#criminal minds headcannon

[chvoswxtch]

hi my love, my sweetness!! congrats again on 4K you deserve it so much and I love youuu!!

I know the cafe is technically closed but I thought maybe if I flirt a bit with the owner, who’s such an amazing lovely person who writes excellent fics, I thought I might be able to order a drink or two (only if there’s time and of course fine if not<3)

so could I order a macchiato over ice for Frank or Hotch. how would they be/react if they saw you in their clothes? I think both are so territorial and like daddies and if they saw you just in their sweatshirt or jacket or whatnot in a completely innocent situation they’d lose it. Let’s not even get started on at home or bedroom related

love you thank you for sharing your writing with us <333

SWEET BABY D!!!!

oh i've missed you so. thank you so much my sweet. you can order anything you want <3

sjdkshdsjkd do you know how absolutely feral hotch would go if he came home after a shitty week & saw you wearing one of his dress shirts bc i'm going feral just thinking about it so let me paint you a lil picture

as a reminder, over ice means it's spicy ! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

aaron hotchner likes you in his clothes

let me set the scene for ya. it's been a long week for our bau daddy, dealing with narcissistic psycho killers & keeping all his kids in line (the rest of the bau), & the frustrations are high when he finally steps off the jet. he doesn't even stay back to handle the mountain of paperwork waiting for him, that's how fed up he is

when he finally makes it home, it's well after midnight, & he's so tired he doesn't even wanna take a nice hot shower like he usually does to unwind. he just wants to fall into bed & let the exhaustion take over

but when he passes by the kitchen, he instantly freezes, bc there you are standing by the counter, having a lil midnight snack (eating ice cream straight out of the tub), wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. and when I say nothing, I mean hotch can tell you are wearing absolutely nothing underneath

his eyes quickly darken with pure lust & his cock is already half hard when he stalks over towards you with determined steps

the spoon is still in your mouth when you notice him, a smile stretching across your lips around it before you lick off the sweet remnants & slip it out of your mouth

"hey, how was the c-"

you don't even get a chance to finish that sentence bc hotch cuts you off by grabbing the back of your neck to capture your mouth in a heated kiss & he does not hold anything back as he pushes you up against the counter

his kiss is aggressive & needy, & the muffled moan that escapes you tastes delicious on his tongue. his fingers make quick work of unbuttoning the few buttons you'd had done, but he doesn't push it off your shoulders. oh no, he wants you to keep it on

his hands roam over your newly exposed skin, greedily grabbing at your breasts to squeeze them roughly, his thumb & index fingers toying with your sensitive nipples knowing it'll get you all riled up for him, & the sounds you make let him know it's working

he grabs your hand & guides it to his belt, & without hesitation you follow his silent command, your nimble fingers unbuckling it while he sheds his suit jacket & tie

in a flash he swiftly spins you around & bends you over the counter, bunching the bottom of his shirt up around your hips, & he spreads your legs further apart with his foot

he wastes no time pushing forward, burying his cock deep without warning, his hand quickly covering your mouth to contain your sharp moan. his other hand has a bruising grip on your hip as he leans forward & hisses in your ear

"be quiet."

the sensation of your warm, tight walls completely enveloping his cock makes his brain go blank. he can't focus on anything else other than how good you feel. he immediately begins snapping his hips, fucking you hard & fast while grunting in your ear

with every powerful thrust, the stress & tension built up in his body from this week starts to fade, & the pleasure rapidly builds. even though he's chasing a much needed release, he's not selfish, so he slips his hand between your thighs & begins to strum swift circles over your clit with two of his fingers

he lets out a quiet, wrecked groan in your ear when he feels your pussy start to contract around him, the muffled moans against his palm only heightening his arousal. as badly as he wants to hear you fall apart, he doesn't wanna wake up jack

when he feels your body seize up as you come, hotch squeezes his eyes shut & lets out a strangled groan, gripping your waist tightly with both hands as his hips start to stutter

"fuck fuck fuck."

he comes hard, spilling deep within your snug walls, emptying himself completely. the way your cunt continues to contract around his cock milks him of every drop he has to offer, & it makes him let out a shuddering breath

placing both of his palms down on the counter to steady himself, he buries his face into your hair, panting heavily. if he wasn't exhausted before, he sure as hell is now, but he's definitely more calm. a breathless laugh leaves your lips before you speak

"well, hello to you too."

letting out a breathless chuckle of his own, hotch smiles & wraps one of his arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your neck

"sorry, hi."

reaching one of your hands back to caress his face with your hand, you hum softly with a grin

"missed me that much, huh?"

leaning into your gentle touch, hotch's smile turns into a full blown grin

"always. but I have to say, I love your choice in pajamas tonight."

glancing down at yourself, it clicks that seeing you in his shirt is what set hotch off, & a devilish smirk spreads across your lips

"i'll keep that in mind. sir."

in conclusion if you hear screaming from across the world it is me

[piqtescue]

"where did you find this kid?"

"he was left in a basket on the steps of the fbi"

if someone doesnt link me a fic real quick imma just have to write it myself🎉🎉

[only-one-brain-cell]

Headcanon that Spencers son develops a hyperfixation on dinosaurs after reading about them at the library so anytime he gets a change all he talks about is dinosaurs and of course the BAU is hanging onto his every word. (of course so are his parents Spencer is the one that brought him to the library.)

[truly-yours-matilda]

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧)

summary: life and the dynamics with the team as jj’s teenage daughter 🫶

warnings: none, i think <3

note: i know that aaron, jack, tara and luke aren’t in the same seasons, but i wanted to include everyone (almost everyone) | any mistakes are mine!

• growing up as jj’s daughter was never boring

• it was filled with excitement and a whole lot of love

• so much that sometimes, you were scared of losing it

• you always worried for your mom when she wasn’t by your side

• but you would both make sure to call and text whenever her schedule wasn’t too hectic which caused you to feel the smallest bit of relief

• being a part of the team in a way, you’ve had a second, very loving family since you were born

• you cherish it with everything you are

• everyone loves you and your presence is always welcome

• whether it’s doing homework at the office after school or just short visits here and there

• your relationship with spencer is special

• spencer is one of your mom’s absolute best friends and naturally, you became close to him too

• you often have deep conversations about life and the human mind

• you both info dump to each other and can discuss the topic for hours

• you show each other books and recommend books to each other, and the team jokes about it (in a loving way)

• you see spencer kind of as a big brother in a way

• the family nights, very much encouraged by rossi and garcia, is a thing you’re included in (unless it involves alcohol some nights)

• ^^ cause then you’re with your brothers

• but when you’re allowed to be with them on family nights, you’re the only one rossi allows to cook with him

• you learn quickly and become quite the chef

• he may or may not have let you taste one of his many wines a few times (just a few) when the others were sent to the living room

• your relationship with emily is the CUTEST

• she loves you and you love her

• she’s the best (self proclaimed) aunt in the world and you often come to her for advice or to just hang out

• you’re with her a lot

• her hugs are AMAZING and so cozy and comforting

• you love how affectionate she is to you

• especially since she’s not like that with a lot of people, just the people she really cares about and loves

• it makes you feel special

• she’s always there to listen to you

• so when you’re having a bad day, your mom tells emily and she comes over with your favorite ice cream and you watch comfort movies

• emily’s hugs are even more comforting at these times

• em’s like a security blanket for you

• as you begin to discover who you are as you grow into a teenager, she’s there like a pillar in a storm

• being a teenager is hard and she, more than anyone, knows just how difficult it is

• she’s there for you with unconditional support and so much love

• penelope garcia <3

• she’s such a personality and you love her so much

• she’s so kind and caring and sweet and funny and comforting

• and on girl’s nights with your mom and emily, she makes you laugh so much

• she has a special way of making you feel good and happy

• even though there’s a significant age gap, you’re like best friends

• garcia sees a lot of jj in you, so she’s always been protective of you

• when you start dating, she secretly does the thing she’s best at and finds out just about everything there is to know about this certain person

• she definitely spoils you with gifts and books and everything you like, even though you protest that she’s going to become poor soon

• you love to bake and you do it all the time, so when you bring whatever you’ve baked to the office, penelope is your go-to taste tester

• the team loves coming back from a case and eat whatever you’ve baked

• you and hotch (plus jack) <3

• aaron is definitely like a father figure to you

• so naturally, jack becomes like a second older brother to you

• you, your biological brothers and jack had formed your own little friend group over the years

• you look up to aaron a lot

• he’s so brave and so determined

• you remember wanting to be like him when you were a little girl

• he’s there if you have games and he’s there if you even just have practice

• the rest of the team is too

• they cheer you on the loudest

• and your mom looks at you with proud eyes

• you, your mom and your brothers have lunch or dinner with aaron and jack sometimes

• as a way to catch up and just hang out

• jj and aaron loves watching their children having fun together, laughing and smiling

• you and morgan !!!

• you’re his baby, angel, sweetheart

• he’s “rerek” to you and that’s what you’ve been calling him since you were a little girl and couldn’t pronounce his name right

• he’s like a very protective, older brother to you

• derek is a bit of a pushover when it came to you

• he would do anything for you, even if it meant going against your mother's rules

• you knew this and would sometimes use it to your advantage, especially if you wanted to sneak out of the house and see your friends

• derek could never say no to your piercing, blue puppy dog eyes

• you and derek's relationship was one of a kind - filled with love, trust, and a bond that could never be broken

• you love his hugs so much

• they’re strong, comforting and genuine

• they’re never loose and you’re often i’m his arms

• luke and you

• you’re more mature than luke and it shows pretty much all the time

• of course, you can be silly and funny, you get that from your mom

• but luke can be like a 12 year old boy sometimes

• you love him anyway

• you have a secret handshake that’s not so secret anymore because you do it like every time you meet

• the handshake has been alive since you were a little girl and it wasn’t going away anytime soon, no matter how old you get

• you and garcia spoil roxy all.the.time

• luke more times than not likes the things you get roxy

• and he’s very grateful for you and garcia

• you and tara have mutual respect and admiration for each other

• you have so much fun when you’re together, no matter how much time you’ve spent apart

• not that much time goes by without you seeing your second family

• tara is a great role model for you

• you admire the way she carries herself and the way she works, while still keeping her humorous and silly side when she’s with the people she loves

• tara is a great listener, and you come to her for guidance and advice

• you love to play pranks on spencer, and tara always joins in on the fun

• tara has definitely taught you self defense, and jj is eternally grateful for that

• (your mom has taught you some moves herself)

• you’re clever, more clever than most people your age, and tara is in awe of how you think and how your mind works

• you’re so grateful to have grown up with such a loving family

• a found family isn’t something every person has and you’re so happy to have them all by your side

• they’re such a great support system

• even though every day was a whirlwind of mixed emotions because of cases, the one thing that remained constant was the unconditional love you all share

• you’re so grateful for your mom for just being herself

• you have an overwhelming amount of love for her, your brothers and the team

[starandcloud]

Morgan headcannon

I don't know why, but someone mentioned that they had heard about Morgan's actor drinking a pumpkin spice thing (not sure how true this is tbh-) and now I can't get it out of my head that Morgan drinks those everytime they're in season-

Criminal Minds Mainlist

Mainlist

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid - Recommendations

figured it was about time I started one of these after reading Spencer content for…God knows how many years?? will update this as and when I find new fics that ruin me!

(I made this in November 2023 and forgot to post it so apologies if some fics are gone x)

> fluff (f) angst (a) suggestive/smut (s)

Imagines:

(f) Babied by @reiderwriter - in this house we love a wholesome age gap fic

(f/s) do you believe me now? by @nereidprinc3ss - we just know he talks you through it like we KNOW this but this is ??? pure poetry. it is written so well I cannot believe

(s) Fixated by @reiderwriter - Spencer Reid is a munch confirmed

(f) Date? Date! by @foxy-eva - as far as I’m concerned this literally happened like are you joe king this is so CATEGORICALLY him being ????????!!!!!!!!!!!????????

(s) Need by @thankyouivy - Spencer Reid is a munch and it’s cannon

(s) Slick Tongue by @thankyouivy - Spencer Reid is a munch carnally

(s) Serene Queen by @de4dlyniightshade - Spencer Reid is a munch, biblically accurate

(s) Let Me Love You by @strawbeerossi - Spencer is a munch and beloved I cannot look you in the eyes after this one it is so…

(f) GirlDad!Reid gets out of prison by @inkdrinkerworld - before you ask no it isn’t my daddy issues talking (yes it is) but this made me cry

(s) Not So Innocent by @golden1u5t - this feels so canon to me I cannot express it enough this should be a gospel passage

(s) Relief by @strawbeerossi - bro. this one. WHEW.

(s) Dark Desires by @incognit0slut - listennnnnn. if anyone’s gonna be on this list it’s GONNA be the queen herself. this awakened things in me I’m not comfortable admitting online thank you

(f/s) Begging by @crypticreid - every time I think abt this one my reaction is the same as it was in my initial reblog

(s) Pent Up by @reiderwriter - I’ll be so real with you I don’t even have the words for this one

(s) Boots by @violentdelightsandviolentends - save a horse ride a cowboy’s boots

(s) Angry Frat-Boy-Hair Reid by @reiderwriter - it does what it says on the tin and I’m the tin

(s) relax by @nereidprinc3ss - omg, the soft!dom nature of it all is just…the dialogue in this is so…

(f/s) seeing stars by @reiderwriter - me personally I love a cheeky bit of non!virgin shrimp reid being all sweet n just WHEW LORD

(s) Whiny And Spoiled by @nereidprinc3ss - munch reid is so canon it’s not funny anymore ENUFF

(f/s) angel by @rreids - this is the most canon soft-intimate thing I’be read of Spencer imo like when that man gains confidence THIS IS WHAT HE IS LIKE it is written in the bible

Blurbs:

(s) Practising Munch by @phefics - Spencer being a DEDICATED munch from the get go 🫡

(f) Gently by @lovers-rck - this is so cute gtfo

(s) Mommy by @tenpintsof-sundrop - usually I’d die on the hill of Spencer being a top but this changed my brain chemistry actually

[amateurvamp]

Best duos are lesbian and their weird little freak bff

[t1red-twilight]

soft spencer headcannons

summary: god i’m such a sucker for soft spencer

content/warnings: corny:/

notes: several of these are inspired by my parents, who are genuinely the cutest couple i know.

word count: 0.4k

masterlist s. r. masterlist

- he just really likes watching you get ready. if you wear makeup, he’ll ask you what everything is for (even if he kinda already knows)

- will see something that reminds him of you and buy it for you every. time.

- “it reminded me of that time we -”

- loves having his hair played with

- remembers every obscure fact about you, obviously, and it surprises you every time

- “i can’t believe you remembered that i like this”

- “i remember everything, but i especially take note of everything about you. it comes in handy☺️”

- strokes the back of your hand with his thumb when you hold hands

- is clingy lol

- hand on your thigh, constantly. not necessarily sexual, just likes being close

- hand on the waist. holding hands. hell, even linking pinkies.

- when you sit next to him on a couch, he will pull your legs onto his lap

- surprisingly, he lives for physical contact with you despite his germaphobia. you’re not complaining though

- loves when you talk about your life and tell him all the drama

- “wait she said that? that’s ridiculous. that’s bold coming from someone who cancels all her plans twenty minutes before they’re supposed to start.”

- has a tube of your favorite lip balm (just in case)

- will look at you and smile for no reason. when you ask why he’ll just sigh and say that he likes you a lot

- goodbye kisses ALWAYS. won’t leave unless you give him one.

- listens when you talk about your interests. he likes to see you talk passionately about something, he’ll ask clarifying questions as well.

- sends good morning texts at the same time every day you’re not together

- takes your dishes and washes them for you, even when you protest

- slow dancing.

- appreciates and says thank you for every thing you do for him, even if it’s super minute and you tell him it’s not necessary.

- compliments you in front of the team, in front of friends, family, etc. bro loves talking about you lol

- morgan teases him about being “whipped”

- lays his head in your lap whenever possible

- will pucker his lips and point to them to ask for a lil smooch

- attempts to learn to cook for you-

- one time he set the fire alarm off, and he was panicking when you got home. once you opened the windows and got the smoke out, you kissed his disappointed pout away.

- tells you everything. like literally everything.

- “i had a really good muffin for breakfast this morning.”

- “yeah?”

- “yeah! it was from that new bakery on fourth street. you know, you might like it. maybe we should -“

- in conclusion: he really likes you. like a lot. you’re one of the only constants in his life and he loves that you provide some stability. he loves that you love him too.

[friendoftashi]

spencercore

[softestqueeen]

emily pre it’s x female reader who loves spoiling emily? like the relationship feels like the reader is a sugar mommy, but it’s actually just wanting to see emily happy and loved? if you could that would be great!

a/n: hey anon, thank you for your request! i'm sorry i'm only getting to it now, i wrote it like 2 weeks ago in my notebook but didn't have the time to type it out! but here it is, enjoy! <3 warnings: none, just fluff I 400 words

꣑ৎ ever since emily and you have officially gotten into a relationship a little over a year ago, the team has started to notice some changes

꣑ৎ not just has emily become happier, but also her style has changed

꣑ৎ her pant suits started to fit a bit better and the quality of her shirts has also improved

꣑ৎ not to mention the new rings, earrings and the expensive watch adorning her writst

꣑ৎ the truth was, while emily was your girlfirend, it sometimes felt as though you were her sugar mommy

꣑ৎ your job as a fashion designer gives you not just the money, but also the ressources for your gift giving

꣑ৎ you buy her designer clothes that haven't been launched yet and designed and made some of the best clothes she's ever worn

꣑ৎ your love language has always been gift giving, so it was clear that you were about to spoil your girlfriend rotten. and now emily has a whole new wardrobe, so it's a win/win situation

꣑ৎ you just loved to spoil and take care of her. and with her hectic and chaotic job she deserved a little pampering here and there

꣑ৎ if she comes home from a longer case and you are out of town, there will be flowers and jewellery waiting for her in your shared flat

꣑ৎ and don't get me started on anniversaries. you always call hotch beforehand to make sure emily gets the day off and then organise the coziest dates

꣑ৎ high-profile restaurants with private rooms, special screenings in cinemas, special performances of plays and of course rented out malls for your girlfriend and ger bau-girls

꣑ৎ but emily doesn't even has to think about paying, you already took care of it

꣑ৎ "just let me take care of you, you deserve it baby."

꣑ৎ in the beginning she didn't feel that comfortable with you paying for everything, but she's since gotten used to it

꣑ৎ she had to, because you definetely didn't stop the gifts

꣑ৎ the rest of the bau just smiles when they see her with a new designer go-bag or the newest phone

꣑ৎ they're just happy emily's found someone that treats her right

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

requests open!

taglist:@silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa

[hotchscoffeecup]

for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

[chvoswxtch]

hello, can i get a macchiato (barista’s choice of over ice) with what it would be like for spencer to come home to you after a hard case/long day?

hi nonnie!

one macchiato coming right up :)

headcannon below the cut

spencer reid has a hard day

spencer is a talker. maybe not always a conversationalist, but a talker. there's a million & one fun facts constantly running through that genius brain of his that he's always eager to share

you'd learned early on in your relationship that asking him something as simple as "how was your day" could turn into a fifteen minute tangent on the origin of that phrase before he even got to answering your question

needless to say, you can tell when he's had a really long day, or when a case has been particularly hard, because he's quiet

typically when the jet lands, he's calling you before the wheels even touch the ground to let you know he's home, but when it's been a long day or a hard case, he'll send you a short text instead

he doesn't greet you as enthusiastically when he walks through the door, & he's not talking a mile a minute. his greeting is quiet & strained, & you can see the deep shades of exhaustion beneath his eyes

even the way he walks is off, & you can almost see whatever it is that's getting to him is weighing down on him

instead of immediately seeking you out to join you in the kitchen or the living room or wherever you are, he'll head straight towards the bedroom instead

physical touch is not one of spencer's love languages, or something he enjoys in general, but on days like this, the comfort of your touch is something he wants, but he just still doesn't know how to ask for it

throughout the course of your relationship, you've learned how to read him. you've learned how to tell what he needs & when he needs it, relying on his body language & nonverbal cues when he can't seem to get the words out

you picked up on the way the tension would leave his shoulders when you hugged him, or how he'd exhale a deep breath of relief when you kissed his cheek. he practically melted into your embrace when your fingers gently moved through his mess of curls, & lightly scratching at his scalp made him putty in your hands

when he comes home like this, you don't bother with asking him if he wants to talk about it. you know he'll automatically say no, not wanting to burden you with his troubles, but also bc he's still learning to express himself emotionally

so you follow him into the bedroom, & you climb into bed with him, & you let him know that you're there, physically but also mentally

you wait patiently for him to accept the comfort of your touch, & even when he's laying with his head on your chest & his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you wait for him to speak first. sometimes he wants to try & talk about what's bothering him, & sometimes he just wants to feel something pure & good

you'll never forget the first time he explained to you why he prefers to lay in silence sometimes. it still tugs at your heartstrings even months later

"everyday, I see the worst of humanity. some cases, there's a happy ending. sometimes we make it just in time to save at least one person, and sometimes that feels like it's enough. but some days...it doesn't make up for the extent of the depravity that we witness. it doesn't make up for the people we couldn't save. I spend every single day surrounded by violence and chaos and...evil. but when i'm with you...that all goes away. I don't want to think. I just want to focus on the good."

recently, you'd introduced spencer to a little game you & your mom used to play when you were younger. when something was scary, or when you had a bad day, you'd ask her to tell you something good, & she'd tell you some highlight from her day, or the first good thought that came to mind

you've learned to identify the long days vs the hard days depending on if he wants to play or not. if it's just been a really long day & he's tired, he doesn't usually participate. but if he comes home after a case that really affected him, it's almost painful to hear the need in his voice when he asks

"tell me something good. please."

hugging him even closer, like you're trying to protect him from all the bad things outside of your shared bedroom, you gently kiss his forehead & whisper softly

"the universe is infinite. there are galaxies and solar systems out there that haven't even been discovered yet, and may never be. our world has existed for millions of years, and yet, i'm lucky enough to get to exist at the same time as you. the stardust that created our universe, and our world, is the exact same stardust that we're made of, which means you and I have always been connected, even long before we existed, and we still will be long after we're gone. it's always been you and me, and it always will be."

lifting his head to look at you, spencer's hazel eyes are full of curiosity & awe. he knew you were smart, maybe nowhere near a genius like he was, but still very smart. however, he was the one with the science background, so to hear you speak so eloquently about space caught him off guard

"where did you learn that?"

rolling your eyes with a soft laugh, you shook your head & smirked at him

"i love you, too."

a faint blush creeps on his cheeks, & he gives you a small sheepish smile

"sorry...i...i do love you. that...that was beautiful. i just-"

cutting him off, you reach over onto the nightstand & pickup your copy of "astrophysics for people in a hurry", holding it up for him to see. he glances between the small book & you in puzzlement, & you smirk at him

"i'm trying to keep up with my genius boyfriend."

for the first time since he's walked through the door, spencer smiles. a real, genuine, smile. taking the book from your hand, he sets it aside & shakes his head, gently cupping your cheek

"i don't need you to do that. i just need you to be with me."

letting out a soft laugh, you lean into his touch & place your hand on top of his

"did you hear anything i just said? i've always been with you, and i always will be. we're bound by the stars, pretty boy."

spencer's lips split into a wide grin, & now that his mood is considerably lighter, he leans in for a soft kiss

"can't argue with science."

[piqtescue]

no words tbh

[only-one-brain-cell]

Spencer as the #1 Garvez shipper because he’s not as gullible as everyone thinks he is about relationships and KNOWS Luke is in deep and when he hangs out with Penelope all she can talk about is “the new guy” or “newbie” so he drops little hints about Penelope to Luke just to see his reaction and vice versa.

“That’s Penelope’s favourite tea”

“That’s Lukes favourite food”

“Penelope’s hair looks nice today.”

Luke: I didn’t notice (he noticed) but now that you mention it *goes on a tangent*

“Luke’s haircut looks nice”

Penelope: he got a new haircut? Oh I didn’t realize (she realized) and just doing little things like that being each others wingman. No one notices because as the genius gentle puppy of the BAU everyone thinks Spencer is just being his usual kind self.

Spencer is a fucking mastermind think god he uses his powers for good and not evil.

[truly-yours-matilda]

— welcome to my blog!!

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