-edged and precise.

It was the kind of tone that only made him nod curtly and do exactly what she asked—leave.

post-reading author’s note: my personal headcanon, which you can accept or not, is that she left the lab and went to meet her friends 😆 so derek was right, and spencer did manage to annoy her enough that she left the lab on her own so kinda a win lol

[augustjoy]

The Color Pink

Based on the following ask: Hii, I was just wondering if you could do Aaron x reader but the team for some reason refuses to warm up to her for a while.  If you can please make the reader hyperfem only if you want to. Thank you!!!! I love the idea of Hotch with a hyperfem girlie – she’d be in pink ALWAYS, with a wardrobe and home full of ruffles! So, the BAU team is against this relationship of Hotch’s because 1. They assume she’s a bimbo due to the hyperfemininity and 2. She’s young. Basically, they are questioning Hotch’s judgement on this one. Flashbacks in italics.

Aaron Hotchner x HyperFem! Reader Angst/Fluff Word count: 2552

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is 20s/Hotch is 40s), female reader, np physical description (other than having hair long enough to curl and Aaron referring to her as little – which he’s big tall so everyone is small compared to him), hyperfeminine reader, explicit language, consultant reader, BAU being judgy overprotective, Morgan being rude, Spencer and Garcia defending the reader, Reader is a presumed Bimbo…but is actually really smart (Elle Woods-esque),  mentions of food/eating, reader has a flash of self-doubt, mention of Jack, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Meeting you had been an act of fate. At least, that’s how Aaron saw it. You were not the type of girl he’d typically go for…not ever. But that morning, you’d got a flat tire on your way to work, ironically on Aaron’s way to work. He had to do the right thing, any chivalrous man would, he was going to pull over no matter what, but when you stepped out of your car…that sealed the deal. He needed to pull over because if he didn’t, someone else would, someone potentially dangerous.

--

“Excuse me miss; do you need some help?” Aaron offered.

“Oh, I um – I got a flat. I called Triple A, but they said it be like forty-five minutes.” You explained.

You stepped out of your car and stole the breath from Aaron’s lungs. You were in a satin pink button-up blouse, with high-waisted white trousers, and strappy pink heels. Your hair was cascading over your shoulders in beautiful loose curls, your gaze lifted to his. Aaron had to release a light cough to pull himself out of the trance you had him in.

“Do you have a spare?” He asked.

“I don’ t think so. But like I said, Triple A is on the way, so I guess I will just sit and wait.” You shrugged.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving you here on your own.” Aaron admitted.

You gave him a once over. He was in a well-fitted gray suit, his hair lightly slicked back, black dress shoes, and a silver Rolex resting on his left wrist. You took quick note of the absence of a wedding ring. A very brief rush of unease slid through you, but it was washed away as he moved his hand to his hip, unknowingly flashing the FBI badge that was clipped to his belt loop.

“I’d hate to be an imposition. Plus, we are strangers…” You eyed him once more.

“Right, I uh – I’m Aaron Hotchner.” He introduced himself and offered you his hand to shake.

You shook it gently, giving him your name. You couldn’t help the blush that crept over your cheeks at the warmth radiating from him. It was your turn to feel breathless. Taking him in once more, you had to admit to yourself that he was handsome. Clearly older than you, but you didn’t mind…and age didn’t define beauty.

Aaron had waited the whole forty-five minutes with you, once Triple A showed up, he waited for you to get everything squared away with them before turning to leave.

“So that’s it?”  You called after him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned.

“You just sat and waited forty-five minutes with me and you’re just going to leave? Without asking me out? Or at least asking for my phone number?” You huffed.

Aaron was speechless. He had wanted to ask you out…truthfully he’d thought about it the moment you stepped out of your car, but he didn’t want you to fell that he was some sort of predator. But now here you were, this gorgeous little thing, asking him to ask you out.

“Would you go to dinner with me Friday? Provided my work doesn’t call me away.” He asks.

“Yes. Pick me up at seven.” You smiled, handing him a light pink business card.

--

Initially, Aaron didn’t introduce you to anyone because he wanted to see if your relationship would bloom into something real. As things did progress, he opened up to you about his life, his job, his family…and his demons. He hadn’t wanted to let his darkness taint your light, your sparkle, but one night while he was staying with you, he’d had a brutal nightmare, one that had him spewing all the information out to you while you held him close, your sparkle shining bright.

Another reason why Aaron had hesitated to really bring you into his world was because you were so different than the other women he’d dated. They were grown-up, mature (maybe even too mature), boring even, and here you were, this pastel princess whose home was filled with pink – ruffled pillows, lace curtains, fashion books, flowers, fluffy rugs, etc. you were the textbook definition of a girly-girl.

He was sure the BAU team would have some pretty strong opinions about his relationship with you, not only because of your differences, but also because of the almost 20-year age gap. It sounded silly, but he really wanted the team to like you.

The first time Aaron introduced you to the team hadn’t exactly gone as he had hoped. He had asked you to join them out at their favorite bar for drinks. They had put on quite the show in front of you, but when you stepped away to get a drink, the truth came out.

--

“Hey guys, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited my girlfriend to join us.” Aaron mentioned casually.

A chorus of “what” and “you have a girlfriend” and “who is she” all rang out at once. He couldn’t help but chuckle at them. He figured he should answer some of their questions now so that way they could focus on getting to know you once you arrived.

“She and I have been together for about six months. It’s getting pretty serious and, uh – she uh…” Aaron smiles to himself. “She um, she’s different than the other girls I’ve dated, so just keep an open mind and get to know her.”

You arrived about ten minutes later, rendering everyone speechless. You walked in with a light pink mini puff dress on. It flowed around you in a cloud of tulle it rested against your upper thighs which were adorned in sparkly nude tights. You’d chosen to wear white lace up heels with it, and your hair was pulled back, pinned up with loose tendrils framing your face.

“Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late, a client called last minute and, you totally do not want to hear about my boring work.” You sighed, meeting the gazes of the stunned agents seated before you.

Aaron had officially introduced you to everyone, they exchanged hesitant pleasantries, and you began making small talk. After a few awkward moments, you excused yourself to get a drink.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Aaron asked.

“No, no. I got it honey. I’ll get you another whiskey.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked toward the bar.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the questions came rolling in. Most notably, Dereks.

“What the hell are you doing man?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aaron was shocked.

“Hotch, man, she’s young enough to be your daughter. And I mean, look at her.” Derek gestured toward where you stood at the bar.

“I am well aware of her age Morgan. She and I have discussed that at length and have both agreed that it didn’t matter. Age doesn’t change how we feel about one another.”

“Hotch, I’m more worried about the fact that she looks like she just walked off of sorority row.” Emily shook her head.

“Yeah, her outfit…Hotch she’s not serious. I mean she’s still a kid.” JJ added.

“That’s enough, she and I are serious. She’s not a kid; she runs a very successful consulting firm, she is kind and sweet, she takes care of me, she gets along with Jack, and I and…well. I love her.” Aaron concluded.

A muffled remark sounded from across the table. Morgan had more to say, and Aaron wasn’t going to let it go. He cared about you and the people across from him were his family, their opinions meant a lot to him…but right now they were letting him down.

“Say it out loud Morgan.” Aaron demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Say it.” Aaron hissed.

“I said she gets along with Jack because they’re closer in age.” Derek shot back.

The table went silent, tension filling the air. Aaron scoffed, shook his head in disbelief, and walked away. Moving towards you, coming up with some lame excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Look, I know that was a lot, but I didn’t say anything that we weren’t all thinking. That girl, she’s a bimbo. Hotch needs someone more serious…more like Beth.” Derek justified.

“Wow.” Penelope scoffed, pushing her chair away from the table. “You guys are terrible.”

“What are you talking about?

“Did you not see his face? Hotch is happy, his smile took over his entire face…because of that girl and you all tore him down so quickly. I mean come on. Spence when was the last time Hotch smiled like that?” Penelope asked.

“The last time Hotch has smiled like that in front of us was back in 2005 when he introduced Jack to the team as a newborn.”  Spencer rattled off.

--

That was about eight months ago. Aaron and you have grown even more serious since then, you moved in together – into a new house where you could set up a space that was all your own, full of pink and ruffles and lace.

Honestly, Aaron had gone as far as buying a ring for you. He wanted to propose and had the whole thing planned. He and Jack were going to take you on a picnic and then they’d ask you to become a permanent part of their family.

Despite the happiness he felt at the idea of marrying you, he couldn’t help the disappointment that crept in. He wanted his family to all be there in support of you two…and his family, well that was the BAU.

He knew he’d have to talk to them, to do something to prove to them how incredible you are.

--

Aaron had called everyone to the round table. He needed to tell them about how serious he really was about you, and he needed them to love you.

 “I asked you all here because today we will have a special guest for lunch.” Aaron went on to explain that you’d be coming in, bringing in lunch from one of the BAU’s favorites. “I know that when you all first met her, you were unsure. But I need you all to realize that I’ve been with her for over a year now, we live together, and…”

“You can’t be serious man. She’s naïve, just some young hot thing seeking an older man, presumably for his money.” Derek interrupted.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Aaron commanded. “I plan on marrying her, and you guys are my family. I need my family there when I marry this woman. If you can’t get on board…then I guess you aren’t the people I thought you were.” Aaron says with finality.

There was a collective nod and shrug amongst everyone.

--

When you walked in, you could feel the tension like a thick fog. It was all consuming, like picking a hangnail until that piece of skin runs further and further up your finger, bleeding and tender.

You needed this to go well.

Aaron had told you to be your usual self. He wanted the team to like you for you, but you knew it would be best to tone it down at least a little bit. You’d choose to wear light blue jeans, a chunky pink sweater, and some heeled ballet flats. Your arms were juggling multiple bags, filled with sandwiches and another one with drinks for everyone.

“Hi guys.” You offered a small wave as you entered the conference room.

“Hey sweetheart, let me help you with those.” Aaron was quick to grab the bags from you.

“You look stunning as always! It’s good to see you again!” Penelope greeted.

“Oh, thanks babe! I love the new hair; it is such a good color!” You complimented. “Oh, Spence, I got you something!” You pulled a wrapped book from your bag, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He asked, gently pulling at the wrapping. “The Narrative of John Smith, this is one of my favorites!” Spencer gushed.

“It’s a special edition, they only made 200 of them. But that’s not the best part…open the cover.” You were giddy with excitement.

Spencer opened the book to reveal that it had been signed. “Are you kidding me! This is amazing, thank you so much!”

“It’s really no problem.” You smiled.

Aaron was beaming at you, you had been so kind, showing them all who you really were, and he just hoped that they’d all finally see you for who you truly are.

As everyone finished their lunch, you began clearing the trash. Everyone offers thanks to you, the girls planning a day out with you. Each of them seemed to be coming around except for Derek. Aaron couldn’t figure out why he was so against you.

--

You said your goodbyes and made your way out. They had all filtered out of the conference room when Aaron decided to confront Derek once and for all.

“Everyone else has come around, so why can’t you? What is your problem with her?” Aaron asked.

“It’s not her that I have a problem with. Not really.” Derek shrugged. “Look man, I am sorry for how I have acted towards her. It’s unacceptable. But I don’t think you dating her is a good idea.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced Morgan. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You think that now Hotch. But what are you going to do when she up and walks away. That is the type of girl who will ruin your life and Hotch, you’ve been hurt too many times. You and Jack have lost far too much.”

“Derek, I know you are worried for me, but I have to see this through. I really love this girl, and she can handle herself, she makes good money, so I know that isn’t the motivation here. She is everything to me, and she has done nothing but prove that she feels the same for me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I have your back man, and if you love her, then I’m not going to stand in your way.”

--

Things began looking up after that. Derek had pushed his concerns aside and took the time to get to know you, which only made him feel like an idiot for his behavior. Aaron had been right, you could hold your own – you were smart and witty and far to quick with your words, giving him a run for his money. Derek started to see how big your heart was, and he saw the changes in Aaron thanks to your presence in his life. He started to actually appreciate you and your love for his boss.

Aaron told you about his interaction with Derek and you offered some valuable insight.

“Honey, Derek looks up to you. You have made a huge impact on his life, and he has seen you lose so much because of your work, he’s seen you in, quite literally, your lowest moment. He just wants to protect you from hurting like that once again.”

“You are the smartest person I know sweetheart.” Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple.

--

Months later, the BAU team stood and witnessed Aaron and you vowing to spend forever with one another. You had finally been welcomed into this family.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna@crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[januaryembrs]

hot chocolate!

what about reader who hates people being anywhere near her except when it comes to spencer

i’m talking is lost whenever he’s not next to her or in the middle of looking at victimology realizes he’s not there and readers brain literally short circuits cuz she can’t feel his body next to her

BIRTHDAY GIRL | Spencer Reid x reader

description: The BAU knew not to be offended by your aversion to touch, just as well as they knew Spencer was special.

length: 0.9k

warnings: aversion to touch? fluff? Derek picks you up for like a second

“Where is she?” 

“Where do you think?” Morgan sighed as Emily pointed over her shoulder with a lazy thumb, not so much as looking up from her paperwork to check if you were still there. Because she knew Reid was sitting at his desk reading, which told her all she needed to know. 

Morgan’s eyes trailed up where her finger pointed out, striding over to where the two of you all but shared a swivelly seat as he positioned on the floor in between your legs, your fingertips brushing through his hair without much thought.

“Birthday girl!” Derek called, and you had only a few moments to snap your eyes from where they were focused on his scalp, before two strong hands swivelled you around in your seat and yanked you away from Spencer. 

Derek hooked his hands around your waist, pulling you up into a giant hug that damn near squeezed the life out of you, and you accepted it with a tight grin, the discomfort clear on your face.

“You get a hall pass, today only, Morgan,”  You said in between a forced smile, giving him a pat on the back gently, and he set you down to the ground, and the agent went yet another step further to ruffle your hair affectionately. 

“Best hope that Penelope didn’t hear that, baby girl has got a tonne of cuddles with your name written all over them,” He said, a cheeky grin carrying his words as you straightened your shirt out, taking a seat back in your desk chair, trying not to look too afraid of the blonde bombshell that had been waited years to get her loving hands on you.

Derek chuckled at your expression, dropping a small, expensive looking bag onto your desk, the top looped with a blush pink bow that screamed something fancy. 

“Until next year, dollface.” Derek shot you a wink, and you smiled at him, truly grateful despite your aversion to touch, and another hand sneaked up to the arm of your chair, whirling you back around to the man waiting patiently on the floor.

“You okay?” Spencer murmured, reading the flustered expression on your face easier than the words on the page, and you nodded silently, not wanting to seem almost rude by showing just how ruffled Derek’s closeness had made you feel, “They know you love them still,” He reassured with saccharine sweetness, because he knew what thoughts banged and clanked around in that brain of yours without even having to say it. 

You nodded again with a sigh, trying to tell yourself that Spencer was right and you weren’t bad for not liking being mauled like a cute puppy at a kid’s party, and as if to prove you right, Spencer got to his feet, laying his book face down beside the present, and tucked your hair behind your ear, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. You preened under his touch, the only exception to your made up rule, your hand flying out to grab his wrist when he made an attempt to move away, not wanting him to let go for even a second. 

“Do you want to go get coffee, birthday girl?” Spencer asked, sticking his hand out, prime for the taking which worked like a charm as you hopped out of your wheely chair, entwining your fingers through his and falling into step with him, judging the apple of your cheeks into his arm affectionately. 

Touching Spencer was different, but then, he always had been special to you. 

–

“Hey, angel, do you know where Spencer is?” Your voice was worried as you crept into Penelope’s lair, your eyes darting to every crevice of the room like he was waiting to jump out and scare you. Her pigtails swished as she shot a look at you, her cheeks rosy and sweet when she smiled knowingly. 

“Hotch sent him upstairs to get more paper, fax machine ran out,” She explained, watching the way you wrung your fingers, “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be right back.” 

You nodded, feeling almost dumb for being thrown so far out the loop knowing he was an entire floor away, but then that was, what, one little elevator button up? You needed to get a hold of yourself. You were an FBI agent for christ sakes, you’d faced murders and kidnappers and psychopaths, being a few measly steps away from Spencer Reid shouldn’t be so-

You felt your whole body deflate when he strolled through the door to ‘the bat cave’ Garcia had forced everyone to officially name it, and your hands released one another to weave your fingers through the belt loop on his jeans. 

“Sorry, Hotch really needed something sending over from LAPD,” He apologised, seeing the crease in your brow smoothing out almost immediately, and he kissed it just for good measure. 

“It’s fine, no biggy,” You brushed off, even though your face painted and entirely different picture as you seemed to have relaxed entirely into mush, the cogs in your brain all but switching off now that he was back glued to your side. “You wanna go get lunch?”

Anything to win even an hour back with him, where you could kiss his face and lips and hands and there would be no consequence in the form of HR meetings and Hotch’s disapproving yet knowing glares. 

He smiled, kissing your hairline again, because he knew Penelope didn’t mind loving gestures in the cover of her office, taking your hand in his and heading for the door, “There’s that new burger place on the corner, do you wanna try there?” 

Hotch hid his smile as he watched his two youngest agents leave the precinct for food, your usually aloof touch all but smothering Reid as you walked as close to him as physically possible. He pretended not to see the small peck you graced Spencer’s lips, telling himself he simply couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork, and stuck his nose back into his report. It was your birthday, afterall.

[dexteri0us]

now i’m breathin' like i’m runnin' 'cause you're taking me there; don’t you know you spin me out of control?

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: reader is a freak, mentions of corpses, smut - dom!dexter (but he's soft<3), sir kink, oral (f and m receiving), some slapping, some pussy slapping, bondage, knife play, brush play, wartenberg wheel (all sterilized of course).

summary: you, being an annoying girlfriend, and dexter, being an incredible boyfriend. (be careful though, he might as well just off you one day if you keep asking for it).

w/c: around 7,280

a/n: no pun intended. if i forgot any warnings, let me know, my brain is kinda fried

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.  

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, “half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.  

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.  

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.  

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You bent down, the movement uncomfortable and your muscles protesting as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. But the way it scrunched affectionately under your touch made the discomfort worth it.

[blackenedsnow]

The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!

The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.

The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".

the loot's alive

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader

NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!

SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.

It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.

Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.

“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.

John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”

John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”

As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.

John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”

Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”

You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.

Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.

Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”

Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”

You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”

Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”

John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.

Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”

Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.

By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.

“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”

As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”

Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”

Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow “escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.

But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”

John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”

Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.

You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”

Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”

Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”

They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.

You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”

[grymghoul]

ARTHUR MORGAN walked into your shared hotel room without knocking because he wasn't used to you tagging along with him. He walked in to see your legs spread, fingers deep inside your aching, dripping cunt your other hand working your clit. He should've walked away. He should've. He was going to as well, until you whimpered his naming as your hips lifted off the bed. You hadn't even noticed him. He should've walked. You were just a pretty young thing. He shouldn't have gotten you tangled up into him and his mess anyways.

He didn't even realize how heavy his breathing had grown, how tight his pants were. Shit.

Now, you were none the wiser to his presence, so caught up in trying to imagine what it would be like to be with him. His fingers were thick, thicker than yours. It was hard to imagine what it'd be like to have him finger you because he'd stretch you out better with two fingers than the three you had inside of you. Even harder to imagine his thumb working your clit with the same hand, given the fact that you needed two to do what he could with a singular hand. Your head tilted back in a low groan, half of it was from pleasure but the other half was from sheer frustration. You'd done your best to signal that you were interested. Bordering on desperate, at this point. You'd tried everything, touching his shoulder, batting your eyelashes, playing dumb. None of it worked. At all. At this point you had figured he just wasn't interested, so you'd have to settle for your imagination.

A floorboard creaked under Arthur's foot as he tried to take a step back. But it gave him away. You jumped and he jumped, even though he was aware of you and you noticing him. He stumbled to face the door, his skin burning with embarrassment from the encounter. He felt shame, severe shame. "I'm sorry, I-I thought you were asleep and then-"

"You crept up on cat's paws, Arthur."

"Like I said, I thought you'd be asleep."

"Well, I ain't."

"Clearly."

There was a pause, as you sat there, naked. Half covered but still, naked all the same. Naked and moaning his name and completely vulnerable because of what he does to you and he won't even look at you. You sighed, heavy, deep, disappointed. He very clearly didn't want you. "I'm sorry, Arthur.. that was.. embarrassing."

"My fault, really.. shouldn't have barged in and sure as hell shouldn't have lingered." Another huff from you. "Why are you huffin' and puffin'?" He asked you, despite facing the door, he was at least talking to you.

"Because.. well, because of you!"

"Me?" He almost turned around to shoot you a look of incredulous disbelief. "The hell did I do?"

"Beside barging in here, disturbing my private life? You didn't do anything and that's the problem!"

Arthur shook his head, trying to figure out what the fuck that even meant. "So, lemme get this straight. You're mad at me for doing something by not doing something?"

"Arthur, turn around." You had asked him gently, if he could just see how desperately you needed him, maybe he'd give you what you wanted. However, Arthur was reluctant, he just glanced over his shoulder at you. There you were, showing yourself to him. Fuck. Soft thighs and smooth stomach, he figured each of your breasts would fit perfect in his hands. He swallowed thickly, trying to get his brain to make some thought or action, something. "Can't you see that I want you- need you. Arthur, I need you." This was it, a last ditch attempt to get him to see that you wanted him this badly.

You leaned back and spread yourself for him, maintaining eye contact with the one that peered at you over his broad shoulder. His breathing grew deeper. You could see the way he broke away from your gaze to follow the dainty hand you were dropping to your cunt. The way you curled your fingers in and how you weakly bucked against your own palm. He turned to look at you, really look at you. He took a step closer, watching your chest heave and how you blushed under his gaze. He could see your struggle. How you whined and writhed and yet you seemed unable to satisfy yourself how you wanted.

Your free hand furiously rubbed at your clit, desperate to come for him, to really show him how bad you wanted him. Your eyes fluttered a few times but never enough to not look at him. You watched him chuckle, adjusting himself in his jeans. The way his hand lingered, you could see the outline of his dick. Bigger than you anticipated and that was saying something.

His hand clutched himself a little tighter as your breath hitched. "Easy now, easy.." His voice soft, deep. He spoke from his chest. His eyes trained on your weeping cunt, the way your fingers dipped in, the way it dripped around them, glistening in the low light of the room. He kept approaching, step by step as you worked yourself up more. "Nice and easy."

He reached out, a large hand gripping your knee, his thumb rubbing circles. His touch was slow and languid, you focused on the rhythm and stroked your clit to match it. He wasn't stupid, he caught onto that quick. "There ya go... just like that." His hand slid higher, testing the water as he leaned over you. Just enough to add pressure to your personal space he'd taken up residency in. His words of encouragement and seeing his hand hadn't stopped palming his cock made it easy for you to notice that you weren't the only one desperate. He leaned down further, sinking to his knees, his face dangerously close between your thighs. The scruffy cheeks in a dangerously close position to where you've wanted for too damn long.

"Arthur.." That earned you a small smirk, a soft chuckle that was broken. He leaned closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist.

"Want some help?" It didn't take much deliberation before you were nodding, pulling your hand away. His replaced yours, the rough pads of his fingers tentatively stroking down over your clit to your entrance. He marveled at how slick you were. "All of this over me?" He grinned, not ever waiting for an answer as he pressed a finger into you. "God damn.." He could feel how tight you were around his finger, your walls trembling for him. He shook his head, setting his hat aside as he curled his finger. "Oh, you're sweet on me alright." He listened to you keen above him, how your hard gripped his bicep.

This was a dream come true for you. He pumped his finger in and out, slowly, working you up to take another one of his digits and as he slipped on in, the stretch was better than you imagined. Poor Arthur, helplessly rutted against the mattress, the friction was enough for now. He leaned forward the rest of the way, stealing a kiss against your clit. Your hips lurched as your hand carded through his hair. Your touch encouraged him to stay close. His tongue was sinfully warm against you, it was overwhelming being stuffed with his hand and being devoured by his mouth. He hummed graciously as his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucked and licked and swirled it, like it was a nice aged whiskey that he was savoring. A taste test. He clearly enjoyed it, the way his eyes were screwed shut and he moaned into your core.

It was building you up, rapidly. You felt hot and you couldn't help the aggressive grip you had on his hair. His brow twitched with a wince as you tugged it again. He groaned into your folds, the vibration and primal experience of it caused you to tremble. Maybe he just made you tremble. Your moans grew and he made no attempt to silence them. He wouldn't let up, it was overstimulating the way he was eating you. The way his fingers curled with precision and made delicious noises from your pussy. The squelch of his digits dragging against your walls only to be pressed back in with enough force that it did feel like he was fucking you. With intention, purpose. He was seeking to bring you to that edge.

You breathing had become irregular, like your brain had shut off and it wasn't even something you could imagine doing. You were so caught up in all of it, you tried to pull his head away. "Stop- Arthur, I'm gunna come." You tried to push his face away, embarrassed at the idea of coming on his face. He shook his head, his tongue continuing to slurp you up, the more he consumed you the wetter you got. You could see he was covered in you from cheek bones to jaw. His fingers bumping against his chin as he dragged them across your walls, mapping you out. Every ridge and flex of muscle.

His insistence was paying off when he felt your pussy constrict on his fingers, he never stilled though. He worked you right through it, his own hips grinding against the mattress. His free hand reached under you, gripping a chunk of the meat of your ass, holding you tight and close to his mouth. He hummed and moaned, sounding like a starved man given a five course meal. You pawed at his face, feeling your own juices drenching your thighs and his wrist.

He pulled away for a moment, flashing you a crooked grin. "You're a good girl, y'know? All pretty and wrecked f'me. I ain't finished with you, though.."

[novamariestark]

I Can See You [Spencer Reid]

Summary: You've been dating Spencer for almost a year and you are yet to tell your big brother, Aaron

Warnings: bad writing 🤣. fluff, some angst

Word count: 1764

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Hotchner!Reader

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret this long. You didn’t want to. But when it came to you dating, your brother was way too overprotective. You loved him to death for it but it also pissed you off to no end.

Spencer freaked when he found out that you were Hotch’s baby sister and even broke it off for a while because he felt as though he was betraying him. But you had crept into his heart and you weren’t planning on vacating any time soon.

Even when you weren’t together, you were the only thing on his mind. You’d be there constantly whilst he was on a case. He couldn’t concentrate and it was painfully obvious to everyone. Even Hotch. The latter pulled him aside and told him to fix what was going on before he got someone or himself killed.

That counts as his blessing, right?

As soon as they touched down in Washington he rushed over to your apartment to see you. Throwing quick goodbyes to everyone and not looking back.

“Pretty boy has a girl. I’m calling it,” Morgan called out, pointing at the quickly retreating Spencer.

That was almost 11 months ago. 11 months of sneaking around behind your brother’s back. Which wasn’t too much of an issue when you first started dating but now you were an agent in the Criminal Investigative Division of the FBI. That meant both you and Spencer had longer work hours and often different schedules. So sometimes you two decide to see each other at the office. You knew it was risky and quickies in the car doesn’t compare to the bedroom but you both took what you could get.

However, recently, Spencer had been arguing that maybe it was time to tell your brother. You assumed he felt guilty. Not guilty enough to stop the sex in the FBI garage but guilty enough.

He did feel guilty but there was another reason he wanted to tell your brother.

You wanted to tell Aaron too. Really you did. But you’ve put it off so long that you know that he’s gonna be disappointed you didn’t tell him sooner. Anger you could take but the one thing you never wanted to do was disappoint him.

He was your idol. Your hero. The person you’ve always looked up to. The one you wanted to make proud. That’s why you joined the FBI. You wanted to make him proud. And he was, he just wished you’d picked a safer occupation.

He was concerned and worried every time you and your team left the office and was finally able to breathe when you arrived back. If he was away on a job when you came back you went to see Penelope or Peach as you called her. It was a deal you made with Aaron so he knew you were okay. Spencer didn’t oppose to this arrangement either because all he had to do was look at Hotch and he’d know that you were okay.

But one day, that call from Penelope was a little different. The team had come back... without you.

The simple arrest of Washington’s newest drug kingpin had turned into a kidnapping. Yours.

The BAU team couldn’t do anything but wait for the plane to land in Washington. In four hours time. Hotch hadn’t said a word. Neither had Spencer and the moment he didn’t make his move on the chess board, everyone took notice.

He just stared out the window and waited. Images of what you were going through at that very moment flashed though his mind. Were you hurt? Were you scared?

Were you alive?

Even your brother had snapped out of his thoughts and took notice of his lack of presence inside the jet. Sure he’d noticed your closeness but he didn’t think anything of it. You were close with Penelope and JJ too. But as he started to think back, he starts to see all the little signs. Small things.

But one thing in particular was how comfortable Spencer was with you. So easily comfortable. It all started to become clear. Aaron had figured you were seeing someone but you wouldn’t tell him who and as you’ve grown older you’ve become more adept at covering your tracks. Morgan also speculated on multiple occasions that Spencer was seeing someone.

What should he feel? Anger because you didn’t tell him or betrayal because you’re his sister and Spencer was one of his agents? His baby sister. And no matter how old you were, that’s what you were always going to be.

He would’ve been completely pissed. Shouting, demanding answers and an explanation if it wasn’t for what he was seeing in front of him.

Worry, fear, pain and helplessness. The same thing he’d see if he looked in the mirror right now. He didn’t have to ask. He knew.

When the plane finally landed, the team wasted no time in getting back to the office. Aaron inserts himself into the operation to get you back, not taking no for an answer and Spencer is right there with him.

Even when he was ordered not to interfere because he was too close, he did exactly that. You were in trouble, no way was he not going to tear up the entire state looking for you.

He told the team to stand down, not wanting them to get into trouble for defying a direct order but none of them budged. At this point, you were their family too.

The longer you’re missing the more it takes it’s toll on Spencer. So much so that he’s the first one to lash out at your boss when it’s found out that there has been a ransom made in exchange for your return to no action had been taken to do that.

“We’re not going to hand over all the evidence for his trial,“

”The hell we won’t,“

“We can’t—”

“—leave her there”

“Reid,” Aaron spoke, his voice loud to get his attention but no anger was in it. He reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, gently pulling him away from your boss “so,” he started, stepping forward to take his place, “What exactly are you doing to find my sister?”

“I don’t tell you how to run your team Hotchner, don’t tell me how to run mine,”

“Alright listen here,” Aaron stepped closer, right in his face, “if one hair on her head is out of place, I swear I’ll—”

“Hotch!”

“What?!”

“Maybe we should just give them some space to work and—”

”they’ve had five hours and they barely know where she was snatched from,“

Gideon gave him a look. One that told him to play along. He did and the team followed him to their usual conference room. Each of them branching off to do what they do best, working tirelessly to get you back.

And they did this for hours until Morgan got a text from Penelope, who conveniently was lounging at your desk.

They received a video

Aaron and Spencer rushed out of the office and down to yours. Your brother had tried to stop him from going, not wanting him to see you in a possibly horrific state but he couldn’t stop. He had to see you and he did.

He tried to ignore the blood, the wounds and focus on your hands, that to your captors, were wriggling due to the ache of them being tied up for hours but to Spencer and the others it was a message.

Trains... every 12 minutes... the only clue you knew about your whereabouts, and you knew that maybe it wouldn’t be enough so you added a little something to prepare for that.

I love you

With the reminder of their demands, the video fades to black, much like your vision.

Your eyes only opened again when you heard gunshots and shouting. The voices sounded familiar but muffled, far away. Perhaps you were imagining them and you were convinced you were until a door clanged open.

Someone called your name, followed by the sound of running footsteps, that got louder with each step. It wasn’t long until the footsteps stopped and a figure knelt down beside you.

”Angel?“ he spoke softly, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. His thumbs wiping the tearstains away.

”you found me“

”Yeah, Angel, we did,“ he replied, moving to untie your hands. As soon as you were free, you threw your arms around him, holding on so tight because you were afraid that he’d disappear. He moves his head slightly to the side to press a kiss to your temple, ”I love you too, Angel“

”I love you more,“

You smile, pulling away. He got your message. The smile faltered slightly when you looked up and your brother came into view.

Uh oh. Did he know?

You didn’t know what to expect. The thought of losing your brother was worse than the pain you had been through the past god knows how long.

You had thought about him finding out so often and he was angry, disappointed, betrayed. None of your playthroughs of this moment ever ended happily.

”I’m so glad you’re safe, (y/n),“ he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss on your head like he had always done.

”you’re not mad?“

Spencer looked up at him too, curious about the answer himself.

”of course not,“ he said, okay a little lie but you’d been through enough and he’d be stupid to ignore what was right in front of him.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you lift you head from Spencer’s chest, moving closer because you were sure you misheard him, ”you’re not,“

He sighed opening his arms for you to hug. You didn’t waste any time, tears falling as you sob into his shoulder, ”I thought you’d be mad, and I’d lose you,“

”I was mad at first,“ he admitted, one of his hands stroking your hair in a soothing rhythm, ”because you didn’t tell me,“ he added and you started apologising profusely but he stopped you, ”I’m not anymore because the truth is—“ He patted Spencer on his shoulder ”—you couldn’t have chosen a better man“

You smiled so much of the way home. So much so, you thought your cheeks were stuck like that.

You had asked Aaron if he wanted to join you two for dinner and after you giving him that look you always gave him to get whatever you want, your best puppy dog eyes, he said yes.

[little-jana]

"Hints to Love"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Valentine’s Day has never been anything special for you—until anonymous little surprises start appearing, each one more thoughtful than the last.

You weren’t expecting anything for Valentine’s Day.

Sure, some people in the BAU had secret admirers—Penelope always got a bouquet of roses from a mystery sender (though everyone knew it was Morgan), and JJ had Will. Even Emily had a history of unexpected romantic gestures.

But you? You’d never been the type to receive love notes or gifts.

Which was why you were so surprised to find a small envelope sitting on your desk that morning.

Frowning, you picked it up and turned it over in your hands. No name. Just a quote written in neat, careful script on the front:

"The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it." – J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Your lips parted slightly. You’d told someone—who?—once that you loved Peter Pan, that the whimsy and belief in the impossible had always spoken to you.

You opened the envelope, unfolding the small piece of paper inside.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Consider this the first of many. A hint: I admire the way you never stop believing in people.

Your heart gave an unexpected flutter.

Who…?

You glanced around the bullpen, but no one was looking at you. Everyone was going about their business as usual.

You tucked the note away in your desk, your mind already spinning.

---

The second gift appeared just after lunch.

When you returned to your desk, there was a single, perfectly wrapped package sitting atop your case files.

JJ walked by, smirking. “Looks like someone has an admirer.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth crept up your neck as you peeled back the paper, revealing a book—The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

Your breath caught.

You’d mentioned once—once—that it was one of your favorite novels.

Tucked inside the front cover was another note.

"Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." – Oscar Wilde

Beneath it, in the same careful handwriting:

A hint: You see the value in people when others see none.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the paper.

Who knew you this well?

---

By mid-afternoon, you were on high alert, watching for any sign of your mystery admirer.

When Garcia waltzed over and dropped a tiny box onto your desk, she wiggled her eyebrows. “You. Are. So. Loved.”

You sighed, opening it carefully. Inside sat a single, delicate charm—a tiny silver coffee cup.

A soft laugh escaped you.

You were notorious for your love of coffee.

Another note.

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." – T.S. Eliot

And underneath:

A hint: I know exactly how you take your coffee.

Your heart pounded.

This was someone close. Someone who paid attention.

Your gaze flickered to Spencer, who was sitting at his desk, fidgeting with a pen, his eyes fixed on his paperwork.

No.

It couldn’t be Spencer… could it?

---

The final note came just before the end of the day.

A single folded piece of paper, waiting for you when you returned from a meeting.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." – Nat King Cole

And beneath it, a final message:

Hint: You already know who I am.

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers trembled as you turned the paper over, realizing there was something written on the back.

Meet me outside.

---

You stepped into the cool evening air, your pulse racing.

And there he was.

Spencer.

He stood near the entrance, shifting nervously, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. His gaze lifted the second you stepped outside, his expression uncertain—hopeful.

Your breath caught in your throat. “It was you.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

You stared at him, mind reeling. “You left me all those notes? The book? The charm?

He nodded, fidgeting slightly. “I… I wasn’t sure how to tell you how I feel. So I thought maybe I could show you instead.”

Your heart swelled, the weight of every note, every gift, crashing into you all at once.

“You like me,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Yeah. I do. I have for a while now.”

Warmth spread through your chest. “Spencer…”

His gaze dropped, his voice quieter. “I know this was kind of a ridiculous way to tell you, but I—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you stepped forward, reaching up to cup his face, and pressed your lips to his.

For a split second, he froze—then he melted into you, his hands tentatively settling at your waist. The kiss was soft, hesitant, but filled with everything he had been trying to say.

When you finally pulled away, he was staring at you, wide-eyed. “Does this mean…?”

You smiled, running your thumb over his cheek. “It means I like you too, Spencer.”

His face lit up, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—Valentine’s Day was your favorite holiday after all.

[twola]

Soothe

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI A companion piece to Ache.

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You watch him suck air through his teeth at the first taste of coffee in the morning. His brows furrow under that hat as he nearly chokes the first swallow down, standing there next to the campfire.

Alas, you did not crawl out of bed early enough to save the camp from Pearson’s brewing skills. You had been sneaking out of bed early to beat Pearson to the kettle, and it seems that Arthur had noticed the difference in the quality of coffee, noting how surprised he was at the terrible taste.

Not this morning. This morning you crept from another cot entirely, shrugging your chemise on as you quietly searched for your bloomers in a tent that was not your own. Before you left, you had turned back toward the cot, looking back upon your bedmate fondly, still asleep in the cot, half dressed, snoring peacefully.

It would be at least an hour more before he woke up, still sleeping off the whiskey imbibed.

Lest he finds you staring, you quickly scurry over to the laundry pile, where a basket with dirty shirts overflows, waiting for washing. Before Grimshaw catches you dawdling and tans your hide.

You heave the basket up, propping it on your hip.

You have to stop, suck in a breath. 

Oh.

A blooming soreness shoots through the very core of you, burning a path through your hips that was so pleasurable last night. You are certain your cheeks blaze red, a flush creeping down your chest. Regaining your composure, you head toward the lakeside, each step that soreness making itself known.

Through the corner of your eye you see him still at the campfire, trying to drink that shit coffee.

Does he even realize? Does he know? Does he know that he has carved himself a blaze of pleasure within your body? 

Does he know that you now feel so empty?

Oh, how you wonder. Oh, how you wish.

You thrust a shirt underwater and start working at a stain, trying to block out the hot whispers and deep groans in your ear when he pushed into you last night. Your cunt clenches at nothing, recalling through your tipsy haze the perfection of him laying you down in his cot. The feeling of him pawing at your bloomers and flipping up your skirts after you had just enough sherry to get over yourself and sit in his lap earlier in the night.

Oh, how you wish for something more. How you long for it.

You decide to go for broke - you need no sherry anymore. Not when you’ve heard the things he whispered to you with each thrust of his cock last night.

He’s staring down at the ground, still holding on to the cup of coffee as you approach.

“Hey.”

Arthur looks generally surprised. A flush painted across the apples of his cheeks, and he looks up at you with those damned blue eyes and suddenly the feared enforcer of the Van der Linde gang is as awkward as a teenaged boy.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asks, as his cheeks continue to blaze red.

Oh, this man. Your heart flutters.

You smile, lean in, and kiss his cheek.

“I’m hopin’ that wasn’t the last night we spend together, Mister Morgan.”

It was better than you saying what was really on the tip of your tongue - of how you were sore from him, but can’t stand the thought of not being in his cot tonight. “Darlin’, let… let me-” he swallows, obvious discomfort across his features, “Let me take you into town. Let me bed you right.”

You smile as you reach toward the coffee cup, trying to contain your excitement.

“Alright, Arthur. Shall we?”

[reiderwriter]

If your requests are open could I get a fic where Spencer lost his virginity to bau!reader the night before and when he comes into work the next day Morgan is like ‘you look different’ (you know that stereotype that people you know well can tell when you lose your virginity) and bau!reader is like yeah you do why is that Spencer🤨 lmaoo

A/N: This was a really fun request to write! Nice, short and sweet! I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: implied sexual encounter, some suggestive talk, mentions of virginity.

Masterlist || Song Fic Challenge

“Wait, kid, hold up, something’s different. You get a haircut or what?” 

You tried your best not to giggle profusely as the blush crept up Spencer’s neck to sit prettily across his cheeks. It had only been an hour since you'd left him sleeping soundly in your bed after a night of well… ravaging him. 

Spencer Reid, your beautiful, awkward, nerdy, and charming coworker was no longer a virgin. Nor was he single. And surprisingly, he wasn't all that bad at sex either, a little cautious, but for all intents and purposes, quite the natural. 

He certainly hadn't turned into a sex god over night, but you did plan to accost him rather regularly from that point onwards, so you very much were enjoying the abject look of horror passing over his features at that moment. 

“I was running late this morning. My alarm didn't go off.” 

You stifled a giggle, knowing that his alarm probably had gone off. He'd just been in a completely different apartment and hadn't heard it. Maybe it was still going off now. 

When his eye caught yours, he froze still in a flush. It was impossible not to run tour gaze along the length of his body, showing him enough quiet appreciation you thought he'd drop to his knees. 

Instead, his hands that were wrestling with his tie fidgeted more, finding it impossible to tie the damn thing like he had every morning for the last five years. 

“Having some trouble, Spencer? Maybe I could help you out?” You winked at him to punctuate your question, and all he could do was stand and gulp down a breath, nodding in agreement. 

“You do look pretty tired, kid? Long night?” Derek asked, a quiet bemused look hanging on his face. He'd had this same conversation with Reid at least four times in the last year, assuming that every time he came in looking slightly dishevelled, he'd enjoyed a night of pleasure. 

It had certainly been pleasing to you, and you were absolutely going to help teasing Reid if you got the chance. You certainly enjoyed doing just that last night. 

Grabbing the two ends of his tie and pulling him a step closer to Reid - maybe a bit too close for two people in their place of work - you began righting all of his clothes. 

“You didn't wake me up,” he whispered with a pout into your ear, his pout audible even as he tried to keep his face neutral. 

“I tried,” you whispered back. “But every time I got close, you lunged for me in your sleep and started grinding your morning wood into my ass.” 

The flush that you enjoyed so much was now a fully glowing face. He was so red you expected steam to pour from his ears any minute. 

You finish knotting his tie and brush his shirt a little, just as Derek clears his throat again. 

“Kid, did you hear me? I asked if you had a long night.” 

Spencer's gaze didn't leave yours, though. Even in his embarrassment, he was so intently focused on you that it nearly set your entire body on edge. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips. You wished they hadn't, because now you had to stop yourself from jumping him right there in the bull pen. 

“Oh shit,” Derek couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest as he stood looking from you to Spencer and then back to you. 

“Oh shit. Spencer, I didn't know you had game like that.” His words were wheezed out between fits of laughter, and you were irritated when the focus in Spencer's gaze shattered, settling into a look of discontent. 

“Derek, come on…” he groaned, and you put your hand gently on his chest to get him to look at you again. 

“Next time, I'll work my hardest to wake you up, Spencer.” 

With his jaw hanging open in shock, you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him stood like a statue as Derek bent over in laughter, trying to catch his breath. 

You smiled in your final triumph just as Emily walked over to greet the two men and opened with a question. 

“Weren't you wearing that outfit yesterday, Reid?”  

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely !!

im back again :)

i was thinking about one where the reader is from england (again totally not projecting, just like with the head scratches one.. hah…) ANYWAY. where the team are constantly making fun of her (but in a friendly way of course) for her accent but spence always takes it seriously so he sticks up for her randomly and everyone is all “huh??” and then something happens idk.. i didnt think it through too carefully my bad :( probably just garcia and morgan being teasing bitches and rossi and hotch looking at each other like “yeah i see what’s going on here”

- 🐚

accent — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader has an accent ( not specified which one ) , teasing from the team a/n: i got so many requests like this ( all different accents ) so i didn't specify which one it is and i hope that's okay <333 also so sorry this took so long !! <3333

You closed your eyes the second the word left your mouth, bracing yourself for what was coming.

It took approximately 0.2 seconds.

“Ohhhh, sweetness,” Garcia gasped dramatically, one manicured hand flying to her chest.

Laughter erupted from the other side of the BAU’s roundtable, loud and unapologetic. JJ covered her mouth, trying to muffle her amusement, but Derek had no such reservations. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a slow smirk stretching across his face as he repeated your words in an exaggerated version of your accent.

"Say it again," he teased, chuckling. "C'mon, one more time for me."

You sighed, sinking further into your chair.

JJ, still giggling, gave you a sympathetic look. “It’s just adorable, that’s all.”

"Yeah, well, I'm glad my adorable accent is so entertaining." You rolled your eyes, trying not to take it personally. It wasn't the first time this had happened—people always seemed to get a kick out of your accent.

Derek nudged your shoulder playfully. "Aw, don’t be like that. It’s a compliment!"

Before you could think of a retort, a voice cut through the laughter.

"I don’t see what’s so funny about it."

The teasing died down almost immediately.

Spencer.

You turned to look at him, surprised to see the slight crease in his brow and the way his lips pressed together in mild disapproval. His eyes flickered between everyone at the table, his fingers drumming against the table in that fidgety way of his.

"There’s actually a fascinating study about linguistic variation and how accents are shaped by geographical and social factors," he continued, adjusting his sweater sleeve. "It’s not just about pronunciation—it’s about identity and -"

Derek held his hands up in surrender, a grin still tugging at his lips. "Alright, alright, genius, we get it."

Spencer didn’t back down. His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. "Personally, I think accents are… charming.They tell a story about where a person comes from." He hesitated for a beat before adding, "And I happen to really like yours."

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip at that.

JJ gave you a knowing look, her amusement now directed elsewhere, but for once, you didn’t mind.

Rossi, sitting across from you, took a sip of his coffee and side-eyed Hotch. He didn’t say a word, but the look between them was obvious.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, giving the tiniest of nods. 

Derek let out a low whistle. "Man, you’re smooth when you wanna be."

Spencer blinked. "I wasn’t—" He paused, suddenly realizing how his words sounded, and a flush crept up his neck. "I was just stating a fact."

"Right," Derek drawled, winking at you.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile, before turning back to Spencer. "Thanks," you said softly.

His lips quirked up in a shy, lopsided smile. "Anytime."

And just like that, the teasing didn’t seem so bad anymore.

[patscorner]

Night, Night

Summary: You and your girlfriend expose your relationship at night.

wc: 2,027

Contains: just fluff, one of the worst endings I've written, but I hope yall enjoy.

______________________________

“Let's gooooo!!! Suck it, Kamorea!!” Paige shouts, standing from the couch and throwing her controller down before doing a victory lap around the dorm room. KK rolls her eyes at the blonde's antics and turns to her phone on the desk.

It'd been a while since all the girls had been able to really hang out, but since summer sessions had just ended, you decided a little gathering was well deserved. You invited the team to your apartment to chill, which is what led you to now; sitting next to your girlfriend on the couch, watching KK and Paige play rocket league, occasionally laughing at the comments that came from KK's live. You and Morgan weren't public yet, so you made sure you stayed a safe distance away from her so as to not raise suspicions.

You were doing an okay job, having to stop yourself from lacing your fingers with hers. Aubrey was at the desk, monitoring the comments, reading a couple out loud, and ignoring the out of pocket ones. You watched as Paige ran out of the room shouting, probably bothering anybody who was possibly sleeping. You can't help but giggle when you hear her being scolded by Azzi in the kitchen.

What you don't see is Morgan staring at you, hearts in her eyes, watching the way your eyes squint close and the way the corners of your mouth crease as you laugh. Aubrey sees it, though, and so do the other 1,527 viewers. Aubrey turns around and looks at Morgan, wordlessly waiting for her to stop looking at you. When she eventually does, Aubrey makes a face, and her eyes flick to the phone screen.

You look between them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What, what happened?”

“Nothing.” The girls say in unison. Morgan clears her throat, trying to will the blush that had crept onto her face. KK turned around and smirked.

“Morrrrgggiieeeeee,” She teased, drawing a laugh from Aubrey and an eye roll from the freshman.

“Oookay!” Morgan stood up abruptly, the blanket you were sharing, falling off of her. “Where are you going?” You ask, pouting as she walked towards the door.

“Just to the kitchen, you need anything?” She turns, sliding her phone in her right pocket. You smile at her gesture. “Just some chips, if we have any.” She nods before walking out.

“I'm all good, thanks for asking, Morgie!” KK calls after her, Aubrey shaking her head as she turns back to the phone. “Shut up, KK!” Morgan calls back.

Paige comes back into the room with a pout on her face. “What's wrong with you?” You ask as she plops down on the couch next to you, opposite where Morgan was sitting. “Azzi is being mean.”

“Me telling you not to sit on me is not being mean!!” A voice calls.

“Whatever.” Paige groans, pulling her phone out.

You shake your head before going on your phone. You already feel your stomach tighten in the absence of the love of your life. You both have been dating for eight months, and it's been everything you wanted and more. It didn't take long for the team to figure it out, and as soon as they did, they teased you both relentlessly. You couldn't even smile at your phone without them asking if it was Morgan. Granted, it always was, but that's besides the point.

You think about the moments you've had with her. Whether it's playing 1 on 1 with her at 2 am, because she couldn't sleep or sitting next to each other on the couch after an argument, talking out your feelings. You think about the times she would leave the house when you were sick to get the medicine you wanted, even if you already had some that would've worked just the same. You think about the subtle sparks that burned until they were blazing inferno whenever you grazed each other during a game or at a party. You think about the heated makeout sessions that turned into more and you think about the slow, lazy kisses you shared while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Where is she?

You're about three seconds from getting up and searching for Morgan when she walks in with four bags of chips and a bottle of water. “Wha- why do you have so many?” You question.

The brunette gives you one of her dopey grins before as she sets them on the table. “I didn't know which one you wanted, so I brought one of each.” You can't hide the smile that sneaks its way to your face as you take the water from her. “Thank you, ba- Morgie.” You correct yourself quick enough that only the girl in front of you could hear it. Her eyes are wide with amusement. “You're welcome.” She says, plopping down next to you.

KK turns around and looks at the chips in Morgan's hand. “Whipped.” Is all she mutters and the other girls burst into giggles, including yourself.

Morgan grabs a pillow and throws it at her, hitting her in the back of the head. KK glares at her, and Morgan sticks her tongue out.

“Girl boo!”

“If Morgan could pass the ball like that, Coach would stop making us run suicides.” Paige muttered quietly, but not quiet enough because the room erupted with laughter. You place your hand on the freshman’s thigh, patting her lovingly as she glared at you, who was struggling to stifle your laughter. You bit your lip, and Morgan's eyes trailed to them, and suddenly, your breath hitched.

“Not too much on my kid, c’mon, yall.” Aubrey says, giggles escaping her lips. She glances at the comments, some people talking about the way Morgan was looking at you. She ignores them. “You act your any better, P, how do you miss a layup?”

“Woah! There were two people next to me!” Paige defends herself.

“Please, they were practically social distancing. You had plenty of room.” You say, earning a glare from her. You attempt to ignore the girl on the other side of you, whose arm is subtly wrapping itself around your waist from behind. You raise your eyebrows as you turn to Morgan, astonished by her boldness. She ignores you and pretends to be on her phone.

The night drags on as KK has started the talent show. Paige migrated to the floor after telling Aubrey she could get more kills than her in fortnite. You've sprawled out, legs where Paige once was, head in your girlfriend's lap. The day was starting to catch up to you as you started to drift in and out of consciousness, and Morgan, running her hands through your hair delicately, was lulling you to sleep. Despite your efforts to fight sleep, she could feel your body relax when you nodded off and tense up again when you realized you'd done so.

A small smile made home on her lips as she leaned down to your ear. “You tired?” she asked, pausing her hand movements. You shook your head. “Mmm-mmm. Wide awake, you?” You mumble. She scoffs playfully, resuming her hands.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” she whispers. “No.” You say. “‘m good right here.”

“Go to sleep, then.” She hums. You nod sheepishly before drifting off once more.

You'd been asleep for no longer than five minutes, before KK was yelling at Paige, who was trying to beat Aubrey's five kills in Fortnite.

“Paige, go left! There's like three peop- no! Your other left! Dumba-”

“Watch your mouth!” Aubrey yells before KK finishes the word. Just then, Paige gets a kill, and she exclaims loudly.

“Let's go!!!” She shouts before locking back in.

“Could yall quiet down?” Morgan says, causing Aubrey and KK to look at her, then glance at you, dozing off again, before looking at each other. “Is she really sleeping, right now? It's only 8:30.” KK laughs. Aubrey giggles. “Guess my kid is a grandmother.”

Morgan shakes her head, looking down at you. “No, just between school and practice, she hasn't been sleeping well.”

She can't help the smile that crawls onto her face as she glances down at you, eyes fluttered shut peacefully. The peace had been missing from your features for weeks, and been replaced with furrowed brows and stressed wrinkles.

KK and Aubrey look at each other before bursting out in loud laughter, waking you up once more, causing you to groan.

“She's so whipped, bro.” Paige mutters, her eyes never leaving the screen. This only eggs the other girls on, everybody forgetting about the now 2,000 people watching them on the other side of their phone screens.

"I know you're not talking." Morgan shoots back.

"Ay, not too much." Paige laughs.

Morgan rolls her eyes at the girls before leaning back down to your ear. “Let's go to bed, sweetheart.” She mumbles.

You don't even try to fight it this time. You just hum and sheepishly sit up before leaning your head back on the couch and letting your eyes close once more. At this point, nobody cared about the live, it being long forgotten on the desk.

Morgan patted your thigh before standing up. “Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed.” You whine as she wraps her arms around your back, pulling you up to your feet. “No..” You slur, your voice muffled by her shirt. She laughs as you reluctantly wrap your arms around her neck, and she taps the back of your thighs to signal you to jump, and you oblige. KK eyes widen, looking at you guys, then back at the live, watching people slowly start to freak out.

“Do I need to-” She cuts herself off when she sees Morgan shaking her head. “Don't worry about it. It was bound to happen.” She offers a small smile before kissing your head and walking out of the room. She hears the girls laughing in shock before she closes the door behind her. She earns giggles from Ice, Azzi, Ayanna, and Jana, who are playing a quiet game of UNO.

It's almost funny how easily she carried you to your bed, laying you down before standing back up. You whine and lift your arms up to her, signaling you want her to stay. She laughs before kissing your cheek. “I'll be right back, baby, hold on.”

Morgan walks out of the room and back into the room with KK. She gathers your phone, as well as the empty bags of chips and other trash that had gathered. “Bro, Morgan, come give these people a backstory so I can stop avoiding these comments.” the shorter girl groans. Morgan, Paige, and Aubrey laugh as she makes her way next to KK.

She squints as the questions roll in. “How long have y'all been dating?” She reads. “Uhhh- almost a year.” she smiles as she answers.

“Who said ‘I love you first?’” KK reads, turning to Morgan, who's blushing.

“Me, but she knew first. She just didn't tell me.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“Okay, okay, that's enough. This is not Morgan's live, and I'm not bouta sit here and listen to this story again.” She complains. Morgan sends her a glare before backing up. “Whatever, she's waiting for me, anyway. Goodnight, Live.” She smiles and waves. “Night, Morgie.” KK says, directing her attention back to the TV screen.

“Night.” Aubrey offers. Morgan looks at the blonde. “Goodnight, Paige.”

All she gets is a grunt. She rolls her eyes before walking back out and offering the other girls goodnight.

She walked back into your room to find you right where she left you. She smiles as she kisses your cheek, waking you up gently. “Get under the blanket, baby.” She whispers. You move automatically, still sleep.

She crawls onto you, pulling the blanket over you both. She put all of her weight on you, her face in the crook of your neck, where she presses a kiss. “Goodnight. Love you.” She whispers. All she gets is a hum back, but she doesn't miss the way your arms wrap around her body, holding her securely onto her.

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee

[foreid]

࿁ 𑄹 ˙ — ❝ 𝑩𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑽𝑰𝑿𝑬𝑵 ! ❞

͏⏝ི summary: forced to drinks with morgan and emily, spencers expectations were nowhere near meeting somebody as perfect as you.

warnings: smut, fem!reader x softdom!spencer, p in v sex :3, spencer’s a big boy, meet cute, awkward spencer, no y/n use, slow burn if u squint. — not proofread :(

wrd count: 2439

packed, loud, and dark. only three words reid could use to describe the environment he was currently in.

he wasn’t much of a drinker, being dragged along here by emily and morgan to try and “expand his horizons” and get him out of his shell.

frankly, his head was already hurting and he couldn’t even imagine how unsanitary it was for all these people to be so tightly packed together.

it made his headache expand to all the corners of his head. his arnold parmer was practically melting in his hand, making him wipe a hand onto his slacks.

spencer had quickly drifted away from the conversation, chewing on the inside of his lip every now and then.

“hey, pretty boy. twelve o’clock, at the bar.” morgan lifted up his glass to signal at you, sitting almost elegantly on the stool in your shiny purple maxi-dress, hugging every curve that met the eye.

you more than caught the brunettes attention, his eyes almost widening at the view.

prentiss chuckled, her mocking practically hitting every side of him. “hah! like i’ve said: IQ of 187 slashed to 60 just like that.”

somehow, in some way, after what felt like thirty minutes of mocking— the full 72 inches and all, was sauntering over to where you were.

his stride wasn’t one of confidence… more of like a ‘i’m forced to be here but i think you’re hot and it intimidates me.’

“um— hi.” it came out in a creaky scratch, causing him to clear his throat and his lips to shift into one tight line.

you perked up a tad, turning around on the stool— temporarily halting the conversation between you and your friend. she took a hint though, making her way into the crowd.

“hi?” you couldn’t help the smile of amusement that crept up on your glossed lips, manicured finger mindlessly circling the rim of your glass.

you could see his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed dryly, still managing to maintain the deep eye contact.

despite the harsh churning in his stomach.

“i— uh— you’re..— you’re beautiful.” spencer almost slipped up and called you perfect, unfortunately his ‘skills’ were far beyond his favor right now.

but to be fair, you were perfect. his exact type on paper.

and the way you were staring at him made him beyond nervous.

you knew it though, you could tell. it was very flattering but it also gave you a spike of confidence.

“thanks. you’re… oh? FBI?” you quickly noticed the tag hooked onto his vest, it explained the button up and tie. “am i in trouble?” you giggled, cocking your head to the side, staring up at him almost seductively through your lashes.

he swallowed whatever was left of saliva in his mouth again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. trying his hardest to maintain all control of himself.

“no. have you done anything to get yourself in trouble?” spencer’s voice dropped an octave or two, senselessly bringing himself closer to you.

you could read a room. you knew he was flirting and it surprised you how quickly his ‘innocent boy’ act disappeared.

at once, you slowly stepped off the stool; even in your heels, this stranger managed to tower over you completely.

“i dunno… wanna find out?” it slipped past your lips in a quiet murmur, your hand simultaneously sliding up his chest, toying with his dark tie.

but your eyes were hypnotizing him, every time they weren’t on his, it felt like a hit to his heart.

every rational mind melted out of his brain through his ears.

what was once a full six feet of boy wonder was sliced in half to what could only be explained as the mind of a hormonal teen.

╴⊹ꮺ˚

wherever he lived wasn’t too far from the bar, but the drive felt outrageously long and you couldn’t even explain how painful it was that you weren’t already touching each other.

it hadn’t been a long time since you had someone on top of you. but, your plan for going out tonight was to get on top or beneath somebody.

you excused it as a reward for passing your final exam.

it’s not like you were going to fail in the first place— but one never knows.

spencer never really had anyone over into his apartment, he never expected to. so it wasn’t in the tidiest condition.

he forgot what it had looked like, causing him to immediately apologize as he shoved his shoes off.

“sorry. i wasn’t expecting any company.” despite finally having you alone, he still managed to be as awkward as ever.

you giggled, the alcohol you’d been taking finally hitting you now that you were in a new environment. “hm. you have nice taste.” you almost whispered, running your fingers over the cover of a loose book on the edge of the couch.

he caught himself smiling sheepishly. to spencer, you looked perfect here in his space.

his eidetic memory was sure to never forget a sight like this.

spencer didn’t even know it, but he was following behind you, picturing your every move and noticing everything he could see.

from the way your hair fell, how he could see just above your thighs, and how you had a tattoo of a rosary wrapped around your left ankle.

he wanted to know what other tattoos you had that he couldn’t see.

your movements were slow and excruciatingly cautious as you explored his space. before you knew it, the majority of his chest was snuggled against your back.

as you ran a finger along the spines of the books, trying to ignore the way calloused fingers slowly ran up your arm, slowly slipping the strap of your dress down your shoulder.

he could feel the soft twitch of your body when he ducked his head down to kiss against the blade of your shoulder, moving his way to the side of your neck.

spencer knew that when your head was tilting to the side in approval, he had all the green lights.

“is this okay?” he murmured against the skin of your neck, his opposite hand grabbing at the flesh on your hip through your dress.

the moment was nowhere far from sensual and the way he was leaving open mouthed kisses on any exposed skin.

you were letting out quiet mewls, eyes shut to take in everything and feel it even more.

all you could do was nod slowly, embarrassed at how your knees were already growing weak from some neck kisses.

spencer pressed himself closer, causing your body to be flush against the bookshelf.

his kisses suddenly became more ravenous and almost hungry, with every peace of skin he tasted— the more noises he let out.

large hands were now grabbing at you through your dress, which was almost a second skin, and it made you dizzy.

“i— i don’t even know your name.” your voice was raspy, almost in a whine.

you thought you had gotten a read of his name tag, but the blinding lights of the bar made it impossible to see the smaller letters.

but you did clock an ‘s’… samuel? stephen?

“spencer. doctor spencer reid.” he huffed into your ear before running his tongue along the shell, the sensation was enough to make you drop onto your knees.

god, even his name was sexy.

you were quiet after that— well, not literally. you were still a whining mess.

and it wasn’t better that you couldn’t meet his face, despite not facing him, your eyes were practically glued shut.

his mouth seemed to never stop, kissing any kind of skin he could get his lips on.

it made your skin heat up, you were on fire and so turned on. by now, you’d be leaking through your panties.

it was like he could read your mind, in the blink of an eye, he was rolling up your dress and slowly rolling a digit over your clothed slit.

spencer was circling the bud in an agonizingly slow motion, his mouth still peppering kisses along where your neck and shoulder met.

“y— you’re really wet. that means you like it, right?” his voice was groggy and breathless in your ear, making you whine in response.

not just from his words, but from the way he was slowly slipping a finger inside of you.

the both of you let out a noise in response, yours a bit louder than his due to the pleasure.

he seemed almost impatient, as if he was ready to just give you his all; but he was trying to be a gentleman. literally.

you could tell he was growing impatient due to how quick everything was moving, as if he was trying to already prepare you.

it felt just as good, knees buckling, jaw dropped and all.

“i’m gonna put it inside you now, okay?” he muttered breathlessly against your ear lobe, biting the skin— earrings and all.

you whimpered to him in some sort of approval, trying to ignore how hard your legs were trembling just from two fingers.

in the span of seconds, you could hear a belt unbuckling, the sound echoing through the room. followed by a zipper, then as if something heavy had hit the ground.

suddenly, a hand was softly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you back and turning your head.

unexpectedly, you were met with a sloppy yet stable kiss, it felt… safe. despite his constant need for reassurance, he knew what he was doing.

the brunette kept kissing you, holding your neck with one hand then simultaneously positioning his girth at your entrance.

he knew well to kiss you while pushing inside of you because if he didn’t, whatever yowl you’d let out would be embarrassing to explain to his neighbor.

while slowly bottoming out inside of you, your moan was muted by his kiss. you both reacted, your hands gripping the shelves and his hand tightening around your nape.

whatever the definition of a kiss was, this was not it. tongues just lapping at one another as he started to rut his hips.

your mouth was just left wide open, causing him to help himself and kiss along your jaw.

trying to occupy his mouth so he could subdue his whines. from how good you felt.

his hand was nothing compared to this feeling.

your walls were fluttering around him in a rhythm that made his brain turn into mush and every noise you let out in time with his thrust, didn’t make his self control any easier to maintain.

instead of grabbing your skin, he snugged a handful of your hair, keeping you in place as he fucked you sensually into his book case.

never in a million years would either of you believe your night would end up like this.

spencer, forced to a bar right out of a frustrating case across the country.

you, in a different situation, forcing your friends to come celebrate with you.

but you could say it worked out great in the end.

not only were you being fucked out of existence by a sexy FBI agent, but you still knew you looked so good.

not because you were vain, but because of all the mindless compliments he was spewing out.

“perfect. you’re— you feel so perfect.” spencer could only babble, his tongue swiping and biting along your shoulder. his thrusts never stopped.

you couldn’t help the way you rutted your body against him, eyes rolling into your skull and skin completely on fire.

by the way you were squeezing around him and the octave of your moans we’re growing, anyone in their right mind could tell you were close.

with a free hand, he dug through the front of your dress, access your breasts and slipping one of your nipples between his fingers.

bingo.

the more he played with your nipple and the quicker he thrusted, the better you were feeling.

and the closer you were getting.

the tighter you grew around him, the harder he was whining and grunting. spencer could feel everything and something in him was close to snapping.

every push inside was hypnotizing and every roll of your nipple was sending you into another universe.

“oh my g— god!” something about this thrust made all the difference, he hit a spot you were never expecting to exist.

it sent what was almost a shockwave through your body, back arching, eyes rolling and mouth agape to let out a string of pornographic noises.

you were grabbing on the shelves until your knuckles were white, thinking you could rip the shelves off the wall.

spencer wasn’t far behind. with a grip on your ass and its twin on your tit, he was thrusting at an unnatural pace.

you didn’t tell him to stop, so he took it as a green light and shot thick strings of his cum deep inside of you.

so deep you swore it was pooling somewhere into your stomach.

he finished with a whine, something along the lines of: “holy shit, angel.”

but you couldn’t quite make it out.

sweat was pooled up against his forehead, causing soft curls to stick against his skin. you recollected yourself— trying your best to ignore the pools of cum slipping out of you.

you rested your back against the shelves, breathing in soft gaps.

“hi, stranger.” you broke the silence after just staring at each other for what felt like ages.

your words brought what you thought was a soft smile to his chiseled face.

maybe it was the soft lighting of this apartment, or that you just never got a good look at him, but he was… beautiful.

“hi.” he hushed back at you, running a hand over the top of your head then placing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

his free hand slid its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“let me clean you up. i’m not the type to share my space.

but it’s the least i could do.” he finished, sort of whispering to you, breathing in labored patterns.

“mmm. i’d like that.” you could feel his lips smiling again against your skin.

it was quiet for a moment, safe silence.

until he broke it this time. “oh, i never got your name.” spencer admitted it to you and by the look on your face, he knew he wasn’t going to win so easily.

“you don’t deserve that just yet.” you giggled. and as much as he hated defeat, he couldn’t help the growing, comfortable feeling in his chest.

[mazikeenhyde]

All is Fair in Love, War and Dominant Fuckery - Part 2

POLY JUDGMENT DAY – 18+ - MINORS DNI! 

WARNING – FULL ANGST  - FIGHTING (PHYSICAL&VERBAL), CHEATING, DRUGS, ED, DOMVS SUB etc 

WRESTLER-READER (female)  X WWE JUDGMENT DAY – RHEA RIPLEY, DAMIAN PRIEST, DOMINIK MYSTERIO, FINN BALOR 

-Part 2 -

Finn and I had gotten back home a lot later than I expected, we had trained for a solid three hours in a local gym. He mainly focused on the weights section and training his already perfect abs. Meanwhile I was imagining Dom’s face on the punching bag and let all hell break loose, as I knocked the ever-loving shit out of it repeatedly, cussing the twat under my breath. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Dominik with all my heart, I loved every single one of them. But at times Dom could be such a dick, especially since the whole Liv Morgan storyline had started. He was different, he acted like a whole new person at times. I could sit back and close my eyes just imagining how much I would love to just throttle him until he begged me to stop, except when he would be pleading with me, I wouldn’t… not at first anyway. 

As we made our way into the house it was dark, the lights were all off and the hallways silent. Kissing my forehead Finn quietly turned and crept upstairs as he was ready to shower and crash in bed. Same routine as ever for me, I needed to get a drink of water and have a moment to myself before I could turn off for the night. 

Making my way into the kitchen I reached out and flicked on the undercounter lights, knowing full well they wouldn’t be half as bright as if I turned on the main one. I didn’t want to disturb the others who I imagined were all fast asleep, but I was wrong. 

The second the light came on a dark figure leaning against the kitchen Island, mere inches in front of me came into full view. It was Rhea, and she was pissed. 

Her eyes, like dark inviting pools you could easily drown in glared down at me as she stood with her arms crossed. Adorning her black skinny jeans and laced corset top her fingers tapped against her skin, running her nails along her bicep. 

“Don’t Lie to me y/n.” She stated, bluntly, calmly and without any emotion. 

Stepping to the side I spotted a small wooden box behind her, and I recognized it all to well. It had been hidden in my bedside cabinet. It was private, and I knew the only person who had found out about it, obviously couldn’t keep their mouth shut. 

“little cunt” I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, but I was rather sharply bought back into reality as Rhea lunged herself forward, wrapping a hand around my throat and pushing me back, pinning me against the kitchen wall behind. Her grasp around my throat tightened and her eyes burned a whole wave of fury like I had never witnessed before. 

A part of me was terrified in that moment, the other part a little turned on. But the fear was definitely winning. 

“I’m not playing with you y/n.” Rhea spat out as her other hand slammed against the wall right next to my face. 

Her grip around my throat loosened as she took a tight hold to the front of my hoodie instead and threw me forward, tossing me straight into the kitchen island. I fell forward, stomach taking the full impact as I braced over the counter and paused trying to catch my breath. Rhea came up behind me and taking a handful of my hair pulled me back up so I was standing again and whispered in my ear. 

“Open it.” 

But I dare not, I knew what she would say, and she would never understand. 

“No.” I muttered silently, full of fear yet I knew the contents of that box needed to stay secret. 

Rhea seemed genuinely surprised by my response for a second as her grasp on my hair got tighter. 

“What did you say?” She spat out through gritted teeth, taking in a sharp deep breath and inhaling my scent. The smell of sweat and fear only further fueled that dominant side of her. 

“I said…NO!” I tried to shout as I attempted to escape her grasp. 

“I can open it…” a soft and quiet voice came from the shadowed hallway behind us. Rhea turned, pulling me with her as we both turned to see Dominik, in his black and yellow checkered pajama trousers and Latino Cheat t-shirt.

The boy took a step forward as Rhea released her grip on my hair and I took a step back, staring Dominik down. 

“Don’t you fucking dare” I stated, staring a hole through him, but I could tell he was enjoying being able to one up me. 

Before either of them could move I lept onto the Island countertop grabbing the box and holding it up in the air, away from their reach. 

 “FUCK OFF, JUST, JUST FUCK OFF THE LOT OF YOU!...”I paused to take a breath, “Why can’t you all just get out of my space, just get out of my, of my life for like 5 minutes!” I screamed, clearly loud enough that Damian and Finn had come downstairs and entered the kitchen as well in time to hear my great speech. They both seemed both surprised and a little worried at the sight of Rhea and Dominik standing at the base of the kitchen counter while I had somehow made my way to the top, waving a little wooden box in the air like it was the holy grail. 

Finn stared up at me as Damian walked to the side, unfortunately for me being a short arse in comparison he could still reach my hands, even if my arms were fully stretched out. Wrapping one large arm around my waist he pulled me down while pulling the box out from my hand with the other and passing it over to Rhea. 

“No Damian, stop! Please!” I pleaded as he placed me down on my feet and stood behind me. He held his arms out and held me in a tight embrace, it was both comforting and a little uneasy all at the same time. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be nice or just keep me still. 

Dom smirked at me, offering a wink, like he was so pleased he could screw with me once again. Ever since Summer Slam he had found a new personality trait he was thriving off. This whole I’m better than everyone and I’m such a bad boy, blah blah blah. Even if I loved him, his behavior made me wanna knock him out so badly. He reached out his arm to take the box from Rhea, but she flicked his hands away, never breaking eye contact with me. 

“Nah, that’s not how we are going to play this.” Her Azzie accent was thick, deep and felt all to emotionally invested in this very moment. 

Slamming the box on the countertop she slid it over towards me, her eyes glaring through her dark eyeshadow. I could tell something in her had clicked. 

“You want us out of your space, out of your life? Fine” she said, taking a step forward and placing one finger below my chin to raise it up to meet her, tears welling up in my eyes. She didn’t care though; you would think she was enjoying it.  

“If this is so important to you, that it means more than what we have? Know damn well, that regardless of what anyone else thinks… I expected better from you, y/n” 

Great, way to make me feel shit. I was getting the I’m not angry, just disappointed lecture.

“But Rhea? She…” Dom interjected but before he could finish I had finally had enough of him. Breaking away from Damian’s grasp I pushed passed Rhea and in one swift move, my fist collided with Dom’s face. 

“FOR ONCE CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed as he fell back, gripping his face. 

Damian was quick to grab a hold of me as Rhea got in between us and Finn latched onto  Dominik before he could retaliate. 

“You always gotta cause trouble don’t you y/n! You’ve always gotta be the center of attention!” He spat, wrestling with Finn’s grip. “Love over Loyalty y/n! and here you are keeping secrets!”   

“HA! That’s rich! Seems like you’re the attention whore these days, parading around RAW like your some GOD!” I tussled and escaped Damian’s grip as Rhea latched her arm around my front while I got in Dom’s face. 

“Funny thing, bringing up loyalty Dom Dom… how is Liv?” I questioned smiling, knowing full well I had hit a nerve. His cheek had turned red and was starting to swell at this point. It hurt my heart a little, but my anger soon buried those emotions. 

“That. Is. Just. A. Storyline.” Dom was furious, spitting every word through gritted teeth. I raised my eyebrows enjoying the reaction from him as Rhea pushed me back into Damian who took a tighter hold of me. 

“I Dunno Dom, seems a little too real these days” I offered him a wink, “Did you really need to spend sooooooo much time together outside of WWE’s walls. Someone’s enjoying themselves?” 

“ENOUGH” Rhea shouted, slamming her fist on the counter. “ENOUGH!” 

Just then a familiar ringtone filled the room, and I smirked as Dom’s face turned to his pocket. 

Dom took a hard swallow as Rhea reached into his pocket and glared at the photo of Liv Morgan flashing up on his phone screen. 

“Busted…” I sang out and smiled as Damian’s grip loosened on me. 

Dom threw his arms up and out from Finn as he ran over and grabbed the box from the countertop…

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me!” he shouted. 

“NO!” I screamed and reached forward as he smashed it onto the floor, exposing its contents on the ground. 

My secret spilled out across the tile floor and not a single member of the judgment day said a word. They just stared at the floor, forgetting for a moment that only seconds before Dom and I were ready to fully knock the shit out of each other.

Rhea turned to look at me, disappointment etched across her face.

"It's not what you think..." I pleaded with her, tears running down my cheeks.

"Then tell me y/n, tell me."

TBC

-Anyone want me to put them on a tag list for part 3? -

[hoe4hotchner]

New Years Eve | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1k | CW: Fluff, fireworks, new years eve, first kiss.

The soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald's voice played in the background as it filled Rossi’s living room. The BAU team had gathered to celebrate New Year’s Eve, though the invitation had invited them to party in style the emphasis of the party leaned more toward cozy than extravagant. Fairy lights twinkled across the walls, and a fire crackled in the hearth, making the winter night outside feel miles away.

You stood in the kitchen, carefully pouring champagne into a cluster of fluted glasses, mindful of the bubbling foam. The air was scented with cinnamon and cloves from the mulled wine simmering on the stove while the faint sound of laughter spilled in from the living room. Hotch leaned casually against the counter beside you, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up in a rare sign of relaxation. His eyes flicked toward you every few moments, the corners crinkling when you glanced back at him.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” he said, his voice low and warm, almost lost beneath the clink of glasses.

“Someone’s got to keep things running smoothly,” you teased, placing the bottle on the counter before reaching for another glass in the cabinet overhead. “Besides, you’re not exactly rushing to help.”

He chuckled softly and stepped closer. His hand brushed against yours as he picked up one of the glasses, sending a flicker of warmth up your arm. “I think you’ve got it under control. But for the record, I’m ready to step in if things get out of hand.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Agent Hotchner.”

The gentle banter was interrupted as Jack burst into the kitchen, his cheeks pink from running around. He skidded to a stop, his excitement making him bounce on his toes. “Dad! We're playing charades, and Uncle Derek’s losing so bad!”

Hotch laughed, ruffling Jack’s hair with an affection that softened his entire face. “Is that so? Maybe I should go rescue him before he kicks down a door.”

You grinned, watching as Jack tugged his dad toward the living room. You followed with the tray of glasses. Before settling down with the others on the couches, you paused to grab a spare blanket from the basket near the fireplace in case the night’s chill crept inside. The living room was alive, and the team was in various stages of jokes and games. Morgan was mid-performance, flapping his arms in what you guessed was supposed to be a bird, while Reid shouted increasingly wild guesses from his spot near the fireplace.

“A chicken? No, a swan! Wait, a penguin?”

Emily doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach. “Why would he be a penguin?”

“You don’t know! Penguins are very expressive creatures,” Reid retorted, crossing his arms defensively, which only made Emily laugh harder.

Rossi raised his glass from his spot on the couch, smirking. “This might be the best entertainment I’ve had all year.”

“Careful, Dave,” you said. “We still have two hours left. Plenty of time for things to get even better.”

JJ stood, her phone in hand, and called out, “Alright, everyone, time for pictures! Before we get too… uh, spirited.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the half-empty bottle of wine in Garcia’s hand.

Garcia gasped in mock offense, clutching the bottle to her chest. “Excuse me, Jennifer, I am always perfectly composed.”

“Sure you are,” Emily quipped, pulling her up from the couch.

The group crowded together in front of the fireplace, where Rossi insisted on setting the timer so everyone could be in the shot. Hotch’s hand found the small of your back as you squeezed into the frame, his touch steady and warm through the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, you leaned into him, the moment so natural it didn’t even register until the flash went off.

The rest of the night flowed like the champagne. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the house, and Jack eventually fell asleep in a pile of blankets, his head resting on your lap. Hotch sat beside you, his posture relaxed as he nursed a glass of wine. His hand brushed against yours again, his fingers warm as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The intimacy didn’t go unnoticed; Emily sent you a look from across the room, silently telling you that an interrogation would be scheduled in the new year, but she said nothing.

As the clock approached midnight, Rossi produced a box of sparklers, and the group bundled up to step outside. The cold air bit at your cheeks and made your breath visible in soft puffs, but the sight of the glittering sky, clear and dotted with stars, was worth it. Jack woke up just in time to light a sparkler with his dad.

When the countdown began, you found yourself standing next to Hotch again, your breath mingling in the crisp night air.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

The voices grew louder, for a moment, you thought about stepping away, about playing it safe. But when the clock struck midnight, Hotch turned to you.

“Happy New Year,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the cheers of the others.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, the words barely leaving your lips before his hand cupped your cheek, and he kissed you. It didn't take long for the sparks of fireworks to ignite the sky, setting the background for your first kiss.

When you pulled back, your cheeks felt warm despite the cold, you noticed the team trying (and failing) to act nonchalant. Morgan’s grin was wide enough to split his face, and Garcia looked ready to combust with glee.

“Alright, everyone inside,” Rossi called, clapping his hands together. “Let’s toast to the new year properly.”

As you followed the others back into the house, Hotch’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt as natural as breathing. And as you raised your glass to toast with the team, surrounded by laughter and love, you couldn’t imagine a better way to start the year.